I almost entered wutang.com, instead of nutang.com... not that going to wutang.com would have been horrible or whatever.

This is why I shouldn't be allowed on the computer in the morning. I'm far too confused...

I want waffles.

Comment! (1) | Recommend!

I just checked my profile, because sometimes I really am that narcissistic. (Not really, but I like to pretend.) Anyway, I checked it -- and guess what???

You know that thing above your profile? The thing that asks you to rate how interesting your profile is? I've only had three votes on it, but apparently I am extremely uninteresting. Or at least that's what other people think, the fools.

But this isn't the interesting part. Check out my interest average (or whatever it is). 6.66!!!

My profile is the son of the devil.

Who knew?

Comment! (0) | Recommend!

It's 86 degrees. 86... and October. 86 and October and fucking humid.

Damn global warming... *dies*

Comment! (0) | Recommend!

Just a few things my husband and I noticed whilst watching the 1953 "War of the Worlds". Some of it is fairly disturbing, others are just laughable. Ah, the fifties, how glad we all are to see the back end of THAT decade...

All heroes are scientists with deep, pleasing baritones.

All women, regardless of proclaimed education and/or pedigree, are high-functioning retards.

All cola beverages HAD to be drunk with a straw.

There is always at least one obese, lazy alcoholic, who gets killed in the first five minutes of the film. Because he can't run fast enough -- the fat, lazy drunk.

Dances (and there's ALWAYS at least one) go on waaaaaay too long... THEN get interrupted by death.

All ethnic peoples, regardless of ethnicity, all look like stereotypical greasy "wetbacks" in denim coveralls and straw hats. They are invariably played by a white guy smothered in boot-black with a fine sheen of olive oil over his skin -- because as we know from ALL fifties movies, ethnic people are oily.

There is ALWAYS a priest, attending the weirdest functions -- like hoe-downs or cotillions.

Every man is a "fella", every woman, regardless of age, is either a "gal", a "girl", or a "broad". Note: Beware the "crazy broad: -- she really is crazy.

All men are named Joe. Any man NOT named Joe is either a Bob or a Bill. Your token Mexican... José. Token African American... Jim or some mean, food based diminutive -- like Peanut or Banana Larry. Always.

Men's trousers are made to make them look like they have saggy diapers. Especially old, fat men.

Women's hair never gets mussed, her make-up never runs, her cocktail dress never gets dirtied and her heels never snap -- unless it's convenient for the plot. A woman in a fifties sci-fi movie could get run through a wood-chipper in a tornado at the bottom of the ocean... and go right to dinner without checking herself in the mirror.

There's always a radio reporter telling us what you're supposed to be looking at, and there's always another reporter right behind him, writing furiously on his notepad. Also, all pressmen wear fedoras with a paper stuck in the hat band with the word "Press" written on it in large, capital letters -- as if we couldn't figure out what they do without it.

Authority figures converge on the scene where weird science shit is happening. Hundreds of generals, mayors, governors, sergeants, police officers, commissioners, scientists, doctors, priests, all gather together to soothe you, the terrified movie-goer.

Obnoxious kids with dogs have A-Level clearance to top-secret weird science shit. And his name always ends with a "Y". Billy, Joey, Timmy, Bobby and our favorite: Rusty. The dog will always have a masculine name like Scrapper or Rocket. You'll never see some kid named Renaldo sneaking past the guards with his dog Pussywillow.

Aliens can always wait another fifteen to twenty minutes while white men bloviate and hypothesize about science and god and the universe and everything -- because in fifties movies, there wasn't anything the white man didn't know.

Women with Master' Degrees in Science can always be counted on to: A.) Serve coffee in high heels to fast talking white guys in immaculately pressed suits. B.) Ask a MAN to explain simple scientific concepts she should know already... holding a Masters Degree in Science and all. C.) Jam their fist in their mouth, shriek, and faint at the first sign of trouble -- without mussing her hair or make-up. Even terrified, fifties women must always remain pristine and beautiful for their men. D.) Get rescued when she loses her mind and becomes completely hysterical for no real reason. E.) Spend the final moments of the film smothered into the embrace of the hero -- who is always at least two feet taller than her -- her face pushed into his crisply pressed suit jacket, while she clutches onto him tenaciously like a frightened macaque.

Conversations can never be too dry, too long, or too unemotional. In the fifties, only ethnic people have feelings.

Men with pencil-thin mustaches and slicked back hair were trusted officials -- NOT pederasts.

According to fifties Sci-fi Movies, all scientists are ace airplane pilots.

Every street corner is jam packed with shrill eunuchs inveigling you to "read all about it".

Despite grotesque physiological, anatomical and psychological differences, aliens/monsters can always be counted on to lust after Earth women.

The best cure for a woman's mindless hysteria is to grab her roughly by the shoulders, restraining all movement in a vice-like grip, shaking her and berating her until she stops. Slapping her also works. No one will hold it against you. After all, she was hysterical.

You will always find at least one token Asian scientist. But they always show up to strategy meetings in a full tuxedo -- looking a bit too much like Emperor Hirohito. And if any Asian has a speaking part, his dialog will always be preceded by a gong.

Even during Armageddon, there's always time for a sandwich and a close, clean, perfect shave. You should always look your best when the world ends.

Technology involves dials, LOTS of blinking lights, and an annoying, rhythmic hum.

And remember, there's always, ALWAYS time for one more pointless and, frankly, condescending science demonstration.

Comment! (0) | Recommend!

Right now, my brain is caught between the BtVS Musical episode soundtrack, Britney Spear's song "Gimme More" (don't ask why, I don't even know) and the Rolling Stone's "Start Me Up" -- (which I'm ACTUALLY listening to).

I think my head might explode in the next few minutes.

You all might want to step away.

Comment! (2) | Recommend! | Categories: head \'splody [t]

Right, first things first.

Work at a bank.

Helping drive thru out. So, I grab a tube. It's got a check in it and a license. Usually this means the customer wants to cash a check, but you can never be sure, so I turned on the intercom to ask the customer.

Before I even get out the first bit of a greeting, the customer rolls up his window on me -- he was talking on a cell phone and apparently I was interrupting his conversation.

I'm SOOOOOOOOOOO SAH-RRY I interrupted his super important call with my petty and insignificant questions about his check and what he might like me to do with it.

I can think of a few things...

Ass hat.

Dude, YOU came to ME! Seriously. I didn't drive the bank over to you and pester you about your money. YOU came here for a specific purpose and I'm not fricking psychic.

I patently refuse to put up with this kind of bullshit, so I handed it off to my supervisor. If this had been the first time this had happened, I woulda brushed it off and tried my best. But it's NOT the first time it's happened and I'm tired of it.

Inconsideration and rudeness are becoming things that we're expected to tolerate, and I've had enough.

NOTE TO CELL PHONE JACK-HOLES:

If you make a service rep wait while you finish a conversation while other people are waiting, you are an asshat and you suck. Do the polite thing, either hang the fuck up or move aside until your conversation is finished. Think for one single god-damned second about someone other than yourself. It's REALLY not that hard.

In fact, being nice, considerate and polite can be quite fun. It makes you feel good, it makes others feel good and it makes the world a better place.

I feel better now...

On a slightly less pissed off note, I've finally gotten over my cough.

And I'm going to see Resident Evil tomorrow. I'm pretty sure it's going to suck, but I'm excited all the same.

Maybe after it's over, we can play air hockey.

Air hockey makes me unreasonably happy.

Comment! (2) | Recommend!