Category Archives: weekly reruns

ANGRY POLLS (Volume I)

At least once a day Victor and I have a disagreement about something ridiculous and I always wish that I had all of the internet in the car with us to tell Victor that he’s insane, or to tell me that my hair looks nice.  I’ve decided to start sharing these disagreements here in the form of polls because I think it was Gandhi who said “The secret to a happy marriage is to drag in lots of strangers to join in your bloody conflicts.”

This week’s big disagreement was about the fact that he likes powdered donuts and I hate them.  I explained that powdered sugar makes my mouth unnaturally cold and was probably made by evil wizards.  He argued that powdered sugar did no such thing to him and that I was insane.  I argued that powdered sugar makes everyone’s mouth cold and that if I ever decided to run a marathon I’d carry a bunch of powdered sugar to sprinkle on my body whenever I got overheated.  He argued that I would never run a marathon.  He won that particular argument.

But the powdered sugar question still stands, so please be honest:

 

Added educational bonus:  If you’re one of the people afflicted with “my-mouth-thinks-powdered-sugar-tastes-like-refrigerated-poison”, here is the best explanation I found on reddit: powderedsugar

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And now, time for the weekly wrap-up: Graphic by Round Table Companies Shit I made in my shop (Named “EIGHT POUNDS OF UNCUT COCAINE” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

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 an amazing anonymous company who wants to encourage you to give back to your favorite charity site.  Maybe it’s freerice, or Heifer, or Climb Out of the Darkness.   My personal favorite is Project Night Night, which provides homeless children with a new security blanket, a book, and a stuffed animal all nestled inside a new canvas tote bag.  You can sponsor an entire Night Night Package for a homeless child for just $25 online, or if you can’t afford that then use your voice to promote your own favorite charity to others.  This might be my favorite sponsored post ever.
 Thank you for being awesome.

Oh, you.

Sometimes I look at what people are searching for that brings them to this blog, and sometimes the search term is so long that you have to hover over it with your curser to see the search phrase pop up, and then you just sort of back away slowly while shaking your head.

Below is a screenshot of a few things people were googling that brought them to this blog.  (If you can’t read the picture then click on it once to see a larger version.)

Baffled.

PS. A message to the person leaving the second search-term:  I’m not sure if you meant to write “babyshitting” or “babysitting” but either way, you’ve managed to misspell it.  Also, what is wrong with you?

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And in other news, it’s time for the weekly wrap-up:

(graphic by Kelly Vivanco)

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

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

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Tonya Wyles, a former Army chick and stay at home mom who was once laid off while in full costume.  She’s now a professional Mary Kay Beauty consultant so she gets to spend time with her family and help women discover they can have great skin.  Also, you can do an online makeover at 3am like I did.  Check her (and the virtual makeover application) out right here.
.

Whoa there, princess.

Victor and I usually fight over the right side of the bed because someone always eats cookies on my side of the bed.   Usually I’ll try to stake out the non-crumby side but then Victor just pushes me over even though I keep explaining that crumbs are natural exfoliants and that he’ll smell like delicious thin mints all night but he never falls for it.

Luckily, I found a company that makes comforters just for selfish people like me:

Hey there, princess.

Well hey there, princess.

PS.  Turns out that Victor is secure enough in his masculinity to not give a shit about princesses so instead I’m just buying this version so I can at least look super-fancy while sleeping on the couch.

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And in other news, it’s time for the weekly wrap-up:

(graphic by Kelly Vivanco)

What you missed in my shop (Named “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by the fantastic Jane Devin, who just released her latest novel,  Bright Lines: A Life in Search of the Beautiful Ordinary.  After a childhood spent drifting between foster homes and the care of his criminally inept father, Easton McNeil embarks on a search for all the ‘beautifully ordinary’ things he’s never had.  Now an empty-nester, the man who’s always loved the idea of home sells his and embarks on a wholehearted mission to say yes.  You should buy it.  I just did.

It’s a good tip for writers either way

Victor: What are you doing?

me:  Reading.

Victor:  Shouldn’t you be writing?

me:  I’m reading about writing.

Victor:  That doesn’t really count.

me: This book says you shouldn’t be afraid to kill your characters.

Victor:  You write memoirs.

me:  Yes, but technically my memoirs would be more exciting if I started killing people.

Victor:  Hmm.

me:  I mean, I’d only kill off people who deserve it, obviously.  Like people who interrupt me when I’m reading.

Victor:  Point taken.  Carry on.

