Monthly Archives: October 2014

Lean Cuisine Rejects

Deep in the Stouffer’s vault sits a freezer full of bad ideas.

Crash Diet Classics:

Box of Lettuce
A selection of the finest cuts of lettuce. Defrost on High for 4 minutes, poke a hole in the plastic, defrost on High for another 2 minutes. Allow hot lettuce to cool for 2 minutes.

Broth Plate
Enough brown-flavored broth to cover the bottom of a shallow dinner plate. Heat, covered, for 12 seconds, pour onto dinner plate. Pretend it is pizza.

Pictures of Pie
A stack of award-winning color photography of assorted slices of pie, delicately arranged on expensive china, with a bottle of water and a stick of sugar-free gum.

Green Tea Coffee
A plastic carafe of plain green tea, brewed exclusively in a coffeemaker that hasn’t been cleaned in a long time, so it at least tastes a little bit like that sweet, sweet black nectar.

Delicious Depression:

Hunk of Cheese
A slab of white cheese wrapped in cellophane with a side of the two Ritz cracker that were left in the bottom of the box, along with a few stale Entertainment Crackers, the wheat ones nobody would eat at New Year’s. Why did you even buy the wheat ones?? Dummy.

Asian Carp with Whipped Potatoes
A slice of our best Asian Carp, imported directly from upper Lake Michigan, where they’ve invaded and killed off most of the other species but they’ve also eaten a lot of the garbage we’ve thrown in there so it’s not all bad! Best served heated for 2 1/2 minutes and with plastic soda can ring removed, if present. Season potatoes with own tears.

Refrigerator Smorgasbord
Leftover pizza and a side of chicken curry smothered in a robust Ranch dressing, however much is left in the bottom of the bottle.

Classic Mac & Cheese
Ten servings of our classic low-fat macaroni and cheese packaged in one extra-large container. Heat on High for 20 minutes, allow to cool, wash your hair before eating. Or after. Just wash your hair.

Everyday Collection:

New Boyfriend Bolognese
Fettuccine noodles in cream sauce with Romano cheese and prosciutto. Heat on High for 3 minutes, answer phone, no you haven’t had dinner yet! Scrape into misshapen Gladware, throw in back of fridge. Eat half of a hamburger at a bar instead, not the whole thing because then your pants will fit weird, reheat bolognese at 3 in the morning, eat while seated on kitchen floor.

Rosemary Lemongrass Salmon
Whole salmon filet with fresh vegetables on a bed of brown rice with edamame, in a rosemary lemongrass sauce. You left it in the freezer at home because you had to leave early for a meeting. Don’t worry, there are 47 more meetings you have to get to today and at least half of them will have a plate of cookies involved.

Judgemental Jambalaya
Half a cup of delicately spiced rice with crisp vegetables and two salad shrimp. Cut a slit in plastic and heat on High for 3 1/2 minutes. Eat slowly and deliberately in the employee lounge while saying things like “oh wow, I didn’t know fat free could be so good” and “MMMMM”, while staring at Heather with her bagel and cream cheese until she gets uncomfortable and throws the other half in the trash. Retrieve other half from trash, remove debris, enjoy.

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I don’t know who Subash is.

stinking cuuuuute

There are a lot of things that I consider to be difficult about having to go to work every day. Most of these things center around the fact that it’s just weird to be around a certain group of people all the time, for no other reason than that you all work toward goals that are somewhat the same, or in a bunch of interlocking positions. Otherwise it makes no earthly sense for you to be in a big room with those people all day. I really think those people who go to work and meet a bunch of really awesome people in their own age group with whom they want to be friends foreverrrr are lucky. Maybe it’s because I’m in a field that’s got a bit of an older demographic and is fucking FILLED with other awkward and aloney-on-my-owney introverts, but I have never really met anyone in my professional jobs who I’d call on the weekends or go to the movies with.

