I'll Be Playing Vince Vaughn

I've got two weddings and two funerals this weekend, which is the perfect set-up for a movie starring Vince Vaughn and a cardboard cut-out of Reece Witherspoon.  (Not that I have anything against Reece.  But her hair is way better than mine.)

This is a terrible time to be unable to think of any icebreaking jokes that don't reference Weekend at Bernie's.

This is the best news title ever...

"Drunk Man Assaults Stormtrooper, Ghostbuster On Free Comic Book Day, Gets Tased, Arrested By Police"

That's from Geekologie, which is pretty much where all my news comes from.

Gawker also has an article, plus this super-amazing ultra-awesome pic:

Via

This is why I love the Internet.


(True:  You should tell me when something awesome happens on the Internet.  You can find me, right over there, to the right.  --->)

(True:  80% of adults have trouble with left and right.  So I've provided you a helpful arrow!  not that I'm assuming my readers would necessarily be in the 80%.  You're definitely in the 20% just because you're here.)

Life-Threateners

Yesterday I scored two Lifesavers from HR.  Having a bit of a sweet-tooth as I do, I was a bit excited.  And so, when I ran into coworker M, I waved the candies in his direction.  And okay, maybe I was kind of exuberant about it.

But I swear I never meant for one of the candies to be hurled toward M's face, narrowly missing and exploding against the wall, scattering shard of the sweetest shrapnel all over the hallway.

The worst part is, the one that didn't explode/nearly brain my coworker?  Yeah, it was watermelon-flavored.  And if that isn't the saddest story you've ever heard, I just don't want to live in this world anymore.


(True:  The best Lifesaver flavor is, without a doubt, Butter Rum.  More candy should be booze-flavored and workplace-friendly.  But I guess pineapple is pretty good, too.)

Reason I Love My Job #848

My manager gave me beer for Christmas.


(True:  I'm headed up to AbominableSnowmanLand tonight--no promises that I'll post on Monday.  Have a safe and happy holiday, folks!)

Remember Me? That Blogger Who Isn't Dead? (Yet.)

You guys.  Did you know that tomorrow, September 13th, is Defy Superstition Day?  I think it's funny that the one superstition no one will be defying will be the whole Friday the 13th thing.

I was going to write about all the superstitions I was going to bash my way through tomorrow, but I'm beginning to realize there is a difference between being superstitious and being crazy.

Things I'm not afraid of (aka, things other people are apparently afraid of):

• Black cats
• Walking under a ladder
• Breaking a mirror
• Opening an umbrella indoors
• Crows, ravens, and albatross
• Sidewalk cracks
• Red sky in morning

Things I am afraid of (aka, why yes, I am neurotic):

• Putting mail in one of those big, blue, public mailboxes
• Not checking at least twice to see if my car doors are well and truly locked
• Making any noise whatsoever when my neighbor comes or goes
• Giving everything (even inanimate objects) less-than-equal treatment (All of my stuffed animals were shown no favoritism when I was a child.)
• The Gremlins under the bed
• Books that aren't alphabetized by author (though by genre, then by author is acceptable.)

So maybe I'll mail you letter and then be mean to a frying pan, or something.




(True:  A friend did throw spare change on the floor of my new car for good luck, and I am sort of afraid of picking it up...)

If the World Ends, It's Probably My Fault

You know how the Doctor always has a companion?  Keep that in mind.

I was at the store, waiting patiently in line to purchase my items.  There was a man chatting in front of me, and it was unclear whether he was in line.  I figured, no big deal, either he'll move forward with the line, or he won't and I can step up then.  The woman behind me did not agree.

"Can you move up already?" she asked.

"I think he's in line," I said politely, continuing to wait.  A few moments pass.

"Well, I guess because I asked, you're not going to move up, then.  Bitch."

Everyone who has been waiting patiently turns to stare at her, because she's clearly missed her medication.  A passing employee opened their register just for her, because this woman seriously looked ready to slug me. 

But I've figured it out.  If I had interrupted the man's conversation and asked if he was in line, explaining that I had to interrupt because if I could move up about a foot and a half, the space-time continuum would bend, making time go faster, so the woman behind me could buy her cheetah print press-on nails in less time and therefore meet the Doctor back at the TARDIS in time to save the world from alien invasion.

Via

And now, we're all probably going to be infested by alien/plant/parasites and leafy fronds are going to grow out of our eyesockets, and it's all my fault.

Sorry about that.


(True:  If I had the opportunity to time travel, I'd take a lot more naps.)

A Whole New Meaning to the Phrase "Double-Tap"

I did a rare thing this weekend--I took some vacation time.  My folks own property up in the northwoods of Wisconsin, a few of the most beautiful acres in the world, as far as I'm concerned.  Long weekends there mostly involve hanging out outside in one way or another.  We hit a couple of outdoor, dog-friendly art fairs, we took a short hike around Bond Falls (a dog-friendly path), and we went swimming on a dog-friendly beach.

