It’s Friday, yo.
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*This Weekly Wrap-Up Brought to you By:
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My new favorite quote from Parks and Recreation that makes me laugh every time I think about it but will probably make you say something along the lines of, “Er, I guess you had to be there?”
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“…So anyway, like I was saying–I think it’s really sweet that your grandparents still make love…”
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-Guy whose name I don’t know, trying to sweet talk girl whose name
I don’t know either because I don’t watch the show enough
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Winner of The “Thanks For Coming Out” Award (that I just made up)
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*Dedicated to all the friends/family members/boyfriends/babysitters who’ve ever asked why, out of all the TV shows out there, I always say “I know! Let’s watch Nancy Grace!” (But only if Iron Chef Japan isn’t on.)
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Convo between host covering for Nancy Grace and caller who waited on hold for who-knows-how-long just to ask this question on National Television:
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Host: “Hi, caller. What’s your question?”
Woman Caller: “Yes.”
*long pause*
Host: So…what’s your question?
Caller: Well, I was thinking. If it turns out someone took this kid and is hiding him in a place where nobody can find him…
*longer pause*
Host: Go on…
Caller: And wants ransom money…
Host: Uh huh?
Caller: “Well, if it turns out that’s what happened, I’m thinking that whoever stole him would likely get charged with kidnapping or something.”
Host: (and I quote) “WELL, DUH!!!“
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FYI- This is why I suck at winning Facebook.
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Q- Who has two opposable thumbs and makes me laugh like nobody’s business?
A- This girl! (ps. I’m not just saying that because she’s my friend)
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Q- Who has two opposable thumbs (I think?) and draws kickass cartoons?
A- This guy! (ps. I’m not just saying that because his last one was inspired by yours truly)
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Last I heard, this kid was still waiting for the Jaws of Life-
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And finally, yet another of my totally-going-to-make-me-rich-one-day-if-the-whole-unique-sculpting-thing-doesn’t-work-out masterpieces:
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*In an attempt to increase the quantity of blog posts while at the same time keeping the quality at a respectable ‘negative thirteen’, I have decided to share with you something I’ve been struggling with for quite some time (at least two days or so).
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As I’m sure some of you already know (Hi Mom!), I’m Canadian. And not one of those “I’m just in it for the stable currency and balmy weather” Canadians, either. I take my Canadianism seriously.
However, while I’m patriotic to the point that I’ll cheer whenever somebody tells me we won the hockey, or cover my entire body in Canadian flag pins when I go to places like Venezuela or the Middle East, I admit there are some things that our country really needs to work on. Or, rather eliminate altogether.
I’m not stupid. I know we’ll probably never stop dropping random “eh”-bombs after a sentence (“Hi. ..eh?”), or be cured of our crack-like addiction to drilling holes in maple trees and then sucking out the delicious pharmaceutical-grade syrup ’till it’s dry as a bone. Still, there are some ridiculous quirks we have that I’m sure we could do away with if we just put our minds to it.
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For instance:
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1) Apologizing for everything and anything.
(Just to warn you, I’m not very good at typing American accents.)
AMERICAN LADY AT COFFEE SHOP (ALACS): ‘scuse me, but do ye gots da time?
ME (looking at bare wrist): Uh, no. I guess I don’t. Sorry about that.
ALACS: Don’t worry ’bout it, Ah’ll just ask de gurl behind de till o’er yonder.
ME: I can’t believe I forgot to wear my watch that I don’t own. Really, I’m terribly sorry.
ALACS: Ahh mean, it, don’t wurry.
ME: I just can’t believe how much I hate myself right now. Are you sure I can’t make it up to you? Maybe hop across the border and get you a Babe Ruth or Carl’s Junior or something?
ALACS: Nah. Besides, ah can’t eat sugar, Sugar.
ME: Well, at least let me carry you over to the till. That way I can also apologize to the cashier for making her answer a question that I should’ve answered but didn’t because when it comes down to it I’m a total asshole and should probably just kill myself.
ALACS: Fayhe. Suit yerself.
ME: No…wait. Better yet, you go first and then I’ll go up after. I don’t want people to get the idea you’re actually hanging out with a sack of shit like me by choice.
