Sunday, May 31, 2009
seriously, i'm weirded out and tired of this shit
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moses edited
Twelfth commandment: Thou shalt not cut off thy penis!
Okay, that was much funnier last night, in context, and after a mojito and a little Jameson's. As most things are. But I was thinking, we need a new system of commandments. I dunno about you and whatever religion you believe/disbelieve in, but us Catholics? We try to shoehorn a whole litany of sins in under those ten commandments and it doesn't work.
For instance, in Catholic school, they tried to convince us that the "thou shalt not kill" was an indictment of all kinds of interpersonal violence, but I think that's stretching it. I really do not see where it says anywhere that if someone hits me in the ankle with their shopping cart at Shaws, I am not allowed to turn around and punch them repeatedly in the face to a nonlethal extent. If god was not down with that, then why'd he give me rage? I ask you. And don't get me started on adultery. The common English definition of that word has to do with married people having sexual relations with persons other than their spouses. Do not insult my reading ability by saying that prohibition covers what non-married people do. And coveting! That one's just outdated. We have a whole consumer culture based on freakin coveting. We all swear that off and we'll be back living in tents and sacrificing goats.
So, Ima work on writing some new commandments that are without loopholes, do not require stretching definitions, and fit in with the 21st century. Considering my new flipflops gave me "stigmata" on my feet, I'm thinking I may be being called to prophethood. Watch out. If I manage to start bleeding out my palms this week, it's a whole new religion, baby. (And you thought Andreanomics was a comprehensive world-view!)
Shoot me an email if you want to be a disciple. Kthxbai!
xoxo
Okay, that was much funnier last night, in context, and after a mojito and a little Jameson's. As most things are. But I was thinking, we need a new system of commandments. I dunno about you and whatever religion you believe/disbelieve in, but us Catholics? We try to shoehorn a whole litany of sins in under those ten commandments and it doesn't work.
For instance, in Catholic school, they tried to convince us that the "thou shalt not kill" was an indictment of all kinds of interpersonal violence, but I think that's stretching it. I really do not see where it says anywhere that if someone hits me in the ankle with their shopping cart at Shaws, I am not allowed to turn around and punch them repeatedly in the face to a nonlethal extent. If god was not down with that, then why'd he give me rage? I ask you. And don't get me started on adultery. The common English definition of that word has to do with married people having sexual relations with persons other than their spouses. Do not insult my reading ability by saying that prohibition covers what non-married people do. And coveting! That one's just outdated. We have a whole consumer culture based on freakin coveting. We all swear that off and we'll be back living in tents and sacrificing goats.
So, Ima work on writing some new commandments that are without loopholes, do not require stretching definitions, and fit in with the 21st century. Considering my new flipflops gave me "stigmata" on my feet, I'm thinking I may be being called to prophethood. Watch out. If I manage to start bleeding out my palms this week, it's a whole new religion, baby. (And you thought Andreanomics was a comprehensive world-view!)
Shoot me an email if you want to be a disciple. Kthxbai!
xoxo
Saturday, May 30, 2009
random saturday post
I know, I know, there were three instances of bloggery yesterday, so I should be shutting up. However. NO ONE'S FORCING YOU TO READ THIS, ARE THEY?!!!??? <--(That's my Kanye impression. DID YOU LIKE IT?!!!! Okay, I know, you have no idea what I'm talking about. Despite what you might think, I have not gone completely insane, nor had a stroke, like I almost accused Mr Barma of. See, Kanye apparently has a blog, which I myself have never seen but only heard of second-hand, in which he hilariously posts only in caps, with lots of punctuation, mainly about how fabulous he is. N E way, if you only knew that, my joke would have been hilarious. Trust.)
I think spring is elevating my mood. It's not just the light. Being able to go out without eighteen layers of clothes (I'm down to three. Shut.Up.) and without falling on the ice makes Andrea a much happier old woman.
Without further ado, what I came to say:
1.) I think I actually remembered to do everything I wanted to do at work this morning (besides, you know, my actual work, WHICH I DID DO.) Is the caps thang getting old? Okay, I'll stop now. I emailed Marcy to change my appointment. I purchased my Tori tickets (on sale 5/30, suckahs) and gave in to the dark side and printed them myself. Can I just say...a $12.85 ticket fee plus a $5 venue fee? Do not tell me my ticket costs $45 when it really costs $62.85 and I have to print it myself. But it will be worth it. Do I need to say how much I wanted to cap that last sentence? Probably not, huh?
