Archive for the 'funny stuff' Category

stimulating young minds

The other day at work, I was scurrying back from a break, my arms laden with things (as is the usual for me – book, computer, hairstyling products) and a tween flagged me down to talk to me, but seemed to lose the ability to form coherent speech when I turned to listen to him. It wasn’t until I was walking away that I looked down and noticed that the hairspray bottle I was carrying had nestled between my breasts with its label out, reading “SEXY.”

Don’t you want to buy some glasses now?

How much do we love the time-honored tradition of taking ridiculously glamorous people and putting super nerdy glasses on them to advertise vision services?

did you know libraries are chock full of crazy

I bring you a live report from the public desk at the city library. I am entitling it: “I’m tired of the disgusting coughing and strange questions here this week.” OR “My compassion limit is maxed out for your TB and questions about the satanic bible.” Both the title and contents are all Cupcake’s words, unless otherwise noted.

[me: How’s work?]

Well in total, this week the staff here has dealt with:

  • is my apartment haunted can you find news stories about suicides that occurred there in your archives
  • where can I find a witch doctor
  • can you find a copy of the satanic bible for me
  • how much room is at the end of a condom
  • OH and what can I do if I think someone has put a spell on me.


I am worn out from the crazy.

[me: Wow. Must be October.]

Also the other day this lady came up to a librarian and shouted a name at him in a mean and angry way. Then just stood there. Turns out it was the name of an author she was looking for.


I feel like it’s increasingly my job to manage othe people’s bad behavior.

[me: Yeah. Sometimes being a librarian is like being a 2nd grade teacher for adults. I am typing your tirade into a post as we speak, by the way.]


A scary man just gave me a weird look.

Guys’ Night

There is one quarter of a pound of 100% prime black angus fighting its way out of my stomach.

Guys’ Night!

Jungle Cat is in B-town, which means a get-together is in order. Guys’ Night! I’m talking Jungle Cat, who is on a professional guy business trip, and Hot Lunch, who recently got delivered two simultaneous issues of Men’s Health… these guys are ALL GUY. So I am full-on prepared to guy it up. I suggest the Ram, where we can drink brewskis and watch sports. Guys’ Night! I instigate “Chicks, man” conversations such as “Chicks, man, they’re so unpredictable with their emotions.” Guys’ Night! And, “Chicks, man, why don’t they treat their cars better… would you leave old Burger King wrappers in your living room?” GUYS’  NIGHT! And, “Chicks, man. They pretend to be happy wives and mothers for 16 years and then suddenly start acting like teenagers and sleeping with random losers and playing the victim when you’re not totally ok with it.”

Guys’? Night?

Man, serious undertones and elephants in the room can really bring down Guys’ Night. Take two guys who were recently screwed over in the exact same way by their now ex-wives and add to it that one of them happens to be the guy who months ago tore my heart out and put it back in and tore it out again and put it back and– To battle the mindgame of talking about broken hearts with mine sitting right there next to me, I did what any guy would do on Guys’ Night. I stepped up my drinking.

Guys’ Night!

Guys’ Night ends at 9pm when Hot Lunch has to go relieve the babysitter and Jungle Cat has an early morning conference to prepare for and I’m tottering back to the car between them, confusing my words and talking loudly about personal things. Our waiter says more than once pointedly, “Have a safe night.” At the time I was confused as to why he was warning us about drunk driving when I was clearly the only one inebriated. Now, looking back on it I feel scandalized that maybe he was referring to the fact that I was the only one inebriated. Just drunk little old me in my silk dress and two guy friends and no panties. (Nothing ruins Guys’ Night like VPL.)

Guys’… Night?

Don’t worry, waiter, I choose my friends carefully. Even the dipshits like Hot Lunch are good guys. We dropped Jungle Cat off at his hotel and me off at my apartment, where I very calmly told Hot Lunch, “Not having you around has left a huge gaping hole in my life… …Welp, good night,” and then refused to let him walk me to my door. He still tried to walk me to my door (some nonsense about it being so DARK out) and so we ended up doing this awkward thing with me doing a fast drunk walk to try to leave him behind and him following along like a really sheepish predator.

Guys’ Night.

Sometimes, you just gotta be a guy and do those guy things, like eating meat and talking about titties and watching ball-related activities in HD and passing out from booze and sobbing at about 10:15pm, then waking up at 2 am too disoriented to know anything except that a large amount of alcohol-and-stress-soaked free-range beef is making up its mind which is the fastest route out of your body. You know, guy stuff.

Two rounds of Alka-Seltzer and a huge deuce is the Guys’ Night cure, according to Men’s Health. Then the hot, angry beer and burger bomb in your stomach might finally ease down enough from code red for you to fall back to sleep for a couple hours before you have to get up and go back to your job.


