by Stephanie
on February 27, 2009
So, while cruising the internet, my husband stumbled upon a fun little article.
Apparently, a tour bus escorting one rapper, Fabulous, was found containing 500LB OF WEED.
Let me reiterate.
500 POUNDS OF WEED!
Not 500 bags or 500 joints, but 500 pounds. Seriously, what do you do with 500lbs of weed? Stuff a mattress? Of course, I’m assuming that it was going to be sold, but just for fun, let’s pretend that this was Fabulous’ private stash. And that 500lb of weed isn’t ridiculously excessive, even for a rapper.
According to the internet (which is where all good information comes from) a gram of pot will get you 1-3 joints, depending on how high you want to get and how many friends you’re sharing with. If we go with 2 joints per gram, that’s 908 joints per pound. That means that Fabulous was carrying the equivalent of 454,000 joints. Let that number sink in for a minute. In order to consume all that pot in a single year, Fabulous and his posse would have to collectively smoke down 1,244 joints a day. 249 joints a day if he wanted to get through it in 5 years. I’m guessing that it’s physically impossible for Mr Fab to consume all that pot. According to my extensive research, (and by “extensive research” I mean I asked some friends,) there’s no way he could possibly consume more than 50 joints in a single day, and that’s if they were pre-rolled, he had nothing better to do, and was constantly smoking every minute of every day. Even at that rate, it would take him 25 years to puff through it all. Not to mention the fact that he’d be constantly stoned and probably sick in ways that can’t even be described.
I guess what I’m trying to say is…that’s a friggin’ lot of pot! I mean, do you know many Funions and Slushies you’d have to eat to battle 500lbs of munchies?
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by Stephanie
on February 24, 2009
Happy 20th Post-iversary everyone! I never thought we’d make it, but I guess we showed everyone that the love between a blog and its invisible audience can outlast anything. So to celebrate, I got you a little something. I know, I know we said no gifts, but you’re special. So, here you go.
(It’s a post.)
Do you like it? I couldn’t decide between this and a stuffed bear holding a heart, but the bear looked too much like one my ex gave me once, so I went with the post.
Moving on.
So I went to the doctor’s today. The nurse was very sweet, and I was wowed by her ability to hold an entire conversation while I had a thermometer in my mouth. The doctor was also very nice; her braces surprised me a little, but hey, I watch Scrubs. She looked at my curling iron burn and said, “Yup, that’s infected.” Then they bandaged me up, invited me to to pick a prescription from the jar on the counter, and sent me on my way. It should heal up nicely. And in the meantime, I get to sport this badass bandage.
Cardigans are hardcore, right?
Seriously, I’m gonna bust a cup in your ass.
Cap, whatever.
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by Stephanie
on February 24, 2009
So, as you all know, I work at a high-end clothing store. While we’re expected to present ourselves with a certain amount of style and polish, I pride myself in my appearance at work. Carefully put together outfits, interesting jewelry, full make-up, the whole shebang.
It was for this reason that I found myself rushing on Saturday morning to pull myself together. Well, really my laziness and inability to stop watching “Tool Academy” with Kyle and get out of bed was the reason that I found myself rushing, but my refusal to compromise my appearance didn’t help matters. So I’m rushing, and I’m stuffing myself into pantyhose, and I’m smearing on eyeshadow, and I’m looking pretty good. Except this one single lock of hair that’s flipping the wrong direction. Everything else on my head is curving nicely around my face, except this long chunk by my face. I chuck my curling iron at the counter, find my shoes, and put in my earrings as I plug in the iron with my teeth.
The cursing that followed would have made even the hardest gang banger step back and say, “Whoa, language, bitch!”
In my hurry to get my ass out the door I burned my neck with my curling iron. Burned my fucking neck with my curling iron. Remember in high school when you’d come home from making out with your boyfriend with a hickey and your parents asked you where you got that from and you couldn’t think of anything so you told them that you burned yourself with a curling iron even though you haven’t owned a curling iron since 1993? Yeah, I ACTUALLY burned myself with a curling iron. Except that it looked like a hickey. Without, you know, the making out.
So, you ask, how could things get better than by me having to go to work with what looks like a giant hickey on my neck? Mmm, maybe when all the skin falls off? Not yet. How about when it starts turning red? Close. Yellow? That’s it! All I have to say is be glad I decided not to post a picture, because this thing is seven levels of disgusting.
So now I’ve got a doctors appointment tomorrow morning to have this yellow, crusty, pussing trophy of my brilliance on my neck checked out. Hopefully it will heal quickly.
Because no one believes me yet when I say it’s a curling iron burn.
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by Stephanie
on February 22, 2009
*how many hot dogs are in the fridge
*YouTube videos of old Fraggle Rock episodes
*why Macy’s pretends that every weekend’s 1 Day Sale is the only one that they’ll ever have
*how many peanuts are in this jar
*the fact that my cat is sitting on my ankles and licking herself
*why I want to have Seth Rogan’s babies
*pandas
*the bipartisan debate over, well, everything
*how much I despise Ben Stiller, Will Ferrell, and the entire cast of High School Musical
*twitter
*who makes these fabulous socks
*why none of the waiters at my favorite diner speak English
*Tina Fey (Talented and gorgeous, is there nothing this woman can’t do?)
*the curling iron burn on my neck
*what color I’m going to paint my nails next time Kyle leaves the house
*why Sarah Jessica Parker insists on wearing the most ridiculous clothing possible
*why the world sees Sarah Jessica Parker wearing the most ridiculous clothing possible and calls it high fashion
*fruit snacks
*when I’m going to finish all the ironing
*how in the hell we’re going to afford the lifestyle that we enjoy when our bills add up to the exact amount of money that we make
It’s probably worth mentioning that this post was written while sitting on the couch and watching the Oscars. It was that or a Scary Movie marathon.
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