Category Archives: weekly reruns

I can’t go for that.

I’ve never liked the song I Can’t Go For That because this guy seems totally untrustworthy.  I’ve never actually paid attention to all the lyrics but the chorus is telling enough, I think:

“I’ll do anything that you want me to.”

“Oh.  I’ll do almost anything that you want me to.”

“I CAN’T GO FOR THAT.”

“No, I…  NO CAN DO.”

“ICAN’TGOFORTHAT. ICAN’TGOFORTHAT. I CAN’T GO FOR THAAAAAT!”

I’m not sure why he changed so suddenly but it certainly shows his lack of dedication.  He’s like Blaine in Pretty in Pink.  “I’ll do anything that you want me to.”  Really, Blaine?  Will you tell your friends about me?  “Well, almost anything.”  What about prom, Blaine? “I CAN’T HEAR YOU.  LALALALALA.”

In fairness, I should listen to the full song because maybe the singer was like, “Baby, I’ll do anything you want.  Wanna a neck rub?” and she was like, “No, but you could help me with this cocaine enema.  I’ll get the towels” and he was like, “Well, I meant…almost anything.”  And she was like, “Can you help me dismember a body?” and he was all “Can I do what now?  No.”  And then she’s like,  “Fine.  I need you to kill this kitten for Satan” and he was all, “You want me to kill Mr. Tinkles?  WHAT IS YOUR DEAL, LADY?  NO CAN DO.”

Honestly, I bet she didn’t even want to date him.  She was probably just testing to see if he was really fully invested.  Or to teach him the importance of avoiding hyperbole and exaggeration when it comes to seduction.  Or maybe she was just really into Satan and cocaine enemas.  Hard to tell.  Frankly, the whole song just makes me glad I’m not single.  Victor and I have been married for 18 years and our song is more like “I can’t clean up that cat vomit or I’ll vomit too.”  “Fine.  I’ll clean up the cat vomit if you handle all the large spiders that get in the house.”  “Deal.”  “You want get some tacos?”  “Yeah.  I could go for that.”  It’s not as rhymey but it works for us.

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And now, the weekly wrap-up of awesomeness:

sidmouse

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.  Just for the reviews alone.

This week‘s wrap-up is brought to you by the always fabulous SilkWords.  They specialize in choose-your-own-adventure online erotic stories and right now they’re doing a few where the story unfolds with reader participation. Readers are given choices and then vote on what happens next, and then the author writes the next installment. Membership is free for adults.  You should check them out here.

I started writing this post a year ago and I still don’t have a good ending.

Conversation between me and Victor:

me:  Look!  I designed a shirt for us:

procrastinate no

Victor:  “Procrastinate no“?

me:  It was meant to say “PROCRASTINATE NOW” but then I got distracted and never finished it.

Victor:  Well, that’s ridiculous.

Me:  No, it’s fitting.  Because I’m all, “PROCRASTINATE NOW!” because I’m cool with procrastination.  So cool with it, in fact, that I didn’t even finish the shirt.  But then it also works for you because you hate procrastination, so if you wear it it’s more like: “PROCRASTINATE?  NO!”  Either way, everyone agrees.  And now we can both wear the same shirt so we’re saving money on clothes.

Victor:  Except that we don’t wear the same size.   And the shirt isn’t here.

me:  I haven’t ordered it yet.  I figured I’d do it later.

Victor:  So you haven’t ordered the shirt that you haven’t finished…which celebrates the fact that you procrastinate?

me:  Yes.  I’m proving my own point without even wearing the shirt.  That’s how good of a shirt it is.

PS.  I read that The Nepalese postal service sometimes gets so behind they throw away sacks of undelivered mail. Based on that, I think I might be Nepalesian. Or Nepaleatic.  Or Neopolitan. I’m not sure which, but I just spent an hour looking up why I don’t have time to answer all my mail in the time it could have taken me to answer all my mail.  I can’t tell if that’s impressive or incredibly sad.  Also, I just remembered that I haven’t taken my ADD drugs in awhile.

Things are starting to make sense now.

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And now, the weekly wrap-up of awesomeness:

sid4(Paper collage courtesy of Bethany Goosen.)

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 the fabulous Victoria Elizabeth Barnes, who writes about restoring her old Victorian house… Sort of.  She writes about being married, surviving intense and chaotic house-projects with her husband, and her deep love of craigslist/hoarding giant architectural salvage.  You might know her from the time she brought home a massive mirror that’s bigger than my first apartment, but my favorite was the time she made her husband rip down walls to save treasure.  Go read it.

I was going to title this “Letting the cat out of the bag” but, frankly, I think we’re all better than that.