I guess that’s why it’s super weird to me when we celebrate each other’s weddings and baby showers, and even weirder when we show sympathy for family deaths and stuff. It’s not that I don’t feel happy for people when they have babies or get married (I mean, not SUPER happy, mostly I don’t care, especially if it’s a certain few). And it’s not like I don’t care when someone’s friend or family member dies. I just think it’s a more awkward part of working with groups of people. You’re bombing along, getting work-related stuff done, then a card for someone you’ve either met once or not at all and can’t even really picture in your head comes across your desk. “It’s Britney’s birthday!” “Subash is moving on!” And you’re supposed to sign it and cross your name off a list on the back of the giant manila envelope it’s concealed in (OH LIKE BRITNEY DOESN’T KNOW SHE’S GETTING A LAME CARD FROM ALL OF US) and the person who brought it in sneaks off into the next person’s office. And the cards are always really stupid, like sparkly rainbows or cartoon birds with briefcases, and they’re never funny, and I can never think of anything to write in them. Do you know how many times I’ve Googled stuff like “heartfelt phrase to write in stranger’s going away card”? Quick, Google! Get me something heartfelt! I have no fucking idea who Subash is.

Except for all the days when you showed up.

Except for all the days when you showed up.


Google says this stuff:

“It’s been a pleasure. Keep in touch!”

“Wishing you all the best in your new pursuits.”

“It’s been great working with you!”

“Glad to have met you.”

What if none of that shit is true, Google? WHAT THEN. I guess you lie your face off. Also, what if everyone else has written the same thing? This is often the case. If you’ve ever noticed, people on Facebook CANNOT HELP but to basically copy and paste the post from the person who commented on that birth announcement just before they did. It ends up looking like this:

“OMG CONGRATS she is so stinking cute!”

“She is so STINKING CUTE omg congrats!”

“Congrats on the stinking cute BABY!!!”

“OMG stinking BABY Cute congrats Baby!”

And on and on and onnnnnnnnnnnnn like nobody in the history of time has ever said anything but “congrats” and “stinking cute” about a baby. (What is it with that “stinking cute” phrase anyway? I feel like women write that a lot about babies, and I imagine them scrunching up their noses like something actually smells bad, and pushing the baby away, like UGH too cute.)

I am thinking about this today because I think most of the things we say to each other are meaningless and bland, endlessly repetitive, and boring. I went looking for a sympathy card that was recently required for a coworker. I stood there in a sea of lukewarm sentiment and I think a dark spot settled into my brain from which all the dumb feelings will now come forth, forever. Lots of suns peeking from behind clouds, rainbows peeking from behind clouds, frowny cartoon clouds, basically lots of cumulonimbus porn going on. Well, then there’s the religion-focused ones about God with glittery crosses on the front. Like the one JESUS DIED ON!

When my grandpa died and everyone kept saying “So sorry for your loss so sorry for your loss sosorryforyourlosssss”, I asked my mom what people were supposed to be saying, since it was like being stuck on a carousel with a crowd of 1000 sad clones around you. She said in that kind of situation, you should think about what would be comforting to you and say that to the other person. Man, she was way off. Because usually the things I would appreciate are completely nsfw and totally offensive. Also, when I think about what I’d want work people to say to me if I lost someone I loved, it would be: nothing. Absolutely nothing. The last thing I’d want to do is open a $1.99 grocery store card from work people and read all their names and repeat phrases and think of them sitting at their desks Googling something thoughtful to say to me, the last thing I’d want to do is read the signatures of the ones I was pretty sure didn’t like me anyway. Who wants to think about that?

I started to think maybe I should write my own greeting cards for all occasions, which I will never give to anyone since they’d just make people want to jump off a bridge. Anyway, here they are:

Card 1: Illness

Front – Picture of a cartoon giraffe in a blazer with a briefcase

Inside – It’s too bad you’ve been out lately, I’ve been wearing some great outfits.

Card 2: Illness/Bereavement leave

Front – Illustrated to look like a notepad. Things You’ve Been Missing At Work…

Inside – Are you kidding? Nothing. Fucking nothing.

Card 3: Bereavement

Front – Sun peeking from behind some clouds. We Heard You’re Sad

Inside – We’ve all been sad before, too. Well, most of us. Not Pat. Pat is a fucking sociopath.

Card 4: Baby shower

Front – Cartoon baby buggy in muted pastels

Inside – You told us you were having a baby so here is a card for that.