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And in other news, it’s time for the weekly wrap-up:

sid
What you missed in my shop (Named “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

What you missed on the internets:

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by SilkWords, which is moving to a new reader-vote option.  It’s like choose-your-own-erotic-adventure except you get to vote on what the character does next and then the author writes the next section of the story based on winning votes.  This way you know you’re not the only person choosing the really questionable option.  The latest one is here.  You should check it out.

Oh, Facebook…you win.

Remember last month when Facebook sent me a targeted eBay ad specifically for me, and it was for the ass of a squirrel sticking out of a wall?  And I wrote about it and then Facebook decided to double down so the next week they sent me an ad for the taxidermied ass of a larger animal.  And then Victor told me I was bringing it on myself because I kept looking at these animal-ass auction ads that Facebook kept sending me and so Facebook probably thought I was into that sort of thing?  Well, I stopped looking at the weird ads Facebook was sending me, and Victor was right…the ass pictures have stopped.

They’ve been replaced with this:

I give up.

I don’t even know what that is but it seems to have a goggly-eyes and I think it comes with its own sauce.

Touché, Facebook.

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And in other news, it’s time for the weekly wrap-up:

sid
What you missed in my shop (Named “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

What you missed on the internets:

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Zazzle.com.  You already know I love them because I use them for my own shop, but they’re also pretty fantastic for finding bad-ass gifts, or creating your own.  You can customize designs that already exist or make things from scratch.  My personal favorite: post a picture of your kid (or cat, or whatever) here and they’ll turn it into an acrylic, cut-out photo sculpture.  I used that same process to make tons of tiny standing Beyoncé’s and Juanita Weasels so I could create a custom checker board.  I recommend.

And that’s why the bed looks like that.

me:  You know when you’re making the bed but the cat jumps up on it and you keep pushing him off but he jumps back up because he thinks you’re playing a game with him and he’s pouncing on all the wrinkles you’re smoothing away and finally you decide to teach the little bastard a lesson and so you just pull the comforter over the cat so he’ll see why he shouldn’t get in your way and you stare expectantly at the lump of cat in the middle of the bed, but it doesn’t move so you wait longer and it still doesn’t move and you suddenly suspect that maybe you’ve suffocated Ferris Mewler and that you’ll have to explain to your vet that you watched your cat smother because you were trying to teach it a lesson?  About beds, I mean.  Not about smothering.  And then you lift up the cover tentatively and your cat stares at you like, “What?  What do you want?” And so you’re like “Fine.  Be that way.”  And you put the covers on again and walk out angrily, but then an hour later you come back and the cat lump is still there and you think, “Shit.  This time I’ve really done it. There’s a lump of dead cat in there.” But then you take a deep breath and lift up the cover and the cat looks exactly the same (except maybe squintier) and you realize that he’s playing the long game and that you’re never going to be able to relax with him under there so you give up and pull the cat out and he goes limp and looks at you like, “I don’t know why you’re mad at me.  You did this. I was just laying under the covers. Because that’s what you seem to have wanted. I just want to please you.” And you’re not falling for your cat’s sarcasm because that’s how they win, so you just give up and drop the cat on the floor, and then you start to remake the bed and the cat jumps under the covers again and is like” HA! I was just fucking with you. This bed is mine, bitch.”  And then you just scream “Fuck this” and then you jump onto the bed and start kicking around and crawling under the sheets and frantically shoving your hands under the pillows so that you can show your cat exactly how ridiculous it looks, but then another cat walks in the room and he’s like “What are you doing?  IS THERE A BUG IN THERE?” and then he jumps up and starts frantically sticking his paws under the pillows too and looking up at you for guidance and then you feel guilty for giving him false-bug-hope and so you just give up and walk away?

Victor:  I’ll give you a dollar to stop talking.

me: You asked me why the bed was all messy.

Victor:  My bad.

PS.  The same cats 15 minutes later:

sleepykitties

Fuzzy little bastards.

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And in other news, it’s time for the weekly wrap-up:

holly granken art


What you missed in my shop (Named “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

What you missed on the internets:

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by PostalPix, which turns your mobile photos into beautiful, home delivered prints in minutes using the PostalPix App for iPhone and Android.  Just download the app, select and upload your photos right from your phone, and then PostalPix professionally develops and mails your photographs right to you.  Use the coupon code of 15OFF for 15% off on everything (including instagram prints) through June.

If you’re reading this I’m probably alive.

