Saturday, April 14, 2012

Stop Reading & Die

Soooooo, spiders are terrifying. 

That's it. I just though you should know. 

Okay, I'll explain to you why, but I'm going to have to set fire to my skin after. I can already feel them on me. 

Everything about them makes my insides want to die. When I see one my body tries to kill itself so we don't have to deal with it. I should carry a cyanide pill with me just in case... 

Oh there's a spider on my wall?

 take the pill

Felt something on my leg?

 take the pill

See an image of a spider on the internet? 

 take the pill

I've already died 3 times and I haven't even had my coffee. 

The way a spider moves is so creepy. All those legs give them this 'dancing on air' type of movement. Who needs 8 legs, or 8 eyes for that matter?? Some only have 6 eyes, but that doesn’t make them less horrifying, it just makes the ones with 8 seem like they’re trying too hard. 2. I have 2 eyes and I'm doing just fine. I also have 2 legs. (in case anyone was wondering; human anatomy is tricky) What do they need all those parts for? I would research it, but then I'd have to squint and block pictures with my hands and in the off chance that I accidently saw one… take the pill. 

I’m a huge wuss.

I can’t even kill a spider.

Not because I feel it’s wrong; I think all spiders should suffer a painful death. I don’t care if they have a spider family or spider babies or if spider grandma is in the middle of knitting them a spider scarf. I want them all to burn.

If you are one of those people who “catches” them and sets them free outside, stop reading this and die. For every spider you refuse to kill, I promise to kill 10 in the worst possible way. Okay, let’s be honest, I will find someone else to kill them; I’m not going near one.  

Most of my life I have lived with someone else, so lucky I rarely have to kill one. But if, god forbid, I can’t find anyone else to kill it, I’ll either stare at it till someone gets home (because you know as soon as you look away they disappear and now they're probably on your face) or I’ll build a contraption to kill it from a distance.

I used a mop one time, the kind with the flat spongy head, and taped it to a broom handle so it was extra long. (don't worry, the whole time I was starring at the little monster/dying inside to make sure he didn't move) I did some practice squishes, probably 80, on the ceiling a few feet away from him just to be sure my murder technique was on point. (this is not something you can half-ass. this is life or death. squish or be squished)

Finally the moment of truth came. I lined my mop up with the location of the intruder and set my sponge to kill. Then I threw the mop at the ceiling, bolted down the hallway, tripped on my contraption building supplies, suffered a massive stubbed toe, and missed the spider completely. To this day I still have no idea where he is.

This is the story of why I had to move out of Northern California.    

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Wrong Hands Indeed

     Sometimes when I’m writing a paper for class I get side tracked and just start writing about whatever creeps its way into my brain. I was working on my research paper for my theory class and I went from making a very compelling argument about the news media and the power they have over the prominence of certain public issues and how that kind of power in the wrong hands could lead to… I wonder what “wrong hands” look like? Do you think you could spot a pair of wrong hands?

Me: Oh, it’s so nice to meet you sir.

*shakes guy’s hand*

Guy: You as well.

Me: (internal dialogue) Holy crap, this man has wrong hands! These are the hands I’ve been looking for. Just look at them! They have wrong written all over them!

Guy: um…

Me: (realize I’ve been holding his hand for an awkwardly long time) Ah, sorry. Your hands… they are just so… evil.

Guy: Okay... Thanks?

Me: Listen, I have a lot of power that I’ve been trying to get into the wrong hands. Are you interested?

Guy: … * skeptical eyebrow*

Me: I’ll take that as a yes. But I can’t talk now; I’m trying to write a paper. Sssshhhhhhh.

Look down.  Computer is gone…

Look back up.  So is the guy.

Me: Wrong hands indeed.

*grabs phone dials professor's office number*

Voicemail: “Hello, I’m a professor. Leave me a message.”

Me: Hiiiiiiiii, Professor. Listen, my computer fell into the wrong hands so I can’t turn in my paper. I’d re-write it and everything… but that’s just a lot of work, and I refuse to write the same paper twice. So instead I will turn in this picture of a banana I drew and we’ll call it an A+. k thx bai.

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Noodles are 4 Poor People

When going to talk to the financial aid office at school, always to make sure to mention your Cup-O-Noodle lunch you’re about to enjoy.

Me: Oh hello, I just had a financial aid question before I go to eat my Cup-O-Noodle lunch.

Financial Aid Lady: Okay... how can I help you?

Me: Well, I will make it quick because I don't want my generic chicken Cup-O-Noodle to get cold.