ALACS: So…Does dat mean you ain’t gonna carry me?
[Scene ends with me on the bathroom floor, rocking back and forth in the fetal position after an unsuccessful attempt at stabbing myself to death with a Canadian flag pin]
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I promise I won't kill you. (Even if you want me to.)
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2) Spending the next two weeks wondering if we apologized enough.
[The next day, talking to friend on the phone]
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ME: I still can’t believe I was such a jerk. I just hope she isn’t still upset about it.
G (also Canadian): Wow. Sorry, but that’s messed up. I mean, dude. Why the hell weren’t you wearing a watch???
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3) Making socially-inept comments like “Nice weather we’re having, eh?” only to follow up with, “That is, unless you don’t think so? Really, it’s up to you. I could go either way…”
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4) Nickelback- Enough said.
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5) Using words like “pop” instead of “soda”…or “washroom” instead of “bathroom”…and “dry-humping” instead of “hard-core frottage”
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6) Measuring height using centimeters-
I know this isn’t just a Canadian thing, but I also know that nobody I’ve ever met actually does this.
Since America pretty much controls what’s on television and American actors speak in feet/inches, why bother having it in the first place? It’s not like we don’t understand what they’re talking about so we have to sit on the couch with a calculator in our hands watching shows like “Little People, Big World” and saying things like “Okay, so if the dad is four feet nine inches, that would make him…wait…wait…not yet….got it! He’s 144.78 centimeters. –Wow, that’s really short…”
Besides, doing the whole conversion thing would just waste precious time that could be better spent doing other things…like watching that crazy Roloff family and their hilarity-ensuing ‘little-person’ antics.
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Hahaha! Oh, that Willow...what a crazy guy.
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7) The WTF rule of adding extra (silent) letters to words. Like ‘favour’. Or ‘flavour’. Or…um, ‘favour’.
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Yes, seeing as I did take Social Studies in high school (“History” to you Americans), I understand that the whole spelling-issue has something to do with the Brits spelling things that way first and then teaching it to us because the Yanks thought we were too developmentally-delayed and would never learn how to dress ourselves let alone make full sentences and create kickass television shows like “Degrassi The Next Generation” and “Corner Gas”.
But still. When’s the last time you actually saw a Canadian and a Brit at a Tim Horton’s talking the hockey? Or, sitting in a chip shop marveling over the latest technological advancements in dentistry?
I think its safe to say that those days have come and gone.
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…So, yeah. I’m hoping that after getting the word out via my blog, us Canadians will start working together to rid ourselves of this superfluous baggage. But we need to do it soon. Because according to this lady, we only have until Rosh Hashannah 2010 if we want to finish in time for the rapture.
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*Post Post-Update:
After writing this post, I decided to Google the term “Canadian/American flags” to see if I could find some sort of “Canada flag+ American flag = BFFs” picture. (And no, in case you were wondering I have no idea why I was doing that.)
Anyway, this is what showed up:
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(What the…???)
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EXTRAVAGANZA!-less
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Due to unforeseen circumstances, the EXTRAVAGANZA! that you’ve no doubt been holding your breath for (because I told you to) has been canceled.
Now without getting into specifics, I will give you an excruciatingly detailed minute by minute account of exactly what transpired. Yesterday, while rehearsing the floor routine for the EXTRAVAGANZA!’s grand finale, the recreational acrobatic team (consisting of Auntie D, Iron Chef guy and Tori Spelling and myself), had an unfortunate accident.
Though I’m not sure exactly when it happened, at some point between the “Synchronized tucked front salto double pike back with leg at horizontal turn” and the “Running start punch-front flying lariat mandible claw regressing into a not to sound stereotypical Polish hammer Indian deathlock and ending in a jazz hands-less quadruple ‘TMI’ pose,” Auntie D lost her footing and fell.
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Taken pre-accident- (Top to Bottom)- Auntie D, Iron Chef guy, Me and Tori Spelling
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We took her to the Emergency Room, where the Doctor–a strikingly handsome if somewhat “intolerant of the elderly” man who looked to be in his early thirties–told her it was probably just a groin muscle strain or maybe a broken pelvis that will eventually cause severe bleeding and internal organ damage. Without taking a bunch of time-consuming X-rays, he really couldn’t say for sure.
