Posts Tagged ‘Random Stuff’

The weirdness that is

Thursday, February 4th, 2010

There’s so many options to waste time.

Her old nose was thicker, but with the new one, maybe a little bit. But not really. I don't know. I have no perspective.

Let me count the ways…

At the moment, there’s a stupid Facebook thing going around where you’re supposed to go to and do a search on your first name and then post it as your status.

There’s also one where you’re supposed to change your profile picture to your ‘celebrity doppleganger.’ but I don’t have one. Once in a blue moon someone says I look like Jennifer Aniston, but I don’t see it. She has a lot more chin than I do.

Anyway, normally I don’t do any of that stuff, and my status pulls from Twitter, but I decided to look it up just to see. And blow me down, if names were a beauty contest, I’m taking first prize.

I had no idea people were out there defining names on as if they were blanket truths (or words to be defined), but take a gander:


1. A moderately common name for an American female; pretty; hot; beautiful; perfect; cutest girl you’ll ever see; angel

2. As stated in other definitions of vanessa she is always known as being cute, and is the basic definition of perfection. she is the most beautiful girl in the world, and is perfect in every single way. people associated with the name vanessa are usually attracted to large wooden clocks.
vanessa is beautful and perfect

***What? Clocks? Large wooden clocks? What the hell does that mean? Does that mean people associated with me have the clock fetish or that I’m supposed to? (Must pay more attention to wooden clocks moving forward…)***

3. Means Butterfly in greek

***Actually, it doesn’t. In ancient Greek “psyche” was the word for butterfly, but now it’s petalou’da.***

When I was a little girl, people would always ask me if I was named after Vanessa Redgrave. I had no idea who Vanessa Redgrave was, but I would always say "Yes" because it seemed easier that way.

4. The hottest chick on EARTH, damnn you know that ANYONE named Vanessa is the hottest chick you will ever see. Anyone named Vanessa is hottest than the damn sun itself.

BOY1: yeah I’m hanging out with vanessa today.
BOY2: her name?
BOY1: yeah dude why?

5. A beautiful girl.
Loves music, hanging out with her friends, and eating.
Very friendly, sexy, and stylish.
The one best friend everyone wants.
The one girl every guy wants.
Shes tough so dont mess around with her.
Shes the most special girl in the world.

I want to meet my perfect Vanessa.

***This is uncanny. Has someone been following me around???***

6. Cute, beautiful, Visionary, Amazing, Neat, Amusing

Vanessa, You’re the only Vanessa in my world.

7. Smart, Funny, Charming, Caring, Responsible, Beautiful, Gorgeous Eyes that would be so easy to get lost in, yet you would never care, so lost yet held there so happy so content, and a smile that lights up a room and makes your heart pound. A rare combination, someone beautiful inside as well as outside.

Vanessa is an amazing person.

***On second thought, all this is a bit much. I’m starting to get creeped out. Why on earth have so many people written these wackadoo “definitions” for the name Vanessa? Weren’t the first five more than enough?***

8. Invented by Jonathan Swift as a nickname for his lady friend Esther Vanhougan.

That is pretty cute.

9. The most amazing types of people. Always makes a best friend and never lets you down. Loves green tea and tea tree and has the most amazing lime coconut cookies :) Super pretty and loves Simba :P Shares an interest in Disney movies with Avonlee. The most amazing type of person in the world and everyone who knows a Vanessa is very lucky <3

***Simba like The Lion King? Obviously this one was written by a ten-year old. But it’s still spot-on in many ways…***

Just so you don’t think it’s all about me (although it mostly is), here’s the definition for my very best friend.


1. Marijuana, Weed, Herb, Mary Jane, Reefer, Grass, Dope, Green, Green Wood.

Smoking marijuana tends to get some people sleepy, in other words some people “doze” off.

-That dozer we smoked knocked me out

-Yall niggas think I’m trippin cuz I’m on dat dozer -Master P

He is a serious dope.

I had no idea.

2. A person who toils mindlessly at the same mundane endeavors as their forefathers without ever seeking to alter their course or advance their processes in anyway. (from HBO’s Fraggle Rock, Dozers perpetually built and rebuilt structures for the Fraggles to devour)

The dozers can’t seem to grasp the idea because it wasn’t listed in the manual.

