My Spam folder held six messages this morning. When I took a peek prior to emptying it, the subject lines revealed the following poem:
Have sex longer
better sex
please her like never before
be amazing in bed
be a god in bed
please her like never before
I thought the repeating middle and end lines of "please her like never before" were especially effective, as were the "be a..." that begin lines 4 and 5. I was going to wait a little longer to see if any more messages appeared, but it looks like this will be it for the day. Has this phenomenon ever occurred in YOUR mailbox? If so, you are required to share. Go! Go check your Spam!
Showing posts with label i swear it's true. Show all posts
Showing posts with label i swear it's true. Show all posts
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Why Sleep Eluded Me The Night of February 29th
How could I forget to tell you this? How could I forget to tell you about The Endlessly Moaning Woman of Bear Valley? She haunts me still, my friends.
She haunts me still.
On our first night, I went to bed at 11:30, but the high altitude situation had transformed me into a coughing, wheezing, stick-straight-haired, dry-eyed, and super thirsty she-beast. As a result, I was up and down a few times, most notably at one in the morning to down an entire bottle of water. An hour later I thought I heard Lea calling for me from the adjoining room. I put my ear to the door, but only heard the static drone of the noisemaker that she's used since she was a baby. Just to be sure, I cracked the door open, only to find all three kids fast asleep. I heard the sound again, and thought it must be an injured Creature Of The Snow. And so I tiptoed to the window and peeked outside expecting to see a limping, possibly bleeding...I don't know...wolf? But there was nothing but snow.
By now, the sound was a clear and rhythmic moaning punctuated by shrill little screams. "Oh, no," thought your Nesting Ground Mistress, blushing in the darkness and miserable in her sleeplessness. "Is it not enough that I'm dehydrated, coughing, and generally miserable? Must I also endure your OBVIOUSLY exaggerated physical pleasure?" In an effort to interrupt the woman's ecstasy—just enough to make her stop screaming, mind you—I stomped on the floor a few times. Her response? A veritable aria.
I'm not one to begrudge a consenting adult her...stuff. However, I believe that consenting adults also have a responsibility not to awaken innocent bysleepers with their madcap frolicking. But never mind. SURELY she would be finished in a moment and then I could go back to sleep. Meanwhile, I returned to bed and attempted to wrap my whole pillow around my head so as to block out the ever more dramatic sound effects. This did not work. Despite the padding I could hear her baying at the moon, her squealing at the ceiling, her hooting, hollering, and hallelujah-ing. I, on the other hand, was praying for mercy. And then...at last...she stopped. I freed my head and was just about to drift off when...she started in again.
I was so tired in the morning. But not—I'm very, very sure—as tired as The Endlessly Moaning Woman of Bear Valley.
She haunts me still.
On our first night, I went to bed at 11:30, but the high altitude situation had transformed me into a coughing, wheezing, stick-straight-haired, dry-eyed, and super thirsty she-beast. As a result, I was up and down a few times, most notably at one in the morning to down an entire bottle of water. An hour later I thought I heard Lea calling for me from the adjoining room. I put my ear to the door, but only heard the static drone of the noisemaker that she's used since she was a baby. Just to be sure, I cracked the door open, only to find all three kids fast asleep. I heard the sound again, and thought it must be an injured Creature Of The Snow. And so I tiptoed to the window and peeked outside expecting to see a limping, possibly bleeding...I don't know...wolf? But there was nothing but snow.
By now, the sound was a clear and rhythmic moaning punctuated by shrill little screams. "Oh, no," thought your Nesting Ground Mistress, blushing in the darkness and miserable in her sleeplessness. "Is it not enough that I'm dehydrated, coughing, and generally miserable? Must I also endure your OBVIOUSLY exaggerated physical pleasure?" In an effort to interrupt the woman's ecstasy—just enough to make her stop screaming, mind you—I stomped on the floor a few times. Her response? A veritable aria.
I'm not one to begrudge a consenting adult her...stuff. However, I believe that consenting adults also have a responsibility not to awaken innocent bysleepers with their madcap frolicking. But never mind. SURELY she would be finished in a moment and then I could go back to sleep. Meanwhile, I returned to bed and attempted to wrap my whole pillow around my head so as to block out the ever more dramatic sound effects. This did not work. Despite the padding I could hear her baying at the moon, her squealing at the ceiling, her hooting, hollering, and hallelujah-ing. I, on the other hand, was praying for mercy. And then...at last...she stopped. I freed my head and was just about to drift off when...she started in again.
I was so tired in the morning. But not—I'm very, very sure—as tired as The Endlessly Moaning Woman of Bear Valley.
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
A Brief Tale of The Great Acorn Squash Debate
"What's this?" says the snippy new checkout person at the market. She says it because there is no identifying sticker on this particular piece of produce.
"It's an acorn squash."
"No it's not."
"Yes, it is," I say.
"Acorn squash is orange. This isn't an acorn squash."
"Yes, it is," I repeat. I'm fully prepared to say it again, if she likes. In fact, I'm prepared to say it several times.
