Tag Archives: Lissy

Tito the Rooster or How We Are Constantly Annoyed by our Pet Chicken

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The Nod

During the holiday season, traffic tends to be unbearable. We spend hours in bumper to bumper traffic where I suspect, if cars were people, they would be very upset. Now, when I say traffic, I don’t mean just cars. If you live in any of the vacation cities (Miami, New York City, etc) then you get this. We got bikes, we got children, we got pieces of rubber running throughout the roads. It is usually this time of the year where pedestrians get on our nerves. Many of us wish to buy into the impulse and just run them over. Some of us do.

But wait! There’s hope for those pesky pedestrians yet.

Now, I’m sure you know the nod. Yes, the nod. If you’re not an asshole, you’ve too have done the nod. Say, you’re crossing in front of a car that’s about to park. This driver now has to wait for your jolly ass to shimmy across his future parking space, oh, from 30 seconds up to 4 minutes (You know who you are…). However, in your ultimate gift to humanity, as you finally finish taking up the driver’s time, you give them a nod.

It is now that the chaotic universe has been restored to its former glory.

The Two Steps of the Nod

There are those amazing individuals who give the nod right at the start of the process, whereby all annoyance is forgiven. Then there are those unfortunate people who wait until the very last moment to give the nod, thereby filling within the driver a growing hatred for all mankind. I believe these kinds of nodders live on an adrenaline rush. But no worries! As long as the nod is given, your karma will remain in tact.

This morning, one of our very own writers, Heather, became the target of hate and frustration everywhere. Let’s hear her story:

When I was making my way to my job, I had to cross three lanes to get to my lane to turn into the parking lot and I crossed two lanes without problem but then in the third lane, someone snuck up behind me and I almost hit them. So I was like “Oh shit…,” and went to my regular lane, let him pass, and then continued on


Achievement Unlocked! Avoided hate face.

my way. Well, I hit a red light and we both were side by side so I was like “Oh god, he’s gonna give me the ‘I hate you look'”, so i quickly looked at him and mouthed “sorry!” and held up my hand in that little wave that people make, haha. So he nodded back at me and we both went our merry way.

Thank you, Heather. What a stand up citizen! You avoided a crash and stopped a man from beating his frustration out on his wife.

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The NingTengdo Gui

My mother approached me this afternoon, leaning on the doorway while I was on the computer. I looked up and she proceeded to tell me a funny story. This is translated from Spanish, except the words that aren’t Spanish, like gui. Those I keep the same.

Mother: Your cousin is getting a gui for Christmas.

Me: A what?

Mother: A gui.

Me: Gui? What’s that?

Mother: Ay, you know. A gui! With the controls that go pio pio and make you move around.

Me: A Wii?

Mother: Yeah, a gui.

Me: No, not a “gui”, a Wii.

Mother: A gui.

Me: Wii.

Mother: Gui!

Me: Wii!

Mother: Gui!

Me: Okay, repeat after me. Woo-ie

Mother: Goo-ie.

Me: No, Wah sound. Wah. Wii.

Mother: Wah….Wah….Gwua…Gui?

Me: Yes, perfect. Gui.

She almost had it at the end there. Somewhere in the middle, she says it all low and relaxed. Gui. My mama, she so funny. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a Gui, something like a game console built out of guava pastries. Mmm, guava.

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Pa-Pa-Pa Poke Her Face

One of the more useless functions on Facebook is the “poke” feature. What exactly does this do, besides annoy the living crap out of people? “Teehee, I virtually poked you.”

No, you didn’t.

I’m sitting at my desk right now, completely poke-free. I don’t know you who think you poked, but it wasn’t me. I have no splitting pain in my side and unless you’re some invisible entity, you sure as hell didn’t poke me.

There’s a higher chance that I poked myself.

And the poking wars! Well, I hate having notifications stuck in the upper right hand corner of my homepage, so of course I unintentionally encourage this idiotic behavior. Until someone finally forgets, the pokes are generally endless.

I’m damn tired of it. Next time you poke me, I’m camping outside your house in the nearest bush and waiting for you to step out. I’m going to tackle you to the ground, Facebook Poker, and finally give you all the pokes you deserve.

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I live at school. During Christmas break, I come home and bring most of my junk with me, especially the things that need to be washed (an early Christmas present for my darling mother). However, I do, from time to time, take trips back to my dorm, as I did this exceptionally fateful day.

