Okay so, I’m just looking around on yahoo.com reading a few articles, read a decent one about why there aren’t any Christmas movies coming out this year, and I found one about some movie that guy from Lars and the Real Girl is in, Blue Valentine, and it’s NC-17 rating just got bumped down to R. it was pretty good and as I scrolled down randomly I noticed the recent review which said this…
“This is outright disturbing. We adults know what oral sex entails, but why do we have to bring it upon the young generation. Wasnt Ryan Gossling in a family show for goodness sakes! What kind of message r we sending to the youthe of America? I guess thats why we fall soo far behind in education, because sex is what we excel at. Great job! not!” – Sarah
Just so you know, that phrase got 4 red squigglies and they’re perfectly fixable ones. Not like the one I just got for saying ‘squigglies’ which could not be fixed. That error was necessary. So, I usually ignore these moments because I have a fear of becoming too confident with the internet and it’s anonymity. I really really dislike confrontation of any kind. But for some reason today I feel confronty. Lovebunny can attest to this. So… I replied…
“sorry but I knew about oral sex way before 17. I think an R rating is sufficient enough to keep the truly vulnerable ones at bay. As for Ryan Gosling, he's been in several PG-13, R rated movies during his career, so I don't see how being in a family show is relevant. I used to be a baby, but now I'm driving and engaging in sexual intercourse (usually not at the same time). It's called progression, it's natural in an actor’s career and it's not like he's Bill Cosby or something. A movie with mouth-sex from Bill Cosby should most definitely be rated NC-17. Now for the message we are sending to the youth of America, it's not any different from before. You know, Saw1,2,3,4,5, is there 6 now? are all rated R, I think kids would be way more influenced when they witnessed that than a little cunnilingus. whew, my goodness that was long. sorry about that. oh, and film rating probably has nothing to do with why our education is so bad, that's a money thing.”
I think I realized by ‘progression’ that I was getting a little carried away. I used my real name too. I so wanted to use an alias, but completely hit send by accident. Sad face.
While I was replying I completely blanked on the medical term for eating a girl out. So I’m typing in google ‘mouth sex’ ‘female oral sex’ ‘oral sex with girls’ and I begin to think this might be a little fishy (no pun intended)(but kinda yeah). Thankfully that third one did it and it was right there on the top. It’s an awful sounding term.
That really helped my day today. I was having an awful day. Thank you Ryan Gosling for not really, (because it’s just a movie) giving some sweet (probably not all that graphic) cunnilingus to Michelle Williams.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Friday, October 29, 2010
the secret life of the Oxygen Network
I do not enjoy throwing up.
I don’t know anyone who really does, but I especially don’t.
My morning started out fairly normally, felt a little off but hey that’s normal I’d-kick-a-baby-to-go-back-to-sleep-right-now morning feelings. Got on the computer and ate some of my Sunflower Market knock-off oreos. Newman-O’s Hint O’ Mint flavor. It’s got that creepy farmer couple on the package, you know the guy with the pitch fork and the woman who really needs to get laid. You know the one. I think in the painting it was modeled after a farmer and his daughter. Talk about scarred for live. For her sake I hope no one really looked at American Gothic until they were long dead and rotting. Ew. So, I’m eating these farmy-incestuous oreo imposters and they’re a little too crumbly. Perhaps a tad stale. Fuck it, I’m poor and can’t afford to be picky about my breakfast foods. But apparently I should be because the baby-kicking feeling quickly grew into real stomach ache-ness and my poor gag reflex just wasn’t cooperating with the teeth brushing and then there I was hugging Lovebunny’s toilet and dry-heaving for the next 30 minutes. My tortured stomach did eventually get some of the conniving monstrous cookies up and out but not without some imaginative thinking on my part. Mostly remembering The Human Centipede. Does anyone else do that? Think awful vomit-worthy thoughts when you feel sick, just to make the process go a little faster? I do. Obviously. And it worked. And it was disgusting.
