Hi there.
Anyone else experiencing an inordinate amount of folks trying to add you as Facebook friends since the switchover to the new, ugly and hard-to-use layout (first pointed out here)?
What's the protocol here? Make new friends? Or am I (once again) a real big jerk for forgetting people?
Yeah, I'm an OG and I O-G spelled backwards.
I'm so OG (urbandictionary it), I recently realized that I had kept Christmas & birthday cards dating back to the year 2000. They were piled nicely in a bedroom drawer, and I had not once taken them out to enjoy since their initial stashing. Yup, they were right there, along with pretty much any letter big or small ever written to me. Every thank you card, every encouragement note, every warm fuzzy, basically anything anyone has ever put down on paper for me.
I decided that it was finally time to rid myself of these leaflets. Of course, I had to sift through everything to determine which cards/letters/notes could actually have lasting value. As opposed to the cards that were purchased from the closest Hallmark and simply signed.
At the end of the messy sorting job, I had an item I did not know what to do with. And you, the reluctant readers of Seriously Stupefying Stupidity should feel free to suggest how I should proceed in the comment section below!
But before I get to the item of interest, I must mention that I found an encouragement card given to me and created by a friend. I found it in an envelope, a church offering envelope no less, and in my excited haste to figure out exactly what was inside the envelope, I neglected to pause and ponder as to why said card would be in the envelope in the first place (because who keeps boring envelopes, much less unmarked church offering envelopes).
And then the glitter started pouring out. And even after two intense hand washing sessions, I wasn't convinced I had got every last bit of it.
The card was a beautiful disaster (Kelly C!), however many years later (: Moving on.
So I have this card that was MAILED to me. From FRANCE no less. Which, I assume took some amount of effort. The problem is, even with the address and name of the person that mailed it to me, I have NO IDEA who this person is. The card itself contains a simple handwritten seasons greeting, along with a Bible themed encouragement. Other than that, there are no other clues as to how I would know this person, or of any common memories we would've shared.
I asked my moms, and she was able to determine that the last name was Vietnamese. And that it was a girl's name (thanks cpt' obvious).
I even looked through old photo albums from the year the card was sent, and the year before that, to look for familiar but forgotten faces. Nothing.
Did I mention that included on the card is an email address? So now you see that I have options!
Do I a) email and explain the situation in hopes of reviving a long lost friendship or b) throw card away and save myself the ultimate dry situation of completely forgetting a person....like completely... c) internet stalk this person (nothing turned up for a quick google search)?
The other day, as I was narrating my Vancouver hot dog stories, my friend remarks that I am so well traveled this summer. Of course, the semi-sarcastic tone of voice was not lost on me, but I hope I haven't come off like I'm better than you because I've been to a lot of places around Canada/America in the last two months.
(I'm better than you because I'm aawesome with two a's, and you can't tell me nothin'!)
In actual fact, I am not very well traveled. The places I have had the honor to visit these last two months, for the vast majority, are places I have already been before. So, to be more accurate, I'm very well re-traveled. Or just plain redundant. It's like going to see a movie in theaters, then two years later, buying that movie on DVD, not because you liked it so much, but because you forgot everything about the movie, including whether or not you liked it.
Nevertheless, I went, I saw, and I conquered. Twice. Because I like to be extra-sure.
Can we please get back to Vancouver hot dog stories? That sounded much more interesting than anything you've written since. Why do you do that? Put in so much filler that is? Are you intentionally trying to be a bad writer?
I'd tell the story right now, but you'd be a fool to stick around long after that. So I'm going to bumble (bee) through a few stories leading up to the hot dog story. I personally believe context is extremely important, and for you to properly understand the meaning of the hot dog story, you have to come with me on this journey. Or not. You could just skip down to paragraph 16. It's teh internets, what am I going to do?
And if you don't believe me, as with most pictures I tend to put up here, you can click to see full size, not that the full sized picture would make you believe me more. Now, to get a picture like this, you probably have to have some amount of google skills be elevated above sea level.
Allow me to introduce you to Grouse Mountain. Grouse Mountain, these are my readers. I'm just going to get the hors d'oeuvres por vous, so mingle a bit, get to know each other, and I'll be right back!
*awkward silence ensues, eased only slightly by that Scarlett Johansson album (to be reviewed here on Seriously Stupefying Stupidity another day, stay tuned! And yup, I'm probably the only person you know that will promote later posts and later parts of posts all at the same time) playing in the background*
Hey! Did you know that Grouse Mountain offers a free climb, not to its peak, but somewhere really far up? Yeah, it's true! They call it they Grouse Grind, and according to the most absolutely accurate encyclopedia to date, Wikipedia, the Grouse Grind takes you up 2,800 ft! You want me to put it in terms that'll make it a bit clearer?