Card 5: Birthday

Front – Two dopey cartoon birds and like a coffee cup or a water cooler or some shit

Inside – It’s a good thing there aren’t birds inside at work. That would be insane. Happy Birthday.

Card 6: Wedding

Front – Raised shiny gold interlocking rings

Inside – Is it the guy you brought to that one thing last fall, you know the thing where Crystal drank too much and flipped over that tray of chicken chimichangas? Hahaha! No but seriously is it that guy?

Of Turds and Creeps

I’m mad now because I got a mocha instead of regular coffee for the first time in like 100 years, only because I was looking for something that would jack me up and keep me from crying all morning over nothing like I did yesterday, and that thing was so ass nasty I wanted to scrape my tongue and the roof of my mouth. It tasted like someone sprayed the inside of my mouth with bug repellent that had been flavored like Now & Laters. It was gross. I wanted to go throw it back at the girl who made it. I am pretty sure she fucked with it because the last time I was in there she accused this guy of cutting in front of me in line, and snapped “The line starts back THERE, sir!” and even though people are ALWAYS cutting in front of me and nobody ever says shit about it, this one time the person wasn’t guilty. So I said “Oh, it’s OK he was here first, I’m not in a hurry.” She glared at me and begrudgingly took his order and he didn’t even say thank you and now I have drunk a coffee full of rat poison for no good reason.

I listened to something really disturbing on a podcast on the way home yesterday. It bothered the fuck out of me and it’s called Of Birds and Boundaries, it was on Love + Radio. I keep looking for more information about it, or something to tell me how to feel or what to think. There’s really so little available about it. It’s not that I don’t know what I think (I will tell you in a minute), it’s that I feel so mad and annoyed and disturbed by it that I almost don’t trust my reaction, and want to make sure there’s not something I missed or misunderstood. I don’t think there is. I mean, it’s still possible, and it’s entirely possible that there’s something cultural I’m missing or being insensitive about. It’s art or whatever, so I think you’re just supposed to take what you get from it. But I’m mad about it!!!

So. Basically, this girl places a Craigslist ad for a Hasidic Jewish person “for research.” She’s non-practicing Jewish and wants to talk to someone about what it’s like to live in a Hasidic community in Williamsburg. I think that’s interesting enough of a premise, but what happens is this guy keeps trying to turn the conversation towards getting into her pants. I guess it’s possible you could come away from it without getting that impression, but if anyone’s ever tried to get into your pants, you can’t see this as anything else.

First of all, he finds the ad on Craigslist. My creep radar went off immediately, just because Craigslist is like the basement of life where all the creepo cockroaches scurry around hiding from a naked bulb swinging on a wire. If you have to go down there, you fucking RUN to get back upstairs. Anyway, he starts talking about perusing other ads on the site, “you know, man for womannnn” stuff, but remarks that “most of that is like hookers or whores.” Ah. Right.

He drops references to make it clear that he wants to meet her, like how she should feel free to walk around the neighborhood and “maybe I’ll get to know you up close” and she says “Yeah maybe we can see a movie or something.” He asks her if she’s in a relationship, and he immediately asks how, “in the secular world”, is a man supposed to stay faithful to his wife when he meets someone who is “more hot.” He then talks about his arranged marriage and how his wife doesn’t dress pretty anymore and how he complained to his mother about her. What if he finds a girl that’s hotter?! “It’s hard for a man to stay with a woman.” She goes along with this, “Oh I’ve noticed this too!” So he gives himself the out that “men are like pigs” and generalizes with the example of Tiger Woods. Meanwhile my eyeballs are falling out and the eye holes are pouring blood because this guy just looks like a fucking predatory asshole. I’m sitting there remembering the time when my sister’s boss started complaining to her about his wife and telling her lots of personal things and then just straight up tried to fuck her. I just get annoyed with that approach, that “wuh wuh wuhhh I’m a man baby what am I supposed to do about my unhappy marriage OH I KNOW I WILL PUT MY DICK IN YOU.” Ugh, no. No. No.

So she shares her breakup story with “Marty” and it’s pretty sad and sounds like a rough time. The thing is, even while he’s consoling her and “oh wow must be heartbreaking,” I’m just thinking of his flat voice and how he’s probably got his hand on his dick the whole time. In the next portion, he wants to exchange pictures, she won’t, so he says “Oh well if you will please describe yourself.” She does, talking about her hair length and eye color. He says “What’s your body like, is your body like fit, orrr?” GROSS. STOPPPPPP.

