Category Archives: farts


I realized today that, not only do I enjoy the actual work part of my job like a thousand times better than my previous job, the number of perks of being able to work from home when I want are quickly adding up.  Of note:

  • no bra? NO PROBLEM!
  • making up (and then loudly performing) funny songs and/or profanity-laden word salad at things I see? WHY THE HELL NOT?!
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Have I ever told you…

that the house I grew up in was haunted? Now, you might be picturing a ramshackle, run down piece of crap house, but ours was nothing like that.  It was a cute brick ranch in a middle-class neighborhood with a very above-average yard (my parents have the greenest thumbs of anyone on the planet).  We had hair touching, and phantom tv noises, and “who the hell was I playing with?” moments and parents falling out of the attic but feeling pushed moments.

My parents have since moved to a larger house in a town about 10 miles away, and every time I visit I go by our old house.  It is apparently empty now, and I desperately want to find the woman who bought it to ask her if anything ever touched her hair or otherwise scared the crap out of her.

that sometimes I do lots and lots of random shit at odd hours? For example, it is now 3:03 am, Eastern time, and I am blogging. Two hours ago I was taking a camera phone photo of myself and my room as proof of the aftermath of ebaying.  I tore shit apart in my entire apartment looking for one USB cord that is seriously about 10 years old, all so I could sell my old digital camera.  I did a total super-cussin’ victory dance that included thanking Jesus [for real], fist pumping, jumping around and doing some weird cheerleader-type stunt with the help of my bed.

One night about a year ago, I decided to move my entire living room around, also at about 3am.  After thirty minutes of sweating and cussing, I realized I hated it and went to bed very angry.  I moved it back about a week later, completely crestfallen.

Cleaning the bathroom and driving also make this list.  Maybe those don’t necessarily qualify as “random shit” but most people I know do not take a two to three hour nap just so they can drive at 4am and avoid traffic, or decide that their bathtub HAS to be sparkling after a night out til 2.

that almost nothing grosses me out? (This does NOT count worms on the sidewalk) If you look closely, you’ll see I have the categories “farts” and “snot and boogers” in this blog.  My family has no qualms about discussing bowel movements and nasal output.  I’m lucky that many of my friends feel this way as well.  It isn’t uncommon for my friend Katie and I to email or text each other:  “Dude, I just took the greatest shit of my life.  It filled the bowl,” or “My butt just exploded.”  The latter is often after we hit up our favorite sushi joint.  Go figure.

My brother-in-law and I discuss farts on a regular basis and I have often been the victim of his crop dusting skills. And he is an EXPERT.

that my ideal house is one that may resemble a castle, will probably creep people out a little when they come over, and will also probably be dust-filled? Ok, so we can probably attribute the dustiness to my hatred of dusting. Seriously. I have not dusted my apartment in YEARS, except for the last time this guy I’m kind of seeing came over.  And that was just a dusting of the bookshelves around my Mexican money and skeleton key collection.  However, dust does lend a certain creep factor to things and although I am by no means some goth girl, I LOVE creepy.

I think antiques and dark wallpaper and damask fabric are beautiful things and I am all over trying to have a house that features this.  Bonuses would include: gargoyle statues, an atrium with tinted windows so it always seems gloomy out, and a library with large windows flanked by heavy, heavy drapery.


Who are you perverts???

Ok. Like many bloggers, I am slightly obsessive when it comes to finding out how people are directed to my database of drivel.

Here are two samples of some recent google searches that have directed folks here:


* i assume that the part you can’t see says “during sex”. as i got a tattoo recently, the artist regaled us with his story of the first time he had sex with his current girlfriend: total squat fart.

as you can see, someone googled “bikinis” and found their way here. fairly benign search term, no? i assume they landed on the photo of my sister and myself wearing our green bikinis and our dad’s workboots/workshoes when we were little.

what is NOT fairly benign, however, is past searches for “little kids in bikinis” that i’ve seen before.

i do not want some pedophile getting his rocks off looking at a photo of me from when i was 2.

with a passy.

and who, pray tell, is karrie kendrick? a porn star, i presume? LK, maybe a relative of yours?

a tip for whoever was caught jilling their boss: either you don’t know what jilling means, or your boss is seriously getting the raw end of the deal.


again, why is someone googling “kids in bikinis”? PEDOPHILE!

and, i had no idea that herman munster ever dressed as a woman. of course, i was never that into the munsters, so i guess it could’ve been part of some crazy plotline.

or not.

and, of course the biggest pervert population of them all [according to the above exact scientific evidence]: people searching for poop/vomit and genital-related videos.

