Pages Menu
TwitterRssFacebook
Categories Menu

Posted by on Nov 17, 2012 in Humor & Sarcasm, Phat Life | 2 comments

What my favorite Qing Dynasty historical/fantasy dramas teach me about being female then.

What my favorite Qing Dynasty historical/fantasy dramas teach me about being female then.

I love anime. I love, also, Koren, Chinese and Japanese historical dramas or dramas set in long in the past with fantasy elements and generous re-writes of the original story. Sometimes the more ridiculous and over dramatic it is the more I love to watch it just because it is that ridiculous. Although they have also been very educating. I have learned these quality lessons from these historical dramas:

  • As a lady of high rank in Qing Dynasty your worth is only measured in how young you are, how pretty, and how many babies you can pop out. And not just any babies–sons. Sons are way, way more important than daughters.
  • If you can’t pop out babies, at least be pretty and murder everyone else’s babies or take them from them.
  • If you can’t pop out babies or are pretty, you’re so fucked.
  • If you can’t pop out babies, aren’t pretty, and old–you are super fucked. And you are probably the villain of the entire series.You should kill everyone younger than you because reasons. And the cat. God damn cat.
  • It doesn’t matter how strong you are as a female/woman in the series. You could have survived a war, killed other men, have the highest martial arts training–the moment your heterosexual love interest grabs your wrist you are 100% powerless to do anything and must be drug along, flailing and whining and looking terribly upset and innocent at the same time. The wrist-man-grab is not block-able  It sucks any will power and feminist strength you may have had on your own until you are powerless to fight the handsome lead pen–male.
  • You will faint constantly. Someone runs in? Faint. Someone runs out? Faint. Did you pass gas? STARTLING. You must faint.
  • Any emotional upset what-so-ever, regardless of your past, will a) make you faint, b) make you ill and fake-cough horribly, c) make you lose a baby, d) make you insane e) turn you evil or f: all of the above. SO DON’T EVER GET UPSET.
  • If people like you, no one will tell you anything. If they hate you, they will go out of their way to tell you things that make you upset.
  • Nobody hugs from the front. Husband going off to war? Lover leaving you for someone else? Love interest going to commit some really ridiculous act in the name of whatever? No front-hugs for you. You have to hug them from behind. And you have to run to them first, to do it, and then you have to soulfully gaze at the back of their head and deliver a soliloquy.
  • Dirt paths/roads/streets/perfectly flat, smooth patches of land will fuck your shit up.  If I were to dramatically run down a path with the male lead following I am going to fall and trip and twist my ankle. Every. Time.  Also, I will fall in super slow motion, possibly cut and rehashed from seven different angles with DWOMP DWOMP music in the background.
  • The male lead will then be ‘forced’ to carry me on his back. Despite he rode behind me on a horse earlier/some sort of litter/had six men around him with horses/screw sense.
  • If you are female and poor, you are innocent and do-gooding. If you are female and rich and innocent and do-gooding you will be poisoned in the first season. If you are female and rich and not do-gooding, you will scheme and plot and subtly kill everyone. Men never do such things and are completely helpess when asked to help with the scheming-plot-evil-rich-lady. Because breasts, that’s why.
  • Spending 66 episodes to build up an amazing, complicated plot with characters that have finally grown with one another and have great chemistry together needs to be ended by killing every. single. person. off. but the main character. In the most ridiculously horrendous, and our idiotic way possible that should leave any sane person mentally scarred for life. Leave no one–and I mean–no one alive. Kill their parents, sisters, brothers, children, and their entire country. Also the best way to do all that is in episode 67.  End series with main character looking soulfully off into the distance. Ignore the million WTFs of fans.

This is going to be so hard to apply to real life. I will have to start with fainting every time the phone rings.

Read More
? 2 Comments

Posted by on Oct 10, 2012 in Humor & Sarcasm, Married Life |

First date snob.

First date snob.

Me: [Reads a screenshot of a twitter play-by-play of possibly the worst date in Starbucks history. Starts giggle snorting.]
Shawn: “What?”
Me: [Reads it.]
Both of us: “Oh my god. That was awful.”
Me: “He took her to Starbucks. Who does that?”
Shawn: [Look over his glasses at me.] “Go get a coffee? On the first date. You know?”
Me: [Stare.]
Shawn: “It’s the first date. ‘Let’s get to know each other and see if the dating thing is plausible’ thing?”
Me: “Who the fuck does that? Nobody does that. Take me out for gourmet dinner and diamonds.”
Shawn: [Snort.] “People don’t just give you diamonds.”
Me: “YES THEY DO. YOU SHUT UP.”
Shawn: “I think your idea of dating is a bit askew.”
Me: [Ignore]

Read More
Comments Off on First date snob.

