I spent a good deal of time yesterday adding things to the Anatomy of a Forum post from yesterday. I’m telling you, I’ve never laughed so hard at comments before – and you guys are good. Like I want to make an award for best! comment! ever! but I’d give it to everyone, which kinda dilutes the whole thing.
Anyway, the post has been updated and will probably be updated again – you Pranksters are hysterical.
Last week, the hospital called.
I wasn’t sure if it was a matter of wondering where I was, since I hadn’t been in (knocks on wood) for a couple of months. Hell, maybe I’d accrued some frequent flyer miles with which I could purchase a lovely sandwich in the cafeteria!
I answered, my mouth watering with antici….
It was the dude who schedules shit. Shit like, oh I don’t know, ULTRASOUNDS of my THYROID that may or may not show that I have an evil twin or one of those tumors full of hair and nails. Or the dreaded Neck Baby.
I’d had every intention of calling for the ultrasound…just…sometime else. Like maybe in 20 years or something.
It seems silly to be worked up about learning that my neck was pregnant or something, but after you’ve fallen on the wrong side of statistics enough times, you know that “routine” and “ultrasound” and “thyroid” and “neck baby” don’t go hand in hand. So I was more than a little bit nervous about learning I had a neck baby or an evil twin or something.
On Good Friday, I chose to celebrate the chocolate rabbit rising from the dead by making Dawn and The Guy On My Couch go with me to my ultrasound. I had to promise them cheeseburgers, which, I can’t say I blame them for. Bargaining is an art form.
The ultrasound didn’t show any beating neck baby hearts or teeth or hair, from what I could tell, anyway.
“Your doctor should have the results in two business days,” the tech told me cheerfully as we walked out of the room.
Two business days from today? Good Friday is a trading holiday (I’ve been in the financial industry too long, clearly), does that mean radiologists get it off too?
I didn’t know.
So when Monday rolled around, I spent it balled up on the couch, a bundle of nerves with kicky hair. By Monday afternoon, I decided I should call my endocrinologist…just to see if they had the results back. They did! OH HAPPY DAY!
I waited nervously.
I’d been told email = good.
Phone call = bad.
By 4:15 CST, the same time zone my MD lives in, I’d had enough – I called back. I HAD to know if I had a neck baby.
“This office is now closed. To reach the doctor on call…” I was livid. What the fuck kind of doctor CLOSES at 4PM on a MONDAY?
(answer: apparently my endocrinologist)
I thought about all the hackers I knew. Maybe one of THEM could get me my results. I can interpret them (*waves* HI MOM! Thanks for that nursing degree!) , I just needed to see them.
Okay, I thought, most doctors don’t actually leave when the office closes. I bet she’ll call with the results tonight.
When the phone rang as I was watching reruns of Sister Wives, at 8:30, I was just positive it was her. Nope. My mother. Asking how I was.
Eventually, I fell into a nervous sleep.
The following morning, I grabbed my iPad and frantically waded through 837 “Make your penis bigger” emails (responding to them, of course. Who DOESN’T want a bigger wang?). Nada. Fuck.
I plodded over to my computer, ready to put a call into the office when, *zing* it hit my email.
Your results were normal.
Thank the Good Lord of Butter – I am not growing a neck baby.
Kinda sucks about the evil twin thing, tho. I could’ve used an evil alter-ego to blame shit on.
So, when I’m not staple-gunning things to my walls and watching animated animals play the piano, I run a site you’ve heard me blather on about. It’s called, Band Back Together, which, like five people have noticed, is a direct riff off the Blues Brothers:
Here’s the plan: we get the band back together, do some gigs, earn some bread, bang!
Okay, maybe it’s a Chicago thing.
Anyway, the site is a group blog where anyone (YES YOU) can write their stories – stories of anything. Reposts of older posts, new posts you don’t want to share on your own blog, whatever. We pair the posts with a metric fuckton of resource pages (anything from how-to cope with depression to love resources to how to cope with a rape)
(*waves* HI MOM! Thanks for the nursing degree! I’m finally using for things other than diagnosing myself with testicular cancer)
Anyway, this isn’t the elevator pitch for the site. This is an answer to a question that was posed to me via my Go Ask Aunt Becky Form (and yes, I know I need to get back into writing my weekly assvice column – I’ve just been…floundering a bit).
I was asked: “how do I get in on this funfest?” and I don’t have an email address to reply privately, so here goes.
See, Band Back Together only runs because we have 60ish people working behind the scenes. We do everything from our Wednesday #withtheband Twitter Parties to creating pages, to brainstorming new ideas, to fundraising, to commenting, to using social media, to editing.
