Star Trek!

So I'm back from a weekend of fun with the family! I was going to write a post somewhere along the lines of "fun stuff I did last weekend", but then STAR TREK happened. I finally saw it with the fam back home, and holy jeez! It was awesome! Then I was going to review the movie, but I realized that the internet is full of nerds, and therefore presumably full of star trek reviews. And really, I don't give a damn about debating the merits of the movie; it was full of win! So here's my tack; I shall now break down for you the boneability (scientific term!) of each character. So press on, dear reader, and learn who to lust after!

SUBJECT ONE: NYOTA UHURA



+ Great body
+ Sexy eyes
- No gonads

OVERALL SCORE: BONEABLE




SUBJECT TWO: HIKARU SULU

+ Okay looking
+ Skilled at fencing
- Kind of boring

OVERALL SCORE: ALMOST BONEABLE

SUBJECT THREE: MONTGOMERY SCOTT

+ Hilarious
+ Said "I'm givin' 'er all she's got, captain!"
- A little dumpy

OVERALL SCORE: ALMOST BONEABLE (may get a pass for being Shaun of the dead)

SUBJECT FOUR: "BONES"

+ Fairly attractive
+ Said "Damn it, man, I'm a doctor, not a physicist!"
- All he has left are his bones

OVERALL SCORE: KIND OF BONEABLE

SUBJECT FIVE: PAVEL CHEKOV

DANGER! ADVERTENCIA! ACHTUNG!

JAILBAIT!!!!!


SUBJECT SIX: JAMES TIBERIUS KIRK


+ Cute x10
+ Can take a punch (double points!)
+ Awesome name
- Man whore

OVERALL SCORE: HIGHLY BONEABLE

SUBJECT SEVEN: SPOCK (NOT SPOCK PRIME!)


+ Fairly attractive
+ Genius
- Haircut so bad it defies the laws of physics
- Confuses my brain due to memories of Leonard Nimoy
+/- Likes choking people (depends on what you're into)

OVERALL SCORE: HIGHLY BONEABLE

SUBJECT EIGHT: NERO


*Hurp!*
*Hlllgh*
*Lllp*
*BLAAAAAARFFFF!*

I think I need to lie down.

Mr. and Mrs. Skink

Yesterday I went outside and saw this little feller skitter under a juniper bush!

He was accompanied by another little lizard who was the same shape but with a drab little brown head, who I can only assume was his lady friend! Mmm, sexual dimorphism!

After some interwebs investigation, I discovered that he and his lady are five-lined skinks, and I found this lovely picture on Wiki! I have named them Mr. and Mrs. Skink. I think that his first name is George and hers is Caroline, but I could be wrong...I want to ask the next time I see them, but a coworker says that they are bitey. Even though they are cute and probably don't bite very hard, I'd probably catch lizard rabies or bum lice or something.

What?

Check this mantis out? He's all "what? What? Whaaaaaat?"

photo courtesy Igor Siwanowicz via Ugly Overload

Of course, if some dude shoved a macro lens in my face and started snapping pictures, I'd probably be a little put off too. I imagine that he was hanging out, cleaning off his diabolical pincers after a tasty grub or something and Igor got up in his face and he thought to himself: Why is this dude staring at me? Is there something on my face? Did I get some grub juice on his macro lens? what!?
I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, guy, but those striped pants you're wearing make your ass look fat. Sorry, man.

This dude I took with my cell maybe like a year or two back...hence the terrible quality and my brother's caption...

T-Rizzex in da hizzouse! (he doesn't know it's 2009 and
PEOPLE DON'T TALK LIKE THAT ANY MORE!)

The best part is how this dinosaur is tagged as me on facebook! every time I look at it I snicker!

Previously undiscovered levels of inappropriateness...PART TWO!

Welcome to Part Two of Gwen Has a Stupid Morning Theatre!

I escape the previously mentioned awkward crotch-sniffing situation and head off to Target, feeling pretty good. It isn't as though the day is going to get worse, right?

Of course it can.

I pull into the Target parking lot. It's empty but for what seems like the few cars of the people who work at the stores in the plaza. There is a car ahead of me which is going slow. PAINFULLY slow. Walking speed slow. If memory serves, average walking speed is 2.5 feet per second (I told you I was a nerd!). 2.5 feet per second slow.

Since this car is sort of wavering along the curb line, going CRAZY slow, I assume that either they are dropping somebody off, or, because it is 8 am, trying to see if Staples was open. So I drive around them and go to park.

I get out of my car, and the car I had passed pulls up to me, a woman leans out, and says the following:

"I realize you must be in a rush, but you do realize that after you passed me, you ran two stop signs?" In a condescending I-must-teach-you-a-lesson voice.

Now, I'll remind you, the parking lot was dead except for me and this woman, and like most people, instead of stopping at the eighty bajillion stop signs in the lot, I sort of slowed down to make sure nobody was coming and no cops were in sight.

"I - I'm covered in gas and I need to buy new clothes." I stammer like a dork. I am inadequately telling her that I have had a rough morning, am in a rush to get back to work, and would appreciate it if she could cut me some slack. No such luck.

"Well I'm sorry about that, but I don't want anyone to get hurt!" The woman replies, still using her most superior tone.

At this point I am so stunned and angry I just walk into the store. I don't know about many of the other ladies (or dudes) out there, but when I get angry, I cry. And the fact that I can't control my emotions makes me angrier, which in turn makes me cry harder.

So here I am in Target, soaked, trying to find the cheapest clothes I can, trying to pull myself together as all my eye makeup runs down my cheeks. I get to the cashier and ask if she has a tissue, and she is sweet enough to find me a napkin, and tells me that she hopes my day will get better.