So apart from feeling slightly queasy all day, it wasn’t so terrible. We did get pizza. Because even though I still felt nauseous, I’d much rather have thrown up pizza than ramen. Which is what I had intended to eat. Oh this is the scary part! Sorry, I’m watching Buffy and I love this episode, but it’s one of the creepier ones. When everyone loses their voices and the spooky metal-teeth guys, the gentlemen, float around with their awesome music and I should really find this song for my ipod. This is when Tara is really introduced too. And the great Willow/Tara Lesbian!Love!Affair! kicks off and it’s so romantic and sweet and not at all as pornographic as one would hope. Alas, the restrictions of same-sex loving on television. You can see Buffy and Spike rutting away like animals but all Willow gets is some flirty looks and an innocent hand graze. I love this show. Speaking of shows…
On this site, I could update my profile and the last tab was a random question that I would supposedly answer in the wittiest way I could think of. I chose the fish one, if you’ve looked, and I hope my answer lives up to all the expectations you have for me. But another question I saw and regretfully skimmed over without fully thinking of the endless possibilities for which to form my answer was something about ‘what’s the latest you’ve stayed up watching cartoons and what did you see?’. A silly question in all honesty, I mean, really how interesting could that be? But then I remembered the night me and Lovebunny were watching tv until about 5am in the morning. It might be a stretch but I’m sure before that I was watching Adult Swim until it turns into AnimePorn. So when whatever show had ended and we were clicking through searching for something other than informercials and old 80’s sitcoms, we came across the Oxygen network. Notoriously a women’s channel. Specifically, a middle-aged cat lady channel. And there moving across the screen in the hands of the two lovely display girls, because this was definitely an infomercial, was the scariest dildo I’d ever seen. This… thing… was horrific. Possibly 13 inches long, 13 INCHES!!! WHY GOD WHY?!!?! And ugly and huge and bright glittery blue with all sorts of ridges and Merlin it was TERRIFYING! Lovebunny and I sat there in a sort of flabbergasted, petrified state just staring at these sexual horror toys from hell. We probably watched for half an hour. As disturbing as it was, I was almost… in awe. Who knew that the seemingly obnoxious Oxygen network turned into old annie’s sexy playground after 430am? I didn’t and I bet you didn’t either. Not all of it was frightening, they still had some normal vibrators and phallus shaped goodies and even some canned vaginas on there but yes, most of it had my eyes glued to the screen in fear, my thighs clamped together with all their cheeseburger strength. But in a way, as I said, a little awed, I admire you Oxygen channel. I admire your balls. For advertising the underground world of sex toys for women. It’s not something to be ashamed of and if men can have their porn and blow-up dolls then women should get their kicks too. So thank you, Oxygen for giving us the option. And for scaring the shit out of me.
I don’t know anyone who really does, but I especially don’t.
My morning started out fairly normally, felt a little off but hey that’s normal I’d-kick-a-baby-to-go-back-to-sleep-right-now morning feelings. Got on the computer and ate some of my Sunflower Market knock-off oreos. Newman-O’s Hint O’ Mint flavor. It’s got that creepy farmer couple on the package, you know the guy with the pitch fork and the woman who really needs to get laid. You know the one. I think in the painting it was modeled after a farmer and his daughter. Talk about scarred for live. For her sake I hope no one really looked at American Gothic until they were long dead and rotting. Ew. So, I’m eating these farmy-incestuous oreo imposters and they’re a little too crumbly. Perhaps a tad stale. Fuck it, I’m poor and can’t afford to be picky about my breakfast foods. But apparently I should be because the baby-kicking feeling quickly grew into real stomach ache-ness and my poor gag reflex just wasn’t cooperating with the teeth brushing and then there I was hugging Lovebunny’s toilet and dry-heaving for the next 30 minutes. My tortured stomach did eventually get some of the conniving monstrous cookies up and out but not without some imaginative thinking on my part. Mostly remembering The Human Centipede. Does anyone else do that? Think awful vomit-worthy thoughts when you feel sick, just to make the process go a little faster? I do. Obviously. And it worked. And it was disgusting.
