As most of you know, I work at a university library. Before I got there, I was a public library underling who worked for a boss some employees nicknamed “Satan”. Since librarian seemed like a great career choice at the time (I was smoking something), I jumped at the chance to enter a cohort of public librarians who were given a a “free” online degree. The same grant also allowed us to attend three library conferences. It sounded like a really great opportunity. Then I found out my evil boss was also in the program. And stuff went downhill from there.
I happened to keep a log of my time in the program. The other day I stumbled upon it, and thought it might serve as a warning to others. I put it into four parts. Here’s part one.
I will not detail the joy that was getting into the program in the first place since no one really understood or kept to the rules and procedures (first warning). Also, I’ll forgo explaining the trials and tribulations of getting enrolled in a university from a distance of over six hours travel compounded by the fact that at this particular university the right hand not only didn’t know what the left hand was doing; it didn’t know that there was a left hand. I’ll just start with the first part of the program – our orientation in Denton.
Orientation Ahoy (January 2008)
· I make plans to attend orientation with another student from the program. My certifiable (and I don’t mean degrees here) boss informs me that she too has been accepted into the program and has decided to join us on the six hour car trip. My coworkers begin penning my obituary.
· My mother steps in and offers to carpool with me and visit her sister while I’m in the meetings. She is immediately promoted to sainthood. My boss expresses (repeatedly) her disappointment in not getting to torture me for hours in a trapped space.
· I arrive in Denton and have no idea where to go. I find others who also don’t know. Little do I know that this will become a pattern from now on.
· Eventually, we find where to meet. First off is a “fun” activity involving asking people dumb questions about where they’re from etc in order to be eligible for some prize. Or something. I forget now. But I said screw it and didn’t complete mine. We are also given nice red bags with our group title on it (though no one can remember what it stands for already) and neato folders and a binder. I love free stuff. At this point, I still don’t realize that nothing is ever free.
· We go to a room with lots of computers. Dr. M, who seems like an intelligent, amiable individual explains the program. Dr. J, the dean, also speaks to us though we have trouble seeing her over our desks. We then meet the faculty who deviously appear to be normal humans. We experiment with computers and the faculty rapidly discover just how technologically stupid the majority of us are. Dr. M. begins debating early retirement.
· We meet our pseudo-mom graduate assistant Cherri who plies us with chocolates, most likely laced with something that turns the majority of the group into Stepford Librarians.
· I’m pretty sure this is where we were first introduced to the concept of “mentors”. I wonder if they will be training us to be Jedi (help me Obi Wan!) but it turns out they only want to train us to be librarians which is strange since most of the cohort already work as library directors. Maybe they’ve been doing it wrong all this time. We meet Dr. G. who has been specially brought here for her expertise in Jedi – er – librarian mentor stuff.
· We go to the hotel. I am roomed with another cohort. They apparently think we are from a very different sort of group because they give us one bed. Some of the group members have trouble finding their names on the reserve list. Obviously this is the fault of those silly hotel people.
· The next morning, the program heads discover there is no free breakfast (totally not their fault either) and so arrange for free full breakfasts for our group. The hotel room is really nice as well. Welcome to my parlor, says the spider to the fly!
First Spring Semester (Jan – May 2008): The Horror that is Blackboard (Bb)
· First one bites the dust. One student quits immediately following orientation. Naturally she is a member of my “group”
· I discover there is group work. In college. With fellow students miles apart.
· Except one student – my boss – who is rapidly resembling the Evil Queen from Snow White. Guess who’s the stepchild?
· I am put in her group. Someone in the program hates me.
· Our first professors are Dr. M. and Dr. B. Dr. B., who has a fantastic personality in person, has no personality online. In fact, he repeatedly ceases to exist leaving us to the mercy of his grad assistant, George “Cut and Paste and Good Luck” Yi.
· No one understands how to use Bb (our online classroom). What’s with all the links? Why have so many links that don’t go anywhere and some that go everywhere at once? Why isn’t homework just put under a homework tab? Why don’t the links work? What planet am I on? We ask George who cuts and pastes the original instructions that no one understands.
· Eventually, we figure out that Bb is another word for “scavenger hunt”. Several people have their first nervous breakdowns. Cherrie becomes chief psychiatrist as well as grad assistant. She starts counting the days till she graduates.
· The message board fills to the brim and resembles the Internet at large. Roughly 1 percent of posts have to do with anything remotely important. The rest is crap. You have to click on every one to figure out which is which.
· I learn that many of my classmates got their bachelor’s degrees from Cracker Jack boxes. Some don’t understand basic punctuation or grammar. And naturally, these people are all in my group.
· The cohort discovers the joy of Wiki and start pages with cell phone numbers and birthdays. One student begins celebrating our birthdays whether we like it or not with posts on the cohort board. We all say happy birthday to each other. Over and over. This student ends up having to congratulate herself because no one else ever reads the Birthday Wiki but her.