It’s a big fucking operation. And it’s entirely volunteer run. We’re waiting on our federal non-profit paperwork, but at the moment, since we don’t do ads or other revenue streams, no one makes a cent. In fact, we PAY for server space. Not a big deal.
If you’d like to work with us, and know how to tune your email settings to filter out some of the email (which can be overwhelming at first), shoot firstname.lastname@example.org an email. She’ll get you hooked up.
We’re a big dysfunctional family, which means we always need more volunteers.
Please note that any offensive words I’ve used were only thrown in to more properly illustrate my point that Forums = full of asshole pinheads, not to offend anyone. When I’m trying to offend you, you’ll know it.
Ignorant Newbie Asks Innocuous Question: “Why are hedgehogs underrepresented in today’s media?”
Guy Who’s Been Ar0nd For Eleventy-Bajillion Years Who Gets Snippy When Rules Aren’t Followed: “Please search the archives for an answer to this – it’s already been discussed.”
Ignorant Newbie: “I’ve searched the archives. I can only see a question about Kumquats in the media.”
Person Who Has JUST Discovered The Internet: “OMG. YOU GUYS! I just got an email about people with HIV who stick there dirty needles underneath your car handle! BE CAREFUL!”
Self-Proclaimed Grammar Nazi: “Please use the proper word – “it’s their,” not “there.” Using the wrong one makes you appear to be a toothless yokel.”
Woman Who Self-Identifies As “Feminist” And Uses Word To Bash All Other Women: “I’m amazed by the blatant sexism here. ARE YOU REFERRING TO RAPE? RAPE ISN’T FUNNY!”
Pedantic Guy Who Has To Pick Apart Whatever Has Been Said Regardless Of Whether It Has To Do With The Subject: “You say, “blatant sexism,” yet, I see no mention of gender. Or rape. Perhaps you are trying too hard.”
Guy Who Makes EVERYTHING Political: “Abortion is murder! Obama is to blame!”
Woman Who Blames Everyone For Being Dramatic And Pretends To Flounce Off: “OMG. Can we PLEASE stop being dramatic? HEDGEHOGS ARE CUTE!”
(this message has been removed by forum moderator)
Woman Who Self-Identifies As “Feminist” And Uses Word To Bash All Other Women: “HA! See? You just said RAPE. I SHOULD REPORT YOU TO THE POLICE!”
Self-Proclaimed Grammar Nazi: “It’s “sexual assault,” not “rape.” Please, get a dictionary, you slack-jawed FemiNazi.”
Forum Moderator: “Please read the rules of this forum. We do not tolerate threats – idle or otherwise. Also: foul language is not appreciated.
Pedantic Guy Who Has To Pick Apart Whatever Has Been Said Regardless Of Whether It Has To Do With The Subject: “What, pray tell, is an “idle threat?” Please explain.”
Guy Who Pops In Simply To Break The Rules: “I’m gonna kick your motherfucking ass.”
Woman Who Self-Identifies As “Feminist” And Uses Word To Bash All Other Women: “I am a woman. I can do anything you can do better. Therefore, I will kick YOUR ass, then report you to the police.”
Guy Whose Wife “Just Doesn’t Understand” Him: “Sighs, I wish my wife were feisty like that. My wife, well, she got fat and lazy after she popped out our kids.”
Guy With Badly Drawn Four-Leaf Clover Who Likes To Use His Irish Background To Grope Girls on St. Patrick’s Day but Never Has Anything to Say About the Conversation at Hand,” O’DOYLE RULES!”
Girl Who Inappropriately Flirts With Everyone: “I got a hedgehog for you, baby, right here.”
Woman Who Self-Identifies As “Feminist” And Uses Word To Bash All Other Women: “You are a DISGRACE TO WOMEN EVERYWHERE, YOU WHORE.”
Guy With Badly Drawn Four-Leaf Clover Who Likes To Use His Irish Background To Grope Girls on St. Patrick’s Day but Never Has Anything to Say About the Conversation at Hand, “Hey baby, wanna cyber?”
Girl Who Inappropriately Flirts With Everyone: “24/F/Chicago.”
Guy Who Has Hooked Up With Inappropriately Flirty Girl Who Now No Longer Pays Attention To Him: “Sighs. I thought it was love. I knew I loved her. Why, o! why doesn’t she love me back?”
Chick Who Wants To Drive Traffic To Her Blog: “OMG, I just wrote something about this on my blog [insert link to unrelated blog entry].”
