Okay class, today, we're going to discuss relationships. What are they? Who is having them, and why?
Just kidding!
But in all seriousness, why people? Why with the heartache, the heartbreak? If he doesn't love you, he doesn't love you, and your tears are not going to make the difference. If she's a hoe-bag cheater, she's a hoe-bag cheater, and no amount of taking her back will fix it!
Sorry...rant ended.
That is all.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Don't Lick it...Don't Stick it...Don't...
Okay, so perhaps the title of this is a little offputting, or maybe it isn't and you know exactly what you're getting into and what you're not. Anyway, I ripped the actual title of this post from my Biology Professor Dr. Eric Stabenau, so if you're out there EKS, I gave you full credit and if you'd like I can site it in acceptable Ecology Format for you!
Anyway, on with the story. So for those of your who don't know, I'm scientifically inclined (hence the source of this title) and as such I want to go to medical school. I'm working toward that goal by working in an Emergency Department in the United States. As such, I am well aware of the HIPPA laws and all that, but let me just share something with you people. A little fact of life, if you will. There are three or four difference categories that I divide things into:
1. Don't lick it.
2. Don't stick it.
3. Don't suck it.
That's it. Three little categories in which everything in life can fit. Everything. Seriously. Throw something out there. What was that? In the back row? A Zebra you say? Well you really don't want to lick or suck a zebra, so it fits into two categories, but however, if you want, you can stick it in a zoo or cage somewhere...so whatever. Now on to something a little more common place. How about...a straw? You suck on it, and maybe if you're feeling odd or coy you can lick it, but by God you're not about to stick it in your eye. Am I right people? Am I right?
Thank you.
Anyway, now that you get the break down here. I'm going to throw you a bone. There are breakdowns to these categories. Some of them, and these items mostly have to do with number two up there, that should be precursored with "unless attacked to something you can pull it out with." Now think on that for a moment.
Keep thinking you haven't hardly done enough of it yey.
Mortified?
Grossed out?
Worried about where your vibrator is and if it has something you can pull it out with?
Well then we're on the very same page. Now people, America is supposed to be this shining example for the world around us, but when the complaint of an up and coming shining star of the American dream comes into the Emergency Department is that they lost their vibrator something is wrong. Just as a clarification, they checked the side table, and it wasn't in the bedsheets.
I mean come on people. I understand that in the heat of the moment things can happen, but what about leading up to that time? A few minutes before? You know you think about using that thing long before you actually do, and we all know that you actually went through a mental check list when you bought it. Now maybe, just maybe it was your first time in a story and you were nervous, so you're mental list went out the window and you bought one in the least imposing box. The ones marked "Good Vibrations" and "Santa's Little Candy Cane" went right out the window and you nearly died from the one marked "Stimulating End". So you grabbed one without thinking. But when you got how, I KNOW you thought about the logistics. Jesus, who knew "Dog Bone" was going to be so friggin big, right?
So why, oh why, didn't you think about that particular object's exit strategy? Why were you so concerned with the entrance? I mean, when you're bent over a table with a doc trying to remove that thing from the wrong oriface, you're wondering these same things so why not jump ahead a bit and think about the three categories that rule my life. Don't lick it. Don't stick it. Don't suck it.
Anyway, on with the story. So for those of your who don't know, I'm scientifically inclined (hence the source of this title) and as such I want to go to medical school. I'm working toward that goal by working in an Emergency Department in the United States. As such, I am well aware of the HIPPA laws and all that, but let me just share something with you people. A little fact of life, if you will. There are three or four difference categories that I divide things into:
1. Don't lick it.
2. Don't stick it.
3. Don't suck it.
That's it. Three little categories in which everything in life can fit. Everything. Seriously. Throw something out there. What was that? In the back row? A Zebra you say? Well you really don't want to lick or suck a zebra, so it fits into two categories, but however, if you want, you can stick it in a zoo or cage somewhere...so whatever. Now on to something a little more common place. How about...a straw? You suck on it, and maybe if you're feeling odd or coy you can lick it, but by God you're not about to stick it in your eye. Am I right people? Am I right?
Thank you.
Anyway, now that you get the break down here. I'm going to throw you a bone. There are breakdowns to these categories. Some of them, and these items mostly have to do with number two up there, that should be precursored with "unless attacked to something you can pull it out with." Now think on that for a moment.