So apart from feeling slightly queasy all day, it wasn’t so terrible. We did get pizza. Because even though I still felt nauseous, I’d much rather have thrown up pizza than ramen. Which is what I had intended to eat. Oh this is the scary part! Sorry, I’m watching Buffy and I love this episode, but it’s one of the creepier ones. When everyone loses their voices and the spooky metal-teeth guys, the gentlemen, float around with their awesome music and I should really find this song for my ipod. This is when Tara is really introduced too. And the great Willow/Tara Lesbian!Love!Affair! kicks off and it’s so romantic and sweet and not at all as pornographic as one would hope. Alas, the restrictions of same-sex loving on television. You can see Buffy and Spike rutting away like animals but all Willow gets is some flirty looks and an innocent hand graze. I love this show. Speaking of shows…
On this site, I could update my profile and the last tab was a random question that I would supposedly answer in the wittiest way I could think of. I chose the fish one, if you’ve looked, and I hope my answer lives up to all the expectations you have for me. But another question I saw and regretfully skimmed over without fully thinking of the endless possibilities for which to form my answer was something about ‘what’s the latest you’ve stayed up watching cartoons and what did you see?’. A silly question in all honesty, I mean, really how interesting could that be? But then I remembered the night me and Lovebunny were watching tv until about 5am in the morning. It might be a stretch but I’m sure before that I was watching Adult Swim until it turns into AnimePorn. So when whatever show had ended and we were clicking through searching for something other than informercials and old 80’s sitcoms, we came across the Oxygen network. Notoriously a women’s channel. Specifically, a middle-aged cat lady channel. And there moving across the screen in the hands of the two lovely display girls, because this was definitely an infomercial, was the scariest dildo I’d ever seen. This… thing… was horrific. Possibly 13 inches long, 13 INCHES!!! WHY GOD WHY?!!?! And ugly and huge and bright glittery blue with all sorts of ridges and Merlin it was TERRIFYING! Lovebunny and I sat there in a sort of flabbergasted, petrified state just staring at these sexual horror toys from hell. We probably watched for half an hour. As disturbing as it was, I was almost… in awe. Who knew that the seemingly obnoxious Oxygen network turned into old annie’s sexy playground after 430am? I didn’t and I bet you didn’t either. Not all of it was frightening, they still had some normal vibrators and phallus shaped goodies and even some canned vaginas on there but yes, most of it had my eyes glued to the screen in fear, my thighs clamped together with all their cheeseburger strength. But in a way, as I said, a little awed, I admire you Oxygen channel. I admire your balls. For advertising the underground world of sex toys for women. It’s not something to be ashamed of and if men can have their porn and blow-up dolls then women should get their kicks too. So thank you, Oxygen for giving us the option. And for scaring the shit out of me.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
There is a goat in my garbage disposal
Today was laundry day, good thing too because I was down to holey undies and shirts from the 8th grade. I did 7 loads. I guess that’s a lot… all of my and lovebunny’s clothes and towels in 7 neat little piles all over my living room floor. It’s an organized mess. And I’m watching Kill Bill because when I do laundry, I’m in a kickass mood. I don’t know how that works but yeah. I shove some clothes into the bottom dryer (the top ones are way too high to be convenient for a person of my awesomeness, so I settle for the ease of sticking my ass in the air as I push socks and PJs into the really too small machine, fucking hell they are ripping us off, $1.75 per load and it’s half the size of a normal unit, fuck you apartment washing and drying facilities, fuck you in your minuscule washing and drying holes that barely fit all my shit. That was an awful sentence. It was way too long and I had the beginning of parentheses up there but I never closed it and it’s too late to fix now. I suck and I apologize.
Along with laundry day it was also load the dishwasher day. A day that should come more often, preferably before I have to eat mashed potatoes with chopsticks or bear the shame of stuffing my face with a spatula. Not that I wouldn’t. if there’d been no chopsticks for stuck-up utensil sensibilities, I’d have taken that spatula. Anything for you, mashed potatoes. Anything to have your delicious and creamy thickness in my tummy. Is it just me, or did that sound sexual? Perhaps I meant it to be, nothing will ever come between me and my potatoes. Nothing. Stop trying, you will never compare to the sweet lovely tastiness that touches my tongue in the instant we are near. You are no match and will never bring to me the butterfly stomach happiness that potatoes do. Another bad thing about waiting so long is it smells like I killed a goat and stuffed it down the garbage disposal. I probably cut it up first. A goat would definitely not fit in my garbage disposal hole but there it is. Stinking on everything.