Guy Who Tries To Steer The Conversation Back To The Original Question: “Don’t you think Sonic the Hedgehog is big enough in today’s media?”
Guy Who Randomly Pops In To Hypocritically Tell Everyone That They’re Losers For Responding: “U R a bunch of losers.”
Woman Who Self-Identifies As “Feminist” And Uses Word To Bash All Other Women: “How dare you! You are clearly anti-women! We should burn you alive!”
Chick Who Wants To Drive Traffic To Her Blog: “Oh my GOD, I wrote about THAT too! [insert entirely unrelated blog entry link].”
Pedantic Guy Who Has To Pick Apart Whatever Has Been Said Regardless Of Whether It Has To Do With The Subject: “I cannot believe that anyone who talks in text-speak should be allowed on the Interwebs. You, sir, are the true loser.”
Guy Who Simply Likes To Start Shit: “If you’re such a feminist, why are you bashing another woman? Having a healthy sexuality is not the same as being a (as you put it) ‘whore.’”
Woman Who Self-Identifies As “Feminist” And Uses Word To Bash All Other Women: “Women should have healthy self-respect and not fawn all over any guy who looks at her twice. Just look at me! 35 and still a virgin! Why? I haven’t met the right guy yet.”
Chick Who Wants To Drive Traffic To Her Blog: “Also, I am running a contest. Go vote for me!!!!! [insert link to contest]”
Guy Who Simply Likes To Start Shit: “You’re a virgin because you still live at home with your Mom and her 45 cats. You probably have a “A Woman Needs A Man Like A Fish Needs A Bicycle” bumper sticker.”
Woman Who Self-Identifies As “Feminist” And Uses Word To Bash All Other Women: Mr. Muppets and Mr. Sprinkles are the only things that make my world worth living. And so what about my bumper sticker? ARE YOU DISCRIMINATING AGAINST WOMEN?”
Guy Who Simply Likes To Start Shit: “I bet you’re ugly as hell.”
Girl Who Inappropriately Flirts With Everyone: “I’m pretty sure no man would dare stick his dick inside you. There’s prolly barbed wire in your vagina.”
Woman Who Self-Identifies As “Feminist” And Uses Word To Bash All Other Women: “THIS IS AN ATTACK ON ALL WOMEN EVERYWHERE.”
Guy Who Comes Onto The Board Simply To Whine About His Life: “I’d LIKE to respond to your question about hedgehogs, but my dog just died, my mother has cancer, I just got laid off, and my girlfriend left me for my best friend.”
Guy Who Simply Likes To Start Shit: “I bet you’re ugly too.”
Girl Who Inappropriately Flirts With Everyone: “Poor baby – wanna come over here? I got a webcam!”
Ignorant Newbie Tries To Steer The Conversation Back: “Uh, sorry about your Mom. Do you know much about the media and hedgehogs?”
Girl Who Is So Deadpan It’s Hard To Tell If She’s Being Serious: “Do hedgehogs really like shiny rings?”
Ignorant Newbie: “Uh, no. That’s just a video game.”
Girl Who Is So Deadpan It’s Hard To Tell If She’s Being Serious: “That’s bullshit. Hedgehogs ARE all blue, right?”
Ignorant Newbie: “Uh, no. That’s just a video game.”
Girl Who Is So Deadpan It’s Hard To Tell If She’s Being Serious: “Now I can see why the media doesn’t give a shit about hedgehogs – they’re boring as hell.”
Asshole Guy Who Occasionally Comes Around Simply To Use Inappropriate Words: “U R A Fag. Who gives a shit about those stupid rodents, you fucking r*tard.”
Ignorant Newbie: “I’m uh, not gay – I’m married with three kids. And I take offense to you using the “r” word.”
Woman Who Self-Identifies As “Feminist” And Uses Word To Bash All Other Women: “How DARE you use the word “fag!?!?!” You should be sued!!!!!!”
Asshole Guy Who Occasionally Comes Around Simply To Use Inappropriate Words: “Your wife is prolly a fag, too, assmuncher.”
Emo Teenager Who Whines About Her Life At Every Opportunity: “My life is so hard. My mom, like, makes me fucking go to school and shit. All I want to do is work at 7-11. I don’t need a GED for that. She’s such a bitch.”
Asshole Guy Who Occasionally Comes Around Simply To Use Inappropriate Words: “U R A Cunt.”
Girl Who Is So Deadpan It’s Hard To Tell If She’s Being Serious: “I cannot wait for you to find some new, enlightening words with which to bash us. Try Thesaurus.com.”
