Category Archives: Humor

Not a Happy Camper

You know what would be a good idea? If we spent the night under a tarp with people we hate and then we can all sleep in body bags, fermenting in each other’s odor, providing feast for infectious insects and incubators for their young. And if we are really lucky, we will wake up moist after a night of aggravatingly catchy out-of-tune sing-alongs still seeing spots and eardrums throbbing from the storyteller who had to blind you with a flashlight while screaming and jumping around to compensate for the lack of actual plot suspense in their fireside tales.

No, it is not! Who ever instated the tradition of family camping trips should be held down, severely paper cut, run over by a lawn mower and then tossed into a baby pool of feasting piranhas, because that is how they make me feel.

Luckily my family is now what I would call Eddie Bauer outdoorsy-with all of our twenty-first century gear, we might as well be rolling the woods in a little, plastic climate-controlled bubble taking pictures. We stay in 21st century (made to look rustic) cabins with running water, electricity and doors we can close on each other. Sporting terrain-appropriate hiking boots and rain repellent garb, my little park ranger mother never allows us to enter the scary dark forest null of bug repellant, bear whistles, toilet paper, sanitizer, water-purifying kit, ponchos, snack rations, a week’s supply of water, a machete, collapsible food preparation station, flare, tranquilizer gun, pepper spray for “all the rapists” she seems to think lurk within and, of course, the infomercial-worthy bottomless fanny pack that manages to fit it all, and will be the cause for my hip-replacement.

But, there was a time, in their youthful parental ignorance when they tried to cling to the nostalgia of their own childhoods and impose their corrupted view of fun upon me. I was so scarred I have yet to face family camping trips again. I’ve gotten invites over the years from friend’s families offering to take me camping, and I always respectfully declined because, well, in all honesty I would rather eat hot pockets and watch VHS tapes of bird watching all weekend.

It was August 1999, a sweltering month when the units loaded up the four door Saturn like it had the capacity of an RV and wedged me onto a booster seat of stale hot dog buns. Prone to carsickness, I swayed, pale-faced upon my throne of generic brand camping food for the whole trip down to Arkansas, actually appreciating the frequent stops my parent’s un-synched urination schedule allowed. We arrived at the campsite at dusk and in my parents’ fury to set up before dark, they really sacrificed quality set up. Tired from traveling, we only did the bare minimum to get the site ‘functioning’ and then hit the hay, or in our case, the disintegrating 12-year-old sleeping bags that felt like lying in wall insulation. I itched my soft skin as I fell into dreams of the adventures to come, or tried to, but unfortunately the serrated rock bed my dad pitched the tent on was making that difficult. I now assume he did this on purpose so I would be awake to hear the rabid raccoon assaults on our tent. While little devil boys might find this appealing, to a six-year-old girl who’s hyper-allergenic skin was inflamed, was sleeping on a bed of rocks and just recovered from her fear of gremlins, it is cause enough to be launched into a full tantrum of psychosis. Just as I was about to scream, “How could you be sleeping?” to my ‘parents,’ a flash of lightning erupted and a boom shook the ground as rain began to pour into our Dollar Tree tent. My parents frantically packed up the gear as I sat in the back of the car soaking wet, gnawing on soggy marshmallows and wondering if this trauma could get me a pony. Never again.

SPOILER ALERT: I also have strong feelings towards conventional  fishing methods. Yes, this may appear to be a Kodak moment, but the real Kodak moment came minutes later when pole was in tree, Dad was caught in line and I was in the stream catching fish with my hands! I am sure Mom would have photographed that if she was not too busy untangling dad.

“Lindsey catch fish, rawwwwrr.”

 

Also, if you enjoyed or better yet, did not enjoy this blog please consider the follow:

 

 

 

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How to Induce a Facedown (Facebook breakdown)

 

Instant messenger bullying is so last decade. Yes, I will admit I used to frequent Internet chat rooms becausenothing pulls you out of funk like belittling and degrading random strangers via the persona SexiLexiKittyKat19. And I must confess I would get a sick sense of satisfaction out of answering the solicit a/s/l (age/sex/location) with 45/in limbo/behind you. But, I have learned to channel my addiction to the greater good. I like to think of myself as somewhat of a digital Dexter.

