When I Am Sad...

I think of pink dolphins.

Conversations With My Mother.

"Huh. I just realized I don't like chicken anymore. It kind of taste like boogers to me."

"That's it. Liz, I'm done with you. Leave the kitchen."

My New OKCupid Profile!

My self-summary:

If I'm functioning I'm not an alcoholic.

What I’m doing with my life:

Burning those bridges, again and again.

I’m really good at:

Eating cheese.

The first things people usually notice about me:

The dead baby in my arms.

My favorite books, movies, music, and food:

I can't read. I'm blind, deaf and long ago some bitch cut out my tongue and made me live under her stairs with all these other freaky people. So like, I don't care about food anymore.

The six things I could never do without:

My real dolls. Ironically I have six, including the hermaphrodite.

I spend a lot of time thinking about:

How much fun it would be to do a lot of cocaine and go on a slip and slide!

On a typical Friday night I am:

Burying the bodies or hula hooping.

The most private thing I’m willing to admit:

I can't hula hoop.

You should message me if:

You're a fan of cropdusting in public places.

I Am The Wolf, And Also Drunk... ish.

I'm pretty sure there is an anti-establishment gene, also known as the "fuck you" gene. I'm pretty sure I was born with it. I'm pretty sure it might be ruining my life. But the almost normal girl in the terrible shade of purple on the train, who tried to dress nicely for a night out on the town, is wasted across from me on a Saturday night, and I think, "She has a better job than me, she has weekends off, and nice shoes, with a mediocre sense of fashion." And I am so glad I am not her, even if I'm screaming fuck you to the world like a wolf howls reasonless at the moon.

He Never Messaged Me Back!

Dan: hi how are you, ..you seem really interesting and I think we have a good deal in common, I would love to learn more if you have the time ; )

-Dan

Me: I'm not interesting. I'm a fucking freak.

Dan: charming...so how has your week been freak? and what makes you so freakish/ other worldly that I havn't seen in someone before?

Me: I have a tentacle coming out of my butt.

OKCupid Thread: Not My Soulmate

Random Guy: I love cheese so when i see ur good at eating cheese i am like me toooooo

Me: oh yeah? What kind of cheese
I bet I'm like, way better than you at eating it.
I mean you're so young there is no way you have as much experience as me

Random Guy: ne kind i have a birthmark of a mouse
yea its that serious
it has an eye and a tail

Me: bullshit

Random Guy: so i am sorry i am not in ur requirements but u seem cool
i swear
i will show u if ur cool enough to chill with

Me: I'm too cool
sorry

Random Guy: no bigger
so what do u do for fun
lol

Me: I eat cheese
duh
sometimes I cut it too

Random Guy: so would u mind getting to know me besides for my cheese obsession

Me: you don't have a cheese obsession
I do
and you copied me

Random Guy: well regardless i do like ur sarcasm and ur cute
so lets get past the cheese lol

Me: it's not what I really look like
do you like Jesus?

Random Guy: nope
not a jesus freak lol

Me: what about the father?
or the holy ghost?

Random Guy: idk our father
ghost- dude in a sheet not a big fan

Me: I'm VERY Jesusy
I can say the whole our father
ready... our father who art in heaven hallowed be thy name
thy kingdom come
thy will be done

Random Guy: ALRIGHT

Me: on earth as it is in heaven

Random Guy: so what are you lookin for on here

Me: give us this day our daily bread
LOVE
I'm looking for love
isn't everyone?
isn't that why okcupid is so great?

Random Guy: well whats ur perfect date

Me: my perfect date... first of all
he'd have to be at least five hundred pounds, cuz like
I'm really fucking fat
and really hairy, cuz I am one of those chicks that has a mustache
I used to wax it
but I got really tired of doing that
so I just let it be
Are you really fat and hairy?

Random Guy: neither

Me: well then you're definitely not my soul mate

Random Guy: awe shucks

Me: so like, on that note, I'm gonna have to let you go

Random Guy: now my day is ruined ohhhhhhhhh no whatever will i do now

Me: you are like, way too weird for me anyway

Random Thoughts at 1:35AM on a Friday Night. P.S. I'm Sober. Seriously.

I have ice trays, but I never make ice. So when I get thirsty, about once every two weeks, I take a glass of water and put it in my freezer and I leave it there until it gets cold. Regardless, I like it because it makes me feel like I have something in the oven, except that I'm doing the opposite and it's less messy than preparing a meal. So if someone asks me what I'm doing, I can say "I'm cooling!" and magically feel productive. I mean really, it's only one letter off from cooking!

I can't figure out if this makes me a genius, or just really lazy.

When I look down, I realize it doesn't matter, because I have sea turtle slippers. And that's awesome.

If you keep reading, I'll tell you why it's awesome.

It's awesome because everywhere I walk, I feel like I'm cruising the ocean surface with sea turtles as my water skis. I'm pretty sure this is the closest I will ever get to fulfilling my lifelong dream of becoming a mermaid.

Meet my Buddies: The Soy Sauce Aliens!