I A fellow student and I bond over bad bosses (she calls hers “Dead Alien Soul Boss”). In order to combat the insanity, we take it upon ourselves to entertain the class with our wisecracks on the message boards. My boss sneers “They sure do think you’re FUNNY, Alice.” I detect a definite hint of green to her skin. Heh.
· My elder daughter spends two nights in the hospital with dehydration. (My pediatrician says she dehydrates faster than any kid she knows. Yay, we’re number one!) I email my professors with the situation. Dr. B. replies roughly a month after she’s released.
· First TLA meeting!
I wriggle out of another carpool offer with Senora Psycho and book my plane as soon as possible. I have to dig the money out of savings, but hey, we’ll get stipends as soon as we get there that will pay us right back.
· We discover that to use the stipends, you have to go to a bank. In Dallas. Guess how many people have banks in Dallas?
· At TLA, we find out another one bit the dust. Sherri has left. I’d have at least taken the free trip on them first.
· Some worry about homework and actually attempt to do it while there. I take part in a first mutiny of people who refuse to do squat the entire time.
· I discover that our food stipends are to pay for real food, not conference and hotel food. At 25 bucks for breakfast alone, I find myself eating so much granola I nearly turn into a squirrel.
· Boss lady (fellow cohort!) decides to play “nice” which makes her even scarier.
· Who cares about the actual conferences (except Dave Barry who was awesome)? 70 percent of my time I spend in the exhibit hall grabbing every free book in sight until I am loaded down like a deranged bag lady. I don’t even like half of the books, but they’re free! Also, the exhibit hall is a good place to hide from you-know-who.
· 20 percent is spent in line getting book autographs.
· 5 percent eating – mostly granola, but also free nibbles at the parties. There are no free drinks, but plenty of open bars. I mean absolutely everywhere.
· 4 percent in the actual sessions
· 1 percent sleeping. Why the heck did they give us actual hotel rooms anyway?
· Oh, also we meet our mentors for the first time. Except for the cohort whose mentor dropped out. But it’s okay, cause they will soon fix her up with another. Who will also drop out.
· I discover that things like taxi fare and parking are not included in the travel stipend I cannot access until I get home.
· We survive the rest of the semester, and then cry when we realize that there are 5 more to go.
To be continued . . .
A while back, I read Kylie’s parody of Good Dog, Carl, the story of an irresponsible woman who leaves her infant with a dog babysitter. She made this parody for something called The Character Assassination Carousel, created by Nicole of Nicole Leigh Shaw, Tyop Artist. Like me, Nicole liked reading to her kids but often found some of the stories, shall we say, disturbing. So she made fun of them, and her kid laughed, and she was encouraged. It’s like she’s my long lost twin or something. Anyway, when I saw we got to skewer these classic literary characters, I was all up in that! I’m proud to contribute my bit today.
Last week featured Amy of My Real Life with a post assassinating the book Bert and the Missing Mop Mix-Up. Yes, this is a story with stick-up-the-bum Bert from Sesame Street, costarring a mop. Like most children’s books, it’s wildly exciting, at least when she makes fun of it. Check it out.
She graciously invited other bloggers to come see the latest assassination here on Monday. You might notice today is not Monday. Whoops. But, hey, you can’t rush perfection, or memory, so here is my entry The Story of Babar: the Little Elephant by Jean De Brunhoff. This book is a classic, defined by Mark Twain as “A book people praise and don’t read.” Babar was skewered earlier by Robyn of Hollow Tree Ventures in Babar’s Little Girl. But I’m sure you want to know how this whacked up story got started, right? Too bad, here we go.
Babar’s story begins in the wilds of . . . somewhere. He’s just your average baby elephant, getting rocked in a hammock by his mother. Fortunately, he is a test tube elephant (note how long and skinny he is) so he doesn’t break the hammock with his massive weight.
Babar plays with the other elephants. He’s “very good” because he digs in the sand with a shell he holds in his trunk. Yay, good elephant? Look how idyllic and innocent this is. Nothing bad could possibly happen.
Then Babar goes for a ride on Mom’s back. A nice little walk. Until a hunter jumps out and shoots Mom dead! Kapow! Death by page 6, folks. And here I thought Bambi was harsh. My brother and I were so traumatized by Bambi, my mother had to actually get rid of the book so we’d quit freaking the heck out.
Even better, we don’t just get to see the shots fired at mom (it’s believed to be a lone gunman), we get to see her dead carcass lying on the ground. The hunter is not satisfied with several tons of elephant jerky and some ivory jewelry, oh no, he wants to also capture the baby elephant. What a guy. I bet he’s pals with the man in the yellow hat from Curious George.
So the monkey and the bird fly away; thanks for all the help, jerks. Babar runs for it, and then bam, comes upon this modern day town. I’m not sure if he started out in Africa and somehow stumbled upon France, but that’s what it looks like.
