Tag Archives: nastified

Drinking Some Booger Soup

As people who know me are aware, I’m pretty much allergic to everything.  Hell, I’m so allergic to the DC spring/summer/fall air, that exposed wounds refused to heal from March until the frost hit in October.  You can imagine the effect such allergies have on my sinuses.  Finally, after hearing rave reviews from several people, and with sufficient distance from my previous failed attempts at using this product, I again attempted the Neti Pot last night.  Here is a picture of my Neti Pot:

My Neti Pot

What is the Neti Pot, you ask?  Well, it’s essentially a nasal irrigation system.  Yes, it is about as butt-nasty as it sounds.  You fill this thing up with a warm saline solution, which can be easily created by mixing a little sea salt with some warm water.  After filling the pot with said solution, you shove the spout up one nostril and tilt your head over your sink, only to have the fluid come out the other nostril. 

. . .

Yes, it’s nasty.  If you do it correctly, you get the immediate sensation that you are drowning while the nasty booger water flows out your open nostril.  For someone like me, who in fact cannot swim and frequently feels like she’s drowning in any situation in which water is over 2 inches high, including my own bathtub, the drowning sensation is creepy and brings with it childhood nightmares.  If you do it incorrectly, the solution actually flows down your throat, thereby giving you a nice salted booger beverage.  Mmmm.  Here is the official Neti Pot video demonstration.  Check out the chick in the video.  Poor thing.  I think I’d rather be in a video for herpes medication.  At least in that video, people will think I’m getting some.

Couple this with the nightguard I wear because of my teeth grinding, and I am one sexy mama.  Cue the meows and growls.  Yeah baby.

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World War III

WWIII has erupted on my balcony.  I am feverishly attempting to make our balcony as inhospitable as possible to the nasty pigeons who have decided to make the balcony their home.  I am quite puzzled by pigeons.  You know the saying, don’t shit where you eat?  Well, apparently pigeons don’t abide by this adage, as they have basically shat all over our balcony, all the while partying underneath our BBQ and shitting on our Corona bottles.

We’ve cleared out the nest, yet they still return.  After doing sufficient online research on how to rid yourself of these flying rodents, I have come to the conclusion that some commonly used impediments simply don’t work.  For example, some have suggested the use of a wooden owl.  However, upon further research, I’ve found that the owl works for about a day.  After approximately 24 hours, the rodents realize that the owl has not moved for said 24 hours and is not real.  The aerial rodents return and end up crapping all over the owl–almost like an F you for buying a $10 plastic owl.

Others suggest hanging a CD or aluminum foil on your balcony.  These also don’t work.  From what I understand, the pigeons ultimately return to the area after realizing that . . . well, that you have hung up a CD or aluminum foil on your balcony.

So the war has begun.  Like Mother Liberty, I do not negotiate with terrorists.  I will not allow these flying harbingers of disease to invade my space.  In the words of Johnny Castle, this is my dance space.  The wild is yours.  If you come into mine, you will face the consequences.  I have unilaterally declared war!  Mwah ha ha!

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Filed under Life, Things I Loathe, WTF?

National Geographic is Filming

On my balcony, that is.  Our lovely balcony in NoVa (that’s what peeps call it around here–y’all better respect!) has been home to at least two acts of wildlife.  Nothing particularly interesting like that time I saw two squirrels humping in Cambridge and how the male squirrel (assuming it was male, since it was the humper) chased after the female who ran away from shame after seeing the gaggle of humans pointing and staring at it while it did its thang.  Anyways, nothing interesting like that.  Let’s take the first instance in March of this year, when a falcon decided to rip a pigeon to shreds on our balcony, leaving in its path of destruction the pigeon’s feathers, blood, and guts (or shit–the jury’s still out on the green substance).  Below, I give you a picture aptly named, PREDATOR!

And yes, for those of you who are particularly perceptive, that is a box of Corona, which of course, officially makes us look like a bunch of college kids.  Well, not so much.  I suppose if we were in college, we couldn’t afford Corona and instead our balcony would be filled with several varieties of Boone’s (Strawberry Fields baby!), a couple boxes of wine (in a box, that is), and a mix of Natty Light and Keystone.

Now, you would think, with such a massacre occurring on our balcony, that pigeons would thereafter be permanently deterred from resting on our balcony.  Although the hubby did the best job he could in removing the feathers (sorry to anyone down below) and eliminating the other substances on the balcony, he certainly was not successful in fully ridding our balcony of Mr. Pigeon’s blood and guts.  Well, pigeons are f*cking stupid.  Because this weekend, we found out that some more pigeons had straight up set up home and shop on our balcony.  Here’s the hubby attempting to shoo the pigeons away:

Thank god our grill, pictured above, was still covered by the mover’s blankets.  Otherwise, anyone coming to our next BBQ will be in for one hell of a surprise.  Umm . . . yeah, that’s guacamole on your burger.  Mmm . . .

So what’s the point of this story?  Well, first, I hate birds.  I don’t know why anyone could think birds are cute.  They’re nasty.  They shit all over the place (this picture does not in anyway impart how foul (or fowl!) it smelt out there).  They stink.  They have nasty ass claws.  They don’t fetch.  They don’t sit on your lap.  They don’t even lick peanut butter off a spoon and lick their lips incessantly while drooling all over your feet as you laugh at their predicament.  To me, if it’s a bird, it either belongs on someone else’s farm, or on my plate.  Damn.  I want some dim sum.

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News to Amuse – So this is why men are nasty . . .

You howl, I strip:  For all you ladies out there, ever wonder why dirty old men whistle at you?  Have you ever thought why nasty wrinkly men grabbed your 18-year old ass as if they had a chance?  Well, the reason is that it works!  Sometimes . . .

A very hot Israeli woman was on her way to the ATM to get some cash when she was “hounded” by road workers’ whistles.  Rather than express her disgust with the workers or otherwise avoid the situation, the woman decided to strip, use the ATM buck-naked, and then get dressed before walking away.  When questioned by New Zealand police, the woman simply remarked that she was fed up with the howls and wanted to shake what her momma gave her.

Thanks lady.  You’ve just inspired dirty old men all over the world to rub up against disgusted women all over the world.

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The Chosen One

So I shamelessly watch and love American Idol. I must be home this evening to cheer for the Chosen One. That would be little David Archuleta. If any other dude sang, “Think of Me” last night, I would have turned off the TV in protest. But not the Chosen One.

People say that if you can sing, you can sing anything, including the phone book. The Chosen One sings so well, he could sing the directions to Preparation H or Tampax and I would still love the tender tone of this voice. I digress.

Go Little David Archuleta!

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