Two Girls, No Vomit

 …but almost. 

*A couple of weeks ago, I was at my friend Cool Amanda’s house and, since we had discussed it at work a few times, made her find “2 Girls, 1 Cup” for me.

I’d watched a few videos of reactions to “2 Girls 1 Cup” and HAD to see it for myself.

Amanda told me she’d find it for me and I could watch it, but she just couldn’t.  “If you make it past 15 seconds, you’ve beaten everyone we know,” she told me. 

I made it about 40 seconds in, then experienced something I NEVER experience: spontaneous nausea.

I never get grossed out. I mean, NEVER.  Worms on the sidewalk are gross [see and others] yes, but I don’t have actual rising gorge when I encounter them.

“2 Girls, 1 Cup”: a whole different matter.

What the hell do these people eat that makes them shit like that? A steady diet of indigestible marshmallow fluff? Geez!

Amanda says my face was red the whole time and my reaction was priceless.  I may wait a while, watch it again, and have someone video me.

After I’d calmed down a bit and decided I wasn’t going to puke all over my friend’s living room, we decided to take it to the next step: “4 Girls Fingerpainting”.

How the hell did these girls control their gag reflexes? I mean, they even had to use the fingers down the throat method just to vomit [it was all part of the shtick.]  Plus, the room they were in looked highly suspiciously like a child’s room/nursery.


* WARNING: if you have been living under a rock for the past few months [like me] and don’t know what “2 Girls, 1 Cup” is, or what “4 Girls Fingerpainting” is, you should probably know that it is HIGHLY NSFW.  OR NOT SAFE FOR LIFE, even.

Another year, another list of whatever

Top search engine subject that directs people to this blog:

ZELDA (and derivatives: Zelda Goldman, Zelda Pet Sematary, Zelda Pet Cemetery, etc. You get the idea.)  Apparently, I am far from being the only person who has had the living piss scared out of them by her. Thanks to self-induced immersion therapy, I can now write about her and have google tell people to come read the stupid shit I write. Thank you, Stephen King.


Top instrumental song that I could listen to on repeat for hours:

“The Music Box” by Unwed Sailor.

Running a close second:

“I Can’t Remember” by Mogwai

Total hours spent in unofficial “tech support” mode for family, friends and coworkers in the past two weeks:

Roughly twelve. Mom was right: I really should’ve gone to school for computer stuff (JSYK, that was the technical term).

Number of people I regret doing the “auto-smile” thing at when rounding a corner at work:

One. Just one. And you know her as BTSG. I REALLY wish I could put auto-smile in check once in a while. Or at least that I could’ve ripped a fart (I’ve been gassy lately) in her direction to make up for accidentally being nice to her.

Top hilarious website of the past 24 hours:

The Bible, as translated into LOLCat. I can has light?

Number of times someone told me they loved me on New Year’s Eve:

About fourteen. I also got about six cheek-kisses, one check-zoober, and seven arm-holds.

Top underrated and under-listened-to band of the last five years:

The Electric Soft Parade. This may be due to the following facts: they are from the UK, they haven’t ever toured in the States (I think), and a lot of us Americans have shitty taste in music.

Most-consumed (by me) potato chips of 2007 (and I am not a big potato chips fan):


These things are fucking GOOD. And my left thumb is fucking stubby. JSYK, that is the tip of my mp3 player on the desk, not a pink vibrator.

Celebrity crush that I am most embarrassed about, even though my friend Cool Amanda agrees with me:

John Cena, pro wrestler.

Celebrity crush that I’m not horribly embarrassed about:

Zachary Quinto

Worst surnames we’ve come across at nightwork:

Baskatawang and Soberanis.

I would tell you the worst FULL names, but I think that might not being staying on TASC [thorough, accurate, secure, cautious].

Worst perfume/fragrance I have EVER smelled:

Demeter’s Bonfire bonfire-left.jpg

Normally, I LOVE the smell of burning wood, real fireplaces, etc, but my friend Katie and I were messing around in a store and we sprayed some of this on my wrist.  Two hours later, I still had a headache and felt nauseous from the smell.

It does NOT smell like a real bonfire, y’all.

Probability that I will come up with a similar list in the near future:


BTSG Strikes Again!

Oh, my.

Last night at work, about four of us ended up catching on to the fact that BTSG was basically doing no work to speak of.

Instead, she was surfing the internet the entire time.  As in, myspacing, facebooking, blogging, etc.

