Stream of Thought

Stream of thought?  Stream of conciousness would be better.  That’s not spelled right…

Conciousness…contioiusness…contientiousness…English sucks…

Why do we say “this sucks” or “this blows” when blow jobs are so totally awesome?

The wind blows, and that’s a good thing….

It would be really nice outside if there was some wind. Why doesn’t god blow more?

Stupid mosquitoes won’t leave me alone. They got rid of West Nile Virus, right?

Oh my god, what if I get malaria or something?

Did you know malaria are flatworms? #thingsilearnedfromthetwilightmoviebutnotinschool

School was stupid. I didn’t learn how babies were made until a girlfriend sat me down with the book “A Baby is Born” when I was 22 #schoolisstupid #truestory

I want children but I couldn’t even raise a pumpkin without it dying.

Maybe I’d do better with a flesh and blood thing. At least I wouldn’t feel so guilty when it died because I’d probably be in prison.

I made the mistake of watching that movie “Nature’s Grave” and now I keep thinking that stupid moth is going to come after me #zombiemothsarescary

All the guys at work made fun of me when I told them I like to crochet.

But that just means I have really nimble fingers and am good with my hands #thatsrightladiesandimsingletoo

I think I’m still delusionally dehydrated from Yom Kippur.

Advertisements

It ain’t no Pepsi Muffin

While it may not be as good as nibbling on a muffin, Pepsi flavored or otherwise, it’s still insanely tasty and just happens to be this weeks blog post!

What is it?  Why, it’s Kung Pow Tofu, of course!  Now, I understand some people might be all, “That’s not Kung Pow!  Peanuts do not a Kung Pow make!” and to them I reply, “Well, what is Kung Pow other than the hardest thing in the world to eat with chopsticks?”

It’s simple, really.  All you need is:

1lb well pressed Hard Tofu (Chinese or Cotton tofu)*

1 small package frozen broccoli florets

sracha sauce

chili garlic sauce

peanuts

soy sauce

oil

In either a wok or deep skillet, sauce pan, or whatever it is you happen to prefer cooking something in, heat some oil.  I happen to prefer spicy sesame oil as it’s, well, spicy.  None of that woosy olive oil for me, no sir, I like my taste buds to bleed.  Crumble to tofu into the oil.  Follow the microwave directions for the broccoli, but only cook it halfway or so.  Basically, kind of follow the instructions, but pretend your extremely stoned and hungry and too impatient to wait the 8 or 9 minutes for it to cook.

Add some soy sauce to the tofu, and maybe a little salt or whatever.  I think soy sauce is plenty salty, and my food is delicious.  Trust me.  I have about 50 pounds to lose, so I must know good food.  Stir it around every couple of minutes.  You want it to be nice and kind of golden brown or whatever.  It doesn’t really make a difference to me if you want to eat it raw.  Hey, it’s your dinner, not mine, but I happen to like my tofu nice and cooked thoroughly.  When the timer goes off on the broccoli put it in with the tofu.  You may have to drain the broccoli.  The directions on my store brand said so, but you ritzy people with your name brand broccoli might not have to.  And while you’re at it, send some extra money my way.  Or, better yet, stop being so full of yourself.  It’s a freaking vegetable.  What difference does it make if you spend an extra $1.50 on it to get the name brand versus the store brand?  It’s all G-d’s brand, anyway!

Next, add that garlic chili sauce to it that you find in the ethnic aisle at the grocery store.  Stir everything around a bit.  You probably didn’t add enough, so add a little bit more along with some sracha so everything is coated nice on top, and then stir everything around a bit more.  Then add some peanuts and sesame seeds or celery or whatever.  Then stir it around some more.  Put it into a vessel and consume.

I’d post a picture of what it should look like, but I ate my portion.  Besides, this post is about cooking, not eating.  Maybe next week I’ll post the follow-up with strict instructions on how to consume the amazing food I just explained how to make.

*Remember, folks, Bing is your friend.

What’s wrong with free?

So I logged into WordPress today, contemplating writing a post about the books I’ve been reading and how much work is a drag on, well, everything, when I noticed the Freshly Pressed page had some things that caught my eye.  Two I dismissed as just ranting (imagine the gall of a blogger who rants incessantly!) and the other just got under my skin.