I wrote this the day before my surgery and scheduled it to post after my surgery so I’m either totally okay or I’m dead.  Probably the first one.

Now on to the real Sunday post, which is about how Google is trying to insult me with the baffling auto-suggestions it gives me when I search for things.  Am I the only  one who gets these things?  In the past few weeks I decided to record those that were particularly questionable.  These are a few of the most confusing:

I don't even have a dog.

I don’t even have a dog.

Google confuses me.

I couldn’t even remember what I was googling because the suggestions were so fucked up.

Google hates animals.

Don’t let Google pet-sit for you while you’re out of town.

Google is implying what now?

What are you implying, Google?

Google is not nice.

I have two of the first three and now I’m wondering if Google is trying to tell me to flee the country.

Google is trying to hurt my folder.

Wait.  Are all three of these related?  Because ew.

Stop trying to help, Google.  You’re just making it worse.

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And in other news, it’s time for the weekly wrap-up:

holly granken art


What you missed in my shop (Named “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

  • Nothing.  I’ve been busy.  But there are hundreds of things to buy on there.  But only if you turn your content filter off.  Otherwise you only see both of the G-rated things I’ve created.

What you missed on the internets:

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Pretty Strip.  I thought it was a joke at first but one of my friends swears by it.  It’s a water-proof thingie that you use as a sort of a backward stencil to make designs in your lady garden, I think?  Hang on.  I’m not explaining this right.  “Pretty Strip is an easy-to-use product that allows one to perfectly shape unruly underwear hair into desirable designs.”  Much better.  You should check it out.  No, seriously.  Go look.  Then buy some so you can shave designs on your pets, or on unruly chest hair.  The possibilities are endless.

It’s worse than I thought. Unless I thought it was worse at one point and just forgot how bad I thought it was.

So, I saw this on Pinterest…

yep

…and I was like, “Holy hell.  Yes.  This happens to me every damn week when I try to sign up on a new website” and so I went to pin the picture on my board and then I got this message:

doubleyep

So basically I tried to pin a picture explaining how baffling it is when your computer is like, “What is wrong with you?  You’ve already done this, asshole” and then my computer was like, “What is wrong with you?  You’ve already done this, asshole.”

Awesome.  Things are worse than I thought.  Unless, of course, I thought it was worse than this at some point in the past but I’ve just forgotten just how bad I once thought that it was.  I really can’t be trusted at this point.

Ps.  No worries if you miss today’s post because I assume next year this’ll happen again and I’ll write almost the exact same post all over again.

PPS.  Is it just me?  Am I just getting old?  Or is it just that we have so many things in our heads nowadays that they have to be purged often so we have more room for algebra formulas and videos of cats falling off tables?

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And in other news, it’s time for the weekly wrap-up: sid What you missed in my shop (Named “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

  • As requested, THE BLOGGESS IS MY COPILOT mugs.  This might seem a bit sacrilegious because Jesus is supposed to be your copilot, but Jesus is always having to “take the wheel” and give people piggie-back rides on the beach and be your copilot but technically Jesus never drove, so maybe stop making him your chauffeur.  Also, why do the same people who say “Jesus, take the wheel!” always have those bumper stickers that say “In case of Rapture, this car will be unmanned”?  It seems a bit selfish.  “Jesus, take the wheel! (Unless I’m already in heaven and in that case just let this car run into an animal shelter, because fuck those cats.)”  I might be misinterpreting that though.  I haven’t got the part in the Bible where Jesus got his learner’s permit.

What you missed on the internets:

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Relish!, a truly cool meal-planning service for busy parents who like healthy delicious dinners, every night.  Unlike some menu planning services that tell you what you’re going to eat for the week, Relish lets you pick from a weekly assortment and choose what you’d like to make (with tons of 5 ingredient recipes). A cleverly organized grocery list is automatically created which lists the ingredients you need for a week of meals–all of which take under 30 minutes to prepare.  Subscriptions start at $5 a month, and five complete dinners for a family of four runs less than $85.   And check out their gluten-free sister site at Gfreecuisine.com.

I am surrounded by assholes and apparently it’s all my fault.

Remember last week when I wrote about how Facebook was being insulting and creepy by suggesting that I needed this dead squirrel’s ass:

In case you've forgotten.

In case you’ve forgotten.    It’s as if Facebook said, “Hey, we saw this asshole and thought of you.”

I got this ad all week and waited impatiently for the auction to end so the ad would go away and it finally did.   Today I opened up Facebook to find that the ad was gone.

