Hello, all you guys on the internet that steal away so much of Robert’s precious time meant for back-rubbing, toe-painting and hair-brushing. I’m the girlfriend and I’m your attendant on this flight through a lady’s take on all this science stuff that I’m bombarded with a solid 3 hours each day. Robert cut me a solid deal a few hours ago which consists of a trade in duties—He’s washing all of the post-BBQ dishes right now, hopefully remembering to hand-polish the glassware like I told him, and I am updating his weblog. He said his big ol’ brain was too tired. Please forgive him.
Because Robert’s leaned this blog all techie scientific nerd-fest, I’m not going to be writing an essay on all of the ways T-Pain is the hip-hop Willy Wonka like I planned to. No, I’m going to explain a feature of my relationship with Robert that many of you dudes are probably familiar with.
It’s called the “puppies.”
Whenever Robert starts explaining the difference between megabytes and megabits, or telling me how these scientists are building a robot that farts Beethoven’s 5th, or letting me know that this car that just came out has an engine with 1,000,000 horse power and can fly if you hope hard enough, or cluing me in on the latest developments in Scifi channel movies… He eventually stops because I’ve stopped nodding and mhm-ing and I need to be revived from my boredom coma. He looks at me with a frown and asks, “Puppies?” Because that’s where my brain goes when it’s overloaded with information that means nothing to my immediate situation. Like talk about comic book movies and how they’re fucking it all up because this guy wasn’t part of that particular story line. It’s a handy self-destruct feature that I assume all girls have.
The thing is, while going through Robert’s bookmark folder entitled “Fuckin’ A Science”, I found some things that could totally interest me. Why not talk to me about those, dear? Why do you push me away with your cold, cold science? Here are some things that you could start out with, babe:
Apparently in China some old lady’s male cat sprouted wings when he was bombarded by female cats in heat. He sprouted! Wings! Talk about the sweetest little genetic mutation, yes you are, yes youuu arrre!! The only way to make cats more adorable and endearing, beyond what Lolcats have already accomplished, was to make them look like what Precious Moments kids would keep as pets. Imagine your cat flying around the room, batting at the pull strings of ceiling lamps. I would shit hairballs of glee! I want to make snow angels with this cat. I want to hang-glide with him. I want a flying cat that I can tote around on a leash to be my living balloon. That’s so much cuter than putting a puppy in your handbag. All my girlfriends would be jealous.
You know, a lot of guys have become really adept at listening to girls issues and providing insight. It’s this new generation of fellas, for whatever reason they’ve developed the means to relate to and recognize emotions, know when you’re pissy, and when to get the hell out of the way when I Love Money is on, you can fuss with the configurations of the TV to get a clearer picture when Chance is off screen.
That being said, there is still an amount of struggle in getting dudes to really, REALLY care about that shit day we had. Not your fault. You just don’t get the nuances of backhanded compliments and derived bitchiness from baristas and Macy’s employees. That’s why Feelix Growing is going to be planted right next to the door, so I can unload all my gripe right as I walk into the house. He can recognize when I need somebody to console me and not provide me with constructive advice to “get over it.” With built in cameras and sensors, Feelix, who I will call Fee-Pain, will be there to take part in all of my emotional messes, be they a raise or some douchebag homeless person who calls me a cunt. He’ll laugh when I laugh, comfort me when I cry, and exclaim when I cry happy tears.
For some reason, ya’ll just don’t get the happy tears, do you? That makes me feel bad, that you’re never so full of happy that your body just needs to squirt a bit out your eyeballs.
Targeted direct sound ads will soon relieve confusion in the baked goods isle. Somebody whispering, just to you, about how Oreos are the best choice will drastically cut down on shopping time. And increase cookie time.
Now some would probably say that direct sound ads are super Big Brother, but I say who cares? If I’m walking by some shop and all of a sudden I hear a soft, pleasant voice telling me personally that there are some awesome shoes inside and they have my size and they’re on sale, I’d be pretty stoked. Knowing all that without having to take time to go into a store and risk being harassed by desperate saleswomen/men all for the sake of no shoes sure does save me a lot of pain. And you know what, sometimes I’m trying to find the perfect tube of lipgloss and I’m surrounded by a hundred choices and it’s really just too much to take in without my most recent copy of Lucky magazine handy… Direct sound ads would remind me that Loreal really is the best choice, and dammit, yes! I am worth it!
So now that I’ve given you a few starter topics, maybe we can work this science talk thing out. I don’t want to give up on us. We can make it if we try. We can build these dreams forever, standing strong together, nothing’s gonna stop us now. Just make sure that your conversation starters have a lot to do with me, things that I like to eat, things that can make sure my dark under eye circles never see the light of day, or things that I want to squeeze till poop comes out because they’re so, so cute.