Currently viewing the tag: "what the frig"
Remember how American Indian tribes believed that the camera would steal your soul? And everyone thought that was weird? Well, it turns out they were actually geniuses who were merely ahead of their time.
At present, I can think of several occasions when I have died a little inside at the unrelenting hand of a camera.
For example, consider the family vacation. Or rather consider the moment when you think you’re finally finished with a weekend-long family gathering.
You’re tired; you need a nap and four showers (one to clean yourself and then three more to rid yourself of the shame of watching your uncle try to find the bathroom in his underwear at 2 a.m.) And then this happens…
And suddenly, you’re a hostage again.
A crowd of people bumping into each other, posing awkwardly, complaining, crying, and shouting “now use my camera” stands between you and your freedom.
Not convinced that cameras are the soul-thieves tribes believed them to be?
How about the drastic difference between what you think you look like when someone takes a snapshot of you and a friend dancing together at a wedding
And what you actually look like when you finally get a notice that the photo has been uploaded to Facebook for you and all of your mutual friends to see.
Did I mention that thanks to the magic of Facebook that image will probably enjoy a longer lifespan than you?
If you still don’t believe that cameras are stealing your soul, then I encourage you to attempt to Skype with your parents. Just once. (Warning: This experience may turn you into an atheist.)
Webcams seem to have been designed specifically to drive a wedge between you and your technologically simple parents (and also maybe for porn.)
Cameras stealing people’s souls.
It doesn’t seem like such an antiquated school of thought anymore does it?
I didn’t think so.
Over the weekend, news outlets were reporting that a black bear was captured in some lady’s backyard after several sightings in Virginia Beach, where the bear had apparently wandered around for several days.
To the surprise of Virginia Beach residents, the bear spent nearly a week romping around the area and scaring the shit out of people.
Which leads me to this…
Dear bears,
I’m sick of hearing about you roaming around, stealing from hikers and turning up where you’re uninvited. You’re arrogant and entitled, going where you want, doing as you please, taking what you like; but I’m not impressed.
You need to stop acting so smug, bears. You’re homeless.
There. I said it.
Maybe you inspired fear once, but from where I’m sitting, these days, you’re just lazy freeloaders. Everyone is always acting like you should be feared and respected. But you continue to destroy your reputation with this disgraceful behavior, and I can’t respect that.
For fuck’s sake, bears, pull it together. You’re embarrassing yourselves.
What kind of predators are you, anyway? I don’t see sharks rolling up to neighborhood garbage cans for dinner. That’s not intimidating!
And all that time you spend sleeping in the woods…
No one’s afraid of chronic nappers. Where’s your ambition?
What’s next? A hobo camp under a bridge?
Here’s some tough love, bears: It’s time to get your shit together.
You have so much potential, but you’re throwing it all away. You’re supposed to be super-intimidating, master hunters. Not aimless drifters.
The world expects so much more of you, and I think it’s time for you to act accordingly.
I’m not a bear life coach. But I’m not even sure such a thing exists, so I’m going to step in with some advice.
It’s never too late to get your lives back on track. Set some goals, bears. Get a resume together.
I’ll even help get you started.
Objective: To eat and sleep
Special skills: Sharp claws; ability to run fast; deceptively cute and especially deadly
Enemies: Wolves, humans and heat
Education: None
Hobbies: Fishing and listening to Harry Belafonte (I improvised that last one, but occasionally, employers like to know personal details about you.)
Now, buy yourself a suit. Nothing fancy, just something that says: “Hey, world! I’m on a fucking rampage.”
See how sharp you look?
I hope you’re listening, bears. It’s time to grow up.
Before I fell in love with the Internet and got a blog of my very own, my interactions with the web were primarily utilitarian.
In my last life (as a working professional), I only got to hang out with the Internet sparingly and/or in case of emergencies. Like: “Tell me I have cancer, WebMD” or “When do I hyphenate bitch devil, AP Style? (Answer: When it is a compound modifier. Such as, “Get that bitch-devil blender out of here before it eats the rest of the children.”)
These days, my play dates with the Internet are more like an endless slumber party, where I gladly fall down a rabbit hole of weird and wonderful thrice daily. However, back in the day, I didn’t have time to mess around. My visits to the web were quick and to the point.
What I’m trying to say is that: I know what it’s like to need answers from the Internet. Fast. I also know how annoying it can be to Google something and come up short.
So you can imagine my HORROR when a quick check to my analytics revealed that I was standing in the way of people and the information they actually needed.
Since I have the platform (thanks to myself–and may I just say: Good going, self), I’d like to go ahead and extend an apology to the following people…
To the person that Googled “what happens if pregnant woman drink bleach”:
I’m super sorry that I didn’t have any survival tips for you.
I hope that your search was merely speculative and that you are not even pregnant or in possession of bleach. But, in the event that you are pregnant and drinking bleach, please stay calm and call a poison hotline (and stop playing with household toxins, because that shit will kill you.)
Love, The Mrs
To the gentleman (yeah, I’m pretty sure a guy was responsible for this one) that Googled “bowl of cereal alcoholic drink”:
You, sir, are a genius. And I would like to request an invitation to your next party.
Regrettably, I have no recipes to assist you. I do, however, have a tragic cooking story that ends in me binge drinking vodka and eating cereal. I assume that’s how we were accidentally connected.
Oh! Here’s something I just made up: Cheerios, Kahlua, Vodka, milk. You can call it a Mrs White Russian (Now with more Cheerios!)
Sparkles! The Mrs
I wasn’t really sure what to think of this next one, but I do want to say a few things. So, person who Googled this:
I think your friends are probably not trying to kill you.
However, a few self-defense classes never hurt anyone.
Stay safe (and keep passing open windows!), The Mrs
And finally, we’ve come to the most puzzling search yet…
To the person that Googled “puffins” and found me:
I feel like I owe you the biggest apology of all. Because there are no puffins on my website. There never have been.
There are vampire squid…
But no puffins.
Here’s why I feel the worst about this: I imagine some poor, run-down parent, finding out at the eleventh hour that their kid has a project on puffins due tomorrow.
Said parent Googles his little heart out, and stumbles upon my nonsense.
So, tired parent, I have a surprise for you:
IT’S A PUFFIN!
Because drawing a puffin took a lot of time, I didn’t have any time to research many facts on puffins. Instead I made a few up (I’m sorry and you’re welcome):
1. Puffins are mostly nocturnal.
2. Puffins love to eat orange Sour Patch Kids.
3. Despite their obvious differences, puffins and vampire squid are BFFs.
To recap: poor parent and everyone else Google tricked into visiting my site: I couldn’t be more sorry.
Let’s still be friends!
Unicorns and hand grenades!
The Mrs
UPDATE
Earlier today, Little Big expressed her concern over a lost opportunity, regarding Bill Maher (who happens to appear in my analytics thanks, I assume, to the vampire squid post.)
Since she used the magic word: Shenanigans! I decided to update this post to include Bill Maher.
Unfortunately, I don’t really like Bill Maher, so I’ve decided to re-write science a little.
Remember when I said that vampire squid are non-threatening to humans? Turns out that’s true of all humans EXCEPT Bill Maher.
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