Appropriate sometimes

I've noticed that lots of things are okay only in the right situation.
Most recent example is a grown man on the bus wearing snake mittens.
I myself own a pair. They are cute, endearing. Also functional.
On women and children - okay.
On a 27 year old man working in downtown... awkward. So much so that I couldnt even find a google image of a man wearing them...
That should tell you something guy.
I dont think your Rawr face looks as cute as this guys.
So stop trying to pull it off.

Anyone need gift ideas???

I can't believe I hadn't heard about this yet.

Amazing:

Supporting Evidence

In case you found my public singing post irrationally hateful, please see exhibit A: http://theoatmeal.com/blog/headphones

Someone with way more street cred than me shares in my woes.

Remember that.

Street People Musings

Getting off the bus with a couple in the midst of a domestic is always interesting but rarely welcome at 7am.
However, this particular couple made me laugh.
The girl, attempting discretion, I couldnt hear. I assume her message to assuage her fellow street dweller had something to do with god and I'm sure an irritating inspirational cliche.

The man, who was loud and proud responded with:

"Quit pretending to be a born again! You aren't! And me? I'm gonna do what I gotta do, god can't always help me!"

Rarely do I find the local faire so inspirational.
You are right guy, sometimes, you gotta do what you gotta do.
Regardless of what imposter born again homeless chicks may think of you.

Keep your head up fella, don't let judgers get you down.

Supplemental

I suppose the only other exception to the below post would be the highly unlikely replication of my own public singing scenario.

Dressed as an Elvis Impersonator in the Viennese Alps, hills may or may not be alive with the sounds of my hunka-hunka music.

Copyright by CLStrehoe
Inspired by yours truly

Music Playing for Your Ears Only

I have a personal issue with public singers.
I'm not talking about a street performing group, I can even appreciate the occasional karaoke.
But that is in the proper venue.

I mean people who randomly burst into song, in public, often confined spaces, where music is definitely not playing.

Such an occasion arose recently on the bus. It's rush hour, there are lots of people shoved into a small space and what everyone wants, almost more than to be off the bus and at their destination, is to sit in peace imagining the groaning hulk of the bus is really the gentle purr of their own chauffered town car; free of derelicts and their smells that one so often encounters through public transit.
This image is completely impossible to achieve when someone sitting in front of you spontaneously bursts into an off-key rendition of the latest Ke$ha beat. Aside from being instantly annoyed, I usually follow several steps to both reaffirm my annoyance and my sanity:

First, I look around to see if others notice this social fauxpas.
I could be hearing things, I dont want to get worked up over nothing, and I frequently get lost in my own silent thoughts.
After establishing that others have also been audibly raped by this inconsiderate songstress, I then immediately search for the presence of headphones. It's one thing to sing along to the song playing on your iPod, it's quite another to verbalize whatever tune happens to be in your head at the moment. Still unacceptable, but I take solace in establishing exactly what kind of crazy I am dealing with.
And make no mistake, it is crazy we are discussing here.
What brain pattern of any normal person would lead you to think that it is acceptable to force others to listen to your ramblings, let alone your musical ramblings? If you truly believed in your talent, you would be performing through the appropriate channels.  If your rendition of various artists was convincing, you would be singing karaoke, if you actually had talent, you might be working on a record deal or something of the like, if you think you are being discreet and no one can hear you, we can, and you aren't.
There are few caveats and they require elaborate planning, serious on-location credibility, or possibly, an LSD trip.

So please, unless you are trying to coordinate a spontaneous dance number from West Side Story with strangers on the street, or unless you are accompanied by a governess or surrounded by hills that are in fact alive with the sounds of music, there is no excuse.


No Excuse!

[d]e[f]lation

I most certainly have a black thumb.
Most people know this.
I have a plant dubbed Sherman who refuses to die despite my best efforts to kill him and friends' parents and well-wishers' desires to put him out of his misery (rightly so) throughout college have endeared him to me like that of a three legged dog that I might live near.

I digress.
Sherman has thus far been my sole success story when it comes to matters of nature and its mother.

