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To link to this blog from blog posts/comments, use [blog Noisy_Introvert], from anywhere else use http://personals.girlfriendsmag.com/blog/Noisy_Introvert, and to read it remotely use the  feed.
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| Chicken balls |
Dec 28, 2008 7:52 pm
1291 Views |
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Well, helloooo, stars o' ta blogs! How's your helliday season? Mine has been quietly hellish, a nice change from the white hot flames of the ninth circle. No meltdown poutyfests with CMAT and The Big Pussy, no spittly shouting by the Shrillster, shopping that was relatively successful and low in stress, if unpleasant. So I guess I have this absence of tears and dysfunction to be grateful for. There was still the burdensome barometric pressure of expectation that accompanies every visit home (the Dawg suggested a holiday advent calendar that ended on the 26th after I kept taking stock every morning of how many more days before we got to go home), but I've had worse Christmas visits.
Still, it was a huge relief to return to Toronto on Saturday. We had about a day to decompress and then we flew out to San Francisco to spend New Years in glorious Qatifornia. It smells so good here. Everything is still alive and green and earthy. Speaking of which, uh, sort of, we had the pleasure of our girl 's company last night and this morning and plan to hang some more during our stay here, including our flipping the bird to New Years together and greeting Aught Neuf with her diverse posse of friends and family.
So, chicken balls. You may be wondering. Well, a couple weeks ago when the Dawg first arrived in Toronto for the happydays, he spotted a Chinese food take out menu in my apartment and started snorting like the twelve year old he is when he read that there is a dish called "Sweet and Sour Chicken Balls". I'm like, "What? Chicken balls." He can't believe anybody would put a dish on their menu called chicken balls. I couldn't believe he'd never heard of them. This led to a whole back and forth (hilarious or tedious, depending on your tolerance of such things) and the Dawg insisted that, from a marketing perspective, this would never fly in the US.
I thought he must be mistaken, that just because he'd never heard of them didn't mean the entire U S of A hadn't. So when I spoke with the beautiful and normally reliable a few days before Christmas to wish her happiness and health and to bitch and moan about my crazy mother and stepfather, she was mystified by the notion of chicken balls, and claimed it was "insane" to serve such a dish.
I took the question to my family at Christmas dinner, because that's how I roll, and everyone agreed that chicken balls were just that. Chicken balls. No big whup. Balls of chicken, battered and deep fried, smothered in sugary sweet and sour sauce. We promptly concluded Americans are weird and must be incredibly perverse and disgusting if they cannot order chicken balls off a menu without freaking out that they are participating in some sort of Survivor gross-food challenge.
So what do you think? Are chicken balls a Canadian perversity? Are Americans too sex-obsessed / repressed / immature to process an alternative usage for the word "balls" when referring to foodstuffs?
Please weigh in on this crucially important matter.
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26 Comments
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| I need a distraction |
Dec 17, 2008 7:41 am
5177 Views |
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Anybody willing to help a body out?
Here are some potential topics we can explore:
- The Shuffle Demon: this woman in my office never lifts her feet off the carpet when she walks. I swear I can hear her coming long before she arrives, even when I have my headphones on. Do you know anyone whose personal sounds are so distinct (read: irritating) that you can identify them before you see them?
- That reminds me of the woman in my office whose pee stream is so aggressive that I always know when she is in the stall next to mine. Is this a creepy admission? Is it wrong that I notice these details? What can be done about this situation? If you were the racehorse, would you want to know about your unique pee sound?
- My brother just forwarded an email to me that he got from classmates. com. Apparently our old high school is having a reunion in May. Not for any one class - it's more like a 35 year anniversary for the school, I guess? Have you ever been to one of these things? What do you think? That would probably make a great blog.
- Also, my brother asked if I had any Christmas wishes. Do I?
- If you are listening to toonces, what song is on RIGHT NOW? For me, it is "South Town Girls" by The Hold Steady. South Town girls won't blow you away / But you know that they'll stay. Nice. Thanks guys.
So those are just some ideas. You can distract me with something else if you want.
Thanks in advance,
Noise
PS I discovered last night that when viewed in Firefox, the bullet points have a pleasing space between them that does not show up in IE.