Ostrich: Sands of Time

Just saw Prince of Persia: Sands of Time tonight and my favorite thing in the whole movie was the ostrich. My favorite thing WOULD have been Jake Gyllenhaal if he had taken his shirt off more (or AT ALL), but since he didn’t, the ostrich gets #1. The ostrich had its shirt off the ENTIRE TIME. It doesn’t have anti-shirtless pretentions rooted in its early indy cred and Donnie Darko. It doesn’t rely on dreamily batting the ridiculous lashes of its moony gorgeous eyes. Although it could. It COULD.

you look like a thumb

Don’t blame me, Hot Lunch. Blame Dave Barry. He’s the one who said white men can’t shave their heads without looking like giant thumbs. And yet you insist on proving this point every time you save money on a haircut by getting it buzzed at Q-Cuts. (I mean Q-Sluts, as you prefer to call it.)

“Watch me draw a goatee on this.” I held up my thumb to him tonight while he was trying to look up books in the library catalog. “It’ll be like you’re looking in a mirror.”

He didn’t appear to be listening, but his mouse hand was doing something odd and spastic. I think he was trying to flip me the bird without any children seeing.

I know he likes it. He’s just being coy. At least that’s what all the talk is saying down at Q-Sluts.

taste of mexico

I love the break room at work, if not actually for gastronomic reasons, then for sheer entertainment factor. Nowhere else can I assemble crappy portable food on a plate from the 1970s that makes anything look unappetizing and eat with mismatched cutlery while being asked work questions by colleagues who preface everything with, “I know you’re at lunch, but…” And trying not to overhear about Mrs. M’s latest colon troubles.

Today, I plopped my steaming chimichanga out of its microwaveable cellophane packaging onto a plate next to my sliced up mango and realized for once I had done some meal planning! By accident! GUYS THESE ARE BOTH PRODUCTS OF MEXICO.

My lunch just went up from things-i-could-grab-while-Pants-stood-in-my-doorway-this-morning to something that deserves a real lunch line title, like I don’t know… MEXICAN MEDLEY.


Mexican Medley circa 1973

ass loads of ass wipes

I am pretending to be responsible. I don’t know how long it will last, I just know my responsibility meter pegged last week browsing plastic products in Costco when I FOUND A BARGAIN ON FLOORMATS FOR MY CAR. And I was super excited about it. About the floormats. For my car.

Responsibility is continuing in the form of coupon collecting. I never paid much attention to that extra little printer at the self-checkout station at Fred Meyer spewing papers next to where my receipt comes out. My brain labeled it “not the receipt printer” and ignored it until I started noticing little pictures of my favorite products on there. Coupons! It’s a coupon machine that tailors its offerings based on my purchases! It’s like a GOOGLE ADWORDS PRINTER!

Tonight I stopped in at Freddies for milk and cereal and a huge bag of CAMPFIRE MARSHMALLOWS. Then I forced myself to put the marshmallows back. I actually spoke the words “Now stop it. Just STOP it!” aloud as I ditched them along with a bag of pretzel M&Ms on a shelf of canned stewed tomatoes and ran. RESPONSIBLE CHOICES!

Gasp! I know what would be a responsible choice right now! Using a COUPON! Unfortunately the only coupon on my person at that moment (ie swirling around in the Clutter Stew at the bottom of my purse) was a coupon for Cottonelles. Butt wipes. Huh. RESPONSIBLE BUTT WIPES? 75 cents off says HELL YES. I grab me some.

Belatedly, I see the fine print. “On 84 count or more.” Eighty-four butt wipes? That seems like a lot. I put back my 42-count package and reach for the next size up. 224?!? Really, Mr. Meyer? You can’t stock anything between 42 and 224? How much am I actually going to feel that 75-cent savings spread across two-hundred and twenty-four towelettes on my tushie? Is this RESPONSIBILITY actually cleverly disguised FOOLISHNESS? Too late to question it now. 224 flushable wipes are about to become mine.

At the self-checkout, I am excited. I wonder how I will enter my coupon? I scan the fruitcake-sized Cottonelle package and look for perhaps a slot I can feed my coupon through and activate my enormous responsible savings. The screen says to give it to the attendant. There goes my self-checkout privacy. Hiding what looks like the Jolly Green Giant’s lifetime supply of ass wipes at the bottom of my basket means that it is now at the top of my shopping bag, looking smugly obscene as I hand over my asswipe-coupon, all folded over to hide everything but the barcode. EVERYONE LIKES TO FEEL FRESH!!

Dignity is apparently going for $0.75 on self-check station number four at Freddy’s. Get your coupons now.

friends share special times together

While not the most IMPORTANT thing that happened on my birthday yesterday, this was certainly memorable. And not the kind of memorable moment that can be planned, either, which makes it like a little unexpected treasure along the path of life and turning 35.

While eating rice bowls outside of Zen Bento in Eagle, we all witnessed a pinecone whack Sis in the back of the head. Sis’s look of surprise was mingled with tinges of personal outrage that can’t be truly captured by mortal pen or digital stylus. For those of us there, memory must suffice.


Gustav quickly perceived that duck hats had never gained popularity in this timeline.