I was particularly looking forward to the latter as this past winter, I'd purchased a life jacket for Prada but hadn't had the opportunity to give it a go yet.  Because Prada is usually uncomfortable in new environments, especially ones where she doesn't feel like she has her feet securely under her, I really didn't know what to expect of the excursion.  I needn't have worried.  Prada paddled her feet for a moment (she's got the instinct for swimming certainly), and then chilled out.  I mean, she relaxed so deeply she almost fell asleep.  I was pretty tickled to say the least.

We didn't stay long.  Even though the water was bathwater warm, it doesn't take much for little dogs to get chilled, and after about fifteen minutes, Prada started shivering and it was time to get out.  But hey, they were a very successful fifteen minutes--it may be time to look up one of the dog-friendly beaches in Chicago I keep hearing about.

Without the dogs, we went four-wheeling (sorry, it's a drought, I can't honestly say we went muddin'), and did some target practice.  My dad has this gorgeous 9mm pistol, a Colt MK IV Series 80, and I had the pleasure of emptying the better part of a clip at the tail end of the weekend.  I'm much more familiar with rifles (though I don't get much practice with those, either, but enough to know I prefer a little bolt-action rifle without too much kick), and after a brief run-down on the mechanics of it, I let loose. 

Our target wasn't exactly high-tech--just a hunter orange circle about four inches in diameter slapped on a pizza sheet, but it did the trick.  Or rather, it probably would have done if I could aim worth a damn.  I hit the tin maybe twice, but not the orange at all.  I'd never be able to hit a zombie in the chest, much less in the head.  I tended to hit a few inches below and to the left of the target--at least I'm consistent.

And now you'll know how to find me in the zombie apocolypse:  I'll be the one being run down by zombies missing their right testicle.

Via

(True:  I never quite understood why it is zombies need to be shot in the head.  Wouldn't fire work, too?  A flame-thrower probably wouldn't require such precise aim.  Just sayin'.)

Thar She Blows!

It's been windy in Chicago this week.  I mean, really windy.  And Prada does not approve.

We've had to keep our walks very short, because every time a gust of wind catches her from behind, her fur billows like a sail and whips her butt-end off the ground to one side or the other.  Prada is left scrambling to keep the single front foot both on the ground and underneath her.  She's taken to army-crawling on the ground in the windiest areas.

This is probably not something I should find funny.

(One more reason I keep Prada on a leash--I don't need her actually blowing away!)

***

An important note:
Okay, this is actually important:  Diamond Pet Foods has voluntarily recalled several of their lines of dog food that may be contaminated with salmonella.  You can see the lines affected here.


(True:  This Friday is Take Your Dog to Work Day.  My office is participating, and it's going to be awesome.)

Run for Your Lives!

Good God, you guys, this.  This:

Via

I saw this at Deals (a grown-up version of the Dollar Tree), and I've got a picture of my own on my phone that I took in thrilled horror.  I mean, look at it!  This is meant for children!

I'm pretty sure it's an undead, zombie-blue, buck-toothed horse with a messed up tail and a thirst for blood fresh from the jugular of your child.  I'm calling it Tweedle-Dead.


(True:  Anthropomorphic pillows freak me out.)

Even Sunny is in a rush to get her people out of the path of that monstrosity.

Healthcare for the Country Girl

Do you need to go to the doctor?  A handy checklist.*

Are you bleeding? 
Are you bleeding a lot?
No?  Don't waste my time.
Yes, quite a lot?
Is this bleeding putting you in mortal danger?
No?  Quit whining and put some duct tape on it.
Yes?  You may drive yourself to the doctor.

Do you think you may have broken a bone?
No?  Whenever you're finally done with what you're doing, take an aspirin.
Yes?  If it is broken, would the doctor be able to put a cast on it?
No?  It's your finger/toe?  Put some tape on it.  You'll be fine.
No?  It's your tailbone?  Sit on a floaty-ring.  You'll be fine.
Yes?  Can you see the bone?
No?  You're probably fine.  Walk it off.
Yes?  You may drive yourself to the doctor.

Does your head hurt?
Yes?  Did you fall from a great height or did something heavy fall on your head?
Yes?  Can you remember who the president is?
No?  You may lie down until someone finds you and drives you to the doctor.
Yes?  Do you have a very strong opinion about the president?
Yes?  You're fine.  Take one of those good pills left over from when you had your wisdom teeth out four years ago.
No?  You may lie down until someone finds you and drives you to the doctor.
Is the person nearest you screaming something about squishy pink stuff spilling out of your noggin?
Yes?  You're screwed.  You may as well not bother with the doctor.

Do you have a cold?
Is this a joke?  Use some Vicks and quitcherbitchin'.

*I am not a certified healthcare professional.  If you die, it's not my fault.


(True:  I love Vicks.  I once wrote an ode to express my love for Vicks.)

Coco is writing you a prescription for snuggles and rawhides.

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.