Humor

An Open Letter to the Internet Regarding the Olympics

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Hi Internet.

It’s me. Your old pal and annual Valentine.

Look, I know things between us are better than normal. I know we’re spending a lot of time together lately and it’s really paying off. But I have to talk to you about something pretty serious. Something pretty close to my heart. Something with a longer-standing history than the affair between us.

The Olympics.

The lyrics to this song are really hard to spell

Duuuunn dun dun dun duuuunnnn dun. Dunnn dah-dah-dah duuuunnnn…

I know we talked about the Olympics for months before they happened. Together, we made flippant remarks about Russia and Sochi’s un-Olympically warm weather. We joked about how Vladimir Putin was going to use this international event to further his plans for world domination.

We bonded over it.

But honestly, you’re kind of destroying this miracle of worldwide gathering and athletic competition.

You made ALL OF THE OLYMPICS sad

Way to go, Internet.

When I was but a small person-in-progress, the cruelest part of the Olympics were the commentators. They mercilessly pointed out flaws and errors I never would have notices. They informed me about traumatic and private backstories. They seemed to jinx every athlete and doom them to embarrassment and failure.

I was sure, when I was small, that figure skaters could hear all the comments being made about them.

SHHHHH Commentators!

In this hypothetical doodle world, she just did three triple toe loops. Can’t we talk about how cool that was?

These days. Though, things are a thousand times worse. Graceful figure skaters who have trained for years and dedicated their lives to their sports are reduced to the most ridiculous faces they make while performing.

He is the picture of grace

I would never have noticed this face without your help, Internet. And I would have been fine with that.
Click for source.

Because that won’t give them a complex or anything.

Instead of focusing on how skillfully the opening ceremonies told a (truthfully romanticized) history of Russia, the entire Internet focused on the failed ring unfurling. It’s become an iconic gag.

I'm cool letting Russia Forget about this

That someone over in Russia is mortally depressed over, I’m sure.
Click for source

Darling Internet, light of my life, you have entire pages and social accounts dedicated purely to Olympic crashes and fails. The running gags of “Sochi Problems” has convinced half of America (who don’t get that the vast majority of these are photoshopped creations for humor) that Russia is even more backwards than before.

So please. Ease up on the country-and-athlete-bashing. For the next Olympics, at least. Let’s get back to being wildly impressed at what people are capable of achieving in this competition of fitness and skill.

Because it was way more fun to dream about being a figure skater when I was a little girl…when I didn’t think that I’d find myself obsessing about being plastered all over the Internet with this face.

Awkward for everyone involved, I know

In fairness, this is what I look like while figure skating, and I can’t even spin.

Kisses and candy,

Your Devoted and Adoring Bloggerette

Right

We’re still cool, right?

(I know linking to all these things is probably just furthering the problem, but I feel like credit should always be given where credit is due. Also, I laughed at Sochi Problems until I fell out of my chair, until I talked to someone who really thought all Russians were dumb.)

Cold Medicine Is a Tricksy Mistress

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Or: I Was Going to Write about More Tragic Tales of Failed Romance, but then THIS Happened

It’s no secret – I’m sick this week. I got laid low by what I like to call “horrible death cold” somewhere around Saturday night, and now, by Wednesday, I like to think I’m all better.

SO MUCH BETTER

Woo!

But I’m not.

Uh oh

Huh?

It’s a lie. It’s cold medicine.

Yup. Not really better at all

Oh Dammit.

I woke up this morning feeling spectacular.

Woooo!

It feels really spectacular to breathe after four days of being unable to breathe.

I almost acted like a morning person. I showered and brushed my teeth and flitted around without even the help of coffee. Because I had AIR. Air was my new best friend. It gave me super powers. It made me feel like I was fueled on sunshine and happiness.*
*Which isn’t really helpful today, since the Queen City is preparing for a snowpocalypse today. There’s no sunshine to be had.

Wuv. Twue wuv.

It’s a true love. And unbreakable love. A love that lasts until death.

In my bliss, I completely forgot exactly how much cold medicine I’d layered on myself last night. Specifically, I forgot the sweet blessing of 12-hour Afrin.** Which I used last night, specifically because I was completely unable to breathe at all, and without breathing, there would be no sleep.
**Which is the divine gift to sick people.

Product placement!

Can you hear the angels singing? It’s really evil malicious laughter.