He takes some video around Williamsburg for her, and wants to drop it off at her house. She has a friend go down to his car and get it from him. After that, there’s a segment where he asks her if she went on a date the day before. She says yes, and he replies “OK so I will probably not be talking to you in the future.”

This ended while I still had quite a bit of commuting left to do, but I just shut everything down. I couldn’t even stand to listen to any kind of palate cleanser, this bothered me so much. And I hate that there are people out there who would say “YAY ART YOU FELT SOMETHING” because I really just felt something I feel every day, which is that lots of men are creepy manipulative liars always on the hunt for poontang. I’ve been on the end of the creep stick (literally, you guys) and it’s awful. It’s predatory. I don’t ever again want to be in situations where men are talking to me like, “So why don’t we all take off our shirts and have a philosophical discussion about our favorite sex positions? Why don’t we just randomly start talking about the last time we had sex? If I make you jealous of another girl, will you describe your boobs to me?”

I guess it’s all part of some kind of grody sex dance that people do with each other, but I hate it. It’s full of shit and lies and bad intentions. That’s why this piece bothered me so much: this girl is looking for someone to talk to her about something specific and in walks this dude who basically passive-aggressively barfs his sexual needs all over her. It’s gross, it’s sad, it’s uncomfortable. And I hate that I really wanted to know what Hasidic life was like, and how the eruv worked, and where it was, and this guy fucked it all up by being gross. Now I’m just mad and I don’t care.



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True Shart

Oh, I just hate the way True Blood ended. The entire last season was like one long drawn-out bloody fart that you’d have to go to the hospital after. It was like a minor medical incident involving a butt. Let’s explore this destroyed ass, shall we?

So first thing, like literally in the first couple of minutes, Tara gets her vampire ass blasted to pieces all over her mom’s lap, and the whole world goes “Woooo!” I don’t pay any attention at all to True Blood blogs or rumors or recaps or anything like that (I tried to use the True Blood hashtag to tweet reactions at Retta during the Season 6 premiere and IMMEDIATELY some bitch retweeted me to correct me: Apparently Ryan Kwanten is Australian so you’re not allowed to say he has a sexy British accent). But I still somehow managed to read all over the place that someone was going to die “in the first few moments!” of the season 7 premiere. The entire world held its breath, hoping it would be Tara, whom no one likes, even when they had her turn into a Sexy Lezzy Vampire and whore-out with Pam and a lot of MAC cosmetics and corset tops. But I thought oh god, they must really be hurting for a plot this season if they need to slap a death in there first thing. And I was so very sadly right.

After Tara dies, they spend all of the rest of the episodes coming up with reasons for all of the characters to all be together at once. It was like a goddamn endless parade of dinner parties “Because life!” and dinner parties “Because death!” And everyone was drinking and catching each other fucking everyone else and then Alcide got shot in the head while chasing Sookie through the woods naked.



That was no surprise. There was a little side-action building for about three episodes in which Anna Paquin would gaze into the distance and wonder aloud in her best Sookie voice if she reeeeally loved him enough and then BANG we don’t have to worry about that anymore, do we? Anyway, next thing you know, she’s driving his truck over to Bill’s house for some vampire dong. A most disappointing end for Alcide the wolf-boner.

Bill has some kind of vampire AIDS, so does Eric, which is the ACTUALLY SAD PART because Bill can go die but I kind of wanted Eric to give Sookie a bunch of money and be her servant-man until she was old and/or bored with him. Eric gets cured but Bill is on some kind of “time for me to go” mission because he is VERY concerned about Sookie’s chances of procreation if he stays alive (which is retarded because adoption and artificial insemination exist). So blah blah blah there’s about a hundred more episode-long dinner parties wherein every character has a moment to make a big meaningful speech (mouth farts) with some kind of alcohol in hand (partyyy! LIFE!) and everything ends with Bill having Sookie straddle him in his grave while he stabs himself and explodes into bloodmeat strings all over her funeral dress.

