In an herculean feat of re-branding, the folks at PETA have declared that fish are now to be known as Sea Kittens. (Because who would want to hurt a sea kitten?)

In addition to being unable to draw an accurate analogy, they seem to have done rather poorly in biology class. Of course an appropriate name for "baby sea kittens" is not "caviar", any more than the unfertilized eggs in my ovaries should be called "babies".

The PR team that conceived this campaign should be tarred with salmon roe and dragged through the streets of a fishing village at night behind a beat up black Econoline van covered in BillyBasses that are all singing Love Me Tender.

I love animals, but I hate PETA.

Some hardcore Christian whackadoodle is convinced that I am the Perfect Girl for him--I just need to clean up my fucking foul language, get rid of my pets, and find Jesus so I won't be "weirded out" (his phrase and usage) with all that sick kinky stuff. And wouldn't you know, he's made it his mission to save me! But the best bit--the very best bit--is that once he leads me to Jeebus, I'll realize that I was going to burn in Hell and I'll be so intensely grateful to him for saving my soul that--after this realization and gratefulness occur--I'll make a "decent wife and mother" for "our" children.

. . .

*blink*

*blink*

I dunno, but aside from the kid factor, that sounds pretty fucking top/Dom, to me.

I'm almost ashamed to admit that I have been taunting him.

Almost.

:P

For a couple of weeks now, I've been trying to come up with the best way to encapsulate just how godawfully sucktastic The Happening was. I've considered metaphors and other comparatives ("It was clown shoes."), pop-cultural correctness ("It was made entirely of fail."), and general crudeness ("It fucking sucked big fat fucking donkey balls."). None of these even begin to scratch the surface of the huge, festering, crusty, oozing, pustulent chancre that infested my brain for what felt like three hours but was thankfully a mere 91 endless minutes. And that's just the general suckage I'm on about, here--like the dialogue. I'm not going into the preachy aspects of it. As far as I am concerned, he can shove his morality play up his ass.

Oh, and that poor bastard Mark Wahlberg sucked, too--but only because the very *part itself* sucked, bit, blew and chewed dehydrated wombat testicles. (John Leguizamo didn't suck too horribly, but then, he didn't get a lot of screen time, either.) You can't make shit shine, and this filthy, parsimonious piece of cinematographic crap is no exception. I cannot believe I sat through it. What was I thinking???? It must have damaged my brain so severely that I was rendered temporarily unable to defend myself.

So, yeah. The Happening? Shouldn't have.

Well, the stock market has just taken its second-largest point drop evar. Much like hughcasey, I am starting to take a serious look at my low-tech skill sets. So, so glad I heat this place with wood. Now, I just need to refresh my canning skills, and dig out my Hearth Cooking books....

[There are probably some scary, hardcore SCA-types who think we're heading for some kind of Postman-esque apocalyptic future in which they'll somehow manage to come out on top. (Because god knows, we'll really need guys who can brew shitty mead and panel-beat their own codpieces out of purloined road signs.)]

Yet, anyway.

Still alive, still barely functional, currently incomparably irritable, and only dreaming of food.

I HAVE to be able to take this final on Thursday--I simply MUST. If I had this wedding business to do over again, I'd tell her to stick it up her ass. I should have known that of all weddings, hers would be the most likely to have "mass food poisoning" as a highlight.

Don't. Just don't.

And on another note...

Dear Jerk-Who-Grabbed-the-Waitress's-Ass-At-the-Wedding-Planning-Dinner,

Waitresses were not put on this earth to be pawed by you, flirt with you, or give you the impression that they might desire to sleep with you in order to get a tip. What you're looking for is a prostitute.

Let me explain.

In short: Waitresses are expected to politely and efficiently get your food. Prostitutes are expected to politely and efficiently get you off.

It's sad that practitioners of both professions fare better financially when they feign finding the clientele attractive. Having performed in both arenas, it was my experience that feigning sexual interest (in the case of waitressing) or affection (in the case of paid sexual activities) in a customer or client is a BAD idea. The last thing you want is some idiot taking it seriously and waiting for you outside the building, or even following you home. While that's something that people in service professions deal with all the time, I think that the feeling of intimacy and artificial domesticity created in bedroom and restaurant environments (let alone the sex) only encourages that kind of behavior. (And yes, I said "people" rather than "women," here--ever been to a hen party? Woah, nellie.)

My advice, if you desire food and an ego boost, would be to date someone who can cook, marry someone who can cook, indulge in both of the aforementioned options, or go entirely cliche and hire yourself a hooker and order takeaway.

(...and now, after recently reading something on the ScienceBlogs feed about strippers earning more when they're ovulating, I'm wondering how many men find themselves seeking professional sex services after being shot down by their waitress. Damn, damn, damn. I really do have other things I should be doing.)

I will eventually internalize the fact that Alpha Male is traditionally served smothered in Pompous with a generous helping of Ass. Just *once* it would be nice if they could add a dash of Humility and, perhaps, a sprinkling of Humor.

You know, if this really was a restaurant we're talking about, I'd have moved on to another dish a long time ago. Perhaps it's no longer a question of changing my ordering habits--I think I need an entirely different fucking restaurant.

Ivy: 2

University bookstore manager: 0

If I never have to deal with this woman again, it will be too soon. Still, I rather enjoyed gnawing on her dismembered carcass in front of her useless and apathetic staff, so perhaps it wouldn't be entirely unpleasant to go for round 3.