Tee hee. It’s funny because it’s true. And it explains the random girl in the street who once gushed on about Fraggle Rock. We didn’t have HBO when I was a kid.

3. A Bulldozer

In other news, I’ve become obsessed with VH1′s Celebrity Rehab Season Three (and those of you watching know what I’m talking about – Dennis Rodman! Heidi Fleiss and Tom Sizemore AND they used to be in love and she got him on meth and he ultimately betrayed her!!! Mackenzie Phillips!!!!!), and when I was told that Leif Garrett (who I had to Google to figure out who that was. Whatever. Before my time.) was arrested for heroin possession, my very first thought was, ‘Yay! He can go on the next Celebrity Rehab!”

EXHIBIT A: Dennis Rodman.

I also have a huge crush on Dr. Drew. I don’t even have addiction problems, but I would like to check into the Pasadena Recovery Center and tell Dr. Drew all my sad stories and have him affirm that he is witnessing my pain right now and make it all better.

But I digress…

What I wanted to say is that I discovered you can watch complete episodes of Celebrity Rehab on VH1′s website and there was a still shot of Dennis Rodman on the screen, and I had a sudden epiphany: Dennis Rodman looks exactly like Mrs. Potato Head.

Seriously, give him a little red purse and slap a daisy on his wrist, and it’s doppleganger time.

EXHIBIT B: Mrs. Potato Head. (The defense rests.)

Dennis, if you’re out there and you have a Facebook account, feel free to update your profile picture accordingly.

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A non-whining post about editing

Thursday, October 8th, 2009

Just for novelty’s sake, I thought I’d drop in and log a quick update that – after reading and editing the thing one more time, no doubt - I’ll be ready to turn over the first quarter of the book to my readers tomorrow. To my own shock and awe, I’m happy with it AND the last few days have gone well.

That’s right: Editing has NOT sucked!!!

I’m finally starting to get into some material that isn’t a discombobulated train wreck, and thanks to spontaneous faux interviews with both Larry King and Bill Maher, I’m feeling kind of pumped up. And now if Bill Maher starts the interview by stating that he knows I’ve written a best-selling book, but I’m also really hot, I won’t be stupid-shocked and say, “He wouldn’t say that. He wouldn’t say that. He would not say that…” five times while my head spins and drool pours out of the corner of my mouth.

Not at all. In fact, I’ve been convinced that he very well could say that, and I will have a snappy comeback prepared.

Meanwhile, I saw that the new Nobel Prize for Literature winner has been announced, and I’m thinking that $1.5 million (SEK 10 million) would look mighty fine in my bank account. Or cashed out and dumped all over my bed where I can roll around on it naked.

Either way.

Thus, it’s important that I don’t get too famous, because the Nobel prize for literature only ever goes to anarcho-syndicalist playwrights who survived a pogrom or a pamphleteer from Moldova or something like that. The rule is that it will not go to anyone you have ever heard of. However, depending upon how insecure and/or pompous you are, you might pretend you have after he or she wins. The winner must be alive, per Nobel rules, at the time of the nomination, so hopefully I can hang onto until at least 2011 or 2012 (when we’re all outta here anyway).

So I just need to maintain obscurity (probably about as easy as it sounds) and stay alive. Add to that the possibility of using my grandmother’s maiden name (Takach) as a pen name, thereby tapping into the suffering Eastern European pity vote, and digging up some depressed poetry from my teen years, and and I could really be onto something.

In addition, there is the now-famous assertion (if you have any interest in anything literary, that is. If not, your general reaction will probably be something like “Huh?” in reference to my suggestion that this was a well-publicized gaffe) made by the previous permanent secretary of the Swedish Academy (the dudes that vote for the Nobel prizes), Horace Engdahl. So anyway, Horace pissed some people off when he said last year that “Europe still is the centre of the literary world” and the quality of American writing was dragged down because authors were “too sensitive to trends in their own mass culture”.

In response, and as a ray of hope for my own nomination:  There are exactly no vampires in my book.

Not even one.