This post claims the reason people don’t want to spend money to use, say, Twitter, is because we’ve become accustomed to getting things for free on the internet, despite “shelling out the cash” for music and books in stores.  I disagree.

How long did it take for people to start “shelling out the cash” for things like Cable TV, Satellite, and Internet access?  Isn’t the RIAA still throwing a fit over piracy?  And then there’s the movie pirating which has led to every movie I’ve recently watched, both on DVD and on the big screen, to having a piracy PSA before the previews.  So is it, in fact, an Internet issue, or simply a human issue?

I’m not gonna lie, I don’t think we should have to pay for anything, period.  That’s not to say everything should be completely free, per se, but money is a lost cause.  What’s all that paper based on, anyway?  Many of these big businesses don’t pay for anything, really, as it’s all done on credit.  It’s pretend money.  I worked for a small restaurant two years ago and the guy didn’t pay rent or utilities for the first year.  He didn’t make it that long, so what did he end up doing to cover those expenses he hadn’t yet paid?  I’ve had several jobs where, as a manager, I signed an invoice stating we owed X company Y dollars for Z merchandise, but I never saw anything get paid except for in an Excel SpreadSheet.  When did it get paid, and by whom?

There are tons of people who couldn’t imagine walking into a store/restaurant/bar/cafe, acquiring food/supplies/drinks/etc, and then not paying for said merchandise.  Yet we do it everyday, with every swipe of our credit card.  I’ve had a credit card.  I maxed that little thing out to the tune of $2,000 dollars, which Providian Bank kindly paid, and then never paid it off.***

No one called me to ask where the money was, nor did anyone come and claim my merchandise back.  And it’s not even on my Credit History…anywhere.

The Internet doesn’t have a free problem, people do.

***As a side note, I wasn’t actually allowed to pay that bill.  Back in early 2002 Providian Bank sold $4.2 million in (Visa) accounts to a Pakistan based (MasterCard) company, who then was unreachable and never sent out cards or information.  Providian wouldn’t give me the information to reach them, nor could I pay my bill to them, and the Pakistani company was unable to help me without an account number, which they failed to provide me.  Thus, I got off scot-free, so to speak.  But look how many people have umpteen thousands (or more) in Credit Card debt that they can’t (or won’t) pay?  How many of them, exactly, have been prosecuted and put in prison for theft/larceny/whatever the charge may be?  Or even taken to court and forced to pay restitution?  I’ve heard of people being threatened, but I have yet to hear anything short of a Buelleresque “My sister’s boyfriend’s cousin’s aunt’s neighbor in Nebraska has a dog who gets groomed by a lady who…” about it, nothing concrete.  Ever.  So what’s that say?

The Storm

I’m very glad I don’t have plants outside. The wind started whipping around 60mph, the trees were sideways, the shingles were soaring from rooftops. It was horrible. So now I’m sitting in the living room with my dad, just chillin.

Chillin is not really the operative word. At the count of ten he breaks the silence. It’s funny, because he taught me how to play that game. Grandma was a sixer, my aunt is between a four and an eight, depending upon the day.

The power went out about the same time the wind hit. For about ten minutes I had no phone whatsoever. It was like the beginning of the Apocalypse. Just what I need to finish out my year: the end of the world. Although, if it were to bring good things, I’d take it.

Now it’s just a matter of waiting for the power to come back on. I’m glad I took that nap earlier. That means if I don’t get much sleep tonight I won’t be too tired tomorrow when I go in for that horrid morning shift.

I still wonder how people manages for all those thousands of years without air conditioners. I’m a spoiled brat, I know, but I like it no higher than 70 in my home, and can’t sleep when it’s hot.

Apparently my cat is a 45. That’s when she allows there to be quiet at all. I’m surprised she’s been this quiet so far.

The end is nigh, but I will keep you posted as the Apocalypse progresses.

***Update***
Went out and got gas to save myself the trip in the morning. Thought Dad was gonna kill me when I said I was going out. They’d be dead already if I hadn’t left.

Mom woke up. She’s a 1.5 on the counting the quiet game scale. I’ve been home for ten minutes and there has been 5 seconds of quiet.

There are downed trees all over. Some of the people up the street are smart enough to have a generator. My parents? Mom wants to invest in a battery operated fan, and Dad wants an inverter. I can kind of see an inverter, but you’d still need a generator to charge the batteries after they started to lose juice.

