I only come here seeking knowledge

Do you ever feel like life is giving you more questions than answers? Do you ponder the big existential questions like “who am I?” and “why are we here?” Did you come to my corner today as part of your quest for knowledge? If so, then--ha! You have seriously overestimated the intellectual level of this blog. I don’t have the answer to anything, other than what happens when a dog eats a hairball out of the trash. (You don’t want to know. Trust me.) As a matter of fact, I have some questions of my own. And, since my husband has gotten tired of me pestering him, I’m doing what any rational person with a question does these days. I'm turning to the Internet.

Why do socks have seams in the toes?

Since the weather has turned cooler, I am once again reminded that I hate socks. I only wear them to keep my feet from freezing off. And you know why I hate them? Toe seams. Hard, stabby seams, right in the narrowest part of the shoe where my toes need  all of the available space. We have nano-computers and space shuttles and working artificial organs, and yet the hosiery industry has yet to figure out how to knit a sock without seams. Lame.

Why does my hair go nuts overnight?
A couple of years ago, I got tired of dealing with my super-thick, white-girl-Afro hair, so I cut  it really short  to impart some degree of control. Short hair requires a fair bit of upkeep, so I get a trim every few weeks. Here’s what I don’t understand: One day, it will be fine…acting like normal human being hair, more or less, and able to be styled without too much trouble. The next day—a mere 24 hours later!—it won’t dry, it’s sticking out all over like some deranged Bozo wig, and it takes a crap-ton of hair gel to slick it into some sort of relatively normal shape. And if humid weather gets added into the mix? There might be tears. Quickly followed by a frantic call to set up a haircut appointment.

Why does my clock radio have a mind of its own?
This one has me completely mystified. A couple of Christmases ago, Mr. Nerd bought me one of those really fancy iPod-docking clock radios. It’s very nice, has two alarms, and a bunch of different functions (although it has a 60-page manual and it nearly requires a Computer Science degree to program it). The big mystery, though, is how and why it’s able to change stations of its own free will. Every few months, I re-set the alarm to my preferred radio station. It will work fine for a while, then I’ll notice that I’m waking up to classic rock. Then alternative rock…NPR…oldies...adult contemporary…Top 40, etc. When it lands on a country station (shudder), I know it’s time to start the cycle all over again. And each time I haul out the manual and block out a couple of hours for re-setting the alarm, I wonder.

Those are my questions of the moment. I'll be here playing Bubble Town while I wait for the great minds of the Internet to send me some answers. Bonus points to the first person who correctly identifies the musical reference cleverly hidden somewhere in this post.

Now appearing in a nightmare near me

There's a lot going on in my corner right now, so I've been a bit pressed for time to write. I was going to do just that, though, about the photo below. Until I realized that a simple recounting of the conversation that this photo inspired might be funnier than any narrative I could write. First, some background. Mr. Nerd and I were sitting in traffic, on the way home from work. The photo is of an ad that appears on the back ends of some of our local buses. Of course, since I think it's bizarre and terrifying, I wanted to share it with you. So I asked Mr. Nerd (who always carries a camera) to take this photo:

Oh, hai!

Me: Can you take a photo of that bus, please?

Mr. Nerd: Sure, why?

Me: Because it's terrifying, and I want to write about it on my blog.

Mr. Nerd: You know, you're right. That freaky guy looks like he's peeping over the headboard or something. Like that view of him is the last thing you'd see before he murdered you in your sleep.

Me: Exactly! And, thanks for putting that image in my head.

Mr. Nerd: (sounding extremely satisfied with himself): You're gonna have nightmares now, aren't you?

Me: (shudder) I think the nostrils are the worst part.

So, what do you think? Terrifying? Or am I too sensitive? Are the nostrils the worst part?

Good night, dying of fright, get out the dynamite

Okay, I've had enough. This has been going on for weeks, and I just can't take it anymore. To emphasize my point, I'm going to make it big and bold:

The news media MUST stop airing bedbug stories, effective immediately.
It is freaking me out.