Hmm. I meant for this to be longer, some epic tale that would leave you crying, laughing, longing for my sexy ways, maybe a little confused and uncomfortable but don’t worry I won’t pressure you. Our time will be magical and sticky like all good first times should be. And you’ll blush and stammer and I’ll push my finger to your face and shhhhh, no talkey, this will be amazing honey-butt. And I promise, once I’ve finished and had a soda, maybe some more mashed potatoes and watched Family Guy, because you know I love that show, I promise I’ll come back and you can finish too. I’m sensitive to your feelings like that.
Along with laundry day it was also load the dishwasher day. A day that should come more often, preferably before I have to eat mashed potatoes with chopsticks or bear the shame of stuffing my face with a spatula. Not that I wouldn’t. if there’d been no chopsticks for stuck-up utensil sensibilities, I’d have taken that spatula. Anything for you, mashed potatoes. Anything to have your delicious and creamy thickness in my tummy. Is it just me, or did that sound sexual? Perhaps I meant it to be, nothing will ever come between me and my potatoes. Nothing. Stop trying, you will never compare to the sweet lovely tastiness that touches my tongue in the instant we are near. You are no match and will never bring to me the butterfly stomach happiness that potatoes do. Another bad thing about waiting so long is it smells like I killed a goat and stuffed it down the garbage disposal. I probably cut it up first. A goat would definitely not fit in my garbage disposal hole but there it is. Stinking on everything.
Hmm. I meant for this to be longer, some epic tale that would leave you crying, laughing, longing for my sexy ways, maybe a little confused and uncomfortable but don’t worry I won’t pressure you. Our time will be magical and sticky like all good first times should be. And you’ll blush and stammer and I’ll push my finger to your face and shhhhh, no talkey, this will be amazing honey-butt. And I promise, once I’ve finished and had a soda, maybe some more mashed potatoes and watched Family Guy, because you know I love that show, I promise I’ll come back and you can finish too. I’m sensitive to your feelings like that.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
5 tips for being Awesome
So I’ve been thinking about how I’m awesome and all and how not many people are. Not that they can’t or they’re just predisposed to being lame and unfunny for the rest of their lives, no, I think it’s because those poor socially incompetent people were just never shown the way. Don’t cry anymore my loves, I am here to fix it. I will save you from your boring sheep personality. No, shhhh, shhh, you’re welcome.
Tip number one
Get a Mohawk. Mohawks are the greatest hair style ever created. They are the rebels of the hair world. Those shaved sides say hey world, fuck you I’m awesome. Take my 1-4inches wide hair and suck it! Suck my big mohawked balls. I am sexy and don’t need your hair restraining rules!
Note – this is not to be confused with the faux-hawk. The faux-hawk is for pussies. It says hey world, I’m trying really hard to be badass but am too much of a fucking pansy to really go through with such a drastic change, I mean, my hair is serious business and omg what if people saw me they’d think I was some kind of freak and oh that would be just awful. Fuck you faux-hawk guy, you look like a tool and will never be as awesome as I am.
Tip number two
Get a theme song. Themes songs are handy musical selections that let everyone know right away what you’re all about. Picture this, everyone is keeping to themselves, probably waiting for something like standing in line at the bank or sitting in a classroom when all of a sudden a beat slices through the air. A music beat not the vegetable beet, in case you’re an idiot who can’t spell but has a great imagination. The pulse goes for a few moments and everyone’s like WTF/OMG IS THERE A BOMB OR SOMETHING?!!?! And then right as the intro picks up, you burst through preferably double doors and sing/dance a beautiful and complicated routine. Hopefully with some dancing on tables or counters or grocery register belts and waving arm movements and spins. Lots of spins. And it’s grand and epic and everyone is like holy shit! That guy is AWESOME!
Tip number three
Educate yourself. You can’t be awesome if you’re a dummy. Unless you’re an actual dummy which is pretty awesome but then you are probably illiterate and so this would be pointless for you. But if you’re a flesh and blood person with the capacity for speech and critical thinking, un-dummify yourself. Read Twilight so your anti-twilight arguments hold more weight. Study the dictionary so you can litter your sentences with long smart-people words. Get the answers from the back of the book. Stick to uncommon or unheard of topics so no one can really say anything and you come out sounding like a genius.