Posted by on Jul 25, 2010 in Married Life |

Arguments in the key of 2GP

Arguments in the key of 2GP

“I don’t understand how you do this. ”

“Do what?”

“This! This kitchen thing you do.  There were EIGHT THOUSAND bowls in the sink and seventeen knives. What do you need EIGHT THOUSAND bowls for!”

“Really? Really. Eight thousand? Whatever, Mister Flour ALL OVER the sink and the counter and some on the walls and ooooon the flooooors and socks by his desk and glasses on the desk and never cleans the surface of the–”

“That has nothing to do with the fact–”

“–cabinets or the cabinet doors or the fingerprints on the refrigerator or sweep and mop the floors or vacuum or do the wash or–”

“…that you can’t seem to cook one single meal without–”

“–make the bed or put the toilet seat down or–”

“…using EVERY DISH IN THE HOUSE FOR ONE MEAL!”

“EIGHT THOUSAND BOWLS, SHAWN, REALLY. I MEAN REALLY? EIGHT THOUSAND?”  I partner this statement by standing in my kitchen and becoming a wacky waving inflatable arm flailing tube man.

“YES. AND SEVENTEEN KNIVES AS WELL, I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT YOU’D MAKE TO NEED THAT MANY KNIVES!”

“WE DON’T EVEN OWN EIGHT THOUSAND BOWLS. THAT’S A LIE. YOUR FACE IS FULL OF LIES RIGHT THERE! BESIDES, WAS THE MEAL BAD?”

“I DON’T…well, of course not. Nothing you’ve cooked in years has ever been bad.”

Smugly, “Then you’ve nothing to complain about.”

EIGHT THOUSAND BOWLS!”

Three hours and episodes of Supernatural later, I leaned over and quite assertively stated that we do not own eight thousand bowls, thus, starting the entire argument all over again. Which neither of us were very heated about and both of us ended up laughing at one another profusely.

I may be the oddest woman on the earth, but its these small things that let me know I’m also the luckiest.
(To be alive.  AND loved. That too. Yes.)

Read More
Comments Off on Arguments in the key of 2GP

Posted by on Jun 11, 2010 in Humor & Sarcasm | 1 comment

For this, you will have to poop diamonds & gold nuggets.

For this, you will have to poop diamonds & gold nuggets.

I am a fat woman.

I have rolls, people. I have saggy, huge rolls and giant breasts that are registered in fifty one states as concealed weapons and they’ve got a law now where I can’t run anymore because the last time…Well. I just don’t want to talk about the last time. The images are still too fresh.

I am a fat woman who now has daily access to a pool and her old bathing suit, a one piece with little in the way of holdin’ the girls back? Is tired. So very, very tired.

It doesn’t hold my flap-jack stomach back. My boobs wearily sag toward my feet. My butt looks like re-animated cottage cheese. So I decided to start checking out what’s available for me, swim suit wise. Given that I pretty much hit the pool every single day, I thought maybe I could afford to squeeze in an extra bathing suit. I mean, just how much could they be? Really?

I started yelling within two minutes of a Google search.

That cute little empire waisted black number with the fantastic hide-the-cottage cheese skirt for one hundred bucks?. Are you fucking kidding? That had to be a joke, right?

Nope. I went to all the brands I knew and trusted, starting with Layne Bryant. Ridiculously expensive. I then checked out Catherines. Same. Then off I went to all sorts of other sites and eventually found Fashion Bug. Surprisingly I found a fantastic little black number with a stripe of bright pink. It was perfect. and one-piece with a little skirt and extra tit-slinging support for thirty-seven dollars. JACKPOT, right? I bookmarked it and set it aside for when I thought we’d actually have the $37 for it. (It’s not a MUST HAVE after all, I still have my stretchy blue shame-rag I can hide under a shirt.)

So today I go and check on it, because I like to stare at it longingly and then pet it. Maybe call it Hilda–when I noticed that it doesn’t come in my size anymore.

CUE RAGE.