I just went to throw away the empty sack Victor left on the counter after he unpacked the groceries* but then I heard the bag rustling and looked at Victor and said, “Sir?  Have you left your bags unattended at any time?”

ferris hermit crab

And then Ferris Mewler gave me that panicked guilty look of “OMG, WTF?  KNOCK FIRST” and I was like, “Hang on.  What did you do?”  And that’s when I looked in and realized he’d ripped open a catnip mouse in there and was having a small, paranoid kitty freak-out.

It was like a tiny paper hotbox and now I think he needs rehab.

These are the things people never warn you about cat ownership.

*I changed the original way I’d written this because in real life it was a sack from a resale shop that Victor left on the counter after he was like, “No, no, no.  Do not leave that decapitated head on the kitchen counter.  You take that with you” and he pulled it out of the sack and I had to carry it around with me for an hour while I tried to find a good spot for her.  I changed the head (and also a vintage scythe) to “groceries” because I thought people would be too distracted to enjoy the cat picture, and then I’d have to explain that the vintage head is not made of real human (except for the hair) and that at $25 she was cheap at twice the price.

As an aside, Hailey and I are currently debating the best style for Hedy Lamarr (I’m open to other names if you have something more fitting) and I think this is an excellent place for a poll:

heddy

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And now, time for the weekly wrap-up:

sid2

 

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 David Robert, author of Wanderlush.  “When David, self-proclaimed anxiety-ridden introvert, convinces himself that he’s dying of ass cancer, he invites his delightfully unpredictable, Xanax-popping, chardonnay-swilling mother on a series of international “good-bye” vacations. By doing so, he unwittingly opens a Pandora’s box of hilarious and humiliating events that include digging his mom out of a rain gutter in Costa Rica and being dragged across the Arabian Desert by a psychotic camel named Forrest Hump. As the vacations unfold, David’s mother shares a secret that will change everything.”  I’m buying it.  You probably should too.

How can you say no?

So, I just opened a package and I may have squealed a tiny bit and then Victor was like “NO MORE TAXIDERMY” and it was unsettling because HOW DID HE EVEN KNOW THAT?  Apparently my “I’ve-got-taxidermy-mail” squeal is very obvious.  Or perhaps he was just playing the odds.  Regardless, he was right and he came into the room to tell me to stop with all the weird taxidermy because all those eyes on him were making him paranoid.  Personally, I think that’s more his problem and he needs to sort out his emotional baggage and not bring it into our house.  He says the same thing, but about my weird taxidermy.

But this one was harder to say no to because LOOK AT HER: 

small bloggess mouse by le heart

And Victor agreed that she was hard to say no to, but only because he doesn’t talk to dead animals.  Which is sad because he’s missing out on a lot of conversations with excellent listeners.

(Made by the talented Lea Mai Nguyen of Le Heart Design.)

 

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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:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Laurel Talbot, author of I Love My Gay Badger SonThis surreal short novel about a child-free couple who end up raising a gay badger son from first grade to early adulthood was written in under 30 days during National Novel Writing Month.  From the author: “My intention in writing this collection of vaguely true and hilarious stories is to put out there – for all gay, straight, human, badger, artsy, sciencey, ADHD, geniuses – that it gets better. Life will be tough, especially as you will struggle to figure out who you are and where you fit in. You may cry and want to hide for years. You may even want to give up and end it all-I know, because I have been there. Don’t. Stick with it because there will also be moments of pure joy, when you are doing things you love, surrounded by people who love the same things you love, and in those moments it will all be worth it.”  You probably need to buy it.

I don’t even have the words, y’all.

My friend sent me a link to a book she thought I needed to check out:

This is a real book.  No shit.

This is a real book. No shit.

I can’t actually recommend the book because I haven’t read it yet, but I do have to share the list of related books Amazon suggests for me because HOLY SHIT, Y’ALL:

So.  Yeah.

So. Yeah.

A few of my favorite things about this list:  “Related Searches:  Extreme Ironing.”  Also?  The fact that this list is categorized under “Women’s Biographies” and “Volunteer Work.”

No words.

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And now, time for the weekly wrap-up:

sid

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 Sean Fox, author of Room Service is Closed.  From Sean: “There are a great many horror stories from people who have stayed in hotels and had a miserable experience. No offense to those people, but working there isn’t all rainbows and sausages either. The front desk is where the vast majority of foolishness takes place. One of those front desk agents was me. Armed with bitterness, sarcasm, and general unpleasantness, I try to survive the world of The Hotel, a place filled with overly perky HR people, mind numbingly dull coworkers, and managers sent straight from the darkest pit of Hell. That’s not to mention the guests, a whole breed of crazy all on their own. Join me on my journey where I learn that the hospitality industry isn’t very hospitable and perhaps I don’t have the right attitude to be in it.”  You should check it out here.

