Well, toward the end of yesterday’s post on Scout Niblett, I told you that this week on The Stir-Fried Dinosaur (this is the blog you’re reading right now, dummy!) would be a special celebration of ridiculously cool women. I was going to call it something catchy but I couldn’t think of anything. So I will just call it… Attack of the Super Rad Women!! And you and I are lucky enough to start off this fabulous week with a guest post from one of my favorite bloggers in the world! OH MY GOD, WHO COULD IT BE?!?!?!?!?! Well, I’ll tell you, but first you have to calm it down a bit. Deep breaths… Feeling good… Ready??
Okay. Momentarily, I will proudly present to you… a hilarious post from Miss Jami Nicole of Jami’s Trashcan fame. But before you get to that, I want to spend a few seconds ORDERING you to go read her blog like… every day? (Fine, every other day is acceptable too, I guess.) But go do some reading. She’s funny as f!ck. But she’s also just good at writing. I guess her blog is quite personal, but she seems to have an interesting life and a very unique perspective. Sweet, kind, charming, spazzy, ludicrous, and an adjective I’ve recently invented just for her: “hahaha… umm?” Yes. These are all words I’d use to describe Jami’s Trashcan on any particular day of the week. And since I am dedicating this entire week to giving credit where credit is due, I am really stoked to have convinced her to send me this story… because now all of my lovely readers can see how F-ING RIGHTEOUS she really is!! OH HECK YEAH! (Yes, I’m trying not to clutter all of my posts with “fuck fuck fuck” this week, out of some imaginary sense of chivalry or something. “There are ladies present, you know.”)
Anyway, let me shut myself up. Jami rocks. Here’s a piece she wrote that she keeps calling ridiculous, but I think it’s great… and it’s definitely her. And go check out the link at the bottom so you can start reading her blog religiously, okay? Cool. COOL!
Without further ado. Here it be:
I like the idea of robots. Mostly because I’m pretty lazy. It’d be pretty sweet if I had a robot that cleaned up after me.
The best robots are the robots like Rosie from The Jetsons. Rosie’s super helpful – always cleaning up after those messy Jetsons. But! That’s not all! She’s also seriously snarky and funny. I’m a big fan of anyone who will let me be lazy, wait on me hand and foot, and deal me a snarky remark to boot.
So, my ideal robot will have these three qualities:
1. Clean up after me.
2. Bring me drinks, and food, and generally let me lounge.
3. Make me laugh. Hysterically.
It’s a shame technology hasn’t gotten far enough to where I can go out and buy this model robot at Walmart.
Or hasn’t it?
Well, there is the Roomba, a robot vacuum. That’s pretty sweet. You can put it on a schedule and it’ll wander around your house, vacuuming as it goes.
Number one: check.
And hey! There’s a little secret on the internet that checks off number three!
Maybe I have a sick sense of humor, but this is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.
Imagine – just imagine with me.
You’ve donated your old, 20th century vacuum to charity. You unwrap your new robot vacuum, the one that lets you kick up your feet and enjoy some lemonade out on the porch while your floor magically becomes crumb and crap free.
You’re enjoying the serenity of your backyard when your St. Bernard (affectionately named “Bowie”) comes barreling through the back door. You love on him a little bit, tell him (in baby-talk of course) that he is such a good dog, who’s the best dog in the world?
Then you realize your lemonade is empty. You pick up your glass and walk into the house for a refreshing refill.
You instantly know something is wrong. It’s the smell – that sick, rancid smell. You recognize it from that time you stepped in dog shit and its scent followed you all day. But the smell is strong. Too strong.
You glare at the dog, who is sitting outside on the patio, his mouth open and drooling. He looks pleased with himself.
You go to investigate. You know Bowie likes to do his business by the fireplace in the front room.
So you go. As you get closer to the living room, you think maybe you’re in the wrong house. After all, your carpet is white, not brown.
And then, you stop. The smell. The brown carpet. The whir of your faithful robot slave.
Bowie took a shit. You started the Roomba. And now, Bowie’s shit is everywhere.
See? It’s the funniest thing ever! Mostly because it hasn’t actually happened to you, I know.
Anyway, so purely because of the Roomba-shit factor, number three is check.
But it still can’t make me a sandwich.
Hopefully I’ll live long enough to have a real robot, though. One that’ll make me a sandwich. And make me laugh without spreading dog shit all over the house.
One more time, before we wrap it up, you can find a treasure chest full of Jami’s words and photographs over at http://jaminicole.com/, and I do strongly suggest you give it a shot.
And in case Jami herself reads this, I just wanna say thanks!! I’m really stoked to have your work take up this little corner of my blog. I now feel 16X cooler!! So. Thank you, 16 times!
And for everyone else, stay tuned for more gratuitous displays of lady-parts! Attack of the Super Rad Women will continue on, very shortly. Thanks.