Weekly Poetry Post!

This is from Cai.  I think he sounds like Shel Silverstein.  :)


                        Housework

I said that I’d help out this time,
And Dad was very proud,
Instead I broke an ugly vase
Mom wasn’t even loud.
Then I dropped the lightbulbs,
That wasn’t very good,
Smashing up the radio,
My parents understood,
I dragged the ladder to the wall
and really scraped the floor,
The curtain didn’t look too good,
When the fabric tore,
My dad just held the ladder straight,
Since me, I’m not so tall.
I’m really glad this ain’t our house,
We’re robbers, after all.

Comment with...uh...comments, I guess.  ;)

A Little Comic

 

 

 

*Note*

It has recently come to my attention that my cousin Valerie made a very similar comic several years before me.  She thinks mine is better.  But I thought I'd give her credit anyhow.  ;)

Barbara, The Evil Bitch-Boss From Hell: Part 1

Her name was not Barbara.  Barbara cannot even close to capture the evil.  But she's evil enough that if I used her real name she'd probably manipulate the president into having me shot.

You think you've met bitches before.  But your bitchy acquaintances are practically Mother Theresa next to this woman, I'm convinced of it.  You know nothing about bitch until you've met Barbara.

Barbara seemed quite nice at first.  She hired me to work for her at the B & B, to train me to take over for her when she left.

There never really was one moment when the shit hit the fan and her full bitch-hood was revealed instantaneously.  It built up over months, along with my stress levels and my back and neck pain.  Because she weaved her entire life into this web of manipulation and evil.

This web is very, very complicated.

That is why I have chosen to break down the Barbara, The Evil Bitch-Boss From Hell post into a series.  Meaning I will write however many posts it takes to do justice to the volumes I could say about her.

This one will be a little history of Barbara.  It is based on her own personal testimony, as well as the testimonies of my husband and several other people who knew her and/or worked with her.

Barbara was from California.  LA area, I think.  She has at least 2 sisters, who are much nicer than she is and whom I'm pretty sure she bosses around a lot and always has.

One of her sisters has a really similar name, and went to the same college as she did, which I'm pretty sure was one of the state colleges here in Oregon.

She was married for a while, had a couple kids, and then got divorced.  The rumor I heard, and which Barbara's way of talking about him supported, was that she both married and divorced her husband for the money.  According to her, however, they remained on good terms.

She then moved somewhere in eastern Oregon and opened up her own bed & breakfast.  Her kids were raised in this b & b, and she ran it for something like 14 years.  There was also a ghost that lived there.  Her name was Gwen.

There was a long string of boyfriends.  Nothing that lasted.  

Then, for reasons which I never ascertained, she moved to the Portland area and got a job with the owner of my B & B as the innkeeper.  She demanded a salary higher than he could afford, and on top of that, a very convoluted and somewhat unfair system for days off as well as a percentage of his profit.

She also made moves on the owner, despite him being, a) not interested, and b) having a girlfriend.

By this time she was in her early 50's.

Then, in September or October of 2009, a friend of hers set her up on a blind date with a man they went to college with.  Turned out he actually went to college with her sister and was remembering the name wrong, but they hit it off!  And three or four weeks of what I imagine was some serious Barbara-style manipulation later, they were engaged.

Enter me.


More to come.  Stay tuned for Barbara, The Evil Bitch-Boss From Hell: Part 2!

Weekly Poetry Post? Thoughts?

So...I have friends who are awesome at poetry.  Especially funny poetry.  And I thought it would be awesome to feature a different poem every week.

Yes, Cai, I'm talking about you.

Please let me know what you think.  Also let me know if you'd like to submit something.

I'm also particularly thinking of you, Molly.

This idea is definitely still up in the air, so any input would be super helpful!!!!  You can comment on here, or feel free to email me.

If you have submissions, definitely submit them over email.

Thanks guys!  You rock!

Help, Oh Facebook Techies Of The World!!!

So my favorite bloggess, Allie Brosh--I think you've all heard of her by now--is having an issue with Facebook, and for some reason her links have been marked as spam!!!  I really want to help her figure it out, because she has a new post and needs to be able to share it.