This year I reluctantly, and tardily planted a modest garden and some flora in my yard.
Things got hairy.

Weeds and rabbits took over, some days there was too much rain, some weeks there was not enough.
Places that I thought were shady turned out to be shade-imposters, but miraculously, things have grown.

Pretty colors!

I picked and devoured a small yet delicious harvest of green beans and pea pods.
My Parsley, which I have yet to use, made a formidable showing until the rabbits made it through the plastic-anti-rabbit fence, but I'm sure it would have been an excellent garnish to any dish had I the good sense to pick it pre-rodent-infestation.

Marigolds - we suck at deterring rabbit fiends

All this culminating in the tomato plants.
Large, leafy, easily flopped over, planted late and tasty smelling to any and all woodland creatures.

Despite the odds, tomatoes did in fact grow.
It being late August now,  I was thrilled to discover after my weekend hiatus on the coast that one or two appeared to finally be ready for consumption.
(I don't even like tomatoes which many know, few understand, and even less try to debate but that's a story for another time)
I was so excited. I gingerly crept over to the garden area, unobtrusively examined the other plants first so as not to illicit too much excitement or resentment amongst the various other grow-ables.

I hesitated and admired for a while.
Basking in my own horticulturalist glory, proclaiming to myself and the dog that the ruby red color of this first flagship tomato appeared to my trained eye, a bit more superior than its counterparts I had seen throughout the neighborhood.

I struck.
Picked the tempting apple of perfection and sin only to discover abomination lurking.

A fucking tumor.

A blight not only on my perfect little tomato but my gardening reputation as well.

I can't begin to describe the shame and anger spiral going through my mind but suffice it to say, demon baby was left outside tonight to weather whatever the elements throw at it.

Imperfection will not be tolerated nor welcomed into my house.

"go organic" my ass.

Pump my tomatoes full of mutant beef hormones please, if it means picture perfect produce, I am all for it.  Screw this shit.

More 'Fugees

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

and I thought I’d seen it all

thats far from true, I most definitely do not think I have seen it all, in fact a large portion of my lifestyle revolves around a comfortable sense of global ignorance.

That being a moot point,

Upon doing my usual NY Times,Wall Street Journal, USA Today perusal, I came across an ad for a blackberry phone/gizmo, whatever you want to call it, with the headline, the world's first $10.5 M phone.

What, you may ask, does that M stand for? It couldnt possibly be the logical M for roman numeral thousand.

Dear friends you are correct, in not only a gross upheaval of our beloved roman numerical system but also just a tragic testament to our time, the M in fact stands for Million... thats right, this years greatest accomplishment is the 10.5 Million dollar phone/gizmo/blackberry thingy.

Upon further investigation (accomplished by a thorough and exhaustive reading of the fine print in the ad) I learned that this super spectacular item was part of an amazing package deal where you could purchase your obscenely expensive phone in cohoots with a private island that you could promptly claim in a John Smithian fashion and appropriately name it after yourself or the miniscule member that you are attempting to overcomensate for.

For all you billionaires out there that read my blog, which I know you do -wink, I would certainly jump on this once in a life time opportunity.

I would like to shake the hand of the man who came up with that one. Lets take out an ad for an Island!

Make that several islands so everyone with million dollar blackberry's can call each other from them... assuming they get reception in the south pacific.

I must have made a wrong turn back there and ended up in the oklahoma land rush.

I think next week I will take out a full page ad for something absurd like my womb, claim it as your own, name it, develop it as you will, only 10.5 million dollars, oh and you get a blackberry too.

Although i know for a fact you wont get reception in there.


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Monday, September 10, 2007
Precarious
Current mood: anxious

Upon enjoying a large bucket o' popcorn last night whilst at my movie excursion, I realized that one of the main reasons I dont enjoy popcorn as much as I used to is because it has been an unexplainable (until yesterday) source of tension for me.