So you’re probably thinking the people see this elephant in town and run screaming for their lives, right? You forget, guys, this is France. These guys are unbelievably laid back. They don’t even notice him.
Babar notices them though, and thinks “OMG a human like the one that killed my mom arghhhhhhh!” Haha, just kidding. He thinks that the men are well dressed and that he should be dressed too. Wait, what? My thirteen-year-old daughter who I affectionately call Thing One, asked, “Did Babar get some of that forbidden fruit or something?” Good point. Even though Babar was perfectly happy to run about naked back home, once he gets to “civilization” he suddenly decides he needs clothes. Because the clothes are gonna totally help him fit in? I wonder if the hunter would have freaked him out as much if he’d been wearing fine clothes too.
Never fear, though, rich old lady to the rescue. She’s really called “Old Lady”, by the way. She sees Babar, screams in terror, and runs. Just kidding again! No, she immediately concludes that this poor elephant needs clothes. Right. Not that he should be back in the wilderness, or that he is really hungry and she looks like a snack, but that the animal needs duds! Priorities!
Hey, did you notice that not only did Babar understand Old Lady, but he knew how to talk, and politely too? “Thank you, Madam, for handing over your purse.” This is like when John Smith and Pocahontas meet in the Disney flick and after five minutes they’re having no trouble conversing. Might be because Pocahontas was speaking English with bits of Native American thrown in even before she met Smith. But, wait, that’s another messed up story. Back to Babar.
This also brings to mind another problem. Earlier Babar was this naked elephant and this hunter shot his mom. Now, sadly, many elephants were slaughtered in this fashion. But my point is – why in one panel is a human shooting him, an animal, and in the next he’s hanging around with humans like they’re his peers? Doesn’t this make the hunter a serial killer then, if elephants are just like humans? My head hurts.
Babar goes to the Big and Wide Store to shop for some clothes. It has a creative name.
I certainly hope it’s big. We’re talking a freaking elephant here, although his scale in comparison to humans is kind of hard to tell since it changes from page to page. He gets in the elevator, of course, and my nine-year-old Thing Two says, “I think weight limits are determined by the pound, not the ton.” Yeah, me too. Pretty sure even a freight elevator wouldn’t hold that thing, but, then again, the elephant is clothes shopping, so nevermind.
Babar gets some help finding a suit, which they OF COURSE have in size gigantic. He then goes and gets his picture taken by a photographer, because what else would he do?
Old Lady takes Babar in, even though he won’t call her by her freaking name, and lets him dine with her. He even knows how to use the right fork, etc., because though yesterday he was a naked elephant, he’s not THAT uncivilized. He also gets a pair of elephant BVDs and does squat thrusts with the Old Lady. No, really.
Babar takes a bath and sleeps in a bed, no problem. The Old Lady gives Babar her car too. The book says “She gives him anything he wants.” I bet she does. Have you seen how big an elephant is, even a baby? I’d be doing whatever he asked too.
Babar gets the “My Fair Elephant” treatment. A professor gives him lessons, and then he entertains guests with his tales of the Great Forest, you know, back when he was a savage and stuff. Rich people love stories about savages. Also . . . wait. Great forest? He was in a forest . . . just, whatever.
But Babar is not totally happy because after several years he remembers, oh yeah, Mom is worm food. He misses home, the elephant forest. But then he finds his cousins Arthur and Celeste, who have run away from home. Babar knows how to handle such an emergency. They go shopping! This is so much like a TLC show, it’s unreal.
Babar decides to return home with his cousins. He takes the car. Naturally. The same day the king of the elephants eats a bad mushroom, has a really bad trip, turns green, crumples up, and bites it. Two deaths in 34 pages, woot!
Babar arrives home amid much fanfare from the savage animals who are so happy to see him and worship at his elephant feet. Dude has a car! And designer clothes! Let’s make him king! Sure, why not? I mean, that’s not that far off from how we elect our politicians today. Babar speaks to the huddled masses, and says he’ll accept their offer as long as they let him marry Celeste. You know. His cousin. Cue banjos. The other animals are thrilled with their new king since clearly their last king was not a mental giant.
So they get married and have a big party in the jungle. There are some truly freaked out looking animals in this picture. I wonder if they found some of the former king’s ‘shrooms or something.
So the story ends happily ever after. Babar’s mom is shot, he rips off an old lady in the city, and then he comes home to bring civilization to his people. Oh, and to marry his cousin. They fly off together in a hot air balloon. That can carry elephants. Of course they do. Well, at least we won’t be seeing them again . . . oh, wait. There are sequels. Lots of them. I’m going to be looking for my own balloon now, thanks.
Stay tuned for the next assassin, Michelle of You’re My Favorite Today, coming soon on the Character Assassination Carousel.