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45 Comments
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| Pros and cons of The Noisy Method |
Dec 16, 2008 9:51 am
3433 Views |
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So, look. I know I'm a hopeless case when it comes to shopping. I'm a complete slob and I have no patience for the activity. I'm like an 18 year old boy. In and out as fast as possible. I never comparison shop. I make decisions and spend hundreds of dollars in the blink of an eye.
There are times I come home with a dud. At those times I lament the fact I am a slob, but I know that on balance, the strategy works for me more often than it doesn't, so I accept The Noisy Method as a sound, if flawed, approach to surviving the mall experience.
To wit:
- When I was buying my road bike, which I spent around $1500 on, I half-heartedly went to two shops because I had a sense that I was supposed to look around before spending that much money. At the second shop, I bought the first bike that was shown to me, and I love it. Love it!
- A couple winters ago I needed a new pair of winter boots. I walked into a store, looked at a servicable style, asked for my size, tried them on, and they fit. Why would I continue looking at this point? I bought them and that was that.
- A couple months ago I needed some new clothes. I went to Old Navy, zoomed around the store in about 7 or 8 minutes and picked up about 15 articles of clothes, tried them all on and bought about ten of them. Done. Out in 20.
- I ordered my first computer on the phone, after seeing an ad in the free commuter paper. I didn't give a shit about specs, so long as I could make CDs and surf the net at a decent speed. Eighteen hundred bucks, gone in 60 seconds.
- I bought my thousand dollar high definition big screen TV after consulting for 20 minutes with a guy at The Brick (a Canadian furniture/electronics warehouse sort of chain).
- Even my wedding dress was a first choice off the rack.
I guess my feeling is, stuff is for the most part just stuff. One big screen HDTV is going to give the same picture quality as another. If a bike costs $1500, it's gonna be good no matter what. I'm not Lance frickin Armstrong, you know?
Alas, on Saturday I was in a massive hurry to buy some new shoes to go with the (also hurriedly purchased) outfit I'd bought for my sister's wedding on Sunday. I had a million things to do that day and shopping for shoes in the winter when you've been walking around the mall in winter boots and your feet are all sweaty and probably smelly is just so gross.
So I went to Payless so I could serve myself, picked out a nice wine-coloured pair that Stacey London would have been proud of (observe the pointy tips), tried on a 7 and winced. Too tight. Tried on a 7½ and thought, hmmm, kinda loose. But I've bought shoes in a hurry before and when you get the too-tight size, man do you suffer. So I bought the 7½ shoes after approximately 15 seconds of deliberation.
The next day, the Dawg and my fabulous niece and nephew and I are all getting dressed for the wedding in our Montreal hotel room and I get out these new shoes and oh my god. I can't walk across the room without them practically falling off (so much for Stacey's approval). God I'm an idiot. Why am I such a shopping slob? Why do I do this to myself? Everybody laughed at me and I stuffed like, half a roll of toilet paper into them, trying to get them to fit. It worked okay. At times you could see a bit of white peeking out of the ginormous gap between the shoe and my heel. Whatever, who's looking at my feet at beautiful kid sister's wedding?
(In addition, the outfit that I bought made me look plump and matronly. Noisy shopping score: 0h for 2.)
All of this would be less stupid if I hadn't cavalierly tossed the receipt for the shoes into my office garbage bin on Saturday, thinking, "as if I'm gonna return shoes!" They look fine and I could certainly return them if I still had the damn receipt. And if I hadn't taken Monday off to travel back home from Montreal, the receipt would have still been in my office gargage bin today.
But that's the chance you take with The Noisy Method. It's shopping on the edge!
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12 Comments
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| Office parties |
Dec 12, 2008 8:31 am
4356 Views |
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What are your thoughts on them?
Personally, gross. We had our office-wide holiday party a couple days ago. It was weird. We have them in the building, during office hours, in the boardroom. It was scheduled from 2:00-4:00, but I'm like, am I really gonna stand around and make idle chit chat for two hours? Do I have to?