"Acorn. Squash. Is. Orange," she says.
I'm officially enraged, but never mind. I say, "Well, acorn squash is orange inside, but it's green outside. This is an acorn squash."
She holds up the acorn squash and turns around to face the other checkout people. "Hey!" she yells. "What is this?" They just stare at her. "This!" she says. She shakes the acorn squash. "Right here! What is THIS?"
Nobody answers her. So I do. I say, "It's an acorn squash."
"I'll go see," she says.
"Hokay, you go see."
When she returns, she says, "It's an acorn squash."
I say, "Yes, it is."
"It's an acorn squash."
"No it's not."
"Yes, it is," I say.
"Acorn squash is orange. This isn't an acorn squash."
"Yes, it is," I repeat. I'm fully prepared to say it again, if she likes. In fact, I'm prepared to say it several times.
"Acorn. Squash. Is. Orange," she says.
I'm officially enraged, but never mind. I say, "Well, acorn squash is orange inside, but it's green outside. This is an acorn squash."
She holds up the acorn squash and turns around to face the other checkout people. "Hey!" she yells. "What is this?" They just stare at her. "This!" she says. She shakes the acorn squash. "Right here! What is THIS?"
Nobody answers her. So I do. I say, "It's an acorn squash."
"I'll go see," she says.
"Hokay, you go see."
When she returns, she says, "It's an acorn squash."
I say, "Yes, it is."
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
I Prefer Silence, Plus The Very Loud Bookstore Warlock
I have escaped to my bedroom for some peace.
Do not tell my children where I am.
They are in the dining room playing round after round of "Connect 4," and the noise level is alarming.
I repeat: do not tell my children where I am.
I don't know how to explain this recent oversensitivity to noise; it's not like my home SUDDENLY became noisy, after all. Last night I couldn't bear the surround sound in the den and chose to express my dismay by saying, "Oh. My. GOD," every few minutes. Lately, I am constantly turning down music, constantly glaring at people who project their voices unnecessarily in hushed places like the library or even certain cafes.
This seems as good a time as any to introduce you to one of the banes of my existence: the very loud warlock who works at one of my local bookstores.
I have nothing against warlocks in general (at least I don't THINK I do), but I do have something against warlocks who are forever shouting about how they are warlocks and explaining their warlock jewelry and special warlock powers and the significance of their tiny little warlock finger tattoos so that the entire store can hear. And also, this warlock is forever directing unsuspecting customers to his personal areas of interest rather than catering to them. Here is a 99.7% true example:
UNSUSPECTING CUSTOMER: Can you tell me where to find the THE KAMA SUTRA?
VERY LOUD WARLOCK: THE KAMA SUTRA? Well, that's okay, I guess, but have you ever heard of THE SECRETS OF TOTALLY AWESOME WARLOCK SEX? I only ask because I have it on my own shelf at home, and it's a terrific reference.
UNSUSPECTING CUSTOMER: Oh? Well, no. I was really looking for...
VERY LOUD WARLOCK: Are you familiar with the double trilogy boxed set of WARLOCK WISDOM/WARLOCK WONDER? NO? You've never heard of it? I find that hard to believe. I'm a little disappointed, to tell the truth. It was a phenomenon in the book publishing industry. Absolutely a phenomenon. I see you're looking at my ring!
UNSUSPECTING CUSTOMER: No, I'm not. I...
VERY LOUD WARLOCK (conspiratorially): Everybody looks at my ring! They're attracted to its power. I'm a warlock...
I can be standing 200 feet away from the guy, and I can hear him. Sometimes I just crouch near the magazines, cover my ears, and scream silently. And then the spousal unit laughs at me. "You better watch it," he says, while spinning his arms around. "He might gather the dark forces." And then I say, "Foolish! Hasn't he said a million times that he uses his power only for good, never for evil?"
The same cannot be said of me.
Do not tell my children where I am.
They are in the dining room playing round after round of "Connect 4," and the noise level is alarming.
I repeat: do not tell my children where I am.
I don't know how to explain this recent oversensitivity to noise; it's not like my home SUDDENLY became noisy, after all. Last night I couldn't bear the surround sound in the den and chose to express my dismay by saying, "Oh. My. GOD," every few minutes. Lately, I am constantly turning down music, constantly glaring at people who project their voices unnecessarily in hushed places like the library or even certain cafes.
This seems as good a time as any to introduce you to one of the banes of my existence: the very loud warlock who works at one of my local bookstores.
I have nothing against warlocks in general (at least I don't THINK I do), but I do have something against warlocks who are forever shouting about how they are warlocks and explaining their warlock jewelry and special warlock powers and the significance of their tiny little warlock finger tattoos so that the entire store can hear. And also, this warlock is forever directing unsuspecting customers to his personal areas of interest rather than catering to them. Here is a 99.7% true example:
UNSUSPECTING CUSTOMER: Can you tell me where to find the THE KAMA SUTRA?