I was going to have some more recaps for ya, but TLC had different ideas. As I’ve noted before, TLC’s schedule is apparently created by someone with both OCD and ADHD. So I again did not manage to catch new episodes of either of the two oh-so-awesome shows I’m covering. This is partly because TLC is so in love with their new show “Secret Sex Lives” which is totally different from “Sex sent me to the ER” and “Strange Addictions” and “My Crazy Obsession” and “Strange Sex”. Like, they moved the words around, duh!
So I figured, my brain is so far gone by now, why not? I turned on “Secret Sex Lives”. And who do I see first but my old pal Nathaniel from “Strange Addictions”! Hey, TLC, that’s cheating! Not only that, you’re not even branching out and trying to rip off other networks. You’re ripping YOURSELF off now. I’m on to you!
In case you don’t remember Nathaniel, he’s better known as “Car Sex Guy”. It was pretty horrifying to see this guy the first time. But TLC shows him again anyway, cause it’s a “sex life” that’s “secret” because it’s “disturbed”. And they don’t even get new footage – not that I could have stood any more footage of Nat licking his steering wheel and whispering sweet nothings to the upholstery. But still, come ON, TLC. Have you really run out of morons so quickly that you have to repeat old morons on new shows? Shame, TLC, shame.
So I figured, why don’t I branch out and look at whatever idiot thing TLC happens to be covering when I’m watching TV long after my lunch has fully digested. And since we’re like 3 months from June, why not a wedding show?
Friday has a marathon of “Say Yes to the Dress”. I discussed this show briefly while feverish and doped up during my bout with Pneumonia. The show is no better when you’re well. I was actually looking about for some more drugs, even though I’m not “technically” sick right now.
I really hate this show. All the tension rests on what horribly overpriced dress some stupid girl is going to choose for her wedding. Keep in mind that a wedding lasts a few hours at most. You’re not even going to wear the dress the entire day. And you’ll never wear it again, even when you marry moron number 2, because who wants to get married in the same dress you used with the first jerk?
Yet the dress shop owners act as if this is an “investment in their future.” What? Unless the bride-to-be is planning on becoming Miss Haversham and wearing the dress all day long while collecting dust and raising young girls to hate all men, then, no, this really isn’t an investment in her future, at least not a future past the next month or so. It’s actually nauseating what these people will spend on a single outfit. 10,000 is usually considered their “bottom-line dress.” Choose that garbage bag, and you’re sure to get a “no way girlfriend” shake of the head from one of those snobby twits at the shop.
And if they don’t turn their noses up at the girls, then be sure someone in the family will. Why, I ask, would you bring that many family members to help you choose a dress? How stupid is that? They aren’t going to wear it. I could see bringing your mother if you happen to like her, or a friend, but your entire extended family? Even Grandma who thinks any dress with less than a turtleneck collar, long sleeves, and a skirt that covers the ankles is slut city?
Of course, I have a feeling many of these women are not paying for the dresses themselves, hence at least having the parents there to approve the choice. Here’s the thing, though – if you can’t afford your own dress, are you ready to be out on your own? Get a job, save some money, then get a dress for a couple hundred at most, and put the 10 grand (or more) that some misguided person gave you on a freaking HOUSE, mmkay? That’s a good girl.
If “Say Yes to the Dress” followed the natural progression of things, it would take the same couple through a number of other shows. First the happy couple who spent everything on a dress go to their new trailer house in “Welcome to Myrtle Manor”, then have “Strange Sex” followed immediately by “Sex Sent Me to the ER” which leads to “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant” resulting in “Quints by surprise!” leading to “Extreme Couponing” and devolving into “Cake Boss” and “My 600 lb life”. But, alas, no, all we get is the stupid dress. Whoop-te-shit. This isn’t even the only wedding show on TLC. You’ve also got “Friday Bride Day”, “My Big Fat American Gypsy Wedding” (I see what you did there TLC), “Four Weddings” (God help me), “I found the gown” (Did you use coupons?), “Say Yes to the Dress Atlanta” (these are like CSI shows), and “Say Yes to the Dress Bridesmaids.” That’s too many shows about brides.
By the end of an episode of “Say Yes to the Dress”, I’m almost ready to watch Nathaniel and his car. At least they aren’t spending a lavish amount of money on a wedding. Please say they aren’t.
So there you go. No light up boobs, not even a light up dress. Sad. But still, there’s a post! Yay.
Because we are both geeky AND mature, the girls and I decided it would be fun to add the word “fart” to many popular Star Wars quotes. We think it went well.
Got any stinky quotes of your own?
Have you ever done something you felt good about? Like, hey, maybe you gave money to save a kitten from the wrath of Alice. And then someone else comes along and says, “Well, you know, those kittens misuse those funds. Just the other day, I saw a kitten with a brand new catnip toy.” It’s like you had this cool new balloon and someone just went and stuck a pin in it. Cause you know, balloons will just deflate anyway, right? Look how they helped you out there!