2.) My Indemnity emailed me this morning from his phone, which means the email had that annoying "Sent from my iPhone" tag on it. So when I emailed back, I ended it with "Sent from my crappy work computer." Because I crack myself up so very, very much.
I hope you all are in as good a mood as I am. If not, START DRINKING NOW, IT'S AFTER NOON!!!!!
xoxo
I think spring is elevating my mood. It's not just the light. Being able to go out without eighteen layers of clothes (I'm down to three. Shut.Up.) and without falling on the ice makes Andrea a much happier old woman.
Without further ado, what I came to say:
1.) I think I actually remembered to do everything I wanted to do at work this morning (besides, you know, my actual work, WHICH I DID DO.) Is the caps thang getting old? Okay, I'll stop now. I emailed Marcy to change my appointment. I purchased my Tori tickets (on sale 5/30, suckahs) and gave in to the dark side and printed them myself. Can I just say...a $12.85 ticket fee plus a $5 venue fee? Do not tell me my ticket costs $45 when it really costs $62.85 and I have to print it myself. But it will be worth it. Do I need to say how much I wanted to cap that last sentence? Probably not, huh?
2.) My Indemnity emailed me this morning from his phone, which means the email had that annoying "Sent from my iPhone" tag on it. So when I emailed back, I ended it with "Sent from my crappy work computer." Because I crack myself up so very, very much.
I hope you all are in as good a mood as I am. If not, START DRINKING NOW, IT'S AFTER NOON!!!!!
xoxo
Friday, May 29, 2009
and another another thing
I got my US Commerce Department census today. Did you all? I thought I could whip through it while my pork chops were in the oven.
Um, not so much. How much I paid for electricity last month? How much I paid for home insurance last year? I do not remember these things exactly off the top of my head. (My dad: "They're not gonna check your answers, you know.") Yes, I know. But I am conscientious. I do not make up answers on official government documents. Fucking sue me. (My dad: "Isn't the house insurance around $500?" Me: "Um, no, dad, it's over $1000.") Note: $1100, I looked it up. Also? $1300 a year for water and sewer? Really? Someone's flushing too much around here. Or the city is screwing me. Or both.
For the record, I counted the "cat box room" as a room, even though I told you all I suspect it is really meant to be a large utility closet. But maybe I shouldn't have since they told me not to count bathrooms and, y'know, it's all pooping in there all the time.
But anyway. I thought I should let you all know I'M BEING A GOOD CITIZEN. Even despite my known problems with both authority and mandatory cardboard recycling.
xoxo
Um, not so much. How much I paid for electricity last month? How much I paid for home insurance last year? I do not remember these things exactly off the top of my head. (My dad: "They're not gonna check your answers, you know.") Yes, I know. But I am conscientious. I do not make up answers on official government documents. Fucking sue me. (My dad: "Isn't the house insurance around $500?" Me: "Um, no, dad, it's over $1000.") Note: $1100, I looked it up. Also? $1300 a year for water and sewer? Really? Someone's flushing too much around here. Or the city is screwing me. Or both.
For the record, I counted the "cat box room" as a room, even though I told you all I suspect it is really meant to be a large utility closet. But maybe I shouldn't have since they told me not to count bathrooms and, y'know, it's all pooping in there all the time.
But anyway. I thought I should let you all know I'M BEING A GOOD CITIZEN. Even despite my known problems with both authority and mandatory cardboard recycling.
xoxo
and another thing!
I guess my outrage at the world's stoopidity has been bottled up or something. Who knew?
My AOL mail welcome screen, which is often a source of outrage, today has a story about Melissa Joan Hart, who is on the cover of...something...in a bikini. (I don't remember and I can't be arsed to look it up, but assume it's People or something.) Why? Because Ms Hart, the mother of a three year old and a 14 month old, was so shamed by last summer's tabloid shots of her at 160-ish in a bathing suit that she had to go on a super shape up plan. (Also? When was the last time anyone offered her a TV series? I'm sure she needs the publicity.)
Let's deconstruct this, shall we? Having a 14 month old means that last summer, she had an infant that was, oh, less than six months old. And she was overweight! Oh, the horror! The horror! Because if you can't fit into your skinny jeans within six weeks of leaving childbed, obviously you are a big FAIL as a woman. And should be humiliated. Also, she apparently goes on in the article about how proud she is of this big weight-loss accomplishment and her many hours of grueling working out that led to it. I dunno. I personally think that if you have two children under the age of four, there are more important things you might be focusing all your time and attention on than looking good in a bikini, but that's just me. And, yes, yes, I understand she's a C-list (or below) actress and needs a job and, thus, publicity, but the fact that her publicity is then force-fed to me and millions of other people on our mail welcome screens and at the checkout counter and wherever else, leading to more brainwashing about what's an acceptable body standard for all women, pisses me right the fuck off.
