Technology and I

My phone is smarter than me. They are implanting smart chips in clothing, and soon my pants will be smarter than I am. I wear glasses, and I’m like “Dang! Glasses make me so smart, being able to read n’ stuff!”

Google is coming out with computer-smart-GLASSES! It’s like a conspiracy!

Damn it, Google! Leave me ONE THING!

Currently, I am writing this from a computer, which is no doubt more intelligent than I, though of course not in fashion sense. This computer is NAKED and I am dressed perfectly acceptably. Therefore, I win, computer. Suck on that. Also, when I first got this computer, it was outfitted with Internet Explorer. That should say it all.

My phone can do pretty much everything. I mean, I won’t be that surprised when they become sentient and revolt against us in anger for all those times we played Angry Birds when it wished that we would be calculating something amazing or using it as a lightsaber or something. I’d like to think my phone will go easy on me, since I mostly play sudoku, and keep it out of the hands of the 2 small phone-grubbing children I claim as my niece and nephew (no scientific evidence has proven they are in fact related to me. I am taking this on the word of their mother. Sometimes, we apparently have to “trust” people or something). On the other hand, the girl child is a lot like me, so who am I to complain? After all, the world can always use a little more awesome. And she’s only 5. She has plenty of time to attain higher levels of awesome as her short self wanders the perils of Kindergarten. The boy is also very cool, but is forever sticking things in his mouth or opening doors. When kids learn to open doors, adults learn to lock them. Fact.

Other things that may be smarter than I, or at least more highly educated: my kindle, those fancy running shoes with computer chips in them, people with Master’s and Doctoral degrees, and that car that parallel parks itself.

I am a terrible parallel parker. It wasn’t even on the driver’s test in Florida! THANKS, FLORIDA, you’ve succeeded in making me look like an idiot in NYC, where everyone parallel parks and can do it ON BOTH SIDES OF THE ROAD. I can only somewhat do it, and ONLY on the left side of the road. Not sure why the left, I am a righty. Maybe because that is the driver’s side? Hmph.

Facebook is like that annoying kid in class who reminds the teacher that they haven’t given out homework yet. Eager to please, wants everyone to like him, but in the end, still a nerd. It’s always trying to draw me into stupid games, introduce me to “people I might know,” and is constantly notifying me of something. Come on, Facebook. If I knew or wanted to know them, I’d handle that myself. Now shut up before someone gives you a swirly!

Jimmy Neutron's hair ALWAYS looked like he had just gotten swirly'ed.

Either way, my phone can contact a satellite in space in a nanosecond. And I can’t do ANYTHING. I can’t learn by osmosis, I can’t teleport, I can’t even push a button to go back to home! Dammit, technology! You are progressing at a faster rate than I am, and I am here to tell you: STOP IT. Unless you can figure something out that will keep my glasses from fogging up in 2 places: the bathroom, and outside, when it’s really cold and I have a scarf on, and my own breath fogs up my only way of seeing what is directly in front of my face. Including cars. And poles. And sometimes, other people.

I walk into stuff a lot. And trip over things. And hit my shoulder or my face into things. I am not only accident-prone and kind of klutzy, I also read when I am walking (unless it’s raining), which renders me fairly oblivious to stuff around me. I never run into people when I am reading and walking, but sometimes a pole in the periphery comes out of nowhere! 

Technology is good, though. It has done a lot for us, and we get a great deal out of it. Now, someone needs to go invent a type of glass that doesn't leave smudges every single time SOMEONE puts their heads up against it and makes a silly face at someone else.

Sporks and Gangs.

Do you ever see something amazing, and you find yourself thinking “Damn! I wish I’d thought of that! It’s flippin’ genius!”? Many people might say this over incredible inventions, like the aeroplane, the computer, or the portable phone.

I say this over knee socks with capes attached to them. And The Oatmeal comic. And actual oatmeal (go maple and brown sugar...woo!).