Oh, and that reminds me, in the spirit of laziness slash “I just spent nine solid hours editing and then worked out my guns for an hour and prepared a gourmet dinner. What have YOU done today?” here is this awesome (if not slightly harsh) list courtesy of Alan Mott of  There’s so much to love here, but I think #29 is my very favorite. That or #42.

#38 cuts a little close to the bone.

And #40 – RRSW, Did you write that? I’d recognize your work anywhere…

50 Reasons No One Wants to Publish Your First Book

1. Being innovative doesn’t justify writing a Civil War epic entirely in texting slang and emoticons: “ts u hor! i dnt gv dam :< !”

2. There’s this thing called punctuation. You might want to look into it.

3. They’re afraid your author’s photo is going to alienate readers. That’s right, dude: You’re too ugly for literature.

4. Where are the vampires?

5. No, seriously, where are the vampires?

6. The world isn’t quite ready for an illustrated children’s book called SOME MOMMIES ARE INTERNET PORNSTARS: “Mommy and Daddy’s door is always locked and your online access is completely blocked! You asked them why and they say, ‘Don’t worry, honey, we’ve just found a fun new way to earn some money!’”

7. It probably wasn’t a good idea to base the main character on yourself, considering how much most people seem to hate you.

8. The market for IRON CHEF slash fiction isn’t quite as broad as you may have assumed: “’Oh, Morimoto,’ Chef Batali sighed, ’stuff me like a pepper!’”

9. Submitting a manuscript handwritten in your own blood does indicate your passion for the material, but not quite in the way you might have hoped.

10. They liked it better when it was called Jane Eyre and didn’t suck.

11. Iambic pentameter? Really?

12. Funnily enough, a detailed diary of five years’ worth of bowel movements has already been done. Curse you, Kevin Smith!

13. If you’re going to try and sell it on OPRAH as a memoir, you probably want to cut the chapter where you go back in time, kill Hitler and make Stalin admit that he’s your bitch.

14. William Burroughs was a broken-down beatnik junkie genius; you’re a wannabe-hipster asshole imitating a broken-down beatnik junkie genius.

15. It’s not technically a novel until you’ve written it down first.

16. Yes, enclosing a bag of flour along with your manuscript and causing an anthrax scare will get people’s attention, but it’s the wrong kind of attention.

17. You’re not just being paranoid; there really is a vast corporate conspiracy to ensure that your revolutionary ideas never leave your parents’ basement.

18. They can’t quite understand why you felt compelled to write such nasty things about Kenny Loggins in what is otherwise a fairly standard legal thriller. Kenny knows, but to everyone else, it comes across as somewhat mean and arbitrary.

19. Most good books aren’t created with the sole hope that they might someday be adapted into a Martin Lawrence movie.

20. You’re actually the 139th person to submit a conspiracy thriller involving the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, entitled THE MICHAELANGELO CIPHER.

21. And the 78th to submit a chick-lit manuscript about an attractive woman’s sweet tooth and affection for footwear, called CHOCOLATE AND SHOES.

22. You know the part where the protagonist stuffs those puppies into the wood chipper? It’s not quite as funny as you seem to think.

23. Truthfully, THE EVANGELICAL GUIDE TO GAY SEX is actually a great idea. The problem is that its target audience won’t want to buy it in a bookstore, and they’ll be highly reluctant to use their own credit cards to buy it online.

24. The alternative-history genre has lost its appeal. Everyone knows it doesn’t matter what else would have happened if the South won the Civil War and the Nazis won WWII: George W. Bush would stillhave been elected president.

25. A young-adult novel set in the behind-the-scenes world of network reality television featuring over two dozen characters, graphic underage sex and dead prostitutes? Are you fucking kidding me? No, seriously, are you fucking kidding me?

26. Remember the shit Salman Rushdie had to deal with after he wrote THE SATANIC VERSES? Chances are your XXX hip-hop reworking of the Koran — MO’ MONEY, MO’ PUSSY — is probably going to inspire the same reaction.

27. You know the talented creative writing professor who told you your work showed so much creativity and promise? Turns out what he really meant was that he wanted you to blow him.