Facebook has spurred my desire for online vigilantism, targeting those inept Facebook users who’s abuse of the public forum places me on the brink of taking down my firewall, unplugging my surge protector and craving the Blue Screen of Death.

In response to this frustration I have constructed the ultimate retribution plan, five steps to Facedown (Facebook breakdown). However, I do want to stress the extremity of this attack. Do not implement lightly.

In order to prevent abuse of the Facedown I have included some examples of appropriate activity to target. All scenarios are actual Facebook activity posted by real Facebook users.

Statuses intensely asserting your satisfaction with your life: Woke up early this morning feeling sexy and was getting ready and saying bye to my gorgeous amazing boyfriend when he randomly confessed his love to me.

Itinerary statuses explicitly detailing your entire years plans and emotional reactions, especially when grammatically slaughtered: Well sitting at home as of now. Getting ready to go eat and than go work out and get my Zumba freak on its been forever since i went and worked out and let me say i really need to bad. Done with guys for awhile im tired of them being mean to me for no reason so ima live life to the fullest and just do me. Guys are pigs and always will be.

Photos including but not limited to: romantically gnawing or attacking a significant others face or other body part, holding dead, dying, or mutilated animals and doctored, planned or adjusted idyllic times captioned to create the allusion you are always uniquely happy, majestic or chic.

Playing Farmville or even worse, failing at Farmville: Ariel needs some critter milk to heal her wounded lamb.

Obsessively liking mundane activities and every-day commodities: Lan likes cookies. Lan likes water. Lan likes goingoutside. Lan likes lamp.

Liking unreasonably long and dumb statements: Tara likes “when a girl walks into a room with no make up on, third degree burns, and missing a leg and asks her boy if he thinks she is pretty and boy puts down the Xbox controller, causing him to loose four weeks of progress and says, ‘I don’t like you with no make up on and physically mutilated, I love it.’ Then boy pulls out banjo and begins to serenade her with, I like it, I love it, I want some more of it.”

Now that you have reviewed the evidence and acquired your subject let the physiological warfare begin.

Five Ways To Facedown:

Inescapable friending purgatory With extreme cases, where deserving subjects can be identified upon friend request, leave them in Facebook purgatory. Neither accepting nor deny their friendship will cause hyper-anxiety.

Wall-post schizophrenia: Sporadically delete all of their posts on your wall. For optimal effect alternate between instant deletes and day later deletes.

The Selective de-tag: De-tag yourself only from the photos of you and that person in albums where you are pictured and tagged with their friends.

One click retribution: Attack them in the post passive ways possible, the poke and the like. Poke them, obsessively, everyday. Then like everything you should dislike. This includes all status they post that detail their personal despair and misfortune. If you are successful at this you may even reach the point where you are liking passive aggressive status directed at you!

And that is all folks — five easy ways to Facedown. Enjoy!

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Seattle’s Best

No matter the local, family vacations all seem the same to me. My mother insists on picking a place where we can “equally experience both the city and nature.” But, in all reality she just wants to be able to pretend to be outdoorsy yet return to civilization by nightfall. My family has always been what I like to call “Eddie Bauer outdoorsy.” And this sense of “Eddie Bauer outdoorsy” has led us all over the Mid-West, but not last summer. Last summer the destination was Seattle, Washington.

Seattle had never been somewhere I particularly wanted to go. Maybe it was its reputation for the rain, maybe it was the long list of aviation museums my mom had already prepared, but my level of enthusiasm was struggling to reach apathetic.

But in the same way that a swamp can harvest the most exotic orchids, the streets of Seattle foster lunatics of a gentle breed, lost in the city and in their own minds. Dope-peddlers in torn leather jostling with the elderly, nine-hundred pound behemoths cradling tiny violins. The skies weep with understanding, not disappointment, upon the heads of every gnome in plaid, every dog wearing a hat.

Portland has found its niche as a meth-pumped psycho-pit of dreadlocked pandemonium, folksy to the outside eye but riddled with inner chaos. Seattle toes the line with much more charm and idiosyncrasy than allowed to be crammed into Northern Pacific expectations. Cobain is dead, Soundgarden fell apart, Pearl Jam sold out, and yet the underground still pulses with damp flannel and spit….and I love it.

