On Spiders

As a child, I was never really *scared* of spiders. I was fascinated by them. I never wanted to touch them (spiders are icky and gross), but I would watch them and follow them and always observed some form of intelligence in them. When I felt really brave, I would try to tempt one onto a twig.

And then someone showed me a picture of one up close. And I saw all of those eyes. Those beady little eyes staring back at me. Marking my every move. Noting my attentiveness to their motions. Watching me.

And that’s when I decided that all spiders must die.

You see there’s this thing called the uncanny valley. The graph will probably help you understand this concept if you’re not familiar with it. The idea is that when things are made more and more human like, there is a point before they actually look (or act) human called the uncanny valley. Corpses, ventriloquist dummies, and human-like robots all tend to be placed in the valley because rather than being familiar and comfortable, they’re just creepy and strange.

Now I know what you’re wondering: Denise, spiders don’t look like humans at all. In fact, not even close. Why on earth do you place them in the uncanny valley?

The answer is quite simple: Eeeeeeeeew I can't look at 'em!

Look at ’em. Staring at you. You know this spider is planning your demise. Now does a spider look like a human? No, of course not, that’d be silly. But their eyes could easily convince me that these little creatures have some form of consciousness and that they’re out to get us. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if the entire spider race is actually conscious and morally evil. It would explain so much. Like why they watch us while we sleep and follow us around the house. Evil, pesky little things.

And that, ladies and gents, is why spiders are evil, kinda human-like, and deserve to die.

Vlog

In about a week or so I’m going to make my first vlog, as soon as this moving nonesense is taken care of. And I’m going to vlog (that’s video-blog, for those of you old farts) about the mother fuckin MVA. Now, normally I try to keep my language classy on this blog, but there’s just nothing classy about the MVA. I don’t feel the need to put that extra umph of vocabulary into anything about the MVA, because let’s be realistic: when you know you need to go to the MVA, the first thing that comes into your mind is “oh fuck”. Whether you say it or not.

So yes. Soon to come. I still love you all. I’m still thinking of witty things to say and type and share, and I promise I haven’t forgotten this rarely visited irl in the blogosphere. Just the crazy busy crap as usual. Anywho, cheerio-pip-pip until time is had to write a bit more.

Hair

Yes, you guessed it, this post is going to be all about hair. Why? Because I just spent the last hour putting my poor hair into sponge curlers? No no no. That’s not it at all. How very silly of you! If that were the case, my arms would be aching right now and I wouldn’t be posing anything at all!

*rubs aching arms*

Yes, it’s true, I’m currently waiting for the spongey sponge to dry. To dry my hair that is. I’ll probably take lovely pictures and post them on facebook. Those of you who stalk me there as well can see what lovely results there are from endless agony of the sponge.

I have had smooth silky hair that everyone loves to pet my entire life. “Lucky you!” says the random crowd-go-er. “Not at all!” says I. You see, long silky hair is lovely, and FLAT. When my hair was very long I envied those curly haired people with the long frizzy hair that always looked so perfect with just a little bit of no-friz gel. So I decided to use sponge curlers. I ended up with a world of pain when I realized just what sponge curlers do.

With long hair, you spend an hour+ rolling these lil spongey things into your beautiful long STRAIGHT hair while it’s wet. And when you finally finish your arms ache from holding them up for the past x-long. You feel so very accomplished! There is your hair all neatly wrapped up in tight little curls and they’ll be big and lush and beautiful!!! Wrong. You’re expected to sleep in these things. ?! I know. With me, it didn’t happen. So I looked for other alternatives. Perhaps I could blow dry my hair? Don’t try this. Your scalp is exposed at every instance, don’t even remotely try this. It doesn’t even work. And after waiting and waiting and drying and waiting for HOURS, my hair still wasn’t curly. At all. I recall a few awkward bumps. But after all of the blow drying and waiting and waiting and waiting, my hair was now not silky smooth, but also not in lush curls. It looked like a crimping style gone horribly wrong.

So with the help of some friends, I asked for my long beautiful hair to be curled. And they readily pounced on it with curlers and irons and moose and hairspray. Oh God the hairspray! I was followed by a hairspray cloud the rest of the day! And do you know what? The curls fell out within the hour. They didn’t even stay. They said hello and then *thbbt!* left. No “I’ll call you”s. They snuck out in the night like a guilty politician.