Financial Aid Lady: right...go ahead.

Me: So like I was saying, before I told you about my Cup-O-Noodle for lunch, mind you it’s just chicken, not roasted chicken or spicy shrimp, just chicken. Ya know, the cheap kind you get at Food 4 Less. Did I mention already I shop at Food 4 Less?  I do. It's cheaper. I can't afford those fancy grocery stores where the doors open for you. Anyways, my cheap unhealthy lunch is getting cold, let me get to the point.

Financial Aid Lady: Yes, please do.

Me: I just wanted to check on my financial aid status for the summer semester.

Financial Aid Lady: You don't qualify.

Me: *confused eyebrows* 

Financial Aid Lady: Your grant is only good for the regular semesters.

Me: *lean in closer with extra confused eyebrows*

Financial Aid Lady: *backs up in uncomfortable manor*

Me: Okay, I guess I’ll be on my way to my Cup-O-Noodle lunch.

Financial Aid Lady: Wait, did you say “Cup-O-Noodle”?

Me: Yeah… *hopeful eyes*

Financial Aid Lady: Spicy shrimp?

Me: No, chicken.

Financial Aid Lady: Roasted?

Me: No, just plain old chicken.

Financial Aid Lady: I may be able to help.

Sunday, August 8, 2010

The Ridiculous Defense

     I have been selling my school books on Amazon for the past few years. I have never had a problem - until now. A few days after a normal sale of a book I received a message on my Amazon account from a buyer who was furious with the product she received. “Furious” does not even describe her anger. After growing tired of her threatening emails, I informed the buyer to take the matter up with Amazon.

     Thinking this was some elaborate scam to steal my cold hard cash, I googled the situation. I read a handful of blogs that led to me believe that while this person was most likely scamming me, Amazon has a “the customer is always right” policy and I would inevitably be required to pay back my earnings. So, after the buyer filed a claim with the Amazon complaints department explaining what a horrible person I was, it was my turn to state my side of the story for the claims department. I decided losing $13.79 was worth it if I lost not because of the “Amazon loves customers policy”, but because I wrote the most ridiculous defense response possible.

Here is that response:

Dear Mr. Amazon,

     The book that was shipped to one Debbie                     , was in NEW condition when it was taken to the post office on the sunny evening of July 3rd 2010. I waited in line at the local post office for about 10 minutes before being called to the counter. It may seem like 10 minutes is a long time and in fact it could have been less, but recently the air conditioning at the local post office had gone out and just being in there made time move slower.

     The book in question was "shipped using Media Mail" because what I was shipping was in fact "media". There was no correspondence in this package so it qualified for this type of shipping. Had I written Debbie a letter with the shipment of the book, it would not have qualified for this type of shipping. Now that I see what type of pen-pal Debbie would have been, I feel not including correspondence and using Media Mail was the proper avenue of shipment.

     This package was indeed wrapped in a white flat envelope. It was also, as Debbie so observantly mentioned, thin. Most envelopes are thin. I have never seen a THICK envelope, unless the insides were covered in bubble-wrap, but the last time I checked a book was not considered fragile. I did not include “thin cardboard” with the packaging either, for one because using Debbie’s description of “thin” from the envelope complaint it seems that putting the “thin cardboard” in with the package would have done absolutely nothing. Did you see how thin the white envelope was? I for one have never seen such a thin envelope. Second, I did not use cardboard mostly because I was not sending pictures. My Mom, when she sends me pictures, will place the pictures between two pieces of cardboard and then into an envelope. This is because the pictures are quite thin themselves. Almost like paper. The book, however, is about 180 pieces of paper, with a cardboard cover. So actually, I did include cardboard with the packaging. Come to think of it, my Mom also sends me the pictures in thin envelopes. I should bring this matter up with her as well.

     I am curious to understand how the book is “so battered you cannot read it.” A dent in the book and a crease at the top of the book would not render it unreadable. Perhaps she is holding it upside-down.

     The “deep crease” that prevents the book pages from “turning easily” does not sound plausible. There was an episode of MythBusters I watched a few weeks ago that was about books and the ease at which the pages turn. They did many experiments on the book to see what types of things would prevent the pages from turning easily. The deep crease myth did not hold up with testing. The pages still turned; it was actually easier with them creased because you could grab onto the next page without having them stick together which always leads to the licking of one’s finger to catch the page and turn. This puts saliva in the book. The book was in new condition when I shipped it. There was no saliva in it.

