The year is... Well, sometime in the future.
I find myself in an arcade with several friends and The Boyfriend. Well, they aren't so much with me, as they are existing in the same building. I'm failing at a claw game, or a racing game, or a combination of the two. The frustration leads me to leave the arcade and go to a nearby supermarket to buy candy.
That's where the news hits...
Taylor Swift is dead.
I read and reread the newspaper headline before hurling it in the face of the cashier and running outside. I promptly board the waiting helicopter and set off towards England or Africa. Possibly both.
The ride is short, and soon the wreckage of Taylor's plane is in sight. Our copter lowers and my team of scientists and archeologists approaches. There are burnt bodies and debris covering the ground. What's happened hear?
We set out to understand what has caused this horrible tragedy when the sounds of vicious monkey-lions carries onto our camp. Quick! Who's the most useless member of our team? We decide to sacrifice the blonde woman and threw her to the monkey-lions where she met a horrible demise - more horrible than that of Taylor Swift.
Although, after more hunting, we find that it was not Taylor Swift, but her mother (two weeks pregnant) who has been killed. Was she pregnant with Taylor? If so, how do the newspapers realize that a future pop/country star is dead before reaching her fame? It just doesn't make any sense!
The excavation continues.
Days later, the monkey-lions have returned. I run. I run as fast as my legs can carry me through the deserted suburbs. My team follows, but they have no sense of urgency, and a few of them are picked off.
The world is becoming more and more deserted, and I think I'm truly in England now. There is a McDonalds across the street from a big red barn, but the freeway-bridge behind it is collapsed. What kind of place is this?
I hide in the barn, peeking out through the windows to see if the monkey-lions are chasing us. Several of my team members have made it, and we stay still and silent. But a mob of people is running towards us! We panic, unsure of how everyone is going to fit in this barn! Surely this isn't to fire code.
A ladder drops from the ceiling and Kellan Lutz summons us to the rafters above the barn. We climb the ladder and manage to raise it to the ceiling and hide before the mob of crazy people and monkey-lions enter the barn and prowl around. People are dying below us, but it's okay because we're safe.
The rafters aren't really rafters, but a stadium with an open roof. It's beautiful out. Somehow, being up here makes the world look like a less catastrophic version of itself. There are fireworks, even! Kellan and his friends are singing the Star Spangled Banner, and we all celebrate our country's independence... From the country we are in.
No one seems to know where they are in this strange, post-apocalyptic world.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Thursday, July 8, 2010
The nun the got away...
Recently, I was almost involved in an act so dreadful that it would have guaranteed me a one-way ticket to Hell.
My current ticket is round-trip. But it's also invalid.
I almost killed a nun.
Well, technically, I wasn't driving the death-machine, so maybe my hands are clean. But my friend and I were driving through a parking lot trying to find somewhere to shop. You see, we were going to an Adam Lambert concert, so we needed crazy clothes. Somehow, crazy clothes turned to crazy minds. And crazy minds should not be driving.
Well, as we're both staring out of MY window at this store, trying to decide whether or not to approach, I turn back to the road to see a woman in the cross walk.
"OLD WOMAN!" I screamed.
My friend glances back and slams on her breaks, at which point, the woman glanced at us.
"NUUUUUUUN!" I yelled.
We stopped.
This woman. This nun! She had an insane face. One eye was just a little bigger than the other, and her nose was clearly the king of her face-kingdom. And she just stared at us. Stared as she shuffled across the road. It's like she was damning us to Hell.
I have a thing about yelling short phrases when I'm in distress. Once, my freshman year of college, I almost died in an elevator.
These elevators were KNOWN for eating backpacks and extremities. Well, as I was walking through the door to board the hungry elevator, the doors began to close on me. Quickly, too. We're not talking hungry like a venus fly trap. Hungry like, maybe, a jackal.
So I stopped, raised my left leg, scrunched up my shoulders, turned partially around to look at my roommate behind me, and yelled...
"ELEVATOOOOR!"
Fortunately, I survived.
My current ticket is round-trip. But it's also invalid.
I almost killed a nun.
Well, technically, I wasn't driving the death-machine, so maybe my hands are clean. But my friend and I were driving through a parking lot trying to find somewhere to shop. You see, we were going to an Adam Lambert concert, so we needed crazy clothes. Somehow, crazy clothes turned to crazy minds. And crazy minds should not be driving.
