An Update On The Problem of Maria

Remember the letter from Baroness Schraeder? Well, there's another Sound of Music letter! Julia posted it on my wall earlier today. This one is from the Reverend Mother.


FROM: The Reverend Mother
TO: The Nuns

My Sisters,

As you know, our little convent has been plagued in recent months by “the Maria problem.” I must say, in all my years serving the Lord, this is the greatest challenge I have ever faced. It is like trying to hold a moonbeam in your hand.

Nuns have described Maria as “a headache,” “a demon,” and “capable of outpestering any pest.” Yet, when I put out a box to collect anonymous Maria-related complaints, many of them seemed relatively minor:

• “She climbs a tree and scrapes her knee.” We are not Franciscans, but surely we can agree that a youthful heart often expresses its love of the Almighty through delight in nature. Besides, it’s spring; it’s like the hills are alive!

• “She’s always late for everything except for every meal.” As a novice, Maria may simply be unaccustomed to the regimented life the convent demands. By the way, the implication that she is fat is simply uncalled for.

• “Underneath her wimple she has curlers in her hair.” Sisters, we all know that Maria sports a rather unflattering pageboy bob, with nothing resembling a curl upon her head. Whoever submitted this slander must search her soul.

On the other hand, I must admit Maria makes me uncomfortable. Once, she mentioned that brown-paper packages tied up with string were among her favorite things. That doesn’t seem normal, does it? Plus, her five-octave range is positively unnerving.
So what can be done? I have been conducting frequent meetings on the subject with the most senior nuns, and a number of options have been proposed:

• KICK HER OUT. Vetoed. These walls were not built to shut out problems; we have to face them.

• FEED HER LESS. By limiting her rations, we may deny her the energy to do things like waltzing on the way to Mass or spinning around on mountaintops with her arms outstretched.

• ADMINISTER FREQUENT, SAVAGE BEATINGS. I am shocked at the number of times this was suggested. For shame, sisters. I know it can be truly frustrating when she will not stay and listen to all you say, but we are nuns! Nuns!

• LOAN HER OUT AS A NANNY TO AN ECCENTRIC NAVAL HERO. I don’t really understand this plan. How is this going to make her a better nun? If anything, I feel that putting her in close proximity to children will exacerbate her own childish tendencies.

Sisters: I will consider our course. In the meantime, let us pray for a solution to this seemingly insoluble problem of Maria. We must have faith that we can climb every mountain, ford every steam, follow every rainbow, ’til Maria either stops being so annoying or falls in love with someone and gets married. I sincerely hope that the time soon arrives when we can turn our attention to more pressing matters. For instance, I hear the Nazi Party is quite popular nowadays?

Yours in Christ,
Reverend Mother

P.S. The voting to select a word that means Maria has been completed. The winning word is “Flibbertigibbet.”

Click here for the original post by Matthew Belinkie on Timothy McSweeny's Internet Tendency.
 

The Fart That (Almost) Altered My Destiny

Well, you can certainly tell from this blog when it's law school finals time. My level of posting increases by roughly a bajillion percent. It's like I've suddenly become queen of the interwebz. In reality, I'm just avoiding my outlines and paper.

 I read this blog post earlier today, and I laughed so hard that tears were literally streaming. Full dislosure, though - this may not be as funny as I'm making it out to be. It's entirely possible that I'm just out of my mind because - did I mention - I'm in the second week of law school finals. I should also note that this post is about farting. As a 28-year-old quasi-professional, I like to think that I am above fart humor. As I discovered in reading this today, I may actually be at the level of a 12-year-old boy. Enjoy.

The Fart That (Almost) Altered My Destiny
by Anna Lind Thomas

Like everything in life, farts have a time and place.  However, I never realized that in the wrong time and place, flatulence had enough power to alter my course in history.  Well, it can if it’s the third date with the man of your dreams.  And, if it makes his eyes burn.  If God destined us to be together, I was one SBD away from foiling His plans (that’s “Silent But Deadly” for you prudes). 

It was about five years ago.  I was trying to lose a few pounds so I was staying away from carbs.  That’s when I met my husband, Rob.  On our first date, he booked the next two.  He liked me.  I liked him.  Things were looking real good.

He picked me up in a Cobra, Mustang and his pathetic attempt to win me over with a car totally worked.  I’m not shallow, but since I spent most of my twenties picking men up because I didn’t want my hair to frizz in their non-air conditioned jalopies on 3 wheels and a 15 year old spare, I welcomed his fancy sports car with open arms.

We arrived at the restaurant and Rob was ordering food I hadn’t allowed myself to eat in years. I didn’t want to be “that girl” so I ate, drank, and oh, was I merry.  Later we shopped a bit. Rob surprised me by buying an expensive pair of shoes that he caught me eyeing.  Was this love?

That’s when it happened.  Gas strikes in two different ways - uncontrollable toots or sharp, shooting pains that feel a lot like dying.  I thought I was dying.  Not to make a scene, I told Rob I suddenly wasn’t feeling well and probably needed to head home.

