Things rarely work out as I expect.

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It’s Friday y’all, and that means one thing – Cocktail Time. But before we get to that, don’t forget to submit your questions to Ask Vesta. I’ll answer anything. Interestingly, the questions I’ve received thus far all pertain to sex, a topic which we discuss, well, never at the Cowardly Feminist. When I conceived this idea, I hoped to get all sorts of questions – serious, thoughtful, silly, whatever. It never occurred to me they’d be about sex, which is fine, but if you are related to me, you have been forewarned.

Anyway, make sure to email your questions to me at cowardlyfeminist@gmail.com, with Ask Vesta in the subject heading.

On another somewhat related(ish) topic, in the last couple weeks I’ve received numerous emails from marketing companies. They want to either ply me with crap (and it is crap – if they were offering something good then I’d consider it, you know, like a car or something) from their clients in order to give them a plug, or pay me to plug their products. Well, actually they want to pay me to have someone else do the write-up that plugs the product, which annoys me. I’m a writer, you apparently think you can sell your stuff to my readers, so wouldn’t it follow that I should be the one to write the plug? The answer is no, at least according to one of the marketing gals that contacted me, they want to write it themselves. “One of our professional writers will supply the editorial.”

I can be professional too, bitch.

Anyway, I’m not entirely sure how or why this is happening, but I do know that I can do a much better job at it than some of the individuals that have contacted me. For example, one of the emails had ‘Advertising with [website]’ in the subject heading. Ummmm, dontcha’ think you might want to fill in the name of the website? Maybe? Just me?  Way to phone it in.

Did I mention a couple of the companies sell sex toys? Yep. Call me crazy, but I’m guessing you guys might wonder what the hell was going on if suddenly I started posting about dildos and riding crops.

But you know, maybe after Ask Vesta gets under way, that’ll all change…

And on that note, let’s do Happy Hour…

So, about today’s cocktail – it almost didn’t happen. Yesterday I went to the market and passed a bin of cantaloupes on sale for 99 cents each. I like cantaloupe, it’s fucking delicious. I do not, however, have a freaking clue how to pick one out, and in fact I’ve never bought one in my life. If I order fruit somewhere and it shows up, I’m happy, but I don’t seek it out under normal circumstances. But hey, why not throw some melon into the mix for Happy Hour, right? So in my basket it goes.

Half an hour ago, when I decided it was late enough in the day to test out a cocktail, I pulled out the cantaloupe to wash and slice it open. I may or may not have mentioned previously that I have weird food issues. Not only is my diet ridiculously limited, I also get weirded out by food easily. It’s not a good thing. So I’m washing, and I realize that usually when I eat cantaloupe it’s already cut. The rind is actually sort of…brain-like. I had to finished washing it looking away so as not to freak myself out too much.

Yuck

Then I cut it open. To my surprise it was perfectly ripe. I figured I had a 50/50 chance at having picked one that was still green on the inside. However, one thing I didn’t bargain for was seeds. Somewhere in the recesses of my brain, I’m certain I knew cantaloupes had seeds, because how the fuck else do you grow a cantaloupe tree? But they looked so disgusting, I almost abandoned the cocktail then and there. Fortunately, I decided to man up and scoop all the gooey-ness out and move on with the project.

Lucky you.

My build up of the drink was terrible, but it was quite good. Really.

Melon Surprise (that is a terrible name for a cocktail, I know, but whatever. You come up with something better)

  • One whole cantaloupe (yields three drinks)
  • vodka or gin

Cut and section cantaloupe, then liquefy in blender or food processor. In an ice filled rocks glass, pour 2 oz gin or vodka, then top with cantaloupe puree and stir. Garnish with a melon slice.

In spite of my initial reaction, I will say the cocktail was excellent. Yum.

Happy Friday y’all. Have a wonderful weekend and tune in Monday for  Ask Vesta  (and don’t forget to email your questions!).

Just when you think you’re smart

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**Side note – as if to prove my point, Word Press is acting weird today. It has taken it upon itself to format my paragraphs on its own, splitting some of them up where they shouldn’t be, and throwing others together when they were separated. So if the flow sounds weird, it’s because I’m too dumb to figure out what the hell is going on. Oh well.

I’d like to think I’m an intelligent gal. I read, I keep up with the news, and I know a little bit about a lot of things, and a lot about mostly useless ones. But at least once a week I read something that tells me I don’t know jack.