28. Because they threw away their annual budget on the new Lindsay Lohan autobiography, BOOKS ARE RETARDED.

29. Everyone who attempts to load a copy of the manuscript onto their Kindle is found dead three hours later.

30. Four years ago, you wrote a post on your blog about how MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE sucks ass. Stephen King found it during a Google search and exerted his influence to ensure you never get paid a cent for your writing ever again.

31. There’s a fine line between writing authentic regional dialogue and making all of your characters sound like stroke victims.

32. Just be thankful they refused to publish it, since the common accepted response to a novel that ends with the protagonist realizing all the terrible things that happened were in a dream (or was it?) is some stern re-editing of your face with a pair of brass knuckles.

33. Writing a book about vegetarian zombies kinda indicates you don’t exactly know why people like zombies in the first place.

34. Calling your book OPRAH WINFREY IS A BIG FAT CUNT pretty much guarantees she isn’t going to select it for her book club.

35. Sure, you’re an amazing poet, but you aren’t a hot blonde pop singer with big tits, so who really gives a fuck?

36. God may have told you to write this book, but he didn’t tell you how to give it a decent ending.

37. You may want to revise the query letter you’re sending to agents so it’s more about the book and less about how much you love kittens.

38. For the first 20 pages, everyone who reads it is certain it’s the funniest book they’ve ever read. Unfortunately by the 21st, they finally realize you’re actually being serious.

39. Do you honestly not see the crucial flaw in writing a book intended for commercial sale that argues against copyright law and in favor of free unrestricted distribution of all forms of media?

40. It’s never a good sign when a manuscript’s first sentence is “’Are luck’s run out,’ said the Princess, ‘there unicorns are to fast!’”

41. When writing erotica, you want to avoid graphic descriptions of acne, cellulite and back fat.

42. Life-affirming poetry written by a 10-year-old with a fatal disease is inspirational; that same poetry written by a 47-year-old housewife with a trick knee and occasional indigestion is really, really lame.

43. Writing a 97,236-word thesis arguing the inherent superiority of Wolverine over Batman is intrinsically flawed since no intelligent person could ever take it seriously. I mean, c’mon, Batman would kick that midget Canuck’s ass every single time!

44. If you’re going to make your main character a forensic coroner, you’re obligated to know more about human anatomy than what you learned playing Operation as a kid.

45. A general rule to follow when writing for kids: If you could go to jail for saying it to them in person, you’re better off not putting it into print.

46. Historically, books written solely to settle a bar bet seldom make it to print, especially if they were written during a seven-and-a-half-hour period in the same bar where the bet was made.

47. The entire point of your book has already been more satisfactorily made in a single strip of Family Circus.

48. Because the printed medium is a dying art, and it would be a tragic waste to allow its last pathetic gasp be polluted by your bullshit.

49. Does anybody really need the complete lyrics to “One Million Bottles of Beer on the Wall”?

50. Again, I ask one last time, where are the freaking vampires?

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Attention shirtless old man living at 500 S 300 E Provo:

Tuesday, October 6th, 2009

I've seen worse. But, then again, my dog is a lot larger than that. Actually - come to think of it - I have photographic evidence of much worse. I may just challenge this lady to a bruise off!

I've seen worse. But, then again, my dog is a not a size typically described as 'little'. Actually - come to think of it - I have photographic evidence of much worse. I may just challenge this lady to a bruise off!


I wasn’t even provoking the little beast. I was just running down the street. He attacked me out of sheer evilness.

Oh Internets. How do I love thee?

Let me count the ways.

Well, actually, let me restate: There’s no real need to do that.

You know I love you, right? Can you feel my eyes on you? Can you feel me look into your heart? Can you feel me in the pit of your stomach? Can you feel me in you? In your heart?

(and if you know where that creepy little speech comes from, then I heart you.)

But I digress…

Honestly? Not bad for 62. Not bad for 35, really. Hell, I've seen far worse-looking 25 year olds if you must know...   Who am I kidding? Iggy, you used to creep me out, but this picture is slowly changing my mind.

Honestly? Not bad for 62. Not bad for 35, really. Hell, I've seen far worse-looking 25 year olds. Who am I kidding? Iggy, you used to creep me out, but this picture is slowly changing my mind.