I’ve had this experience a lot of times. In case you didn’t know, I’m generally a very cheap person. There’s a reason for this. I’m also a fairly poor person, so the cheapness thing really works well there. But sometimes I try to give to a good cause. When I was a kid, I liked giving to the Angel Tree fund. You’d pick an angel off the tree with the name of some kid who needed new clothes. And you bought the clothes and wrapped them up and gave them to the Salvation Army people, and then those guys gave them to the ones in need. Some kid got new clothes! Yay, me, I helped.
At least I thought I did, until one day a friend told me, “Well, you know, they return those clothes and then use the money on something else. Like watches.” Like, ZOMG, really? That’s horrible! They took money I freely gave, not expecting anything in return, and. . . and. . . they bought a new watch? Holy crapsters! Poor people don’t need to know what time it is! All they gotta do is sit back and watch the welfare checks pour in.
Oh, yeah, cause that’s the life, you know. Here’s a secret. I took government “hand-outs” once. It was for purely selfish reasons. I wanted to feed my kids. I know, right? I was proud, and I didn’t like going to those appointments on the “bad side of town.” It sure as heck wasn’t convenient. You had to have documentation, and you had to bring your kid to get her finger pricked (Four-year-old Thing One yelled “My haaaand, my haaaand” when they pricked hers), and sometimes you were there for hours. But I was at home with my kids then, because I felt that was the best place for me to be. Oh, yeah, and because if I’d had a job, the salary would have all gone to daycare. That too.
But, Alice, if you didn’t have enough money, you shouldn’t have had children! It’s your own fault! Maybe it was my fault. But it wasn’t their fault. So I sucked it up, and I got a card for food, and I bought government juice and cheese and eggs. One day I had a cart loaded with the stuff, and saw the lady behind me watching. I felt embarrassed until she said, “I’m glad my money goes to help sweet little families like yours.”
That comment cost her nothing. But it made me cry. She could have looked at it an entirely different way. She could have poked a hole in my already partially deflated balloon. But she saw it another way. She saw giving the way I see it. I work full-time now. My kids are older. We are hardly rolling in dough, but we can get by, so even though it might smart a little, I’m glad the government takes money out of my check. Because once I needed that little bit of help, and now others need it. Believe me, very few people are getting rich off of handouts. If they are, I have to commend them. Those panhandlers stand there day after day, asking everyone who comes by for a dime. I figure they earn their money at least as well as most people with office jobs do, especially when roughly 80 percent of their time is spent facebooking.
Not that I know anyone who does that.
People are going to judge, no matter what. I know people might have wondered how someone who needed help buying groceries could afford a decent car. What they didn’t know was that my bleeding heart liberal parents sold it to me well below cost. And I spent my tax return on it. My parents have worked hard their entire lives. No one gave them help. They put themselves through college. They worked, they saved. But my father said, “I worked hard, and no one helped me. So I want to use my check to help other people. That’s how it is supposed to work.”
That’s how it is supposed to work. Isn’t that what most religions talk about? Tis better to give than to receive? I know Jesus was totally out there going, hey, hey, wait a second, where’s my take? Here I go and give you guys a fish dinner, and do I get anything? Well, see if I help you jerks out anymore!
Yeah, no, he just gave to people. And he didn’t check their credentials first. He didn’t go, “Hey, stop stoning that lady! She . . . oh, wait, she’s a prostitute. Go on ahead. Don’t mind me!” He helped her. He helped lepers. When a man asked how he could get to Heaven, Jesus said, “Give all your money to the poor, and follow me.” And yet, I see so many religious people who oppose welfare and government programs for the poor. Guess what? Jesus wrote me, and he thinks you guys who vote against that stuff suck.
Not really, Jesus wouldn’t do that. He’s too nice. But I’m not. If you never, ever help anyone without expecting something in return, you suck. If you gripe when people raise money to help out someone in need, you suck. Once you give, you give. It is no longer in your hands. They can do with it what they will. What they do has no effect on what you did. You still gave of yourself. You still did the right thing.
For what else are we on this planet for, if not to help one another?
I pulled this one from the 2011 archives (otherwise known as when Alice lived at blogger and had no readers sadface). . . just like in a real library!
This ain’t yo mama’s library. I’m pretty sure that’s a library’s slogan somewhere, possibly somewhere in the Bronx, though more likely in some nice suburban area that is attempting to be “hip”. So hip that they haven’t figured out that no one uses that word anymore. You see, the idea is that if libraries are to survive, we must appeal to everybody, because everybody is a stat – er, an important member of society. Plus, they technically pay us through their taxes. So it pays to please them.