I know this, because now that I am at work, officially far away from life-saving congestion-fighters and medicine of any kind, I cannot breathe at all and am once again convinced I am so sick I may die.

Wheeze wheeze wheeze

Must…breathe…ack…

Not funny, medicine. Not funny at all.

 

Side note: The product placement in this post didn’t benefit me in any way at all. I’m just being honest about the medicine that conned me into thinking I was well just long enough for me to go to work.

Tragic Tales of 20-Something “Love:” The Story of Captain Romantic

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Or: Happy Valentine’s Week, Y’All

Lots of people hate Valentine’s Day. They say it’s silly and commercial, and obviously just another cog in the capitalist, consumerist machine. Not me, though. I’ve always liked Valentine’s Day*.
*And it’s glorious follow-up holiday, 75% Off Heart-Shaped-Chocolate Day. It comes every February 15, and I celebrate it religiously.

*HUG!*

I confess to my hopeless romanticism. And also I like to hug big plush hearts.

I think it’s nice that we set aside a day to show the ones we love that they’re appreciated – whether it’s a significant other, friends or family members. It’s like celebrating someone on their birthday. Once you strip out all the materialistic expectations, it’s all about designating one day to be aware of the one you love, romantically.** And that’s sweet.
**Or the ones you love platonically. Or familial-ly. It’s all about love, people.

But it’s never really been a day that’s gone right for me. On that note, I’d like to introduce you to Captain Romantic. We were together through the senior year of college, and for two years after.

This is not stated with much enthusiasm.

Tah-Dah.

We were together for two years when this particular Valentine’s Day came around. I knew, of course, that he wasn’t a terribly romantic guy. So this time, our second Valentine’s Day together, I decided that if I wanted romance, I could make it happen myself. I hurried home from work, rescued the present I’d wrapped, and set to work making his favorite meal for dinner.

The Romance! The Sweetness!

Check out all that enthusiasm! Romance is in the air! For sure!

I was excited – it was the first time I’d gone out of my way to try something romantic.

It was steak,. I made steak

Ok, I may have let him unwrap the present BEFORE I declared what it was.

Things seemed to be going well. I was still in my domesticated phase of life***, and nothing had burned – not even the dessert. The place was pretty, and everything fit in my budget. I felt like the master of romance and was so happy to see Captain Romance smile at everything I’d done.
***That point in time when I cooked dinners and washed dishes and didn’t have all the local delivery numbers memorized. It was a tough time.

Real women cook in aprons

Everything is more romantic in an apron.

After dinner, he pulled out a gift for me.

Dun dun duuuunnn...

With these exact words. Please keep these words in mind.

I was excited. A token of his feelings? That was possibly the most romantic thing Captain Romantic had ever said to me. The packaging didn’t stand a chance. I had that thing open in a blink.

Seriously

I am not making this up, people.

It was a toaster.

For toasting bread.

Say it with me: I feel toaster for you

Seriously. I’m good at reading between the lines and all, but toasters and feelings together in the same present is just confusing.

I did not regularly complain of my lack of toaster. My roommate had a toaster oven, enabling all of my bread-toasting needs. But Captain Romantic was so pleased – my kitchen did not have a toaster, and he had noticed, and he gave me one to remedy the situation.

Because that is the type of romance I enjoy in my life.

True story, guys.

It’s a real toaster. This is a real story

I don’t make these things up, people.

An end-of-post apology:

This post is very late in coming, mostly because I am out of my mind on cold medicine today.

I am such a plague-bearer

Did you know that if you wave tissues in the air while marching around, it’s like you’re having your VERY OWN PARADE?!
This changes everything.

I Am Totally Prepared for Our Robot Overlords

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Or: This Post Is Going to Talk about a Lot of Geeky Things and You Might Judge Me

I know I keep it pretty under wraps, but you may have guessed that I’m kind of an enormous nerd.* I read geeky books, and I’m in love with science. I can talk philosophically about unicorns and dragons and dinosaurs. I play a lot of video games. I watch a lot of action movies and science fiction.
*If you happen to be dating me at this moment, or have just met me and have fallen for my suave act of awesomeness, please stop reading this right now. I’m totally cool and normal. For sure. Go sports teams!

What this all boils down to is one thing: I think I am totally prepared for our future robot overlords.

Have a hug of war, not a tug of war

No, I cannot draw robot hands. And yes, he has four fingers on purpose. How many fingers do YOUR robot overlords have? Go ahead. Count. It’s four.