Does anyone know how to fix the spam issue, or why it would have happened???

Also, here's the link, since I couldn't share it with you all on FB.  It's so so so so so so so funny.  All of it.  Seriously.   Go read it. 

Blogging Has A Bad Rep Because In General, It SUCKS

You know why?

ALL BLOGS ARE SAPPY AND RELIGIOUS OR ABOUT BABIES.

What am I doing trying to make it in this world, anyway???

AP English And How It Was Lame

I was a smart kid, back in high school.  I took hard classes, especially in subjects that weren't math and science.  I think it's because I wasn't very cool or fun or fashionable or really very pretty either, at least not in an attractive-to-high-schoolers kind of way, and I had really crappy self-esteem.

So I thought, hell.  I'm smart.  I'll be the smart kid.  Maybe someone will like me cuz I help them with their homework or something.

Needless to say, this didn't work out too well.  People still didn't like me.

Anyway I was a huge nerd, especially with English and literature classes, so of course my junior and senior years I took Advanced Placement English.  Junior year it was awesome.  I had the most amazing teacher--to this day one of the best I've ever had--and I learned a TON.  He also gave me some awesome quotes, such as these:

"In this life, you have to make your own sandwich."

"Don't put yourself in a box."

He taught me about LIFE, man, and how to write in a way that pierces the reader.  It was amazing.

Senior year...not so much.

I had this wonderfully sweet lady for a teacher, and don't take this the wrong way, because she was sooooo nice and I think at one point in her career she was a really good teacher.

But by the time she got to my year she was starting to get quite old, and had a tendency to repeat herself.  A lot.

For example, I distinctly remember hearing her describe the way someone was talking, I think it was Hamlet, and this is LITERALLY what she said.

"And he went on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on...."

It was at least that many "and on's."

She also talked about nothing.  Most of class was spent listening to her "lecture," which meant listening to her rant about apostrophes or something and maybe repeat everything we'd already talked about last class.  I got a 5 on that AP test at the end of the year*, and it had more or less nothing to do with what I learned from her.  It was a combination of my own personal strength with literature and the knowledge I carried over from junior year AP English.

You know how I know it wasn't because of what she taught me?

Because I--the most attentive student of all time, who would have a horrible guilt complex for missing a question on homework or not studying quite as long as the teacher told me to--yes, even I could not pay attention in class.  I wrote in my notebook as if I was taking notes on her lecture, but really it was my diary and I was writing about my now-husband and how cute he was and how I wished he'd go out with me.  Or I'd get started on my homework for other classes.

Or, if I got really bored, I'd teach myself some literature skills and write poetry.

Like this:

Yeah. 

The senioritis didn't help either.

That was definitely the class I skipped the most that year.  And what's hilarious is that the whole thing was such a joke, none of this even hurt my grade.  I got a high A.  For scribbling in my diary, inwardly mocking the teacher, going home "sick" to skip the class all the time, and pretty much doing nothing but the papers.

Which I BS'ed, of course.

Just one more example of why I'm SO GLAD I'm done with high school.



*For those unfamiliar with the AP test system and how the grading works, 5 is good.  5 is the best you can get.

Congress' Vendetta Against Planned Parenthood: Me Being Furious, And What You Can Do

You guys, I'm very saddened and angry right now.  I'm sorry that this won't be a funny post.  But I need to get this off my chest.

Congress has just voted to bar all Planned Parenthood health care centers from federal funding.  I'm not joking.  And I'm not exactly one of those people who knows all the ins and outs of politics and knows every little thing that's going on, but I feel like I should have heard about this before it happened.  I'm so mad I could spit.

Watch this: 

http://jezebel.com/#!5764095/congresswomans-inspiring-speech-on-her-abortion-and-planned-parenthood

This is a really, really good video.  This congresswoman, Jackie Speier, is very brave and honest, and makes a very good speech. 