Popcorn in general is an odd snack. Weird shape, strange taste, so many varieties and ways in which to consume. Butter, kettle, microwave, there are the people who eat it kernel by kernel, or who merely stick their face in it and come up with some stuck to their tongues like a bizarre claw machine. Others like my parental units enjoy grabbing the largest fistfull possible and mashing it into their mouth so that by the time it reaches your orfice its just a crushed and abused pile of half kernels that arent even worth eating.

It occurred to me only last night that the way I eat popcorn, previously imagined to be quite in the customary fashion may be a strange ritual that only I endure. I take modestly portioned clumps of popcorn with my dainty little finger tips and enjoy. Sounds simple enough but I realized that this little song and dance pivots around a delicate balance of strategic placement and applied pressue to keep the kernels from dramatically popping out of my hand in a mini explosion.

(Picture Gus Gus, the fat mouse from Cinderella trying to carry all those kernels of corn only to have them squirm out of his arms as he tries to add one final piece to the pile)

I'm left with a feeling of shame and inadequacy. Why can't I master the simple task of holding on to some inanimate objects for my consuming pleasure? It seems so simple and yet I'm repeatedly thwarted, anxiety sets in as I try to recover my composure, ignore the smug little butter stain that is now like a scarlet letter upon my trousers, and go in for the next handful.

A light and fluffy snack shouldn't come hand in hand with such a dramatic sense of forboding...

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Monday, May 12, 2008

Hazards of Dining al fresco
So i only just noticed two very serious risks in my life that are both deadly yet easily avoidable.

Upon forcing my poor waiter to serve me outside in 50 degree rainy weather because I would no longer be denied my summer activities come hell or high water or in this case sleet and snow...

Upon receiving my deliciously melty and gooey macaroni and cheese along with my stubborn paper napkin that refused to stay in my lap i began to consume and enjoy. It was what some people in the hundred acre wood may refer to as a 'blustery' day but that was not dampening my spirits.

It was only a few hours later while efficiently work on a spreadsheet, managing two email accounts and google chat while fulfilling some orders, approving high resolution images for mass distribution and calming the excitable chap on my line one that I discovered some melted cheese in my hair.

Upon hanging up, and minimizing several windows i discovered more.

Aghast, I spent the next two hours self-consciously self-grooming regretting my admirable attempt to look presentable by doing my hair and make-up vowing to never spend more than 10 minutes on self-grooming rituals prior to work ever again.

Needless to say I have not undertaken such extreme-cuisine since the haphazard event but no doubt will.

Perhaps it was merely the fateful combination of my hair, the meltiness of the cheese, and my scorn for mother nature that made me such a well endowed target for the cosmo's. Maybe Some dishes are simply not meant to enjoy out doors... fondue could be another one. Or maybe I am just the klutz that I always cavalierly pretended i wasnt.





The other fear is that i will slip off the curb while walking to my antique car and impale myself through the eye on my half mast radio antenna with the menacing rust formation at perfect skewering height.



Danger is everywhere i guess.

*********************************

Monday, June 09, 2008
Hey, does anyone remember Piper Perabo
Current mood:evil genius
I caught coyote ugly the other day on tbs or some shit like that and thought.. whatever happened to her?

Soon to be the mind blowing star of Beverly Hills Chihuahua thats what. Rest easy folks... she is not off the radar yet. Odds are we will see her on top ten lists of worst movies to participate in for years to come... like when vh1 does "I love the 00's



The real reason for this post was the fated stroke of genius... or should i say 'misstroke' when i came up with the perfect evasive and anti social invention of the Post-It Not

Just picture it... your roommate has a particularly nasty ex boyfriend who calls and you take a message you dont particularly want to relay. You have a project you should have finished ages ago for a boss and would give your left ovary to go back in time and leave some sort of note saying, "I'm done, come see me at your convenience" thus transferring all responsibility to the other party.

Voila! You write a Post-It Not, "stick" it to the wall and walk away guilt free knowing that it will fall to the ground and instantly turn to a deliciously unobtrusive dust bunny that can be swept up by said unsuspecting roommate. Or will briefly come to life and crawl into the back of the file cabinet said coworker habitually avoids.