Haha.

"I know this sounds so trivial ever since Meatloaf wrote a song about it, but it's true. I would do anything for love, well, except for a few things that fall into the category of "that," you know like threesomes or murder or something."

This is the Best Quote About Love.

"Love is a snowmobile racing across the tundra and then suddenly it flips over, pinning you underneath. At night, the ice weasels come." - Matt Groening

Inspired by a Jew.

To a woman, on Halloween, wearing a shoddily put together Charlie Chaplin costume:

"Nice Hitler costume! All you need are angel wings!"

Drug Lesson #666

It is advised not to go number 2 in the (evil) woods while tripping. The paranoia will, first of all, make you stray farther from your camp site in the dark than intended, or that you can even tell. Even then, you will still fear that your friends can hear you pooping, as well as smell it. Second of all, you do not want to look at your own poop when it is not in the toilet while tripping face. It looks different outside of water, A LOT different. So different that you feel like a thirteen year old girl who got her first period, or a boy that jerked off for the first time. "What is that?! Did that come out of my body!? I'm a FREAK!"

Despite these issues, there is the the confusion aspect of a clean break. If you are lucky enough to have a clean break, you don't understand it. How could that monstrosity have left no trace? After obsessive wiping, you begin to think it can't be true, and wonder if you're hallucinating. Then you feel like somehow, you've sat in it, or somehow, have pooped all over yourself. "Fuck, I crapped all over myself, what am I gonna do?!" You grab the flashlight and look at every part of your body, check for traces on your butt cheeks, on your jeans, your shoes. Then you notice the demonic little bush

in front of you laughing, witness to the entire situation. Finally, you have to force yourself to get over it, thank the Universe that it truly was a clean break, and start to bury it. And now as you bury your poop, you feel dirty, like a wild animal. Your hands turn into paws and you almost instinctively do the doggy kickback until you remind yourself that you are human. Finally you have to deal with pulling your pants up, double checking that you are not covered in stinky poop. You must also make sure that your zipped up your fly, five thousand times.

This is entire process will seem to take five years.

So, kiddies, next time, poop before you decide to ingest an eighth of mushrooms in the woods.

OKCupid Thread: I Get Carried Away. Oops?

Guy: so eminem

Me: yeah dude, eminem

Guy: whats the obsession?

Me: he's like omg so hawt
like I want to get with him so bad
I will someday too
cuz like anything is possible you know? I learned that from Cinderella

Guy: uh
are you a real person?

Me: you know how like, Cinderella sings that song? "it's possible for a plain yellow pumpkin to become a golden carriage"

Guy: yes I'm aware

Me: things are happening every day dude! I could totally get with eminem
I saw the secret so like, all I have to do is meditate and make like a vision board and stuff
so like, yeah, I'm totes doing that
I have like, pictures of eminem plastered like, all over my apartment

Guy: so on that note
I'm gonna let you go

Me: whatever dude
you're like, so not hawt anyway
peace out

OKCupid Thread: Why Is This Guy Still Talking To Me?

Guy: Hi, how are you?
I saw your profile and thought I'd say hi :)

Me: thuper
how are you?

Guy: doing well, thanks
what's your name?

Me: Matilda

Guy: ooh, that's a pretty name! :)

Me: thankth

Guy: so, what brings you here?

Me: where?

Guy: to ok
okc

Me: I taught mythelf to fly yethterday!

Guy: wow... you mean on a plane?
Me: no
have you ever theen the boy who could fly?
like that

Guy: not sure i understand

Me: the movie

Guy: ooh... never seen it
but i do remember the movie Matilda
it was made in 1996 :0
:)

Me: http://movies.yahoo.com/movie/1800040511/info
oh I never thaw Matilda
but tho now I can fly like a bird!

Guy: cool
so what brings you to OKCupid ? :)

Me: I like the colorth
the blue and the pink are nithe

Guy: cool...
so tell me more about yourself

Me: I collect glowwormth!
the toyth kind not the real kind

Guy: what is that?

Me: They are like toyth from the eightieth and you thqueeze their tummieth and they glow!

Guy: haha
do you like my profile and pics?

Me: My favorite thongth are Jingle Bellth and that one that goeth... Frara Jacka, frara Jacka!
Yeth I like the leaveth in your picture

Guy: haha thanks
hey, why do you talk kind of ...strange? lol

Me: I have a lithp

Guy: ...in writing? haha

Me: are you making fun of my lithp?
that'th not nithe!

Guy: of course not

Me: you thuck!

Guy: i do not
look... no one has a lisp in the written word....
just talk... normally - please

Me: I have a lithp in my writing so obviouthly not no one doeth
have you ever eaten chocolate covered cockroacheth?
they are my favorite thnacks
what are your favorite thnacks?

Guy: black licorice lace.
i also love twilight :)

Me: twilight ith dumb!
are you dumb?

Guy: certainly not
i love bella...she's awesome

Me: dumb

Guy: whatever
a little...tolerance wouldn't hurt you.

