Or, Searching the bargain bin
So that’s it, we’re starting a club! I’ll make some pogs and pass out flyers, you bring the beer and pizza, and we’ll get drunk and watch porn together. Aaannd BREAK!
Our remote sucks. The television is decent enough. Our remote, on the other hand, can suck it. Let’s go through a typical attempt to use the remote.
First, you must lean as far to the right as possible since this will maximize your chances of getting it to work on the first try. No response from the TV? That’s cause it only works about 50% of the time. Lean over a little further, try again. When you do manage to find the lucky spot, hold absolutely still; the slightest tremor of your hand might break the connection.
But that’s not all! The remote sometimes has a delay that tricks you into thinking it’s NOT working when it actually is. Be careful not to press the buttons in haste, else you might go one channel – or, more commonly in our household, one input/source – too far.
Unfortunately, going one input too far will make you want to kill yourself. Better strap in for the long haul cause you’re not going to be watching that DVD anytime soon. You’re going to have to cycle through the eight-or-so other inputs to get back to the one you want. Don’t forget about that delay! Go too quickly and you’re fucked all over again. The cost you pay for pressing the incorrect button on this piece of shit remote is severely disproportionate to the relatively minute act of pressing a button one too many times.
In the end, it’s probably just better to get up off the couch and change the damn thing by hand. My remote: redefining “convenience” since 2008.
Yesterday, poor Josh walked in on perhaps the worst conversation a boy could walk in on between two girls.
Amy and I were walking home when I brought up the topic of feminine hygiene. “Feminine hygiene” of course being the best way to gloss over the fact that we were really having a debate over the benefits and pitfalls of using tampons versus pads.
In the course of any comprehensive debate about pad-versus-tampon superiority, the topic of absorbency must be addressed. Unfortunately, this is a ridiculously gross topic. Like, super gross. Just know that the phrase “brown and stringy” was used.
Anyway, this was right about when Josh walked in on the conversation. Sorry dude, you thought you could enter this conversation smoothly. No dice.
And now, the Mona Lisa. But, you know, with tampons.
Is this your way to hide a broken heart?
One of the top searches for my blog is “bluebird scabs,” because apparently I wrote in an entry about picking at the scabs on my industrial piercing, and this is enough to make my blog show up on the first page of results on Google.
I find this search string highly questionable: what exactly is a user looking for when they search for “bluebird scabs”? What would compel that user to click on my blog, which clearly appears with the phrase “pick at the scabs on my piercing” when Googled?
Well, I don’t know what you’re here for, people, but I’m glad you’re here. I’ll try to write more about bluebird scabs from now on, promise.
Spoiler: Twilight is a terrible film.
Everything that could be wrong with a story has manifested itself in this movie. Let’s start with the main character, shall we?
Bella Swan is a brooding emo kid whose self-sacrificing decision to live in rainy Forks, Washington causes her whiny inner monologue to work overtime with depressed, dramatic musings. Good thing she’s pretty because girl ain’t got personality to speak of. Apparently she’s sarcastic, which means that every once and awhile she makes some obvious, ironic comment.
She’s madly in love with the mysterious Edward Cullen because… Well, for no reason really, except that he’s super hot and enigmatic. An otherwise good reason to date a dude EXCEPT YOU CAN’T EVEN MAKE OUT WITH THE GUY. This aspect of their relationship simply defied realism, and I couldn’t suspend my belief long enough to believe in their romance. Also, he’s a vampire.
The good news is that you can put the damn film on mute, pour a glass of wine, and skip through it so you can see plenty of that pale guy who was in Harry Potter. Insert dirty innuendo here.