Here's the thing.  Even if you were against abortion (and on top of THAT, against abortions being legal...two different things), Planned Parenthood does SOOOOO much more than that!  They help girls avoid unwanted pregnancies (thereby reducing the frequency of abortions, btw), and avoid std's, and cancer.  They do amazing work, and this whole vendetta is just an excuse for some grumpy old white guys to feel like they're "taking a stand" against something they disagree with, because it makes them feel good about themselves to stick to some kind of "moral code."

UGH.  I'm soooooo mad.  One of my friends, whom I'd known since 5th grade, died from cancer a little over a year ago.  Another friend got pregnant in high school and felt pressured into marriage before she was ready.  This issue hits home for me--these girls made me want to do everything possible to help prevent illness in general, as well as unwanted pregnancies.  And many of my other friends rely on the birth control Planned Parenthood provides them to avoid bringing children into this world before they are ready to take care of them, including me.  I can't believe these people would be so petty and self-righteous as to take this protection away from these women and girls who desperately need it.  I'm furious.

Furious.

I'm going to go cry now.

If you want to help, you can go to this website and sign the letter:

https://secure.ppaction.org/site/SPageServer?pagename=pp_ppol_ws_I_Stand_with_PP&s_src=standwithppfeb2011_taf&JServSessionIdr004=fmqxyp1hud.app214a

Comments are appreciated.  I'm okay with having a discussion on here about this issue if you all need a place to talk about it too.  I ask that you are all respectful of one another and mature.  Aside from that, please...feel free to get whatever you need to off of your chest.

I love you guys.  You're awesome.


***Update:

This site is really good as well.  Go there.  :)

My Hair. Again.

It's fucking RED now.

And yes.  That is a bathroom.  At Burgerville, to be specific.

Don't judge.  I wanted to get a picture with my salon hair before I ruined it at the gym.

That's right.  I have awesome hair AND I work out. 

The Time I Belly-Danced Very Awkwardly In Front Of 100 People I Didn't Know

Most of you know I'm half Armenian by my father.

My Armenian family alone is pretty huge, but then if you throw in all their Armenian friends too, you end up with one crazy, awesome, huge party.

Armenians do parties RIGHT.  They're fancy, catered, and elegant, everyone dresses their best (and Armenians are fucking CLASSY people...I felt a little out of place in my Macy's juniors dress and hand-me-down shoes), and there's plenty of alcohol for everyone.  And when I say everyone, I mean everyone.  There are bottles of booze on the kids table.

My first experience at one of these parties was...interesting.  It was also the first time I'd been drunk, which is really quite a lot to accomplish in one night if you think about it.

Thank God my alcohol-experienced brother was there walking me through it.  I didn't know how to drink.  My experience was more or less limited to a glass of wine with dinner here and there.

Anyway so a couple drinks into the evening everyone's getting relaxed and starting to have fun.  Andre and I sat with the kids for a little while just to socialize and be polite, and while he was talking to a relative I made pleasant conversation with an 11-year-old girl next to me.

She was really sweet and fun, but a little awkward.  For example, a little while into the conversation, she noticed that Andre and I were closer than just buddies.

 

An understandable question.  Andre and I are the same age; only four months apart.  Most people who looked at us would either think we were twins or that we were together.

So...if someone told you that they were brother and sister, that would automatically make you back off the "do you liiiiiike him???" sleepover talk, right?  That's what I thought too.

Ugh.

Awkward.

Meanwhile, a belly-dancer that the hostess hired is doing her thing.  Everyone thinks she's pretty good, but sorta wishes she'd go away so they could all dance.  Except me--I'm enraptured.  I've never seen a belly-dancer before, and it's SO cool!  I took a bunch of pictures and stared in awe.

When she was finished, everyone went back to dancing, and after putting another drink in me, my father and my strange new 11-year-old friend convinced me to join them. 

The rest of the evening consisted of drinking, eating, and letting the 11-year-old force me to dance with her.  And watching my brother flirt.  And my father.

Until the belly-dancer came on again.

And by now, I'd had enough alcohol to be clumsy.  Correction, I'd had enough alcohol to be clumsier than usual.

This time, she brought various people up to dance with her, including the hostess and the guest of honor.  Then she started pulling up random people in the audience.

Yes.  Me.

And I belly-danced.  Tried.  While tipsy.