It seems like every time I turn on the news, they're talking about bedbugs. In hotels, hospitals, stores; which cities and states have the most cases; how to tell if you have them; and on and on, ad nauseum. Each story is accompanied by large photos of the wretched things, along with disgusting, crawling video footage. In case you haven't read about it here yet, I HATE BUGS. (I even have a blog label for it.) So, while this  neverending discussion of infestation is probably mildly disturbing to normal people, it is really messing me up. Pretty soon, I'm going to have to sleep standing in the corner, whimpering, because I fear all of my furniture.

I haven't had as much time to watch the news since I went back to work a couple of weeks ago, so I was starting to relax a bit. Until yesterday...when I heard about the North American Bedbug Summit. They are having a freakin' summit--the kind of thing usually reserved for talks about nuclear disarmament and such--to talk about bedbugs. If I had thought the mere existence of such an event was the worst part, though, well, I would have been wrong. This morning, I heard the following bone-chilling quote from someone associated with the summit: "If you start with one bedbug now, you will have 30,000 in a matter of six months." He may have said more, but I can't be sure, since I fell into a dead faint in my kitchen.

Media people, I know why you run the bedbug stories: ratings. No one wants to get bedbugs, so everyone watches your programs in hopes that you will reveal some magical bedbug-eradication secret. But please, I am begging you. Stop now, while I can still go to bed without thinking about hundreds of little bug feet.

Note: If any Homeland Security/FBI/terrorist watch list types happen to be reading, I don't actually have dynamite, nor do I have any means by which to procure it. I was just trying to be funny in the title of this post. Please don't send me to jail. You just know there are bedbugs there.

And me without my adamantium

The other day, I came home from work and I was S-T-A-R-V-I-N-G. Within this box...

lay my solution: Kraft macaroni and cheese. I don't really cook, because, when I am hungry, I don't want to cook. I want to eat. I seem to have lost my ability to eat most foods since my surgery, so mac and cheese has become my standby. (Quick, minimal effort, tasty...meets all the criteria). Very well, then. Open up the box and--

I. Can't. Open. The. Freakin'. Box. Do you see the perforations in the (crummy cell phone camera) photo up there? It says, "Insert Thumb & Lift To Open." Is it just me, or can anyone actually open these things? I know I am kind of a weakling, but I couldn't even stab it open with a knife. Seriously, I would have to have Wolverine claws to get into the cursed thing. And, of course, the top of the box was never intended to open, so it wasn't exactly easy, either. That's why it's all ripped up. I was afraid I was going to have to smash the whole thing with a hammer and try to catch the flying macaroni shrapnel so I could have something to eat.

Kraft, let me give you some friendly advice: Your average macaroni and cheese customer does not need any additional aggravation. They are in a hurry. Either they are making your product for the 47th night in a row --because their picky kids won't eat anything else--or they are (like me) lazy sods who want something hot to eat that is a notch above a frozen dinner, but requires no actual cooking skills. So please, make the boxes easier to open. And do it quickly, because that was my last one.

In which I complain about commercials. Again.

It's Thursday night and I'm front of the computer, so it must be time to blog. To be honest, I'm beat. I went back to work this week, and I'm tired, achy, and kinda grumpy. Time to gripe about commercials! I don't watch a lot of TV, but these are the ads that have been driving me crazy when I do.

Victoria's Secret "love my body"

You know what, Victoria's Secret? I would love my body, too, if I was six feet tall and weighed 42 pounds. No cellulite, no stretch marks, no thunder thighs...what's not to love? I would think a lot more of your commercial if you had actual human women, with normal bodies, hawking your seriously overpriced knickers. 

Dairy Queen freaky lips

No video for this one, unfortunately. If you've never seen them, this series of commercials features a set of weird animated lips discussing various Dairy Queen products. In one commercial, The Lips are talking about some food that's served with gravy. To demonstrate the deliciousness of said gravy, it pours--like a fountain--over The Lips, the thought of which I find nauseous-making. Gravy, although sometimes tasty, is not refreshing. I can't imagine why anyone would want it poured over their face. Blerg.

That *%@$ Friskies song

I see this commercial every morning during the news. Every. Single. Morning. And, every morning, the little song gets stuck in my head. I'll find myself standing in the copy room at work, singing, "It's the magic Friskies makes happen, every day, so many ways," and then I start to think I might need psychological help.

