Dear Beloved Reader,
A screenshot from the analytics for this blog. This is from this morning.
Don't do that. Mostly because I was forced to then do that same search. It came up with nothing, by the way. Til now.
Much love and no-seriously-does-this-look-like-the-blog-for-that,
Sarah
Update- which is a term I hesitate to use because who really needs an update about Sam's urination habits? But it refers to that post- the one right down there under this one. I no linky, you scroll- if absolutely necessary. Apparently I did not understand exactly the issue. Probably because [as when a blogger writes too long a post and readers go, "too long. did not read." (like this is now would have been had I left this where it was- as an update on that post except I then pulled it off because it really did make it took long)(thanks, Sam)] I zone out when he talks too long without pauses. The issue, as he just explained it, is that the second button, the one on the inside of the pants, that one is waaaay to much trouble to bother accessing. So it has become time to actually use the flap- but only in boxers. Briefs are bad, regardless. (I taught him that bit. Am I right, ladies?) So yes, still weasling the hand in, just through the zipper. That may stop, though, since I just pointed out that the zipper has teeth. And isn't he worried about the teeth? My own form of Inception. This all still qualifies as eww.
Sam called to say that his new pants... okay, because he's bought all these new clothes and is shocked to find out that people seem to treat him more respectfully and value his opinion more when he is dressed nicer. Out of jeans and into slacks, they are cut nicer and have two buttons to the front panel- thus allowing it to sit flatter against his abdomen. This is more flattering to everyone. However, he's just venturing into this world now. And he discovered, to his dismay, that this means- gasp- that apparently he has to actually use his zipper when going to the bathroom! This is a new thing- apparently. Not that we're terribly modest about such things, but I've never paid much attention before to how he goes about with the undoing of the pants.
I did know that he never used that gap that is prevalent in men's briefs. No man does, I'm told. This is vestigial, I would guess, much like the human appendix, except much more unlikely to rupture for the majority of men.
His complaint came in that now he has to not just undo one but *two* buttons *and* a zipper and then "I have to weasel my hand in there and weasel things back out! It's ridiculous!"
Really?
He's complaining to a woman about this? I actually have to pull everything down to my knees to pee, excepting if I'm in a skirt, at which point I pull that up and hope to god I don't accidentally dunk it in the toilet *or* pee on it. Oh, and, by the way? We have to use the toilet paper *every time*. Amazing, I know. None of this shake-and-dance stuff for us. Thank all the heavens. Because eww.
I was looking at -->something online this morning that reminded me that I have a crush on Wil Wheaton- this is thanks to thebloggess, who, years ago, reintroduced me to the grown-up version of him. It's just more proof that I'm a nerd-boy-groupie. So, there I am, totally immersed in stalkering Wil Wheaton, when Sam calls.
Sam: Hey.
Me: Hey, I'm gonna have Wil Wheaton's babies, if it's all the same to you.
Sam: What? Why?
Me: Huh? What do you mean?
Sam: You want to have more kids?
Me: What the hell? Of course not.
Sam: But... why do you want to have his babies?
Me: So he'd be the one impregnating me? Der. What the hell is wrong with you? (Yes, I do actually use the term "der". Twelve-year-old-pathetic, I know.)
Sam: Uhm, okay?
Which sounds exactly like permission to me.
So then I hop over -->here to find Joseph Gordon-Levitt, ohmyfriggingod, playing a guitar
and singing and, ohmyfriggingod, did I mention I'm also a musician-boy-groupie, too? Hell yes. Just a man and a guitar. And Sam is too stubborn to learn guitar, dammit. I didn't know it could get better than seeing him on this Details magazine cover, which I had propped up on the desk at work as inspiration for not only me, but my coworkers, too. (Because I'm all sorts of generous. What? Most of the guys I work with are gay. And the ones that weren't took one look at the magazine and changed their minds. Yes, they did.) And then Sam took me to see Inception, and then this video?
I can't handle stalkering two people at once. It's too overwhelming.
And that, Sam, is why I didn't clean the house today. It's your fault, really.
I kind of want to cry and vomit at the same time, except that my head just exploded.
Glenn Beck and I are standing on the same side of an issue.
No, wait! Come back! Do you know how hard it was for me to say that?
From thedailywh.at (because I credit where credit is due) to The Huffington Post (this is the link with the video) to Bill O'Reilly to Glenn Beck (no, neither of those... ahem... gentlemen get a link. Screw them.), Beck was on O'Reilly's show, where he said, essentially, gay marriage was a non-issue. Gay marriage is not a threat to this country. (O'Reilly? Seriously? What the hell is with that drama? "Threat"? You're such a little bitch.) (And, yes, I know the drama is because it's what makes his ratings. He's still a little bitch.)
Beck's point? Look around, folks. There are so many other issues, there is so much wrong, this is not worth the focus. He then went on to quote Thomas Jefferson, "If it neither breaks my leg nor picks my pocket, what difference is it to me?" I'm not sure the validity of the quote, but its meaning is one of the primary rules I am raising my children with. I'm fairly sure that Beck does not typically practice what he's preaching there, but fine, whatever.