It's about 2,800 consecutive foot-long hot dogs if you place them end to end.
Of course, being that I am human and cannot fly (yet), I had to climb the hypotenuse of the mountain. I included that Wikipedia reference just in case you're not as well-schooled as me. Because you're definitely not as well re-traveled as me. I'm not even bothering to connect my thoughts anymore, let's move on.
The actual climb, or the distance I traveled on the Grouse Grind, was 2.9km. It took me almost 2 hours (apparently the average time it takes is an hour and 30 minutes, I'm lame-sauce). And that's right, that's pretty much 9,500 foot-long hot dogs strung together. If there actually were 9,500 hot dogs strung together, I probably would've ran up that mountain a lot quicker. Like, literally, going for my dreams. Or going with. I'm not sure which one at this point.
Actually, being the trigger happy camera person I was, it probably would've taken me twice the amount of time to get up the mountain because I would've stopped to take a picture of every segment of hot dogs. Then, I would've excitedly come home and stitched them all together for one crazy final product.
Welcome to the Vancouver hot dog story of the post. To summarize (or inform those that skipped down here), I had climbed the trail of a tall mountain. Slower than the average folk. I had never felt so out of shape my whole life. But I also felt suspiciously victorious. Like I was on top of the world or somethin'. And there is no better way to celebrate a "fantastic" showing of physical endurance by making up for the weight lost during the exertion.
Cue, the hot dogs.
The Terimayo, the Oroshi, and the Miso Mayo. All priced about double what you would expect for an average hot dog. All tasting about four times what you would expect from an average hot dog. The people behind the stand were all shipped straight from Japan and sent to work, to keep up with the authenticity of the dog shop, and the overall tourist aspect of the stand. And it did. The borderline amateurishness of their English made me giggle. Then I realized I was asked for money, so I anted up.
As you try to digest all this information, allow me to digress.
My last day in Vancouver was spent on a rental bike. According to Google Maps, the route we took was approximately 81, 038 foot-long hot dogs in length. You can do the conversion yourself, but I don't see why you'd have to. I'm making serious improvements to the metric system. I think it's an under appreciated and understaffed field. Plus, who wants to talk in ambiguous "kilometers"? I say, "hot dog" and you instantly know exactly what I'm talking about, and probably can put your two hands in front of you spaced exactly the size of a hot dog. You probably just tried it right now! See what I'm talkin' about? Cutting edge, the things I do.
Dr.McOysty, 81,038 is too big of a number for me to imagine. Could you simplify even further? You know, common factor some stuff up a bit?
I appreciate the fact that you acknowledge my PHD in alternative mathematics, so I will try, for your sake. Let's say you're in a hot dog eating contest, and you have 81,000 hot dogs in front of you. Now, being the champion you are, you manage to eat 3 at a time. That leads to 9,000 eating events over the course of that contest. Now, let's also point out that you can fit in about 10 eating events a minute. So now we're at 900 minutes. 900 minutes, is the equivalent of watching 30 half-hour episodes of How I Met Your Mother. Which naturally happens because once you start watching, it's impossible to pry yourself away from the television. 30 half-hour episodes of that great show is just a little over 1 and 2/3 seasons of that show.
So, in conclusion, the 81,038 hot dogs is roughly 1 and 2/3 seasons of How I Met Your Mother. You're welcome.
Anyways.
You know, I really didn't know how to end this post. I hope it's not too obvious.
I'm watching Last Comic Standing right now, and I've run into a bit of a mental snag. You see, there is a reality show component to this, in that the comics are couped up in a house with one another during the course of the competition. As such, hilarity often ensues, usually in the form of catty or immature rivalries and hatreds between different parties.
Now, herein lies my problem.
Three comics just competed, and two of them have to go home. To me, there is an obvious winner in terms of the funniest act.
But, the least funny of all the acts also happens to be the person I most want to see back in the house just because of the trouble she inadvertently stirs up. And obviously, this is how reality show casts are put together in the first place, not based on the merits related to the competition as the general public (that's you! or not) would believe.
I'm paralyzed with indecision here, and I don't even have a vote. I hate reality television. But for different reasons than before.
Watch closely, and you might even catch a glimpse of me! But it's not about me. That day was about them. And if I push this video enough, and enough of you push this video to all your friends, then we can take this viral in no time! TOGETHER! YES WE CAN!
Kidding. And in no way does posting this excuse me from not giving them a shout when I was in Seattle. It was my bad.
