Boy Words: Volume 3

Today’s boy word: Valkyrie

Right, so let me just begin by saying, when I write blogs, it’s usually about something that I know pretty well and I really don’t have to research anything, I just talk about what I know.  I also never have the need to drink a beer in order to properly put a blog together.

That being said, I hope you all enjoy today’s well researched, drunken blog!

By definition, a Valkyrie is a figure from Norse mythology.  A feminine being responsible for deciding which soldiers in war will die, and which will live.

So in short, a Valkyrie is some chick with a thousand warrior boyfriends who kills them off when she’s tired with them.  End of blog…that was easy!….NOT!

Since I’ve known this boy for over three years now, I know that when he sent me this boy word today, he was not reminiscing about something he learned in high school history.  Nope, I knew he meant this:

The boys extensive, and somewhat cramped in my opinion, collection of valkyries and other macross....stuff. Source: an email from the boy
The boys extensive, and somewhat cramped in my opinion, collection of valkyries and other macross….stuff.
Source: an email from the boy

Wait…that’s a transformer right?  I used to LOVE that show when I was little!  I even had a few transformers of my own, yes, I was a tom boy.  This is easy, I can write a blog about all the fun cartoons I used to get up early on Saturday morning to watch, easy peasy!

Wrong!

Again, because I’ve known this boy for over three years now, I know that that most definitely is NOT a transformer, and saying so will get you in the fast lane to de-humanization.

So if a Valkyrie isn’t a war goddess, and it’s not a transformer, what the heck is it?  Well, ladies and gentlemen, prepare for your first crash course in “Nerdiness 101″…you might wanna go ahead and grab a beer for this one.

source: myanimelist.net
source: myanimelist.net

This slanty eyed dude (that’s not politically correct is it?) is Shoji Kawamori.  In 1982 (Hey!  That’s when I was born!) he created Macross, basically science fiction anime.

In this series, there is a group jet fighters that are able to transform from jets into giant, human-like robots.

The first Valkyrie was the VF-1 Valkyrie, which was made using something called overtechnology (whatever that is) from the alien spaceship SDF-1 Macross.

Are y’all bored yet?  Well grab another beer because the boy is so excited about this blog, he has sent me multiple things to research…we’re gonna be here for awhile folks.

So, the main point of the Valkyries is that they can transform.  This feature is so cool that there are actually names for each position they form into.  The robot, like this one:

Wobot!!!!
Wobot!!!!

is called a Battroid. From robot form, the Valkyrie can transform either into a jet fighter, or something in between called Ground Effective Reinforcement of Winged Armament with Locomotive Knee-Joint).  Say that three times fast!  Fortunately, you don’t have to, because this is also known as Gerwalk.

Awww look!  It has a hand!
Awww look! It has a hand!

So, the whole point of these guys is to fight aliens.  I probably could have just said “A Valkyrie is a robot/jet fighter thingy that fights aliens” and been done with the blog, but being the awesome girlfriend that I am, I threw the reputation of my blog (yeah, like there is one) in the fire and tried to do a little justice to today’s installment of boy words.

I don’t really feel like I explained anything though…sorry boy.

 

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Umm..You Didn’t See That Did You?

Work this morning was pretty peaceful.  No one was around, just me and the horses.  I’m not saying I mind having people around, but there’s something to be said for the peace you can get only from early mornings alone in the barn.

As I was making my rounds, minding my own business, I heard someone call out.

“Help!”

I looked around in shock, I knew that I hadn’t seen anyone, and now someone was obviously in some sort of trouble.

“Help!”  It called again.

“Hello?” I called out.

“Help!” Came the response.

I walked all over the barns, trying to find the source of the sound.  There was no one there.

“Help! Help! Help!”

“Where are you?”

“Help!”

This person has a limited vocabulary, I thought to myself.  “Where are you?  I can’t help you if I don’t know where you are!”

“Help!”

I started getting a little worried at this point.  Who was in my barn calling out for help?  Had some kidnapper thought this a clever place to stash their hostage, knowing that horses can’t talk? Was someone crying out in pain from a rogue snakebite?

“Help!” It called, over and over again, until finally, I found her, or them rather.

For the love of God, someone help the chickens!!!
For the love of God, someone help the chickens!!!

Now, in my defense, I am not the first person to admit that, when the chickens squawk, their cries sound uncannily like that of a human.  Some people have claimed to hear someone calling a dog, others have said it sounds like “hey!”, while others just think it’s a person chanting just to make a silly noise.  I heard “help!”

