Snips and wails and stomach bug tales.

So I finally made an appointment to go get my hair cut, and the universe didn’t collapse in on itself, so I figured I was doing pretty well (you’d think I would know better by now). But then Saturday – the Day of Snipping – arrived, and I woke up just in time to miss a call from the salon. Shit, I thought as I called them back, I’ve been needing this haircut for weeks, please don’t tell me my stylist has to cancel, please don’t tell me my stylist has to cancel

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The Nut’s Unhelpful Instructables: How To Lock Your Car In 21 Easy Steps

Are you struggling with a surplus of efficiency? Do you suffer long hours of boredom stemming from always doing things right the first time? Do you find yourself envious of those who needlessly overcomplicate everything, because they will never know the mental anguish of actually having to TRY to keep themselves occupied?

You’re in the right place.

Let’s get unproductive.


Today’s Topic: Locking Your Car

1. Arrive home and park car in garage.

2. Lock car.

3. Exit parking garage.

4. Walk up two flights of stairs to your apartment.

5. Hesitate as you are about to unlock your apartment door.

6. Wonder whether you actually locked the car or if you just think you did.

7. Walk down one flight of stairs.

8. Pause.

9. Decide you definitely remember hearing your car make its customary short “I’m locking now, bitches!” horn beep.

10. Walk back up one flight of stairs.

11. Stop.

12. Hammertime.

12. Remember it’s better to be safe than sorry.

13. Walk down two flights of stairs.

14. Check on car, which was in fact locked.

15. Press lock button on keyless entry remote for good measure.

16. Walk back to stairwell.

17. Trip on first step and fumble keyless entry remote.

18. Worry you may have pressed unlock button by accident during fumble.

19. Go back and check that car is still locked.

20. Tuck car keys safely away in coat pocket.

21. Walk up two flights of stairs.

Wurst. Steakout. Ever.

So I was absent-mindedly browsing the other day, because addiction is a terrible thing, when I saw this.

Here’s what scares me: until I noticed the broken glasses and the severed finger, I didn’t immediately realize it was from a Photoplasty contest. I just assumed some dude was actually selling questionable meat on Craigslist, because Craigslist.

Look, I found a real buyer for your fake ad! Just add freezer burn and he’ll take it, NQA.

But also because I used to work in a grocery store. And I know things, people. Things I can never unknow.

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Eeny meeny miney…d’oh!

Everyone has at least one person in their life who refuses to make decisions about anything. That person you try and make plans with, and you’re like, “What time do you want to meet?” and they’re like, “Um…uh…what time is best for you?” And you’re all, “I’m free whenever. Literally ANY time is okay for me,” and they act like you just told them the fate of the world is in their hands and if you don’t meet for lunch at the precise right moment, interdimensional beings will stomp us all to kingdom come because civilization depended on you both having soup at 1:15pm exactly.


And if you don’t know one of those people…well, now you do.

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There’s life in these legs yet.

Where, oh where, did my old body go?

You know all those scenes of Demi Moore in G.I. Jane, where she’s kicking her own ass with exercise as sweat runs down her freshly shorn head? That used to be me in high school. Except, y’know, with hair.

I was on the track and field team as both a sprinter and a distance runner.

I participated in cross-country meets.

I was on the basketball, volleyball, and badminton teams.

And I was absolutely, positively unstoppable in the weight room.

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