Okay, maybe fateful is a tad over dramatic.

Well, I was having myself a nice chat with the boyfriend over the interspace and he tells me he’d be right over. Cue this face:

Mushroom cloud of trepidation.

Why? Because I stink. Not a problem! You say. Just take a shower. That’s what I thought too. I grabbed some articles of clothing and went my merry way when I stopped cold. I forgot to bring a towel. My roommate was sleeping. I could have stolen her towel, but that’s just so wrong. What else could I do? Air dry? No, that would take too long. So then, what’s just as good as towels?

Paper towels.

Naked, I dashed into the living room, grabbed the towels and ran back into the bathroom. All right, let’s do this! La, la, la, la, la! In the shower! All’s good. I step out, rip off a piece of paper towel, and start dabbin’ myself. One paper towel soaked. Two paper towels soaked. Three. Four. Five! Oh gawd, too many paper towels. I’m way too eco-friendly for this. As I stood there, naked and cold, I had a great idea!

I’ll use the door! So I opened the door, made sure everyone was still sleeping, and then started swinging it back and forth between my hands. Sure, the burst of air was freezing, but tell you what. It got the job done. In a strange way. And, so as to please your hypothetical side, I have included a diagram of what that may have looked like, should you have been the unlucky bastard looking down the hall.

Notice the shower cap. Hot, huh?

Was I dry? Indeed. Was it weird? Quite. Mission accomplished? Verily! I slipped on some undergarments and for the next 15 minutes, chilled in mah undies. Turned on the tube, flipped through the channels a bit, enjoyed my new-found faux-naturel state…

And then the air came on.

Always know where your towel is.

-Douglas Adams

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Passive Aggressive Notes to Roommates #1

My roommates tend to slip up when it comes to cleaning. One in particular always leaves a mess of toothpaste all over the sink. Looks like a minty rainfall. The mirrors over the sink rarely escape the toothpaste splatter as well. Needless to say, I wasn’t diggin’ it, but I didn’t want to confront them and seem like the bad guy. Hence, the birth of this post-it:

Our mirrors double as vanities...

I put it up right before bed; that way, they’d see it first thing in the morning, right? Well, when I woke up, the note was gone. I looked around a bit and found it in the trash bin, crumpled half-assedly. I rewrote it and stuck that mofo right back up.

The sinks look a little better.

As for the dishes…That’s another story. I’m the main dishwasher. I’ll wash whatever’s in the sink. Only one of my three roommates washes her own plates and nothing else. The other two simply forget while walking past the radioactive monster lurking in our kitchen sink or just don’t like washing dishes.

So I wrote a note to put over the sink.

It got a lot of laughs, maybe a couple of washed dishes, but alas! The task will always be mine…

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The Importance of Dashes

When people are speaking, they are tempted to throw together all kinds of words. “That’s a cool ass game you’ve got there!” or “Let’s write so hard people everywhere will be amazed” are just examples of a few such concoctions. But what happens when you add a dash in certain places? Let’s watch our favorite word combinations take a turn for the worst…

"That's a cool ass-game you've got there!"

“Let’s write so hard-people everywhere will be amazed!”

"I did some bomb-wrapping on your present!"

"Hey, who said you can just throw those fucking-grenades around?"

"That was a smashing-party!"

"I hate this stupid-shit!"

“I love watching people-eating bacon.”
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An Open Letter to the Girl Wearing Short Shorts in the Winter

I saw you. Sitting alone at the bus stop, tapping your foot along to whatever inane music was blasting through your earphones. Or tapping your foot in an attempt to disguise your shivering.  Yeah, I knew. Everyone knows. You’re not fooling anyone in your black NYU hoodie and itty-bitty jean shorts. When you woke up this morning, what possessed you to put those on? Did you think, for a second, that maybe you woke up in Hawaii? All right, fine. I’ll give it you. Maybe you were pressed for time. But jeans? Really?

Jeans get cold. Quick.

I’m not going to pretend I can’t see the goose bumps on your legs from all the way over here. I mean, every small gust of wind is like a punch to my face, and I love the winter! Wonder what it’s doing to you. But, honestly, why?

