Category Archives: horrifying

The brave death of the skillet

It shouldn’t be surprising, but it seems that with unemployment I have  become considerably lazier than recent memory recalls. With getting laid off I’ve noticed that it has opened up a world of possibilities, such as more time to shower but also less impetus to get out of bed.

Also, re-making Dre’s 2001: The Chronic to make it cat friendly for my kits:
new dre

hey-eh-eh-ay catnip everyday

But I’ve been neglecting more than just my personal hygiene and commitment to sanity. I’ve neglected skillet

It seems as though when I was making skillet work double duty as a pasta-maker, I didn’t consider that the noxious combination of pasta water and the bottom of the balsa wood VHS organizer would create something considerably unholy.

this is the tool I use to steam pasta in a cast iron skillet

this is the tool I use to steam pasta in a cast iron skillet

This is what the bottom looked like after I steamed the pasta:

that ring was not an original feature of the organizer

that ring was not an original feature of the organizer

And this what happened after letting the fumes, and poison, and remnants of pasta that I couldn’t fish out percolate for about a week (read: a month):

Sweet mother of God

Sweet mother of God

It gets worse:

It's my very own version of the Origin of Species. But, ya know, in my kitchen

It’s my very own version of the Origin of Species. But, ya know, in my kitchen

When the mold started I did what any person would do.
hide the mold

I put the VHS organizer back on top of the skillet so as not to deal with it.

Until today. Now the little community of, what can only be evil and villainous, mold can live free in the skillet for all of eternity.

In my trash.

But I played Taps while heaving it into the dumpster.

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Filed under apartment, cats, cooking, food, horrifying, music, pets, science! technology!

The conversation that created a lifetime of laughter (for me)

There are times I get down about the calamities I’ve created, which I’ll sometimes refer to as “life.” And since the world revolves around me and my happiness, I’ve had to find satisfying ways to bring joy back in my life during the times when things get dark (like when I had to spend a shocking twenty minutes today looking for my shoe’s mate).

I’ve documented a previous way here

And barring that this’ll bring a great big smile to my face:

Ah, pizza pictures. They prep me for my return to home and pizza consumption

Ah, pizza pictures. They prep me for my return to home and pizza consumption

Then there is watching Katherine Heigl’s charming shenanigans on loop like 27 Dresses carries the secrets to the mysteries of the Bible.

but doesn't it though?

but doesn’t it though?

But sometimes, no matter how many slices of pizza you look at or how many Katherine Heigl rom-coms you watch (I also suggest the one with Gerard Butler where he’s a dick but she falls for him anyway cause underneath he’s just a big softie. That one is great too), the sun refuses to shine on you.

When I get that blue I like to conjure up a conversation that one day I was lucky enough to overhear. While indulging in my pretention at the local coffee shop, a pair of new-agey hippies sat next to me in the middle of a huge problem. Catastrophic.

The deal was that one of them had a date that night with a fellow she really liked and wanted to have sex with BUT she was on her period (DA DUM DUM!). And following this confession, the greatest advice I ever fucking heard was dispensed:

“I would really like to sleep with him but I’m on my period right now” – wept one hippie

“I heard from a friend that if you sit naked in the desert for an hour or so it’ll make your period go away.”

IF YOU SIT NAKED IN THE DESERT…YOUR PERIOD WILL GO AWAY.

This is unquestionably the best thing I’ve ever heard. I can’t even imagine what the other woman did with that information. Drive around the suburbs of Philadelphia looking for a patch of dirt to sit naked in for several hours until menstruation ceased?

side note: it looks like she's mediating on, like, Tatooine

side note: it looks like she’s mediating on, like, Tatooine

Thank you for the eternal laughter, ladies. Happy menstruating!

 

 

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Filed under celebrities, doodles, hilarious, horrifying, movies, Philadelphia

One pan to rule them all. And in my apartment fry them.

I only own one kitchen appliance. It’s a skillet. It’s made of iron. It’s so large that it could cook me.

leg of lady is on the menu when I'm cookin', Jack.

leg of lady is on the menu when I’m cookin’, Jack.

The only reason I haven’t thrown it away is because I am sure it could double as a weapon.

But on a rare occasion when my supper isn’t cold pizza with several Yuenglings and a couple ounces of hot sauce, I’ve been known to try and cook rice in that sucker.

But I was steaming the rice with an old VHS organizer

But I was steaming the rice with an old VHS organizer

The end of the rice story is that the faux-wood ended up peeling off into the rice and the chemicals mixed with the grains to create a cloud in my kitchen that might have been a noxious and poisonous gas.

But at the end of the day I can still use that skillet to ward off intruders.

