Posts Tagged ‘humorous blog’

Go Big or Go Home

Wednesday, June 19th, 2013
He had such an interesting face.

He had such an interesting face.

I just thoughtlessly ate a whole bunch of chocolate covered espresso beans while my mind was otherwise occupied.

This probably explains the sensation that I’m in whirling vortex through time.

This – in an abstract way, although that kind of thought is more challenging than it might usually be seeing as I’m all amped up on caffeine and chocolate and whatnot -  also seems to support my burgeoning theory that I don’t seem to know how to do anything in a casual or non-committed manner.

“Have fun!”

“Just try it for a while and don’t take it seriously!”

“Keep it casual.”

I don’t know what these words mean, at least when strung together into those particular sentences.

This has been proven to me in spades by my recent return to working out.

I’ve been out of the exercise loop in a  SERIOUS way and that needs to stop. My muffin top told me so.

Thus, for about two weeks now I’ve been in a daily rotation of free weights and “pyramid” workouts and doing things to my abs to the degree that they spontaneously cramp while I’m innocently sitting at my desk writing.

As for my go big or go home ways, the truest measure of this is every third day (lower body day): I exercise until my legs tremble and my eyes roll back into my head. Then for hours afterward I’m adorably knock-kneed and shaky-legged like a newborn deer.

Today is lower body day. I’ve got about one more hour as Bambi until tomorrow, when I won’t be able to lift anything any higher than my own cleavage.

Again, if there are other approaches – and I realize, at least intellectually, there are – they seem to be out of my grasp.

“We have to do the best we can. This is our sacred human responsibility.”

~Albert Einstein

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Ten Things Not To Say To Someone With Depression

Saturday, February 26th, 2011

I saw this headline and – sight unseen (who has time to read such things???) – figured I could make a reasonable contribution in that regard. So here ya go.

Don’t say these at your own risk.

PET scan for depression

This is what a PET scan for depression looks like. Wild.

1. Snap out of it. I was depressed once, and then I snapped out of it. It’s easy.

2. Life’s a bitch and then you die.

3. Suck it up.

3. We’re all f*cked anyway.

4. Stop complaining. There are lots of people who have it worse than you.

5. “Am I in your will?” and/or “Can I have that when you’re dead?”

6. You did this to yourself. (i.e. “You made this bed and now you have to lie in it.”)

7. Quit whining.

8. I think you’re faking this ‘depression’ thing for pity. It’s nothing but ‘me, me, me: whine, whine, whine’ with you.

9. Even if you do kill yourself, I bet Hell isn’t as bad as they say.

10. What? Were you talking?

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A little something for the lady readers

Wednesday, November 17th, 2010

Because once in a while I get a sign of life that you’re actually out there.

Tony Bourdain naked

This kind of makes me wish I was a man.

Oh, and apologies for the assumption that you’re straight, ladies…or that there aren’t gay men out there who would also appreciate this ummm…. moment with Tony Bourdain. I believe this was taken early in his success, and his excuse was that the photographer got him drunk.

(***Note to self when fame finally hits: while with professional photographers, take it easy on the Jack Daniels and stay away from butcher shops.***)

Jack Daniels on the rocks

Ice is for pussies.

That reminds me, while talking to my brother the other day we got onto the topic of things that can only be loved or hated (New York City, Las Vegas, marmite) and he brought up tequila. Now believe it or not, I fall down the middle on tequila – I’ve never had a horrific hangover experience such that I hate it, I’m happy to drink it on occasion, but I don’t seek it out either. So there you go.

This is probably why no one calls me anymore: I’m contrary. (***Second note to self: Be less obnoxious.***)

Anyway, my own dangerous drink is mentioned above: Jack Daniels. Not so much because I’ve gotten sick on it (although there have been a few rough mornings here and there), but because it makes me mean. Seriously. It does. If things are going to get volatile or I’m suddenly going to remember some old business that I never quite forgave you for (even though in my ‘regular’ life I am not a grudge holder) or flip a pool table and get in a fist fight, it’s going to be the Jack talking.