She’s counting the fireflies outside. Dad’s reminiscing about the blackout of 71 or 72 or whenever the hell it was. Started yelling at me because I thought it was back in 74.

Somebody, please, save me!

I swear, if I didn’t need the money, I would have gotten a hotel room hours ago.

Its Dating History Wednesday

Hey, look, I came up with a gimmick!  Go me!

So I was thinking today about some of the crazy “dates” I’ve been on.  Some of these memories are comical, some are tragic, and some are downright embarrassing.  What perfect fodder for me to give to you!

Note:  For those challenged at reading between the lines, implied meaning is conveniently placed between parentheses.  That’s () for those who don’t know that already.

Let’s start this story with a little bit of history:  Recently out of a horrible relationship filled with fireworks (which means we fought like cats and dogs, so of course the sex was fantastic) and wanting to explore my sexuality (which means I finally decided to do something about seeing all these crazy sexy guys and get some cock) I joined this online “dating” site (dating is in quotes because it’s a site that was designed to help men find other men who were currently horny so they could fuck without having to end up being arrested like George Michael’s and the whole Bathroomgate thing), because, let’s face it, Craigslist is great for finding a used couch/refrigerator/drug dealer, but trying to find a disease free guy…good luck.

A large chunk of the guys were strictly looking for hookups (which are stories for a completely different post)(the prior set of parentheses were not for those challenged at reading between the lines, but strictly for clarifying that this post is not about some fling filled with crazy sex had with an amazing Latin lover…not that it ever happened…and not that it couldn’t…it very well could…and might have…carry on), but some of the guys were actually looking for something a little more long-term than a one hour meet & fuck.  That’s where I met this guy…let’s call him Fuzz.  Now Fuzz, on paper, seemed like a great guy.  He had a personality, the same dry sense of humor, and was intelligent.  The fact we were both in food service was also a plus.

He invited me out one night with a group of his friends to play pool, and we wound up hanging out and talking for hours.  It seemed like things were going swell.

And then we went on a REAL date…

Firstly, having spent years in management, if I’m going to go on a date with a manager, I completely expect there to be a phone call and/or tardiness.  So the fact our 7pm dinner was pushed back to almost 9pm didn’t faze me.  I was actually prepared and waited at the coffee shop we were to meet at with a magazine and a book.  Shit happens, especially for managers of restaurants.  I didn’t expect, however, for our plans to be completely changed and for me to have to find my way into some neighborhood I’d never been to, nor even knew existed, with only a five minute time frame in order to pick him up instead of meeting at said coffee shop.  I agreed to a date, not to be a coffee delivery man.

I had planned on taking him to a great Thai place I’d scoped out with a “friend” (it’s in quotes because we had dated and had great sex and still occasionally hung out and watched porn together so, basically, she was kind of a special friend without having any benefits other than getting to listen to her moan and the like, as that would have been written “FRIEND” instead of merely “friend”) which it turns out closed at 9pm.  Apparently Fuzz didn’t like the idea of having a romantic dinner under the stars in the bed of a pickup.  Strike one, Fuzz.

So we wound up at Buffalo Wild Wings, sipping drinks, and neither of us enjoying ourselves because we couldn’t hear no matter how loud we were and we kept getting horrible looks and threatening glares from the other drunken male patrons.  Then his phone goes off.  It was a friend, “Hey, come help me fix my car!”

The date then devolved into him stripping into a wife beater (which I thought would be sexy but HOLY SHIT he had more back hair than a chimp!) and crawling around underneath a car (ok, that was kind of sexy) while I sat and chatted with his friend, who, it turns out, was a friend of mine from high school’s completely annoying little brother.

We then wound up at Jim’s (think Denny’s with better food and worse service) with his friend and his friend for four hours.  Then I took him home and got an, “I’d invite you in, but my mom’s asleep on the couch, but maybe we could…you know…park in the driveway…”  Yeah, sure, Fuzz, let’s just park in the driveway and have wild, crazy butt sex in front of the livingroom window RIGHT WHERE YOUR MOTHER CAN WATCH US FUCK!

“Sounds great, but I’ve got to be at work in an hour.”

“Oh…ok…next time, then. It was…nice…”

Cue awkward hug with a 6′ plus guy in a tiny truck and me driving away thinking “holy shit I’ve met someone worse at dating than me!”

