Category Archives: weekly reruns

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.”

Forgive me. I’m only human. Or possibly not even that.

I just tried to leave a comment on someone’s blog, but instead of posting my comment, the blog stopped me and was like, “Not so fast, you.  Are you even human?

areyouhuman

Is this really a problem?  Are there a lot of houseplants and robots trying to leave comments on blogs?  Also, what does this even mean?  Why ask if I’m a human and then give me a weird photo of a wall?  I assumed I was supposed to write the calligraphy on the wall, but when I wrote “B O” it said I wasn’t a human, which is ridiculous because if there’s one thing that humans are good at, it’s at recognizing B.O.

I complained to Victor that computers were judging me for not being human enough and he looked at me like I was insane and said that I need to type in “130”, not “B O”,  and that there must be something wrong with my eyes.  And he’s probably right, but I’m pretty sure that just proves that I’m human because I suspect robots almost never have to get stronger glasses.

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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:

  • I’ve got nothin’ this week.  This funeral stuff took over my life.  Sorry.  If you have something awesome you’ve seen on the internet, please share.

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

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by JustGoGirlwhich is a product you need if you’ve ever laughed so hard you peed a little.  Apparently the same thing happens when you run marathons or work out, although I wouldn’t know about that so much.  Basically, it’s a pad designed for athletic leaks, which is a problem that affects 1/3 of all woman.  You totally need to check it out here because people swear by them.

Yes, I am neurotic. Thank you for noticing!

I’m often described as being “highly neurotic” and I agree with that 100%.  I just don’t agree that “neurotic” means what some people think it means.  Some people go by the boring, standard definition as outlined in the dictionary describing someone who is “mentally disturbed, unstable, or unbalanced”.  And while that’s all technically true of me, I think it’s important to point out that “neuro” means “brain, nerve or nervous system” so if “artistic” means someone with great art skills, then by that logic, “neurotic” would mean someone with amazing brain skills.  In other words, you say “neurotic”, I say “incredibly intelligent.”

Victor rejected this logical conclusion because he says “that’s not how words work” but I suspect he really just disagrees because he’s simply not neurotic enough to understand me.  He agreed completely.  Probably for the wrong reasons though.

I’d petition Webster’s to add my definition under “neurotic” but I lost all respect  for dictionaries last year when they changed the definition of “literally” to also mean “not really literally at all“.  Literally.  So instead I just wrote my definition of “neurotic” (in pen) into my local library’s copy of the dictionary, and I’d suggest you do the same.  If you get caught just explain that you had to do it because you are dangerously neurotic and the librarians won’t mess with you because they’ll be intimidated by how smart you are.  (But only after you show them the new definition of “neurotic”, which you just scrawled in their dictionary, so write quickly.)

Poll time!

 

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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 the fabulous Michael Meyerhofer who just released his first fantasy novel, WytchFire (The Dragonkin Trilogy, Book 1).   Part Game of Thrones, part X-Men, Wytchfire takes place in a land haunted by the legacy of dead dragons, wherein those born with magical abilities are hunted down-sometimes, for good reason. As war roils across the continent, one mercenary finds himself caught in the middle.  You should check it out here.

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.

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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:

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.