The Road Less Filmed

My parents recently had an ant infestation in their kitchen. It is winter, and according to this story, the ant is the master of being prepared, which includes relocating into a house.

Anyway, the sad truth is the exterminator (unfortunately, not a young Uncle Jesse from Full House) came recently to help rid us of the ants. I didn’t inquire as to his methodology, but it eventually worked.

But then yesterday, I saw a solitary ant! (Brave black blob below.)

And then I saw the first ant bumping into another ant! (Second brave black blob below.)

It dawned on me that these hearty buggers are now experiencing their world in a very The Road meets The Book of Eli meets I Am Legend sort of post-apocalyptic wasteland way.

Goshspeed, comrades. Watch out for the dishwashing suds, and try not to piss off SkyNet. You’re now just in it for yourselves. Forget the colony!

Bad News Berries

In the midst of a sour incident and two droppings of bad news out of the blue(s) directly in my hair (so hard to get out!), I have found myself seeking escapism and solace through increasing the level of snark in my writing.

No, you’re totally right, I don’t think this is a very productive way of dealing with things, and I’m not talking about snarkin’ it up here, or you would have noticed by now, by golly. I mean, in other places. Yes, as in the graffiti on the bathroom wall, exactly.

Whereas before I might have tagged “Twirly whirly spangle jangle” right across the mirror, now it’s all “Wut the fuzz” and “Gimme a brick. No, seriously, GIMME ONE” right on the turl-et seat! Suggestive and rude.

I dare say I’m sympathizing with those renegades who stalk the internet discussion threads. No! Never!

But maybe?

Meanwhile, thoughts of brunch abide. Also, the aftertaste of a banana is like you just chewed a stick of anti-gum.

Also, the apocalpyse! This article FTW. I love the expression “going rogue.” It sounds so slick.

As a first sign, my computer is demonstrating pre-strokelike symptoms. Words aren’t coming out right; pictures aren’t showing up; and a blue screen is just a moment away.

The Mawwww Who Texted Wosdfsdf Wolf

my mom & dad have started text messaging.

oh yes, and they have a whale of a time with it too!

ok, i’ll be honest. my dad sends coherent ones. once he sent me one wishing me well before a big comedy show, and he signed it off “love, dad” and everything. that’s called advanced placement texting.

but then again, my dad’s been stocking up on the online course credits lately. i think he’s up to five or six courses. he has multiple print-outs on navigating spreadsheets all over our computer station at home right now. and his typing speed is up to a blazing 30wpm…up from 12! (if you smirked, i will fight you)

on the other hand…my mom?

well. she only actually has one go-to text message in her stock reserve, and it’s only for the occasion of: utter low-grade panic (because let’s be honest, no one is using text messages in a state of real emergency [i.e., no one would message “brb, went 2 go find H2O and other survivorz”]).

here’s my mom’s emergency testing service text message (it starts, as all good form letters do, with personal nickname usage):

Aploo mom is woqprrggh worried

now, let’s be real for a second. i would actually appreciate receiving this notation during an apocalypse. a mother’s worry is like bonus frownie points for still not being courteous or responsible as a 25-year-old.

my favorite thing about this message is: all of it.

  • the randomness of the spacing.
  • the lack of any order whatsoever to the punctuation, capitalization and spelling. [let’s face it, proper english usage went out in 2005.]
  • the most adorable thing however is how she attempted the word “worried,” and utterly lost control of her fingers on the typepad because of her overriding sense of concern and fright, but then she somehow regained her cool to eventually get it out. [think mother lifting up car to save child effect.]
  • i know she has this message in her back-up files because once she sent it to me by accident, and then she tried to explain it away when i got home by saying it was a false alarm.

    but the damage was done. you can’t just write something like that, and not expect consequences! which she got in the form of a severe giggling and eyebrow waggling.

    someone is pretty pop.
    photo courtesy of Flickr and nate steiner


    oh, so remember my art orange?


    that is fine.

    you can still take great enjoyment in this midafternoon delight.

    also nadia told me chuck norris’s real name is carlos (wiki wiki whatttt?!). IF THAT AIN’T NEWS…(ominous trail-off)

    also courtesy of Google…but i think it applies to all of us: – Learn How To Understand Men – And Beat Them At their Own Game!

    Like Giving Candy to a Baby…

    it’s weird because i have a joke about candy and expiration dates so you would think i would take the matter seriously. but no, i went ahead and ate a questionably old baby reese’s pb cup today. it wasn’t even mine. i just found it in an office mug. before instinct could kick in, i unwrapped it and dropped it into the unsuspecting abyss. as i was smacking my jaw awaiting the happy peanut butter resolution to the chocolatey action adventure, i began sputtering in anger and disillusionment. the chocolate was waxy, and the peanut buttery center had changed to 99% sawdust and broken dreams!

    bag o’fear
    photo courtesy of Flickr and Banalities

    anyway, i’ve been having pretty standard epic-movie visions since consumption.

    if you have any queries/concerns/suggestions about the apocalpyse, please direct them to me. satisfactory answers available only while symptoms last! void where inhibited.