So, why did Fuzz strike out? I mean, sure, talking about your ex who’s obsessed with you to the point of carving your name into his chest while institutionalised and the other ex of yours you set him up with but the guy really only agreed because he thought the guy was kind of hot and was hoping for some super crazy porn style three-way action was bad enough, but, seriously, there are razors for a reason. Watching that guy propose to his chick through a message shaved into his back hair was funny, but, ultimately, not something I wish to experience.

Plus, I don’t enjoy having sex with a laptop sharing bed space. I enjoy using every bit of bed space there is to use during sex, thank you very much and, unfortunately, Fuzz had this obsession with technology and had to have a gadget touching him constantly.  I asked about showering but, honestly, I was too terrified to ask about how that worked while having sex.  The laptop-on-the-bed-thing is the best case scenario.  Worst case involves a corded mouse and strange gyrations in order to play Minesweeper.

Anyone else got any crazy horrid dates they’ve been on? Care to share?

I cant stop reading this

So a couple of years ago I started reading Sluggy Freelance and fell in love with it. It wasn’t a love at first sight thing by any means. I just couldn’t get that first set of strips out of my head and finally decided to sit down and read the damned thing. This was around September of 2007. I finally finished the archives and caught up during this storyline (at which point I promptly stopped reading). That was a lot of reading.

And a lot of inspiration. Not for stories, unfortunately, although I don’t think anyone can beat Abrams’ imagination. But it makes me want to draw. Drawing has always been something I enjoy, but it’s always been something I’ve had to work at, and no one has ever supported me in it. Ever.

With music I have talent. I’m not the best musician, but if you throw an instrument at me, I can play it. I’m the same way with writing essays and mechanics. There are just certain things certain people have a knack for. Those are my things.

So why not just go forth and do one of those things I have a knack for? Because that would be easy, and I don’t like easy. I mean, yeah, the slut at the bar makes for a great one night stand, but do you really want a relationship with someone who puts out that fast?  Who else has she been with?  Do you really feel you can have a worthwhile relationship with that person?  What makes that relationship so worthwhile is the work you both put into it, not how fast you nailed it.

So I’ve decided to actually put in the work. I’ve started drawing everyday. I’m getting better but I’m nowhere near showing anything I’ve done yet to anybody.

But someday, I’ll have my story published, somewhere, with pretty pictures and action scenes, and someone will be entertained.  And that’s what makes it all worth while.

The world makes NO sense whatsoever!

So they refused to pick up our recycling yesterday.  And why did they refuse to pick up our recycling, you ask?  Because we didn’t waste plastic bags by putting the recyclables inside of them.  Because, hello, we’re trying to be green and we can’t very well be wasteful and green, now, can we?  That’s like telling your kid, “Hey, sweetie, see that pot on the stove?  It’s going to be very, VERY hot.  Why don’t you go over and grab it by the sides with your bare hands for Daddy?  Who’s a good girl?”

And I’ve been on a hunt for two things, lately:  asparagus and an mp3 player.  I have had no luck finding either and it’s kind of upsetting.  I mean, yeah, sure, I could by the overly expensive asparagus in the plastic steamer bag for $5, but, you know what?  I don’t want to!  Hell, if I wanted to spend that much on one meal, I’d just go to some fast food joint and get a burger.

No, don’t get me started on the people, either!  Ok, I’ve gotten myself started on the people.

Went to Wal-Mart, and what did I find?  Nothing that I needed, but I did find two chunky girls dancing in the parking lot for two hot guys.  And then another chick pulled up (saying she was chunky would be the understatement of the year) and joined them and grabbed one of the other chick’s boyfriend’s crotch, and then everyone got in their cars and drove away.

I mean, if you have an open relationship, cool.  If you like 300+ pound women, also cool.  But that doesn’t mean that I need to see it.  Crotch grabbing is something that should either be kept in the bedroom or used as self-defense (remember, you have to twist and squeeze for the ultimate effect).  I don’t go around grabbing crotches in public.  That woman is a pubic nuisance!

And before I start getting hate mail or horrified screaming comments about “fatphobia” and the like, let me say this:  I do not like skinny women.  You’ve gotta have some meat on your bones for me to even notice your existence.  But I do draw the line at about 250 pounds for my own personal preference and safety.  I dated a 400 pound chick and, well, let’s just say that’s a post for another day, shall we?