For the record, I think it should be a non-issue. But when one side makes it an issue, if no one is pulling on the other side of the ol' tug-o-war, guess who wins?
Also, for the record, this is it. I haven't seen any other thing I could possibly agree with Beck on... no, wait. His "respect" for O'Reilly. That's pretty great, too.
Notes on the video itself: At 1:58, Beck says to the camera, of O'Reilly, "He's so hostile!" Then he turns back to O'Reilly, "Need a little Jesus?" And I fell off the sofa, laughing. Then there's a, uhm, "size" discussion. That's decent. I watched the full length of this clip, but you can stop by the 4:00 mark. I promise that you'll want to slit your own throat if you continue past that.
You filthy bastards.
I get that you think you are technologically advanced. I get that you know that your fast-forward in On Demand mode is wonky at best, and I know that you know that I know that it is that way on purpose- makes it harder, in fact impossible, to fast-forward through those commercials that you add in in the midst of a show; oh, forgive me, that the network adds in.
Which, fine. I've not said a word. Commercials make the world go round. And you- at this goddamn point in time- limit those to commercials to 30 seconds spurts. So, fine, okay, a little bit of commercial.
Even though I pay through the nose.
For your shitty service that is so not fucking dependable that I have to watch shows On Demand because you fucking fail at recording things reliably.
And so I start a show up- one that I don't even particularly like- one that I watch because I'm most of the way into the season and I have an extraordinary sense of follow-through when it comes to shitty television series and because Cassie is watching it and I can't abandon her to face this hell alone- I start this show up and the first thing that comes across the screen is "*****". What. the. Mother Hell. What if I just want to catch the last four minutes- that bit that you mysteriously missed recording- instead of watching the whole thing? Ihateyouyousuck.
Are you kidding me? Are you kidding me? You stupid kowtowing jackasses. Do you feel no sense of obligation to your customers? Are you going to allow these networks to simply keep walking all over us? Stand up for us.
You know what? I just watched one of the commercials. The first one was for the network, this one is for your service. You cancel fast-forwarding on this in order to force us to watch a commercial for an On Demand movie. Which means you are both assholes and you are using this as an example to show potential advertisers how they can pay you more money for more ad time.
So, since you're going to be making so much more money through this other source, you'll be lowering my bill, right? Right?
The next thing you'll do is make it so that we have to sit through five minutes of advertising, preemptively, every time we turn on the cable box.
You're welcome for the idea.
I'll be expecting my check in the mail.
You filthy bastards.
Anyone ever notice how often I begin a post or a new paragraph with the word "so"? Not this time. This one is mid-paragraph. So, normally I don't respond at all to those comments that are like, "you write good! i right good to! you should visit and follow my blog!". There is not often a good way to reply; actually going to their blog, whether to check them out or blast them, is just feeding into their psychosis. Blasting them, as follows, just gives them more publicity. The one time I did respond was not even on my blog; it was on Cate's, where one of the comments was from some guy named Steve (hi, Steve! /me waves), saying "you are invited to follow my blog", and my internal reaction was "Fuck you, Steve! You are a world class asshole!", but I don't tend to go around dropping f-bombs on other people's blogs, except maybe Andy's, and I also knew that Cate was not going to respond with the righteous indignation proper to the situation because she is, contrary to popular belief, too polite for that, so I felt the need to speak up on her behalf without the use of the f-word, and I did manage to, but just barely. (Super long but grammatically correct sentence WIN.)
And I get it. There is an aspect of "look how popular I am" involved in blogging for a lot of people. This is either A) not the case for me, or B) (and more likely) I'm really not that good at it or devoted to it. Regardless, it does seem to run rampant. And when a comment is obviously just a ploy to get people to come to the blog of said commenter, I am generally very forgiving, IF- and it's really not a big IF- if the person has taken the time to read my post and then written a comment pertaining to it and then sticks in an advertisement for their own blog, then I am okay with it.
And then there are the times that the comment is just spam. And then there are the times that you get the combination. It looks like just a lame c/p comment and you feel sort of sorry for this loser and then you realize that the link is spam. And then you want to shoot this faker between the eyes.
I am not positive that this user is just a spammy-spammer. I did not follow the "link". No one is to go check! Do not fall into a poorly set trap! But what kind of blogger doesn't have their own blog linked to their profile? Spammers, that's what kind.
Oh, little trashcan icon, you are so tempting.
"But what if, while it is not specific to your current post, it is just an honest reaction to you and not c/p?", you say? (Because I know you speak back to me while you read this.) Oh, contrare, my loves!
What. a. slut. And might I point out that he didn't even become an in-name-only follower of my blog? So, not only is he a slut, but he's like the frat-boy who finishes first and leaves early. He's the not-fun kind of slut. Way to ruin the party, joven.