Wait! There's a good one, too!

See, it's not all complaints this week. I just love this--every time I watch it, I end up grinning. Well done, Geico. I kinda like your little gecko, too.

So, how was your week? Any commercials bugging you lately?

Curse you and the salad you rode in on...

Have you ever noticed that there are food trends? Certain foods will go through a big surge in popularity, only to be replaced with the next big thing that comes along. They mentioned this phenomenon in an episode of Seinfeld, concerning pesto. (George referred to Seattle as "the pesto of cities.") Even though I hardly have my finger on the pulse of the culinary world, I'm pretty sure I know what the current hot food is...feta cheese.

I can tell that feta is currently having its moment in the sun, because it's not just for ethnic or high-dollar restaurants anymore--fast-food joints are picking up on it, too. Mr. Nerd and I eat out quite a bit, but I try to stick more or less to the food pyramid guides, so I'm always looking for a good salad. Recently, Wendy's introduced a new line of salads, and I was so excited. We stopped by one Sunday after church, and I ordered up a Cobb salad. Grilled chicken, bacon, veggies...how bad could it be? Pretty bad, I discovered, if it's topped with disgusting feta cheese. (And boiled egg-blerg-but that's a subject for another post.) So, lesson learned.

Until a couple of weeks ago,when Mr. Nerd and I found ourselves once again in the Wendy's drive-thru. He was interested in a salad, too, so we were looking at the garage door-sized posters of the salads on the side of the building. The chicken, apple, and pecan salad looked delicious, but! "What is that white stuff on there? Can you tell?" I asked Mr. Nerd, hoping against hope. "Looks like feta." Grrr. Another salad, ruined. By feta.

Here's the thing, feta: I'm not really big on cheese. I like the more standard varieties (cheddar, swiss, mozzarella, even gouda) just fine. But if it's squishy, has visible mold, or smells like butt-rot, I am not going to even consider eating it. So, feta, you just enjoy your popularity while you have it. I'll be biding my time, waiting for the next Big Food Thing to come along. And praying that that Thing is not some kind of fish, because I don't eat that, either.

Greetings from the stir-crazy

Three weeks post-surgery today, and I'm really ready to get out for a while...I haven't been any further than the mailbox since I got home from church on Sunday. Unfortunately, I found out the hard way that, even though I feel well, I'm not physically ready for any big outings just yet. Since I was feeling so well last Saturday, I decided to try a shopping trip. It was a lot of fun (and I found good stuff), but it took me about three days to recover. On the upside, I've actually been able to wear shorts today! I'm sure Mr. Nerd will be delighted to see me in something other than a robe.

I've learned something else, too: even though I haven't blogged in over a month, it's really hard to come up with posts when all I do is sit around the house all day. So, here's a little glimpse at what I've been doing for the past three weeks.

hanging out with the world's laziest dogs

Seriously. They do this ALL day. Except when they're going nutball, barking at nothing.

online shopping

My custom Chuck Taylors! I learned about custom Chucks on Cardiogirl's site. Thanks, CG. (And yes, those are my legs. They really are that white.)

coloring

One of my "grownup" coloring books. I never outgrew coloring, and it really helps to pass the time. I can spend most of a day working on one of these pictures.

reading

My wonderful co-workers sent me a sweet gift basket with lots of stuff to read, and other goodies, and a bunch of folks have been saving magazines and catalogs for me. This Old House, Glamour, Biscuit Magic...clearly, I have a wide variety of interests.

eating rainbow sherbet

I don't really have much of an appetite since the surgery (yay!), but when I am hungry, all I want to eat is sweets. So, meals have basically become a dessert-delivery system. I'm currently finishing up my second half-gallon of rainbow sherbet.

My post-surgery followup is tomorrow, and I should find out then when I can go back to work. Since I have been staying up until midnight, not doing my hair or makeup, and taking a nap whenever I feel like it, being back at work is going to be a MAJOR adjustment. Hope there's room in the communal office freezer for my sherbet fix. Oh, and I guess I'm going to have to, you know, get dressed every day. Whew. I'm tired just thinking about it.