If you are a public librarian, as I was for several years, this involves pleasing the public. The public consists of all those huddled masses causing the librarians to yearn to breathe free. Old people, young people, poor people, dumb people, stinky people, weird people, you see all kinds there. And you help them, even if they wear tin foil on their heads and insist the government has caused their open head injury. (Haha, yeah that wasn’t a joke). If you want to meet all sorts of new, interesting, and possibly dangerous people, work at the public library.
There are other libraries to choose from, of course. You could try to be a school librarian. Not bad, eh? Summers off, and all you have to do is read books to kids! Oh, and uh teach lessons to six or seven classes of kids from all grade levels and with various special needs. And do every bit of clerical work, because you have no staff. And listen to teachers tell you how good you have it. They have to be with CHILDREN all day long, for crying out loud, and they want vengeance. This often consists of assigning children projects on subjects like playa lakes, on which the library has exactly one book. On lakes. Period. My mother was a public school librarian for years. Her advice when queried is “Run. Run fast.”
At the moment, I am an academic librarian. You don’t get a lot of bums here. Most of the students know how to bathe. And usually they can find their way to the library without their teachers, at least after they’ve shown them once or twice where the building is, and that it, in fact, exists. They don’t, however, know how to get anywhere without being plugged into at least 3 electronic devices at one time. These cutting edge bionic children are our future. And our future doesn’t know where the reference desk is – that big desk with the giant sign labeled REFERENCE. Not that it matters, since they also don’t understand what reference is, or why one would need it. I mean, we got rid of books years ago, right?
Nope, sorry to dissapoint. Everything has not yet been converted to digital. By the time it is, we will certainly then be writing in midair with our fingers, and paying through the nose for it – perhaps literally through the nose. Until then, while we do have computers, databases, DVDs, and even a coffee shop in the library, we’ve got books too. Many students find they make great coasters.
But I’m being mean to the students. They aren’t all overly connected, out-to-lunch dunderheads. Occasionally you get the stray one that has somehow managed to get away from the pack, who really likes learning, and books, and hanging out in libraries. They’re kind of like those albino lions – protect them! Most are more like cows, wandering aimlessly, mooing here and there and walking into walls and signs labeled with where they need to go. Sure we could warn them, but they can’t hear with the I-Pods in their ears, and they can’t see while texting, so it wouldn’t do much good.
But this is where I am, and it works. Sadly, there are many who don’t see the need for libraries. These people often never used libraries, and it shows on their grade reports. Lucky for them, you don’t actually have to know anything to run for public office. Unluckily for us, these are the people making decisions on where to cut funds. “Heyyy, I know, how about that stuffy building with those – whatchamacallims – oh yeah, the sandwiches with the words inside. Books! And while we’re at it, let’s just knock down the whole durn university, with all them elitist snobs. Let them find a job doing real work, like misusing federal funds to buy new office furniture. That’ll show ‘em.”
We have one shot. We must prove we are vital to the future. To all you future librarian hopefuls, I charge you with this mission. Update your resume, and make sure it includes food service.
Yeah, we’re back with another dose of strange addictions. Thank goodness they give us the warning at the beginning not to try this at home. I was so close to nomming on my fruit shaped eraser. It’s so realistic and smells good too!
This episode involves no eating of nonedible products, so yay! It does, however, involve a lady so goofed up they devoted the entire episode just to her. Or it might have been because TLC really liked seeing those ginormous boobs.
How big were they, Alice? Dolly Parton looks like a Double Minus A cup compared to this woman. Heck, the bride of Godzilla would probably have smaller mammary glands, and they’d be much more functional too. If you’ve ever played a video game, or read comics, you know how insane they can get with drawing the boobs. These chicks have boobs bigger than their heads. It’s crazy. This lady leaves them behind. Way behind. When I first saw this woman, my jaw dropped, and as you know, I’ve seen a lot of weird crap just working in a library.
Not only does she have a rack that can actually serve drinks (she demonstrates), she also has an enormous silicon-filled caboose. It’s – just – I think even Sir Mix-A-Lot would be saying “Daaaaahmmmn, guuuurl!” The thing is a bench. You could probably sit on her comfortably, except then she’d fall over on her boobs and not be able to get up. Really – she has to have help getting up if she lays on her back. I can imagine all sorts of reasons this lady might be heading to the ER. Suffocation is just one of them.
She has so much silicon in her boobs, that they weigh something like 20 pounds. And they do party tricks. If she puts a flashlight under her boobs, they light up from all the fluid. They could make a science fiction movie based on this lady, and I can pretty much guarantee you’d get the usual demographic (18-25 year old males) filling the seats.
Her college aged son tries to persuade her to maybe drain the boobs a bit, but she surprises him with her decision to make them twice as big! Poor kid. It had to be fun having this lady as class mom. Oops, got my boobs in the frosting! Anyway, he expresses concern for her welfare, and says he wonders which she cares about more – her big boobs or her kids? She skirts around it, but answer? Boobs.