Take yesterday’s article in Digital Trends. Researchers at Brown University developed a mind controlled robotic arm, which is operated by a microchip implanted in the human brain. To date, they have implanted the chip in 15 individuals without ill effect. The goal of the project is to assist the disabled, a laudable cause indeed. Here’s a piece of the university’s press release:

A 58-year-old woman (“S3”) and a 66-year-old man (“T2”) participated in the study. They had each been paralyzed by a brainstem stroke years earlier which left them with no functional control of their limbs. In the research, the participants used neural activity to directly control two different robotic arms, one developed by the DLR Institute of Robotics and Mechatronics and the other by DEKA Research and Development Corp., to perform reaching and grasping tasks across a broad three-dimensional space. The BrainGate2 pilot clinical trial employs the investigational BrainGate system initially developed at Brown University, in which a baby aspirin-sized device with a grid of 96 tiny electrodes is implanted in the motor cortex — a part of the brain that is involved in voluntary movement. The electrodes are close enough to individual neurons to record the neural activity associated with intended movement. An external computer translates the pattern of impulses across a population of neurons into commands to operate assistive devices, such as the DLR and DEKA robot arms used in the study now reported in Nature.

This is fascinating, and one step beyond the Honda Corporations mind-controlled helmet, unveiled in 2009. When worn by a human, it enabled a person to control a robot by thought alone. All I can say is – go Brown University, way to step it up a notch! Helmets are bulky, and totally mess up your hair. But a microchip? Now that’s what I’m talking about.
Really, this amazes me on so many levels. Obviously the benefits of such technology to paralyzed individuals is wonderful, and could potentially allow them to live much more autonomously. The very fact that people developed this technology is astounding, at least to me. I don’t even know what makes my dishwasher work, much less how to make a microchip with electrodes capable of interacting with neurons in the human brain.

And so of course this all makes me wonder, WTF is the world gonna be like when I’m 80?

Now don’t roll your eyes and assume Vesta is about to go off on another ‘evils of technology’ tangent. I don’t pose the question in a, technology-will-be-the-downfall-of-us-all, sort of way. I really and truly am curious as to which of the many inventions and developments created will translate into daily life. Take Botox, for example. In the 80s botulinum  toxin  was refined for ophthalmological use to treat crossed eyes. Now it is used by millions of people for cosmetic purposes in the US alone. Millions.  You know what else is used by millions? Viagra, which was first used as treatment for hypertension. I could go on and on about inventions which originally had one purpose and are now widely used for something else.

I don’t know how, or if, microchipping of the human brain will be used in the future. Many will say we’re one short step away from some sort of crazy world domination plot in which Mark Zuckerberg implants all of humanity with microchips, and then uses us as a real life video game. I’m gonna go with not so much. Not because it couldn’t happen, but for the reason that it isn’t cost effective. Let’s face it, we live in a world where hunger and lack of potable water exist, so microchipping the world just isn’t going to happen.

But that doesn’t mean that people won’t pay for it. What I find most interesting about technological advances is that only a very few people in the world possess the knowledge to make this shit happen. The rest of us are just consumers, including myself. And we buy all kinds of crazy things, how else can you explain Sky Mall??

Huh. When I began writing this post it was my intention to imagine what sort of technological advances we could expect to see in the future, but it took a decidedly different turn. So, I leave you with Robotic Dick, Phillip K, that is.

I too am a fictionalizing philosopher, or something.

It wasn’t me. Plus, I’m a shameless pimp.

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It’s been a while since I posted about my dogs, mostly because not everyone is an animal person, and I don’t want to be known as the crazy dog lady. But this affects me directly, and includes a lot of talk about farting, so here goes…

Tooty and her toys. The red one is totally beat up and disgusting, which of course means it's her favorite.

Lil Stinko is pretty freaking old, about 16, which is forever in human years. We call her Stinko because even though she is very small and has short hair, she is capable of holding on to stink like nobody’s business. Giving her a bath only helps for a day – within 24 hours she’s back to smelling like a much larger dog. I’ve mentioned Stinko’s doggy bronchitis in previous posts. It’s a bummer, she hacks a lot, and has to take steroids to keep the inflammation in her lungs down. But don’t worry, she is still active, all about food, and wants plenty of attention. And we give it to her, whatever she wants, because spoiling the shit out of her surely is, in part, what keeps her trucking along, right? Up to recently, other than the hackity-hack, she hasn’t had any major problems in quite a while.