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Filed under Booze, cooking, food, horrifying, science! technology!

Holiday Hell Tour: A Molesty Santa

There are certain things that are sacred and unjoking in my [you] life and those are the traditions I have with my closest mates. For the last ten years we have celebrated two things: our own (un PC named) version of Thanksgiving ( see: youfood for the full update), and the other thing is our annual photo with Santa.

Look at those fly people

Look at those fly people

During the holidays tradition is important.

And one part of this holiday tradition is how much bad touching Santa seems to get away with when I sit on his lap.

In the past it was always just a joke pertaining to the fact that due to my size I would have to be the one perched on Santa’s lap. It was a perfect set up for a joke.

However this year Santa amped up his perv game. When I went to sit on his lap it seemed like awkward quarters, what with so many people flanking us. I ended up plopping onto Mrs. Klaus’s lap. So I popped up off her diminutive frame, but Santa full on grabbed my hips to “re-adjust me” on top his lap. And on the way down onto the holiday lap, Santa got a handful of my ass.

He has his hand on my freaking hip in this shot. Damn you, Santa!

He has his hand on my freaking hip in this shot. Damn you, Santa!

So, Santa is kind of a douche bag.

Happy holidays from You Life (and Bear Ambulance) to you

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Filed under cranky, friends, Holidays, horrifying

Fluvious

Since I am obviously completely incapable of kicking an illness in any sort of normal amount of human time, I have been crumpling under the weight of congestion, nausea, sore throat, and exhaustion for over a week now.

But, since I also refuse to give up the overtime availability at my job I still attended work. I say “attended” because what I did while there (other than watch Mighty Ducks) was stare my computer screen and feel sorry for myself.

However, a very kindly co-worker found a space heater for which I could heat away the chill.

But since I can’t just ethically come into work today with a fever and a disinterest in the health of my co-workers, I eventually took the time off

To spend all of it in my bathtub steaming away rivers of mucus

And after I got out of the bath the next day I noticed something. Something…horrifying.

What the Jesus is that?

Evidently while I was at work trying to heat myself out of a flu and galvanize myself into keeping my eyes open, I had pressed my feet against the space heater until I eventually gave myself superficial second degree burns.

So I did what any person would do. I lanced them with a pin. And by pin…I mean corkscrew.

It was with this exact corkscrew, actually. I am not lying. Thanks corkscrew-nacorn

And now it looks like it’s healing…

Or perhaps my foot is going to fall off

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Filed under horrifying, illness

You Life – the extended edition


I am working on an extended You Life for National Novel Writing Month. For those of you unfamiliar with National Novel Writing Month, it’s a bunch of ambitious (or competitive cough cough) people that try to get down 50,000 words in a month. Here is a link to my user profile:

http://www.nanowrimo.org/en/participants/anotherintro

As it turns out, when you are writing grandiose rememberings of your past adventures it is a bit easier to make word count than, say, making up an entire story. It also opens up healed wounds and forces you to seriously analyze where in your past the serious issues started.

Well, I found a couple.

Welcome to You Life learning about masturbation in a foreign country. Or, in other words, a snippet from my Nano:

During this dark, unattractive, awkward age I ended up taking an extended trip with my mother to Salamanca in Spain. This was not the kind of vacation that month long trips to Spain might initially conjure. Yes, unquestionably, I grew up privileged. Truthfully, I had been to Spain twice before as a travel companion for my mother, and during those times we did stay in hotels and eat fancy meals (I even got a glass of alcoholic cider at the age of ten – commence the future drinking).

This was not the same kind of trip.

While I did go as her travel companion again, it was not to resorts or fancy spas. We were in Salamanca because my mother is a Spanish professor and had classes for the entirety of the month of July. Writing this it does strike me as eccentric for a fifty year old woman to bring her twelve year old to Spain for a month, however one would have to know my mother to appreciate this. My companionship was required.

So, my mother and I lived in the dormitories at the Universidad of Salamanca for the month of July. Being “forced” to bring her young daughter, my mother managed to snag a rare dorm room that had a bathroom – no communal potties for us! – and bought a hot plate.

Since Salamanca, and seemingly the world in general, was a safer place I was allowed to explore the city and spend my pesetas on trinkets at the many many shops while my mom was in class. I would wake up late in the day – never an early riser – to find warm crescents with butter and hot chocolate waiting for me. I would have a leisurely breakfast and then wander about the dorms, making shy friends with the older college kids, and go off to wander the town.