Tip number four
Get a super power. I know this one is tricky, but if you can somehow manage to gain a magical power, no matter how useless it may be, it is an automatic Awesome. I have been trying (and by trying I mean sitting in the living/computer room and thinking gee I wish I had magic powers) for a very long time and have thus far been unsuccessful in my endeavor. But when I do get them, because someday I will, I will not tell you. Really how stupid do you think I am? You will never learn my secret! I will be magical and you will not and I will rule all. YOU ARE NOT PREPARED!!!!
Tip number five
Be awesome. Okay so the last tip on how to be awesome being ‘be awesome’ is kind of redundant, I realize this. But honestly, it’s true. No one can tell you you’re awesome. You have to BELIEVE it. You have to know it yourself. Take me for example, I am pretty fucking awesome, but did someone tell me this? Not really no, at least not in a way I sincerely believed. I discovered my brilliance on my own. Now, my mother will probably have a fit over that, but honestly everyone with a mother knows you never believe what they tell you, not all the way. You could be the biggest douche alive and your mother would still think you’re an angel of awesomeness.
Tricky.
So, to recap… Mohawks are awesome, faux-hawks are ridiculous, theme songs work better if you have tables to dance upon, read twilight, prepare for my onslaught of lovebunnies, be awesome, not that it will help you from the impending fluffy doom.
Tip number one
Get a Mohawk. Mohawks are the greatest hair style ever created. They are the rebels of the hair world. Those shaved sides say hey world, fuck you I’m awesome. Take my 1-4inches wide hair and suck it! Suck my big mohawked balls. I am sexy and don’t need your hair restraining rules!
Note – this is not to be confused with the faux-hawk. The faux-hawk is for pussies. It says hey world, I’m trying really hard to be badass but am too much of a fucking pansy to really go through with such a drastic change, I mean, my hair is serious business and omg what if people saw me they’d think I was some kind of freak and oh that would be just awful. Fuck you faux-hawk guy, you look like a tool and will never be as awesome as I am.
Tip number two
Get a theme song. Themes songs are handy musical selections that let everyone know right away what you’re all about. Picture this, everyone is keeping to themselves, probably waiting for something like standing in line at the bank or sitting in a classroom when all of a sudden a beat slices through the air. A music beat not the vegetable beet, in case you’re an idiot who can’t spell but has a great imagination. The pulse goes for a few moments and everyone’s like WTF/OMG IS THERE A BOMB OR SOMETHING?!!?! And then right as the intro picks up, you burst through preferably double doors and sing/dance a beautiful and complicated routine. Hopefully with some dancing on tables or counters or grocery register belts and waving arm movements and spins. Lots of spins. And it’s grand and epic and everyone is like holy shit! That guy is AWESOME!
Tip number three
Educate yourself. You can’t be awesome if you’re a dummy. Unless you’re an actual dummy which is pretty awesome but then you are probably illiterate and so this would be pointless for you. But if you’re a flesh and blood person with the capacity for speech and critical thinking, un-dummify yourself. Read Twilight so your anti-twilight arguments hold more weight. Study the dictionary so you can litter your sentences with long smart-people words. Get the answers from the back of the book. Stick to uncommon or unheard of topics so no one can really say anything and you come out sounding like a genius.
Tip number four
Get a super power. I know this one is tricky, but if you can somehow manage to gain a magical power, no matter how useless it may be, it is an automatic Awesome. I have been trying (and by trying I mean sitting in the living/computer room and thinking gee I wish I had magic powers) for a very long time and have thus far been unsuccessful in my endeavor. But when I do get them, because someday I will, I will not tell you. Really how stupid do you think I am? You will never learn my secret! I will be magical and you will not and I will rule all. YOU ARE NOT PREPARED!!!!
Tip number five
Be awesome. Okay so the last tip on how to be awesome being ‘be awesome’ is kind of redundant, I realize this. But honestly, it’s true. No one can tell you you’re awesome. You have to BELIEVE it. You have to know it yourself. Take me for example, I am pretty fucking awesome, but did someone tell me this? Not really no, at least not in a way I sincerely believed. I discovered my brilliance on my own. Now, my mother will probably have a fit over that, but honestly everyone with a mother knows you never believe what they tell you, not all the way. You could be the biggest douche alive and your mother would still think you’re an angel of awesomeness.
Tricky.
So, to recap… Mohawks are awesome, faux-hawks are ridiculous, theme songs work better if you have tables to dance upon, read twilight, prepare for my onslaught of lovebunnies, be awesome, not that it will help you from the impending fluffy doom.