Me: toleranthe ith for puthies!

Guy: are you serious or joking? i can't tell
you don't have a lisp in your profile at all.

Me: I'm tho theriouth!

Guy: take care

Me: peath out thucka!

Stop Child Abuse Now.

Please visit: www.itisnotokaytodressyourbabyupasapinkpoodleforHalloween.com

Put Bug In Hallway 101

"Should I kill it!?"
"No. Put it in the hallway."
"I don't do that. I don't put bugs in hallways. How do you put a bug in a hallway?"
"You put the bug in a cup and you put the cup in the hallway."


"Like so."

For Lindsey Kepnes, With Love From Skiz ;)

The photo below is evident of a rare case of monogramitis. Monogramitis is a form of OCD where the individual becomes obsessed with initialing strange items. Monograms can be classy, and trendy. But when taken to an extreme the individual begins to monogram mundane household items; items that are in fact, useless to begin with. Even if this person received a strange monogrammed item, it is similar to a folie-a-deux, where the person giving the gift sees nothing wrong with this behavior, and encourages it. These kinds of people are called Monogramitis enablers, and though they may not display any symptoms of the disease, are very possible carriers. This enabling behavior is akin to another alcoholic buying an alcoholic a cheap bottle of wine. Of course, an alcoholic will drink it. Of course, despite the ridiculousness of a monogrammed item, in this case, a tissue box cover, the person will proudly display it. You might say, "Well, perhaps it was part of a package. I can't imagine anyone sending away for a monogrammed tissue box holder by itself!" Well, yes, perhaps it was part of a package. Perhaps it was even thrown in a package deal for free! In this case, a healthy person would consider the freebie, and think, "What a gimmick," and upon receiving the monogrammed tissue box holder, would most likely throw it away or, if they are economical, think, "Nice, a new kitchen rag!" In extreme cases, a person may at first send away for something like a monogrammed tissue box holder, and THEN start buying tissue boxes to justify their behavior.


Please take note if you or a friend think you may have developing symptoms of monogramitis, early symptoms include a severe, unexplained obsession with Martha Stewart, particularly in the repeated purchasing of, The Martha Stewart Living cookbook: The New Classics.



If you or a friend need help, please visit: www.monogrammingtissueboxcoversisnotokay.org

I'm Not a Bird, and I Don't Want a Worm.

Dear Morning,

Fuck you.

Love,
Liz

Oh! I Totally Get the Impaired Judgement Thing Now

Things You Should NOT Do When You Are Drunk:

Scale buildings and jump onto ledges
Trust a stranger when they say jumping off the bridge into the Charles River at 3AM is a good idea
Climb to the top of the bat cliff in Mission Hill with a beer in your left hand
Swim to islands
Hitchhike from Dorchester to JP with a bunch of wasted Jamaicans
Climb cranes
Poop in front of a bank
Drink water coming out from a tube in the ground
Run across route 2 in high traffic to get to the bowling alley, again, and again, and again...
Sit on the rail on a bridge over route 3
Drive
Drink more tequila

Things You Always Want To Do When You Are Drunk:

Scale buildings and jump onto ledges
Trust a stranger when they say jumping off the bridge into the Charles River at 3AM is a good idea
Climb to the top of the bat cliff with a beer in your left hand
Swim to islands
Hitchhike from Dorchester to JP with a bunch of wasted Jamaicans
Climb cranes
Poop in front of a bank
Drink water coming out from a tube in the ground
Run across route 2 in high traffic to get to the bowling alley, again, and again, and again...
Sit on the rail on a bridge over route 3
Drive
Drink more tequila

I Agree With the Wall in the Whole Foods Bathroom in NYC

I Love My Job

This is an alien dollhouse.

This is a dragoyle (a gargoyle dragon in drag)

Conversations With Gilman.

Jacobs: "Huh, I've never fucked a guy with a strap on."

Gilman: "Oh really? Never?"

Jacobs: "No, is that weird?"

Gilman: "Liz, it's not like it's common."

Jacobs: "It isn't?"

Gilman: "No, that's like saying...
'Hey, I've never flown... physically with just my own body. My body has never, itself, flown.'"

Jacobs: "Yeah. I've never done that either."

*******

Jacobs: "Hey, when you read "no onions" together, it looks like it says, "Noonions"!

Gilman: "Yeah, like, little minions... that meet at noon!"

Why Is This Song So Popular?

Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world (because her boyfriend dumped her and she has no self-esteem)
She took the midnight train going anywhere (except that it was going somewhere and she just didn't know where, which was probably a stupid idea, cuz now she's probably stranded, but Journey didn't write that part in because it's less romantic)

Just a city boy, born and raised in South Detroit
He took the midnight train going anywhere (apparently it's becoming a trend)

A singer in a smokey room
A smell of wine and cheap perfume
For a smile they can share the night
It goes on and on and on and on

(Okay that whole stanza doesn't even make sense. Who can share the night? What goes on and on?)

