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:

 

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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:

Yesterday was shitty so today we’re doing cat pictures. Go fuck yourself, yesterday.

Question:  What’s the difference between kids during summer vacation and kittens at any time?

hunter bored

It’s not a riddle.  I just really want to know.

PS.  Yes, that is Hunter S. Thomcat when he was still Hunter S. Thomkitten.  He was very demanding.  He still is, but now when he flops down on my neck in the middle of the night it’s less of a sweet nuzzle and more like a ninja has karate-chopped my jugular.  And the ninja wants food.  And some snugglin’.  And he’s confused about why I won’t wake up because he doesn’t understand that cats and people are always in different time zones.

PPS.  Cat pictures and happy songs.  This is what I need today.  Maybe you do too.  So here are two that I’m listening too today.  You might hate them and that’s okay.  Feel free to share your favorite happy song or cat picture or whatever makes you smile in spite of yourself.

If you need help…

If you are considering suicide or know someone who is, please call a suicide hotline.  They can help.  They’re free.  They’ve saved and helped so many of us, including me.  Click here for a link to suicide crisis organizations around the world.  They listen.

I find it very triggering to talk about a humorist who has lost his battle with mental illness so I’m not going to write about this.   I’m practicing self-care by making an appointment with my therapist and avoiding triggers and watching bad tv.  I was, however, asked by a lot of people if I would share the post I once wrote about how the full moon makes me feel unbalanced and more willing to believe the lies that depression tells, and considering we’re dealing with a super-moon right now then maybe reading it will help if you’re feeling vulnerable yourself.  So it’s here if you want.

Tonight we recognize the battle so many of us fight within our own minds.  Tonight we remember those who’ve lost that battle, and we celebrate and salute those who continue fight and win.  (And if you are reading this, you are winning even if it doesn’t always feel like it.)   And tomorrow we will go back to face life with laughter and joy and ridiculousness because that’s what he would want.  And because that’s what we need.  And because I said so.

I’m closing comments because tonight I need to not check my phone or computer because I’ll get too tangled up in this, but comments are open on the older post if you need to share or talk.

“You’re only given a little spark of madness.  You mustn’t lose it. ~ Robin Williams

Hold on to your spark, sweet friends.  Don’t let it go.  It lights the way, and those glimmers in the distance remind us that we’re not alone.

Five pounds of delicious, floating cheese.

Conversation between me and Victor:

me:  Which weighs more? Five pounds of cheese, or five pounds of helium?

Victor: Is this a trick question?

me:  No, I’ve been thinking about this for hours.  Helium floats so does that mean you could you only make it weigh more if you added more helium?  Or would it weigh less because it’s more?

Victor:  I’d guess that five pounds of helium would be heavier than five pounds of cheese because you’d have to put the five pounds of helium in something to contain it and the container would add fractionally more weight.

me:  Maybe.  But maybe helium would weigh less than cheese because helium floats but it could still be measured in PSI.  Like, you could have five pounds per square inch pressure of helium which doesn’t actually weigh anything on a scale.

 Victor:  My head hurts.

me:  That’s some deep chicken-and-egg shit there, dude.

Okay…your turn.

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And now, time for the weekly wrap-up:

shitidid


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:

  • Taxidermied unicorn.  If it was full-sized I would totally buy it.
  • Life-sized weeping angel.  I suggest buying it and hiding it behind doors in the bathroom so when people pee on themselves it’ll be easier to clean up.

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by the lovely Melany of Melany’s Guydlines.  All snark, all true. Nine lives worth of short stories, advice and raw judgement on friendships, relationships, products and everything in between.  From Melany: “Nothing is off limits.  These stories could only happen to me.  I will make you laugh and shake your head.  Are you ready?”  Check her out here.