FAQs

These are the most common questions I receive.  Here are the anxiously-awaited answers. 

I'm sorry.



1)  Can you help me with my English homework?
Sure.  That money I spent on college ought to be put to some sort of use.

2)  What's with the possums?
I don't know.  It's the best kind of mystery.

3)  What should I read next?
A book.

4)  What are you wearing?
Long underwear in a dingy gray, two pairs of socks, old sweat pants, a hoody two sizes too big, and a parka.  Or if that floats your boat, whatever you think is gross.

5)  Are you a feminazi?
If a dude called out another dude for being a douche, does that make him a dudenazi?

6)  Why do so many crazy things happen to you?  Do you make them up?
Sadly, no.  It's serendipity.  And a lack of social and/or motor skills.

7)  Can I someday be as awesome as your dog?
No. 

8)  Nine, Ten, or Eleven?
Ten.  Obviously.  The hair.  And below that, the... sneakers.

9)  You say you are from Wisconsin.  Do you like cheese?
Only if it squeaks.

10)  Who is your hero?
My nana.  I once went to her in an existential crisis.  She took one look at me and said, "Suck it up.  You're a Whoozit*."
*Name changed to protect me from the marsupial-lovers.

11)  How do you get through each day?
On my monitor, I have a shrine to the Virgin Mary, Superman, and Britney Spears. 

I... I Don't Even Know What This Is. But It Scares Me.

I went to a charity event this weekend.

At this charity event, there was a raffle.

I bought a raffle ticket.

I won a prize.

It was a stuffed animal.

Sort of.

Except it was more like an alien, not an animal.

And it has testicles on its head.

Yep.  They really are connected by a long shaft.

Mr. Sandman, Bring Me a Dream. Not a Fucking Mess, You Asshole.

I live on the top floor of my building.  Heat rises.  So in the summer, my apartment gets really hot--generally, whatever the temperature is outside, it's ten to fifteen degrees warmer in my home.  (Thank god for my window AC--that keeps it about the same temp as outside.)  And in the winter, all the massive amounts of heat pumped out by our cast-iron registers--which is either on or off for the entire building--creeps up to my apartment.

I sleep with the windows open.

But something that happened last week is making me rethink the wisdom of that.  Because apparently, even on the third floor, weird shit can get in your windows.

Like sand.  I woke up one morning last week with a significant amount (maybe a cup or a cup and a half) of motherfucking sand all over the windowsills and nearby floor. 

How does that even happen?!


(True:  I just referenced The Chordettes in this post title.  I am officially old.)

You Didn't Find What You Were Looking For. Thank God.

I don't know about you, dear reader.  I worry about you.

Almost every day, I check what search terms bring traffic to this blog.  Frequently it's something like "sad dog" or "possum face" or "bees knees" or "hunger games nazi germany."

Okay.  I see where those are coming from.  I even see what posts those search terms would bring you to.

But every once in a while I get an outlier.

To the person who looked for "hairy ferrets":  Are there hairless ferrets?  Or are you trying to shave your ferret?  That sounds worrisome.  And wiggly.

To the person who came here looking for "hot chick with her mouth open":  What you're looking for is called porn.  This place called the internet is the land of plenty when it comes to porn, so I'm not really certain why you would choose to come to my small, self-depricating blog.  Unless you're talking about me in the summer, when my apartment is 110 degrees and I'm panting in an effort not to expire and sweating like a sweaty thing.  In which case you should know I don't post photos of myself.  And you're still a perv.

To the person who searched for "dear jesus loves everybody's":  Please finish that sentence.  Really.  Come back and let me know in the comments.  I'd really like to know.  You put in the apostrophe, so it can't be a typo.  Dear Jesus loves everybody's what?


(True:  I really hope some of these folks stick around and interesting content, even if it's not what they're looking for.  I try to be open-minded like that.  And to all you weird seach term-ers:  I wish you well and hope you find what you're looking for.  Just not here.  Because that shit's just bizarre.)

What is wrong with me?! (Seriously.)

Walking out of the bathroom just now, I saw two co-workers staring at me, which I thought was rather odd.  Then I realized I had toilet paper stuck to my face.

Via

Pinterest Makes Me Hate Everybody

WRONG.  Let's try this again:

• Goodmorning = Good morning.  You clearly are not going for a concise, 140 space text here.  Get it right.
• i = I.  We humans are ego-centric, and the first-person subjective pronoun is capitalized, which I learned in first grade.  I'm so sorry you didn't.
• Makeup = Cosmetics.  Making up is what you do naked after an argument.
• inseperable = incorrect.  Spell shit correctly.
• bestfriend = best friend.  You are still two separate (See what I did there) people.  You can be close, but your cells are not physically bound together.  The term "best friend" works the same way.
• your = you're not intelligent enough to use second-person pronouns correctly.
• people are like "your stillll together = fuck you in so many ways.  If someone is saying something, and you are using a tag such as "they say" or, less-intelligently, "people are like," then use use a comma to separate (See what I did there?) the tag and what is being said.  Just putting in quotation marks implies irony or a lack of truth.  Apparently, people are implying that you as a couple are not, in fact, "stillll together," or are only "stillll together" in a technical (but not a practical) sense.  Also, I don't know of a single word in the English language that uses four consecutive Ls.

The moral:  If you are trying to impress someone, do try not to look illiterate.