Most of all, Internets,  I love your randomness. Like that I was trying to think of some aging rock stars who tend to be shirtless and AREN’T Mick Jagger, Iggy Pop, and Keith Richards, and instead I found that post on some kind of Mormon blog site (where anyone Mormon is allowed to post their thoughts).

The mix of futility (as I think it’s highly unlikely that the shirtless old man would ever see this) and absurdity just makes my morning. And I also like that there’s accompanying photographic proof just in case – by some miracle – the old man should discover this post and want to protest the non-evilness of his little beast.

Don’t they have animal control in Salt Lake City?

Or is your only hope to post the details of your attack on a blog that no one is reading?

Bummer, if so.

In other news, my only real point here was (as I mentioned a couple days ago in a very short blog) that fate saw it necessary to soak my eyeballs with the images of a shirtless Mick Jagger, Iggy Pop, and Keith Richards…and all within less than 24 hours.

I don’t have to tell you: That’s a lot of 60-something man torso.

Although I couldn't come up with an image of a shirtless Mick Jagger taken since the 80s, it was difficult finding photos of Keith where he was clothed. Admittedly, the face is harsh...but see what I'm saying about the guns???

Although I couldn't come up with an image of a shirtless Mick Jagger taken since the 80s, it was difficult finding photos of Keith where he was clothed. Admittedly, the face is harsh...but see what I'm saying about the guns???

The first came as I was watching (once again) VH1′s Top 100 Hard Rock Songs of all time (although the higher numbers in the countdown this time) and then the next night, I was in a bar where they were airing the Rolling Stones 2005 Madison Square Garden show on TVs all over the place. I will admit that when I first walked in and saw Keith in all his decrepit glory, I felt a little saturated on the sight of older shirtless dudes.

However, once the camera panned to Mick – who at 66 years of age is said to run 12 km a day, kick-box, lift weights, cycle, and practice ballet and yoga – I started to come around a little.

And those images percolated and mixed in with the sight of really soggy YOUNG guys at the gym, and I had an epiphany.

That’s right. It came down to one revelation which I will happily share with you: Guns.

Your arms go to flab, and it’s all over.

It’s all about the guns, baby.

You can even have your stomach get a little…loose. And the lower half? Hell, that’s what Spanx are for.

My wound from early July. Dozer thought he was drowning...and tried to take my leg with him. Suck on THAT whiney 'dog attack' lady.

My wound from early July. Dozer thought he was drowning...and tried to take my leg with him. Suck on THAT whiney 'dog attack' lady. It's like a rainbow!!!

Otherwise? I don’t care who you are. Even if you’re generally thin: If you lift your arms and it’s reminiscent of a Komodo dragon, you may as well be 150 years old.

So that’s it.

Not particularly deep or anything.

In fact, and in hindsight, perhaps I’m just rallying myself up to go do my own upper-body workout? I’ve given up on my dream of Linda Hamilton T2 arms, although I would say that as of late, I could give Michelle Obama a run for her money.

And that’s good enough for me.

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Are Canadians Funny?

Thursday, June 18th, 2009

This is an important question worthy of exploration.

large_flag_of_canadaCanada – a large, cold, and often unnoticed country to the north of us (and which many stupid Americans apparently believe is a state) – has a lot of people. But are those people funny?

Preliminary evidence suggests no, they are not.

Exhibit A: The Canadian Comedy station on XM/Sirius radio (I don’t know which is the proper name any more). With XM, the best station by far was channel 150, but now that they are combined, there are about 10 different comedy stations, all weak in their own way (e.g. old school, filthy, blue collar/redneck, and the weakest of all, Canadian Comedy).

I don’t have a specific example of why it’s not funny. It’s just not funny. In the same way that those two sentences aren’t particularly funny. They aren’t particularly anything, but we both know they’re not funny. Ergo, Canadian comedy.


Nope. Not funny.

Nope. Not funny.



Exhibit B – Jim Carrey. Not funny. I don’t care what you say, making faces and acting like an orangutan isn’t funny. The only time I can tolerate the man is when he’s NOT trying to be funny (i.e. in the recent movie Yes Man, where he was mostly ‘normal’ except for a brief plot line where he drank too much Red Bull. I recommended this movie to someone and had to promise them that there was only this one derivation into the annoying, manic, rubber face stuff so that they would even consider watching a film he stars in. That’s how not funny Jim Carrey is.)

