Category Archives: weekly reruns

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.

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.

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.

ANGRY POLLS (Volume II)

Last week thousands of you voted in my first ever ANGRY POLL where I asked you help settle an argument Victor and I were having.  The question was “Does eating powered sugar donuts make your mouth feel cold?

The results:

  • “Of course.  That’s just science.” = 26%
  • “Of course not.  What the hell is wrong with you?” = 26%
  • “Now I want donuts.  Thanks a lot, asshole.” = 40%

So basically the world can be divided into those whose mouths work properly and those whose don’t.  And those who just want donuts.  And those who answered “other” just to be purposely contrary.

For our second poll we’re moving to childhood because I insist that everyone in America was taught mandatory square dancing in elementary school and Victor just stares at me and shakes his head.

me:  This, Victor.  This is what everyone learned in music classes:

me: Who says white people can’t dance?

Victor:  Everyone who’s seen that video, to start with.

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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.):

  • “BE NICE OR I WILL STAB YOU” plate.  Remind anyone eating at your place why they shouldn’t be shitty.  Bonus:  Since it’s dinner you are likely to be actually holding a knife when they get to the message at the bottom of their plate, so they’re even more likely to take you seriously.  Great for Thanksgiving.
  • Bloody drawstring backpack.  Perfect for wet swimsuits or small books or one large human head.  The wording is nice because it’s comforting but it also tells people you might be dangerous.  Also, good camouflage in case zombies attack.

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 Suburban Underbelly, a book by the lovely Michele Theron.  “For suburban moms Quinn, Jill, and Lucy, freedom from motherhood as a competitive sport starts innocently enough: three hours a week without kids.  Before they know it, things are careening out of control and their lives change in ways that they never could have imagined.  Sexy, snarky, smart and funny as hell–SUBURBAN UNDERBELLY invites you into a world with the best friends we all wish we had”.  Check it out here.