Her youngest child, a girl around nine, is the best part of the entire program. They interview her, asking what she thinks about her mother’s boobs. She says, “I like that they pay the rent, but they’re really weird.” I love this kid. Apparently, mom does modeling for people who like women with impossible proportions – I’m guessing car magazines. But there’s the kid, saying it up front – maybe you make some money, but you’re a freak. If your nine-year-old can figure this out, you might want to think it over, lady.
But thinking does not seem her strong suit. Perhaps she has had some silicon injected into her brain along with her boobs, butt, oh and I forgot, her lips which look like someone smashed them in a meat processor and they swelled up into little sausages. But clearly, this is not enough for her. She needs more.
She visits the plastic surgeon, but even he just shakes his head, refusing to work on her because it will freaking kill her. All that silicon is not very healthy, nor is going through that many surgeries. Also he might be the only plastic surgeon to have actual qualms about working on someone who’s batshit crazy. Besides the dangers of silicon and surgery, I’m not sure how she’d walk without toppling over, even with the substantial butt in back. I don’t know how she does it now. She can’t even find clothes to fit her warped body. I mean, damn, even Barbie can find clothes. Lots of them.
But she’s no Barbie, even if she does have enough plastic to be one. At the end of the show, TLC reports that she has found a surgeon willing to do the operation in the next few months. Wait for a news story about a woman’s boobs spontaneously combusting into flames. I be it will be our girl!
What about you guys? Have you ever considered plastic surgery? What would you want to change?
I want to add more of a post to this, cause I could write dozens. If you don’t know Merry you really should because she is more than fibromyalgia which is taking over her life. She is freaking hilarious. We me through a fruitcake and bonded over retro ads about hair brushes that double as . . . other things. Also lysol douches and tampons. I happen to have a head cold, so it’s possible that this is making no sense, so just head over to Zoe’s blog at Behind the Abuse and find out how to help my friend Merry.
Originally posted on behindthemaskofabuse:
So I was really disappointed this Saturday when there was no “ER Sexy Times” episode. Instead it was yet another show with sex in the title – “Secret Sex Stories”. So secret it’s totally on cable! Wow, I was really interested since it was going to have a woman with the biggest natural boobs like ev-ah, but they didn’t glow in the dark or anything special, so bo-ring. Also, this show didn’t promise to send one of the idiots involved to the hospital. I mean, duh, the best part is watching them get injured. I figured instead I would just take the quiz that TLC had on their website, because you know how much I love taking pointless quizzes.
The quiz was called “Bedroom Habits Exposed: How Does Your Sex Life Compare?” Oh, goody! You all wanted to know what was goin’ down in the Wonderhood right? I didn’t think so. There were some fascinating questions, and even better were the answers people gave.
Each question played a clip from ER Sexy Times underneath. Sometimes the clip had something to do with the question, but most of the time it was just a random bit from the show. I was sad not to see the tree sex people, since I definitely most identified with them.
The first question was: “Where’s the best place to have a quickie?”
Now some of you weirdos might be thinking “bed” or even “couch” but sorry, neither of these are listed cause who does that? The choices were:
- A. In a dark closet
- B. It’s going down in the bathroom
- C. Hit the stop button and get it done in the elevator
- D. Pull off the highway and get in the back of the car.
It was really hard to decide. I mean, who hasn’t been getting dressed for work in a dark closet, tripped, and landed on their husband’s peen? Maybe people not married to men. And the bathroom? As long as you have the shower head, who needs anyone else, right? Sex in an elevator – lovin’ it up as you’re goin’ down? Heck yeah! This way you can not only inconvenience all the people waiting for the elevator, you can get bodily fluids all over a public place, and probably get filmed by the security camera. The video will then appear on youtube, and make you wildly famous. Humping in the back seat of the car is great too, especially when a cop pulls over to arrest you for public indecency.
I left out a few of the questions because the answers were so sexist. I mean, for some reason TLC assumes only women and gay guys are taking this quiz. I guess the straight men are all busy taking quizzes on what kind of power tool they’d go out with or something. So I just left the most P.C. questions, just to show I care.
Next question: What are you most afraid of hurting during sex?
- Oh, geez, definitely my vagina
- Penis, that’s the baby maker
- All the sex could cause a heart attack
- I’m afraid of head injury
I don’t know about you men, but I’m pretty concerned about hurting my coochie. But we ladies are also concerned about your body parts because, hello, babiezz! If your penis is all smooshed, how you gonna knock us up, huh? Otherwise, like, who cares? A heart attack is totally possible, because sometimes we eat at KFC before getting’ our groove on. Moving on, head injuries? Oh, yeah, big worry there. My husband is always whacking my head into walls, car doors, trees, telephone poles, and wherever else we happen to be when the mood strikes. I always bring Tylenol for protection, just in case.
Question Three: What gets you in the mood?