Please Don't Eat the Cat Food... part dos
don't let the title mislead you, this is not a second installment of the mancat saga. I have not discovered the culprit and as heartbreaking as it is for my optimistic personality, I probably never will. so you enjoy your freedom for now mutant mancat, one day it will end forever and though not by my hand, someone's hand. someone with a little more initiative. same goes for you, other theory of homeless bum with disturbing tastes. it is not over.
no, this is more a clarification of my previous post. thinking back on my prose, because I do that a lot, I realized you know, we might sound a little off to unsuspecting peoples. just a tad diagonal. so, I thought to remedy that with a little information about myself. aren't you excited? I know I am. first off, right now (not right now-right now though, right now-right now I am sitting at my boyfriend's computer trying very hard not to get Honey Bunches of Oats with Almonds into his keyboard, which is a lot harder a task than you realize, this cereal is full of little bits and quite rebellious without milk to keep it in line.) yeah, so right now, just the normal right now, I work at a Petsmart. supposedly the busiest Petsmart in Tucson. I have not seen evidence to support this yet. it is always rather dead when I am there. perhaps they can sense that I am not only not a people person, but also don't have an almost unhealthy obsession with rodents. I swear the guinea pigs glare at me as I walk by, plotting against me. plotting their evil little guinea pig plans. they should take up with mancat and start a band. I don't know why I just had that thought. it should've been something diabolical, but no, I said start a band. way to go, Erika, way. to. go.
because I work at a Petsmart, it is common for me to find tins of pet food all over the store, like Easter. this reminds me, just the other day, my boyfriend who I shall refer to as Lovebunny from now on. sorry, pause for my own sadistic laughter. and continue. Lovebunny and I were discussing analogies and that he is horrid at them and I am rather brilliant. it may not have been in those exact words, but that's what I took from our conversation. you see, a good analogy is between two things and is very general, bringing up a common similarity in said items but similarities so general and simplified that the same quality could be said to exist in numerous other things as well. now a really great analogy is between two things that are not very alike at all. when the writer has to strain their tired overworked mind for something that can tie these two together. something unique and novel and yet so general that everyone will immediately see the resemblance. like the jewel I wrote just up there. 'find tins of pet food all over the store, like Easter'. fuck, cue angel choir singing now. I am a genius. Easter. you get it? do you? DO YOU?!? you walk around aimlessly, looking for little flashes of color that shouldn't be there and voila! SUCCESS!!!! and if it's really like Easter and you found a real egg and not a plastic one that's kind of guaranteed to have something pretty good in it, candy or maybe a dollar. but you have a real egg in your grubby little hand, and no amount of food coloring and glitter will disguise the fact that you can see the cracking shell and smell the hard-boiledness inside. that disappointment is akin to what I feel every time I find a tin of petfood in a random, out of the way spot. not that I am against easter eggs, I'm really not, I will dye their eggy shells til I reek of vinegar and my fingers are stained. and they will be beautiful. my eggs are always BEAUTIFUL. no, I am only mentioning the disdain I had as a child for the bland mushy balls of nasty, hidden behind a pink layer of Easter cheer. you know what I'm talking about. you know.
so... I lost my train of thought thinking about Easter. oh yes, petsmart and clarification so you know we are not crazy. yes. see? I have every reason to write about the spoils of cat food and the victims that fall to it's flavor name writing skills. if I worked at Toys R us, you might think differently. but I have every reason. every. reason. I like repeating the important bits, it makes me feel empowered. EMPOWERED. it's like magic. Like Magic. okay, enough of that we very nearly ruined it for myself. I hope you learned something from this. if only that I am not camping out in Petsmart, laying traps for the mancat, I have given up on that front. you can stop worrying, though putting myself out there for the vicious Seafood Surprise-loving mancat is definitely sufficient cause for worry. I would use a cat magazine full of scantily clad kitties. for the traps I mean. doing that thing they do where they stick their ass in the air as you pet down their back. I don't like that, it makes me uncomfortable and damn you for suggesting I do it because 'oh she likes that' and I do not want to look at your cats butt hole but now I just did. Thanks a lot Douchebag. you disgust me.