Even though I had searched the barn a million times over by this point, and knew that no one was around, I immediately found myself looking around to make sure that no one had witnessed me desperately trying to calm the chicken damsels in distress.

Phew, no one saw that little embarrassment!

This isn’t the first time I’ve done something silly like this.  A few months ago, a black cat strayed up and started prowling around the barn for mice and other tasty critters.  While I knew he was a stray, I was still determined to catch him and try to make him a friendly barn cat.

One morning, I saw my opportunity and decided to seize it.  The little black cat was hiding in the hay barn, beneath a metal pipe.  I could just barely see him as he inched forward under the tiny space.

I crept forward slowly, so as not to startle him and called softly “Here kitty, kitty.”

He didn’t move.  I moved in a little closer.  “Here kitty, kitty.”

Since he didn’t seem to be too distressed, I decided to work up the nerve to reach out and try to pet him(because that’s a brilliant idea!), the way he was situated under the pipe, he couldn’t turn too quickly to bite….or so I thought.

“Here kitty, kitty.”  I slowly reached my arm out.

It was at this point that the “kitty” turned to face me and see what the heck it was I wanted.  It was also at this point that I noticed the “kitty” had a white stripe going down his tail.  “Oh!  You’re not a kitty!”  I shrieked as I pulled my hand back.

I’m really glad no one was around that day to see me calling “Here kitty, kitty.” to a skunk.

It’s nice when you do embarrassing things and no one is around to actually witness them, however; I suppose by admitting all this to you, I’ve just completely made that point null en void, huh?

Jumping Horses

So, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but I have two horses, whom I love dearly.  I try not to talk about them or my dogs too much here because I could pretty much write 10,000 words in the span of a minute, and who wants to read that nonsense sort of ramble?

Anyways, I ride western.  Western horses are expected to be good trail horses, work cattle, and be agile.

Western horses are not expected to be big jumpers.

I’ve been on a couple of trail rides with Cheyenne, where we might have to jump over a large log or rail, which she usually does without too much persuasion from me, she’s a pretty good trail horse in that respect.  But I’ve never had the need to jump over a 5 foot fence, and she’s never been trained, by me at least, to jump over anything, and Stetson pretty much hasn’t been trained to do anything, because I’m lazy.

That doesn’t mean they don’t know how to jump though, as I found out the hard way last night.

At about 830 last night, I was sitting on my couch, watching TV, when my phone rang.  It was one of the clients, oddly enough I had JUST given her my number that morning.  I answered it and she said to me “Hey, Sam?  There’s a buckskin and a bay just hanging out behind the arena, are they supposed to be out there?”

The words “buckskin” and “bay” immediately caused me to respond with a heavy sigh, there’s only two horses that could be, Stetson and Cheyenne.

I wasn’t too worried about Stetson, in fact, I walked right up to him without a lead, and he followed me, no problems, until Cheyenne got it in her thick head that it was time to run around like an idiot, at which point Stetson decided to follow.

Away they went, around my house, up one side of the property, down the other, until finally they found the driveway and started booking it.  They got to the main road, made a left and hit full speed.  I never knew my horses could move so fast.  They got to the stop sign at the end of the road and, as if they knew what it meant, came to a complete stop and turned around.

By this point, one of the other clients who was out riding her horse rode up to help.  Now, picture this, a tiny young woman, riding a Shire (which for those of you who don’t know are HUGE horses and not really known for their speed and agility) trying to corral my two horses in an area where we could catch them.  I have to give credit to that Shire, she kept up with them almost as well as a professionally trained cutting horse.  Looking back on it now, it was actually a pretty comical sight.

So we finally got them calmed down, and I was able to put a lead on Stetson.  I never was worried about this, I knew once we got them to slow down we could catch him.

Cheyenne is a different story.  I love this girl to pieces, but she is infamous for taking advantage of her freedom, must be the wild spirit in her.  Thankfully, she is so attached to her son that I was able to lead him back to his stall and she simply followed and walked right in hers.

The funny thing about this situation is, I have no idea how they got out.  They were turned out in the pasture.  Every single gate on the pasture was closed, and the fence around it is probably at least 4 ft tall.  I’ve never seen either one of them jump, but that is the only logical explanation I can work out.

So I guess until I figure something out, my two kiddos are on stall rest for a few days, which I hate however, it’s a rainy day here, so I guess at least they will stay dry!

Image

Boy Words: Volume 2

I meant to post this last night but my computer was being ridiculous and wouldn’t let me do anything last night…so here it is!

