The Things I've Done

I am back in a totally non-zombie way.  Things got... a bit crazy for a while there.  Let's take a look at my itinerary from the last six weeks or so, shall we?

• Thanksgiving:  The Dude met My Sister the Lawyer, and no one died.  Mostly importantly, me.
• The Dude proved himself to be the worst friend ever, but his friend did specifically request a roasting.
• My company Christmas party.  Open bar.
• The Hobbit:  Desolation of Smaug!  Followed by beer.
• Christmas party with the Dude's enormous Irish family.  Open bar.
• Christmas #1, with the Dude's mom.
• Christmas #2, with my family (Sandwiched by Christmas Eve and Christmas #3 for the Dude.
• Hangover.
• Light show at the arboretum
• New Year's Eve pajama party.  With beer.
• Hangover.
• Inventory at work (yay!...).  Followed by beer.
• Lunch (and beer) with friends
• Computer-building with beer.
• Karaoke!  Beer-fueled karaoke!
• Hangover.
• Board game party.  (No beer--recovery.)
• Frozen!

Honestly, I think I'm forgetting about half the things we squeezed in.  Some of it is probably lost in a semi-drunken haze.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, I missed you while I was away.  But beer!


(True:  I actually don't drink a lot.  Partially because drunk me is an exact replica of the worst B-actress's portrayal of badly-written drunkenness--who actually slurs?--but mostly because I've never found drink and fun to be mutually inclusive.  I think some of the Dude's friends think I'm a teetotaler.)

This is a true thing.

When you're sick, no matter how old you are, you wish your mom were there to take care of you.  Because the pizza guy is willing to bring you food, but it's unlikely he'll buy you another box of Kleenex when you run out.

If you hadn't gathered, I'm sick.  It's just a standard cold (or possibly the flu; doctors are for wussies), but it's the full-fledged disgusting kind, complete with snot bubbles.  My whole face is leaking.

I'm pretty gross right now.  Fortunately, I have a very fluffy dog whose not-so-secret superpower is cuddling.  (Also something the pizza guy isn't in for.)

Real post tomorrow!

xoxo,
Dana the Biped

Window Licker

I'm prone to really nonsensical dreams.

Sometimes, the people are made up of geometric shapes in primary colors.  I still recognize them.

Sometimes, I dream entirely in green.

And sometimes, there is no "plot" or people, just a series of sentences and phrases that don't make sense paired with really strong feelings about these sentences and phrases that don't make sense.

This morning, I woke up urgently needing poppy-flavored Windex.  So, you know, the next time I need to lick my windows, they taste nice.  (On a side note, what do poppies taste like?  I don't even know what they smell like.)

I just realized, this whole post sounds like I'm on drugs.  To clarify, I am not on drugs.  Unless you count caffeine, in which case I need to join a twelve-step program stat.


(True:  As the holidays are over, I'll be going back to my regular posting schedule.)

Hops in the Right Direction: Paying It Forward--With a Giveaway!

Remember that time that my mom accidentally pet a 'possum instead of a cat?  And I implied 'possums are ugly monsters?  And then that led to this post, where I talked about marsupial fetishists collecting images for their pinup calendar?  And I unleashed this horror upon the world:

I'm sorry, you probably had repressed that.

Well, that calendar is now a thing, and you can get one FOR FREE.

Yes, that's right, a full, proper, 12 month, full-color calendar in all its perverted glory* can be yours.  FOR FREE.  All the images are brand new and created by my very very cool friend/cousin/faithful reader/marsupial fetishist Dianawesome.  Because she is awesome.

All I ask is that, in lieu of payment, you donate some time/money/old towels or other supplies to whatever animal shelter you like.  Then, email me at danathebiped@gmx.com with your address and details of how you helped a homeless pet.  That's it.  You could even lie about the help part if you really wanted, because I'm going on the honor system here.  In January, I'll post what we've all accomplished, and we can all be amazed and self-congratulatory over how fabulous we are.

Fabulous, right?

Because even though we're sick and twisted people, we've got squishy soft hearts.  And just in case you need a reminder of where to find your squishy soft heart, let me tell you a story.

In the spring of 2011, I adopted a three-legged Pomeranian with a slew of anxiety issues and a rapidly approaching "adopt by or else" date.  She was kind of raggedy:

But she had a great smile.  And she was terrified of being alone and also of slippery floors.  My friends and family gave me whatever rugs they could spare to help me accomodate her on my hardwood floors.

Fast forward through lots of obedience and relaxation classes for her, massage lessons for me, a ton of research about tripods and their bodies, and countless hours of training.  Fast forward to this Thanksgiving at my folks' house. 

Prada was in the living room on her rug.  Mom, Dad, and I were in the kitchen chatting.  And then this happened (which you might not be able to see very well, because it was taken on my old really dumb phone):

That's my dog on a hardwood floor, if you can't tell.  And this is why you should do something good.  Because every shelter pet that finds a home has a thousand little miracles in their lives, the most important being a family.  And also because 'possum faces on pinup girls are funny.  (And free!)


*(True:  I feel obligated to point out that a couple of the calendar possumgirls turned out a little grainy.  They'll all be perfect next year, though.)

Defensive Karaoke Part Three: Ew.

Short post today, because my To-Do pile is so large it's literally (not figuratively) spilling off my desk.

New Year's Eve:  I worked the karaoke.  It was a pretty normal night, if somewhat busier than normal.  The Squeeze and some friends were there, which is always fun, expecially since it means people are less likely to try to lick my ear.

I've mentioned before that my station is near the ladies' room.  It's a one-seater and locks from the inside.  For the first time, I actually had to grab a guy by the scruff of his neck and haul him away from following his lady-friend in.  Instead, they proceeded to make out and...  Well.  Clothes pretty much stayed on, thank goodness.  They started at nine p.m.  I left at quarter to four in the morning, and they were still going.  Ew.

Chapstick, anyone?


(True:  I don't really get this whole kissing someone on New Year's Eve thing.  I mean, fine if you're out with someone, but if you don't have a date, it just seems like a good way to get cooties.)

Trapper is cootie-free and looking for love.

Goodbye, this last year. Hello, Earth's Last Year.

Well folks, this is my last post of 2011.

According to the much-hyped Mayan calendar, the world will end on 12/21/2012, and that knowledge has influenced my New Year's Resolutions.

• Eat whatever.  But don't gain too much weight, because I still want to be a fairly svelte specimen when an alien species unearths my corpse in a few millenia from the Vesuvius-style ruins.
• Drink more beer.  Alcohol makes a great preservative.
• Get a tattoo for identification purposes.
• Take up running, and enroll in a wilderness survival course.  I may as well give myself a sporting chance.
• Continue doing laundry semi-regularly.  Because who wants to die in dirty underpants?

So, folks, what'll it be?  Geothermal flares?  Volcanic eruptions?  Asteroids?  Pestilence?  Robots?  And what, if anything, are you doing to prepare?

Oh, yeah, and it's not too late!  Email your pet's Ugly Sweater Photos to danathebiped@gmx.com, and you might win a $10 pet store gift card!!!  (To be honest, your likelihood at this point of winning is almost certain...)


(True:  The 12/21 date may actually be a "give-or-take-60-days" appointment, which makes waiting for the cable guy seem pretty reasonable.)

Trapper has already proved he is ready to survive anything, and will come out the other side tail wagging.