You can’t tell me swimwear for fat chicks costs to much more because we need more fabric. These are probably made in some horrific sweat-shop somewhere for 9 cents an hour, so don’t go cramming your $150 for a piece of stretchy fabric meant to be worn in the water that covers my hoo-ha and boobies, leaving everything else pretty much on display.

$150 nets me almost three weeks of food, or an entire bill paid off, or 1/3rd of my rent or an amazing haul of clothing from Good Will/Walmart.

For $150 in a swimsuit I expect it to make me miraculously non-fat, my tits look like they were when I was 22 and an ass to DIE FOR.

Seriously, all I want is a one-piece with a little chesticle support so that people don’t mistake my mammary jiggle as an auctioneer’s call and a bit of a skirt to hide my curdled butt FOR a reasonable amount of money. Reasonable.

$150 is not a reasonable price for a swimsuit unless you poop diamonds and gold nuggets!

Read More
? 1 Comment

Posted by on Jun 10, 2010 in Married Life, Personal | 2 comments

Happy 1st Anniversay you marvelous geek.

Happy 1st Anniversay you marvelous geek.

Today marks the first year of being officially married to Bariguy, my other half here at 2phatgeeks.  We’ve been together for years, so long that everyone who knew us simply assumed we were already married. So it was a shock that early last year I revealed that not only were we not married; but that I had to return to Canada to get my paperwork in order for us to get married.

Luckily, everything turned out alright. And here we are, 1 year later and official in paper work.

To be honest and cheesy, though, we were already official in my heart–years ago.

I’m a lucky woman. I have a husband who not only understands my Star Wars quotes, but joins in with his own favorites. Who understands when I reference an internet meme and who not only gets my jokes? But laughs at them.

In celebration of our 1st year anniversary let me share with you some of our most embarrassing and geeky moments!

I love you, Shawn!

A collection of our most embarrassing and/or geeky quotes from all times in our marriage at this link! Click it to read them on my personal journal!

Read More
? 2 Comments

Posted by on Feb 23, 2010 in Geekery, Married Life |

Swingin’ my big stick.

Swingin’ my big stick.

Our little notebook investment arrived yesterday. A little sleek black Asus meant to simply help us store the wealth of information I will be shoving into it this March because Shawn and I are spending four days at Disney.

Originally, we were simply going to buy a lot of storage cards for my digital camera, cell phone and video camera. We realized this plan was not-so-brilliant and Shawn, my one true geek went shopping around for other options.

The little notebook is perfect. It’s all shiny black with that New Computer smell and nothing delights me more than watching my husband come skipping home when we have new gadgets for him to play with. He literally spent the entire night setting it up, removing programs, installing the ones we use, customizing as well as tweaking. During all of this he generally kept up and entire line of conversation excitedly extolling the add ons, features, and wonderful uses this new notebook will bring. He might as well have been four years old again–skipping through the Star Wars toy section. His eyes were bright and his hands expressive, he’d stop for five seconds to press a button here and there or type something then continue telling me of dis wondrous shiny device we had purchased.

Sadly, my excitement only ran as far as, Neato! A new thingie to type on and decorate with the added bonus of being transportable! and to name it Piddles the Notebook.

I had an even more difficult time focusing on anything he had to say. As he was babbling happily away about what programs were installed and what weren’t, he was fiddling with a removable stick of ram the entire time. It’s on a long, long string meant to be worn about the neck. He’d start spinning it to the right and winding it around his fingers until it stopped short. Then, in mid-sentence, he’d start swinging it to the left until the string was fully wound around his fingers just to immediately switch directions and repeat.

After about six minutes of being entranced by this as if I were a three-week old kitten, I shook my head abruptly and demanded, “What are you doing?”

He stopped in mid-speech about being surprised how fast it was, given how small the notebook was, eyebrows quirking upward. “With what? Huh?”

I fluttered my hands absently in his string-spinning direction. “What are you doing with the swinging and the thing and the–wtf?–is this some sort of weird geek sexual strip routine I’m not aware of? Like a routine featuring a feather boa except–”

He interrupted me entirely calmly and as if he’d been waiting all his life for this moment to say a single line he’d been saving for decades.

“Don’t deny it. You find it sexy when I swing my big ram stick.”

And it is in those moments when I’m done staring agog or laughing my fool ass off, that I realize each day I love him more and more. Big hard drive and all.

Read More
Comments Off on Swingin’ my big stick.