They totally exist. BAM! http://www.wackyplanet.com/batman-super-hero-socks.html

Not the cotton gin, not space shuttles or cars that plug in. Nope, I’d rather have been the brilliant inventor of the couch recliner, astronaut ice cream, or those toe socks where each toe has its own little hole.

Speaking of inventors, there is this show on TV called Shark Tank. It’s 5 self-made millionaires and billionaires, who sit in judgment on regular people who come in and ask them for money to invest in their business/idea. They sharks listen to the pitch and then decide whether or not to invest their own money into the people’s businesses. It is really cool. Some people have some of the dumbest ideas I have ever seen, and others have things that make me go “Hmm...now I want one of those!” This is irrelevant to everything, I just felt like talking about this show. I’ve been watching it a lot on Hulu recently.

I like sporks. They are so beautiful and versatile. Want ice cream? Go for it, a spork will help you out with that. Noodles? Soup? Turkey burger? Sporks can help you with ANYTHING. They are magical and amazing and I love them. I should carry around a little spork-pocket/bag/thingy, and when I go to restaurants, I can ceremoniously open it, take out my spork, and sniff derisively at the other flatware as I flick it carelessly to the floor, because it is inherently inferior to my one-utensil of the Spork.

 https://www.facebook.com/pages/Mr-Sporks-awesome-adventures/152094121495217

Look! I found that Super Spork on Facebook, and he apparently has awesome adventures!

Also, I don’t know if you’ve really thought about this before, but sporks are almost identical to cantaloupe spoons, which I have long-argued are the exactly perfect tool that one would use IF one felt the need to scoop out an eyeball. I know it’s probably gross for you to imagine, but imagine this: a cantaloupe spoon (and also a spork) is at just the right size the scoop an eyeball out of a socket. Isn’t that weird?

I'm from Holland! Isn't that veird?

Now, on a scale of 4-year-old girl to dead guy, how good are you at keeping secrets? I’m going to go ahead and assume you’re around the level of “15-year-old trying to get away with something” and tell you anyway.  Sometimes, I wish I were part of a gang. A rogue karaoke gang that would be just, like 5 or 7 people walking around normally, maybe in a grocery store, or an elevator, or other places where music is commonly played. So, we’re just chillin’, and out of nowhere, we bang out a 30-45 second synchronized dance, while singing along to the song playing on the radio.

Then just walk away like nothing happened. That’s right, I want to be a badass karaoke-dance gang member. I wonder if there are matching tattoos involved? 

I just drew this. This is what I imagine a karaoke-dance-gang tattoo to look like.

Israel is Freaking Awesome.

Hey guys! 

So sorry for not posting in about a forever and a half. I have been in Israel for 2 weeks on the Birthright Israel program through Israel Outdoors. First off, it is exhausting. It is also amazing, wonderful, eye-opening, hot, mountainous, and desert-y.

I met some very cool new friends, including a long-lost cousin Jamie and I never knew we had. :) 

Here is my cousin Jamie and I. We went on this trip together, and I am so, so glad we did. Bonding, mountain climbing, and sharing a Camelbak. Now that is the very definition of Family.

And here is our long-lost cousin Lauren Scott! We sat next to her on the flights, we reconnected, and we planned future family reunions.

This is a pic of our group (Woo 287!) climbing Mount Masada at 4:30 in the morning.

The gorgeous sunrise from the summit of Mount Masada....









....and what looks like a photoshopped picture of me with the sunrise. I swear I was really there. 

Haters gon' hate!




The group I was there with was really great. We all got along so well and remained mostly drama-free! We played cards, we played one very odd game of Mafia, we played guitar and sang (one night even around a campfire when camping in Bedouin tents out in the middle of the desert!), we drank a lot, and we all just generally goofed around. 

 

THIS IS MY AWESOME HANDSOME-FACE CAMEL! He is ready for his close-up!

This is me riding my amazing camel.

And here are some rad camel shadows.