Strangers waiting up and down the boulevard (probably for drug dealers)
Their shadows searching in the night (probably for drugs, maybe prostitutes. Drugs and prostitutes?)
Streetlights people, living just to find emotion (when did streetlights become an adjective? What does that even mean? People made of streetlights?)
Hiding somewhere in the night (dude, I hate it when songs try to make a word rhyme with itself. It's a cop out Journey, okay? It's a cop out.)

Working hard to get my fill (Yes you are, Journey, yes you are.)
Everybody wants a thrill
Payin' anything to roll the dice
Just one more time
Some will win
Some will lose
Some were born to sing the blues
(Thank you Dr. Seuss)
Oh the movie never ends
It goes on and on and on and on (OH! The movie goes on! Wait, what movie? Am I watching a movie? I thought I was listening to a song?)

Don't listen to Journey because when you stop believing, anything is possible.

(Also, I'm gonna be a streetlight person for Halloween.)

Don't Eat That! It's A Conspiracy!

Dear hippies and yuppies who can afford the cost of anal retentive fear (in high demand these days in a city like Cambridge),

I really don't care if you think spending too much time on the computer will worsen your eyesight (DUH) or if you think eating any non-organic food will shorten your life. First of all, the healthiest, most pro-active thing you can do is exercise. And do you do that? EVER? No. And to those of you who do, you go to the gym for what, twenty minutes a week? And why? So you can get to work afterwards and go "Yep, I got up early to hit the gym, man I feel great!" in attempt to make the even fatter slobbier guy envy you and say, "Oh yeah, I really have to get to the gym too, SIGH." Everyone can tell that you're still either a scrawny little shit, or overweight. Seriously, do you still think that writing on your hand with ballpoint pen will make your kids (God forbid you ever have any) retarded? Because when your kids come out retarded, and they will, it's genetics, not because you joined the Pen15 club when you were ten.

Billboard advertisements make you cringe, because you're weak-willed enough to know that the second you look at them you become a subversively victimized by their malicious mind control, all the while you flip through AdBusters, a publication that you don't even realize has reached full circle in the rebel, then rise to power and become king, schema. You know why? Because you're a cliche. Because you've read a bunch of bullshit on the internet that said things were bad for you and were scared into believing them. I'm pretty sure tripping on acid is a lot less healthy for you than handling a plastic bottle that releases toxic fumes which rise through the hole in the ozone layer and travel up to special aliens made of fire that live on the sun, angering them so much that they will descend upon you in your sleep and cause you to spontaneously combust. But you don't have a problem doing acid, do you? No, that's much healthier than eating Kraft Mac and Cheese, which according to some site somewhere on the world wide web, it was recently discovered that in every box little microscopic intelligent, bug-like people are planning to conquer your body so they can feast upon your soul.

Here's a newsflash for you: Living is TOXIC, and orange soda rocks. So if you can't accept those two things, then move to the mountains and become a goat.

Seriously,
Liz

P.S. Deodorant might eventually kill you because the chemicals in it are developing sentience and might revolt and start deteriorating your skin until you look like the dude from the mattress in Hellraiser, but the effects of social suicide are worse.

In All Seriousness

I would like to dedicate this blog to one of my best friends, Heidi Kepnes. Since college, we have had the most hilarious moments that I unfortunately cannot remember due to copious amounts of drugs and alcohol. Without her, I would probably not drink as much, I mean laugh as much.

(She's a melted avocado on the shelf.)

Lady Gaga is Satan.

http://vigilantcitizen.com/?p=1676

I Worship Jack Shit.

Spiritual gurus (a status attained by an individual person by traveling the world to look for meaning, who ultimately finds whatever they want, since what they are looking for is always made up by whatever fantasy they need to fill the ever terrifying VOID inside) put forth an exceptional amount of effort to find answers, or rather, THE answer; which can also be described as the biggest cliche in mythology, "God". They seek this knowledge beyond mountains, in the sky, in the middle of the desert where there is absolutely nothing (which ironically is where a lot of people, including Jesus, have found Him), in other "blessed" people, thinking this higher force will touch them when their foot touches the ever mysterious sea. They persist in finding nothing, until one day they realize that "God" is in everything. So basically "God" is nothing and then they call this nothing, "Nirvana," which is the ultimate state of "being." And the Christians tell us we want to be like God, because we are made in his image and likeness and we should strive to be what he is, which, by this little word proof here, we have deduced, is jack shit. So, we should be inspired to act like jack shit and be nothing.

I don't understand religion.

The Emperor's New Clothes

At least a few times a week, I wish I had a police badge, a fashion police badge; "I'm sorry, I'm going to have to give you a citation. Your blazer and your purse and your shoes are all three different shades of green. It doesn't look good. You look like three different species of lizards combined into one body and it's confusing the public. We can't just have you go around wearing whatever you want confusing people all the time. It's visual harassment."