I walked by once, and she had about three tabs up. One of them was livejournal.

“Jackpot!” I thought.

I had no idea it would get SO much better.

After a few rounds of “Let’s see what internet site BTSG is on NOW”, one girl let us in on a little secret.

Ok, back up.  I need to say that BTSG had made a sudden disappearance and I was under the impression she had gone home since I hadn’t seen her for about half an hour.

Oh, boy was I wrong.

She finally showed back up after I was returning from picking up food and getting a soda.

My dinner didn’t go down as well as planned, since, as I walked back to my desk, BTSG was leaning her very large frame over someone’s desk, giving me a very large view of her very large rear end.


But, I digress.

As we were all sitting there just cracking up at the audacity of our “coworker”, one girl, I’ll call her V, let the secret out: “Guys,” she said, “BTSG was just in the bathroom with a book.”

Poor V had gone on an innocent pee break and had to encounter BTSG emerging from a stall, book in hand.

V noted to us that “it didn’t smell like BTSG was having STOMACH PROBLEMS, if you know what I mean.”

So BTSG spent half an hour reading a book on the toilet.

Ten minutes after that, she clocked out for her break.


Finally, BTSG left for the night, and we were semi-free to bitch about her aloud [one little guy remained, and we’re still not sure if he’s too weird to realize what a headcase BTSG is].

After I revealed to CW/S, S, and V what I had seen on my latest pass by BTSG’s computer, CW/S and S decided to do a little digging.

They figured out BTSG’s login [not hard to do when someone never changes their password!] and checked her browsing history.

We found her livejournal name… and so much more.

About a hundred entries for “Stardust pictures”, several visits to the rubbermaid brand site (?), several websites for song lyrics (complete with misspelled titles), and, the best but most disturbing thing ever: several google searches and webpages for this subject: mental masturbation.

And how to conquer it.

I immediately began miming a girl jilling off, but on my forehead going “Y’all? Do you think this is what it looks like?”

Cue everyone participating in a mass-vomit.

Anyway, back to BTSG’s livejournal: the title of it has MY last name in it.


Ok, ok, so, although my last name isn’t the most common in the world, it IS a fairly common word.

But still: creeeeeepy.

We scoured the first few pages of BTSG’s blog, searching for my name, our company’s name, and the word “work”.

We found out that BTSG does a whole lot of blogging at work, a whole lot of bitching, and apparently HAS dated a girl.

And that’s it.

No scathing entries about how “those girls at work” have been “mean” to her, or how she longs for our friendship.

A little disappointing to find out that BTSG writes about a bunch of crap, but worth it to know that she has “a fictional doppelganger”.

who happens to be named after one of my friends [and former coworker].

The cast of characters

You may have noticed that I encounter quite a variety of characters in my daily life.  I’ve decided to make a list of them, along with short descriptions and links to longer entries about them.  I may even sneak in a couple of new ones.

1. Pentagenarian: the 50-something lady with whom I work.  Known for wearing short skirts and clicky shoes and walking REALLY fast around the office.  Hasn’t been  mentioned around The Fresh Cracker lately because she seems to be starting to comprehend the fine line between inquisitive and nosy.

2. Lady Criesalot: The early 20-something coworker who calls her parents “Mama and Daddy” even in conversation with others.  Cries almost daily over ex-boyfriends, current boyfriends, and her daddy being mean.  Likes to bust into my office yelling “Hola!” at the exact moment I’m furiously typing to get shit done.  Doesn’t get the hint when I continue typing and do not look at her.  Also, gets mad when I don’t have time to go to her office and show her basic HTML skills that a monkey could learn.  Google is your friend.

3. Gary Coleman: The very heavy and loud female coworker who looks like Gary Coleman but is somehow very cute at the same time.  Can get rowdy.  Sweats a lot and frowns on stairwells in favor of the elevator.  May keel over at any moment.  Is overall a sweetheart whose vocal cords are just a bit too developed.

4. Bible T-shirt Girl: The bane of my existence.  Okay, she’s not THAT important, but this [quite large] girl bugs.  Lately taken to repeatedly kicking her desk [which, incidentally, used to me MY desk until she bamboozled me one night. Desk is right beside me through a heaven-sent divider] and, making “I’m in tremendous pain” faces, making lists of “cool names” like EUGENIA (believe me, I saw it), and clucking like a chicken while at work.  This is when she ISN’T throwing snot rags at the lady adjacent to her. The lady adjacent to her is our next cast member.

