This may be the last Five Favorite Things because surely we’ll all be dead by next Friday, drowned in our own prolific snot output. Perhaps this is how the zombie apocalypse will finally come. Maybe you should divert some of that retirement money we urged you to spend on Kleenex on machetes and shotguns instead. Don’t say you haven’t been warned. Crazier things have happened. We’ll try to distract you from impending doom with these five amusing things.
- Autopilot cars. Google, that bastion of knowledge and information, has transformed Prii (that’s the plural of Prius. Really. Google it. See – Google knows everything) into robot cars. They’ve been test piloting them around public streets and now they’re taking them to Vegas to show how effective they are against driving where there are a lot of distractions. Of course, there are those over-thinkers who are worried that self-driving cars are a sign of Big Brother’s influence, but we say pish. Those people clearly have not thought of the fabulous possibilities. Amylynn could sleep for ten more minutes in the car each morning. Ava’s family could stop worrying that she’s a menace to society when she’s driving her own car and Kelli could
Facebook to her heart’s content. Genius. We want one.
- Stinky dinosaurs. A study was published this week in Current Biology that postulates that the dinosaurs kept Earth 18 degrees hotter than it is now. Wanna know how? By farting. Yes, you read that correctly. Apparently the sauropods were especially gassy with all the plants they ate. We’ve often considered that Earth would have been really lovely back then with all the wild, unbroken wilderness. Now we’re reconsidering. Quite frankly, instead of paradise the whole place sounds like it smelled like a frat house. **shudder**
- Town of the Future. They’re building it and we will come. We don’t know who “they” are but we need to make friends right quick. This town they’re building will be a 1 billion dollar scientific ghost town out in New Mexico somewhere. They plan to use it for research on everything from intelligent traffic systems (there isn’t one) to self-flushing toilets (??). Here’s the big selling point for the Sisters: no one will live there. It’s a giant, perfect fifteen square mile town void of morons. Perfect for the blogger who hates everyone else. Doesn’t it sound like heaven? No one to pester you and you don’t even have to flush your own toilet. Bliss.
- Haboobs. Our town had a haboob this weekend. That means we had a massive dust storm. It doesn’t mean anything about having boobs, which we do, two each as prescribed by current social convention. There isn’t anything especially funny about dust storms but we defy you not to giggle while watching the local newscasters say “haboob” over and over again, all agitated and self-important like only local newscasters can be. Habooooooob. We don’t care what most of the world thinks, those Middle Easterners must have a sense of humor to come up with that word. Haboooooob. **giggle**
- Western Conference Finals. Amylynn has been trying to figure out a way to mention hockey on this blog for weeks and now’s her chance. The Coyotes have moved to the Western Conference finals for the Stanley Cup and it’s a really big deal because never in the entire history of the organization have they made it this far. Also, even better, the NHL thinks they finally have a buyer that will take over the team who will leave them in Phoenix, shushing all the horrific rumors of the team leaving. Amylynn is beside herself with glee over the whole thing. Her family just wants it to be over. Ava smiles at her like you would a slightly crazy person who might hurt you with their enthusiasm. Kelli ignores her altogether. Amylynn doesn’t care. But we suggest you save yourself and not ask her opinion on save percentages and brilliant goal tending or you’ll hear an endless ode to goalie Mike Smith. And for heaven’s sake don’t mention Shane Doan or she gets all swoony and, really, that’s sorta icky. Go Yotes!
Ooooh, Friday the 13th. Don’t talk to people in hockey masks. Well, unless they’re Mike Smith from the Coyotes. He’s been rockin’ it lately. But then we don’t think Mike Smith is a serial killer. In fact, there haven’t been any NHL players proven to be serial killers. So let’s recap: Don’t talk to people in hockey masks who you suspect are serial killers. You know, we think that might be a pretty good life philosophy in general. That’s enough talk about serial killers – they’re not even a little bit funny. The following stuff, however, is funny, life affirming and generally amusing.
1. Willie Nelson. It has come to our attention that Willie owns a house in our town. Apparently, he visits when he’s not trying to get his pot filled tour buses through border check points. One of our husband’s friends was at a little bar in town and saw him there. The friend sidled up to Mr. Nelson and asked what he was doing there since he didn’t have a show in town. “I have a house here,” Mr. Nelson informed him. You know what this means, don’t you? Now we have to spend all our time sitting in an old cowboy bar like Pancho and Lefty stalkers so we can tell him he’s Always On Our Mind before he’s On The Road Again. We’re Crazy like that. What are the odds that Waylon Jennings might visit because that could potentially put us over the top.
2. Fish Oil. Ick. Ava read somewhere that it helps you lose weight. The doctor says it lowers your cholesterol. All we know is that we’re eating fish oil pills like their freaking candy instead of following a sensible diet. Our theory is, the fish oil makes the fish skinny so why not us. Have you ever seen a fat fish? No, you haven’t. Whales aren’t fish. They’re fat little mammals just like the rest of us. We’re not sure how they get fish oil. We assume they squeeze fish until it all leaks out. We also hope fish oil has the benefit of making us smarter. You be the judge.
3. Employee of the Month. We’re all so proud that we know the Employee of the Month at the The Library of Stuff No One Cares About. This is quite an achievement and it should look excellent on the resume he’s handing out while begging other companies to employ him. We’re sure he’s an excellent librarian since we know for certain he knows his whole alphabet. We think he was a shoo-in since he doesn’t usually sleep at his desk like SOME people he knows. We think we should celebrate. Let’s go to a little bar we know and hang out with a Red Headed Stranger.
4. Target. What is there to say about Target? It’s like the Quill Sister’s Holy Land. Pretend like the Pharmacy counter is the Wailing Wall and the clearance section in the women’s department is La Pieta. If you wander over to the paperback books on a Tuesday it feels just like Mecca. We’re there at least once a week to pester poor Ichabod the Pharmacist or to buy forks for the Bank of No Forks or to replace yet another winter coat for a six year old who’s going to get this one stapled on his little shoulders if he doesn’t cut that crap out. The magic doors open, you hear a choir of angels herald your arrival and the Starbucks lady starts up your latte. AND you can get an adorable cardigan for 4.99. LAAAAA!
5. Yoga postures.Perhaps the people who came up with the names for yoga poses weren’t getting enough oxygen to their brains. The Turtle looks nothing like a turtle. Locust? Who
wants to look like a locust, and just exactly how svelte is a locust anyway? Sun Salutation? We don’t salute anything unless it’s got butter cream frosting on it. You should be able to remember what the poses look like by their names. When that stupid little girl in front of the class tells you to do King of the Dance you should be able to remember that has nothing to do with the Hustle and John Travolta. How about a little truth in advertising here? Half Moon posture? What the hell? Accomplished posture? We seriously doubt it. Corpse Posture and Half Spinal Twist Posture – that we can buy into.