But just to be on the safe side, he wrote her a prescription for Nembutal and strongly recommended that she get her affairs in order.
Anyway, please accept my apologies for the heart-wrenching disappointment this has obviously caused. To make it up to you, I’m offering this new kickass blog banner (see above) that I designed specifically to make it up to you but also because I think you’ll agree that it really takes my ‘blog cred’ to a whole other level.
And, as if if that isn’t enough(!), because I happen to be generous to the point of sacrificing my precious free time for those of you visiting my blog with the kickass new banner I designed especially for you and also for other, more selfish reasons, I made you a present.
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It’s a friendship bracelet. In case you were wondering.
And so it begins.
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…Or should I say ,”And so it will begin very soon.”
But while you’re waiting for this “sure to be an EXTRAVAGANZA!” here’s a little something to appease your discerning cyber palate.
I call it “Jean Claude Van Randomness”.
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"WTF am I even doing right now?"
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For some reason this made Diet Pepsi shoot out of my nose, which to tell you the truth really isn’t a good look for me-
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dYlckOkcLsY&feature=related
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The fact that I found this so amusing tells me I should probably never have kids. EVER.-
http://coopergreen.blogspot.com/2010/07/but-cigars-and-women-are-okay.html
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Kickass writing, written by a Kickass Writer-
http://capitalistliontamer.wordpress.com/2010/07/21/elsewhere-on-the-web/
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Riddle of the Week: If someone joins a ridiculously random Facebook Group created by some socially-inept kid with a messed up sense of humor and too much time on their hands, then what does that make them?
*Answer found at bottom of post
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And finally, my new hobby-that’s-totally-going-to-make-me-rich-one-day-if-for-some-strange-reason-the-unique-sculpture-gig-doesn’t-pan-out:
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Inanimate Objects Say The Darndest Things
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A few of my favorite things…
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Christmas
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…New Years
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Valentine’s Day
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….Easter
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“International Day of Older Persons”
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So, Chelsea Handler has been mocking the Jonas Brothers again, and 210 angry Facebookers (including me!) just aren’t going to take it anymore!!
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*I know it’s hard, but try not to be (too) jealous of my kickass photoshop skills.
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July 10, 2010-
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July 11, 2010-
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July 12, 2010-
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July 12 (again)-
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July 12 (and again)-
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July 12 (still)-
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(Guess)-
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Reader’s Digest – Rejected Humor Submissions
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"Hey? Why the Tori Spelling face?"
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While at a hall celebrating my Mother’s sixtieth birthday, my Aunt, a one-time broadway actress, stood up and walked to the front of the room. After putting a disc into the CD player she turned on the microphone, saying “Happy Birthday Iris. Here’s a song especially for today.”
As soon as she started singing, I couldn’t help but laugh. The name of the song? “Tomorrow”.
-Brian P. (Submitted April, 2003)
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On the way to my then-boyfriend’s place, I told my daughter I would drop her off at her friend’s house so they could study. Halfway there, she realized that she’d left her homework on the kitchen table. Turning the car around, I lectured her the entire way back about being more responsible.
So you can just imagine my embarrassment when, after running back into the house, she came out two minutes later—her homework in one hand, my diaphragm in the other.
-Karen T. (Submitted Jun. 2000)
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Because it hardly ever rains where I live now, sometimes I almost forget what it feels like. One day, while visiting my friend in Seattle, we decided to go for a walk outside. Suddenly, it started to rain.
Needless to say, I couldn’t resist. Without missing a beat, I stuck out my hand and turned to her, saying hilariously, “Hey, what the heck is this wet stuff, anyway?“
-April R. (Submitted Jan. 2002)
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Having learned my lesson the hard way, I know not to bother my husband when he’s watching sports on television. So when I came into the living room and noticed the football game was on, I instead handed him a note saying- “I have something to tell you, just let me know when I can talk.”
It’s been almost three weeks and we still haven’t spoken!