You posted it, you stuck it, it just did Not stay stuck... who's to blame you? The mystics intervened, they were not supposed to receive that bit of information at that time. You and your pristine conscience can rest easy knowing that you very easily could have been caught in the act, trapped holding the "Not" like the peverbial hand in the cookie jar, forced to relinquish the 7 to 10 lines of crucial information held on that tiny yellow square, too urgent for a full sheet of paper to be delivered to a paper inbox, yet too underrated for an email blast, but just relevant enough to need to be stuck in the most obvious place you can think of ensuring its view-age.

Is it your fault the intended party did not come to retrive the note in the 3.5 seconds from ignition to self destruction?

Of course not, God did not want them to read it.


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Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Glutton For Punishment
I really can't begin to comprehend my thought process on this one.

So, due to a late work day, early softball game, and some slit-your-wrist traffic i picked up a quick bite from my old stand by Noodles & Co. and rushed off into the not so speedy traffic to make it to the park.

Tempting fate as it were, i went again for the hazardous macaroni and cheese which played the villain in a more recent episode of extreme outdoor eating. Looking back on what should only ever occur in a fucked up dream sequence I can see myself now, cautiously holding my mac and cheese, watching the gooey concoction melt and the deliciously greasy condensation built up from the clash of warm noodle and Buick Regal air conditioning. Then, the slow moving cars and office space scenario of my commute began to close in on me, slowly like the inevitable grip of death and claustrophobia inside a sealed and buried coffin so i turned to my salvation, the golden rays of sunshine that was the cheddar lava sitting expectantly in my hands and between short bursts of 40 mph speeds and complete stand stills, delicately opened and began to eat said macaroni and cheese.

Why, Why would I do this? If not the absurdly obvious risk factor inherent in utensil-requiring foods while driving then the previous incident that ended so badly when all my attention was focused and my meal was stationary should have stayed my hand from this foolish endeavor.

Again, cheese in hair, but also refreshingly on blouse, dry clean only skirt, seatbelt, seat, steering wheel, turn signal knob, various pre-set radio station buttons, both driver and passenger side windows and their corresponding buttons and some how unexplainably on my glove compartment.

WHY would i do this? I dont understand, and yes, i do expect you to take the high road here and come up with a more clever answer than, "Because you are retarded, Melissa"

Granted, it is tasty, granted i was hungry, and i will admit the slow moving traffic was tempting in the way you want to eat a corn dog on a slow moving ride at the fair but seriously...

whatthefuckismyproblem

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Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Cultural Crank Yankers?
So, the Guthrie Theater has been prank calling me.

There is no hidden code or double entendre here...

I am serious.

And seriously annoyed.

I hate when people call and don't leave messages almost as much as when people call and leave a "call me" message. Well i figured that one dumb shit, thanks for spelling it out. But what i really dispise is mystery numbers calling, waiting until my voicemail picks up and then doing a heavy sigh implicating your recurring disappointment in my character, disposition and lifestyle and yet again my inability to live up to expectaions and one of these days answer the phone.

At first i was flattered and thought maybe i finally had a stalker of my very own. It would have given purpose to an otherwise hum drum day. Who is it, what kind of disturbing message will i get this evening. Is that merely a tourist at the mall of america with your digital camera pointed in my general direction, or could it be you, my stalker, hiding with raptor-like skill in the bushes outside of lego land as i come out of the american eagle.

Yeah, all those dreams were shattered when i used the power of the world wide web to reverse look up the phone number to see it was coming from some hotline at the Guthrie Theater.

Yeah, i see plays, what about it? You would think a professional organization would have some kind of script for their cold callers so i dont get the misleading sigh and hang up.

Imagine my surprise when it began happening on a regular basis.

Always the same, never giving me the satisfaction of saying why you called and will be calling again, with in the next 48 hours between 5 and 9 pm, never leaving a name or even a variety of gutteral throaty noises. Give me a couplet or something, I would even be happy with a Willy Loman monologue, is that too much to ask? It's maddening...Only a sigh, pointing out my inadequacy, leaving me to look up the number yet again and be crushed by disappointment because i refuse to enter it into my contact list on the premise that we have never spoken ... a girl has to have some standards.