5. Bad Singer Who Likes Tigger: Unfortunately, I have no previous entries about BSWLT.  Not that she isn’t becoming a MAJOR player in the cast of characters.  BSWLT can almost be combined with BTSG into one huge, stinking, noisy, annoying entity. That I would like to kill. She participates in snotrag volleyball with BTSG, sings/hums as loudly as possible, and, just last night, eyes me while mumbling incoherently as I walk into work.  Did I mention that she has Tigger cutouts and pictures frames all over her desk?  Like I told my coworkers the other night: Tigger is for five-year-olds and retarded people.  No offense to retarded people.

A short story for you. A true one!

Once, a friend of a friend [I swear this really happened] was on a road trip and had to pee, so she stopped at a rest area.

She was happily peeing, the lone stall-dweller in the bathroom, when she hears someone loudly shuffle in and take the stall directly beside her.

The shuffler broke the one stall buffer rule.  I probably would have killed her.

Anywho, FOAF looks down and sees that the shuffley feet are clad in what can only be described as “old lady shoes”.

The body attached to the shuffely feet begins putting on a digestive performance, complete with raging sound effects.

The old lady was having a massive blowout, at the expense of FOAF’s ears [and nose, I presume.]

After a few minutes of tooting, blasting, squeaking, and stinking the place up, there was a pause.

The old lady, apparently oblivious to FOAF in the stall next to her, screamed, “CORN?! When did I eat corn?!”

I HAD to! -or- Did you just let one?

 recovered from blog version 1.0:

don’t you love it when you have a pair of flip-flops that you keep at the office -y’know, just for jammin’ around your area so you’re not killing your feet in heels- and, as you’re walking from your coworker’s office to yours, you do a small “oops i tripped!”-type thing, only it’s on CARPET so the front of your flip-flop bends under, drags on the carpet, and makes a totally fartical sound RIGHT as you’re passing in front of someone else’s office?

yeah. me too.

and how do you recover from that? “oh, hey, jason. i swear i didn’t fart in front of your office door just now. it was my shoe.”

and what if you walk off? can you go BACK and try to explain? well, you’d probably look like it took you a few to come up with a legitimate-sounding excuse for the noise, so no.

You’ve gotta watch out for those secret rednecks

Let me tell you about something that happened to me at work last year:

today i had lunch with a lady who is a secret redneck AND a secret racist.

ok, maybe not so secret.

this is the lady that coordinates a certain student discipline at a certain medical school in a certain town about 2.5 hours northwest of here that is not duke university. 

first, i have never seen this woman before. we’ve talked and emailed tons, but never met in person. until today. i was picturing an older, distinguished lady with silver hair and a smart pair of slacks with sensible shoes and a silk blouse.  my head-picture lady would garden on the weekends and have tea with her sisters and call her husband (in front of whom she has never farted) “dear”. 

what i got was someone who would be right at home on a first date at the monster truck rally drinking urine beer and “wooooo”ing at Bigfoot’s entrance while her date gave her hickies and tried to persuade her to blow him in front of the crowd.

my boss and i pulled up to o’charley’s after musing about what our lunch companion would look like. i wondered aloud, “i wonder if that could be her convertible…” talking about the sebring in the parking lot.

my boss replied, “i bet it’s more likely that that’s her pickup truck.”

at that moment, a poodle-haired woman (not to be confused with Poodle, proper name, with whom we work locally) in the TEAL GREEN pickup truck stuck her tongue out at us.

“this canNOT be her,” i thought.

boy, oh boy, was i wrong.

i can’t get into details, mainly because i was silently screaming, “shut up and look at the damn menu! we have our drinks and we should order and stop wasting the waitress’s time!” but here is a brief summary of things that went down during our lunch with the redneck racist.

– “My daughter’s ADHD…” ad nauseum
– ” Supposively”
– telling the waitress her special substutions instead of asking for them
– rarely looking our waitress in the eye
– me, catching myself gazing at her and realizing her bangs go back to the real hair part of her head, way way beyond the bang hair part
– me, also wondering why she thinks the crunchy white trash jheri curl look is in

and the KICKER to end all kickers:

the lady saying, as we were discussing the pizza inn in durham after mourning the loss of our local locations: “Well, that area is just CRAWLING with blacks, so you have to choose the time you go carefully.”


you have GOT to be kidding me. i almost farted on her right there.

however, her idiot self saying this made me feel MUCH better when, later, i had to literally press my lips together to keep from GUFFAWING at the fact that she said “supposively”