White Fluffy Pillows
Puffy or Flat
Can Make For Wet Weather
Makes Visibility Vexing
Lay Near to the Earth
Give Nimbostratus Wide Berth
Cumulonimbus's High Thunderheads
Pay Homage to a Norse God
Whose Lightning Bolts
And Remaining Outdoors
Requires Grave Consideration
Why, oh Microwave,
Is my platter so hot?
My food’s edge is smoldering,
Yet the center is not.
Your micro wave power,
Is impressive indeed.
But fully warmed chowder
Is what my mouth needs.
My fingers are seared
From touching this bowl,
My flesh you left blistered,
And my dinner, left cold.
We’ve all seen these commercials, I’m sure. “Are you feeling less than fresh DOWN THERE?!” Down there. Because we can say penile forty-seven times in one 30 second commercial, but God forbid anyone say vagina. “Is your hoo-haa smelly?” “Do you have swamp rot of the nether region?”
Yes, we’ve felt less than fresh at times. It happens. It happens to the best of them. Sometimes down there just isn’t up to par in the freshness department. But why do these commercials always take place at the beach or something? Let me state something right now, on behalf of all humans. Do not-repeating Do Not-go to the beach, public pool, or any such equivalent if your womanhood is feeling unclean. Please. We do not want to share your unfreshness. No one wants to stew in the crotch rot of others. (Maybe some people, because I’ve seen things-bad things-and there are sick people in the universe.) Just stay out of the water, for the love of your fellow humans.
I’m not judging. I’ve already said it happens. The CDC wouldn’t recommend it, though. And neither do I.
We ladies know how it is. We don’t always discuss it, maybe only in certain company. But it happens. The vagina is a complex organ, okay. Unexplainable shit happens in that area. It’s especially confusing to non-vagina owners. If you have never owned a vagina, do not try to understand one. I don’t understand that bitch, and it’s mine. What the fuck is happening down there sometimes?
I also want to share something with non-vagina owners on behalf of all vagina owners. Click Here. Learn it. Live it. Love it. It’s not that difficult. Y’all can find prehistoric ancient cities buried under the ocean, but you can’t find that shit. It’s not that hard. There’s a diagram and everything.
Peter Parker’s been deceased for a year. A year. Sigh. I suppose it’s time to move on. I simply cannot love Otto Octavius, even if he is in P.P.’s body (ASM #700 in case you were doing anything other than pining for an expired comic book super-hero last September). I thought I might have been falling for Tony Stark briefly, but it was a passing infatuation. However, I’ve recently become intrigued by a new fictional cartoon boy.
We recently purchased Megamind for the boy, at my urging. (He really wanted it. Really.) I’d seen the movie already and, like many of Dreamwork’s cartoon movies, it caused me to laugh my ass off. Even still, it wasn’t until watching the movie a few times that I developed my new admiration for the bad to good super-genius with the complexion “of a popular primary color.” Firstly, he has some similarities to P.P., well only one, his scientific genius. That’s really all the two have in common. BUT, I realized there was much Megamind and I have in common. For example, we have the same taste in music. His wardrobe is quite impressive, except he’d might have to give up those baby seal skin leather boots. I can’t deny they look cool, though. And, in some ways that are similar but different, we both decided to change our lives toward the positive. Also, we’re both short.
The only video I could find that I wanted to use here has Asian subtitles, so, if you can read them, COOL! If not just ignore them and watch the video. K thanks.
Beside what we have in common, he makes me laugh. That always really wins me over. I’m really into blue, too. A lot. It was one thing I loved about P.P., his red and blue suit. And while Megamind: Defender of Metrocity might not look as steaming hot in the Black Mamba as P.P. looked in his tights, he has kind of a cute tush. I also enjoy his languid movements, and evil laugh. Oh, just everything.
But alas, there is Roxanne Ritchie, whom Megamind deserves. Because they’re both fictional cartoon people, and I’m just a fan-girl with unrequited, and possibly psychosis linked, love interests.
(Disclaimer: Megamind and everything with his likeness on it is the property of Dreamworks Animation and Paramount Studios. Peter Parker, Spider-Man, and any likenesses thereof are the properties of Stan the Man Lee and Marvel Comics [and now The Walt Disney Company].)
(Disclaimer Disclaimer: While I am a fan of Will Ferrell, please don’t analyze my Megamind crush as some Freudian, unconscious desire for his body. Thank You.)
I am far from being technologically impaired. Whenever new technology is introduced in the household, it is my responsibility to learn it and do whatever necessary to make it functional for everyone. That is my duty, head of home IT. However, something bizarre happens when I am near any electronic, digital, or otherwise computerized device. It is like there are these hobgoblins, invisible to the human eye, that follow me waiting for the moment to strike.
Case in point, I’ve been trying to set up a Facebook page for A Wordsmith’s Brainworks. This has become a daunting task. Nothing works correctly. When I try to change a setting, I am taken right back to the page and away from the settings page. I click a link for help and nothing happens. Or I simply get a blank white page. If by some chance I am able to complete a task, such as adding interests or uploading a photo, I return to the main page to find nothing at all or the computer on which I am working suffers an unforeseen malfunction preventing the completion of whatever I was trying to accomplish.
I’ve also not been able to access the page from my phone or iPad. When I attempt to log in, the little dial simply turns and turns for – e-v-e-r. Frustrating? Yes, rather! And in the basic information section, somehow the wrong email address is listed and I can not change it. I can delete it and put the correct address, hit save, and when I return it’s back to the wrong email address.
Facebook isn’t the only thing that suffers the wrath of the hobgoblins. I recently had to delete my Twitter app and reinstall it because I wasn’t receiving updates or seeing Tweets on my feed that mentioned me. My phone, which was previously my husband’s before my son decided mine should take a plunge in ‘Ol Swirley, never works like it’s supposed to. I have to sometimes press the Home button fifteen times before it responds, and people can only hear me when the phone is on speaker. My husband had not one problem with it. It’s me, he says. Even the laptop I’m using right now is going haywire, the cursor jumping around the page and scrolling down while I am typing (and yes I’m being careful not to press the mouse pad). I could easily round up several folks from work who will testify that the computers seem to have more problems when I’m present.
Sigh. Hobgoblins are exhausting.
I just wanted to set up a Facebook page. Must it be such a harrowing endeavor?