I’m just not going to talk anymore.

Victor and I are currently arguing about a large number of words which I apparently mispronounce, but I suspect that if those words are mispronounced it comes from the fact that I read much more than I speak, so (in my head) lots of words sound different. Victor says he agrees, if “different” means “wrong”.

For instance, I pronounce the word “homemade” as “wholemade” whenever I’m referring to something lovely that’s made from scratch, and Victor can’t stop correcting me.   But I think it makes sense because even though the word is spelled the same, there is a big difference between “wholemade” and “homemade” because (to me) “wholemade” implies that it’s wholesome and hand-made with love, but “homemade” is more like stuff you make at home but that you wouldn’t sell at a Farmer’s Market.  It’s the difference between wholemade bread and homemade bombs.

Example:  Most meth is homemade, but that doesn’t mean that it’s good.  It’s only wholemade if it’s wholesome.  That’s how words work.  Victor says “That’s how society breaks down” and I was like, “I agree.  Meth is a real problem” but then he explained that he was referring to me using the word “wholemade”, which I think is a pretty good indicator that Victor really needs to reexamine his priorities.

Also, spellcheck is weighing in by trying to change “wholemade” into “whore-made” and I don’t even know where to start with that because it’s so baffling.  I was like, “What the shit, spellcheck?” and I showed it to Victor and he said, “WELCOME TO MY WORLD.

I have a feeling I’m not winning this argument, but it’s become a weird tradition to do polls on Sunday, so here you go:

 

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And now, time for the weekly wrap-up:

sid

 


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 Chasing the Donkey, a travel blog that focuses on traveling Croatia like a local.  It’s written by SJ Begonja, an Australian expat who lives in a small Croatian village after she and her Croatian husband and son packed up their lives to go and rebuild the old house they inherited.   And now I want to go to Croatia.  Thanks a lot, SJ.

I am the suspicious activity on my account.

For the last couple of years our credit/debit card has been cancelled over and over because of “suspicious activity.”  I never know that my card been cancelled until my card is turned down by an uncomfortable cashier, and that’s always nice because it’s such a great self-esteem booster when your card gets declined at the drugstore when you’re buying toilet paper and milk.

The really crappy thing is that 90% of the time the suspicious activity on my account is me.  You’re protecting me from me.  Yes, strangely-judgmental-bank, I’m the one buying tiny cat wigs from Asia, and taxidermied pegasuses, and giant metal chickens.  And then I go to buy a two-head bob-cat and my card gets declined I have to get on the phone to explain to the bank that I’m the one who bought a box full of cobra and that I don’t appreciate their implied criticisms, and then they say that they’re very sorry but that they’ve already cancelled the card and I’ll have to wait until they mail me a new one.

This would be fine if I had another credit card to use, but I don’t because I don’t want to have to pay fees on a credit card when I should just be able to use my debit card for everything if it wasn’t constantly being cancelled.  At this point I’m considering calling my bank every day with notes like, “I am currently looking for infant-sized Wolverine gloves, so please don’t cancel that transaction that when it happens.  PLEASE STOP JUDGING ME, First-National-Bank-of-Canceling-My-Shit.”  (To clarify:  I need tiny gloves with sharp knives sticking out of them, which would make a baby look like she’s Wolverine from the X-Men.  Not gloves that would allow babies to handle wild wolverines.  That would be fucked up.)

Frankly, if I had a dollar for every time my credit card got canceled I wouldn’t even need a credit card because I could live off all those dollars.  Which I guess I would just stuff in my mattress because my bank would just hold all those dollars hostage as well.

I know they’re trying to protect me, and that’s awesome but it’s getting fucking ridiculous at this point and I’m wondering if it’s just me having to replace my card all the time, or if this is happening to other people too, or if maybe my husband has made a deal with the bank to automatically cancel anything I try to buy that looks awesome.

So, poll time:

 

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And now, time for the weekly wrap-up:

sid

 


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 Crumple + Toss, a bad-ass stationery shop that caters to paper lovers of all kinds.  They are awesome.  From them: “Sure, we got your typical “With deepest sympathy” cards, but we also have “This fucking sucks. I’m sorry” as well. We have wedding cards that say “shit.” We have flowers AND cats. And flamingos. And moose. The fun doesn’t stop with cards with profanity, cats and awkward compliments. C+T also has a shit ton of super awesome notebooks, list pads and stuff. Come see what we gots. You won’t be disappointed.  And if you are, well, that’s your problem.”