no, this is more a clarification of my previous post. thinking back on my prose, because I do that a lot, I realized you know, we might sound a little off to unsuspecting peoples. just a tad diagonal. so, I thought to remedy that with a little information about myself. aren't you excited? I know I am. first off, right now (not right now-right now though, right now-right now I am sitting at my boyfriend's computer trying very hard not to get Honey Bunches of Oats with Almonds into his keyboard, which is a lot harder a task than you realize, this cereal is full of little bits and quite rebellious without milk to keep it in line.) yeah, so right now, just the normal right now, I work at a Petsmart. supposedly the busiest Petsmart in Tucson. I have not seen evidence to support this yet. it is always rather dead when I am there. perhaps they can sense that I am not only not a people person, but also don't have an almost unhealthy obsession with rodents. I swear the guinea pigs glare at me as I walk by, plotting against me. plotting their evil little guinea pig plans. they should take up with mancat and start a band. I don't know why I just had that thought. it should've been something diabolical, but no, I said start a band. way to go, Erika, way. to. go.
because I work at a Petsmart, it is common for me to find tins of pet food all over the store, like Easter. this reminds me, just the other day, my boyfriend who I shall refer to as Lovebunny from now on. sorry, pause for my own sadistic laughter. and continue. Lovebunny and I were discussing analogies and that he is horrid at them and I am rather brilliant. it may not have been in those exact words, but that's what I took from our conversation. you see, a good analogy is between two things and is very general, bringing up a common similarity in said items but similarities so general and simplified that the same quality could be said to exist in numerous other things as well. now a really great analogy is between two things that are not very alike at all. when the writer has to strain their tired overworked mind for something that can tie these two together. something unique and novel and yet so general that everyone will immediately see the resemblance. like the jewel I wrote just up there. 'find tins of pet food all over the store, like Easter'. fuck, cue angel choir singing now. I am a genius. Easter. you get it? do you? DO YOU?!? you walk around aimlessly, looking for little flashes of color that shouldn't be there and voila! SUCCESS!!!! and if it's really like Easter and you found a real egg and not a plastic one that's kind of guaranteed to have something pretty good in it, candy or maybe a dollar. but you have a real egg in your grubby little hand, and no amount of food coloring and glitter will disguise the fact that you can see the cracking shell and smell the hard-boiledness inside. that disappointment is akin to what I feel every time I find a tin of petfood in a random, out of the way spot. not that I am against easter eggs, I'm really not, I will dye their eggy shells til I reek of vinegar and my fingers are stained. and they will be beautiful. my eggs are always BEAUTIFUL. no, I am only mentioning the disdain I had as a child for the bland mushy balls of nasty, hidden behind a pink layer of Easter cheer. you know what I'm talking about. you know.
so... I lost my train of thought thinking about Easter. oh yes, petsmart and clarification so you know we are not crazy. yes. see? I have every reason to write about the spoils of cat food and the victims that fall to it's flavor name writing skills. if I worked at Toys R us, you might think differently. but I have every reason. every. reason. I like repeating the important bits, it makes me feel empowered. EMPOWERED. it's like magic. Like Magic. okay, enough of that we very nearly ruined it for myself. I hope you learned something from this. if only that I am not camping out in Petsmart, laying traps for the mancat, I have given up on that front. you can stop worrying, though putting myself out there for the vicious Seafood Surprise-loving mancat is definitely sufficient cause for worry. I would use a cat magazine full of scantily clad kitties. for the traps I mean. doing that thing they do where they stick their ass in the air as you pet down their back. I don't like that, it makes me uncomfortable and damn you for suggesting I do it because 'oh she likes that' and I do not want to look at your cats butt hole but now I just did. Thanks a lot Douchebag. you disgust me.