It was sad.  It would have been okay if I'd been allowed to just kinda dance free-form, but she brought me and one of my distant cousins up with her and was trying to teach us moves.  So we had to do THOSE things.  Things we weren't good at.

Like hold our arms out to the side and wiggle our boobs.

I think my father got a video of it, but I don't have it anymore or I'd post it here for you.  I'm starting to think it's probably for the best, though.  Maybe that's something the world just shouldn't see.

Things I have learned from this experience:

1. 11-year-olds are weird.
2. The first time you get drunk, do it with someone who knows what they are doing.
3. Armenians are classy and sleek.  When going to one of their parties, invest in clothing that wasn't bought at a garage sale or a thrift store or, God forbid, Forever 21.
4. Before belly-dancing in public, make sure no one has a video camera.
5. Even if you decide it's safe to belly-dance in public, NEVER do the boob-wiggle move.

I hope you all benefit from my ever-expanding reserve of wisdom.

My Husband's Attempt At Awesomeness

It was pretty good, actually. His attempt.

Inspired by my use of Paintbrush (basically Paint for Macs) to create cute little pictures, and also by the movie "It's a Wonderful Life," Josh decided the other day to make me a picture.

Which is REALLY cute.

He spent all night working on it, so I told him I'd post it on my blog for the WORLD to see (because, after all, the whole world reads my blog).

"You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. Hey. That's a pretty good idea. I'll give you the moon, Mary."

Please note that I look like a Who (from Whoville) in mom pants, and that Josh looks far more Asian than he does in real life. 

My Epically Awesome New Quiz, Which You Should Take

You should take this quiz, for a number of reasons:

1.  Because it is wicked cool.

2.  Because it will tell you how awesome you are--and come on, who doesn't want to know THAT?

3.  Because it's more fun than doing your homework.


CLICK HERE FOR THE AWESOMENESS!!!!


Take it, and then post your results in the comments of this post!  It'll be fun!!!  :D

Ironic T-Shirt

Please note the size of this McDonald's-themed t-shirt, and also that it was the only size they had.

Bruno Mars Is A Wickedly Ingenius Ladykiller

Bruno Mars, the singer of the recently popular "Grenade" and "Just the Way You Are," as well as the featured artist in B.O.B.'s "Nothin' On You" and Travie McCoy's "Billionaire," is actually more than just an attractive man with the voice of an angel and possibly also a terrible drug/partying addiction. He's also a fucking genius.

Allow me to explain.

This man has overcome all the odds. I mean yeah, he's cute and talented, so he had that going for him, but his name is BRUNO. He's had to spend his whole life trying to be something other than a big ugly bully or an outrageously gay German boy, because pretty much all Bruno's end up being one or the other.

So there's that.

Plus, he managed to come up with not one, not two, but THREE different songs that say EXACTLY what every girl in the whole fucking world wants to hear.

For example.

"When I see your face, there's not a thing that I would change, 'cause you're amazing just the way you are."

"Beautiful girls all over the world I could be chasing, but my time would be wasted, they've got nothing on you baby."

"I would catch a grenade for you, throw my hand on a blade for you, jump in front of a train for you, you know I'd do anything for you..."

"You know, I'd never ask you to change. If perfect's what you're searching for then just stay the same. So, don't even bother asking if you look okay."


And the thing is, other people have been trying for decades. Maybe longer. I was thinking more along the lines of Rick Astley trying to say all the perfect stuff to pretend he wasn't gay (never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down...) but I guess even Greensleeves was trying pretty hard (Greensleeves, you were all my joy, and you know, Greensleeves, you were my delight...no one else but my dear Lady Greensleeves), and that was from the 1500's. But no one, in my opinion, has ever quite mastered it until now.

To those of us who see through it, it's actually a little bit sickening. But that's the thing--most people don't. Bruno Mars is just ridiculously popular, and every girl in the world melts a little and goes "awwwwwww......" whenever that old familiar "When I see your face..." starts playing.

Maybe if I change my blog to the theme of "Saying only things people want to hear" I'll get famous.

Me And My Package...