Well, as we're both staring out of MY window at this store, trying to decide whether or not to approach, I turn back to the road to see a woman in the cross walk.
"OLD WOMAN!" I screamed.
My friend glances back and slams on her breaks, at which point, the woman glanced at us.
"NUUUUUUUN!" I yelled.
We stopped.
This woman. This nun! She had an insane face. One eye was just a little bigger than the other, and her nose was clearly the king of her face-kingdom. And she just stared at us. Stared as she shuffled across the road. It's like she was damning us to Hell.
I have a thing about yelling short phrases when I'm in distress. Once, my freshman year of college, I almost died in an elevator.
These elevators were KNOWN for eating backpacks and extremities. Well, as I was walking through the door to board the hungry elevator, the doors began to close on me. Quickly, too. We're not talking hungry like a venus fly trap. Hungry like, maybe, a jackal.
So I stopped, raised my left leg, scrunched up my shoulders, turned partially around to look at my roommate behind me, and yelled...
"ELEVATOOOOR!"
Fortunately, I survived.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
You are MAYBE a dick
I have a pet peeve.
If you've ever RSVPed to anything I've ever done, you probably know what this is...
Maybe.
We live in a culture of MAYBE. I blame Facebook. It wasn't until FB decided that "Maybe" was an acceptable RSVP that people started using it like gasoline.
Holy fuckballs.
Slow down, people! We are not in a race to use up all the fucking "maybes"!
Do you know what happens when you say "maybe" to an event? You look like a prick.
"Hey best friend since we met on the playground in third grade! I'm getting married three months and four days from now at 7pm! I want you to be my Maid of Honor!"
"Oh. Um. Maybe."
What? Really? What the fuck, lady?
Why "maybe" makes you look like an asshole:
1) This is what you say when you know for sure you aren't going to attend an event, but you don't want to look like a douche. Invariably, you end up looking like a bigger douche because you are not only giving a false sense of "yes", but you're also blatantly lying. "My kitten's funeral is tomorrow, can you come?" "Oh, er, maybe..." And you think you can just avoid the dead kitten's mother until after the funeral when you can make some sorry excuse like your OWN kitten died!
2) You're essentially saying "I'll be there, UNLESS something better comes along." Wow. I feel important to you. Unless, say, your girlfriend decides it's a good night for anal sex, you're going to come to my birthday party. Awesome.
3) You're really saying "my time is WAY more important than your time." Why? Well, when I'm planning an event, there are a lot of factors. Maybe food. Maybe parking. Alcohol, of course. Fire safety. All of these things need to be considered. When you say "maybe" as a place holder, you want me to count you - I am getting your share of food, booze, and fire code. But you might not show up. What do I do, then? Find someone else?
You know what? If I invite you to an event of mine, don't say "maybe" unless you mean it. Unless you have something tentative planned. Maybe your mom is having a family reunion that week, but she hasn't decided the day yet. She has priority because she was FIRST!
Really, just say no. Straight up. Frankly, if you ever say "maybe" to me, I count you as a "no" anyway.
If you've ever RSVPed to anything I've ever done, you probably know what this is...
Maybe.
We live in a culture of MAYBE. I blame Facebook. It wasn't until FB decided that "Maybe" was an acceptable RSVP that people started using it like gasoline.
Holy fuckballs.
Slow down, people! We are not in a race to use up all the fucking "maybes"!
Do you know what happens when you say "maybe" to an event? You look like a prick.
"Hey best friend since we met on the playground in third grade! I'm getting married three months and four days from now at 7pm! I want you to be my Maid of Honor!"
"Oh. Um. Maybe."
What? Really? What the fuck, lady?
Why "maybe" makes you look like an asshole:
1) This is what you say when you know for sure you aren't going to attend an event, but you don't want to look like a douche. Invariably, you end up looking like a bigger douche because you are not only giving a false sense of "yes", but you're also blatantly lying. "My kitten's funeral is tomorrow, can you come?" "Oh, er, maybe..." And you think you can just avoid the dead kitten's mother until after the funeral when you can make some sorry excuse like your OWN kitten died!
2) You're essentially saying "I'll be there, UNLESS something better comes along." Wow. I feel important to you. Unless, say, your girlfriend decides it's a good night for anal sex, you're going to come to my birthday party. Awesome.