VERY LOUD WARLOCK: THE KAMA SUTRA? Well, that's okay, I guess, but have you ever heard of THE SECRETS OF TOTALLY AWESOME WARLOCK SEX? I only ask because I have it on my own shelf at home, and it's a terrific reference.
UNSUSPECTING CUSTOMER: Oh? Well, no. I was really looking for...
VERY LOUD WARLOCK: Are you familiar with the double trilogy boxed set of WARLOCK WISDOM/WARLOCK WONDER? NO? You've never heard of it? I find that hard to believe. I'm a little disappointed, to tell the truth. It was a phenomenon in the book publishing industry. Absolutely a phenomenon. I see you're looking at my ring!
UNSUSPECTING CUSTOMER: No, I'm not. I...
VERY LOUD WARLOCK (conspiratorially): Everybody looks at my ring! They're attracted to its power. I'm a warlock...
I can be standing 200 feet away from the guy, and I can hear him. Sometimes I just crouch near the magazines, cover my ears, and scream silently. And then the spousal unit laughs at me. "You better watch it," he says, while spinning his arms around. "He might gather the dark forces." And then I say, "Foolish! Hasn't he said a million times that he uses his power only for good, never for evil?"
The same cannot be said of me.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
This Just In: Animal Identification Not My Forte
My sister-in-law was kind enough to inform me that the Goat of Some Renown (see below) is actually a SHEEP.
But the other picture IS a cow.
I think.
But the other picture IS a cow.
I think.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
What the Crazy-Ass PG & E Guy Did
For the last few weeks, PG & E (that's "Pacific Gas & Electric" for you Right Coasters) workers have been terrorizing my block, forcing limits on our parking, and lounging around on the grass while consuming paper-wrapped items that I can only assume come from some gas station or, perhaps, a 7-11. They are doing this because (I think; I wasn't paying attention) they are changing everyone's gas lines from copper to something else or vice versa (I think; I wasn't paying attention). This has necessitated the use of a jackhammer in some cases, though not in ours.
So, yesterday it was our turn to have our gas lines dug up, etc. etc. The foreman guy knocks on my door to show me what they did and how they're going to patch up the edge of the driveway, etc. etc. He walks me along the edge of our grass, pointing at where the submerged gas line runs. Suddenly, I see a little patch of grass inflate and then deflate. And, yes, I know that grass cannot actually DO such a thing. I'm just saying that's what it looked like. Or, if you prefer, it looked like a little patch of grass was breathing heavily. "What's that?!" I said.
"Well, look at that," said Foreman Guy.
"What is it?!"
"It must be a mole or something. Hey, look at this," said Foreman Guy. He said this to some other guy who was waist deep in the earth in front of my white picket fence. "Look at this," he repeated. This was directed to the other guy digging in the muck near my tomato plants. Both guys extracted themselves and joined us.
So there we were, stooped over in silent fascination as we watched the grass pop up in various spots. I shuddered each time it happened because I was certain that the very next time the ground would break open completely and some multi-headed, slime-covered, pissed-as-all-get-out beast would emerge, stretch its tremendous jaws to reveal its even more tremendous teeth, and swallow me whole.
And then!
AND THEN...the next time the grass popped up, one of the worker guys whipped out a super-long screwdriver and STABBED IT DIRECTLY INTO THE INVISIBLE HEAD OF WHATEVER WAS UNDER THERE. And truly, I felt a tiny bit of lifeforce lift out of the ground and dissipate into the universe.
At which point I screamed and ran into the house.
So, yesterday it was our turn to have our gas lines dug up, etc. etc. The foreman guy knocks on my door to show me what they did and how they're going to patch up the edge of the driveway, etc. etc. He walks me along the edge of our grass, pointing at where the submerged gas line runs. Suddenly, I see a little patch of grass inflate and then deflate. And, yes, I know that grass cannot actually DO such a thing. I'm just saying that's what it looked like. Or, if you prefer, it looked like a little patch of grass was breathing heavily. "What's that?!" I said.
"Well, look at that," said Foreman Guy.
"What is it?!"
"It must be a mole or something. Hey, look at this," said Foreman Guy. He said this to some other guy who was waist deep in the earth in front of my white picket fence. "Look at this," he repeated. This was directed to the other guy digging in the muck near my tomato plants. Both guys extracted themselves and joined us.
So there we were, stooped over in silent fascination as we watched the grass pop up in various spots. I shuddered each time it happened because I was certain that the very next time the ground would break open completely and some multi-headed, slime-covered, pissed-as-all-get-out beast would emerge, stretch its tremendous jaws to reveal its even more tremendous teeth, and swallow me whole.
And then!
AND THEN...the next time the grass popped up, one of the worker guys whipped out a super-long screwdriver and STABBED IT DIRECTLY INTO THE INVISIBLE HEAD OF WHATEVER WAS UNDER THERE. And truly, I felt a tiny bit of lifeforce lift out of the ground and dissipate into the universe.
At which point I screamed and ran into the house.
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