"Excuse me, ma'am, why did you shave off your eyebrows and draw new ones in place of them? Did you not realize they were there to begin with?" It's disturbing to see someone who looks "jarring" and compositionally incorrect. Most people have enough to worry about without having to add why the woman across from them on the bus looks like Sephora vomited all of its surplus on her face. It isn't fair that everyone else has to suffer someone's bad fashion sense. Bad fashion is rude. Have you ever walked by someone and said, "WHAT is he wearing?" These people take something and wear it in a way that is so wrong we can't even identify if they are wearing pants or a stuffed animal. Then they make up names to try and get away with it, like "skort." Uh, that's not a skort just because it's neither a skirt nor shorts. Who the fuck knows what it is? Can something we identify by calling it the combination of two things it is not even be considered clothing?

Imagine asking somebody, "Why are you wearing a skort?" What reasonable answer could anyone give for wearing a skort?

"Well, I couldn't decide if I wanted the sporty comfort of shorts or the classy, casual feeling of a skirt, so I said, HEY! I'll put on my skort! Then I get the best of both worlds!"

Skorts are like the mullet of clothing. Somewhere somebody thought it made sense and nobody had the balls to go, "uh, that shit's lame."

Sporks - cool. Skorts - pathetic.

And what is with clear bra straps? Are you trying to fool me? Because I'm pretty sure everyone can still tell you're wearing a bra.

And I am tired, exhausted even, of suffering from Lady Gaga's bad fashion sense. How come no one noticed that she looks like a three year old who went through her mother's makeup and decided to wear bed sheets as a dress over her bathing suit in the middle of winter and paste feathers to her face, while she's still in her playpen? It's not hot. It's not cool. It's fucking retarded and it hurts my eyes.

Love At First Sight

Shut up. You don't know what love is.

My Trip To Italy

And I said, "YES!" and took a picture:

And my mother made the sign of the cross.

OKCupid Thread: Who's Scaring Who Now?

Average Joe: boo
that's cute right?

Me: I used to think so. Now I realize it isn't and won't be doing it anymore.

Average Joe: oh.
well then i feel like i've at least contributed somehow
and adding is good
and it's embrarassing

Me: That's an interesting word you got there, "embrarassing"
tell me, what does it mean?

Average Joe: well it's like embarrassing but a) give you ammunition and b) shows that I'm human and fallible

Me: Oh yeah, humans are pretty fallible
that's fer sure!

Average Joe: fer wicked
i think it's good you like satan so much

Me: Oh yeah? He a friend of yours?

Average Joe: no but we all need friends

Me: "we" don't all need friends
some people are fine without friends
like serial killers

Average Joe: oh
but they probably kill because they don't have friends

Me: I don't think so

Average Joe: really?

Me: I think they kill because they realize how disposable people are

Average Joe: we are?

Me: And how the world is a better place with less of them

Average Joe: oh that's awkward

Me: Let's face it, we are overpopulated
why is that awkward?

Average Joe: hmm dunno i like people

Me: oh I love people
I think they are great
until they piss me off, and then I hate them
but there are a handful that I just, you know, totally adore
but let's face it, from far away the earth looks like a giant piece of fruit crawling with maggots
You know how when you are on a plane and from that high up people are like bugs? That's what a giant would see
and he would just step on us, and move along

Average Joe: ha

Me: that's why I don't kill bugs

Average Joe: oh right
that's try (I believe he meant to use the word "true")
i need to run
but we can share satan sotries soon
stories

Me: BYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Someone Felt Bad For the Catholics.

In case you were worried about contracting AIDS from a table, countertop or bar surface, fear not:

(Be sure to use it as directed because otherwise it does NOT kill AIDS.)

From Now On Let's Abbreviate Awesome to Awes, and Spell it Oz.

I spent 120 Euros on this mask just so I could take this picture.

Someone's Attempt at Finding a Soulmate and I Discovered a New Hobby.

Chump: Please stop write that fucking book for a second and explain why such an interesting profile is only 48% of a match.
*stop writing.

Me: (no response)

Chump: Creeper, creeper!

Me: nope gotta keep writing the book
it's the only thing I care about

Chump: What is it about?

Me: It's an autobiography about when I fell out of the spaceship and my experiences on this earth compared to my native planet

Chump: Will it be published only on Earth, or are you hoping for an interplanetary success?

Me: I'm hoping I die before it gets published
I can't handle fame

Chump: Ok. Can I keep the royalties from the rights, then?

Me: nope

Chump: Bad alien.

Me: my cats get those, sorry
plus I hate humans and am only on okcupid to decipher their behavior for my book

Chump: That's going to be one groundbreaking book.
Question is, if you are using a website for your research, couldn't you be writing the book from your home?
That would be one hell of a telecommute, but I'm pretty sure that Verizon is taking FiOS to your door.

Me: Uh huh, when I bring the script back to my planet I assure you my species will conclude that you humans must be destroyed due to pure idiocy alone

Chump: Dilbert principle?

Me: no. Dilbert is a douchebag. This account is much more real

Chump: These words would hurt Scott Adams' feelings, if he had any.

Me: I'm sure Scott Adams is an idiot

Chump: Now, what is it that you do besides lurking on OkC?

