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In Oklahoma there’s an entire season devoted to tornadoes. It sucks. Today sucks. I’m a city away from my kids. Commuting sucks. People keep commenting on keeping on eye on those storms. People suck. But mostly, tornadoes suck.

I can't tell which is more frightening - the tornado or the cameltoe.

I was here in 1999 when the biggest tornado in history hit. I worked in a library and remember watching the tv at the circulation desk, listening to students debating trying to make it home. People telling others to get away from the damn windows! By people, of course, I mean me. No one listened. Afterward, my friend’s boyfriend who was a paramedic told us horrific stories.

There’s nothing to do but wait. Because it could be nothing. A little rain, maybe some hail. Or it could be something. Just…wait.

I spend days like this just wanting it to be over. The day. The storm. The tummyache. The comments. The speculation. Oh god, the speculation.

When storms come in Oklahoma, everyone is an expert. So all day long there are predictions. This will be huge. This will destroy half the city. It’s coming! It’s coming! Danny, who actually studies meteorology, tells me not to listen. Then he tells me not to worry. THEN he tells me he’ll just drive away from the tornado which – wtf? With hail all around? Where would you go? What if you misjudge, then you’re in a CAR aka worst place to be.

So, I just worry. And hope the cloud cover holds. Hope my friends will be ok. Feel tiny. What else can I do? To make things worse our tv is broken. Great.

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Science is around you everywhere. At the supermarket. In your home. In the box of books someone so “generously” donated to the library. Why look – learn how to give a sensual massage, that’s anatomy AND health! A car repair manual for a 1988 Ford – how about some electrical engineering!  A…moth? A fucking moth!  Run for your liiiiiivess!

See that? Moths with skull tattoos will sit on your face and make you eat people.

Moths are pure evil. Actually, no, scratch that. Moths are like 80% evil. Pure uncut evil belongs to spiders. Then 90% evil belongs to flying ants because that’s some crazy shit with the flying and being an ant. I reserve lesser levels of evil for the likes of ladybugs (don’t be fooled), sugar ants, cicadas (if you throw one at me I will pass right out) and caterpillars.

Bugs are tiny monsters. If they were bigger they would eat you and digest you in their juices and they would terrorize you and you would have to run from them like those stupid fuckers in Jurassic Park. Only you can’t outrun a man-sized centipede. No, it is impossible.

But!

This is where knowing science is helpful. Science will save your life.

This will never happen. Thank Jeebus.

Fact 1: Bugs will NEVER get man-sized and here’s why. Bugs don’t have lungs. They get their oxygen through their exoskeleton. The air has to pass all the way through. Try taking the corner of a washcloth and putting it in a teeeeeny bit of water. Does it make it all the way to the top? No. That’s what would happen if the bugs got too big. The oxygen wouldn’t make it all the way through. They would at least be very lathargic and you could run them over with a tank. Or, at best, be very dead.  That’s not to say bugs can’t get large, just not Them sized.

Fact 2: Bugs are really stupid. With the exception of a few notable homosapians (cough Jim Inhofe cough) most humans can outsmart them with traps.

Fact 3: Though maybe not a fact so much as a thing that I’ve been told. Bugs’ mouths are small and the deadliest ones, like the Daddy Long Legs can’t bite you. But your feet are still big and you can still step on them. Don’t give me grief for that. I don’t ever step on bugs. I run screaming in fear.

So there you go. Thank you science.

Ouch! My teeth have gone all renegade cowboy on me.

I’m seriously dying. Or my teeth are. Or my whole mouth is really. If it weren’t for sweet Lortab and souped up Ibuprofen I would probably not even be able to write this. I would be on the ground in a little/giant puddle of tears wishing I was in the olden days and someone would just put me out of my misery by yanking all my teeth out and then giving me a bunch of wooden ones. I would be so happy at first. Then, probably sad with my poor ass wooden teeth. But then! Someone would paint tiny scenes of Mayfair poles on them and I would once again be happy.

More importantly, pain free.

So. Crippling mouth/teeth pain. What to do?

That’s right. Consult the internet.

Here’s what the internet had to say to me:

See a qualified dentist asap. Later, put your wisdom teeth on a necklace and wear them in public. Women have an odd sense of curiosity about teeth on a necklace…until you tell them what they are.