Today’s boy word: Stig

Every once in awhile I am stopped by people who are curious what this sticker on the back of my car means:

stig

For awhile, it was rather hard to explain.  Unless you were a regular watcher of programs on the BBC, you probably never would have heard of the show Top Gear. Fortunately, a little while back, America decided to capitalize on the success of this show and create and American version, making it slightly easier for me to explain, because at least SOME people had at seen it while others had at least seen commercials for it.

However, you can rarely upstage the original version of anything, and while I actually like the American version, this statement is true, the British have absolutely cornered the market on hilarious car shows.

Yes, it’s a car show.  No, that’s not normally something that I would waste my time watching but I have to say, it still remains one of my favorite series ever.  In fact, I’ve gone awhile without seeing it due to the fact that I pretty much refuse to pay for TV service, seeing as I never use it, but the boy let me borrow a couple seasons that I missed, and I had no idea just how much I had missed this show.  It’s not your average car show, at all.  They do crazy funny things, they do things that you would never dream of doing in a car, they do things like this: (I’ve never embedded a video…hopefully this works!)

Anyways, back to the point. The word is Stig, get back on subject Sam.

Some say that his heart is in upside down, and that his teeth glow in the dark…all we know is, he’s called the Stig.

You might have noticed a cameo performance by the Stig in the posted video.  He was the “referee”.  Anyways, the Stig is a secretive member of the cast, his identity is never revealed, and he never speaks.  From time to time, they lead the audience to believe that he isn’t a human at all, but rather a species all his own.

In reality, the Stig is a professional driver.  Someone who tests out all of the new super cars that they review on the show, drives them around the test track and sets credible records for the fastest these cars can go.

So there you have it.  The elusiveness of my windshield sticker has been revealed, thanks to this weeks episode of Boy Words!

 

Zombie Mice

The other day I walked out of my house to see a dead mouse lying on the porch.

dead mouse

I didn’t think much of it, other than the fact that I was glad it was outside the house rather than inside, so I just kicked it off the porch and went on with what I was doing.

bye bye

The next day, I walked out to find, what I presumed was a different dead mouse, laying in the same place.

deja vu

I was a little worried by now because I haven’t really had any trouble with mice, there’s enough snakes and other wild creatures around to keep them from entering the house.  I kicked this mouse off the porch as I did the day before.

The next day, I walked out of the house and what did I see?  A dead mouse, in the same place.  By now I was growing deeply concerned.  A quick inspection of the mouse showed that it had started to decay, leading me to believe that it was the very same mouse.

Now, I’m not one to believe in the zombie apocalypse but I have to say, I’m quickly becoming a believer.  How else does the same dead mouse end up in the exact same spot three days in a row?  It has to be zombies, that’s the only logical explanation.

Fortunately, there’s millions of believers out there, just waiting for skeptics like me to come along so they can persuade them that zombies are real.  So it really wasn’t all that hard for me to figure out what I needed to obtain in order to prepare myself for the impending attack of the “undead”.

I’ve packed my:

Flashlight

flashlight

Knife

knife knife

Medical kit

medical kit

Duct tape

duct tape

Crossbow

crossbow

And Chainsaw

chainsaw

I’m ready…are you?

crazy

A Fool Proof Way to End Bad Habits…Or Start New Ones

Hi.  My name is Sam, and I have a bad habit.

I don’t know when this problem started but I often find myself rudely awaken in the middle of the night by an insatiating thirst.  When this evil beast attacks, I tend to crawl out of bed and stumble towards the kitchen, merely hoping my foot won’t find a stray dog snoring peacefully.

Now, let me quickly add that I’m pretty darn blind.  Without my contacts, I can only see about 3 inches in front of my nose, but since I know my way around the house, I don’t really see it necessary to put them back in, or even grab for my glasses at 3 am because it just would take more time that I’m willing to allot.

Once I blindly, and quite clumsily, find my way to the kitchen, I usually fish a can of coke out of the ice box (I told you it was a bad habit) and take a couple sips and put the can back and worry about it in the morning.

So, last night, as I lazily plodded my way from the bedroom to the kitchen, I had the same intentions.  I opened the fridge door, grabbed a can, popped the top open, and took a big swig.

MEE MAW MEE MAW MEE MAW MEE MAW (That’s the sound of an alarm for those of you who haven’t seen Despicable Me 2)

Something’s not right!  The coke tasted HORRIBLE!  And when I say horrible, I mean, straight up spit it back out, who cares if it goes all over the floor because if you swallow it, you’re going to throw up, horrible.

I stumbled around for a few minutes, trying to figure out what the heck just happened.  I’m sure I don’t have to explain the grogginess one feels after just waking up, nor the fact that your brain isn’t really functioning properly yet and it takes some time to work your way through such horrid events.