These are gift boxes--made from toilet paper rolls.  Because nothing says, "I'm a shitty friend," like giving a gift in a box that's been hanging next to your toilet for a week.  (Except maybe using a tampon box instead.  But that says more, "I'm a bloody awful friend," to me, and less, "I'm a shitty friend."

Yeah.  Fuck you, too.

I'm sure she'll love that when she grows up and becomes the man she always felt she was meant to be and gets married in a tux.  Also, who the hell is supposed to do that much planning? 

Ah, yes, the ubiquitous hipster version of the "Hang in there!" kitten motivational poster.  Shoot me now.



And finally:

• Braids and other hair styles that are touted to be "easy."
• Reasons to be fit.
• Recipes with six ingredients I've never even heard of requiring a kitchen mixer technical know-how equivalent to running the International Space Station.
• Bridal boards.
• Outfits.
• Anything DIY.

Are you on Pinterest?  Do you also have a love/hate relationship?


(True:  You can find me on Pinterest here.)

Sources:
http://pinterest.com/pin/74098356340133965/
http://pinterest.com/pin/18084835974700895/
http://pinterest.com/pin/125749014566546699/
http://pinterest.com/pin/246431410831140505/
http://pinterest.com/pin/66991113178229741/

This Is Supposed To Be My Grown-Up Job (Not Adult Job).

WARNING:  This post is work-related and utterly inappropriate.  If you have virgin eyes or any amount of decency, you'll probably want to pretend this post isn't here.


I work in the electrical industry, specifically commercial lighting.  Yesterday, I quoted a pendant light fixture with this option:  "Tripod with Decorative Balls." 

That describes how the fixture is hung.



(True:  Another mounting option for that same fixture is a single aircraft cable, part number 1SAC.  This is seriously freaking me out.)

Surprise! It's a Dog!

Prada came to work with me today.  She is currently hanging out under my desk by my feet, gazing longingly at all the people walking by who aren't loving on her.  Occassionally, she pops out to say hello, or cries a little because I'm not sharing my pizza (I never do, poor girl).  And then the passers-by are all, "Oh!  It's a dog!"  And then I laugh because what else would I have under my desk, a chicken? 

And now I want to bring a chicken to work just to see what people would do.



She's not blind.  I'm just the world's worst photographer.



Sunny would love to hang out under your desk.

The Warm and Fuzzies

Ahem.  You may have heard--I grew up in the country, on a bitty little hobby farm (i.e., my parents weren't professional farmers, we just had lots of farmtype animals).  A good half my stories from my childhood come from interesting interactions with these farmtype animals, or those animals that just wandered into the barns to mooch food.

Let's meet some of my childhood companions, shall we?

'Possums.  We had them.  Not on purpose, but the oversized rats seem insanely attracted to cat food, much like the aliens in District 9.  They're about as cute, too, but much less sympathetic.  My mom was feeding the barn cats one evening, and either the power was out or she hadn't bothered to turn the light on.  In any case, she was in the mostly-dark barn, and when one of the cats wound its way around her ankles, she bent down to pet it--and came face-to-face with a 'possum who just wanted some lovin'.

Wanted:  Cat food and some sweet, sweet love for "attractive" single monster.

Shudder.

Sunny is way cuter.

This Title Won't Be Emusing to Anyone But Me.

Yeah, puns.  I like them.  So did Shakespeare, so I'm giving myself a pass on this one.  Please be warned that this post starts out as a memory and quickly descends into madness.




'Sup?


Emus.  They are big.  And they are really pretty fast.  According to Wikipedia, they can go as fast as 31 miles per hour.  Apparently, their legs are so strong they can rip through metal wire fences.  Maybe that explains it.

As you may have heard, I grew up in the country.  A few miles down the road was an emu farm.  No, I don't know why people would farm emus either, except maybe for the world's biggest friggin' omelets. 



Green ham, anyone?

Anyway when I was little, a bridge by our farm was out for several years, which made us go the long way around to town and near the emu farm on a regular basis.  One day, as my mom drove me to town for one event or another, we saw a blur of brown in the field to our right.  Accustomed to having to stop for deer, my mom slowed way down.  As you may have guessed, the blur was not a deer.  It was an emu, and it was not only keeping pace with our much-slowed-but-still-pretty-fast mini van, it was edging ahead. 

That emu was daring us to a race.

My mom floored it.  Defeated, the emu disappeared into a cornfield.

I don't know what happened to the emu.  We weren't even very close to the emu farm when we saw it, maybe a mile or two away, so perhaps it was an emu on the lam.  That's how I like to think of it, still out there today.  In fact, I've imagined a whole life for that emu where it is skulking in the patchy woods and various cornfields, with a nice family of turkeys for companions.  And when a hunter uses his call and the turkey family falls for it, the emu goes with them and scares the bejeezus out of the hunter, who wants to tell his hunter buddies all about the emu who now thinks it's a turkey, but nobody will believe him and he is run out of town under accusations of lunacy.  And then the mayor almost hits the emu on the road, but misses him, and then our road finally gets one of these:

Which will promptly be defaced with a red dot on the "nose" like every other animal crossing sign in Wisconsin, inciting a local legend wherein Santa's sleigh is not pulled by ought-to-be-flightless reindeer, but rather by ought-to-be-flightless birds, which sort of makes more sense, anyway.

(True:  There is an Icelandic Christmas legend in which a giant cat named Jólakötturinn eats children who don't get new clothes in time for Christmas.  If I ever have kids, I'm totally selling them on it.)

Sunny gets along with cats, but she'd rather avoid Jólakötturinn, if it's all the same to you.

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.