Folks, here it is! A piece of Seattle’s Best:

VIDEO: http://s1180.photobucket.com/albums/x418/Lindsey_Wehking/?action=view&current=064mp4

 

(Please note, date on image is off due to incorrect camera settings)

 

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Meet Alex

Returning home from college is like returning home from war. Granted, my meals are no Johnny Cakes and Cush, but dinners of FiberOne bars and frozen veggie burgers are arguably no better than MRE (Meal, Ready to Eat). My heart always melts when that big blue door opens to the aroma of freshly bake bead and simmering spaghetti sauce. The glow emanating from the fully stocked fridge always looks so divine. Is that the hum of a kitchen appliance or  the song of heaven’s angles?

13-year old brother: “Why are you on your knees? Are you crying? What’s wrong with you? ” 

Me: “We have pie, pizza and potatoes (The Holy Trinity of Carbohydrates)” 

13-year old brother: “You are so strange.”

He will understand how good he has it when he has the shower door come off the track and crush him while he attempts to clean two days of grime and the stench of coffee off himself under a stream of room temperature water so weak a wash cloth could ring more water pressure.

While even cleaning presents a challenge what I found with my particular residence (kind of a house, kind of hostel) the biggest problem does not seem to be the actual cleaning, but the keeping anything clean for any real amount of time. It is as if dirt emerges out of the woodwork. And literally, it does. Our landlord’s solution to fixing things is not to replace them, but to destroy them enough to put cheap replacements on top of them. So we have entire walls constructed from years of layering Plaster of Paris onto rotting dry wall. And the laminate floor, cut  by someone I can only assume is blind or incredibly awful at puzzles, just sort of lays in slightly fragment pieces on deteriorating wood planks (Do we actually have a floor? I am not sure). Needless to say our rotting house is continually spewing out puffs of dirt and creatures from baseboards, holes, and nests (or what they call in real houses, vents)

Other Complaints:

  • Our fridge self likes to spontaneously collapse
  • There are so many unpleasant smells the stove being left on may not produce a fume considered “unordinary” or “hazardous”
  • I cannot walk in our kitchen without shoes on
  • There are nuclear hot spots
  • The inconsistant heating system has created multiple biomes within one residence
  • We can’t turn on our carbon monoxide detectors…because they never stop going of
  • We have a dumpster in our front yard
  • The homeless people that shop in the dumpster sometimes take our stuff

But, on the plus side, the ambient noise is PRICELESS!

PAQUIN SLEEPMATE 2012

Are you tired of peaceful undisturbed sleep night after night? The Paquin Sleepmate 2012 creates a variety of sounds that completely disrupt all peace or tranquility. You cannot control tone or volume and sometimes the decibel will literally make your ears bleed.

Sounds include:

  • Car honking
  • Ambulance Sires Blaring
  • Homeless Harry (this sound also has many variations such as Harry rummaging through garbage or Harry talking to himself “Yeah she was a whore, but I saw an opportunity and I took it!” )
  • Carbon Monoxide alarm
  • Ceaseless banging
  • Women shrieking
  • Surprise murders sound (These sounds vary greatly but always produce the spine tingling fear someone is being murdered)

Bonus Feature: The new Fire and Ice feature is a temperature control that completes this sensory experience. Fire allows you to wake up  completely drenched in sweat and struggling to breathe while ice will surely provide you a wonderful teeth chatter and purplish skin hue.

Before I left for college I never thought home would be an escape, but I’m on hiatus and it is quite lovely. And look who I just found, my friend Alex.

This is Alex. Alex says hi.