Oh really? First, the practical advice. See a dentist. Make that a qualified dentist. I guess my back alley dentist/crack dealer is out.  Too bad.

Next I’m to put my wisdom teeth on a necklace.

Hawt.

Ok…check. Wait, what sort of a necklace? There’s a lot of choices. I could go with hemp and be hippie chic…only, I hate nature and patchouli and, right, hippies. (I don’t really hate hippies, just hippy shit).

I could go with a gold chain but I don’t have the money.

I think I’ve got one of those silver ball chains around somewhere. I’ll use that.

Then I will impress the ladies! Because everyone knows they have an odd sense of curiosity about teeth on a necklace. They will crowd around me, ignoring that guy with a puppy. They will be like, ‘oh wow, look at that beautiful necklace! I have such an odd sense of curiosity about it!’

Then I’ll be like, “It’s teeth. My teeth. How do you like me now?” as I flash my mayfair pole chompahs.

Then, according to the internet, they will lose all interest and run away.

Which will cause me pain.

Which means I’m right back where I started. Damn.

A few things have been pissing me off lately. I know. I had such a good happy run there! I was all smiley and peace loving and shit. But then Danny had to say the word. The send me into a panic/water storing/straight freak out mode word.

Tornado.

In case you're unfamiliar, this is a tornado.

Fucking tornadoes ihatethemsomuch. Sooo much. I do not even get the point of them? It’s like wind gets an inferiority complex on being the most mild of the weathers so it goes all bat shit crazy and kills cows and people. Not to mention all the damage and then insurance companies cry. It’s so pointless. Plus, in the end? I still don’t respect wind. YOU HEAR THAT WIND? I still don’t respect you. I can still drive in you. I even enjoy a slight bit of you every once in a while. So this tornado business is ineffective. Quit it.

But Danny thinks wind is super awesome crew when it starts spinning. He gets all worked up, runs outside, calls his little dork weather buddies, pulls up secret access NWC sites. Meanwhile, I’m in the corner crying but he doesn’t care. Because tornadoes are his mistress and he loves them. He wants to crawl inside a tornado and live forever. Ass.

Then I have to deal with the weatherfools breaking in on my important programming.

Brilliance courtesy of The Lost Ogle.

I appreciate them for saving my life but they, like Danny, are practically jumping out of their skin with excitement. Oh, since I can’t get it to link in the caption, find the Lost Ogle here.

Whatever. Tornadoes.

The other thing is people in the fast lane going slow. I’m about to go Barry on them.

The other other thing is my neighbors are back in garden mode. These people. There’s literally a green line between our yards. They already have a full lawn and ours is still kind of dead. They water constantly which makes my back yard a mud pit. But I can’t really say anything because they love Jesus and flowers and caring for animals. Somebody has to. I just wish they would back off a bit.  Or do our lawn too.

Tell me something that either pisses you off (misery loving company and all that) or something really great that will make me forget the hell of tornadic activity, drivers and neighbors.

Connect me. Connect me. Connect me.  Aaaaaahhhhh.

See? Shit like this is another reason I love the internet.

Yesterday was hard. While I had my boyfriend the iPhone, it’s impossible to look up anything fun on it. I mean, yes, there’s the fb app so I got all of your pointless, yet compelling for some reason, status updates. And yes, there are games. But could I find out if Justin Bieber was an alien? No.

Could I look up recipes for granola? No.

I was helpless. I had to rely on actual human discussion. At a library conference! I knooooooww! It sucked so badly. I learned things about the census that had nothing to do with anything important ever. I was like, “Hey census guy, do you know how many people are living in Elijah Wood’s house?”

Census Guy did not.

Fucking. Worthless.

Census Guy also had a spectacular, fancy display that made my display look amateur. So I was like, ‘Hey Census Guy, I like your fancy display and your free pencils. Pretty snazzy.’

And Census Guy was all. ‘Uh huh.’  Silence. Silence. Silence.

Turns out the census and its guys are really boring. Who knew?

So in the middle of my deprevation I started thinking and this is the kind of thinking that gets you in trouble because here’s what I thought:

You know what? This Justin Bieber kid isn’t that bad.

Stay with me.

First, he brings people to my blog. Him and Eddie Furlong and now Lee Dewyze. Enjoy your pictures people who steal pictures and don’t read. It’s ok (I do it all the time, just glad to share.)

