Spin Me I Pulsate.

So apparently one of the most searched terms ont he internet revolves around "lovely lady humps", or at least that's what site meter shows...

as well, whomever searched for "preschoolers dry humping" needs to be beaten with a stick.

Although "what do I look at to get rid of an erection?" PRICELESS.

Tomorrow: Beards, and why I love them. With a side of "why moustaches SUCK ASS"

Posted by thordora at 3:24 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

Posted by thordora at 9:51 a.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

I never win ANYTHING!

I won the caption contest at Sick Sad World (who I had been meaning to link to since they crack me up anyway....)

Anyhoo....go visit, and see my brilliance!

Posted by thordora at 1:27 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

Now normally, I take pop music with a LARGE hunk of salt. It's just one of those things, like chupa chupas's-not terribly good for you, you can't eat them very much, but sometimes, an ok thing.

But the latest Black Eyed Peas song is slowly, and irrevocably, driving me totally insane.

"My lovely lady lumps."

"My Hump"

Am I the ONLY chick who finds the thought of referring to any part of her body as a hump or a lump just a little....gross? Let's break it down:

When I think of "Lump", I think of the following:

1. Breast Cancer
2. Crappy gravy
3. Crappy Mashed Potatoes
4. Icky HUGE Adam's Apples on men with bad acne
5. A cat underneath the duvet

When I think of "Hump", I think of:

1. Ski Hills
2. Camels
3. Dry Humping in Grade School
4. Trolls
5. Something you drive over at night in the woods

None of these qualify as something I would like to consider my boobs or my ass. Hey, don't get me wrong, I have nothing inherently against trolls or roadkill or ski hills. I just don't want to look down at the sisters and start thinking, "gee, my lady lumps are rather droopy....not enough time underneath a bridge me thinks...

It does NOT help that I cannot get this bloody song, for all it's banality, out of my fricken head. For two days I've been driven batty by it, which is odd, since I never ever get songs stuck in my head. (Aside from this one Aphex Twin song...) It bothers me in the same way my bastard neighbours who can't be bothered to let their 2 year old play with my two year old bother me.

Then I found it.

ROBOTS.

Robots with a master with FAR FAR too much time on his hands. But I thank him for it. Please, watch. It's worth it.

On a more mundane note, the Dorf was pleased with himself tonight. Our Swiss Chalet was courtesy of, why Swiss Chalet. He held the guy to the time. It was a WHOPPING one minute late.

He'll be puffy like a chicken for weeks now.

Show some love folks. Winter is here.

Posted by thordora at 8:30 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

Dumbass.

Have you seen this?

Michelle McClusker accepted a job with St. Rose of Lima, a catholic school in Queens, NY. She would have been required to sign some document stating she'd have to demonstrate catholic values and morals. I went to catholic schools, and I remember my teachers talking about this type of thing.

She either gets knocked up just after starting her job, or just before. (Lord help me if I find out she knew she was pregnant when she accepted the job-my head will explode) She finally tells her superiors when it starts to become obvious that she isn't exactly the chaste woman they might think she is. She gets canned.

Now, normally I am a harsh critic of catholicism in general, and the church policies. This time however, the word dumbass just keeps crossing my lips. They argument behind the lawsuit is basically, since a man can't be fired for the same thing, it's not fair.

Here's a newsflash. Life isn't fair. YOU made a decision to have sex, which does always hold the possibility of pregnancy. YOU decided to work for a school board that obviously does not look to kindly on stuff like premarital sex, pregnancy out of wedlock, etc, etc. Now, you're going to sue?

If I was a parent who wanted my children to learn from their teachers, I would not want a single pregnant woman trying to teach them about catholic values. It doesn't equate. I've heard the argument that they're just preschoolers-well, last time I checked, the best time to teach kids is in the 1-5 window. So not only would you be teaching them that it's ok to only follow some of the requirements of your faith, but that it's ok to flaunt that.

Again, I do not agree with the stance the church takes on pregnancy out of wedlock. But the fact remains that you would have to be a bloody moron to not realize that a catholic school might have a little issue with you being, oh, just a LITTLE pregnant. So now, everyone plays this woman up to be a victim.

Is she without a job. Yep. Does that suck? Yep. Does it matter that a man couldn't be fired for the same thing? Yep. Do I believe that a man, caught in an adulterous situation would also be fired? Yes, I actually do.

I refuse to believe that this is a huge conspiracy against women, which is exactly how it will likely be played out by the NYCLU. She signed a contract. The contract basically stated she needed to " teach and act according to the precepts and doctrines of the Roman Catholic Church" Easy enough to understand, right?

She violated a contract, and it was clear. Is it easier to notice a pregnant lady than a man having sex out of marriage? Yes it is. But again, life just isn't fair.

Anymore, the thought of personal responsibility just frightens the hell out of people doesn't it?

Posted by thordora at 9:25 a.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

She helps her with her boots, holds her arm as she guides her into bed.

Tiny little feet she has. Tender Tootsies. She places the boots silently by the door, the tops fall slightly to the left. Her mother has begun to pull up the covers but can't quite make it before the waves of sick hit her full on.