Keep thinking you haven't hardly done enough of it yey.
Mortified?
Grossed out?
Worried about where your vibrator is and if it has something you can pull it out with?
Well then we're on the very same page. Now people, America is supposed to be this shining example for the world around us, but when the complaint of an up and coming shining star of the American dream comes into the Emergency Department is that they lost their vibrator something is wrong. Just as a clarification, they checked the side table, and it wasn't in the bedsheets.
I mean come on people. I understand that in the heat of the moment things can happen, but what about leading up to that time? A few minutes before? You know you think about using that thing long before you actually do, and we all know that you actually went through a mental check list when you bought it. Now maybe, just maybe it was your first time in a story and you were nervous, so you're mental list went out the window and you bought one in the least imposing box. The ones marked "Good Vibrations" and "Santa's Little Candy Cane" went right out the window and you nearly died from the one marked "Stimulating End". So you grabbed one without thinking. But when you got how, I KNOW you thought about the logistics. Jesus, who knew "Dog Bone" was going to be so friggin big, right?
So why, oh why, didn't you think about that particular object's exit strategy? Why were you so concerned with the entrance? I mean, when you're bent over a table with a doc trying to remove that thing from the wrong oriface, you're wondering these same things so why not jump ahead a bit and think about the three categories that rule my life. Don't lick it. Don't stick it. Don't suck it.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Windshield Love All
Well, well, well. It has been a while, hasn't it, blogging world? I have excuses, I have heart-felt apologies, and I have rotten tomatoes at the ready for when you finish this piece, but what I don't have, what I don't have is the piece of mind to actually defend myself from the tomato-y onslaught. And do you want to know why? I'll tell you why! (Come on guys...its a blog, if you didn't think I was going to tell you, I think you need to go back to facebook). Anyway, so basically my blog "Brain to Earth, Come in Please" is a giant bitch session, and I am debating on starting another on this site that's a little less ragging and a little more sunshine and roses. Let's be honest for a moment though, who wants to read about my awesome day at work or how my Organismal Biology exam went? No one, that's who.
So I'm going to continue my giant B and M session with another little story. Now I know what you're thinking, you're thinking, "AshVee, there cannot, simply cannot be anything worse than the tights story." You'd be wrong, but again, you'd be painting a better world. This story starts, like most stories do, with a boy, a girl, and a tennis racket.
That's right.
Soak it up.
Ready for the story?
...K...
So I wake up this morning, bright eyed and bushy tailed, with the knowledge in my head that I have to be to work by 11am, which is a pretty good sleep in for me. So I wake up around 8 this morning, make a Toaster Scramble, pour a glass of OJ, and put the coffee on (for those of you who don't know yet, my name is AshVee, and I am addicted to coffee *Hello AshVee*). So I'm just chillaxing in my appartment when I hear a screen door slam in the apartment upstairs. Silently cursing the face that they get a balcony with a hammock and I get a front porch with a three foot hole in the middle, I sit and sip on my orange juice until the coffee stops making that gurgling noise.
Amidst the gurgle another door slams, this time too heavy to be the scream, and I'm assuming that she's left her porch and gone to leave. I was wrong, and I have never been happier to admit to that fact. Less than five minutes later it starts, faint, waivery and almost wispy, coming through the airvents. There's trouble in Paradise. Apparently Brad (names have been changed to protect the guilty) cheated on Janet, and now wants her to take him back.
"Ha! Fat chance asshole." I chuckle into my coffee cup, thoroughly pleased to listen to the argument as both parties seem to be giving as good at they're getting. Then something else happens. Something, and I'm not sure what, clashes to the ground outside my window, shattering to bits and pieces.
Now, you should know something. I'm not a real violent person, and I don't condone domestic violence, but if you've ever actually seen a woman scorned throw a man's tennis racket through a car windshield, you'd be as pleased as I was. Now you have to get the whole picture, this tennis racket, is now halfway lodged into this windshield. I'm staring, curtain pulled back unabashedly, mouth agape in my first floor window, staring with a mirthful twinkle in my eye, because I know...I somehow just know its his car. It took a good thirty seconds for the screaming to start. Again, you have to realize that I am an avid pro-peace type of person, so when I tell you that this real winner runs down the stairs, screaming, with his equally winner girlfriend chasing him with another tennis racket, you have to understand that its not the violence that I find hilarious. Its the pure, unadultered, Three Stooges Comedy that I find almost too good to talk about. He proceeds to his car, screaming, gesturing at the vehicle, chasing her around the car.