Second, he was raised by a teen mom.  You know who loves teen moms? *double thumb point to chest* This lady. Hell, if I had known how fun and hip being a teen mom is, I would have become one.  Time machine use #489.

Third, he was discovered on YouTube. YouTube is so powerful and entertaining. YouTube is nothing like the census!

Fourth, he’s actually kind of funny and plastic. Both are things I appreciate in a manchildaliengirl.

I haven’t listened to his music. Is it even really about the music?

No, no of course not.

In the end, the moral is that I NEED AN IPAD.

That is all. Enjoy the pictures thousands of blog flooders picture stealers. I love you for your dedication to image search. You know that’s true.

It was totally like this! Except with a bat and a troll.

I know this guy! Not the people in the car but the guy with the bat! It’s so exciting! I love when people I know show up in the news for crazy shit. It’s the greatest.

Barry was a strange little man who lived down the road from us. And, trust me, to be called weird in that neighborhood was saying something. We lived next to a musician, a beer distributor, a puppeteer and a mechanic whose high ass constantly mispronounced simple words like gazebo.

*UPDATE* Yes, I am remiss for not mentioning Brian, who was a beer drinking bastard with a set of remote controlled panties. You can see how I wasn’t sure the right way to phrase that.

Anway, Barry. He had  glasses and a whole Rick Moranis except insane vibe. He was nice though, I would never expect him to take a bat to a truck. CRAZY! He lived with a complete weirdo who worked night shift at a hospital and would steal all the janitorial supplies. So you would go to their house and find like, 80 stacked up lava soaps.

Every year they had a throw down awesome crab boil.

So to recap:

Barry

crab boil

lava soap

bat

The End.

Oh, and, um, I have a hernia. On my stomach. It’s true. So next time you see me,  please, don’t push it like a button. Thanks.

Yesterday, I just didn’t have it in me and that was bullshit. You should have called me out. You should have been like, ‘bitch where is our goddamn Star Trek/Idol photoshop magic!?!’ You should have demanded I be better. But you failed. So, good job. This blog sucks because you can’t get off your lazy asses and make me make it better. Too bad for you.

As for me, well I have gone looking for inspiration. Who am I? Who do I want to be? These are serious questions that I spend 30 seconds a day thinking about.

Of course the ultimate goal is

yes, to be at least half as cool as that horse.

That’s a while off so I’m setting the bar a little bit lower.

This cruel world is so unfair! Can't a high bitch get some McChicken for McNothing?

Perfection. Really. This broad has it all – her own car, access to booze and a raging case of McDonalds hate.  I’m so jealous. I can be this. Granted it probably means losing my children but I’m in Oklahoma and I’m sure something can be worked out.

How much sweeter would this blog be if it involved me kicking ass and throwing milkshakes? I know!

I’m like google’s best friend. Or manservant. I lick google’s boots and then I lace them up. If google were a neighborhood I would be the head of the watch committee – except not really because I would never ever be that.

What? Oh right –  google. Take the time you spend googling a day and multiply it by a billion and there you’ll meet me. No exaggeration. You’ve probably deduced by now, maybe with the help of google, that I’m a lazy librarian. But it takes some skill to really work a goog search. Sometimes, the googlegods straight piss me off. We’re in a fight right now, over these things –

First of all, google, if anyone anywhere is searching a disease that needs to be controlled for god’s sake the first site you give them should always and forever be the CDC. Centers for goddamn DISEASE CONTROL. Not Yahoo! freaking answers? Are you kidding me with that shit? And aren’t you and Yahoo! like broken up for life? Are you just trying to make that slut look bad because she’ll let anyone talk about their boils and solicite total crap answers like, ‘Oh yeah my aunt had that once. You are probably going to turn into a vampire.”  If so, then mission accomplished banner on a deck of a navy ship.  However, if you are trying to disseminate useful and accurate information? Then please for the love of you, give people the cdc.

second – listen, every time I type the word “average” I do not need your super secret algorithm to suggest:

Not helpful. Even worse, every. single. time. I’m go, “huh, I wonder what it is.” and then the next time I can’t even remember so I got, “huh, well, I mean, ok I wonder…” what is this? I feel like I’m part of some experiment, some lab monkey just constantly on a penile length quest and your googlephycisists or whatever are like, ‘interesting, interesting, mwahahaha, fools!”