Once I regained composure, I dashed to turn on the lights.

And everything became so very clear.

It seems that what I had drank was, in fact, not coke, but I nice, cold, can of beer.

Now, I’m really not a huge beer drinker in the first place.  In fact, before meeting the boy three years ago, I wouldn’t even touch the stuff.  But he managed to convince me that some of the “better” (that loosely translates to expensive) beers actually aren’t half bad.  A few weeks ago he sent a couple cans of some new stuff home with me and since it takes me awhile to actually want to drink one, I still had one can left.

Have you ever taken a sip of something, thinking it was something else?  I do this occassionally, maybe I’m going somewhere with my mom and we both have drinks and I accidentally grab her coke thinking it is tea.  While I generally like the taste of coke, if you are not expecting it, it can be quite surprising, and even unpleasant.

Now, think of that feeling, and multiply it by about 33.  I’m glad my dogs can’t talk because I know they got a show last night.  After I spit it out all over the place, I felt it necessary to dance around the kitchen, jumping up and down with my mouth open, as if I thought this would shake all memories of the event out of my head.

Blind, sleepy, and beer sick.  There’s three words that should NEVER be used in the same sentence.

Perhaps I should secretly fill my fridge with beer in an attempt to break this habit.  It could be a goofy form of Russian Roulette, mix the beer and the coke cans together and when I get up in the middle of the night for a quick sip of coke, I’m taking a huge risk that I might not grab a coke can.

Surely that would assist in breaking bad habits right?  Meh, I’ll just remember to grab my glasses next time.

I Just Want My Change

Note from Sam:  The following post might be rough grammatically.  I read through it just now and saw several mistakes but, to be honest, I’m tired, I have a head ache, and I want to go to bed…so deal with it!

 

Excerpt from McDonald’s job application*

Please choose the best answer for the following question:

Sam orders two breakfast burritos and one large drink.  Her order comes to $3.25.  She hands you a $20 bill and a quarter ($20.25 for my friends in other countries that use currency other than the mighty USD)  How much change should you give her?

A. $16.75

B. $17.00

C. $17.25

D. $16.25

My answer: B

Computed Response:  We are sorry to inform you that your selection is incorrect and therefore are not qualified for the position in which you have applied.  While we understand that $3.25 deducted from $20.25 is, in fact $17.00 however; we do not expect our employees to be able to perform simple math functions and anyone who is able to do so is obviously a Communist. Please re-apply in three months after you have de-commified yourself and gone through proper “dumbing down” procedures.

Three times now, I have tried the above scenario of adding a quarter to my twenty to pay for my meal.  I do this to make things simpler.  Obviously this plan has backfired because each of the three times, I’ve received everything BUT $17.00 back as change.

Now, don’t misunderstand, I’m not saying that all people who work at McDonald’s or fast food places are stupid.  And I’m not saying that if you work at one of these places you are below me.  In fact, I thank you for not being one of the people standing in the Welfare line expecting everyone else to give you free hand outs. I also thank you for making me breakfast burritos every once in a while.

What I am getting at is, how hard is it to do simple math?  Furthermore, they don’t even have to DO the math, the register does it for them.  They punch in my order, it tells them how much I owe, I give them money, they punch in how much I gave and the super smart, magical register announces to the world exactly how much change to give me.  So that obviously can’t be the problem now can it?

Maybe people just don’t know how to count money?  I know our American money can be tricky with the faces of all those old dudes on them.  I get nervous sometimes when I count money too.  I feel like George Washington is watching me, judging every move I make.  Contrary to everything you’ve ever read in history books, Georgey poo was a judgmental old guy.

Perhaps smelling french fries all day has something to do with it.  I’m sure if you were to research the life cycle of a fry, from potato seed to deep fryer, you would find some anomaly in its making that would provide ample explanation as to why it is difficult to give people the correct change.

Maybe they meant to give me the correct change but they lost it in the ball pit while chasing down some snotty nosed pygmy teenager that is harassing all the four-year olds in the playground.

Maybe it was the aliens.  Yes!  It was the aliens!  It all makes sense now.  Why else would super intelligent beings from a planet far, far away come down to our measly little hole-in-the-wall rock if there wasn’t some sort of hilarious entertainment involved.

Think about it – how much fun is it to mess with an ant hill?  Don’t turn your head and raise your eyebrow at me, I know that at least once in your lifetime you have stepped on an ant hill merely for the pleasure of making the little drones scramble to the surface as fast as they possibly can and run around like a battle scene from Braveheart….No?  Really?  Just me?  Oh well then.

