Poll: Which is this month's weirdest search term?

Man. There are some fruitycakes out there, non? I'm always interested in the search terms that lead people to my blog. Vote below and choose thee weirdest, and I swear to all that is covered in chocolate I'll write a fantastical blog post about it. Yeah, Beyotches, it's on!!!!

more at twiigs.com...

I know the Feeling...

It hasn't happened to me, and I hope it doesn't. I think I've been lucky in that my little blog isn't wildly famous*, or particularly offensive (well, as far as I can tell). But I've noticed that as soon as a blog starts getting a little more well-known, the haters start popping up.

Some of them are the more rational kind, who object to a specific post, find a statement offensive, or perhaps just dislike the writing style. Whatever the case may be, they present their arguments in somewhat more measured terms, probably because they want to strike a balance between getting their (annoyed) point/ opinion across, and seeming like some sort of harping fishwife loony.

Which brings us to the harping-fishwife-loony quotient of the blog-commenting population. With their misspelled, spewed invective and ranting diatribes, there's more than a whiff of the Springer** about them. See, they'll take personal offense at everything the blogger says, and spam the comments section with vitriol, of the "your so fat + ugly + stupid, why r u people even reading this sh^&, U R A LOZER PIG FRIED SPINACH EVIL, I h8 this blog u r a waste of air in the internet, ppl if we stop rdng nw s/he will hav 2 quit!"***variety.

They will then copy-past this comment a few dozen times. Every day. Ad infinitum. Over the protests of the people who are actually enjoying reading that blog. It's some sort of modern conundrum that people will force themselves to read blogs they hate, seemingly for the pleasure of getting their hate on. Because as far as I know, it's all still voluntary... right?

*yet...my plans for world domination have been laid and include ice-cream..but more of that later, minions.
** as in Jerry, not as in the dogs. Dogs are cool. Although I expected Springers to be more... bouncy, frankly.
*** sic.

this Monkey's going to Heaven

I had this whole post planned out in my head last night as I lay in bed, drifting off into slumber. I was going to talk bout the Pixies, and the song Debaser, and the link to Salvador Dali, and how this influenced both my taste in music and my taste in men*. But then I fell asleep.

I keep doing this. I'm a bedtime thinker. When I'm under stress, this results in pointless obsessing over not only what is worrying me, but also unimportant things like whether I have the right belt to go with an outfit I'm planning.** When I'm not, I tend to ruminate on life, love, friendship and TV programmes. Sometimes, if I'm lucky, I start to slip into that half-drowsy state where I'm dreaming, but not quite asleep, and I suddenly realise that my thought patterns have suddenly veered into the ridiculous.

Sometimes, If I think my thinking will possibly keep me awake, I'll listen to my iPod, although more often than not this will result in me dancing around the room***, in the dark, because who has time to turn the lights on?

But more often than not I write blog posts in my head. And then promptly forget them. And trust me, they are some pretty damn good writing, much better than I do during the day. And I should probably rouse myself from my snoozefulness, and type them. But I'm too sleepy at the time.

All of which is a roundabout way of saying: I wrote an excellent post last night, but you're getting this lame one instead.

* do you have arcane knowledge of music/ literature/ romantic languages? I like people who are smarter than I.
** What am I SAYING! That's totally crucial! The wrong belt is like..the wrong shoes!!! Or Forgetting mascara, when you totally planned your eye-makeup around it! FFS.
*** biggest culprits: Baby got Back, My Humps, Our Velocity by Maximo Park, anything by Franz Ferdinand.

Friends in far-away places.

I have a lot of friends all over the world. Now, that may sound all; glamorous and jet-settery, but. really, it's annoying. and kinda sad. I mean, every time I have great time, I think:"Man I wish Bob/ Peter/ Mary/ Squishy McGee* were here. That would be awesome". And on the days I'm sitting home all sad and lonely and bored and feeling friendless and pathetic, it's cold comfort to remind myself that I'm actually very popular... overseas.

I also spend a lot of time on gmail chat and skype, and emailing people. I'm intrinsically lazy, so that's less fun thatn it should be, especially as everybody gets all pissy if I send out group mails.something about not being special and wanting individual attention yadda yadda. Facebook is cool that way because I can send the occasional poke people's way, and it sort of amounts to meaningful human contact. In a a way. If you squint.

I guess, then that it follows logically that I should start to form bonds with people whose blogs I read and comment on (and vice versa). There is now a little blogging community that communicates almost solely through each other's blogs, which is sort of like having pen pals, I guess. Pen pals that swear a lot. and are sometimes inappropriate. So just like when I was 13, then?

I do miss the actual flesh-and-blood people though. Especially Squishy. He was always good for a laugh.

* not their actual names. it would take too long to type all their names and If I left any out there would be hurt feelings and sulking, for sure.

Our Gmail conversations tend to disintegrate like this

Gmail. this morning. As usual:

E-Poops: so Ladies’ Dan and I spend an awesome evening last Thursday playing drinking HOUSE! with one of the new episodes. (too bad it was the most boring episode ever... except for when house says "rape baby") so Ladies’ Dan, I finally got the other episode to download properly, and watched it with molly on Saturday evening, and I wish you had been there to play "take a drink for every foot of tapeworm house pulls out of the patient" -- it was like 25).

Also, remember when that doctor pulled 25 feet of anal beads out of Bertrude’s mom?