Speaking of penile lengths, safe search. What a waste of my time. You know how frustrating it is to spend half an hour image searching “hentai manga” and not find anything? (This was for research, people.  Research for my super popular other blog. I swear. Also, I can’t really provide any links without worrying about my mom so instead I offer you this.)  Finally I realize the worthless ‘safe search’ is on. Lame. Remove it please. The children will just have to get therapy.

Finally, the search itself is not always effective and I know how to run a search. Most of you are probably a few keywords, maybe you enjoy the automatic fill in.  Then some of you click advanced search and build it that way. Very nice. I, however, am thousands of dollars in debt all to learn how to search like a master. I’m talking strings like, ‘cheese “popcorn season*” -kernel”

Which basically translates into: popcorn season(ing)(s)(er) cheese NO WORD KERNEL

And google is all, “Oh ok, popcorn seasoning -kernel? Here you go, Kernel Seasonings… What are you gonna do? I’m Google.”

Damn you, damn you.

It’s the fable, the cautionary tale, the urban legend, the ultimate library horror story – “and then it burned.”

“All of it?”

“Yes, all of it. To the ground.”

“The whole library?”

“Gone.”

We mourn Alexandria’s loss. Our loss, all that knowledge, all those words, all of those things that make us who we are even though they were written so long ago. Our cultural history, identity missing.

Welcome to Alexandria Florida

Of course, I have a personal stake in this. I’m a librarian. I feed my family with state and federal funds. So, yeah, of course there’s that. But, truth be told, if the library goes away I would be fine. Not happy but I would adapt, find a new profession.

What bothers me is the bigger picture. As a child, I used to sit on the floor of my elementary school library where the librarian – who was old even then and just got older but everyone is old when you’re so young – would hand me books. I was particularly attached to a series about a group of animals living in a forest. These are your books, for today, for a few weeks, as long as you need them. Then we share. But you still get to keep those books in your head.

I would go to our tiny public library and check out Stephen King. Neither the librarian or my mom said anything about a 10 year old girl reading It. It was my head and they figured I knew what to fill it with. The librarian was like a train conductor, here’s your ticket kid have a good ride.

When I became a professional children’s librarian I worked every day, really hard to make good programs and have a good collection. I still talk to some of “my” teens. The library was not their home or their school or their friends house, it was their cultural roots. Where they went to read and hear music and participate in an online society that they couldn’t afford at home.

Libraries are cultural institutions. Like museums, like theaters, like coffee shops and clubs. Except they are funded by tax dollars because, a long time ago, someone decided that libraries should belong to everyone. Not the books, or the computers, or the fucking dvds that people seem so hung up on – but the things that they leave in our heads. The connection they give us to our past and future. Read. Listen. Connect.

You may not realize it now but you need a library like you need a hospital. Though it’s crazy to compare the two. So, support your public library, support your children’s school library, support other children’s school libraries, because I promise you –

Alexandria is a sad thing.

God. damn. Cadbury.

Here we are, my favorite time of year. Easter. Easter means bunnies and sunshine and sweet giant Cadbury cream eggs.

I knew something was off a couple years ago when Danny got an egg and I was like, ‘where’s the rest of it?’ and he was like, ‘this is it.’ and I was all, ‘That teeny thing? No way.’

It was smaller, a lot smaller. What the fuck, Cadbury?

These eggs are meant to put me into a coma. If my stomach isn’t twisting and my ocular sockets aren’t bouncing then guess what? You haven’t done your job.

An Egg the size of a truck? Now that's what I'm talking about! I could live in this egg.

At first, I was the only one who noticed. Easter candy is like religion to me and the CCE is my Jesus. But, look, according to wikipedia it is true.  And it looks like only the American version is smaller? That’s discrimination! The English get the regular size? Why? Those skinny bastards can’t even appreciate it. I hate you Cadbury.

Clearly, this is my only alternative.

I’m refusing to eat you this year (not really). I’ll just have to live with my loving memory of the time I watched Lord of the Flies and ate a four pack then barfed out the window. Only cherry vodka has ever created that wonderous experience of elated joy followed by horrible, excruciating waves of nausea.

Is that what you want Cadbury? You want me to return to drinking straight cherry vodka? Are you promoting drunk parenting? I guess you are with your piece of tiny ass egg.

Congratulations, Robin’s Eggs. You are my new Jesus, don’t screw it up.

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