Please Don't Eat the Cat Food...
so, being back in the retail world is reminding me about all the little things that I really really hated there. not like bring a gun and start delivering people kind of hate, but ranty I'm grumpy and want to explode my complaint bubble all over you so I'm not the only one stuck cleaning black ooze off from every where kind of hate. I imagine it's black and gooey, just hanging over my head like this disgusting shiny blob... yeah.
anyway, back to my ranting. While stocking today at work, I discovered a half open tin of cat food. It was very well hidden, stuffed behind a row of cat litter that otherwise would've gone undisturbed but I had nothing to do and wanted to use the handy ladder. did I mention it was on the top shelf? Who the fuck half opens cat food and throws it on the top shelf? did we have some mutant man-cat living in a makeshift cabin of litter boxes? did I scare him away with my inane self-chatter and squeaky ladder? chatter and ladder... oh that bothers me now, it's not quite a rhyme but annoying enough to fit the criteria. ugh. okay, ignore it, just ignore it. yes, a man-cat. what a perfect setup too, a pet store. he'd get all the tins of kitty food he'd ever dare to hope for. as lovely and fantastical as that theory seemed, I entertained it for maybe 3 minutes before deciding it was highly unlikely. someone would have spotted him by now, and although hazing the new girl with a scare by the store-mutant wouldn't surprise me, I have made some nice acquaintances there and I think they'd have warned me. or at least hinted. more possibly it was some customer who for whatever reason began to open a tin of Sea Captain's Special flavor Friskies, perhaps wanting a light snack while shopping for the kittens, and realized 'oh wait, I am in a place of business and it is inappropriate for me to enjoy this without having purchased it first' and then he quickly chucked it into the air where it comically bounced atop the two aisles in between and finally settled in the spot where I came across it.
really people, I know the pet food can look quite tasty. trust me, after 8 hours when all you've eaten is half a bag of vending machine chips, the biscuits and jerkies look pretty damn good. and though I myself have never had the urge to eat canned cat food, I can understand why one might think it an excellent idea. it's the flavor-names. Grilled Salmon and Potatoes, Roast Lamb with Rice, Succulent beef tips marinated in gravy... hell, my mouth is watering as I type this. if you're starving and poor, this may be a wonderful opportunity for you, some of those cans are only 50cents each! that's pretty fucking awesome for Rotisserie Chicken in Meaty Juices. but please, restrain yourself until you're back in your homey little cardboard box and enjoy your Gourmet Whiskas in peace. or if you simply cannot resist, eat the whole fucking can and don't hide it for some young incredibly attractive still admittedly 'new' employee to find in the cat litter.
anyway, back to my ranting. While stocking today at work, I discovered a half open tin of cat food. It was very well hidden, stuffed behind a row of cat litter that otherwise would've gone undisturbed but I had nothing to do and wanted to use the handy ladder. did I mention it was on the top shelf? Who the fuck half opens cat food and throws it on the top shelf? did we have some mutant man-cat living in a makeshift cabin of litter boxes? did I scare him away with my inane self-chatter and squeaky ladder? chatter and ladder... oh that bothers me now, it's not quite a rhyme but annoying enough to fit the criteria. ugh. okay, ignore it, just ignore it. yes, a man-cat. what a perfect setup too, a pet store. he'd get all the tins of kitty food he'd ever dare to hope for. as lovely and fantastical as that theory seemed, I entertained it for maybe 3 minutes before deciding it was highly unlikely. someone would have spotted him by now, and although hazing the new girl with a scare by the store-mutant wouldn't surprise me, I have made some nice acquaintances there and I think they'd have warned me. or at least hinted. more possibly it was some customer who for whatever reason began to open a tin of Sea Captain's Special flavor Friskies, perhaps wanting a light snack while shopping for the kittens, and realized 'oh wait, I am in a place of business and it is inappropriate for me to enjoy this without having purchased it first' and then he quickly chucked it into the air where it comically bounced atop the two aisles in between and finally settled in the spot where I came across it.
really people, I know the pet food can look quite tasty. trust me, after 8 hours when all you've eaten is half a bag of vending machine chips, the biscuits and jerkies look pretty damn good. and though I myself have never had the urge to eat canned cat food, I can understand why one might think it an excellent idea. it's the flavor-names. Grilled Salmon and Potatoes, Roast Lamb with Rice, Succulent beef tips marinated in gravy... hell, my mouth is watering as I type this. if you're starving and poor, this may be a wonderful opportunity for you, some of those cans are only 50cents each! that's pretty fucking awesome for Rotisserie Chicken in Meaty Juices. but please, restrain yourself until you're back in your homey little cardboard box and enjoy your Gourmet Whiskas in peace. or if you simply cannot resist, eat the whole fucking can and don't hide it for some young incredibly attractive still admittedly 'new' employee to find in the cat litter.
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