Children hate Pinterest, Too

Proof positive:

They're lambs, if you didn't guess.  (I know I didn't.)  Don't they look happy?  No?  Well, that's because they wanted to be superheroes and/or princesses, and you are the terrible parent who make them look like a floppy-eared tampon.

The problem here isn't the stains.  The problem here is that you were hopped up on boxwine instead of supervising your child.

The tag for this is, "20 Questions to ask your children when you're putting them to bed to help develop your relationship."  NO.  NONONONONONONONONO.  I'm sorry to have to break it to you, but it is really never okay to make this kind of references when talking about children.

This kid lives in a bubble.  Not because he has any terrible allergies and will fall into a coma if he breathes air that hasn't been sucked dry by an industrial-grade air purifier, but because he's dressed too nicely to be allowed to play.  And he's only got a box, a purse, and an antique telephone, anyway. 

And just in case you were wondering?  Putting your child in shoes with no socks when it's cold enough to require a hat and scarf doesn't make you a cool parent.  It makes you an asshole with a be-blister-footed child.  Asshole.


(True:  These are all from one page of Pinterest.  Because it's lush with crap.)

Sources:
http://pinterest.com/pin/248260998179845088/
http://pinterest.com/pin/214343263486157465/
http://pinterest.com/pin/275282595944045743/
http://pinterest.com/pin/496803402613809388/

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/

It's Friday--Your Boss Definitely Probably Won't Mind You Wasting a Couple of Hours

I don't know if you're realized this yet, but there are some pretty neat things on this Internet of ours.

First, Bubbe sent me this awesome and hilarious video, which makes me feel a little better about myself because, well, I need a wall to balance against when I try anything aerobic, too.

You may have already heard about the police officer in Baltimore, who, when called out to deal with a vicious pit pull, gave the dog water, cuddles, and--not very long after--a forever home.  Seriously, how cool is this guy?!

Read the story here.

Oooh, have you seen DogShaming yet on tumblr?  It's moving quickly to become one of my favorite dog blogs.  Because, you know, if you have a dog, they do some crazy/gross/obnoxious things, and a sense of humor about it is absolutely essential...

Now, shocking as it is, the Internet is not entirely about dogs.  I know, it's a bit of a disappointment to me, too.  But we all need to expand our worlds sometimes, and there's actually some neat non-dog stuff out there, too.

Like this.  It's a huge compiliation of do-it-yourself costumes, including this absolutely amazing Weeping Angel costume:

Holy crap, you guys.

And this Inspector Gadget:

The head fan works!

But, sick as my sense of humor is, this one is probably my favorite.

Would someone lend me their baby?  Please?

And finally, a treasure hunt just for you...

1.  Go to Google.  (I'd recommend opening it in another tab, or you won't be able to follow the rest of the directions.

2.  Type "Where is Chuck Norris".  Search.

3.  Click on the first option.

4.  Be astounded.  Or at least mildly entertained.  You know, whatever.



So tell me, faithful followers (or lurkers, or casual passers-by--yes, I know "passers-by" doesn't sound right, but it is) what else is out in the World Wide Web that I need to know about?


(True:  A thing that picks other things up is properly called a "picker-up," not a "picker-upper."  Someone needs to travel back to 1992 and inform Bounty, stat.  Well, maybe not stat, since time travel is involved.  Ninety-two can probably wait till tomorrow.)



(Also true:  I am sorry if you've read all this way and were hoping for something entertaining.  Actually, I'm sorry for this whole post.  I'm pretty sure this is one I'll look back at in a year and think, what was I smoking that day?  Except I know the answer will be nothing, because I've never smoked anything but hookah that one time in college and it gave me a headache so I did it five more times and then never again.  I don't think it counts as smoking, while I'm going up or down the stairs in my building, occasionally having to breathe the miasma of whatever my former downstairs neighbors, ahem, enjoyed.  I don't mean cupcakes, sadly.)

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.)

I'm like a superhero. Only without the alter-ego. Or the spandex. Or the powers. Or the thigh-high boots. Forget it. I'm just awesome, okay?

Things I accomplished yesterday:

• Plowed through a mountain of tasks at work while actually managing to look semi-professional.
• Blogged like a boss.
• Walked to the supermarket, thereby reducing my carbon footprint.
• Did laundry and cooked dinner (with extra for freezing) and washed dishes, like a motherfucking domestic goddess.
• Walked the dog, training for polite sitting at stops.
• Ate dinner--with a real plate and fork.
• Socialized:  Beer, dart league, cool people.  Like Carrie Bradshaw in Sex and the City.  But with beer, dart league, and cool people.
• Read fifty pages of a new book, edifying myself on manner subtleties of the 1860s.

Or, in other words I rocked the shit out of yesterday in all matters professional, domestic, social, and intellectual. Carpe that diem, Horace.

Via

BOOM.


(True:  Of course, the rest of the phrase, quam minimum credula postero, means "putting as little trust as possible in the future", so no promises that today has been anywhere near as efficient...)

Hops in the Right Direction: Core Strength

Warning:  This is not a real post.

As a dog with altered mobility, it's important that Prada's core muscles are strong enough to support the way she moves.  For quite a while, I wondered how to go about building those muscles up.  A trainer friend suggested teaching her to sit pretty, but Prada never really took to that.

What she has taken to, without any prompting from me, is pretty astounding, and more than a little funny.  With her back legs in front of her, she sits back and takes her front paw off the floor (or me, you know, whatever) and spins around to see things.  Like a top or a Sit-N-Spin.  Or a Weeble.



So I think her core muscles are probably fine.

Darwin, I Am Sorry

Charles Darwin published On the Origin of Species in 1859, giving compelling evidence for evolution via natural selection.

From the first separation from the chimpanzee some five million years ago, to the attainment of anatomical modernity as homo sapiens some 200,000 years ago, we as a species have been culling the chaff and improving upon the gene pool.

(You know, if you ignore everything you see on reality TV.)

Those creatures that are too weak or stupid or uncoordinated get eaten or fall off cliffs or are the recipient of a post-mortem by definition Darwin Award.  In general, those creatures never have the chance to procreate.  (For the sake of my argument, I'm pretending Snooki doesn't exist.  Actually, for the sake of my life, I always pretend Snooki doesn't exist.)  Those creatures are the chaff.

But what about the wheat of the species?  We've created awe-inspiring art in all its forms, buildings that almost seem to defy the laws of physics (think of the Pyramids--and the entire city of Dubai), and The Internet.  We've been to the depths of the ocean floor, plumbed the recessed of the earth, and walked on the moon.  We've been pretty damn amazing, and it's sort of breathtaking to think that five million years of evolution has culminated in you or me specifically.

Well, maybe not me specifically.  After all, I did faceplant out of bed this morning in an epically flailing way.  Any moment now, I expect to fall down an open manhole and into the waiting maw of a sewer alligator or be hit by a runaway Segway or blow myself up using only a can of shaving cream and a banana.

Via

(True:  Actually, reality TV in general--and Snooki and her progeny specifically--have me very concerned about the future of our species...)