That’s right: From Concentrate AND Not From Consentrate (Taken with instagram)
“High!” is what I would need to be to wear that vest… Awful.
My brother on LX New York making jokes about Father’s Day gifts…
LX New York Live
I appeared in a live segment on LX New York on NBC Friday, June 11, 2010 to make jokes about Father’s Day gifts. Look for The Uncrate Show, coming soon.
Via Maniacal Rage
Oh… that song! I was so confused until you said “err”, then I knew for sure which song you were talking about.
Creepy Host of “Just Like Mom” Fergie Oliver Kisses Little Girls
I know it was the 80s and all, but I can’t believe no one stopped this from happening. When a contestant on your show calls you a “dirty old man” off camera and THEY AIR IT, you know things are bad. Pretty sure the pitch meeting for this show went something like this:
- Fergie Oliver: “Hey, I’ve got a perfect idea for a show, guys. I’ll host the show and we’ll have lots of little girls on it. And I’ll kind of just keep kissing them.”
- Producer: “Wait, what’s the point of the show?”
- Fergie Oliver: “They answer questions.”
- Producer: “Yeah, but that other part—about kissing little girls?”
- Fergie Oliver: “All the contestants will be little girls.”
- Producer: “Right…”
- Fergie Oliver: “So then I kiss them and ask them questions.”
- Producer: “Wait, I still don’t understand why you’re kissing them.”
- Fergie Oliver: “What do you mean?”
- Producer: “Why are you kissing these little girls?”
- Fergie Oliver: “Because they’re the contestants.”
- Producer: “I know they’re the contes—seriously, you’re talking about kissing underage girls on television? Don’t you think that’s gonna be an issue?”
- Fergie Oliver: “I don’t understand the question.”
- Producer: “Fine, whatever, do the show.”
Via Maniacal Rage
Facebook just told me to, “Make a Baby” and showed me this picture. I’m sorry, Facebook, but if you want people to make babies, this is not the right picture to convince them. This photo is probably the best contraception in the world. I mean, my god.
On a separate note, I really wish Facebook would stop bossing me around. Make a baby, be friends with this person, write on this person’s wall… God dammit, Facebook, let me live my life!
If you noticed, yes, I still use Edge. I’m old school like that…
I have always had a problem waking up early. As far back as I can remember, I have been a chronic over-sleeper. I am the type of person who, before going to bed, has to set five (yes, five) alarms to ensure I wake up. I set my alarms for two hours before I actually have to get up because I know I will hit snooze for about two hours.
It is actually surprising to me that I have continued to be gainfully employed in my adult life. If I count the number of times I have been late to work, it would probably outweigh the number of times I have actually been on time. I have, rather than focussing on waking up earlier, made it my goal to become super efficient in the workplace. This way, when my boss tries to say to me, “You’re late and unproductive”, or, “Everyone else comes in on time and look how much more work they get done”, they can’t. I think my bosses have just marveled at the fact that I am consistently late, yet more productive and efficient than those who arrive at the office on time or even early. If that is the case, they probably feel that addressing issues of production and efficiency with their on time employees would be cumbersome and awkward, so in turn, they just leave me alone.
For what it’s worth, I do have constant bouts of insomnia and apparently lack the ability to sleep soundly for more than two consecutive hours. I think this has a lot, if not everything, to do with my inability to wake up early. This appears to be a genetic issue in my family as my mom and brother seem to suffer from the same sleep issues. My mother, formerly a chronic over-sleeper (for the first fifteen years of my life), now cannot sleep past 8am. Consequently, she now falls asleep at 5:30pm every night. My brother seems to share the same sleeping cycle I have, if not drastically worse.
The above being said, I vowed in the new year to try and change this trait. I searched the internet for articles and ideas on becoming an early riser and stumbled upon a blog by Steve Pavlina conveniently titled, “How to Become an Early Riser”. What I found most exciting about Steve’s theory, is that you don’t have a bedtime. In all of my other attempts in the past, I was going to bed like a sixth grader at 9pm because I thought going to bed early was the only way to wake up early. According to Steve, you can become an early riser in two simple ways; wake up at the same time every day and go to bed only when you are tired.