On the way home in his Cobra, he tried to hold my hand and ask me lots of questions, but I wasn’t having any of it.  The pain was so bad it felt like I was being stabbed with a bunch of tiny forks.  Then I realized ...

My God, help me.  I have a horrendous fart on deck.  I’m in trouble.  Big trouble.
The more I held it in, the more pain would shoot through my stomach and down my legs.  I was even having to raise myself off the seat, gripping on to my door and the dashboard.

“Seriously, you need to hurry - I’m in a lot of pain.” I managed to say through gritted teeth.

“Wow, it’s that bad?  What’s wrong? Do I need to take you to a hospital?”

How do you tell a man you just started dating that the reason you’re writhing in pain is because you have to fart?

Well, you can either tell him, or like me, let the fart speak for itself.

People, hear me.  There was nothing I could do.  As impressive as I am with sphincter control, this was out of my hands.  Slowly, it eeked out.  The more I tried to stop it, the more it forced its way through the door.  However, to my pleasant surprise, there was no sound.  I sat silently, sweat accumulating above my upper lip.  Ok, maybe I got away with it.  Maybe I’m home free.  Then it hit me.  Not an idea, a cloud.  A horrific, fart cloud.  Not in a, “am I smelling something?” sort of way.  More like a “is someone dead and rotting in your trunk and am I in hell?” sort of way.

Suddenly, I panicked.  “Roll down the windows!” I screamed (yes, I literally screamed it like I was in a horror movie).

“What? Why?” Rob asked, starting to freak out because I was freaking out.

“I can’t roll down the windows, unlock it!  UNLOCK IT!”

“What’s going on?” Rob yells back to me, “Why are you ...” then it hit him.  I could see it in his eyes.  Was it surprise?  Horror? Water started to accumulate at the base of his eyelids, “Oh my God, I CAN TASTE IT!” he screamed.

“Roll down the windows!”  As I screamed, the toots started to flood out uncontrollably.  I scratched and clawed at the window like I was being kidnapped.  Rob, unable to see either by fart cloud or panic, kept turning on the windshield wipers instead of unlocking the window.
It was chaos.  We were acting like we were under siege by gun fire.  We were under siege alright, just not by gun fire.

Finally he was able to hit the right control and he rolled down our windows.  We both gulped in fresh air.  I was horrified, yet happy to be alive, then remembered I just farted on the man of dreams, then sorta wished I was dead.

We sat silently for the rest of the way home.  Although the shooting pains had subsided, I now desperately needed to use the bathroom, in an urgent, explosive kind of way.

He pulled up to my apartment and before he could come to a stop I had already jumped out, “Ok, thanks for dinner, sorry about the fart, love the shoes!” and ran in to my apartment like I was running from the cops.

I burst through my door and ran straight for the bathroom, where I was finally able to unleash and make noises that no one should ever, EVER, hear coming from another person.

Then I heard it.  Rob’s voice.  Right.  Outside.  My.   Bathroom.  Door.

“Anna?  You left your shoes in my car and your front door was open.  Where do you want me to put them?”

“Get away from the door!” I scream like Reagan from The Exorcist.

“Ok, I’m sorry.  Are you okay?”

*toot* *toot* *splatter* *ungodly noise*

“I’m fine, Rob - just leave the shoes there.  I’ll call you later okay?”

“Okay, are you sure you’re ...”

“I’m fine!  Get away from the door!”

This man!  I mean, I love him, but take a freakin’ hint!

Finally, I heard the front door shut, and the Cobra engine zoom away.  I thought that was the last I’d hear from him.  I didn’t think it was possible to ever see a man again after he screams he can taste your fart after only knowing you for 48 hours.

But, to my surprise, I did.  A couple days later, actually.  Now we’re married and he’s lying on the couch while I type this ... “It was your rack that saved you,” he just lovingly reminded me.
Well, thank you boobs.  You saved us.  You saved our destiny.

Oh my gosh - I read it again now as I was posting, and I definitely think it is hilarious.  This is the line that gets me: "Suddenly, I panicked.  “Roll down the windows!” I screamed (yes, I literally screamed it like I was in a horror movie)."  I know that's exactly how I'd react.

Click Here for the original post on Hahas for Hoohas.


 

Hanukkah's Over Babe - DEAL WITH IT

So there's this comedian named Billy Eichner. He's crazy - in a good way. His show, "Billy on the Street," is him running around New York City with a microphone asking random people trivia for a prize (his prizes range from $1 to a stack of printer paper to a toaster). Most people are so caught off guard by him and others are just idiots. It makes for wonderful YouTube videos.

I basically think he is hilarious, and he has lots of comedian friends. Here he is running around with Amy Poehler challenging people to sing Christmas carols with him.