So I just had a conversation with my parents about male genitalia and how it really isn't much to look at.  My dad pointed out that despite that fact, men still seem to strut around trying to show it off.  For whatever reason.

The funny part was when my mom quietly started singing.


Me, and my package,
Strolling down the avenue...
Me, and my package,
All alone and feeling blue!


To the tune of Me and My Shadow.

And then she pointed out how surprisingly accurate that last line actually was.

And I decided it was only right to share this hilarity with the world.



I have the classiest jokes ever.

A Little Google Experiment

Today, I have decided to put the key words from all of my post titles so far into Google and see what comes up.

If one of my posts actually comes up, I get to go have a manicure today, I've decided. Because I can't really afford a manicure, but I could probably make it work if I had an excuse. Which I would because the chances of my posts making the first page or two of Google is ridiculously slim, so I'd just have to celebrate, right?

But I'm more doing this because I think it might be entertaining.

Here goes!


All right here are the winners in awesomeness. Are you ready?

Yay manicure! Who wants to come with me and help me celebrate my mini-success? 

A Quick Update On My Point (Because You Were Probably Thinking "...And What's Your Point?")

My blog was originally intended to be a collection of funny stories from my many and varied job experiences.

But I realized a few things.

1. I have lots of stories. But there is a limited number of them.

2. I don't always feel like writing about work. Sometimes I feel like writing about trapezoids or random guys dancing on the sidewalk.

3. I kinda don't feel like putting myself in a "theme" box.

4. Realistically, I'm going to write about whatever I fucking want to write about. Whether I have a "theme" or not. So I should probably ease away from my theme a bit.


So...don't be surprised if you only get a work story every once in a while. But I will do my absolute best to be as funny as I can, no matter what I'm writing about.

It would help if you loved me, followed me, commented on my stories, shared my stories with others, etc. I'm pretty heavily dependent on your approval. ;)

In the words of my favorite blogger ever, "Please make me famous!"


Please Also See:

Updated Version Of My Goals With This Blog

My Favorite Blogger Ever

Christina Aguilera Messed Up the Lyrics to the National Anthem ...Leaving Me Very Disappointed

So I'm watching the Superbowl, and Christina Aguilera steps out to sing the national anthem. I don't pay attention to this shit until it happens, so I was surprised.

And pleasantly so, because I've had this huge crush on her lately.

I've been going through YouTube watching all of her music videos these last couple days, and I've officially decided fuck the critics, I'm going to see Burlesque anyway. I love her. She's awesome.

And then, in the middle of her beautiful rendition of our national anthem, she forgets the ever-elusive "o'er the ramparts we watched" line.

Such a bummer.

Jack-In-The-Box and Trapezoids

One of my friends and I were talking about some of the unusual fetishes out there one day (you know...plastic wrap, sneezes, certain vegetables, etc) when we realized that really, probably anything is a fetish to someone.

Meaning you never know what you could be doing or wearing or saying that's making someone near you pitch a tent.

Someone could be reaaalllly turned on by, say, Jack-in-the-Box, or trapezoids, and you could be sitting there eating your lunch and doodling shapes on the napkin and unknowingly turn some guy on. He'd be like standing over you, breathing heavily, and you'd have no idea what was going on.

And that gave me a really funny mental picture that I thought I should share with you all.

Jan

Jan was a lady I cleaned house for.

She was evil.

Oh, sure, on the surface she was just a sweet old lady with a crapload of knick-knacks. But you’d better watch your back around her, because she might just stab it with a broken collectable teacup.

I cleaned for her once a month while I was in college and then for a little while afterward. I dreaded it every time. I didn’t make as much money with her as I normally did cleaning, and it was a flat rate, so it’s not like if it was harder to clean one month and took me longer I’d get paid for it.

Which sucked enough already.

Then on top of it, she’d follow me around the whole time I was cleaning, telling me how to do it, talking my ear off with her horribly boring stories, and making me feel guilty for not moving every single one of her literally 600 or so knick-knacks when I dusted.

She also had this sneaky way of taking a rather nasty insult and wrapping it up all pretty in a sort of pseudo-compliment layer.

Bitch.