She almost doesn't make it. She holds the stainless steel beneath her mouth, looking politely away while murmering soft tones of safety. She knows it's a lie, keeps her words vague. Her hands become warmed.

After the requisite amount of time, and bile has passed, her mother sighs and lies back onto the bed. They stare silently at each other for long moments. The bowl begins to grow cold, and she can now smell her mother's stomach. They'll never talk about it.

Water hits water and is flushed away. She can't help but think she's loosing parts of her down that drain. She picks the bowl back up, recalls that her last birthday cake came from it, the medium one, best with the old mixer.

She hears her begin to retch again, and races for the front room. She doesn't make it this time. She lets her finish, since there's nothing to be done about it now. It's mostly ginger ale and crackers.

Her mother begins to cry.

The cake was chocolate, devil's food chocolate. Her favorite.

Posted by thordora at 9:57 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

It's been awhile, but since the boob shot wouldn't post for poor Owl last night....

What is your favorite book? Lame ass question, but since I'm about to read the following for the 5 millionth time....


I've heard/read various rumours about a movie, with Johnny Depp and Robin Williams directed by Terry Gilliam, and I try not to think about it since I get FAR too excited....

I LOVE this book. It is perfection in my eyes

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They just keep getting bigger. Now normally, most people wouldn't be upset, but you know, getting a little sick of buying bras all the time. I don't know why they keep growing.

And I have this problem where the bra fits in the dressing room, withstands the jiggle jump test, everything. Then I take it home and I swear, everything falls down. 60$ down the drain. And I like pretty bras, not the beige army lady ones, and the bigger things get, the ugly and/or more expensive they get.

I've always wanted nice little 34B breasts. I'd LOVE that. But no, from day one, they've been huge. Think, 38C huge in Grade 8. And it's only gotten worse.

The Dorf of course doesn't mind. But I'd love to sleep on my stomach, run upstairs, never have an underwire snap on me, and spend the day pulling metal out of my boob. And the bigger they get, the droopier they get.

I always wanted small boobs so I could have perky boobs. (Think Samantha Mathis is Pump up the Volume) The ones that stand up and say "Hey!"

ah welll.....anyone want to pay for a reduction?

Posted by thordora at 8:56 a.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

Ah yes, the joys of working at home. Yesterday was such a day, due to 3 hours sleep after a LOOOONNNGGG stupid fight with the Dorf. The best thing about working from home? Sitting there working in pajamas, eating ice cream and listening to these guys really loud.

And surprisingly, I really did get some work done, which was cool. It's a a lovely day, with the sun in the front room and all, Rosalyn trying to chew on dining room chairs....yeah.....of course, I'm still sick and tired and yuck, but what the hell. I'm not dead, and it hasn't snowed. Yet.

And I forgot to mention my latest appointment with the counsellor yielded the insight that I need to be tested as bipolar. Which was EXACTLY what I told the woman in the first 5 minutes of the first visit. Honestly, I'm not that annoyed since I would like to get a proper diagnosis for the first time in my life, and the ADD can look like bipolar, and the reverse. I don't know....I'm just sick of the mess that is my brain. I'm also getting a little tired of the Dorf telling me I'm waking him up screaming at night. You know, I'm little worried that some deep dark trauma hound will come crawling out of my head some day. More than a little worried about that one...oh, and the shadows I see from time to time that aren't really there-little worried about that as well......

On another note, I have now given the people who annoy me on the bus their own names. There are:

• "The Fuzzy Headed Cow", who cannot be bothered to walk the 50 feet to an actual bus stop, making the bus even later, who then proceeds to walk PAST the actual bus stop.
• "Scooter" who, despite having a seat right next to FHC who she talks to, jumps up and RUNS to the single, meant for disabled/pregnant people seat at the front. She then proceeds to YELL her conversation with the FHC across half the bus. Charming.
• "Beige" She wears colors, but she's the definition of a mousy person. Her hair is brown. She's never smiling. She always looks just a little wound, and just a little boring. Always carrying something in a plastic shopping bag, her hair cut just so under her chin.
• "Amazo, the 400ilb wad of never shut up" The man NEVER SHUTS UP the entire bus ride. I think he's making up for the fact that because his fat rolls down over his knees no one would talk to him. His laugh is bad. He makes the same bad jokes all the time. At first I thought I was replused because of the fat, and make an extra hard attempt to like him, or tolerate him. That was the day that he stood and talked to the driver for 5 minutes on the way home after bouncing off the bus. You know what? I WANT TO GO HOME! All I ever think about when I see him is "How does he go to the bathroom?" It's not pleasant.

I love public transit, but the people who ride it.....it's like those people who sing and pick their nose in their car...they annoy me. But then, what DOESN'T annoy me?

Ah, the bus....I feel a short story brewing from the bus....

I have a headache, and now much do some work.

Posted by thordora at 9:23 a.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

Every year at about this time, the Poppy Guilt Parade begins. You know, the old men and ladies who glare at you because you do NOT have a poppy somewhere on your person.

Most years, I buy the damn thing just so I do NOT get those looks. But not this year, nope, not gonna do it. As any Canadian knows, you will lose every single one that you buy, therefore necessitating the purchase of a new one. I hate that.