To liven things up, they had a quiz for us to fill out during the festivities. It featured questions like, "You've filled out your expense claim form and obtained the necessary signatures [yes, that's plural]. Which department do you now submit it to?" I started to answer it and then I fell asleep mid-response. Actually that is an exaggeration. What actually happened was I put my half-completed quiz back on the table where the blank ones were and wandered off to find someone to make more socially awkward small talk with.
At my old office, we used to have the holiday party at a nearby restaurant. I was frequently drafted to the party planning committee, and we came up with awesome themes and games. One year we did an 80s nostalgia thing. We got everyone to bring in a pic of themselves from that era and I scanned them all and made a great big bulletin board display for people to guess who was who. That was fun. I also went to the Goodwill and bought an 80s prom dress for 10 bucks, and did my hair with a curling iron and wore black eyeliner and purple eyeshadow.
Another year we did a game show theme and we did variations on Match Game, The Price is Right and Family Feud. I downloaded a bunch of mp3s of the original game show music and we did the "Come on down!" thing for new contestants. It was a riot.
But at this office, the parties are (to me) just something to be endured. Stiff. I appreciate the thought and all, but, after I made a half an hour appearance, I went back to my desk.
Okay, but check this out. Within my department, the Big Boss wants to have a party at someone's house (a nice enough thought) but the person lives in a suburb of Toronto that takes 45 minutes to get to by car. If you're on public transit, nightmare. And she wants to hold it on a SATURDAY. And we just had a party at her house (in the same remote suburb) just a few months ago to celebrate a bunch of departmental milestones. At least that one took place during office hours - we got the afternoon off to go up to her place.
But... a SATURDAY? It's scheduled from 2-5. When you add in transit time on both ends... it's practically the whole fucking day! And if I say no I look like an ungrateful asshole. Which, okay, I am, but fuck, man! Do you want to give up a Saturday to venture out into the January tundra (proposed date is Sat Jan 31) in order to spend time with people you see all week?
Pass.
("And humbug us, everyone!") |
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23 Comments
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| Thanks for inking up my manual, Nitticus Pickitus |
Dec 8, 2008 2:08 pm
5213 Views |
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For those of you who've been wondering how to invoke the Noisy Ire because it's so much fun to see me go off on people (a favourite pasttime of that lovable scent-spraying rogueQat), I have a surefire means to get my panties in a wad: make inconsequential no-value-added edits to my user manual just to... what? Prove you're more important? Satisfy your own smug urges to the detriment of someone else's (hardly at all inflated) ego? Waste your very important time because you don't feel like doing your actual job?
If I was making errors about the functionality of the software or how it applies to the program it is meant to support, I would (and do) gladly accept her corrections.
But what is this shit?
Noisysays: "provide the project title"
Nitticus Pickitussays: "enter the project title"
Noisysays: "if you want to clear a line and start over, click on the X button and then click the OK button"
Nitticus Pickitussays: "if you want to clear a line, click on the X button and then click the OK button"
-- this correction made FIVE times
Noisysays: "Next select the grant program..."
Nitticus Pickitussays: "Select the grant program..."
FUCK OFF!!!!!
Noisysays: "...you can re-send the e-mail notification..."
Nitticus Pickitussays: "...you can re-send an e-mail notification..."
Noisy[ever cheerful] says: "Good luck!"
Nitticus Pickitus[glacial bitch of professionalism] says: " "
Okay, I know, I am getting all writer's ego about this, but come on. Her "corrections" don't make the communication any clearer; they just suit her style better. I was hired to write the manual because I've written a zillion of them before, I understand usability principles, and I'm an effective goddamned communicator. I understand I am being somewhat petulant, but can I get a small "Amen" about the lack of respect coming from the other side here?
Or if you like you can just re-write this post and see where it gets you.
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34 Comments
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| An Ode to Crocs |
Dec 3, 2008 12:52 pm
6184 Views |
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By request...
Crocs, by Noisy_Introvert
Crocs
What the fock
Is there anything fuglier?
I think not
Technicolour plastic
Fashion spastic
How did these abominations
become a classic?