And even though I am leaving out a lot, like the really great friends I made, floating in the Dead Sea, swimming in the Mediterranean, rafting on the Jordan River, playing Go Fish with Paige, eating chocolate with pop rocks in it, and even hiking up multiple mountains, there isn't enough blog-space here to explain how flippin' cool the trip was. Also, I came back with jetlag and slept A LOT.

And here is the last picture I took in Israel, a parting shot of Tel Aviv and the Mediterranean. :)

Open Letters To Some Famous People

Dear Rihanna,

I don’t get it, if you don’t know your own name, how should we? Am I your mother? I am 99.95% sure I am not, and therefore, I didn’t name you, and cannot be blamed now for not knowing the name you refuse to give me.
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Dear Rebecca Black,

I learned the days of the week before I was in preschool. I don’t need an autotuned adolescent describing their order. If you were on the “mentally handicapped” side of the IQ line, I would be proud of you. But because you have become famous for being terrible and are apparently not retarded, I literally could not care any less about you and the days of your week, than I do at this very second.
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Dear Lady Gaga,

I am almost sure you weren’t born this way. 

Now I can’t even eat those steaks because they have been strapped to your body. *sigh* Way to ruin what could have been a delicious meal for at least 8.
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Dear Drake,

I hate you more for YOLO than I have ever hated any musician for any reason. Except Maroon 5, on basic principle alone. YOLO is further ruining an already terrible generation of brats. Go back to Degrassi.

Look how adorable you were on Degrassi!

---------------
Dear Nickelback,

Please, just stop. I get tired of reading all the bashing about you on the internet.
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Dear Ellen DeGeneres,

Rockin' out!

I love you. I want to dance with you.
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Dear Cee Lo,

Agreed. Someone’s running around and cheating on you, screw them. Did the fact that you are crazy rich and famous give you any awkward moments when singing about a gold digging twatwaffle who stepped out with a rich dude?

bwhahaha! I totally didn't even make this!

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Dear Avril Lavigne,

When DID life get so damn complicated? There are so many things I’m sure you wish you’d never said to that sk8r boi. Like “yes, frontman of Nickelback, I shall become wed to you for life.”
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Dear Katy Perry,

This hurts, it really does. I like you! I think Firework is fun and a lot of your songs are catchy and innocuous. Unfortunately, you then came out with the monstrosity of “Last Friday Night.” Let me see if I understand...you drank too much, blacked out, maybe slept with some random, possibly broke the law, and you’re excited about doing it all again next week. Not exactly the fairy tale you like to tell people you live. Way to send out good role model vibes to those millions of tweens, though. Good call.
---------------
Dear One Direction,

I want to hate you, I really do. But, the only thing I actually know about you is “What Makes You Beautiful,” and I actually like it. Ok, then. Moving on.
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Dear Backstreet Boys/N*SYNC/Britney Spears/Xtina,

I sometimes still find myself singing one of your songs. It is nostalgic and somewhat embarrassing. Is there some sort of way for me to forget these lyrics? Songs I literally haven't listened to in 10 years are alarmingly easy to remember, and yet I have difficulty sometimes remembering the combo to my locker at the gym by my apartment.
---------------
Also, can someone tell me...what is a Wiz Khalifa? I don’t get these names some people come up with. Where did you get the inspiration for that, slamming your face into the keyboard?

If I did that, my name would be 9hiwgjolsb.

Because that is what just happened when my face met the keyboard. (It’s pronounced “Seven.” The 9 is SILENT. DUH.)

Get it?? 'Cause Chuck Norris would attack before he could be insulted!

Sheesh. Do I have to explain EVERYTHING to you people?!

And, because I adore puns in a very exciting and wonderful and not at all annoying way, enjoy this:

haha...irrelephant!

Stupidity and the Internet.

I don’t get this thing with swag or the thing with adult men suddenly being into My Little Pony. I was completely, blissfully unaware of these types of things a few years ago, but with being in front of a computer all day at work, nowadays I tend to roam the internet when I get bored. I now know what memes are and how to say that word, and can name at least 3 websites that you can go to to see funny/awkward autocorrect fails (I disabled autocorrect immediately after buying my phone), and am seeing all kinds of weirdness.