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Cyanide & Sex and the City Reruns

Valentine’s day seems to be peoples favorite holiday to hate. While I am a girl whose most functional relationship has been with my mother and the cast of Cheers,  I have not had  passive aggressive loathing, depressive distaste or pretentious rejection towards Valentine’s day ever since Edwardsville School District 7 stopped forcing me to spend $15 dollars, and four hours writing my classmates names on a scantily clad picture of Britney Spears that says “You Drive me Crazy.” (I hope someone has updated these card with a picture of her bald. She really sings the truth)  And even then I always had a devilish time changing the messages on my cards:

    

Full Disclosure: It was after this “handy work” was distributed  that they started sending me to the school therapist.  Except…we didn’t actually have a real therapist. Instead, they enrolled me in speech therapy, and considered the problem handled. To be fair, it really is the same thing, according the teacher all I needed was someone to talk to (and tell me when what I was saying was “wrong”). With budget cuts, I am actually surprised they didn’t just hand me a broom and send me to shadow Janitor Dan. But, then again, that would not have been as socially traumatic as the loud speaker announcements “Lindsey Wehking, please report to room 606 for speech therapy at this time, thank you” 

Like I said, I have no issues with Valentine’s day, and I really only equate it to the the restocking of the candy bowls in doctor’s offices and on secretary desks. The Christmas (censored: Yes, I pride myself on having a politically correct blog) Holiday candy was really getting stale. But, as I came to realize once I became of dating age, the rest of the world refuses to accept this. Whenever people find out your single on Valentine’s day, and not doing anything people always act as if your dad ran off to Fuji with the housekeeper. “Oh, I’m so sorry honey, that is just such a shame, but don’t worry! You are such a great girl, things will get better” 

So this year, I put on my “hipster in a Wal-Mart” face and gave into the expected cynicism.

“JOE IS TAKING ME TO DINNER AT CHILI’S! IT IS OUR FAVORITE PLACE! What are you doing?” 

“Cyanide & Sex and the City reruns.” 

“That sounds like fun” 

Can you believe that! It worked! People are ridiculous, and I am including my own mother in this. I simply don’t understand why I am not allowed to be single and content with it. If I am not being forced to be angry and jaded by other women (this is not Hallmarks fault) then my mother is sending me books from “The Goodwill” called, Avoiding Mr. Wrong or 258 Great Dates While You Wait. And yes, the former confused me a bit..if this book is supposed to by my time till Prince Charming comes galloping in (Yes, I am just sitting around bored and waiting!), who am I supposed to be going on dates with? Then I thought maybe the book also came with a blind date hotline! Eeeee! That elation lasted until I got to the first page, and oh boy….

pg.1 WHY DO YOU WANT TO DATE? 

Have you ever asked yourself why you want to date? If not, ask it now. Go ahead, say it out loud. “Why do I want to date?”

There are many bad reasons to date: popularity, conquest, pressure from friends, nothing better to do. But then again, there are a few good reasons, too.

(1)You enjoy spending time and getting to know the opposite sex.

(2)You know you can have some good, clean, fun.

(3)You are attracted to him or her (God did that).

(4)You’re wondering what time of person you want to live with for the rest of your life, so spending time with several becomes a good way to find out what personality best fits your own.

Some adults believe that allowing teenagers to date is like putting a kid in a candy shop. They think, Teens are awakening to their sexuality and they are going to want to experiment. When they do, mistakes will be made and consequences will have to be faced- some deadly. It’s better not to let them date at all during their high school years until the are mature enough to handle the pressure. 

Frankly, this post has dragged on long enough, so instead of providing the incredibly witty stream of consciousness occurring while I read this page, I just bolded my favorite phrases! The commentary on this will be part of a larger set included in my stand up comedy routine. And by that I mean the jokes I tell already aggravated customers when my two liberal arts degrees get me that great job at McDonalds.

But, to sum this all up, I am not angry and, while I appreciate the literature, a book is not going to get you closer to the hoard of grandchildren you creepily hound me for, Mom! So this Valentine’s day, send me something eatable, and let me be content! I have a date with Ted Danson. =)

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Full Disclosure: Things I did while writing this blog. 

(1) Googled Britney Spears valentines to find out if phrases from her other songs have been made into children’s cards yet. I think “Hit me baby one more time”, “I’m a Slave 4 U”, and “Gimme More” all have a lot of potential. 

(2) Texted my mom. She just wanted to know if she could sell all my things and paint my room. I went ahead and let her know my childhood is 100% flammable and theres kerosine in the garage if that would be easier.  

(3) Hot glued a stick to my table lamp. I think it is important to integrate aspects of nature into the decor. 

(4) Burnt myself with the hot glue gun. 

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