     Next I would like to bring to the courts attention the emails that I received from Debbie. Per Amazon policy, you have already seen these emails and have copies of them so I will not put you through the entire saga. I prefer to highlight one of my favorites. She used quite a bit of off color language for a lady, so accept my apologies that I must submit examples of it with my claim.

Exhibit A:

Order ID: 104-011                      




You bastard

     I changed the font color of her email to all red because I did not want you, the Amazon Claims reader, to be confused with the ending of the email under where her name is signed. There is no “PS” before the name calling, so I didn’t want you to be confused and think that I called you a Bastard when in fact it is me who is the Bastard. Well, according to Deb. I actually have a father. But how could she know that.

    I would like to note the use of threatening language in this email from Deb. First of all, I do not think such language is ever appropriate no matter how thin the white envelope is that was used in shipping. Second, this was the first email I received from the Debster. I didn’t even have a chance to reply to an appropriately written concern before being breaded in what I can only assume is anger by use of ALL CAPS.

     I would like the record to show that I take great care of my books before shipment. My books are stored in a clear glass case. The room that holds the book storing glass case is equipped with a laser security grid in case of break in. Not even the stealthiest of ninjas can break through. Each book is wrapped in Saran Wrap as to preserve the book while he waits to be shipped. Perhaps if I had shipped the book still wrapped in the Saran Wrap it would not have arrived “like it had gone through the washing machine”. I remember one time I didn’t want to get my hair wet but I wanted to take a shower so I wrapped my whole head in Saran Wrap and after the shower when I took it off… Perfectly. Dry. Hair. It was really quite brilliant. I have since invented the Shower Cap. - one of my many useful inventions. To see my other useful inventions, please see the following web address.

     I have Exhibits B and C (emails 2 and 3), but they are just more of the same rubbish. I think you get the picture from the first email. Exhibit D, the last email I received from Debbie, consists of two words. They rhyme with “Duck” and “Moo”

     The following example is one of the two emails I sent to the plaintiff in response to her four emails. After the nature of her first email, I am sure you are quite surprised that I emailed back at all. At first, I thought it was just spam. You know how lately when you get spam in your email they sound all personal? “Subject: Hey Jim, we found that baby you lost. Open our email for directions.” And then, poor Jim opens the email, because of course he wants to know where the baby is that he lost the other day, because nowadays you can’t leave a baby outside in a stroller while you go to the cinema to watch the latest flick. No, now you have to take the baby in with you. Ridiculous. My point here, and I do have one, is that I used to like movie theater popcorn, but then that news story came out about the factory that manufactures butter in powder form so you can sprinkle it, and how it was giving the workers cancer and I thought to myself, “well, how can I sit here and enjoy this scrumptious treat with the weight of the little butter churners lives on my shoulders…” Luckily, a few weeks later, I completely forgot about this story and was able to enjoy this treat once again.

Here is the email I sent in response:

Sent: Monday, July 12, 2010 8:05 PM
To: Debbie                (491              

When I shipped the book it was in NEW condition. I am not responsible for the book after shipment. I apologize if it arrived to you in a lesser condition. I would take that up with your local postal service.

     I took it upon myself to end the personal contact with the plaintiff because of the intense threatening nature of her emails.

     As you can see my emails are calm, not berating, and there were no misspellings. This is thanks to my social skills, and my PHD in Communications.

     You know, now that I think about it, I did put that book in the washing machine before sending it. It was covered in mud and grass from the game of pickle it played earlier with the other books. I just found page 76 in the dryer.

I will ship page 76 ASAP.

Problem solved.

Claim resolved.

Pleasure doing business with you.

**UPDATE** After a few weeks of what I can only assume was a jury of brilliant minds deliberating the case, they closed the claim. And I won. How you ask? I am not sure. All Amazon said was, “You are not responsible for this claim or its reimbursement.”

Suck it Debbie - I’m a winner!

Friday, June 4, 2010

Excess Babies

     The shredder at my work has a feature called “safeguard” where if you put your fingers in it the shredder won’t turn on but if you put paper in it will. It can sense the difference. Tell me why I try to stick my fingers in the shredder every time I walk by… Let’s hope that feature never breaks. I wonder if it would know if I paper-mâchéd my fingers and then tried to put them in the shredder… hm…

     When we first got the shredder, I read the manual to ensure proper use and longevity of the product. The shredder has a warning on it that is an outline of a baby with a circle-slash symbol over it. Apparently this model is not equipped to shred babies. Cheapskates. What the hell am I gonna do with all these babies… I can’t recycle them, the dumpster says no babies too. What if I paper-mâchéd the babies….

To the craft room!