On Monday of last week, I started this journey. I have to say, it went pretty well during the week. I was awake at 7am each morning and went to bed at varying times depending on my level of sleepiness (but never later than 1am—which is big step up from my past bedtime of 3am). Today, I ran into a problem. I knew I was going to have an issue when I did not fall asleep until 3am last night. I woke up this morning at 9am and instead of getting up, I fell back asleep and woke up at noon.
So, for now, I am a sleep failure, but I will not give up - I will begin my journey, again, next week. This time, actually following Steve’s instructions of waking up at the same time for 30 consecutive days. Hopefully, this will be just what I need to become an early riser, once and for all. Or, it won’t and I will eventually lose my job and become a homeless woman living in an alleyway sleeping really late. One or the other…
SNL Digital Short: The Twizzle Wizzle Show (Jammy Shuffle)
Tomorrow (via banananne)
Here’s a better plan: Don’t make ANY mistakes tomorrow. Why set your sights on mediocrity when you could try to actually have one good day this week when you don’t get yelled at by your boss or your ex-wife doesn’t call to tell you she still hasn’t received this month’s alimony check and she knows what game you’re playing and she doesn’t appreciate it.
Like Violence (via ache)
I wouldn’t recommend using the same tools. Try explaining to a woman exactly WHY you’re using a shotgun to tell her you love her. She’ll be really scared. And confused.
Since the accidental creation of this site, I have really enjoyed posting interesting pictures/videos and reblogging the crap out of other people’s sites, however I find it increasingly difficult to keep up with creating posts. To be honest, I’m not sure how people find the time? I keep the thought in the back of my mind, but never seem to get around to actually blogging. My last entry was months ago, and a depressing entry at that. How can I become a better blogger?
Something my brother wrote about our family cat, Spot, who died last night at the age of 17. I couldn’t have written a more perfect eulogy for Spot than what Garrett wrote below…
Via Maniacal Rage
In 1992, our family cat (who my sister had been allowed to name Catwoman) gave birth to a litter of five kittens. We gave four of them away, but I was allowed to keep my favorite: A black-and-white-spotted male cat I named—quite ingeniously—Spot.
Aside from Spot’s mother Catwoman, who, after giving birth, turned into quite the little jerk, we had a sheltie collie dog named Augie and so Spot spent most of his kitten age playing with the family dog. He would climb on Augie’s back and ride her around the house, and began to pick up dog behaviors like licking faces and standing up with his front paws on your leg, begging for attention.
When we moved to New Jersey in 1997, we left our dog behind with a family friend but we took Spot along for the adventure (quick aside: We had to give spot children’s cough syrup to keep him calm on the plane and just before we left for the airport we had to chase him around the house for 45 minutes while he foamed at the mouth trying to spit the syrup back out). When I moved out for college in 1999 I left Spot with my mother where he lived from then on.
Over the last year or so Spot had been getting thinner and weaker and, while he still meowed at you when you walked by and enjoyed being petted, he looked exhausted and worn out. Earlier this year one of my mom’s other cats, Gary, died relatively suddenly. It was an extremely rough time for my mother and when my sister and I went to her house that night, while everyone was in the kitchen, I walked over to Spot and said, “Do me a favor, buddy, and stick it out for a little while longer. Let her get over Gary first, okay?” Spot seemed to take this request to heart. A few months later my mother adopted a puppy and had finally gotten used to Gary being gone.
Last night my parents called me to let me know Spot had died. He was 17.
We grew up with Spot. He was a member of the family. We brought him across the country with us, we moved him into many different homes. While his last year wasn’t as energetic as the previous 16, he didn’t suffer and he lived a long life. I’m sad he’s gone, but it won’t really hit me until the next time I visit my parents and walk into a house that, for the first time in 17 years, Spot won’t inhabit.