So anyway…

My brother then waxed on about Scottish whiskies and Canadian whiskies and the thing is, that’s not what I’m talking about. It’s the Kentucky bourbon that’s the beast, and I’m wondering if it doesn’t have something to do with the people making it?

Irreversible Decisions in a bottle

I don't like Jager at all. Yuck.

Bear with me here. Did you ever read Midnight’s Children? Or Like Water for Chocolate? And in both of them, food was a medium of people’s emotions or character: the wedding cake was ruined by tears or the chutney of someone good and kind was perfectly sweet and soothing.

Booze made in the Appalachias makes you crazy.

It’s true.

Take it or leave it.

When I saw Dave Attell a year or so ago (or whenever that was), he asked the people in the crowd to name their drink, and he’d tell you about your upcoming night. One woman yelled out Jack Daniels and Coke. “Coke?” Dave asked, “What kind of Coke?”

“Diet Coke!”

He shook his head sadly, “Jack is the wildest horse in the stable. Why do you have to go saddle him with that?”

Papa Ewok Star Wars

This has absolutely nothing to do with anything except that I saw it and it made me laugh, so there you go.

And for those still doubting me, listen to this little insight from a bartender that I just randomly found online while trying to prove my stupid point: “Jack does turn people into assholes. I think the thing is about Jack, is it is double distilled over charcoal AND aged in charred oak barrels. This double distillation is called the Lincoln county process. Regular bourbon and most brown liquors are only aged in charred oak barrels. Curiously and also backing up this idea that Jack makes people crazy is the fact that Lincoln county Tennessee where they make Jack Daniels is a dry county, no alcohol can be sold.”

In conclusion to my completely worthless rant, let me add that Jagermeister makes people wildly inappropriate or even violent…with no memory of it afterwards. That, I would say, is par for the course for the Germans with their Third Reich and “showers” and magical mystery herbal liquor so secret that no one knows what’s in it.

I rest my case.

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The Signs They Are a-Changin’

Thursday, September 2nd, 2010

As you have likely observed, I have a long history of getting discouraged and then suddenly becoming optimistic again. I’m not sure why this is. It’s my own opinion that I have a quick bounce. Bounce – or at least my definition, for what it’s worth – is the time between emotionally hitting the ground and springing back up. Even with extremely tragic or outrageously unfair circumstances, I tend to bounce within a few hours. This is why, despite my arguable host of mental problems and questionable sanity from time to time, anti-depressants don’t really seem to be a prescription I need. Anti-psychotics on the other hand? Perhaps.

Beach Status Signs

Not this kind of sign.

Nonetheless and as I’ve mentioned, the last few weeks I have felt kind of panicked. In the simplest of terms, it’s a feeling of “WHAT ARE YOU DOING??? THIS IS YOUR LIFE!!!” and it’s a really lame and anxiety-causing sensation, especially because there’s no clear answer. On certain terms, I could argue with the Voice of Urgency that I’m doing the best I can – I’m working on a new book (thinking and planning more than writing at the moment, but that will come), I’m living my life, I’m thinking deep thoughts, I have clever ideas at least once a week, I’m mostly in a good mood, I use very few aerosol products anymore, and, by and large, I’m not hurting anybody (as far as I know). On the other hand – and recognizing that the Voice of Urgency comes from my head and, thus, is me in some fashion – I completely agree with it. Somehow, in ways I can’t quite pinpoint, I am wasting time and, by extension, my life.

Ouch.

That hurts.

That more than hurts. That f*cking sucks.

And then enter – stage right – the bounce.

Not this kind either. If this kind is even real. I'm not sure. Somehow I doubt it.

I have long had (and recently had reinforced) the feeling that if I just keep pushing and writing and working that I will eventually hit upon the idea and the plot and the “it”, and then the magical, mystical force that makes stuff turn out happily ever after will kick in and things will go my way forevermore. Just as suddenly, all the work I’ve done up to that point will become useful and relevant, if not sought after. I like this idea. I am buoyed by the hope that I have the talent and the tenacity, all I need is the bright idea and a little bit of star alignment.