Don't take this to mean that I do not appreciate our veterans. I do. As an avid reader of histories, I am well aware of the sacrifice, and what these people did do. I sit here staring out the window at the cold wet rain, trying to imagine running through the mud at Vimy, trying to see through eyes full of tears, and mud and gore. Some poor kid,18, face to face with a german soldier who is just as scared and confused and so not ready to die.

So I know what happened, and I actually think about it a lot. What I find highly offensive are the looks I get for now wearing the poppy. I believe our government should do more, but at the same time, when does it end? How many times have you been cut off by someone with Veterans plates. How many times have you had someone be totally fucking rude to you, because they feel entitled?

I felt the same way about the "What does Nov 11 mean to you?" essays all through school. Nov 11 meant what people wanting me to think it meant. It meant write some cheesy essay to make your teachers happy, much the same as wearing the Poppy makes other people leave you alone. Yes, there is sacrifice, and there is sadness and horror, but that happens every day. It happened in Rwanda-no one cared. It happens time after time after time, but no one stops it. Shouldn't THAT be the legacy of those who fought, who bled for their, and our, freedom? Instead of making me feel like shit when I go to get a coffee?

They don't know me. I don't know them, and likely they're the 98% of veterans who don't treat people like crap. But I can make that assumption, just like they can.

Really read McCrae's poem. It means more than your teachers ever told you.

Posted by thordora at 9:14 a.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

The Machinery Of Death

There just aren't enough words to describe this. I FERVENTLY hope it's a joke.

Of course, I'm giving the moron traffic, but it's just...WOW.

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• Stupid chicks. I will never, ever understand why someone needs to sing the Jefferson's theme song, REALLY REALLY loud at work. EVER. Or why chicks wear clothes meant for mid July in India, and wonder why they're cold. Or girls who date stupid men. Or girls who wear shoes with 8 inch heels and fall down.

• STUPID STUPID STUPID. These are the same girls that wonder why it itches when they pee after wearing those super hot tight pants.

• Jack Fricken Layton. hey Jack-guess what?
• NO ONE CARES!
• You can hitch up your pants in Parliment all you want-those two people clapping? Those are the ONLY people who care! No one listens to you because no one likes you! GO AWAY! Bob Rae left a sinking ship, and nothing you do with make it float!

• Bernard Lord. Will someone please make him smoke crack just ONCE? I particularily love how he sits on the fence regarding day care money just so the stay at home people don't get mad, or lose out on the money. Those of us who CANNOT afford to stay home, and are REALLY broke paying for childcare, or surviving on less hours, we TOTALLY dig that.

What, me give you money? NEVER!

• Ben Stiller.
  
  Ew. Everytime I see this guy I think of steel wool pads, and insulation and how much these things make me itch. He BOTHERS me. Like when a scab is itchy he bothers me.He's as funny as scabies. I don't get it.

• The lady on that god awful airmiles commercial "Do I have my air miles card?" I DON'T CARE!!!!She stands in the line up mulling over all the cool shit she's received via air miles. NEWS FLASH! TO begin with, sitting in the line up for that long staring into space will get you killed. And secondly, NO ONE EVER gets the big stuff unless they save up until they're 45. ARGH! BAD ACTING MAKE BRAIN HURT.

• The kid playing PSP with the sound ON behind me on the bus. I shall find you. Fucker.

Posted by thordora at 9:04 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

For the first time ever, the Dorf went and purchased some underthings for me. Amazingly, my heart did not stop out of shock.

I was at the mall, and noticed the silly things were on sale. I always need underthings since I am infernally picky, and do not have an underthing friendly body. I bought one, with the thought that if I like it, they are on sale, I'll get more. It was black with silver sparkles, and I am a sucker for anything black with silver sparkles.

Let it be know that wandering around with a piece of cotton snaking up my behind has never been something I was particularily attracted to. Those women who expounded on the joys of the ththththong-CRAZY LADIES. I mean rationally, it makes no sense.

Then I wore one flashing out the top of my jeans around the house. And it ALL made perfect sense.

Remember how you always have that one friend in high school with that dog who will NOT stop humping your leg? Follows you around, eyes pleading? The Dorf turned into this dog.

He pleaded. He poked. He was extremely attentive.

Dude. This could be fun.

So, I suckered him into purchasing more. I said, I'll wear them, YOU buy them. I figured he couldn't mess up anything about this transaction, since there was only two types in said store.

He did it. I came home to a bag on the bed, and a message how I would need to "model" everything.

Now, I still don't get the huge attraction. I will agree that now that I have the right size, they are incredibly comfy, but I don't get the huge deal about them. But, for the first time in seven (almost 8) years, he expressed interest AND bought me lingerie.

Small victory I know. I now understand the TRUE allure of the thong however.

Posted by thordora at 2:18 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

I have WAYYYY to much work lately.

It's making me feel like this "lady", and causing crap posts....

Ah well....

Posted by thordora at 9:13 a.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

My princess......which reminds me, I'm hoping that the Angry Chimp will do some "no one cares about your ugly kid" cards for Xmas....

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