During these travels I would occupy my time looking for the frog on the façade of the Universidad (I did!) and then loiter at the bookstore that held an unusually comprehensive collection of Penguin classics of English and American literature. Most of the spending money I was given was used on Salamancan frog Tchotchkes or Penguin classic books. The books I had brought with me to Spain (The Red Badge of Courage, Black is the Color of My True Love’s Heart, and a six hundred page fantasy novel about a magical sword) expanded greatly to include the entire works of Jane Austen, Tales of Mystery and Horror by Edgar Allan Poe, Last of the Mohicans by James Fennimore Cooper, Five Children and It by Edith Nesbitt, and – getting to the point I swear – Moll Flanders by Daniel Defoe.

Firstly, I could barely understand a single word of any of the texts I picked up. Mostly I carried them into the common room to inspire conversation with the college students. And one would be surprised at how well it worked. I would sit in the common room in my Bret the Hitman Hart t shirt (don’t want to talk about my WWF obsession, but yes it existed) reading and then re-reading the same paragraph in Last of the Mohicans and sure enough a college student would ask me questions. Human contact! Exciting! I even became a kind of consoling ear for a few of the less emotionally mature ones.

But I also wanted to occupy my mind with flirtations and, ya know, tingles. I was alone most of the day with the exception of communal lunches, the times I spent playing with the university dog, and the spouts of college student conversation. And during that solo time I wanted to explore. Myself. Whatever, don’t judge – you probably did the same thing.

However, chances are that not many other people – in their confusion and desperation – purchased the, arguably, first novel written in 1721 to masturbate to while in a foreign country…or anywhere else. While on my Penguin classics buying sprees I happened upon Moll Flanders and read the synopsis in the back. While most of it seemed like gibberish to me, I was able to grasp that Moll was a woman of “loose morals” working in a “gentlemen trading” business. It sure as hell sounded like there might be sex in there. So I purchased it and poured over the novel, not understanding a fucking word, for almost a month frustratingly trying to find the parts people in the 18th century got their rocks off to. At one point, in the bathtub reading the book, I was able to sort of ascertain that some lascivious behaviors were being exhibited. But I couldn’t be sure. My imagination was certainly not filling in the gaps…so to speak.

What a wild disappointment. And as an aside, when I was asked to read Moll Flanders in college as the example of the emerging “novel,” I refused to read it on principle: The principle that at twelve years old Daniel Defoe couldn’t get me off.

Good luck, Nano-ers, and for better links and inspiration than this, check out:

http://nanotoons.net/

http://www.buzzfeed.com/mollykateri/the-stages-of-national-novel-writing-month-421u

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Filed under horrifying, preteen years, travel

Have you done anything supa’ sexy recently?

I totally have. I got all naked, and soapy, and wet with….

My dishes!

Because my sink is clogged and I promised myself that I would wash my dishes by hell or high water. Instead, I forgot about them. So, we all ended up showering together once my hair began to smell offensive.

Happy Friday.

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Filed under apartment, going green, horrifying

Magic School Bus

It is my gift; It is my curse: my face.

While waiting for the 95 bus to take me to my (grownup) job today something happened. Something mystical. Something that teetered that fine line between joy and sorrow.

Not one, but two, school buses stopped to pick me up within the course of an hour.

This picture taken mere moment before the great school bus incident of 2012

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Filed under cranky, horrifying, Philadelphia, public transportation

Breakfast cancer

I wasn’t allowed to have snack food growing up. No soda, no caffeine, no candy. My mother was, and is, a phenomenal cook which meant that I was blessed with awesome meals everyday – including packed lunches.

 

There is a part of me that would like to repay these healthy eating habits during my youth with a balanced and mature response to the ability to now purchase my own groceries and prepare my own meals.

On the other hand. Breakfast candy sounds delightful

Good morning, cancer. I’ve noted that the main ingredients in most of my breakfast consisted of colors and numbers.

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Filed under cooking, food, horrifying

Life imitating…well not art, but it is imitating something on this blog

I started this blog as a response to the good intentions of people that run blogs and post about their perfect perfect lives. It’s kind of insane that monetary exchange has been made based off of faceless people being voyeurs.

There has never been a moment of my life where I thought, “I would love to see how fucking awesome this stranger’s life is. ” I’ve never wanted to marvel over this internet mirage’s abilities to find so much time in the day to knit a cat litter cozy, applique some glitter to ugly thrift store clothing, and photograph seven million pictures of them kissing their mate. Because of two things:  1. I am insecure and 2. I don’t like feeling happy for other people. I would much prefer to make fun of other people. Hence this right here.

However, while I do love pointing out the various absurdities of my life, I am beginning to think that there might be some karmic retribution for taking such joy at hating those lifestyle blogs so much:

Come ON!

I know that some of my actions are condemnable…but does my apartment have to be as well?

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Filed under crafts, cranky, horrifying, Philadelphia