Thus I say to your curly-haired folk: cherish your curls!!! You  need only a flat iron to make your hair straight, and yet we straight-haired folk go to such great lengths to make our hair curly. . . AND FAIL! How very sad! 😦 Enjoy your curls and the leisure in which you leave your life!! And that never in a number of your days will you ever need to look like this.

Coffee-House Hell

At my job you run into all kinds of people. People who are great and personable. And people who are jerks. Real jerks. Let’s start at the basics.

I do not work at Starbucks. I believe in small, medium, large. I know that a macchiatto is espresso with a plop of foam, not a latte. I also don’t work for that -other- book store, and their discount cards, coupons, and gift cards do not work here. No. They do not. Your coupon is expired. Yes, it expired last November. No, we can not honor it because the expiration date was sent to you in an email noting the change over of our program. No we do not sell soup. We haven’t for at least three years. No, you did not buy any last year because there wasn’t any here. You probably got it at Panara. Continue reading

Another Conversation:

(My husband reads these and cracks up because he doesn’t remember them the morning after, and I think they’re great fun to share. They -usually- don’t happen too often, so don’t worry, hopefully they won’t take over my posts. :))

“[That guy you work with] really goes out of his way to be personable.”
“Yeah, but he’s a bit of an enigma.”
“How so?”
“Well…uhh…sometimes he just turns into this…giant Santa..Clause…”
“He what?!”
“Yeah…and then his computer…uhh…uhm…shows up..on the network…and uhh…umm…I’m not really sure why that matters right now…”
“Darling, are you awake?”
“No, no I don’t think I was.”

*Please note: only my husband would clarify -an- enigma, using proper grammar even in his sleep. ^.^

Where do your fingers go?

When you sleep, do they play guitar in a Latin bar? Are they strangers or lovers? Do they drive your car?

Lyrics to a Cake song. It has some random tidbits in it, but overall a most interesting song that begs the question: where do your fingers go when you sleep? And where do they take you? Have you ever watched a dog sleep and watched his paws twitch while he chases after the things just beyond the tip of his nose? Or a cat? Cats are really funny to watch because it’s a bit more rare. But none the less, humans alike tend to move in their sleep now and again, rolling over, moving their hands, reaching out for things that aren’t there, etc. Some people even talk in their sleep. My brother used to sing in his sleep. Now that was a treat. 😉

My dear husband, Joel, talks in his sleep. Note: I did not say mumbles. He speaks. Clearly and articulately. He did this a few times while napping near me before we were married and now he does it maybe one night a week or so. Probably more often, but I’m usually asleep while it would be happening, I think. It used to be unclear what he was saying, and from the snippets I did catch, I couldn’t understand what was going on in his dreams. But last night, when he fell asleep, he spoke a few different times, all of which were quite interesting.

The first, we had just snuggled into bed for the evening and Joel rolled over and was asleep almost immediately. He spoke clearly to me, asking why we were deploying troops. I asked if he was talking about Obama’s decision to deploy more troops to Afghanistan, but then he asked again why we were sending troops and diplomats. I asked where we were sending the troops, and he barely got out USSR before he woke himself up and I explained that he was fighting a Finnish war in his sleep. See he’s been reading up on the Winter War between Finland and the Soviet Union, which took place during the time of WWII. [The war ended in a peace treaty, but it was clear the Finns came out on top, both in combat and in aftermath]. With Finnish blood flowing through his veins, the stories of his ancestors seem to have followed him into his dreams, where he was commanding the ranks, so it would seem. After he fell back asleep, I was desperately trying to get comfortable, and failing miserably. My antibiotics have given me nausea day after day and often right when I’m trying to sleep. So trying to relieve the discomfort of my tremulous stomach, I flopped onto my stomach, rubbing it a bit to try and work the gas out of it. As I was doing this, Joel, facing away from me on his side in bed, asked me to slow down a bit. “Slow down?” I asked. He rolled over, replying, “That’s good, thank you,” and rubbed my back for a little while. He was asleep for all of this. The rubbing stopped as he switched dreams, and with my stomach finally quieting, I burped facing Joel in bed, to which he replied, “okay,” and was silent for the rest of the night.

So there you have it, my husband fights wars and follows his wife in his dreams. What a darling. 🙂

As for myself, I haven’t had any noteworthy dreams lately.

But I have gotten a new job at the local Borders. I’m orienting today and am quite excited.