Forum Moderator: Asshole Guy Who Occasionally Comes Around Simply To Use Inappropriate Words has been banned.
Woman Who Self-Identifies As “Feminist” And Uses Word To Bash All Other Women And Is Now Self-Righteous: “I’ve also reported him to the police. I think using the r-word is illegal. I’m sending an email to his employer, his wife, and left a message on his Facebook.”
Ignorant Newbie Tries One More Time To Steer the Conversation Back: “So, uh, HEDGEHOGS anyone?”
What am I missing here, Pranksters? I’ll be adding throughout the day.
Dear Mr. “Gmoney,”
I think I’d respond to you much more favorably if you’d included an “ESQ” behind your name. I feel the addition of ESQ to your name would give your name a true punch, it would go the proverbial distance, and ask, nay, DEMAND respect. Gmoney, ESQ sounds a lot more powerful than the pedestrian “Gmoney” you used to sign your comment.
I wanted to apologize for suggesting that I might, “sell my dog, Auggie, for animal testing” after he successfully ate – then vomited up – the fecal matter of my other dog under the table on the white carpet my dining room while I was large, pregnant, and queasy. You’re very right – I am both a shitty human being and was blaming my dog for my own failings.
Would it appease you if I, instead of suggesting I’d sell him for product testing, I suggested I might, as an alternative, make a pair of moccasins out of his hide? I feel that is a more fruitful, comfortable and appropriate idea.
Do let me know. I’ll be anxiously checking my spam filter.
Your Aunt Becky
Dear Packs of Hot Dogs in my Fridge,
I share the semi-unpopular opinion that, there are no finer words in the English language than, “encased meats,” my friends. Except, perhaps, “Hooray Beer.” Or boner. But that’s only one word.
I’ve been warned, a time or two, that I am, in fact eating:
a) bits of fetal pig
I’m not entirely sure if the latter two are actually supposed to be bits of pig lips and/or assholes – I should probably ask for clarification about that.
It’s irrelevant, I suppose, as I will happily nosh upon crushed bits of tiny unborn pigs. We all know that suffering tastes like awesome.
Dear My Son,
I know that I, in a moment of sheer stupidity, said, “woah, these colored bubbles will make your poo turn colors!” I hadn’t been addressing you, and was not, in fact, suggesting that you should take it upon yourself to drink aforementioned bubbles. While I understand that I hadn’t made it clear that “one should not drink colored bubbles, even if one’s poo may turn technicolor,” I would have hoped you’d have not assumed that my words were a green-light for drinking bubbles.
But since I was not more clear, I sincerely hope that you enjoy your colorful poo.
Next time, try Crunch Berries. They may make your mouth feel as though you’ve been chewing glass, but they taste like heaven.
I understand that you’ve been upset with me lately and for that I do apologize. I’d like to point out that, at no time, did I:
a) threaten to sell you to the gypsies
b) threaten to send you to Lady Gaga to become her newest hairpiece
c) threaten to plaster you with ads for Viagra.
Which makes me concerned that you’ve misunderstood the arrangement we’ve got – you function, and I continue to let you be groped by the pretty lady doctor every four to six months. I thought we had a deal.
Unless the “thing” growing on you is a tumor full of hair and teeth, I’m not happy with your behavior. Not. Happy. Thyroid.
Don’t make me send you to live with Marilyn Manson.
Dear My Nigerian Relatives,
Words cannot express how happy I am to learn that you, of all people, have died and left me a substantial fortune. I’d always dreamed that blogging would be the reason I’d procure a yacht, and here you are, practically handing me millions of pounds, if only I return your email with my bank account number, my social security code, my mother’s maiden name, and my favorite sleeping position.
Since I have gotten no less than 30 of these emails in the last two weeks, I’ve begun to purchase luxury items on credit – like a snow-cone maker and a blinged-out Pimp Cup. As my creditors have been calling, demanding I pay for my “Meat on a Stick” machine, I sincerely hope that you are already on your way to transfer that money into my account. I’m pretty sure that my pony on roller-skates will soon grow weary of living in my (rather small) backyard. Or maybe she’s just mad that I spray-painted her pink.
Not to be rude, but thanks for dying – I’m finally going to realize my dream of turning my basement into a ball pit after I Velcro my bedroom wall so that I can stick to it. That, my dear Nigerian Family Member, is worth, in my biased opinion, more than life. Unless it’s mine. Because I’m worth about $3.28. So thanks for being dead!
Sorry you’re dead,