Well, that’s ALMOST where it ends. All of the above was the kind of bullshittery I could deal with. Whatever, you dumb show, so you lost your edge and got dumber. I couldn’t give a shit. Just wrap it up and move on. But no, they had to wrap it up with a bow made out of misogynistic turds and rub it in our stupid faces.

Of COURSE the final scene was a motherfucking dinner party in Sookie’s front yard with all of the characters (and the fruits of their procreative efforts together) four years later. She’s in her kitchen about fifteen months pregnant and I don’t think it showed her feet but I think barefoot was the idea, folks. So then she’s carrying stuff out to the 1,000th dinner party of the season and sits down next to some dude, who sits at the head of HER table in HER yard of HER house, after she’s SET the fucking table and MADE THE FOOD. She exchanges a knowing glance with this mystery motherfucker and that’s it! Series over. Go home.


Sit here, Nondescript Man.

I guess with so much of the series centered around who Sookie was giving that faerie poon to, it was only natural for everyone and anyone to be wondering who she was going to end up with. I figured after a while we were going to get some kind of half-assed finale that would at least strongly hint toward the dude she’d settle down with. Whatever. But to drop the curtain immediately after answering that question was so stuuuupid, made even more stupid by the other crap they tried to stir in to give Sookie more meaning. First of all, there was this whole “give up your faerie light” business which was dumb and I didn’t give a shit about it anyway, but before she stake-fucks Bill she goes on this whole diatribe about how it’s what defiiines her, which if you ask me was totally dumb because she didn’t even know she had it until like two years earlier. Also, it seemed like it was so volatile, she could sneeze and it would blast out of her and be done with, just like that. Then there’s the fact that she was so low on the faerie ancestry chart that she had so little of the magic faerie blasting solution that it could be worn out anyway. It’s like saying you’re “one twentieth Cherokee” and you only have so many clay pots from flea markets left and if you give them all away you won’t be able to say you’re Cherokee anymore and that means you’re not much of anything! Wahhhh!

There was also this weird scene where baby Sookie and baby Tara run in the rain to Gran’s house and are sucking down hot chocolate when Sookie says something about never wanting a boyfriend because they’re all nasty. I thought that was kind of funny, even though I was annoyed that we were so far down in the bottom of the final season trash can that we were having to supplement with flashbacks from God knows when. But I guess Gran didn’t think it was funny because she rushed in from her hiding place where she’d been eavesdropping to scold Sookie: “Don’t ever say that! Our only limitations are the ones we place on ourselves!” So, chill the fuck out, Gran. It’s stupid to yell at two little girls who think boys suck. Also, it’s kind of gross to insist that a little girl saying she didn’t like boys was placing a limitation. Because fuck you. What if Sookie was starting the process of coming out of the closet? Tara sure as shit was. So thank you, Writers, for that tasty little morsel of misogyny. Don’t limit yourself to a life without men! KEEP TRYING UNTIL YOU’RE HAPPY WITH ONE.

Anyway. I came away from that scene thinking that Sookie would sell her house and fly around the world, meet up with Eric in random places around the globe for a good bang every now and then, go to college, start a business. I thought she’d zap into action after that flashback faded and be like “Holy fuck, I still have a life, I can DO shit!” But what happens? She gets knocked up and has a dinner party. So apparently setting yourself no limitations = marriage & family. And probably a subscription to Martha Stewart Living which recommends the best outdoor lighting schemes for dinner parties.

Oh, right, and: meanwhile, Hoyt fucktardedly remembers that he used to bone Jessica and Bill says “I want y’all to get married before I die so I know you’re SPOKEN FOR” and even though Jessica is a killing machine who comes out at night to eat people, she needs a man to be safe, and despite protesting that this dude doesn’t remember fuck all about her, she marries him and Bill’s like “Cool. Got to die now just because.”