-Dawn H. (Submitted Aug. 2005)
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While in her first few months of pregnancy, my wife was extremely emotional. Because it was so apparent, we made an appointment to see her Doctor. “Your hormone levels are quite high,” he said, looking over the results of her test. “I’ll have to do an ultrasound to make sure, but I think there may be more than one bun in the oven.”
I couldn’t resist. “Well Doctor,” I said, winking at my speechless wife, “I guess that would explain all the yeast!”
-Chris J. (Submitted Jul. 2007)
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Dear Dr. Oz,
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While flipping through television channels the other night, I came across one of your health tip commercials. In it, you were talking about how important it was that people make sure they’re drinking enough water.
You said that the best way to find out whether you’re drinking enough water is to check your urine. “If it’s clear enough that you can read a newspaper through it,” you said, “then chances are that you’re drinking your recommended daily intake.”
Now, I have to admit that at first I found your suggestion a little odd. I couldn’t help but think that lately, with all the new technology out there, surely there must be an easier, less socially-awkward way to figure out if you’re meeting your daily water requirement?
But seeing as you didn’t suggest one, and being the overly hydration-conscious person that I am (ask my friends, I’m always asking the bartender which brand of vodka has the highest moisture content), I realized I had no other choice but to take your advice.
So here’s what I did:
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First, I went down the street and picked up a newspaper:
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- “What the vulc are you going to do with me?”
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Then, after going back to my apartment, I went straight to the nearest toilet…
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- “Hi. I’m the toilet.”
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…and using the back end of a plunger, shoved the newspaper as far down as it would go:
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- Pre-urine test photo
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It took about twenty minutes and a liter of water, but guess what? I could read the paper just fine! I even found a couple of jobs in the classifieds section I’m thinking I might apply for (fingers crossed!).
So, I guess the only question I have now is this:
“What the f*ck am I supposed to tell the plumber guy when he asks me why the hell I stuck a newspaper down the toilet and then urinated all over it in the first place???”
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If you could let me know asap, I would really appreciate it. (Oh, and I’ll also need your mailing address so I can forward you the bill.)
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Signed,
Currently Toilet-less in Canada.
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B’s Unique Sculptures
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ARTIST STATEMENT
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I am an artist. I live, breathe, and perspire art. My work can be described as figurative or literal. It can be described as minimalist or maximist. It can even be described as gesture art, a phenomenon especially apparent in my two latest works, aptly-titled “Dormant Jazz Hands” and “Reverse-Shocker”.
My leftover Christmas fruitcake sculptures start out erratic and freeform, like a carelessly assembled tray of stale baked goods. I then add other, more erratic and freeform elements to the mix, such as icing, almond paste, even the occasional sprinkling of nuts if I’m feeling reckless. Though my creations are humorless and bleak, in them there is also a sense of playfulness- an olly olly oxen-free, if you will- that is all my own.
When people ask me how long I’ve been an artist, I have to say, “Ask my art.” Because my art is mute, I know that my secret will remain safe.
Welcome to my Gallery.
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*These sculptures were inspired by my 2008 trip to Vegas. Please keep in mind that because what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, I was forced to wait until I got home to create these sculptures. While I tried to keep my emotions as raw as possible, they may have inadvertently ended up a little less raw, thanks to the long flight home followed by the two-hour interrogation from the customs agents.
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“YOU GOTTA KNOW WHEN TO FOLD ‘EM”- 2008
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“Deal Me In”- 2008
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This tangible thought came to mental fruition after my boyfriend, Don–who I was planning to break up with but didn’t know how because he was uber sensitive about that kind of thing–surprised me with a trip to Las Vegas. He’d bought the tickets on impulse, after seeing that I’d changed my Facebook relationship status from “In a Relationship” to “It’s Complicated.”
“Come to the city that never sleeps,” he said, adding that it might help me take my mind off the fact that I was suffering from severe insomnia at the time.
I knew it probably wouldn’t be right, but since I’d never been to Vegas and really enjoy traveling, I had no other choice but to go.
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“Momma Needs A New Pair Of Boot-Like Shoes” – 2008
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Before leaving, I told my Mother I would use my winnings to buy her a pair of boot-like shoes (to support her weak ankles). Because she’d spent the last six years working two jobs to support my non-working lifestyle, I felt it was the least I could do.