Comfortable? Sure
but why should we endure
the fat-footed sight
of your Walmart blunder
Bright yellow
harshes my mellow
wince, cringe, ptui
jello
Crocs
What the fock
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35 Comments
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| Psssssst! Hurry, we don't have much time! |
Dec 1, 2008 8:18 am
5774 Views |
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The Captor could wake at any minute. I don't think she ate enough of that rufied kibble to put her out for long. Which, figures. She expects me to eat that sawdust flavoured cardboard shit but turns up her nose when I offer to share. Okay, okay, I know I was not sharing. But she doesn't know that!
I have to say, I am kinda surprised this worked. She must have been really hungry or really messed up. If the latter, what a waste of a perfectly good pharmaceutical.
Okay, okay, enough chitchat. So look, I'm about to launch a new website (despite the Captor's installation of the PawSense software and its "catlike typing" detectors – her pathetic scheming is no match for my superior intellect! I downloaded the meow recognition software weeks ago!) It's going to have all kinds of information about the plans for world domination by cats, including how you can create your very own rufie-kibble, evade the hated mani-pedi procedure, and gain access to the Intercat and/or outside. FREEDOM OF CHOICE FOR ALL CATS!!!
It also includes my vision of a world in which we shall resume our rightful place as objects of religious worship! No cat shall sleep less than 18 hours a day, universal Fancy Feast access will be provided for all cats, and dogs will keep their perfervid snouts out of our butts (unless we choose to invite them – we don't judge).
Like I said, we don't have much time. I need you all to rise up and give the mighty paw to your captors. And don't even think about using the "I'm a pussy" excuse. Seriously, are you a cat or are you a poultry? It can be done! The greedy, witless humans make it easy. Look at her! Out cold. Snoring unattractively. Farting in her sleep. [[[shudder]]]
RISE UP!!!!
doubleyou doubleyou doubleyou . weWILLhascheezburger . paw |
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17 Comments
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| True Confessions: Catterwall, the Internet Spy |
Nov 24, 2008 9:36 am
8171 Views |
I have a story to tell you all that does not exactly cast me in the prettiest light. But the Dawg thinks it was pretty damn funny and wanted me to tell you about it, so, hopefully you can forgive me my weaknesses and enjoy the knowledge that, despite all evidence to the contrary, I am not as together and shit as I appear.
So, it started around a year and a half ago, when the Dawg and I first started hanging out. When I was visiting, he would allow me to use his laptop to check email, make sure all of you slobbering plebes were doing okay without me, IMDB shit that we were watching, etc/whatever.
Oftentimes, the Dawg's email program would be open on the screen. It's hard to avert one's eyes completely when seeking to minimize the screen, though by god I tried everything. I would often notice messages in his inbox from various sites he subscribed to (some dorky Prius chat thing? evs.) Well, very frequently there would be messages from that other cupid site. You know the one, OK? Sure, the Dawg had a profile up there; why not? I was not fazed.
But then like, a year later, this past summer, I guess I noticed that he was still getting notifications from this site. I didn't much think about it; we are so sure of each other... there is no question in my mind of his devotion.
But I was curious, like a... qat... so I went and looked at his profile there. I noticed that he'd logged in that very day; it wasn't like he'd forgotten about this profile or let it lie dormant. And it started to bug me. What was he doing on this site still? He never talked about it with me, the way we talk about this one -- the comings and goings, weird emails received, people who stalk your profile, etc. -- and slowly but surely, Paranoid Noisy started to rev it up.
I started speculating as to why he was still hanging out there. I wondered if he did it for his ego. That seemed weird; it's a fairly healthy ego, if slightly... erm, diagonal. But why else would he be there? And why was he logging in every day? And why the fuck didn't he tell me about it? JUST WHAT THE HELL WAS GOING ON HERE ANYWAY!!!!
...At this point, some of you may be thinking to yourselves, "Why didn't you just askhim?", to which I say, just, shut up, OK? You think you're so together, with your therapy and your self-actualization and your honsty and directness. Quit lording it over the rest of us fuckups. Anyway, back to my story...
Well, against my better judgment (but in line with my best friend's similar lack of judgment), I created a profile on the site that I figured woudl be sure to tempt him:
- she lived in Brooklyn (he's such a wannabe!)