Exhibit C – Leslie Nielson. Need I say more?


Between the goatee and the two earrings, he looks like some kind of Marvel Comics villain.

Between the goatee and the two earrings, he looks like some kind of Marvel Comics villain.

Exhibit D – Howie Mandel. Gag.


Exhibit E – Bob and Doug Mackenzie, a.k.a. The Mackenzie brothers (of ‘shut up, you hoser’ and Strange Brew fame). I admit I once found this funny – and I even named a poor, helpless Himalayan cat Hosehead – but in my defense, I was 17 years old at the time and not particularly wise. And the cat was Canadian and thought the name was rather hilarious.

Exhibit F – Tom Green. Need I say more?

The defense rests.

On a related note, who’s that awful comedian in the Hawaiian shirts who has the bit about being ‘fluffy’ (a.k.a. fat)? Can we blame Canada for him? Gabriel Iglesias (thank you, Google). I can’t stand that guy, but sadly, he’s our problem.

Although he sounds to me like he speaks with an ESL accent, apparently he was born in San Diego. Tomorrow’s topic: Are Mexican Americans funny?


Cheech and Chong – funny

Carlos Mencia – not even

(Unless, of course, I get distracted and go off on a totally unrelated tangent instead…)

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Some thoughts on sleep

Thursday, May 28th, 2009

So if you know anything about Twitter, you know it’s largely useless. Seriously.

And for those of you who ‘don’t get’ Twitter, that’s because – by and large – there isn’t much to get. 90% of the people on there are just trying to sell you get rich quick schemes or pass on boring and worthless information. Actually, 90% may be far too low of a figure, but I’m trying to be generous. It’s a new thing. We’ll see how it goes.

At any rate, a former useless Tweeter has finally said something of value. This morning when I logged in to do my daily post (which I try like hell to make funny, and which is way harder than you would think),  I saw the following at the top of my screen: “Does sleeping well make you look younger? Is the concept of a “beauty sleep” real or myth?”

And then some link to something I didn’t follow in part because I don’t have time, and mostly because I don’t particularly want to know the ‘real’ answer. 

I have my own answer, and that answer is YES!!!

Yes! Yes!! Yes!!! Yes!!!! Yes!!!!!

Case in point?

Donald Trump sleeps like two or three hours a day, and he is not by any stretch of the imagination beautiful.

Heidi Klum and the rest of the Victoria’s Secret supermodels past and present sleep like ten to twelve hours a day. Or at least it looks that way in the catalogs, so it must be true.


See? Sleeping. And beautiful.

See? Sleeping. And beautiful.

Supermodels aside, my dog sleeps a solid 18 hours a day, and he is an unquestionably gorgeous critter.


So there. Proof positive that sleeping is not a waste of time.

I think my continual issue with those anti-sleep types is that I intellectually recognize that sleep whisks away valuable hours in which I could be making big important business deals, organizing conference calls, short-selling stocks, or otherwise taking over the world.

However, the thing of it is, I love to sleep.

If I were to list my five favorite things I would say eating, cooking, reading, sleeping, and country line dancing.

Actually, I’m kidding about the dancing, I’m a terrible dancer. I have no natural sense of rhythm and the realization that I’m very bad at it robs me of any or all imagined joy. Also, country line dancing is for jerks. Thus, instead of country line dancing let’s go with lying around in the sun. Essentially – minus the cooking – I’m extremely lazy. I’m like a big cat in a human body.

Dump me off on a food-rich desert island with a good bed and a pile of books (and maybe a laptop), and I’m living large.

Which reminds me, when I say I love to sleep, I don’t mean any old kind of sleep. In fact, I’m fervently against these ideas like business executives taking a ten minute power nap sitting at their desks. First off, it doesn’t look  particularly professional to walk in and find the CEO face down in a pile of his own drool. Second, naps suck.

They are neither satisfying nor luxurious nor nearly long enough to have a really crazy dream. 

So, in conclusion and for the record, I am a stronger supporter of sleeping (with or without the side effect of beauty) and passionately opposed to naps. 

So stick that in your pipe in smoke it.

Or don’t.

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