Except for the flatulence issue that developed a couple months ago.

It isn’t stinky, but boy is it hella loud. Which is both frightening and funny for such a tiny animal. Being mature and responsible adults, my husband  and I both laugh hysterically whenever Stinky lets one go, mostly because she always looks so damn surprised, like, where did that noise come from? We’ve been calling her Hacky for a while, and once this began we changed it to Hacky-Tooty. Now we simply refer to her as, The Tooter.

The other day I was watching a movie, and she came running into the living room to get in her doggy bed. As she leapt, she tooted. Loudly. So loud, in fact, that it scared her, so the moment her feet hit the bed she jumped back out of it, and then poked her head inside to see where the noise came from. Poor, stupid Tooter. The night before last, my husband had just come home from work, and Tooty moseyed (am I the only one that continually spells it mosied? I always get confused when spell check changes it) out of the kitchen to say hello, and while walking let one rip, which startled and then set her off into a gallop. It was as if the fart propelled her across the living room.

All this is fine and good. I mean, she can’t help it – Stinko is ancient. There’s just one problem, I dread taking her outside. See, when I say it’s audible, I am not kidding. And our apartment happens to be upstairs, with a circular stairwell, so any little noise echoes. I just know she’s gonna let one fly and a neighbor is going to think it’s me. Because who on earth will believe such a sound could come from a six and a half pound dog??

The answer is no one. So I’ve taken to running down the stairs with her in the hopes that she won’t have time to do it, or if she does the noise of my feet drown out the sound.

Anyway, onto something else. Y’all know I can be a shameless pimp, right? I don’t pimp out my own stuff too terribly often, because over-pimping leads to no good. But I will pimp out a friend in a heartbeat, whether it’s real life, or one of my beloved bloggers. I’m all about giving love.

So when a reader reaches out, I’ma pimp her all over the place.

Yesterday I received a freaking hilarious and profanity-laced email from Alisa of Snarky Cards, where you can find awesome Brutally Honest Greeting Cards. Who doesn’t appreciate brutal honesty? I do, as long as it isn’t about my hair. Then I only want to hear good things.

Alisa had me at hello with her opening –

“I sell them in bars from a box that hangs beneath my boobs. They will crack you the fuck up.”

Number one, I am always impressed with boobs. And number two, Boo-beez plus Hahas equals good in my book. Also, the cards are hand painted and made using a typewriter. A typewriter, y’all. My screensaver is a typewriter. I like boobs. I like to laugh. Alisa and I meant to be friends. So head on over to her Etsy store and pick up a batch of cards to send out for all occasions.

Ask Vesta – the best bad advice you’ll ever get.

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Hello and Happy Monday. I hope all the momma’s out there had a lovely day on Sunday.

Over the weekend we went to see Headhunter, and saw a trailer for this:

Interesting. I am all for man grooming and getting rid of unwanted hair. However, I lump mustaches into that category. There are, like, five men on earth that can pull off the stache-only look.

Actually, there’s only one:

I'll admit it, he makes the stache sexy.

Anyway, you know how sometimes things just appear in your life, over and over again? Like all of a sudden, you’ll start running into old friends in random places, or ten different people say you’d look interesting as a blonde, and you think it’s a sign (what either of those would be a sign for remains a mystery, but you know what I mean)??? Lately the subject of advice keeps coming up for me. Well, advice and cowboy boots, but that’s a different post.

Most advice columns suck. I always wonder who writes in to them, and whether or not they’re serious. Especially the ones in men’s magazines. That does not, however, prevent me from reading advice columns. Even when the question is ridiculous I’ll read the answer given, and I almost always disagree with the response.

So I was speaking with my sister over the weekend, and we decided I should start an advice column, because I am full of useless recommendations. Plus, I only have two categories on this blog, one for cocktails, and the other for everything else. I think it’s high time we add another. Manners, fashion, conflict of all varieties, familial, work, partner-related – ask me anything. It’s highly unlikely I’ll know the answer, but I can provide many, many examples of what not to do.

All inquiries will be posted anonymously, so y’all don’t have to worry about your identity being revealed should you happen to write in asking advice about a coworker, VD or erectile dysfunction. Send your questions to me at cowardlyfeminist@gmail.com with Ask Vesta in the subject line.

You know the saying folks – there are no stupid questions, so ask away.

PS- I think that saying is BS, but I will totally answer stupid ones too.