Did you think it was fashionable to walk around on icicles? Is the top half of your body that only half that counts? Someone wrote in your 8th grade science textbook that gangrene only extends to your upper limbs and that was the only thing you ever retained from your childhood after the hard drugs and liquor took over your brain?

Yeah, I’m going to assume you must be smokin’ some good stuff to be walking around in 50 degree weather with a pair of jean shorts, flip-flops, and a hoodie. A part of me, albeit a small part, just wanted to run up to you and shove you into my pocket as an act of kindness.

Maybe this one can be saved.

No, there will be more. One winter, they’ll adorn every Christmas clothing ad and end up a huge fad. People everywhere will freeze to death in an attempt to emulate you, short shorts girl, you and your indelible fashion sense.

Just tell me why. Why do you do this? Is it a trial into adulthood? A mating ritual? New way to skip exercise and shake all the fat away? And how, how do you do it? How do you manage to sit on those cold, bare metal benches with half of your ass exposed and your poor thighs truckin’ through it?

I want to know what you know.

You’re one crazy sonnababetch, but you know what, short shorts girl? Props. Major props for keeping a straight face all day long.

Mad jelly,


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Live from the Porcelain City

Come on. You know you do it. I know you know you do it. For sure, I’m not the only one in the world who performs such an unspeakable evil. Even your own mother does it, most likely. And if your grandmother could, well she would too!

Frowned upon by anyone, practiced by everyone…I’m talking about…

Laptops in the bathroom. Don’t! Don’t give me that look! The comfort, the practicality of it all! And in the winter, it warms your tush. It’s your own personal heater and entertainment system all in one. Oh, you say you take a paper or magazine? Probably some popular name that, no doubt, can be found on the internet.

Don’t you lie to me!

Hey, listen. I’m not gonna judge you. I’m one of you, man. Chillax. Feel the plastic underneath your skin, recline against that porcelain wall. Type your little heart away. I feel ya.

No,no. Shh. I’m not gonna tell anyone. You and I, we’re bros now. There’s no turning back. In fact, we’re laptop-in-the-bathroom bros. Or hoes. ‘Cause I’m pretty sure if a hoe has a laptop, she uses it there. I don’t discriminate.

Brown, black, purple, caterpillar: I don’t care what you look like. You use your laptop in the bathroom. Admit it! How many times do you find yourself at a friend’s house, looking longingly down the hall and into the bathroom? Time is limited. Bowels don’t wait. Calculations are made. Can I make it there and back with my laptop and have no one notice?

We can’t keep living in the shadows like this! Life’s too short to be sitting on the can without your laptop anywhere from five to fifteen minutes! Oh, my  god. I’ve got it.

We should make a petition. Or broadcast from our bathrooms! Yeah! That’s ingenious. Embrace your primitive side! You take your dump and message your friends on Facebook at the same time! Let the whole world know you won’t stand for this anymore.

I use my laptop in the bathroom, and you like it. That’s your new mantra.

Learn it.

Live it.

Love it.

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Open Letters #2: Save my Skin

Dear Winter,


I know you think you’re cool and all that, but I’m here to tell you that your coolness is touching me the wrong way. Literally. Now, I love breezy mornings as much as the next person, but what I don’t love is this:

Imagine waking up in a freezing room. You remove the covers and make a sleepy shuffle to the bathroom. Eyes still partially closed, you slip off any undergarments and take a seat. The surprise that follows is shocking; your ass is now temporarily frozen by the icicle of a toilet seat underneath you. You realize that you’ve already sat down and there’s no going back. So you brace it. You sit there, goosebumped, half-naked, and vulnerable to the elements, just trying to get your day started.

That’s messed up, Winter. What kind of prank is that? How would you like it if I came to your house and, for 2-4 months, consistently melted your ass every morning? I don’t know about you, but attempting to hover over Lake Eisurassof for 30-55 seconds every morning is messing with my head.  I just don’t have that kind of strength in the mornings!

Haven’t even had a slice of toast yet.

You don’t even get this, do you? You’re not even listening! I love you, I do. I really, really do. I just want you to leave the toilet seat and my warm thighs out of this. Or go to the neighbor’s house. I always hear them talking shit about you.

You’re not gonna do anything, huh? Well, at least my clothes won’t melt onto my skin (Yeah, I’m talking about you Summer. You’re next, you frilly piece of…).


Well, see you in the morning,


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