So much so I might need to eat some cheese fries.
xoxo
My AOL mail welcome screen, which is often a source of outrage, today has a story about Melissa Joan Hart, who is on the cover of...something...in a bikini. (I don't remember and I can't be arsed to look it up, but assume it's People or something.) Why? Because Ms Hart, the mother of a three year old and a 14 month old, was so shamed by last summer's tabloid shots of her at 160-ish in a bathing suit that she had to go on a super shape up plan. (Also? When was the last time anyone offered her a TV series? I'm sure she needs the publicity.)
Let's deconstruct this, shall we? Having a 14 month old means that last summer, she had an infant that was, oh, less than six months old. And she was overweight! Oh, the horror! The horror! Because if you can't fit into your skinny jeans within six weeks of leaving childbed, obviously you are a big FAIL as a woman. And should be humiliated. Also, she apparently goes on in the article about how proud she is of this big weight-loss accomplishment and her many hours of grueling working out that led to it. I dunno. I personally think that if you have two children under the age of four, there are more important things you might be focusing all your time and attention on than looking good in a bikini, but that's just me. And, yes, yes, I understand she's a C-list (or below) actress and needs a job and, thus, publicity, but the fact that her publicity is then force-fed to me and millions of other people on our mail welcome screens and at the checkout counter and wherever else, leading to more brainwashing about what's an acceptable body standard for all women, pisses me right the fuck off.
So much so I might need to eat some cheese fries.
xoxo
why i generally hate psychologists
So, let me see if I can do this in a way that doesn't violate HIPAA. (God knows, you don't want me to go to jail.) Assume a few details have been changed to make the patient unidentifiable.
I was reading through someone's neuropsych report recently. If you don't know what neuropsych testing is, it's a battery of written testing, such IQ testing, personality testing, etc etc, administered by a psychologist. It's the kind of thing you might have done if someone thinks you might have learning disabilities or other cognitive or memory problems or if they're concerned you're tending towards psychosis or if you've had a stroke or a head injury. Among other reasons. But, basically? If anyone ever shows you an inkblot? Unlike the the movies, it ain't a Freudian, it's a neuropsychologist.
Now, the subject of the neuropsych report I was reading is a woman who has had chronic and severe medical problems since childhood and now, as an adult, has more than one child with other, different serious health problems, as well as relationship problems that would seem unavoidable (because how many people would really be able to deal well with a partner who has a chronic disabling illness *and* difficult kids?) Do you get the picture? This is the kind of person who makes me look at my own life tragedies and problems and know I haven't had it *that* bad, okay?
Well, the neuropsych report discusses that her personality profile is common in women who have been abused and have PTSD. Seriously? Do you need a fucking PhD to understand that this woman's whole freakin life would give most people PTSD? Well, no, apparently having a psych degree makes you *unable* to conceive of that. Jesus wept. The lack of common sense, she is stunning. Sigh. (This, incidentally, is why I still mourn the loss of D's Swiss/Austrian/German therapist, because the guy was *so* not a douche, and everything he said made [common] sense. Do you *know* how rare that is in a psychologist/therapist?)
But, anyway. I can't help but chuckle--okay, laugh my ass off--at one particular quote about personality types. "...tend to shy away from direct assertiveness, but can be controlling in a dependent and submissive manner..." Oh, man. Have I known a few people I'd like to give that subtest to. Ha!
xoxo
I was reading through someone's neuropsych report recently. If you don't know what neuropsych testing is, it's a battery of written testing, such IQ testing, personality testing, etc etc, administered by a psychologist. It's the kind of thing you might have done if someone thinks you might have learning disabilities or other cognitive or memory problems or if they're concerned you're tending towards psychosis or if you've had a stroke or a head injury. Among other reasons. But, basically? If anyone ever shows you an inkblot? Unlike the the movies, it ain't a Freudian, it's a neuropsychologist.
Now, the subject of the neuropsych report I was reading is a woman who has had chronic and severe medical problems since childhood and now, as an adult, has more than one child with other, different serious health problems, as well as relationship problems that would seem unavoidable (because how many people would really be able to deal well with a partner who has a chronic disabling illness *and* difficult kids?) Do you get the picture? This is the kind of person who makes me look at my own life tragedies and problems and know I haven't had it *that* bad, okay?