- Reading a romance novel; hello Mr. Grey
- A great date, followed by drinks in the apartment
- An adult film, it’s to the point.
- Champagne and strawberries
What gets me in the mood? Well, besides “ER Sexy Times” and “balloon animals”, I’m obviously gonna have to go with A. Reading 50 Shades of Grey. That is such a major turn on I can hardly keep from puking in my sexy bathroom.
Question Four: How do you describe your lovemaking?
- Sensual and Tender
- Like Rihanna’s song “S&M”
- Yee haw, ride ‘em, cowboy!
Sensual and tender? Hahaha! How risky is that? No, better to go with whips and chains and your occasional buttplug. But if your budget is low, you can always DIY S&M with rakes and leaf blowers. I’m not sure if my lovemaking is unemotional. I think it’s very emotional, especially if the Olympics is playing on the TV at the same time. And as for the last one? Oh, yes, of course, nothing like sex on a mechanical bull to keep your juices going and your marriage hot, hot, hot!
Question Five: What’s your favorite part about sex?
- The connection with another human being
- It’s a great workout
- The foreplay
- Ummm, hello . . . orgasm!
Pfft, I love how one of the answers is “connection with another human being.” Good grief, thanks to “Strange Addictions” I now know that human beings are actually optional. In case you’re not sure about your partner, here is a handy cheat sheet you can use when selecting dates. The following are NOT human:
Donald Trump’s hair piece
Alright then, with that out of the way, is sex a great workout? It depends on how long you can keep going at it. You know how some people say they have sex for hours and hours? If it takes that long to have sex, someone’s doing something wrong. Foreplay can only go on for so long, unless you happen to be in a porno. So foreplay’s out too. That leaves us with “orgasm” as the best part of sex. Like, duh, of course it is. Unless you’re like this lady here, then it gets kind of old.
Okay then the answers. The largest majority of people (32%) thought quickies in the bathroom were the best. And here I thought you like, went pee in there and stuff. I never realized how much romance could be found! Lesson learned. 47% were afraid of hurting the old va-jay-jay (I have to wonder how many of these people were men or balloon animals), and 24% were afraid of hurting the babiezz maker. Only 15% were afraid of head injuries, so SOME people have really boring sex lives, clearly.
46% said a great date and booze got them in the mood. Only 15% thought 50 Shades of Grey got them in the mood. You might note that this is the same percentage of people who were afraid of head injuries during sex. Coincidence? I think not. 33% described their lovemaking as “Ride ‘em, cowboy!” That’s nice to know. Finally, favorite part of sex? It was pretty evenly divided between “connection with another human” and “orgasm.” No word on whether the “orgasm” ones read my cheat sheet or not.
So there you have it. I have to say, this quiz was at least as informative as Cosmo, and had the added bonus of video clips which you usually don’t have in Cosmo. Otherwise Cosmo would be much more popular with both sexes. If you’d like to take the quiz, go to this link here.
So question of the day – what gets you guys in the mood?
People say flying is safer than driving. I think there are a lot of reasons behind this. For one thing, most people have a couple of cars, but few people have a couple of planes parked in front of their houses. Unless they’re John Travolta. Which means most people drive a lot more than they fly. So there are more wrecks than there are plane crashes.
Doesn’t mean planes are way better than cars. I like what one comedian said about it – “At least when my car stalls, I don’t plummet 30,000 feet.” Good point, man.
Same with computers. I like computers. They make a lot of stuff easier. You can copy and paste without glue, and you can save entire books to tiny travel drives that you can then lose, and you don’t get ink on your fingers or bed sheets. I used to write in spiral notebooks with an erasable ink pen. I couldn’t erase the ink off my sheets, which happened because I always had a spiral and a pen in my bed writing stories, and sometimes forgot about them. I used to have stacks of these notebooks.
I don’t write by hand much anymore. I blame school for destroying my hand with all the notes I had to write. My hand cramps if I write more than a paragraph now. But that’s okay, because we have computers, and we can store stuff on the Internetz or even better on the Cloud.
I like clouds. Sometimes they look like bunnies, or Velociraptors. I’m not so sure about storing information on them. They don’t seem that stable, what with the fluffiness.
Last night I wrote on a story. I spent a few hours. And then I saved it. I’m pretty sure I did, because it always asks if I’m sure I don’t want to save and it didn’t ask that. Computers are supposed to check on you in case you’re stupid that way. Right after it disappeared from the screen, I could not find it. I thought it was accidentally saved in a temporary file. You can’t find those blasted things for anything. I did all the stuff it said to recover files in the troubleshooting guide, except actually shoot the computer, which I was tempted to do.
I think my work is on a freaking cloud somewhere. Poof.
Pen and ink might be old fashioned. But when I’m done writing, it doesn’t plummet 30,000 feet into the cybersphere either. Sometimes I miss the old days, even with inky sheets.