Me: You people are all the same
I hang out with my cousin
He's famous

Chump: In which galaxy?

Me: Here on Earth
I'm sure you've heard of him
His name is Alf

Chump: hahaha
I'm sorry, but your cousin is a double.
I ran over him a couple of weeks ago.

Me: You are so full of shit
Liar

Chump: I thought he was a mutant poodle, who learned to hitchhike.

Me: I have to go murder children. Nice talking to you.

Raisins.

I don't really care about the meaning of life anymore. I'm just really curious as to why I never buy raisins.

Green Couches, Aliens, and Love.

"There's some special reason for me to be here. And I feel really homesick all the time. And so do the other aliens. And I only have a chance to come across like a handful of other aliens, throughout the rest of my life. Eventually one day we'll find out what we're suppose to do." - Kurt Cobain

A Beach Outing with my Mother

Daughter: "It's going to be overcast again today."

Mother: "No it isn't. Look, there's an angel!"

Daughter: "That's a cloud."

Mother: "No, in the cloud, there's an angel!"

Daughter: "You're insane."

Mother: "Have faith, heathen!"

"cause of there taste receptors, and everyone likes sweet stuff."

So I have been wondering, for months, ever since they drowned in my honey bottle, why do ants like sweet things? I Googled it and found the first response was a Yahoo Answers! question:


Resolved QuestionShow me another »
Why do ants like sweet food?
I have always wondered why ants like sweet things, why not sour or spicy?
2 years ago
Report Abuse

Mars
Best Answer - Chosen by Voters

To ants, the sweet scent is the strongest, therefore they are attracted to sweet foods...
2 years ago
50% 2 Votes
Report Abuse
Action Bar:
1stars - mark this as Interesting!
Email
Comment (1)
Save
Other Answers (8)
Show:

Anonymou...
Why do humans like sweet things better than sour/spicy?
2 years ago
0% 0 Votes
1 Rating: Good Answer3 Rating: Bad AnswerReport AbuseSorry, you must be Level 2 to rate

Anthony G
cause of there taste receptors, and everyone likes sweet stuff.
2 years ago
0% 0 Votes
0 Rating: Good Answer2 Rating: Bad AnswerReport AbuseSorry, you must be Level 2 to rate

Click Me!!!
Mostly all insects eat for the natural sugars found in foods, hence "sweet" food. Also it naturally attracts them too it.

Ps by ther way, why would you need to know this??? lol
Just curiosity??? jk
2 years ago
25% 1 Vote
0 Rating: Good Answer0 Rating: Bad AnswerReport AbuseSorry, you must be Level 2 to rate

C.Putty
because ants are so spicy,YOU ROCK
2 years ago
0% 0 Votes
2 Rating: Good Answer0 Rating: Bad AnswerReport AbuseSorry, you must be Level 2 to rate

GinaBina16 ♥ ツ
idk. why do we like sweet, sour and spicy foods? maybe ants do like sour and spicy foods.
2 years ago
0% 0 Votes
0 Rating: Good Answer0 Rating: Bad AnswerReport AbuseSorry, you must be Level 2 to rate

Elly M
Because sugar is high in energy. If ants have to forage for food, the higher amount of energy in one carry-size piece, the better. Spices, citrus, etc (things ants tend to avoid) have less nutritional value for them.

When ants eat leaves and other plant matter the energy they gain from the it is the starchy sugars that the plant produces for itself. This is somewhat similar to normal household sugar, so it follows that ants would go for the sugar before the curry.
2 years ago
25% 1 Vote
2 Rating: Good Answer0 Rating: Bad AnswerReport AbuseSorry, you must be Level 2 to rate

Boo
We have an influx of ants at the moment with all the rain hanging about.
Funnily enough the two things on our house they seem most attracted to are peanut butter & tissues (they eat holes in them) how strange is that???
2 years ago
0% 0 Votes
2 Rating: Good Answer0 Rating: Bad AnswerReport AbuseSorry, you must be Level 2 to rate

ragaekas...
as they like fish fingers
2 years ago
0% 0 Votes
0 Rating: Good Answer0 Rating: Bad AnswerReport A

Saran Wrap Blues

(A poem I wrote while opening the kitchen.)

Where are the plastic lids?

I am tired of walking around a place
I don't want to be in
Looking for things I can't find

I hate saran wrap
I just was never very good at it

An Interesting Relic.

I found this on my computer:

"Guys, would you like to watch this video about Apollo 11, or would you like to talk about anal sex? You choose."
"I'm crustier than a crust kid who tries to be crust... crust kids are stupid."
"This generation's way overindulged, and we're gonna pay for it real fuckin' soon."

A Facebook Thread.

Note: I arbitrarily change my relationship status based on nothing at all.

Liz is single. · Comment · Like · Hide Feedback (12)

Heidi Kepnes so the relationship between you and yourself had a falling out, huh? you think you know some people! geez.

Liz Jacobs I'm giving honesty a chance.

