Glee! (In No Way Associated with the TV Show I've Never Seen)

It appears that they've repaired what I was griping about most recently.  Score 1 for the little guy.  Or more accurately, medium sized girl.

 

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Kicking Off the "Weekend of Criticism™" - Like Festivus; No Pole

Hi internet peeps,

In what may be a vain attempt to make myself feel better after the crappy day I had at the end of a crappy week at the end of a crappy month, I've decided to launch my first annual* "Weekend of Criticism™", brought to you by the people who shot the person who said, "if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all."  This will be a fun-filled weekend of laughing at the expense of others and calling everything on the internet as I see it in real time.  Nobody is safe.  Not even you!

Let's start off with this dilly of a pickle that was the first thing I saw on Facebook when I got home:

For the love of <insert deity here>, why is "healthy" in brackets?!  What happens if we take it out entirely?  Watch out for seemingly foods?  Is that like a garden hose cleverly disguised as filet mignon?  Oh no!  Look out!  But wait.... "healthy" is in brackets.  That means the seemingly food should be actually good for you even though it's not really food.  Hm.  I know.  Look out for that... cow?  It's not quite food yet, but is kind of good for you in moderation or whatever.  (Screw moderation; meat is delicious.  It *is* made out of meat, you know.)

Regardless.  Brackets must go.  "Watch out for seemingly healthy foods that can actually increase abdominal fat."  There.  All fixed.  Bah!

*Note: May actually become semi-annual, monthly, or even bi-weekly "Weekend of Criticism™".  It depends on what kind of life I'm having and I don't want to limit myself to once a year quite yet.

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An Open Letter To Social Networking Attention Whores

My dearest darling Facebook friends, specifically of the female persuasion,

I've got a lot of you.  Now, considering that I like to surround myself with quality somewhere in the vicinity of equal to my own, a healthy proportion of you are pretty damned gorgeous.  However, there is a tremendous (and icky) class difference between people who are gorgeous and live their life happily and quietly basking in their goreousity, and and people who pull the "lookatmelookatmelookatme!" card.  Check out the following photo caption, and if it sounds anything like what you've captioned your photo with, stop it.  You sound *exactly* this ridiculous.

 

"Oh my god, I can't believe I even posted this.  I look SO fat.  Don't even look at it.  I have such a huge zit and my hair is a total mess.  I need botox and I'm so homely.  No wonder I can't find a boyfriend.  &c."

When I see you make comments like that, do you know what I think?  That you're a comment-hungry attention whore who needs someone to validate the fact that you're beautiful every second you're alive.  It's pretentious and unbecoming.  I know it sounds mean, but come on.  Everyone has good photos and bad photos.  If you don't like it, don't post it.  If someone else posted it, remove the tag. Give us all a break and stop fishing for compliments.  You drive me and everybody else bonkers.  Maybe the reason you can't get a boyfriend is because you're an asshole.  Just sayin'.

Love, Robynn

(Disclaimer:  Photo of Doutzen Kroes stolen randomly from the Googlyweb™ because I think she's pretty.  This message in no way implies that Doutzen Kroes is a comment-hungry-attention-whorish-asshole.  She may be a very nice person.  I wouldn't know.)

 

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Behold! HELMETCAT!

Okay, so do some of you recall a story I've told about a cat that I used to have who was kind of brain-dead because my Dad found him in our backyard frozen in a snow bank as a stray and took him in and he didn't die but he DID lose half his ears and half his tail and was just really not very clever (but I guess maybe he could have been a stupid cat *before* he was frozen, we didn't know him then) so we used to have to send him out at night with a little football helmet because he was a scrapper and would pick fights with other neighborhood cats but was too much of a dunce to fight back so he'd end up getting his face all gashed up because he'd just sit there?  Remember that story?  If not, I'm sure you do now.

Anyhow, here's photojournalistic proof of HELMETCAT, at long last unearthed from my Dad's cornucopia of slides in the basement.

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Robynn's Rant of the Day: Vancouver Drivers

Seriously, people.  I'm sick of living in a city where all of the drivers appear to have unearthed their drivers' licenses from the sticky pink shrapnel at the bottom of a discarded Cracker Jack™ box.

I almost got hit by a car this morning.  And by "almost got hit by a car" I mean "my pants got hit by a car, but fortunately my leg did not."  Why?  Because some jackass in a BMW didn't want to wait for the bus in front of him and cut around him to turn right.  Turn right into my leg, more like it.  Sadly, I was so shaken up that I didn't even flip him off.  That's so unlike me.

Strangely enough, the only thought that went through my head as my 33-year-long life flashed before my eyes was, "I should have bought the Gucci bag."  I would have linked to it directly, but it's not even bloody available any more.  This just makes the situation so much worse because now I can't even do the one trivial thing that is evidently and shallowly the missing link in making my life complete.  I'm not sure what that says about me.  "Screw you, starving kids in Africa!  To hell with you, Nepal!  Mama needs a brand new bag."  I suck.  And I digress.

Smarten the hell up, Vancouver!

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