PS - He's Jewish

LOVE MOM: Air Force Christmas Flashmob

Mom sent this in a family email the other day, and I finally just watched it as a way of not studying for Corporations. Such a bad idea on my part. I openly admit that I'm a sucker for flash mobs. What I don't usually admit is the effect they have on me - I almost always cry. It's so weird. I just can't handle the awesome, I guess. It's overwhelming to the point of tears. I was doing fine on this one until about minute 4. Now, I'm openly weeping in the UVA Law library.  This is why everyone thinks I'm so cool.



Other flash mobs that have made me cry: this one, this one and don't even get me started on this one.

LOVE, MOM

Don't Name Your Kid 'Phone'

Whoops I haven't posted in a while. So this is "Kid President" and I want him to be my child.

Doonise in...

THE SOUND OF MUSIC.

Jolly Christmas Medley

This is a true fact about Christmas time and law school:

What law school does to my Christmas Spirit

But then I hear something like this, and I'm like, "Oh yeah!  IT IS THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR!"  Because this - THIS is what Christmas should sound like:


 

I Heart Muppets

I don't know why I have been on a Muppets kick lately, but all I have wanted to watch is Muppet Treasure Island, Muppets from Space, and A Muppet Christmas Carol. Since I don't have time for movies in my life, Youtube videos are the best that I can do. I am putting the classic Danny Boy clip that we love on here, and a few others I found that I enjoy. "Meep meep meep meep meep meep meep meep meep meep meep meep." (I was quoting Beaker.)

Like Mike

As I watched the first half of this video I was convinced it was fake, but when Channing Tatum and Bradley Cooper came on and I realized that this toddler legitimately has the craziest ability to shoot baskets. Why couldn't I have met celebrities as a child? I bet if I did, I would be a celebrity now. Mom and Dad should have exploited my talents more. Anyway this video is awesome, and there are tons more of them if you ever want to watch Titus the two-year old show up adults in basketball. Enjoy

The Christmas Carols Blowing Up My Facebook Newsfeed

Here's the Pentatonix poving, once again, that they are the best. Christmas style.


Then, we have Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Lady Gaga pair up for an unlikely, but awesome, duet.

I like that they've switched the male and female parts. It makes the song less . . . rape-y.

I Regret to Inform You that My Wedding to Captin Von Trapp Has Been Canceled

Poor Baroness Schraeder. I never thought about it from her perspective. 

 Dear friends, family, and Austrian nobility,

Captain Von Trapp and I are very sorry to inform you that we no longer plan to wed. We offer our deepest apologies to those of you who have already made plans to travel to Salzburg this summer.

Those of you on the Captain’s side of the guest list are probably aware of the reason for the change of plans. I’m sure by now you have received that charming “Save the date!” card in the shape of a mountain goat from the Captain and his new fiancée, Maria.

 I must confess to being rather blindsided by the end of our relationship. It seems Captain Von Trapp and I misunderstood each other. I assumed he was looking for a wife of taste and sophistication, who was a dead ringer for Tippi Hedren; instead he wanted to marry a curtain-wearing religious fanatic who shouts every word she says.

But I don’t want you to be angry at him. We are all adults here. “But Baroness,” so many of my friends have said, “you must be devastated. You yourself are fabulously wealthy, so you cannot have wanted the Captain for his money—you must have truly loved him.” It’s true. But so, I am sure, does his new fiancée, his children’s nanny. Her wardrobe is made of curtains. She’s definitely not a gold digger or anything.

I’m sorry. That was crude of me. She seems like a lovely person, and she and the children have a great deal in common.

A great, great, great deal.

Since I will no longer be a part of their lives, I do hope you will all keep an eye on the Captain’s children. I am not terribly maternal but I was very fond of them in my own way and I must admit I am worried what will become of them now that I have gone. I had planned to send them to boarding school, since their education at the moment seems to consist mostly of marching around Salzburg singing scales. I think it would have been particularly helpful for the eldest daughter, who seems intent on losing her virginity to the mailman.

Please, friends, don’t worry about me. While I was a bit startled to be thrown aside for someone who flunked out of nun school, I assure you that I will be fine, and my main pursuits in life shall continue to be martinis, bon mots, and looking fabulous. You’ll also be glad to know I have retained custody of the Captain’s hard-drinking gay friend, Max. Anyone who gets tired of sing-a-longs should feel free to look us up.

Again, my deepest apologies for this disruption to your plans. I am currently sorting through the wedding gifts we’ve already received and I will send them back as soon as possible. The Captain would help, but he is busy learning to play a song about cuckoo clocks on his guitar.

Sincerely,

Baroness Elsa Schraeder


Um, I am dying, particularly over these quotes:

"Her wardrobe is made of curtains. She’s definitely not a gold digger or anything."

"I think it would have been particularly helpful for the eldest daughter, who seems intent on losing her virginity to the mailman."

Melinda Taub is a genius.  Click here for the original post on Timothy McSweeny's Internet Tendency.