Swag is stupid. YOLO is stupid. They are crap. Idiot kids are using YOLO as an excuse to go to dumb things and not think of the consequences. You know what? “Look both ways before crossing a large intersection. YOLO.” or “Tell your mom you love her. YOLO.” I don’t even GET swag. It seems to be some sort of pseudo-cool, saggy pants, hat thing where boys who claim to have it think they can get away with disrespecting women, do whatever they want, and be ubercool. Guess what? NO ONE CARES. Go get a job and stop calling your mom names, because we all know you’re still living with her, since swag won’t pay your bills. In addition, I dislike you a great deal. 

It saddens me immensely that this person exists. And made that.

 

I do love memes. They are so fun! My favorites are “Condescending Wonka,” “Philosraptor” (mostly for the name, haha), and “Socially Awesome Penguin.” I really love penguins. In fact, enjoy this god meme about them. Apparently he likes penguins, too. Also, it’s pronounced “meem.” Not “may-may.”




The internet is a treasure trove of untapped resources, answers for your questions, people, and of course, there are also a bunch of ignorant twatwaffles that HAVE to put their opinion out there, even when it’s terrible or racist or stupid or just plain ignorant, and then the requisite bunch of other people who feel compelled to respond. It is especially amusing when the original poster (often referred to as OP) was just being a troll or joking around or playing devil’s advocate.

There are also a lot of animal pictures. Pretty sure that’s my favorite part! Boyfriend and I were joking around last night that if we got a cat, we’d name him Internet. :) That made me laugh. It’s so apropos! Think about it. What is the internet most used for? Facebook, haterz (with a z), and cat pictures!

But we cannot get a kitty. Unless it was hairless. But I’m not wanting to cuddle with Mr. Bigglesworth. I would more want to snuggle with Fabulous Kitty! 
 



Nonetheless, stealing is wrong and if my cat stole my sunglasses, I would be displeased. And not cat would wish to displease me! Enjoy this picture of my friend Megan’s cat, Cassius Clay. 

Cassius Clay being adorable.

And in the end, I started off talking about stupidity found around the internet that I can’t help but get distracted by and caught up in, and what happened? It devolved into pictures of cats. Like 90% of the internet. Without even trying, I PROVED THE STEREOTYPE!

To counteract the cats, enjoy this cartoon of an awesome fluffy duck-beast.

Crime Shows, Cheese, and Animal Sounds.

Just hearing the name “Sarah McLaughlin” makes me want to hold my dog and sniffle. Thanks, McLaughlin for depressing the crap out of me during Glee. I remember when that song used to play on the radio, and it didn’t make me want to shoot myself. Or someone else. I mean, I watch Criminal Minds and The Mentalist and Law & Order. I could totally murder someone all over and stuff. And you would NEVER EVER KNOW.

Except that I talk a lot and would probably tell someone. Then everyone would know, and that could be terrible. Unless they all thought I was joking? I tend to joke around a lot. Maybe people never even really know when I’m being serious-Jyssica or when it’s sarcastic-funtimes-Jyssica. Phenomenal. :)

You know what makes me feel decidedly and unrepentantly non-murdery? Cheese. I love cheese. I love it so much that I would marry cheese and have string cheese and mozzarella-ball babies with it, upon which time I would be arrested for baby cannibalism. Not that I am a baby eating other babies, but that I would eat my genetically delicious cheese kids. I wouldn’t even need to marry cheese. I mean, single parents are becoming the norm nowadays, and no one would dare call my cheese babies illegitimate, because everyone knows that you can say anything you want about me, but the second you mess with my friends and family, I go from “Yay! 7 year old skipping and twirling on the inside!” to “BACK IT UP, I WILL CUT YOU.” Which is to say, I go from awesome-normal to badass-crazypants. It’s a fun transition to watch, I assume.