It was replaced by this one:

butt

::sigh::

PS. Victor heard me yelling, “Really, Facebook?” so he looked at my monitor and was like, “What is wrong with you?  Is this some weird fetish?” and I explained that I’d accidentally looked at a taxidermied ass ONE TIME (and then again to write the post and then once more to see what the tiny hiney sold for) and that I was clearly being pigeon-holed, and he thought that was a poor choice of words considering the situation.  Also, I pointed out that the old squirrel ass ad is now popping up again too and it’s not even on sale anymore and then I clicked over to prove it and Victor was like “What are you doing?  IF YOU CLICK ON ANIMAL ASS ADS YOU’LL JUST GET MORE ANIMAL ASS ADS” and I thought “I should put that on a shirt” and Victor yelled, “YOU’RE BRINGING THIS ON YOURSELF.”   And he has a point, but I’m not sure how to stop this, because how can you not click on a taxidermied animal butt that’s tagged “brand-new, never opened”?

Stop blaming the victim, Victor.

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And in other news, it’s time for the weekly wrap-up: sid What you missed in my shop (Named “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

What you missed on the internets:

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by my friend Virginia who writes Outrunning The Cloud, a fabulous blog about kicking breast cancer’s ass.  Today begins their second annual online fundraiser for The Weekend to End Women’s Cancers, which directly benefits the hospital where both Virginia and her mom (who died of breast cancer) were treated.  You can donate directly on her blog or you can bid in the online auction right here.  Lots of items being added but this one is a personal favorite.  Go check it out now.

This bird is NOT HAVING ANY OF IT.

We can’t get any more pets because we’re not responsible enough, so instead on weekends we go to shelters or pet stores to snuggle with the animals that no one else wants to snuggle with, like weird-looking dogs or cats who are missing limbs.  Even the weirdest animals eventually find a home but I’m not so sure about this one:

That is a parrot screaming at the top of his lungs.  There was a sign on his cage that said “See pet counselor for assistance” and I thought it was good that this bird had a counselor because it seemed like he was in real need of therapy.

I waved a clerk over and I was like, “Hey.  I think your bird is dying” and he said, “No.  He just does that for attention,” as if it was the 80,000th time he’d had to explain that.  And it probably was because a few minutes later another couple was like “What the…?  This bird is losing. his. shit.  Someone call security.  I think there’s been a murder.”

Apparently this bird learned that screaming gave it attention, and so that’s what it does whenever it sees someone nearby and then they go to see what it’s deal is and the bird thinks he’s succeeded.  It’s a weird definition of success, but so is measuring the amount of “likes” you got on Facebook, so more power to you, Mr. Screamy.

I told Victor that we should adopt Mr. Screamy because clearly no one else was ever going to take this bird home, and then Victor was like “There’s a reason for that.  It’s because he’s screaming,” and I said, “Yeah.  He’s screaming ‘LET ME LOVE YOU, VICTOR.’  Your ears just haven’t adjusted yet to his love language.  It’s the language of screaming.   Plus he’s really talented because he’s screaming even when he’s breathing in.  He’s like bagpipes, if bagpipes were a parrot.”

I think he would also be a good fit because I have anxiety disorder and my shrink suggested getting a therapy pet to help me relax.  Victor says this is probably the opposite of what she meant but I find it strangely calming because it’s like this bird is freaking out for me and I can just take a break from it.  Frankly, Mr. Screamy is a perfect representation of what’s going on in my brain when I’m having a panic attack, and if you gave him a martini you probably couldn’t tell us apart.  

Also, I think he’d make a great service animal for when I travel because that way other people on the plane have to suffer along with me and maybe they’ll develop more empathy, or at least let me off the plane first.  Plus, I wouldn’t have to worry about people judging me because when I was next to my Screaming-Parrot-Service-Animal it would be like I was practically invisible compared to him.  And people would probably let me go in front of them in long lines because my parrot would be sitting on my shoulder and screaming wildly at them as if they’d personally offended him in some way.

Victor say no, but I still think it’s a good idea.

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And in other news, it’s time for the weekly wrap-up:

sid

What you missed in my shop (Named “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

What you missed on the internets:

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by SilkWords, which offers online choose-your-own-adventure erotica.  It could only get any better if it was free and came with bacon.  Except that this link lets you start a story for free and so now all  you need is the bacon.  BYOB.  Bring your own bacon.  Go check it out.  (Bacon optional.)