Monday, April 12, 2010

i'll miss you...

     I remember the day you came into my life like it was yesterday. It was bliss from the start. I never hated one thing about you. We had our stressful times, but you always came through for me. Week after week, month after month – you never left for longer than a few days. You supported me when I needed it, and you pushed me to move on when it came time. I will never forget the opportunities you gave me. Tomorrow, when I start my new job, know that I will be thinking of you and wishing we could have lasted forever… I love you unemployment - perhaps one day we'll meet again.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

This is not therapy

     In class when someone asks a stupid question, do you think they know they just asked a stupid question? How could you not know… Next time I’m going to lean over and say, “I’m sorry, did you hear yourself just now..? That saying, ‘there are no stupid questions,’ it’s not true. There are. So stop asking them.”

     If you ever sign up to take a communications class please understand that just because you will be learning about communication theories and you may have revelations about why you do certain things or why your partner acts a certain way, the rest of us in the class do not want to hear your stories about it. Please do not confuse the teacher with your therapist. She doesn’t know why your boyfriend gets annoyed by you. Perhaps it’s because you never stop talking. Let’s skip ahead to the chapter where you shut your mouth.

     If you are going to teach a class, do not ask me to read the chapter and write an in-depth journal about the concepts in that chapter and then expect me to care about anything you have to say during class. You just had me teach myself the entire chapter. Everything you are saying I already know. If you would like to give me some insight on the chapter or use examples that didn’t come from the chapter to better explain the concepts, this is fine. You sitting up there with your PowerPoint going over the entire chapter is like watching a movie more than once. After the first time, I’m no longer interested.

     I will never be a teacher. But If I was, I would take my class. And if you relate to what I’m talking about, so would you. If you do not relate… Still take the class - I’ll enjoy berating you. As will everyone else.

There are plenty of stupid questions out there. If you ask one, I will tell you.

    That question that just popped into your head; it's stupid. Don't ask me that... Seriously. Oh god, you're not going to listen are you? Here it comes...

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

3 things you should know

     I love technology. I get wired magazine and I read it. I majored in Information Security for a semester and then realized that I don’t wear a pocket protector and while I love gadgets and how things work, I don’t have the personality to be stuck in a room all day by myself working on a computer. I need human interaction. I’m a sucker for the newest electronics. They have started to make all electronics shiny instead of matted. This is not good for me. There is a store called “Extreme Geek,” there is nothing in that store I need, yet they seem to stock everything I want. I could spend a whole day wandering around Fry’s. And by “I could,” I mean “I did.”

     My brain never stops. I think about everything. Most of the time it’s all at once. It’s useful if I’m being witty, not so useful if I’m trying to pay attention in class. It takes me a while to make a serious decision because I think of all the possible outcomes. There are a million different ways a situation can go down and I think about all of them before it happens, so when it finally does happen I’m prepared. I like texting better than talking because I have longer to sit there and think about what I’m saying, how it’s going to be read, and how the other person is going to respond. If you have a serious conversation with me in person you’ll eventually notice my “thinking face.” It comes out when I’m trying to put everything you said together and form the perfect sentence. I’ve been told many times that I think too much. I’ve thought about that also.

     98% of the time I’m happy. I don’t love baby animals and sunshine, nor do I skip around singing all the time. I just don’t like bad moods. I don’t like people in bad moods. I laugh a lot. I have issues being friends with people who do not find humor in everyday life. Funny people are my weakness. If a clown asked me to rob a bank, I’d probably do it. I don’t actually think clowns are funny, but you get my point. If I ever wish on a shooting star, an eyelash, or my birthday candles, I always just wish to be happy. Because in the end, it doesn’t really matter to me what I do for a living or who I end up marrying, as long as I’m happy doing it and as long as I don’t get caught robbing that bank for the clown…

Monday, February 22, 2010

Cake and Tea

     Sometimes I wonder where old saying originated from… “Have your cake and eat it too” What does that mean…? You can have your cake, and you can also eat it. What is the other option?

“Hey are you going to eat that cake?”

“Oh no, no, no, I’m just going to hold it.”

     What about “the pot calling the kettle black.” So you’re telling me that back in the day someone saw that over time both the pot and the kettle turned black from being repeatedly used on the fire and decided this would be a good analogy to use when trying to call someone a hypocrite? Were our ancestors trying to find kinder ways to insult people? All that work just to tell someone they’re acting like a fool. Now all we use is a finger… Man we’re lazy and not very creative. I'm going to bring back the confusing longwinded analogy insults. Be ready...

Tuesday, February 16, 2010