Jul 26, 2012
fuuuuuuuuuuu
i have some sort of cyst/pimply thing on my lower eyelid and it hurts like a mother bitch.
seen from Colombia
seen from Colombia
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Australia
seen from China
seen from Canada
seen from Colombia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Canada
fuuuuuuuuuuu
i have some sort of cyst/pimply thing on my lower eyelid and it hurts like a mother bitch.
A Brief Bitching
Posted by Laura This week in conducting meaningful conversations.... Things not to confuse the major Psychology with or bring up when someone tells you they are majoring or did major in Psychology: 1. Mind reading and other similar bullshit.
"Whoa, are you like, totally reading my mind right now?" I think the word you're thinking of is "psychic" and no, such skills are not taught at accredited universities. If I seriously just spent 4 years of school and thousands of dollars so that I could listen to the fly buzzing around in your skull, I'm just going to walk off a cliff. Next question. 2. "Figuring people out". No solitary statement pisses me off more. In all the history of mankind, no one has "figured out" anyone else or even come close to "figuring out" how people work mentally. It shouldn't be the goal of anyone in psychology to "figure out" people. If you tell me this is why you like psychology, I'll tell you I've figured out that you're a fucking moron. 3. Sigmund Freud He's a hack, his research was biased and none of his methodologies have ever been proved effective in clinical research for therapy. THE END. If you try and tell me he was a genius because he was interesting, I'll tell you he's a genius just like the shit I took this morning was a genius. It looked interesting. If you try and tell me he's the father of psychology, or that he made psychology what it is today, I'll ask you where your mother lives so I can slap the shit out of her.
4. Bullshit popular psychology. Yes, I know Oprah told you to write out a list of goals for the day, garden more, paint your nails brighter colors, drink milk after sex, stand on one foot every morning and light a candle while chanting mantras or whatever, and I'm here to tell you you're a vapid, mindless drone. 5. Donnie Darko, A Beautiful Mind, Memento or any other fucking movie that features a mental disorder. It's a movie. About a person with a rare mental disorder. We've all seen it, we all know it's "cool". It's like saying to an architect, "Hey, did you see Inception, there's totally shit about architecture in that movie, was that your inspiration for becoming an architect?" Don't be an idiot. 6. The Psych 101 class you took back in undergrad. Yes of course, that brilliant, mind-blowing course where you sit and learn paths of cognition, basic features of the brain and limited information on mental disorders. I don't give a crap what you learned. There's not a person alive who's been through undergrad and not taken that stupid course. I don't even remember what I learned in that course. 7. Your boyfriend's friend's dog's trainer's girlfriend who has A, B or C mental disorder. I don't know anything about this person. I can't tell you anything at all about it. Don't get pissy with me when I tell you I don't know anything about it. Stop telling me all about it, because I doubt you know this person either. 8. Your own A, B or C mental disorder, phobia or clinical depression. I told you I majored in Psychology, not the art of becoming a trash dump for your drama. No, I don't care what medications you take.
A Brief Bitching
Today's topic: Google+ and how much is too much. Posted by Laura A friend of mine graciously extended an invite to me and I accepted. I spent some time browsing around the new site. I've been using gmail for ages. I've been using it since back when it required an invite and it was just emerging from its "professionals only" stage and getting popular with former aol and hotmail users. My generation kicked off the social networking craze. The internet was just becoming a mainstream pasttime when I was in gradeschool. Chat rooms, AOL instant messenger and online journals were the place to be in Jr. High and High School, where I soaked up every last word my friends typed and carefully crafted responses while hiding behind the dim glow of our hurky house computer that I practically had to peddle at to keep running. But today, today I felt something entirely new upon launching yet another profile and filling in yet more bullshit information about myself and trying to come up with witty one-liners for "About Me's" and "Taglines". I felt a lump starting to form in my stomach and experienced a level of apathy I haven't before, even after browsing twitter and the thousands of useless statuses, even after the facebook roaming and the blog posting and the picture stalking. I've done it. I've finally reached my social networking breaking point. Google+ has it all. It can sync to your facebook, your twitter, your blog, your youtube, your myspace, your music page, your fake music label, your blog all about yourself in the third person, likely is always watching your cat to make sure it isn't doing cute things that need to be filmed and probably fingers you while you're asleep. If it could suck my cock and make me a cup of coffee, it would almost rival my Wii. You can organize your friends into little "circles" which I'll call "body piles". Where you drag their face and rank them. See, google+ already has some circles created for you like "Friends" "Family" and "Coworkers" so you can limit what you share with certain people and your boss doesn't get that photo of your tits that was meant for...I don't know, everyone else. But you can also create your own circles. Meaning you can organize your "friends" how you know you already see them. Such as: Friends Who Matter One Person in World Who Is Allowed to See My Tits Friends Who Don't Matter The latter body pile is pretty large. I just drag their dead weight in there and