3) You're really saying "my time is WAY more important than your time." Why? Well, when I'm planning an event, there are a lot of factors. Maybe food. Maybe parking. Alcohol, of course. Fire safety. All of these things need to be considered. When you say "maybe" as a place holder, you want me to count you - I am getting your share of food, booze, and fire code. But you might not show up. What do I do, then? Find someone else?
You know what? If I invite you to an event of mine, don't say "maybe" unless you mean it. Unless you have something tentative planned. Maybe your mom is having a family reunion that week, but she hasn't decided the day yet. She has priority because she was FIRST!
Really, just say no. Straight up. Frankly, if you ever say "maybe" to me, I count you as a "no" anyway.
Monday, June 7, 2010
How Earwigs affect Sarah
I had a job interview today. (Yay!) So I am no longer unemployed. Not that I'm *really* employed, but I'm at least more employed than I was previously. This is cause for celebration. Furthermore, the fact that the job interview was approximately 10 minutes long and 110% positive is great.
If you've ever had an awkward job interview, you know how, well, awkward it can be. I've never had a bad interview, but I've definitely had awkward ones. This was certainly not one of them. Well, until the earwig happened.
Everything was great. I had a nice, solid hand shake. I smiled. I was bubbly. I explained how awesome I am, and also how overqualified I was for the position at hand. Yes, everything was perfect.
But then when I pulled out my day planner to check which day I could start...
There was an earwig on it.
I. Flipped. A. Shit.
Me: Oh my GOD!
Manager: What happened?
Me: Ahhhh!!!!!
Manager: *puzzled look*
Me: WHAT DO I DO????
Manager: What is it???
Me: A BUG! AN EARWIG! GROOOOOSSS!!!!!
Fortunately, my (new) manager was chivalrous to slay the beast before it had time to inflict further damage upon my mental health, physical well-being, and image.
Those bugs are fucking disgusting.
If you've ever had an awkward job interview, you know how, well, awkward it can be. I've never had a bad interview, but I've definitely had awkward ones. This was certainly not one of them. Well, until the earwig happened.
Everything was great. I had a nice, solid hand shake. I smiled. I was bubbly. I explained how awesome I am, and also how overqualified I was for the position at hand. Yes, everything was perfect.
But then when I pulled out my day planner to check which day I could start...
There was an earwig on it.
I. Flipped. A. Shit.
Me: Oh my GOD!
Manager: What happened?
Me: Ahhhh!!!!!
Manager: *puzzled look*
Me: WHAT DO I DO????
Manager: What is it???
Me: A BUG! AN EARWIG! GROOOOOSSS!!!!!
Fortunately, my (new) manager was chivalrous to slay the beast before it had time to inflict further damage upon my mental health, physical well-being, and image.
Those bugs are fucking disgusting.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Pokemon, Peanut Butter, and Vaccuums
I have final exams next week. As a result, we have run out of stuff to learn in my classes for the last two weeks. I don't understand why we didn't have exams two weeks ago, but I guess they like to let that knowledge fester, rot, and fall away to nothing before they test us on it. It makes sense, in a sick and fucked up kind of way.
So anyway, we haven't had real class for a while. Except in my Japanese class, we had half of our final already. I really suck balls at Japanese, despite having a huge desire to be fluent enough to navigate my way to a one night stand in Japan. I mean... What? I don't know. I am actually probably fluent enough to do that now, but I do really suck.
But today was the first day that I've had absolutely no class. So what did I plan to do? Everything. No class means I get to wake up early and clean and organize things and do some data-entry for my business and work on all that stuff that I've been putting off for weeks. Actually months. Pretty much since this semester started. No one likes to do work when they're in school. That's absurd!
Somehow, though, I have wound up curled up on the floor in front of the television with a carton of Peanut Butter Pie Froyo. It's almost 4pm and I haven't gotten dressed, showered, or accomplished anything.
That's not true, actually. I cleaned the bedroom. It was starting to smell like fish and feet were having an orgy in there, but now it smells a lot better. Like the fish left the orgy. But the feet are still kind of having a good time.
After that, I got distracted and tried to find out what the most popular Pokemon is currently. I haven't been able to find out a true 100% solid answer, but I think it's probably Pikachu. So I bead-sprited an Azumaril. And a Pikachu. Actually, a mini-chu. And a Togepi.