Liz Jacobs I mean first I was married, then I was in a relationship, then I was engaged, and then I was in a relationship again and then I was widowed. And I thought, maybe widowed is a little morbid. And I really didn't feel like being engaged or married or in a relationship anymore.

Heidi Kepnes whats wrong with a little morbid? I think I'm going to change my relationship status to widowed.

Liz Jacobs I guess nothing. But I think I was getting kind of pretend sad being a pretend widow.

Heidi Kepnes awwww

Heidi Kepnes you're so right. I just changed my relationship status to widowed and I feel sad about it. huh.

Liz Jacobs Yeah cuz it's like, if you did have a husband he would be dead. And that sucks.

Heidi Kepnes yeah thats tragic. I'm really depressed about my non existent dead husband.

Liz Jacobs Well, even if you put in a relationship, it's like... God, why is my boyfriend never around? So if you put it to single the asshole boyfriends and dead husbands just disappear and things get better and you don't feel sad anymore.

Chelsea Mauck Why not make the leap and put your relationship status as PRETEND. Fuck the grey area...just a thought!

Liz Jacobs I just don't know what's real anymore.

Name Source: Swallowing the Rock

I started this blog to work out some issues I was having with life. I began to delete every post after I wrote it due to the serious, shit-spewing chaos that ensued from paranoid thoughts from negative situations. It was, I had metaphored it as (yes I believe I can make anything a verb. I also believe I can add er and est to anything I want.) swallowing a giant rock. Then I thought, dang, why am I trying to swallow a giant rock? And then I looked around, and everyone around me was trying to swallow a giant rock too! And at first I wanted to shout out, "Hey guys, let's break the rocks up and eat the pieces!", and then I thought, who wants to eat rocks anyway? So I put my giant stone down and watched the rest of the world in awe. I live among a bunch of idiots trying to figure out how to swallow giant rocks because someone, somewhere, told them they had to do it. And I just started laughing my ass off. I was amazeder than the time someone finally told me what Twitter was. It had to be the amazingest realization I've ever made in my life. I suggest you do it too. Put the rock down. Laugh.

Did Bruce Springsteen Shit or Get Off the Pot?

My mother stopped by today to drop off an original Troll doll hand-made in Norway, that I got at a magick shop in Rome. In the middle of an existentialist life crisis, I remained silent, soaking wet in a towel, unprepared for her timely arrival, as I am with most things. Every day lately is "one of those days." She asked me what's wrong. She said I was non-responsive and curt. Nothing. Nothing. No really. Nothing. I have no money. I can't pay my rent. I don't understand how this happened. There was no water all morning. I don't understand why I'm living in an apartment. It's a mess in here and I can't even justify cleaning it anymore. I don't have enough quarters for the machine downstairs. It's too hot out. I have to hand wash my bras. I feel like I live in the early 1900's. When I was ten I figured I would achieve the American dream by now. The only thing that excites me is recording weird electronic sounds produced by car alarms and drawing charcoal pictures of myself naked wearing an undersized Mexican mask that represents life and death. I don't understand what went wrong. Am I mentally ill? Is that the problem? It must be. Should I commit myself? Am I like Charles Manson? Would I like it better in prison? Was it all those years I wasted on drugs? Was it the alcohol? Years obliterated by my deadbeat ex-boyfriend? What is it? Why am I here, and for the love of a god I don't believe in, why am I so fucking weird? In her response she said a lot of words that sounded like this, "Blabla, mawa gaga woo hoo doo doo ga blabla." But she ended it with something profound. "Shit or get off the pot Liz!"

Huh. Am I even on the pot? I must be on the pot if she said that, right? I guess I am on the pot. But do I have to shit? What am I doing on the pot if I don't have to shit? Do I have to shit? If I do it's not coming out. Epiphany! That's my problem! I'm constipated. All day I spent listening to Bruce Springsteen and hating his songs about the American struggle to achieve the American dream, because look where he is. Look where Bruce is. Famous. Rich. Does he really know? Does he? Is he just a music producer's scam? All I know is what I read about him on the internet, and what VH1 told me when I was eight.

Why can't I talk to Bruce Springsteen in person? He's a human, I'm a human, I should be able to talk to him if I want to, on the phone even. I should be able to say, "Hey Bruce, I really get it, I do, your music. I understand it." But like all "famous" people, he has a middle man. That's what happens in an over-populated world. All the successful people are unreachable, they have people speaking for them. That's what happens when you get awesome.

Why am I here, in a laundromat? Why am I still, after years, putting quarters in a goddamn laundry machine? Why don't I even have my own detergent? This is the direct result of following dreams. Waiting for signs from the universe that you're doing the right thing. Believing, having faith that good things come to those who wait. But do they? I mean, do they without a college degree?

"Hey Mustafa..." Mustafa. MooooSTAFAaaah! Mustafa has it made. Sure, he works in a laundromat. But his name is Mustafa. I bet life would be better if my name was Mustafa. Maybe I should have people call me Mustafa from now on and see what happens. Maybe if my name is Mustafa I'll win the lottery. But then what if people find out that my name is not really Mustafa? What if I do win the lottery and then someone finds out, and the IRS comes and takes away everything I own? And I ask why, and they say, "Sorry. Everyone thought your name was Mustafa, LIZ." It's amazing how such bad ideas are disguised so impeccably as shiny brilliant ones.