I know some people aren’t looking forward to the future. I mean, we already haven’t gotten the flying skateboards we were promised by Back to the Future.** So the future can seem like a little bit of a letdown. But one thing all predictions of the future seem to include are robots. We’re already making them (thanks, Japan!), they’re already kicking butt at Jeopardy (thanks, Watson!), and we’re totally using them to perform surgery magic (thanks, medical science! …No, really. I mean it.).
**We’re flying car-less, too. And none of us normal people have jet packs. Basically, we’ve been lied to a lot about the future giving us lots of ways to defy gravity. I’m outraged by the fact that I’m still required to walk places and have not been able to melt into a Wall-e style space blob. OUTRAGED.

I don't know how to skateboard

It doesn’t even really help if you make flying noises.

But all of Hollywood has convinced us that robots are going to develop sentience and rebel against mankind. Some people are worried about this.*** Not me, though. Because I have officially watched enough movies to know that this whole “robot rebellion” thing happens because we aren’t nice enough to all the robots.
***I’m not going to name names here or anything, but you know who you are.

Me and mah robot friends...

YAY! Robot friends!
Watson is not a very good dancer.

Think about it. Skynet/Cyberdine (we’re talking about the Terminator movies here) was full of roboty slaves that culminated in a horrendous judgment day. In AI, robots are cool as long as we love them, but then we neglect them and everything goes wrong. In Portal, well, a lady gets forcibly dumped into a mega-powered robot body for the continuation of science. What this tells me is that robots probably be more ok with things if we’d just given them a day off or two. And probably a hug.

So I’m all set to hug robots when they hit the mainstream. It’ll probably help make them nicer overlords.

And they might even build me a flying skateboard.

WEEEEEEEEEEEE!

“Flying skateboard” sounds more fun than “hoverboard.” Just accept it.

(I really wanted to write about the Olympics today, but since everything that happened last night is currently living on my DVR because I went to yoga, I had to get a little off topic. And learn how to draw robots. Which was difficult****. See the things I do for you? It’s because I care. You’re welcome.)
****Not really, because when you doodle things on post-its, no one expects high art.

Someone Hid the Coffee and I Think the World May End

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I am not known for my glowing morning-person personality. I am, however, a known coffee-holic.*
*Also cake-holic, marshmallow-holic, one-more-glass-of-wine-holic…Basically, I should be in a lot of Anonymous programs.

Must....reach...delicious...zzzzzzz....

In retrospect, my life would be easier in the morning if I started keeping my coffee pot on the floor.

It’s the sweet nectar that lures me out of bed in the morning and the bribe I use to transform myself into a professional human being on work days. It is the difference between me staring blankly at the wall for half an hour and me writing a blog post.

In short, it is the breath of life. It is my Gummiberry Juice.

They are the gummi beeeeeeaaarrrs!

This is your obscure 80s/early 90s cartoon reference for the day.
Click for image source.

And this morning I did not wake up in time to make any coffee.** That shouldn’t be a problem. I work in a professional office with a fancy break room full of snacks and coffee-making things. So really, on mornings when I don’t make coffee, it’s just a short walk to work before I can have some nestled in my hands.
**I did not make it out of the shower in a reasonable amount of time, and was forced to choose between putting on clothes or making coffee. It was not an easy decision, and I regret the choice I made.

But apparently not today.

WHYYYYYYY?! (KAAAHHHHNNNN!)

WHO DID THIS TERRIBLE THING?!

Today there is no coffee in the break room. Today, the fancy Keurig, source of all life in the office, sits idle. Someone unpacked the shipment of coffee somewhere secret and hidden. It may be a social experiment. It may be an act of aggression. It may just be general cruelty.

But I think it is an act of war.

And so, since I watched entirely too many episodes of The Walking Dead this week***, I am probably going to go to jail.
***Not true. Not possible. Just stick with me here people. Sometimes humor requires some mandatory exaggeration.

I am a great zombie

This is how TV has taught me to cope with things.

If you’ve never watched the Gummi Bears, a product of Disney’s imagination and corporate greed, then you should probably watch this. It’s the intro, and it sums the whole thing up nicely. “Hey kids! Learn that bouncing a lot and drinking sugar water is a great way to win EVERYTHING!”

Disney says you’re welcome, parents of the world.