I really want to keep cleaning, but the afternoon has all the best HGTV shows on. Somehow, I am a sucker for this crazy channel. Right now is Color Splash, but I've actually seen this episode four times already... It never gets worse, though.
And I'm out of Froyo. Sadness.
But at least I have a cute Pokemon army.
So anyway, we haven't had real class for a while. Except in my Japanese class, we had half of our final already. I really suck balls at Japanese, despite having a huge desire to be fluent enough to navigate my way to a one night stand in Japan. I mean... What? I don't know. I am actually probably fluent enough to do that now, but I do really suck.
But today was the first day that I've had absolutely no class. So what did I plan to do? Everything. No class means I get to wake up early and clean and organize things and do some data-entry for my business and work on all that stuff that I've been putting off for weeks. Actually months. Pretty much since this semester started. No one likes to do work when they're in school. That's absurd!
Somehow, though, I have wound up curled up on the floor in front of the television with a carton of Peanut Butter Pie Froyo. It's almost 4pm and I haven't gotten dressed, showered, or accomplished anything.
That's not true, actually. I cleaned the bedroom. It was starting to smell like fish and feet were having an orgy in there, but now it smells a lot better. Like the fish left the orgy. But the feet are still kind of having a good time.
After that, I got distracted and tried to find out what the most popular Pokemon is currently. I haven't been able to find out a true 100% solid answer, but I think it's probably Pikachu. So I bead-sprited an Azumaril. And a Pikachu. Actually, a mini-chu. And a Togepi.
I really want to keep cleaning, but the afternoon has all the best HGTV shows on. Somehow, I am a sucker for this crazy channel. Right now is Color Splash, but I've actually seen this episode four times already... It never gets worse, though.
And I'm out of Froyo. Sadness.
But at least I have a cute Pokemon army.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
I Just Had a Sex Dream About You
I'm not cocky. That is to say that I don't have a cock, I don't crow at sunrise, and I'm not a narcissist. Two of those statements are true and one is a sort of a lie. Anyway, this isn't really going anywhere. Not true. We throw the best parties. We being my boyfriend and myself.
We recently held a Mustache Party at his place, and it was at least 70% badass. 20% drunkenness. And 10% chicks making out. Now, if you don't know what a Mustache Party is, you're totally missing out. Everyone puts on, draws on, or grows their favorite creepy dude and/or 70's pornstar facial hair and drinks their fucking face off.
Did I mention the chicks making out?
So anyway, I was pretty wasted so I don't remember a lot of the party. I remember pouring some water on my friend, and then moments later winding up on the floor covered in an entire bottle of water and in a mild to moderate amount of pain. She's strong as shit. No, really. If I could harness her power and sell her to fight, like, bears or something... I so would. But I love her too much to let her get mauled by a bear. Where the Hell was I going?
Oh yeah, I was kind of shitfaced so I don't remember a lot of the party itself, but I was cleaning up today and I found something weird. It appeared to be lines of white powder in the corner of the living room. Cocaine? No, my friends are too fucking weird for that... These lines were crushed up Lactaid pills. Really, guys? REALLY? That's awesome. And fucking weird.
Way weirder than the sunglasses I found in the microwave the next morning.
We recently held a Mustache Party at his place, and it was at least 70% badass. 20% drunkenness. And 10% chicks making out. Now, if you don't know what a Mustache Party is, you're totally missing out. Everyone puts on, draws on, or grows their favorite creepy dude and/or 70's pornstar facial hair and drinks their fucking face off.
Did I mention the chicks making out?
So anyway, I was pretty wasted so I don't remember a lot of the party. I remember pouring some water on my friend, and then moments later winding up on the floor covered in an entire bottle of water and in a mild to moderate amount of pain. She's strong as shit. No, really. If I could harness her power and sell her to fight, like, bears or something... I so would. But I love her too much to let her get mauled by a bear. Where the Hell was I going?
Oh yeah, I was kind of shitfaced so I don't remember a lot of the party itself, but I was cleaning up today and I found something weird. It appeared to be lines of white powder in the corner of the living room. Cocaine? No, my friends are too fucking weird for that... These lines were crushed up Lactaid pills. Really, guys? REALLY? That's awesome. And fucking weird.
Way weirder than the sunglasses I found in the microwave the next morning.
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