Dr. Esteban: Oh I totally saw that episode!
E-Poops: I liked how they added the following lines to calm people's fears about giant 800 feet tapeworms living inside of them:
Nurse: could I have a tapeworm inside of me?
House: no, you would feel it. The only reason this girl didn't know
she had a tapeworm, is because she can't feel pain.

Also, random fact. The "can't feel pain" disease only has about 35 cases reported in the US, but there are over 300 cases in Japan.
Me: I thought that was the "can't feel empathy" disease?
Dr. Esteban: No, it's Can't Understand Why Everyone Isn't Exactly Like Me disease.
Me: ah, I see where I was confused. I think that goes hand in hand with "claim everything as our invention" disease.
E-Poops: I thought it was the "can't understand why everyone isn't exactly like me, and I am also unable to walk properly and choose attractive clothing" disease
Dr. Esteban: You mean Spontaneous Fashion Barf-o-plosion?
E-Poops: that would be the scientific word.... yes
E-Poops: (oh... sorry... the scientific word for word is term)
Me: what about "my panty hamster gets so hot in winter that I have to flash it even if it's snowing" disease?
Dr. Esteban: Did you just refer to a clunge as a "panty hamster?"
E-Poops: Betenoir is a little confused, because her cooter IS in fact a living breathing, hamster.
Me: it eats seeds.
Dr. Esteban: it eats seed?
Silent disapproval robot: ...
Me: ...and nuts.
Me: don't judge me.
La Chica: I ate some nuts today. Pecans & Cashews. Are you gonna judge me?
Dr. Esteban: Only if you ingested them through your "panty hamster."
E-Poops: Chica’s is a gerbil.

** Names have been changed to protect the identities of those involved in this... incident...

Some Days are weirder than others.

On the days that I don't feel like being at work, I do weird things to entertain myself. today I have:

• annoyed and intrigued most of the office by asking the unanswerable: "how and where do the staplers go in the copier? what if they run out?" Cue Jocelyn and I taking apart the machine in an attempt to find the source of the stapley goodness. No luck, but I found the pack of spare staples. copier staples have no bends. how cool is that?!!!?
• caught a falling phone book, and reacted by growling and making claw hands, and yelling:" reflexes of a cat!!!!!!". The volunteer did not think that was amusing, but it's not my fault she has no sense of humour.
  
• stood silently by Jocelyn's desk until she noticed me. raised my eyebrows. then walked away.
• answered everyone's "can you do me a favour" by saying "no. no i don't feel like it".
• Gone online window shopping. Does anyone want to buy me some sweet Cons? I'm a size 5 ½.

sigh. 1 Hour 5 mins till I'm free. why is the shortest day also the longest?

" I will rip his head off and crap down his neck"

I am horribly premenstrual at the moment. I know this because everything makes me a) horrbly depressed, b) intensely, insanely enraged and c) weepy. Usually simultaneously. so it doesn't take much to send me off the deep end. say, being cut off at the post office. or some shithead humorless little teenager joining a group that i moderate and calling me stupid and pointless because god forbid I should joke about him being underage. man. teenagers take themselves so goddamn seriously. it's moments like that that make me wonder if I was like that. I see them in bars and clubs and stores and outside colleges and they are all hairstyles and pose. I'm totally generalising. But, frickit, hormones!!!!!! I can generalise, or i can smash things, and that won't go down too well. And, you know, I'm sure he's a perfectly nice little boy once you get to know him, and I'm sure we just got off on the wrong foot. but, dammit, HORMONES!!!!! totally wrong time of month!!!!!!

and who calls a moderator stupid anyway? I could totally block his ass! or replace it with a note reading "post removed due to high levels of being a TOOL!"I could also say something about people WhO tYPe iN mIxed CaPS but that would be too easy. Also I already said it a while ago.

Sigh. the worst part is is that as annoyed and infuriated and psychotically homicidal as I now feel, I also feel guilty for a) hurting his feelings and b) venting my spleen online. I feel like I should take the moral high road. Because, you know, I'm an Adult. Yeah. Its one of the things you must accept in exchange for being able to drink whatever you want, getting to eat candy for breakfast, and not having to have sex in cars.

Hmm. I fell a little better. Still kinda want to make with stabby-stabby inna throatsicle.

edit: I just realised that when I have PMS, I totally turn Klingon. That is kind of awesome.

LBG*

*Life Before Google.

once upon a time, children, there was no such thing as Google. I know, it's crazy to think of, but people actually had to find things out by doing research, looking in books, going to the library and so forth. And really, that was just for your everyday kind of research. How did people go about looking up a song and artist using three words of lyrics? where did people find out the history of obscure musical genres, or look for pictures of zombies holding kittens? Google is the ultimate in immediate gratification: no longer do you have to wonder about that niggling little question that's been bothering you for the last hour, just type a couple of relevant keywords in and bob's your uncle. Please pretend I didn't just use that phrase.

In any case... I seriously cannot remember what I did before Google. I'm pretty sure I was just uninformed. I guess I read the newspaper and magazines... But no I get to be a well-informed renaissance woman. Or, a dilettante.

Google is also useful for researching your friends. There's no better way to pass a slow day than to Type in their names and peek around the sock drawers of their lives. A word of warning though: don't Google yourself because you'll just become sick with envy at the jet setting, successful lives of the people who share your name.