Now the really funny part is that while he was chasing her, she was chasing him. This little slip of a woman's chasing this big man around, and after one or two trips around the car, comprehension dawns on him that she's not finished causing damage with that racket. So, with less pride than flight, he takes off, sprinting down the street, tail between his legs, while three or four people peek their heads through their front doors, laughing.
So the real thing here, besides the hilarity of it all, is that these two are the opitomy of white trash. Come on buddy, did you have to come over after you told her you cheated on her? Did she have to launch a racket through his windshield? No, no she didn't...but it made me chuckle, and now, at work, she's making everyone else chuckle. So, moral of the story: if you have to do something less than classy, make at least one person laugh, because you never know how much its going to brighten their day.
Deuces and Later Days
So I'm going to continue my giant B and M session with another little story. Now I know what you're thinking, you're thinking, "AshVee, there cannot, simply cannot be anything worse than the tights story." You'd be wrong, but again, you'd be painting a better world. This story starts, like most stories do, with a boy, a girl, and a tennis racket.
That's right.
Soak it up.
Ready for the story?
...K...
So I wake up this morning, bright eyed and bushy tailed, with the knowledge in my head that I have to be to work by 11am, which is a pretty good sleep in for me. So I wake up around 8 this morning, make a Toaster Scramble, pour a glass of OJ, and put the coffee on (for those of you who don't know yet, my name is AshVee, and I am addicted to coffee *Hello AshVee*). So I'm just chillaxing in my appartment when I hear a screen door slam in the apartment upstairs. Silently cursing the face that they get a balcony with a hammock and I get a front porch with a three foot hole in the middle, I sit and sip on my orange juice until the coffee stops making that gurgling noise.
Amidst the gurgle another door slams, this time too heavy to be the scream, and I'm assuming that she's left her porch and gone to leave. I was wrong, and I have never been happier to admit to that fact. Less than five minutes later it starts, faint, waivery and almost wispy, coming through the airvents. There's trouble in Paradise. Apparently Brad (names have been changed to protect the guilty) cheated on Janet, and now wants her to take him back.
"Ha! Fat chance asshole." I chuckle into my coffee cup, thoroughly pleased to listen to the argument as both parties seem to be giving as good at they're getting. Then something else happens. Something, and I'm not sure what, clashes to the ground outside my window, shattering to bits and pieces.
Now, you should know something. I'm not a real violent person, and I don't condone domestic violence, but if you've ever actually seen a woman scorned throw a man's tennis racket through a car windshield, you'd be as pleased as I was. Now you have to get the whole picture, this tennis racket, is now halfway lodged into this windshield. I'm staring, curtain pulled back unabashedly, mouth agape in my first floor window, staring with a mirthful twinkle in my eye, because I know...I somehow just know its his car. It took a good thirty seconds for the screaming to start. Again, you have to realize that I am an avid pro-peace type of person, so when I tell you that this real winner runs down the stairs, screaming, with his equally winner girlfriend chasing him with another tennis racket, you have to understand that its not the violence that I find hilarious. Its the pure, unadultered, Three Stooges Comedy that I find almost too good to talk about. He proceeds to his car, screaming, gesturing at the vehicle, chasing her around the car.
Now the really funny part is that while he was chasing her, she was chasing him. This little slip of a woman's chasing this big man around, and after one or two trips around the car, comprehension dawns on him that she's not finished causing damage with that racket. So, with less pride than flight, he takes off, sprinting down the street, tail between his legs, while three or four people peek their heads through their front doors, laughing.
So the real thing here, besides the hilarity of it all, is that these two are the opitomy of white trash. Come on buddy, did you have to come over after you told her you cheated on her? Did she have to launch a racket through his windshield? No, no she didn't...but it made me chuckle, and now, at work, she's making everyone else chuckle. So, moral of the story: if you have to do something less than classy, make at least one person laugh, because you never know how much its going to brighten their day.
Deuces and Later Days
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