leave it be, hoping it'll just go away before it starts to stink. Alright, so I organized my maybe 10 friends currently on google+ and already I'm feeling kind of like a tool for even taking the time to do it, but I press on anyway. Now it's asking me if I would like to have my location tracked on my phone so my equally clueless friends can see me inadvertently check in at the Possum Posse show or Golden Corral or Hairy Twatter the Nerdy Bikini Wax Salon. At this rate my phone might also just somehow take a video of me and post it too, and by the time I'm going back for seconds on carved turkey I'm the laughing stock of my, ugh...one friend currently online. Alright so I like a little endless free soft serve and chicken legs after my Possum Posse, fuck off. This is about the point I got scared. Somewhere along the line in installing google apps to my iPhone, it found my number and was now sending me links to add the Google+ app. My phone had also defaulted to leave my tracking device on. After successfully shutting that down I get to uploading a photo (or more) of myself and writing witty catchlines to go under my name for all to see and chuckle at. And apparently I can also write bullshit posts and things just like on Facebook, only it'll update those for me as well. With my head swimming, I turned to the internet for advice. I googled "what the hell do I do with google+" (irony check) and a myriad of forums come up discussing what features are best, what to turn on and off, how to tweak it just so and rub it in the right spots until it comes. Then I realized, Jesus titty fucking, I don't even care anymore. Life is bullshit. No one gives a shit what I have to say because I don't give a shit what anyone else has to say. We're all going to get caught up in this tangled web of nonsense to the point where what we say won't even matter anymore, because we say way too much shit for far too much of the day. We're far too obsessed with how to be read or heard online, or whether or not our friends know where we currently are or what we're currently thinking. Voicing my concerns to my boyfriend, he replies with the following quote: “I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving, hysterical, mystical, naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix…” -Allen Ginsberg, “Howl”
A Brief Bitching
Posted by Laura
We are starting a new segment, previously titled "Sounding Off" and now titled "A Brief Bitching." This will be a brief post bitching about some daily occurrence, article, or any poor sad sack of a victim who falls in our radar. Today the victim is you, unnamed female Budget Office employee. Feel free to respectfully tell me your opinion about tattoos, but if you call them "disgusting" in front of me I'm inclined to tell you to pull the stick from your ass and screw yourself with it. Crawl back to suburbia, eat some Bennigans, and watch some prime time crap before weeping yourself to sleep, thanks. Then when you wake up at 2:38 am because of your irritable bowel, go ahead and take a long look before you flush. Know that the contents of your decimated toilet bowl accurately represent what everyone thinks of your opinion on this unobtrusive and pretty mainstream form of self-expression.
Sounding Off
Posted by Laura
So it's Friday, according to the 5 people who have stopped by my office to tell me that as a conversation starter only to receive a blank stare from me and a "yes, it is". And guess what, it'll be Friday next week too, and the week after that, but sometimes it'll be Monday so watch out.
Like any day I come in to my "job" to start "working" I spend the first two or three hours of the day reading local/international news, catching up on blogs, and squealing at pictures of cute baby animals. Today I was intrigued by an article in a disgustingly feminist news source that I frequent: http://jezebel.com/5810370/evolution-questions-terrify-beauty-queens Let me make my viewpoint on beauty pageants perfectly clear; they're a joke and anyone who takes part in them is a clown. "But Laura, you can get scholarships for college!" Given the number of women and men in the world doing actual activities with some merit and skill in an effort to obtain money for college, that notion is just insulting. It's especially insulting in light of the above article. So there you are, you just pranced across stage in your bikini, you just did the wave, and now you're standing in your most business-like attire answering questions posed to you by a panel of nameless "judges". Your task is to answer the questions like everyone else answers them; with all the sincerity of a whore telling a client she loves him before sucking his dick. The question is simple: Should evolution be taught in schools? Now, before you get all choked up with confusion, let's take a second to consider what they're asking. Evolution? It's not even a theory any more, it's a fact. Given the overhwhelming amount of evidence supporting it and the fact that it takes place right before our very eyes (see antibiotic resistance, unless you're on Teen Mom humans take ~20-30 years to create a new generation, E.coli takes about 20 minutes) it's impossible to refute, and you'll lose the argument if you try. Bringing religion into it is like taking a dildo to a knife fight (though you could say people might try cramming religion up your ass). The short answer to this question is "Yes". As a person who has stood by my peers and presented my own research at conferences in front of panels of academics far more knowledgable on what I was talking about, this is a joke. And all I got for my presentation was $300 and a bottle of wine that I promptly drank by myself in my hotel room. So, keep on keeping on, women of the world and of the US. Don't think too hard about these questions and get those scholarships! Meanwhile the rest of the slightly less attractive population will have to resort to actual intelligence and ingenuity.
Now here's a pageant I can get behind.