Well, also, another really misogynistic storyline was the girl Hoyt brought back to town with him, whom he unceremoniously dumps (after she hassles him about another woman THE NIGHT BEFORE HIS MOTHER’S FUNERAL which was weird). He rescues Jessica from getting tied up and fucked by Jason’s ex-girlfriend with a hot poker in the shape of a dong (I am so serious, this happened, or rather, almost happened) and they realize they are still in love. He dumps ol’ Outtatown Twatsy who has no other choice but to stay at Jason’s house in his t-shirt and boxers. And he’s like “don’t fuck her, don’t fuck her, hommina hommina” because fucking ruins everythiiiiing. So ol’ girl is like “I’m gonna teach you how to share a bed with someone without fuckin’ em” and holy hell if the Madonna/whore complex didn’t rear its ugly Madonna/whore head. Oh, this is a good girl, the audience breathed in collective relief. She’s perfect for fucknasty Jason. She’ll fix him!

Oh fucking hell.

The whole season, but especially the last episode, was like several pages from horny teen boy fan fiction, the worst kind: the kind that doesn’t recognize women as anything but either fuckable or loudmouthed (read: unfuckable). The whole torture-panty-dungeon scene would have been laughable if it wasn’t meant to be titillating that one sexy vampire was about to rape and murder another sexy vampire (they’re vampires, not women! Who CARES? This is for fun!). But really the entire ending was based on the idea that in order to tie up a loose end, a woman has to get married and be “spoken for.” What else is there, ladies? Really though, what else? Thanks for watching!

leggings of The cursed protector

For every comment this blog receives that is from a real person, not a robot, this blog receives 1,000 spam comments. For every comment this blog receives from someone who has tried one of my recipes and wants to let me know that I’m stupid and fat, this blog receives 2,000 spam comments. For every comment this blog receives from someone who just wants to tell me I’m stupid, this blog receives 3 billion spam comments. What I’m saying is that I get a lot of spam comments.

I’ve started looking and them closely and actually reading through them because 1. they’re hilarious, and 2. I don’t have any idea how they work or what they are supposed to be doing. Is there a computer out there with the sole purpose of creating fake email addresses (lskdjofiehlksjlfdkjflkj1389usdlkjdlj8sljdf@gmair.corn, for example) and randomizing groups of phrases to mash together to form a paragraph that smacks of a compliment with a hint of sales pitch and ends up coming out like it’s being typed by a Ukrainian with a minimal grasp on the English language? Is that how it works? Ok, so, what is it trying to get me to do, exactly? What does the computer want?!

Recently I got the very best spam comment I’ve ever gotten ever:


Cool! Want to talk about the cursed protector now?


There have been others that are just as confusing, here are some of the most recent:

I always spent my half an hour to read this web site’s content every day along with a mug of coffee.

Oh, how quaint! I hope this “web site’s content” has never made you spill that mug of coffee on yourself in horror. P.S. are you a stock photo of a woman at a computer? I thought you might be.

I do not even ƙnow how I ended up here, but I tҺoսght this post was great. I ɗo not know who you аre but definitely yߋu aгe going to
a famous blogger if you aren’t already 😉 Cheerѕ!

Ah, a famous blogger! Everywhere I go, people will know that I am there because I will put it on my blog that I am there and thousands of people will flock there and be like, what the fuck does our most famous of famous bloggers look like? And they will not know because how does a blogger even become famous? You did not think this through, pally, which is evident from the nonsensical character you have used in place of the “o” in “you.”

I get that you don’t know who I am (BUT I AM A FAMOUS BLOGGER, HOW CAN YOU NOT KNOW ME?), but do you know who you are? Have you become sentient?

Thanks for sharing your thoughts on 60 day insanity.

Uh, anytime. But you may have me confused with someone else, I’m not sure insanity only lasts 60 days, in fact, I’m pretty fucking sure it doesn’t.

Most of the other ones say a mixture of the same phrases, which are “I’m going to bookmark this web site!” and “this web site has the best Information about this topic” and “I will tell my brother about this because he is researching this very thing.” What would happen if I responded? Would Ukrainian computer bots kick down my door and invade my house, screaming at me about MOST PREMIUM WEB SITES DOMAIN HOSTINGS and PLACE LINKING ON A PAGE IS THE MOST EASY and I MUST TELL MY BROTHER ABOUT THIS WEB SITE INFORMATION???? Probably. That’s probably what would happen. I will just keep deleting the spammies for now. FOR NOW.

Because if “leggings of The cursed protector” ever comes back, I’m following that shit to the ends of the Internets, you guys.

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