So thanks, lady, for making a bad day even worse. People like you give me a harsh reminder of why I like my baby bird, mochi more than people.

Not a jerk

In all seriousness, though, to the cashier at Target, you are amazing. Thanks for being so nice to me!

So you think it's over, don't you? HA!

I get to work, still crying. I tell everyone there that I'll tell them what happened after I've changed. I go in there and Stella, another woman I work with, makes me laugh and feel better, but as soon as she leave I feel like crap again.

So who should come in the bathroom just as I start crying again? The same woman who sniffed me! She gives me an up-down every day and gives my outfits disapproving looks! Yay! Just who I wanted to see!

But of course she's not there to see if I'm okay. Oh no. She is there to see what clothes I bought. I'll repeat that gem of sensitivity for you in case it was too awful to really sink in the first time:

I am standing in the bathroom crying, and this woman comes in to SEE WHAT I'M WEARING!

Am I in Bizarro World? Some strange alternate universe where being rude to strangers, being completely inappropriate, and totally insensitive is acceptable? NYARGH!!!1! I knew I shouldn't have screwed around with the time-space continuum!

Previously undiscovered levels of inappropriateness

So I've discovered a new level of inappropriateness, but it requires a backstory first. I'm at work now on 10:15 break, so I can't say that today is the dumbest day ever; it isn't over yet. But it HAS been dumb so far.

So let's set the stage. I'm on my way to work. It's about 7:15 am and I've already been driving for a little over forty-five on the way to work. It's beautiful outside, the first truly sunny day in nearly a week here in Virginia. It's also Friday, which meant I was off to a good start already. PLUS my supervisor is taking the day off (more on him some other time!)

I notice that I am getting down to a quarter of a tank of gas. I don't like letting my tank get below a quarter because it supposedly sucks all the delicious sediment out of your gas tank and into your engine. I know I'm coming up on a gas station, so I pull over, knowing that I won't want to stop on the way home (it is Friday, after all). So I stop for gas. I go through all the usual motions, and then the pump bleeps at me. The numbers stop rolling, and the display is telling me "thank you" and asking whether I want a receipt. So like any normal, slightly sleepy person would do, I pull the nozzle out of my gassy-hole thing. Big mistake. Gas goes shooting everywhere. From the waist down I am soaked, and my shoes are full of gas.

Now, I'm about fifteen minutes from work, so there is absolutely no point in turning around and driving forty-five minutes home trapped in a car full of gas fumes. So I get back in the car, roll down all the windows, and head in to work. I must have looked a fright coming out of the elevator. Extremely annoyed, smelling like a lawn mower, hair looking like a rat's nest from all the wind. I quickly explain to everybody what happened and head to the bathroom to clean up, telling everyone that if they don't want to see my butt, they should avoid the ladies'.

So I wash up, but I still smell and I'm soaked, so I decided to run over to Target to pick up some clean clothes off the clearance rack. I go to tell one of my coworkers with whom I share a cubicle wall so that someone knows where I've gone. While I'm in the process of talking to Jeanette, another woman who I work with (who will remain nameless) comes over to talk. I say I'm going out to get fresh clothes. She and Jeanette both say that they can't smell anything, but she takes it further than Jeanette. Seriously, prepare yourself for this.

SHE BENDS OVER, PUTS HER FACE NEXT TO MY CROTCH, AND SNIFFS MY SKIRT.

I mean, seriously. What. The. Hell. WHO SNIFFS SOMEONE ELSE'S CROTCH?!

Now, the crappiness did not end there, but I'll wait till tomorrow to post the rest. You know, to let the crotch-sniff really sink in and completely break your mind.

At least I saw this totally beautiful Luna moth who unfortunately sort of looked like he was on his last leg.

On vintage (ish)

Hello, loves!

Today...vintage!

A tad blurry, but still representative of my huge glasses, pincurls, and dorkitude

I am a total n00blet when it comes to vintage. I decided to start dressing vintage-y when I cleaned up for a public hearing at work (i work for the government). Everybody at work told me how well I cleaned up in my pencil skirt and pumps. My vain little brain said "oh, man, I could be this hot EVERY DAY!" So the internet and I found the vintage and I got to work. Unfortunately, my wardrobe is limited by the economy being in the toilet. So here are some things I love and/or hate about going vintage:

1. Awesome: Fire-engine red lipstick makes a girl feel hot!
2. Awesome: Only wash my hair once a week! Okay, yeah that sounds totally gross, but my pincurls always look the best when my hair has four or five days worth of yuck in it.
3. Awesome: I have a small waist for my rather large body, and those nipped-in fifties silhouettes accentuate that. Having big ole F/G jubblies and 42 inches of hip can make you look like a big tube if you don't take some precautions. I hate feeling dumpy!
4. NOT awesome: Stockings. Or more accurately, having trouble finding the proper stockings. I'm like 70% leg/thunder-thigh. I wear the biggest size they sell in stores, and the comfortable ones are ELUSIVE.
5. NOT awesome: Where are all the good clothes? I don't know where there's a good secondhand shop in my town! OH NOES!!!
6. NOT awesome: Sweet hats are really friggin expensive! Some day, amazing hats. Some day.

AND IN CONCLUSION: it's time to watch my shows!

Post number one!

Good day, dears!
This is my first post and I will discuss briefly with you...me!
I am the artist of the fledgling webcomic Other Than Swears!
I am also the following!
A first-year engineer trainee!
Friend to all fluffy animals (except possums...huuuurrrrrrgh)
A recent Yankee transplant to Virginia, aaaaaaand
A total deviant.

Sorry about that last one, folks, I can't help it.