This is probably why I was overly excited when my two – count ‘em, not just one but two – fortune cookie fortunes the other day were so optimistic. The first read “Don’t give up. The best is yet to come!” Not too shabby. If fortune cookies were guarantees, this beats the hell out of “You find beauty in ordinary things, do not lose this ability” or “Don’t forget, you are always on our minds.” That second one freaked me out. What? Who? Who’s “our”? A collective hive mind or all of your minds individually? And who are you again? And when you’re thinking about me, do you think good things or wish me well or are you have subtle urges to do me bodily harm? In other words, is this a benign threat of some kind? Seriously, who’s “our”?

I'm trying, I'm trying. The signs are harder to recognize - let alone know - than one might presume.

But not the other night. Those predictions were all good. That night I got two fortuitous predictions: “Don’t give up. The best is yet to come!” and “Your dearest wish will come true within the month!” Sweet.

True, there were only a few days eft in the month, and my dearest wish didn’t quite come to obvious fruition during that time, but maybe the seeds were sown? Or maybe they meant 30 days more than the literal month-end? I’m willing to keep an open mind and a hopeful heart. You never know, I suppose.

Meanwhile, if the fortunes weren’t enough, get this: I found a pearl in an oyster I was eating! I did. A Washington state Sunset Beach oyster grown in the Hood Canal. That has to be some kind of  omen of impending amazing luck, right?

Right???

Well, I say so anyway, and in trying to prove it, I came across the following statistics:

  • The odds of finding a pearl in an oyster are 10,000 to 1
  • Odds of getting a hole in one: 5,000 to 1
  • Odds of an American speaking Cherokee: 15,000 to 1
  • Odds of being struck by lightning: 576,000 to 1
  • Odds of being murdered: 18,000 to 1
  • Odds of getting away with murder: 2 to 1
  • Odds of being considered possessed by Satan: 7,000 to 1
  • Odds of being on plane with a drunken pilot: 117 to 1
  • Odds of writing a New York Times best seller: 220 to 1
  • Odds of becoming a pro athlete: 22,000 to 1
  • Odds of finding a four-leaf clover on first try: 10,000 to 1
  • Odds of winning an Academy Award: 11,500 to 1
  • Chance that Earth will experience a catastrophic collision with an asteroid in the next 100 years: 1 in 5,000
  • Chance of dying in such a collision: 1 in 20,000
Change for Homeless sign

I don't think this is real either. If it were, wouldn't they just ask for dollar bills and small bottles of liquor?

So there you have it: I am almost as likely to win an Academy Award or could be considered possessed by Satan one and a half times before I’d find a matching, misshapen pearl in another oyster, and I’d have better luck hitting TWO holes in one as the same occurring. Thus, I rest my case. I think the math makes it plain: this is a harbinger of imminent good fortune if ever there was.

So bring it on, lucky stars: unload a giant truck of the best and make my dearest dreams come true.

I’m ready already.

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***cringe***

Friday, August 27th, 2010

I just got an email from my host that the server upon which this blog resides will “undergo an upgrade onto newer and faster hardware. This will increase performance of the server and ensure continued stability. This transfer will cause an estimated downtime of 4-7 hours.”

New hair

Putting aside the general terror associated with any server related  change (due mostly to an extensive prior history of things hitting the fan or looking like sh*t or ceasing to function altogether after said ‘upgrades’), what really has me baffled (and a bit alarmed) is that the intended date and time for this project is Friday, June 4th at 8pm.

Ummm….

June 4th like 13 weeks ago?

That June 4th?
Or are they giving me notice nine months in advance?

And do they really expect that I’ll remember this in nine days let alone nine months?
And is June 4th even on a Friday in 2001?

(No. No it is not.)
And why is my dog licking the keyboard?

And is dog saliva safe for a keyboard?

So do they mean to say they’re doing this upgrade tonight?

Same new hair, different background

Or that they already did it?

And can I have any faith that things will look as they should in the morning?

And do I really need this added stress?

(No. No, I do not.)

And am I going to do anything further than post this whiney blog and hope for the best and maybe avoid looking at my own site until at least Sunday for fear that I will find an epic disaster that I have pretty much no idea how to fix?

Probably not.

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