So, after checking in to our hotel, Don and I made our way to the casino. Though I didn’t know how to gamble, I did know that I had to be “In It to Win It”.
I also knew that no matter what, I would get my Mother those boot-like shoes. Even if she had to wire me more money to do it.
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“Calling A Spade A Spade”-2008
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This reverse-eyesore was conceived after the blackjack dealer informed me that this symbol was actually a “spade”, and not a “mushroom house” as I’d been led to believe.
It was a humbling experience, one that was made even more humbling after discovering that the “tilted shreddie” was, in fact, a “diamond”.
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“Playing Russian Roulette” -2008
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*FYI, Because I din’t know what a Russian roulette table actually looks like, I was forced to improvise with a Russian ushanka.
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After a few hours of hardcore nickel slots, Don went back to the room. We had tickets for the Burt Bacharach concert later, and since he anticipated it being “a total shitshow,” he wanted to rest up. But I couldn’t stop. I was hot and the machines were loose. Then the machines were hot and I was loose. It was a vicious cycle.
It was only a matter of time before I found myself standing at the roulette table, following my artistic intuition and betting it all on red. (FYI, “red” is an intuitive artists’ favorite color.)
Thankfully, Lady Luck was on my side.
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“Somebody Stop Me!” -2008
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Sadly, it was only a matter of time before I began mentally sculpting this breathtaking plea for help.
Turns out not only was Lady Luck not on my side, the guy who said she was didn’t even know her. After losing thirty dollars in thrice as many minutes, I finally hit rock bottom. It was like going from Nicholas Cage in the movie where he wins the lottery, to Nicholas Cage in the movie where he decides he’s going to go to Las Vegas to drink himself to death but then he meets a prostitute who used to work for a Latvian pimp and pays her $500 but just wants to talk and she’s really impressed because no one has ever paid her money just to talk before so they fall in love and she tries to save him but too little too late.
Yes, it was exactly like that.
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“That’s Just The Way The Inedible Treat Crumbles” -2008
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In the end, it all worked out. Don said that if I promised to a) get help and b) not break up with him, not only would he buy my mom her boot-shoes, he would also pay for my drinks at the Burt Bacharrach concert. We went home the next day, and after breaking up with Don (which didn’t make me a liar because technically Facebook did it), I started seeing a Life Coach.
Now, not only have I been off the slots for almost two years, I’m also sculpting my future best-selling visual memoir...
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So, of course I had to pull out my “Magic 8-Ball Paper Sculpture” and ask it whether or not I had a future in fruitcake sculpting.
And can you guess what it said?
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“Magic 8-Ball Paper Sculpture” -2008
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I mean, really, was there ever any question?
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Thank-you for visiting my gallery. If you are interested in any of the above sculptures or would like me to create unique sculptures from your leftover Christmas fruitcake, please contact me at bschooled@hotmail.com.
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My blog is a farce.
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So, I was just going over some of my old posts when it occurred to me that while my blog is titled “Just Making Convo,” I’ve never actually made any convo. At least none that could really be considered mine.
Therefore, in honor of my one year, two month and some odd days blogoversary (It’s true, folks!), I’m thinking of changing the name of my blog to one of the following:
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-”Just Making Other People’s Convo”
- “Just Making Engrish”
- “Just Making Up Song Titles Based On Creepy Album Covers“
- “Just Making Shit Up”
- “Auntie D’s A Whore”
-”Hey Guys Check Out My Favorite Things Which Aren’t Really My Favorite Things But Rather Pics I Stole From Someone Random Site Because I Thought They Were Funny”
- “Jean Claude Van Random”
- “Tori Spelling Has A Horse Face”
- “Something Something Old Creepy Dude”
- “You’re Not The Boss Of Me” (This one isn’t so much a title as an FYI)
- “Vagima”
- “The Socially-Inept Say The Most Reader’s Digest-Worthy Things!”
- “Getting The Lead Out”
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…Or, maybe I’ll just leave it for now. I haven’t decided yet.
Anyway, here’s a cartoon.
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