Drinking doesn't work for me anymore. I quit cigarettes for the same reason. I quit a lot of things because I was tired of needing things. I was tired of wanting things. But sometimes when I do need a little bit of something, coffee works. And when I get coffee I have a donut. But most of the time I get two donuts, because I can't decide between glazed and chocolate frosted. And I always feel incredibly American when I eat two donuts. It makes me wish I was fat. I wish I was a real, fat greasy American with sugar residue on my chubby American fingers and a dollop of chocolate frosting hanging from my chin, dressed in a hot pink tank-top and size fifty million khaki shorts with sandals I bought at the dollar store, on the phone with my ten kids telling them to shut up, mom's having mom time with her American donuts and her thoughts about how she should maybe join Weight Watchers before her fat, slobby husband's porn habit starts to really get out of hand.

I must be mentally ill.

I am staring at my laundry going around and around. The foreign girl who works here is looking at me; I think because I haven't blinked yet. I feel like I'm on heroin. There is something about very Zen about spinning laundry. The way the disembodied clothes spin slowly, stop, go faster at times with that soft glugging "woosh" that is like the music of universe, the orchestra of the mundane, reminding us that no matter how hectic our lives get, boring things are necessary. I look at other people's laundry and it's even more comforting when it's not your own. Other people's laundry, going round and round, just like mine. And it's comforting to know that other people's lives are also boring. Other people watch their laundry just like me, hoping to achieve the American dream, that will free them from future years of zenning out in laundromats. It could even be Bruce Springsteen's laundry, somehow, the same as mine, only, boxers instead of thongs. And one day I will have a maid to do my laundry. She'll be like Bruce's middleman. Her life will be experiencing my boring zen, so I don't have to. Because then I'll have better things to do, like stay at home with my ten children telling them to shut up because my soap opera is on.

I can't wait for my dreams to come true.

I realize that I put my laundry on permanent press. Great. That means it's going to take forever now. That means it's not going to get clean. That means all my efforts, wasted, microcosmically, just like the big picture. What does permanent press even mean? I can't even wrap my head around it. Is it permanent? Is anything permanent? I don't think anything is permanent. Even permanent marker has to end, at least when the world does. And it will end, the world, someday. They shouldn't call anything permanent, actually. I am pretty certain that falls under the category of "false advertising." And press. I'm not pressing my clothes, I'm washing them. Even if I chose permanent press, even if the tag said, "permanent press only," I still would not be ironing them at this point. I don't think I would iron them at all actually, even if I was supposed to do that after I wash them. Does Bruce Springsteen iron his clothes, or does he have a middleman for that too? Does Bruce exist, or does someone do that for him too?

I think the last time I ironed something I was ten. I think I was ironing patches on my girl scout vest. I think the whole time I was doing it, I was thinking, "This is so dumb." I used to half-ass my efforts to get badges. I wanted the jewelry making badge (because it was pretty) so I made a bracelet out of construction paper and put stickers on it. It probably took me three minutes. It's like the time in art school we had to make a tea-cup. I took a bunch of drugs and made it out of masking tape and painted it the colors of anarchy. I never understood why we had to do such petty assignments. Just because some avant garde artist somewhere made a teacup out of fur, I now have to waste valuable time in my life to copy her idea. I had better things to do, like listen listen to The Cure and drink a flask of Gordon's and feel alone.

It was like the time I was really high and my teacher gave me a video camera and told me to make a movie. I, the picture of technologically retarded, while she explained how to operate the camera, stood there staring at the thing, terrified, nodding, "Yes I understand," thinking, "What IS this thing? Video cameras are so strange." After hitting many buttons and almost breaking it a few times, I figured out how to make it record. I videotaped my stuffed animal Ninja Turtle (Raphael) for twenty minutes and slept for the rest of my four hour studio class. When I showed it to her, she told me what a great job I did. Her, a nice, accepting and encouraging teacher, finding appreciation in all effort, especially the delinquent efforts of a stoned as fuck art kid; me, feeling like I just robbed a bank and got away with it, thinking, "My teacher is stranger than a video camera". And while other students used their four hour video footage to make stop motion animations I just set my footage to Anti-Nowhere League's "Let's Break The Law," put some dumb i-movie effects on it, and aced the semester long project. The whole thing took me about an hour or two. And I did it because I knew, despite the little time it took, there's a certain demographic of people that would rather see a stuffed animal Raphael doing Ninja moves to punk rock than watching dancing oreos in a circle around their package like a cliche Super Bowl adverstisement. They are called, "real" people. Situations like these are why I'm writing this blog.

If I could talk to Bruce Springsteen I would ask him how he did it. I would ask him, "So Bruce, did you shit, or did you just finally just get off the pot?"