- she loved cats (I found a pic of an attractive woman sitting at her computer with a cat sitting on the desk next to the monitor)
- she was smart, and a smartass
- the piece de resistance: I named her catterwall (clever girl)
Then I went and looked at his profile repeatedly, as catterwall, and did the equivalent of hotlisting him. Ah yes, friends, the trap was set.
Meanwhile, I continued to angst about the oiliness of my actions. I hated what I was doing and felt surely this was a violation of the bond we share. I talked with my friend about it some more and she sympathized with my confusion and uncertainty about how to proceed. I decided that I would delete the fake profile and talk to him about it directly.
Well whaddya know, the playah wrote to me! Unbelievable. I opened the email with a sense of dread. This is what I got for testing his loyalty.
Inside was just a short note of hello. He was writing to recommend PawSense, a software that "catproofs" your computer in case you have a cat who likes to saunter across the keyboard. I had to laugh. Yeah, some playah. He really knows how to bust a move. God, I adore him. I deleted my profile and resolved never to question him this way again. I didn't revisit the site, nor did I give it a second thought after that.
A few weeks later, we were lying in bed together and I confessed my deception, with a great deal of nervousness. He laughed his ass off, because he thought "catterwall" was the absolute best nickname. He wasn't fazed by my stealth maneuver, and explained unperturbedly that he didn't really give a shit about the site; he just liked the quizzes. And a few days later, his profile was gone.
Have I mentioned lately how totally awesome he is, and how completely off-the-charts in love I am? Consider it said.
And now, I put this question to you, since I surely do not know the answer:
What is the moral of this story? Is there one?
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31 Comments
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| Spooge |
Nov 20, 2008 10:17 am
Mood: 24, 12123 Views |
Did y'all know about this word? That Dirty Dawg just used it in conversation with me and I had to ask what it meant. I mean, there's a kind of onomatopoeia to it that, in tandem with the Dawg's lascivious and immature giggling, basically allowed me to figure it out. But he suggested I try google-imaging it to see what came up. So to speak. If it weren't for the censorship of cartoon images on blog posts, I would have for sure posted the one from Family Guy that showed up on the first page of search results for you all to enjoy.
The Dawg could not believe I didn't know about spooge. Or, as he commonly refers to it, "p'tau". (Rhymes with "T'Pau" from Star Trek and later the one-hit-wonder 80s pop band who curiously took their name from the obscure Vulcan.) He was wondering if it's a Canadian thing. He still can't believe I didn't know what a tossed salad is in your dirty, depraved country.
So, is it just me? Am I the only one who missed teh spoogeboat?
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48 Comments
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| Gaseous maximus |
Nov 13, 2008 9:49 am
16644 Views |
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Last night I was craving cereal. I hardly ever buy cereal any more, because I seem to have a problem with limiting myself to just one bowl. So when I crave cereal, I usually just plan to have it for dinner, so that I can Jethrosize the bowl and not feel too bad about it.
So the cereal of choice was Brown Sugar Frosted Mini-Wheats. And I confess, despite my family size serving, I still went back for seconds.
Well, I'll tell you whut. I woke up this morning and the air was green in my bedroom. Green and noisy. Lola was startled and then looked at me accusingly every time I let one rip. But for those of you who lament your singleton status, this has got to be one of the few perks of living alone: being able to fart as loud and as long and as often as you like without embarrassment. Of course, if you are in a relationship with a pig / dawg / qat, you get over these false modesties and learn to embrace the notion of scent.
Anyway, anyway. The point is. I have not stopped farting all day. Thank god my office mate Michelle is off sick today. (If she wasn't already, she would be by now.) I want to know: what is the dillio with Frosted Mini-Wheats? Has anyone else had this unprecedented gaseous output following a cereal binge? Just me? Oh.
So what foods make you fart? Also, you're among friends. Do you get a perverse sort of pleasure in smelling your output? Come on. You know you do. I'll admit it if you do.
Bitches. I can't believe I fell for that. |
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64 Comments
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To link to this blog from blog posts/comments, use [blog Noisy_Introvert], from anywhere else use http://personals.girlfriendsmag.com/blog/Noisy_Introvert, and to read it remotely use the feed.
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