I'll Be Beating Them Off With a Stick For Sure

I'm thinking of signing up on one of those dating sites, and I'm hoping you guys can help me edit my profile.


Name:  Dana the Biped (Prada the Puff and Stink are freebies.  Or an entourage, if you think that's cooler.  Whatever.  We're a group package.  I really hope you don't have allergies.)

Date of Birth:  Old enough to buy beer, young enough to still get carded for buying beer.  Old enough for my great-aunts to think I'm a spinster, young enough to want to punch them for it.*

*I do not actually condone great-aunt-punching.

Occupation:  Full-time office drudge, part-time blogger/karaoke jockey.  I'm a "slash"--like the Midwest's version of Paris Hilton, except I know what Walmart is and my boobs are real.

About me:  Well, I've got a fair few skills that would help in a zombie apocalypse.  I know how to use a chainsaw and drive a manual transmission.  I'm great to have around in an emergency--I've set my kitchen on fire enough times to know that panicking helps nothing. 

I love to eat, so I'd be a great test subject for anyone who likes to cook.  And since I'm a total whiny wimp when I'm sick, you have the prime opportunity to play romantic hero by supplying me with tissues, cough drops, and books.  In my free time, I like watching Doctor Who and not wearing pants.

But seriously, how could you even edit such a work of genius and panache?


(True:  I'm limping through the whole day with just one can of Mt. Dew.  I'm impressed that I'm still conscious, frankly.)

Shoes: A Long-Term Relationship

The Squeeze recently got new shoes.

This is a BIG DEAL.

You see, The Squeeze had a pair a long time ago that he really, really liked.  So he wore them every day until the soles were falling off and they looked liked something that might have died on the side of the road.  Eventually, he was prevailed upon to acquire new shoes.  He looked and he looked and he looked, and finally, he found the exact same pair and bought those.  Those he wore until the front of the sole flapped off the shoe like a sad, thirsty dog's tongue, and the heel entirely fell off.  You could say by this point, he definitely had a "type."

But this new pair?  They're the same shoe (of course) but in a different color.  They're dark grey and orange instead of medium grey and orange.  Once they arrived--The Squeeze's feet are too big to get shoes in a store--he had to ease himself into the idea of actually wearing them. 

First they sat in their packaging by the door for about a day.  Then the outer packaging was removed and they waited patiently in their box by the bench where shoes are put on feet.  Finally, quietly and without a fuss*, the old shoes were gone and the new shoes met their solemates.

I just love a story with a happy ending, don't you?

*No, it wasn't me.



(True:  I am going to have some making up to do for this post.  Hey, Squeeze, wanna see The Avengers with me this weekend?)

Nose As Long As a Telephone Wire...

Don't tell The Squeeze, but I sort of set the kitchen on fire last night.  Just a little.  I turned the back burner on instead of the front one, which was no big deal.  I turned the proper one on, and turned away to grab a plate.  Turned back, and--well, apparently the roll of paper towels was a leeettle too close to that back burner.  It was a rather lovely pillar of flames.

I used the floor, my feet, and a lot of cuss words to put it out.  Luckily, the paper towel holder is marble.  Luckily, the floor is tiled.  Luckily, I was actually wearing shoes for once.  Luckily, the neighbors didn't look out their kitchen window into ours.  That might have been difficult to explain. 

But hey, in a relationship, it's okay to keep some things to yourself, right?  A secret isn't exactly the same as a lie...

And it's not like my pants actually started on fire.  They're just a little, you know.

Singed.

Jemma is totally judging me.

I Am a Walking Slapstick Routine

Or a limping one, really.

I broke my little toe last night, and you know how I did it?  Walking.  Honestly, in a world of "survival of the fittest," how am I still drawing breath?  It's shocking really that I haven't asphyxiated on my own tongue, much less that I drive cars without incident on a regular basis.

Aaaand now I won't be able to wear the awesome pumps I was planning on for the wedding I'm going to next week.  Which means I'll need to find another suitable, open-toed pair in my closet or buy some.  Which frankly I don't want to do. 

(By the way, I may well go M.I.A late next week.  I'll be in Florida, vacationing with Seven and attending a mutual friend's awesome wedding.)

This Karma is too sweet to suggest I deserved it.

Girl Scout Cookies of DOOM!

Yesterday I got my Girl Scout cookies.  (Don't tell The Squeeze; I don't want to share.)  On the box, there are photos of girls doing wholesome, morale- and character-building activities, and that seriously freaks me out.  Dude.  I'm trying to have some nice, healthy, bingejunkeating here.  Don't go pushing your wholesomeness in my face.  I just want to eat my cookies and guilt in peace.  You know what would help?  Maybe a picture of something as sneaky as I feel, like a ferret or something.  Or a spy.  Or a ninja!

Dear GSA:  Please put photos of ninjas on your cookie boxes.  Ninjas are strong and can stand up for what they believe in by kicking ass.  Also, they help overcome preconcieved stereotypes of what it is to be female, what with having to wear lots of makeup and be totally skinny and also really tiny skirts.  Ninjas wear masks.  You can't even tell what gender a ninja is when they are attacking you, though that might be because either they are invisible or because you are already unconscious, but still. 

Sincerely:  Dana the Biped
 P.S. A ferret-ninja would be okay, too.  Or a duck.  Everybody likes ducks.

Bud would totally let you have all the Thin Mints.

Do You Think Anne Hathaway Would Do It?

Valentine's Day in the Biped/Squeeze household went something like this:

Me:  I know it's the buttcrack of dawn, and I'm sorry to wake you up, but I have a favor to ask.
The Squeeze:  Happy Valentine's Day, baby.
Me:  Aw, thanks!  Happy Valentine's Day to you, too. 
The Squeeze:  What did you need?
Me:  I think the dog is sick.  Can you get a stool sample?

Ah, l'amour.  We are a romantic movie in the making.


(True:  Prada's fine.  I'm pretty sure she just ate a stick.)

No chocolates for Bella, please.  Just cuddles, and maybe something sparkly.