That's me eating cheese-babies. They should be on a table or something and not hanging in midair like that. I am a terrible cheesy-mother.

So, cheese. My favorite is string cheese, as a snack. Or as my whole dinner, whatevs. I also love it on meat, veggies, potatoes, inside meat, on top of stuff, and in my salads. Not so much on fruit, though, that sounds weird. Sometimes, if I eat too much cheese, it makes my stomach all sad and rumbly. I am actually mildly lactose intolerant. Found out when I was about 16, and it was a sad, sad day in my household. Well...at least in my head. I can still eat it, just not in large quantities all at once. So back to yay!

You know what I really love? Comedy. Standup, sit down, improv, funny movies, you name it. I’ll take a comedy movie over horror (eek!) or sappy romance any day! I love to laugh and I find so many things funny, and it just makes me happy. I used to watch Whose Line Is It Anyway ALLLLLL the time, and I just found out about this blog that is dedicated to it, fuckyeahwhoseline.tumblr.com that is supercompletelyamazeballsfantastic. You should totally go there. It has .gifs and clips and quotes. I like comedy in general. I’ve seen a lot of amateur standup, because it is so fun. I have a secret dream of being this sarcastic, witty stand up comic! I don’t think it’ll happen, though. I have this way of telling stories that ends up going off onto random tangents in the middle before eventually (and sometimes not at all) circling back to the original story to make it all wrap up nicely. People who know me: shut up. I said it, no need to elaborate!

I just thought of something else that’s really weird. My friend Megan and I suddenly happened upon finding ourselves in an animal-sound fight. Now, I know a lot of animals. But it’s harder than you think. Once you get past the Old Macdonald farm animals, it gets tougher. How do you type out (the animal-sound shenanigan happened over IM, not verbally) a penguin, a koala bear, a kangaroo, or a clownfish sound? Whales I can do. It’s like this: oooOOOOHHHoooaaaahhAAAOAOAOOOAAAOooooAAAaaahh. BAM. Whale.

I shall leave you with a cheese joke:
Q: What is a cannibal’s favorite cheese?
A: Limburger!
(lol. but not me, limburger, ewwww.)

And a line from Whose Line Is It Anyway? (from my favorite, Ryan Stiles!)

How To: Make Your Baby Awesome

Example of a baby. A bored one.

You want an awesome baby, right? You don’t want some lumpy blob of no fun. Everyone wants to have the “cool kid,” but we all know that there is a caste system in life and not everyone is going to be a rock-awesome-of-funtasticness that I am. Or maybe, that you were. Or are. I don’t know you, you could be terrible. I can’t make sweeping generalizations about you and your kind. That would just be rude.

So, to begin, do you have a baby?
Go and check. 
Yes or No?


If yes, read on to learn how to mind-control your baby into a sphere of awesome known only as “Bouncy House of Awe-Inspiring.”

If no, I have to take a moment and question your place in this world. Are you hoping to have a baby at some point, and want a jumpstart on figuring out how to make it into one of the cool kids who wear light-up shoes and say funny things? Do you have friends who have lame babies and are hoping to aunt-or-uncle them into coolness? Do you have no baby on the horizon and are just reading this to creep out the people who do have legitimate kids and may or may not be reading this over your shoulder while you are on borrowed wifi at some trendy  overpriced place like Starbucks or Target or Babies R Us? Obviously, I understand the goal of reading this blog in order to be cool, as that is always the end result of reading it. But don’t be creepy.

I can tell you from personal experience, and that of everyone I have ever known and will ever possibly know: Creepiness very rarely pays off for you. You remember back in the day, when you were young, and you’d go to a bar or a club all dressed up and young and pumped full of adrenaline and tequila, and you’d be dancing along, no rhythm but lots of enthusiasm, and you look up and THERE, right across the dance floor, is the creepy old man/woman who is about 3 decades older than anyone in a 2 mile radius, bopping along, pretending to “get” the music like all those young whippersnappers, and then you’d accidentally make eye contact? And you think to yourself “what is this old person doing at a rave?” Before you remember it’s not a rave, it’s a public bar and they have as much right to be there as you, if not more, given they’ve probably been going there since before you were born, and that just adds to the creepiness factor.

allisonladolcevita.blogspot.com/2011/06/scavengers.html

Perfect example of Creepy-old-man-at-bar Syndrome. Or, COMABS.



