I’m insulted in several ways.

I think most cats technically already have great mustaches, but you just can’t tell because we don’t shave the rest of their bodies, and I think that’s probably very sad for them because they can’t show off their dapper kitty facial hair.

Or at least, that was the reason that I gave Victor when he asked me why I kept trying to stick a fake mustache on Hunter S. Thomcat.
huntermoustache

 

 

PS. This is unrelated but I thought I’d share.  You know when websites use algorithms to figure out what you’d be most likely buy and then they put those recommendations on your front page?  Yeah.  So this is what Amazon personally suggested I’d want today:

amazon wtf

What they said:

“Get Yourself a Little Something” 

 

What they’re really saying:

“Hey!  CHECK OUT THIS straight jacket!  Buy some lizard feet!  Treat yourself, ya FREAKY lunatic!”

And I think the most insulting thing here is that I actually am interested in all of those things and now I can’t stop thinking about how nice it would be to wear those Lizard Feet while I’m writing, but I can’t even have them because I’m allergic to latex.  So now I feel bad for wanting them and also bad because it’s like Amazon is taunting me on purpose.

Also, when I went to look at the lizard feet Amazon told me that if I liked those feet then I’d totally want this shirt.

And they were right.  The bastards.

 

 

 

I’m not talking ’bout the weather.

Conversation I had with Victor when he heard me singing along to Dan Seal’s  “I’d Really Love to See You Tonight“:

Victor: Seriously?  If there was a competition for fucking up lyrics we’d have to build another house to store all your trophies.

me:  I’m pretty sure that’s how the song goes.  “I’m not talking ’bout the weather. And I don’t want to change your mind.  But there’s a warm wind blowing the stars around.  And I’d really love to see you tonight.”

Victor:  No.  It’s “I’m not talking ’bout moving in.  And I don’t want to change your life.”  He’s talking about having a one-night-stand, not about the weather.

me:  He’s obviously talking about the weather.  He just predicted extreme winds capable of blowing stars around.  That’s head-for-your-cellar kind of weather.

Victor:  No.  He’s implying that the stars of fate are being realigned for just that night.

me:  So he’s just a dirty liar.

Victor:  I guess.

me:  Huh.  Well, I wouldn’t trust that guy to tell me about the weather.

Victor: HE’S NOT TALKING ABOUT THE WEATHER.

me:  I KNOW, VICTOR.  THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT I WAS JUST SINGING.

Victor: I give up.

**************

And now, time for the weekly wrap-up:

shit i did


Shit I made in my shop (Named “EIGHT POUNDS OF UNCUT COCAINE” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

Shit that I’m vaguely involved with on the internets:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Good Egg Candles, which are incredibly gorgeous.  From the artist: “I make candles out of eggshells. I paint, carve, and fill the eggshells. I color and scent the wax. I do all the work by hand, and all the painting is done freehand.” Refill kits let you re-use the candles forever so they can become treasured heirlooms.   These are my favorites.  You should check them out here.

Hunter S. Thomcat is a traitor. An adorable, fluffy traitor.

Rolly is the kind of cat who will sometimes let you pet her but then will unexpectedly bite you in the eye because it’s Wednesday, and if you try to pick her up SHE WILL FUCKING DESTROY YOU.  Hunter S. Thomcat takes a slightly different approach…

HST is a bit of a traitor

Don’t set yourself on fire.

According to the internet, right now kids are setting fire to themselves on purpose. The Fire Challenge sounds (and is) incredibly stupid, but when I was a kid we did the eraser game (erasing the skin on our hands to see who could get the worst scar) and the fainting game (hyperventilating and getting choked in the bathroom until you pass out) and we even did the Chubby Bunny challenge (packing marshmallows into your mouth and saying “Chubby Bunny”) until some girl suffocated from it. Then you’re suddenly confronted with the fact that you’re mortal.  I mean, death by marshmallows?  Nothing was safe.  So then we stopped doing stupid, dangerous things until we turned into teenagers and began doing different stupid, dangerous things.

But here’s the thing…  Am I supposed to tell my nine-year-old child not to set herself on fire, or is it just a given that I respect her intelligence enough to know that she’ll instinctively know not to set herself on fire. Or will mentioning setting herself on fire just put the idea into her head? They never cover this shit in the parenting books.  I mean, setting yourself on fire seems pretty up-front in the “DON’T DO THIS, YOU IDIOT” category, but then again, intentionally peeling off layers of your own skin and letting people strangle you for fun isn’t exactly “normal” in hindsight, so maybe it wouldn’t hurt to mention it.

“Hey, sweet girl,” I whisper to Hailey as she drifts off to sleep. “Sweet dreams.  Sleep tight.  Don’t set yourself on fire.”

My work here is done.

Questions that haunt me. Show your work.

This week has been full of angst and weirdness and deep questions that keep us up too late at night and I’m not smart enough to debate them now, so instead  I’m asking you for help in answering an important question that’s been haunting me since I first started arguing with Victor about it in the 90’s:

bloggesspopsicle

I’m not going to tell you what I think because Victor says it’s creating a bias in the poll results, but I will tell you that I would never eat “eight popsicles in a row” because that would be insane, but eating four popsicles on a hot day is a completely reasonable and healthy response.  Okay…your turn:

 

**************

And now, time for the weekly wrap-up:

shit i did


Shit I made in my shop (Named “EIGHT POUNDS OF UNCUT COCAINE” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

Shit that I’m vaguely involved with on the internets:

Shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

Shit you should buy or steal because it’s awesome:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Love On El Camino, a fascinating blog which follows Shannon and Eric, as they hike 600 miles thru France and Spain on El Camino de Santiago de Compostela. Even though they are on this journey together, they are driven by different purposes. You can follow along on their pilgrimage, as they write vulnerably, sharing the good, the bad, and the ugly. The kicker is that they aren’t reading what the other one writes until the week before their wedding in October. Until then, only you, as the reader, will know both sides of the story.  You should check it out here.

“I saw this and thought of you.” ~ My shrink

Today I went to see my shrink and it was a great visit where I vomited out all of the crap in my head and she sifted through the pieces and put them back together like a Jenga tower made out of my neuroses.  I’ve gone through lots of shrinks to find the right one for me and I’m very lucky to have a doctor who will listen and then say “That’s totally normal” or “We can fix that together” or “Wow. That sounds shitty” depending on the issue.  And at the end of our hour she insisted I watch a video on youtube that she said reminded her of me:

So basically a video about a drunk woman, and a stabbing made my psychiatrist think of me.

And that, my friends, is how you know you’re with a doctor who truly understands you.

May you all be so lucky.

MEEP.

me: Do you think Beaker and The Road Runner are related?

Victor:  My head hurts already.

me:  I mean, logically they wouldn’t be related because one is a muppet and the other one isn’t real, but they both speak the same “Meep!  Meep!” language.  That has to mean something.

Victor:  Um…Muppets aren’t real either.

me:  Shut your mouth.

Victor:  Anyway, Beaker only says “meep” once at a time.  The Road Runner always says it twice.

me:  So Beaker is just less talkative?

Victor:  It might be a different dialect.

me:  Or maybe The Road Runner has a stammer?

Then Victor walked off because I think he was intimidated by this level of mental discourse and I went to look up Beaker’s language and it turns out that Beaker is actually saying “Me!  Me!  Me!” which is sort of the sign of a psychopathic narcissist.  I don’t have a point to this except to say that I feel like my whole childhood was a lie.

Vaguely related: