Wanna Be, Wanna Be a Homosexual

I read this little story once by this woman who couldn't figure out what her parents meant when they tossed the word "homo" around. She could tell it was something bad, because of the way they said it, but its meaning was unclear. She decided it meant "homeowner," because her parents rented their tiny apartment, and so naturally would have some resentment towards those who had garages and yards and stuff. It was only later, when she called her friend's mom a homo, that the truth was revealed to her. (Funny side note: she grew up to be an actual homo.)

So everyone. We want to be homos. We want to park our car in our garage. We want to paint the walls something other than stark apartment white. If the bathroom is hideous, we want to be able to do something about it other than adding a few more rubber ducks to try to draw attention away from the ugly. We want a yard, and a dog to go in the yard, and no stinkin landlord will ever tell us we can't get another cat, because seriously, landlords of the world? A cat? Can't do much damage? To an apartment with hardwood floors? SO REMOVE THE STICK FROM YOUR ASS, THANKS.

Yes. We will make good homos.

Everything is Better Naked

So we saw this performance art thing last night, with an entirely naked cast, who danced and flopped around to music, while "clothed" by ever-changing projections. After the show, there was a Q & A, and the Knowing Laugher behind us asked a lot of stupid questions that he clearly thought were clever. I had a bunch of questions I wanted to ask, too, but didn't as I figured they would be inappropriate, like:

1. Did you all have Brazilians before you joined the show, or is it mandatory for the cast?

2. How many of you have had sex with each other, and in what combinations?

3. Mike, I noticed your schlong was semi-turgid through much of the performance. Is it always like that, or are you actually a little turned on?

4. If y'all are so free-spirited and open-minded, how come everything was carefully choreographed so as to avoid labia sightings?

My School's Computer Eats Retard Biscuits

My college recently changed its computer system, to a supposedly easier and more efficient program. Of course I was skeptical (given that the words "easier" and "more efficient" aren't usually applied to this school's way of doing things) but reserved judgment until I got to try it out.

I finally did so yesterday, after a solid month of being unable to access the system (always a good sign!) Overjoyed at finding myself at the registration page, I started trying to add classes.

But. There was a snag. The reg page requires a course number to add classes - and course numbers are not in the paper catalog I was using, as it was geared towards the old system. It was possible to search by the course title, but again, a snag - it needed to be an exact algorithm of letters that the program understood, and again, these abbreviations were not to be found in the catalog.

And no matter what I tried, I couldn't make it understand that I needed to take Fine Arts 104. I tried FINE, ARTS, FART, FNRT, FIAR, and I don't know what all before giving up in frustration. I even tried looking it up under Humanities, since it's in that department, but it didn't recognize that either - HUMN, HUMA, HMNT etc, no luck.

Finally, finally, I manage to sign up for two whole classes - HIST and ANTH, those were easy enough - and click "submit," only to find that I have been rejected by the system for not meeting the prereq for Anthro. Which is? English 100. Remedial English. I finished my English requirement with straight As last term. But NOOO apparently that's NOT GOOD ENOUGH because I never actually took English 100, I tested out.

KILL THE COMPUTERS

In the Grand Scheme of Things, This is Trivial

Me: I’m looking for my special spoon. Have you seen it?

My Hero: You have a special spoon?

Me: Yes. It’s got a long handle and a small spoony thing on the end.

MH: It’s a spoon with a small...spoon? What are you talking about?

Me: No, it’s a long-handled spoon with a small...spoony thing! The part of the spoon that SPOONS! Did you maybe take it to work and forget it there?

MH: Um. I do not know. I really don’t look at the spoons all that closely. Why is this one so important?

Me: I need it to eat yogurt with.

MH: You can’t use another spoon?

Me: I guess, but it’s more satisfying to eat it with this spoon. Are you sure you haven’t seen it?

MH: ~gazes at me, apparently reevaluating our relationship~

MH: Uh, no. But I will be sure and tell you if it turns up.

Me: Pssh, fine. Bet you left it at work and did not even realize the value of that which you had lost.

Still Not Ready to Explain Just Yet

Last night I decided to soothe My Hero's jangled overworked nerves with a little old-fashioned pampering. I made up signs saying things like "Erotic Massage This Way ---->" and "Come On In, Big Boy" et cet and planned to present myself like some kind of delicious ripe massaging fruit in our A/C-cooled bedroom.
However, he realized he had to work late due to a forgotten commitment, so I sadly took all the signs down and pooted around on the internet for a while. But then he came home not fifteen minutes after that - turned out the forgotten commitment had been forgotten all around, so there he was. And there I was, naked and eating peanut butter out of the jar with a fork. Which was of course not at all the tableau I had hoped for.
Yes, that's right. I was eating the PB with a fork. It has come to my attention that I have rather a lot more hangups than most people about eating it. I was tired of fun being poked at me over this, so in my defense I made a list of all my PB rules. And, um, the fun-pokers kind of have a point. Witness:
1. PB MUST be eaten with a fork. PB eaten off a spoon is repulsive and cause for vomiting.
2. PB MUST be creamy. Chunky is repulsive and cause for vomiting.
3. All-natural PB is best, but someone else needs to churn it, because when it starts to emulsify and it develops this PB-colored slurry on top, that is repulsive and cause for vomiting.
4. Knives or forks used in the consumption of PB need to be scrubbed off right away with a steel-bristled scrubber, NOT the sponge I use on other dishes. Because if some PB stuck to the sponge and smeared onto another dish....repulsive. Vomiting.
5. Speaking of which, there is nothing worse than the smell of wet PB, so I have to hold my breath while scrubbing the PB-covered implements so as not to, you know.
6. Any liquids drunk after consuming PB must be downed in one go, so as to avoid the dreaded and, yes, repulsive, PB-flavored backwash. PB MUST be followed by a glass of water, and prompt swishing with mouthwash, before brushing teeth. PB-flavored toothbrush is even worse than PB-flavored backwash, if you can believe that.
7. If significant other eats PB, there will be no love until the abovementioned steps have been followed. The worst thing of all is PB breath on someone else. The repulsion and vomitus are sadly real in this instance.