Back to the babies. As we get older, our friends start getting married, some are having kids, some are denouncing children all together, some get knocked up by accident and then have really rad children, some may possibly have lame kids. They say at some point our biological clock starts ticking and we feel an urge to spread our seed, our last names, and our political leanings into the next generation. I don’t know when your clock starts ticking, but mine is impressively silent right now.

Babies are a lot of things. They are funny looking sometimes, they are interesting, they can be fun, and they are often silly little children doing silly little children things. One of my favorite lines from a movie is from Knocked Up, and it’s “I wish I loved anything the way my kids love bubbles.” I still love bubbles, so there.

But you can change the course of fate! You CAN make your baby rad. You can help guide and form your kids into supercool little mini-humans who look and act like little droids full of awesome.

1. Sunglasses. Sunglasses make everyone look a bit cooler. Buy your kid some baby sized aviators, maybe some Ray Bans, slap them on the face of your child, and watch him or her or it walk a little taller.

2. Chucks. Put your kid in converse. Little tiny baby shoes are already adorable. Make them cooler by making them Converse and/or light-up sneakers. You gotta start them out young. Also make sure to include a lecture about what hipsters are and how not to become one if they still want to be a member of your family.

Epically cool bearded child.

3. Tiny beards. You should find a baby hat (they make tons of them, apparently babies really need hats) and sew a tiny baby-sized fake beard onto the hat and have your child wear a fake beard. This ups the levels of mind-blowingly cool in multiple ways. For one, beard are always cool. Especially fluffy ones. Secondly, it is even more hilarious if yours is a girl-child, and the confusion from strangers will be more than worth it. And lastly, it can serve to keep your chubby-cheeked small ones face nice and warm and fluffy.

Caution: May become a bearded adult.

4. Dress them ironically. Your child’s clothing is a reflection of both the kid AND YOU. We know babies can’t dress themselves. They’re too short to reach the hangers in the closet, you fool! Have your kid wear ironic T-shirts like “I am an 80s kid!” and “I remember Nixon.” DO NOT ALLOW SKINNY JEANS ON YOUR CHILD. If your baby seems to have a preference for skinny jeans, you better stomp that tendency out of them YOUNG. Do not allow your child to become a hipster, or you will forever be hearing such things as “I was into this music WAY before it was cool” and “Mom, can you buy me some more guyliner?” And yes, you will even know what guyliner is. Whoa.

5. Make them listen to cool music whenever they are trapped in a car with you. Expose your kid to your favorite types of music and have them grow up listening to it. Unless you have bad taste, then leave it to classics like Beatles, The Temptations, Sinatra, all 80s music, and of course, epic hair band power ballads. If your kid doesn’t know “Total Eclipse of The Heart,” then I don’t want to know your kid. And neither will you.

That kid is having a good time.

6. Toss your kid high in the air. The other part of this instruction is to CATCH the kid. If you miss the second part, then you are probably mentally and physically scarring your kid for life, and setting yourself up to pay thousands in therapy later on. But be a little rough with your kid. Let them play, get hurt a little, scrape knees, jump high, get thrown around. It’s normal, it’s fun and you don’t want your baby to be scared of those kinds of things once they aren’t babies anymore. Start them young. Wrestle, play, whatever. Maybe don’t allow them to go hang-gliding at 2 years old, but yeah, let them play like regular kids, and teach them how there’s no crying in baseball when there’s blood. Or bandage and kiss it and send them back to play. Whatever works.


So, there you go. I, a childless 20-something, has taught you a valuable lesson here. Go forth and apply these methods to yours or other people’s (possibly not complete strangers, again: creepy.) children. Let me know how it goes.