Back to aliens.

Just an alien abducting a horse...nothing to see here
Just an alien abducting a horse…nothing to see here

They are the only reasonable explanation, because I fail to believe that our education system has failed us so far to the point that we can no longer read $17.00 and interpret how to transform that into cold hard cash.

*Not really an excerpt from a McDonald’s application but seriously, if you thought it was before reading this disclaimer, send me a message, I need to examine your brain for proof of alien dust.

Boy Words: Volume 1

I’ve really been having a lot of trouble finding inspiration for my blog lately, yet at the same time I WANT to write something.  So this evening I had this brilliant idea.  Why not start a “segment” of some kind that requires I post, at the very least, weekly?

So here we have it, a brand new segment called (for now) Boy Words.

The Boy and I pretty much have nothing in common….NOTHING.  Don’t believe me?  Here’s a few examples:

  • I love to go horseback riding
    • The Boy likes to drive fast cars on the race track
    • I like documentaries about sharks and giant squid
      • The Boy likes documentaries about aliens and Honey Boo Boo…yes, I just outed him
      • I have dogs
        • The Boy has expensive Japanese toys

So since we pretty much have no common ground and don’t really share interests in many things, there’s not much that I can include him in.  Therefore, when I came up with the idea tonight of doing a segment, I thought it was an excellent opportunity to include him in something that I enjoy doing.

Ladies and gentlemen, I bring you “Boy Words”.  Not a very creative title, I know, but it’s a work in progress, I’m open to suggestions by the way.  The main premise of Boy Words is, I will harass the boy on a regular basis, I haven’t decided how often yet, to give me just one word and I will write an entire blog based on that word.  One word, it’s a simple task…let’s see how long before he screws it up…errr…I mean…ummm….hmmm…not really a way to back pedal out of that one huh?

Okay, without further ado, let us begin.  I promise, if I continue to do this segment, it won’t be as long as this one, I just felt I needed to let you all fully understand the reason for the birth of this segment.

Today’s Boy Word:  Minions

Seeing as Despicable Me 2 just hit theaters a couple weeks ago, and it is one of the greatest movies ever, I really don’t have to wonder too long where this word came from.  I have to admit, I was expecting something more like Storm Trooper or wookie, but I know in time, I will be forced to come up with some form of intelligent ramblings about those words, I wait with baited breath.

According to our friend Webster, a minion is someone who follows their master’s orders to the very strictest (is that really a word?  My spell check isn’t doing the squiggly line thing…hmmm, must be!) of regimes.  They are usually favored by their master because of their obsequious behavior.

In other words, a minion is a “kiss ass”.

We all know someone who fits in this category, don’t try to tell me that you’ve never worked with someone who had their nose so far up the boss’ butt their head actually protruded from his belly button.

The problem, however, with minions is that they usually are not as subservient as the boss believes them to be.  For those of us sitting on the outside, we see someone who regularly comes to work 30 minutes late, but makes up for it by bringing donuts.  Someone who takes 3,000 cigarette breaks a day, but always has the juicy gossip (because you know smokers are the world’s biggest gossipers) about the boss’ boss that gives him blackmail ammunition.  These are the people who basically do nothing all day, milking off the company’s dime, only to take all the credit once the grunt workers have slaved away in their quaint 6 x 6 cubicles.

And how the hell do minions manage to get so many vacation days?  Seriously, when I was working in Corporate America,  the only way I knew that the minions still worked at the company, was that every time the boss would get flowers or candy, it wasn’t from their significant other, it was from the minion.

In addition to vacation days, minions also have the sickest kids/parents/spouses on the face of the planet.  It’s like little Johnny has an internal time clock and as soon as mommy makes it to work, the clock goes off and BLEHHHH little Johnny throws up and has to be picked up from school.

Minions also apparently like to eat.  They love eating so much that one of the requirements in their contract states that they are allowed, at any time, without notice, to take a minimum three and half hour lunch break.  The longevity of this lunch break allows them an hour to eat, an hour to digest their food, an hour to take a nap, and thirty minutes to slowly amble back to the office for four more hours of ass kissing.

Now, thanks to Illumination Entertainment, we have a way to identify the minions in our workplaces, and tag them so that others will immediately know just what a foul beast they are dealing with.  I’ve included a picture that I drew of a Despicable Me minion, I encourage each of you to print several copies of this picture and place them on the desks, chairs, or foreheads of the known minions in your organization.

This is actually the picture that comes up on the boy's phone when I call him...awww...that's sweet.
This is actually the picture that comes up on the boy’s phone when I call him…awww…that’s sweet.