What do you want from me Guthrie Theater? Is that you behind the dumpster outside my work admiring from afar? Is it?

If only.


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Monday, November 24, 2008

Science Experiment

I should really have thought of something this novel when i was in school and could actually use these lame-ass ideas for good grades.

Recently i have been conducting a pavlovian experiment upon myself...

It's going pretty well, i have some fun perfume in a roll on stick form that I initially used subconsciously in cahoots with a fantastic lip plumping gloss, shade Pink Rose Potion.

Whether or not my lips are in fact 20% more plump after usage, they do nonetheless tingle for about an hour after applying. After about a week of this routine I noticed the serious potential for scientific hypothesis development and fact gathering.

The plot was simple, continue the daily regimine of roll-on smelly stuff + lip tingling plumper action glossy stuff. Then see if I can make my lips plump/tingle sans the use of plumper but by the mere scent of said roll-on.

The results, I regret to say, are thus far inconclusive as i have yet to attempt scent-induced plumping in a sober aka sterile and scientific environment and as i am nearly out of Pink Rose Potion i would say my marie curie days are rapidly approaching retirement.

However, if forced to give a conclusion i would have to categorize it as a resounding "Success" because who doesn't like smelling nice and having deliciously kissable and tingly lips?







Completely unrelated shout out to my favorite part of the Twilight movie... which was terrible... was Shannon shouting in response to the actors question.

Cedric Diggory/Edward/real name i can't remember: "And what do we eat?"

Shannon: "Pussy!"

Go team.

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Thursday, April 30, 2009
Swine Who???
Current mood:Prepared
It has to be done.



So i just wanted to toss out there that if anyone cared to explore, the annual number of deaths from the regular flu are up around 50,000 each year. Panic time is not quite yet.

Take a joke where you can, ~ominously~ we may be in need of a few laughs in these coming months.


The following is a highly scientific exerpt from an instant message conversation amongst contagious disease professionals.

me: hmm, speaking of dumb asses and pigs, how about this swine flu huh?

Pearl: hahah

Pearl: i hear its killing mexicans

me: yeah, they think calling it Mexican flu would be less derogatory

those pigs are too fucking sensitive

Pearl: laughed again

you're good at you're role milady


me: well, the sister was kind of joking/freaking out about it today so i made her look up how many people die of REGULAR flu each year...

oh yeah, up to 50,000


Pearl: ahahhahah

good form

me: the last "big one" (they actually said that) was in the 50's and it was over 1 million!

Pearl: and since then we can clone sheep

i think we're okay

me: ummm, do you recall any history lesson regaling the tale of the 1955 influenza epidemic???

Pearl: medically speaking

hahah

no

me: me fucking neither

crazy psychos

Pearl: seriously

me: but it was kind of fun to go disaster shopping at Costco today

Pearl: hahahaahahhaha

just in case

me: i now have a stash of canned goods in my basement

Pearl: i have canned corn

me: our purchases included: (in order of importance)

1 six lb bag of gummi bears

1 30 pack snack pak pudding cups (vanilla-chocolate swirl)

4 bags of beef jerky (regular, not fucking teryaki)

12 cans each of green beans, canned corn and black beans, beef and chicken "lite' canned soup

25 lb bag of rice

bulk box of 100 calorie packets of craisins

Pearl: hahahahahaha

Pearl: wait

why are we now reducing the amt of craisins we eat

craisins are good for you

me: ... if the end of the world comes i feel like calorie monitoring is kind of counter productive

losers

Pearl: ahaahahhah, seriously

me: but i like the little packets... they are easier to carry around when you are hunting for zombies

i mean Mexicans

Mind Games

I was excited to see I had a new follower and was creeped out by the skeezy old man picture.
Then I remembered that it's you, pearl, and was excited again.

'Fugees

Rescued from the black hole that is myspace

old posts for posterity.
New insights to come.