Well, the neuropsych report discusses that her personality profile is common in women who have been abused and have PTSD. Seriously? Do you need a fucking PhD to understand that this woman's whole freakin life would give most people PTSD? Well, no, apparently having a psych degree makes you *unable* to conceive of that. Jesus wept. The lack of common sense, she is stunning. Sigh. (This, incidentally, is why I still mourn the loss of D's Swiss/Austrian/German therapist, because the guy was *so* not a douche, and everything he said made [common] sense. Do you *know* how rare that is in a psychologist/therapist?)
But, anyway. I can't help but chuckle--okay, laugh my ass off--at one particular quote about personality types. "...tend to shy away from direct assertiveness, but can be controlling in a dependent and submissive manner..." Oh, man. Have I known a few people I'd like to give that subtest to. Ha!
xoxo
Thursday, May 28, 2009
possible content
I swear to you, there very well may be some in here again some day, so, like, keep checking back. I can only make so many masturbation, sex toy, and anal copulation references in amongst the song lyrics and video linkage before I actually have something to say.
Today is not, however, that day.
I would like to blame the Red Sox, because their pitching has been so dire and depressing of late that I don't even want to talk about it. That isn't an excuse, but it's the best I can do.
I would, however, like to make a couple quick updates! I bought a bottle of wine over the weekend for when I was cooking L dinner. Not that L actually ever drinks any more, but I just wanted it for my nice dinner. Well, because L doesn't actually ever drink, only half that bottle was consumed. The rest has been in my refrigerator since Sunday night. I mention this for one reason only. This is the first time in probably five years that I have had any kind of alcohol in my house that wasn't well-hidden. D can't drink. He shouldn't drink on the cocktail of medications he's on anyway, but even without, he shouldn't drink. He's a blackout drinker. Like, totally intend to only drink one forty with his friends and then end up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning type blackout drinking, totally not having any memory of what happened after the second drink. After the *second* time he ended up in the ED with alcohol poisoning, when he was nineteen, he spontaneously said he'd learned his lesson, but I've never wanted to tempt it, never wanted to make it too easy for him to start drinking.
But over the past year or so, I've been feeling much more secure that he is, in fact, done. Done with the drinking, done with ever getting high, done with deciding spontaneously to stop his medications or refuse treatment, blah blah blah. Not that I'd feel as secure if he was out there socializing, because that's a whole nother set of temptations and stresses. But for now? I though half a bottle of wine sitting plainly in the refrigerator was a statement to both of us. And I haven't had to regret it.
In other D news, the shredding project is going well. But he's finding some interesting things amongst the shoeboxes. Like $150 in American Express gift checks in one of them. Score! I think those things are good forever, right? So what should I buy with them that I can buy in a brick-and-mortar store? (Feel free to link me pictures of semi-expensive shoes or purses in comments, because, like, *forgotten gift checks* baby.)
xoxo
Today is not, however, that day.
I would like to blame the Red Sox, because their pitching has been so dire and depressing of late that I don't even want to talk about it. That isn't an excuse, but it's the best I can do.
I would, however, like to make a couple quick updates! I bought a bottle of wine over the weekend for when I was cooking L dinner. Not that L actually ever drinks any more, but I just wanted it for my nice dinner. Well, because L doesn't actually ever drink, only half that bottle was consumed. The rest has been in my refrigerator since Sunday night. I mention this for one reason only. This is the first time in probably five years that I have had any kind of alcohol in my house that wasn't well-hidden. D can't drink. He shouldn't drink on the cocktail of medications he's on anyway, but even without, he shouldn't drink. He's a blackout drinker. Like, totally intend to only drink one forty with his friends and then end up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning type blackout drinking, totally not having any memory of what happened after the second drink. After the *second* time he ended up in the ED with alcohol poisoning, when he was nineteen, he spontaneously said he'd learned his lesson, but I've never wanted to tempt it, never wanted to make it too easy for him to start drinking.
But over the past year or so, I've been feeling much more secure that he is, in fact, done. Done with the drinking, done with ever getting high, done with deciding spontaneously to stop his medications or refuse treatment, blah blah blah. Not that I'd feel as secure if he was out there socializing, because that's a whole nother set of temptations and stresses. But for now? I though half a bottle of wine sitting plainly in the refrigerator was a statement to both of us. And I haven't had to regret it.
In other D news, the shredding project is going well. But he's finding some interesting things amongst the shoeboxes. Like $150 in American Express gift checks in one of them. Score! I think those things are good forever, right? So what should I buy with them that I can buy in a brick-and-mortar store? (Feel free to link me pictures of semi-expensive shoes or purses in comments, because, like, *forgotten gift checks* baby.)
xoxo
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