Category Archives: Random Crap

Animals should have care labels attached to them.

Yesterday Victor saw a turtle in the middle of a busy road so he jumped out to get it and put it on the median, but if the turtle kept going it would just cross into another busy street and then a parking lot so I was like, “Let’s just take this turtle to the park so it can have an awesome life” and I did and he peed on me because no good deed goes unpunished.   I showed it the pond and said “ALL THIS IS YOURS!” like he was the lion king:

And I felt quite good about saving the world (of that turtle) until I shared it on Instagram and found out that you are totally not supposed to relocate turtles (other than just off the road and pointed in the direction that they were heading) and I felt bad but also very grateful that people were sharing turtle information because honestly that shit is important.

So I drove back to the park to see if the turtle was looking distressed or headed back in the direction of the road I’d taken him off of (it’s only a 5 minute walk with human legs but probably 8 years for a turtle) but he was flopping around in the pond and it seemed like he was very happy or trying to drown himself but either way I couldn’t reach him so I’m just crossing my fingers that this pond was the place he was headed anyway and I just ubered him them there for free.

But then today I went back to the park again and I saw him all the way on the other side of the park and he was shuffling off in the direction of the road and it was impressive how far he’d gone for a turtle so I thought maybe I should help and walk him across the street back to where he was before but when I picked him up I realized that he didn’t have the same tire mark in his shell that he’d had yesterday and I said “HOLD UP, BUDDY.  YOU’RE NOT YOU” because it was a whole other turtle altogether.  Then a lady in the park stared at me and that’s probably fair because basically I was interfering with all the neighborhood turtles so I put the turtle down and explained, “I thought he was someone I knew” and she nodded and started walking away quickly but I don’t think she should judge me because she was wearing her dog as a purse.

Not in her purse.  As her purse.  I took a picture to send a friend because I feel badly about accidentally trafficking turtles but at least I’m not wearing live animals, lady but then my friend was like, “That’s not a dog purse.  It’s a special leash for dogs with mobility problems.”


And then I decided I was probably going to hell because basically I was making fun of handicapped dogs while forcibly kidnapping multiple turtles.  And that’s how my whole week has been.

PS. Thank you to all the people who very kindly gave me turtle advice.  Learn from me, y’all.

I’d point it out but it makes me too entertained when I see it.

This tip box is on the counter of a restaurant we always go to and every time I see it it makes me smile.

Last time we were in there Victor pointed out that the spelling issue isn’t helping but I’d like to think it’s intentional because you read it and suddenly there’s a kitten telling you that “coins piss” and then you subconsciously want to get rid of all of your coins.  Plus, when you put your coin down a plastic kitty paw comes out and snatches it and that is worthwhile entertainment.  Victor disagrees but mainly because he’s always impatiently honking and waiting in the car while I’m standing there for 20 minutes happily feeding nickels to fake cat legs.

Except last time we went in there the batteries were out so the box kitty was like, “NO THANKS, LADY.  YOU JUST KEEP YOUR PEE PENNIES” and  so instead I had to just drop all my change in a bucket that didn’t feature cats or urine, and then the cashier was like, “Um…that’s the bowl we keep the soy sauce packets in” and I didn’t want to fish all my piss coins out of the soy sauce so I just left and now I can never go there again.


Remember a couple of years ago when I told you about this game my family invented called Crapscrabble?  If not, go read this and discover the best game in the entire world.

Recently Ferris Mewler discovered the bowl of tiles and decided to invent his own game of “Fish these tiles out of this bowl and fling them at your owner as hard as you possibly can and then pretend it wasn’t you when they get hit with tiny projectiles“.  And then Hunter S. Thomcat gets into it and furiously bats the tiles across the floor like he’s playing air hockey and Rolly is OCD about shit being on the floor so she picks the tiles up in her mouth and drops them in the toilet so now everytime I pee I’m getting secret coded messages from my toilet.  And then I yell, “THAT’S NOT HOW CRAPSCRABBLE WORKS YOU GUYS” but apparently it’s how Catscrabble works.

Ferris. What the hell.


So now I’ve started to play CatScrabble, which works the same as CrapScrabble but you can only play with the letters you find on the floor but it’s always consonants and no vowels so you can’t win, which is pretty much how it goes with cats.

PS. I just looked in the toilet and the letter “P” was at the bottom of the bowl and Rolly was staring at me like, “See what I did there?” and I think my cat and a toilet just partnered up to beat me in a word game.


Virtual reality is scarier than reality and I managed to mortify myself there just as much as real life.

This week Victor attempted to get me into gaming by buying an Oculus Go (a sort of stand-alone virtual reality goggle thing that you can play games on) and I have to admit that I was totally sucked in to all of the horror/mystery apps and promptly got lost in a bunch of VR haunted houses.  This was very entertaining to my family who recorded me making an ass of myself and who refused to play any of the horror games, mainly because they seemed to consist of me screaming in terror, flailing and falling over furniture and crawling on the floor to escape things that didn’t exist and that you can’t get away from because that’s not how virtual reality works.

What I have learned from my short time in virtual reality is that I have way too strong of an imagination and that if I’m playing a game where I’m being attacked by giant spiders and you sneak up behind me and tickle my arm I will punch you right in the ear and you will deserve it.

This morning I woke up Victor because I was playing a zombie game in bed and he was like “What are you doing?” and I was like, “DON’T DISTRACT ME.  I’M BEATING OFF A HORDE OF ZOMBIES AND I’M GOING FOR THE RECORD” and he was like, “Ew, phrasing” but I can’t be expected to catch double-entendres while I’m being attacked by the undead, Victor.   Also, I was playing multi-player and the game paired me up with some guy in Russia and I couldn’t really understand what he was saying but he kept waving at me with his gun and I was like, “Wow, this guy is really friendly” so I kept waving back but turns out that he was waving to tell me to turn around and fight because I was being eaten by zombies and then I logged off immediately out of sheer mortification.  Conclusion: I can’t even be cool in virtual reality, y’all.


And on an entirely different subject, it’s time for the Sunday wrap-up!

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


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Read A Book Day

Today is National Read-A-Book Day (which avid readers just call “Thursday”) so I was thinking today you could tell me a great book (because I am voracious and always looking for a new read) and then we could do a giveaway.

What is a book you loved so much that you almost wish you could erase from your memory so you could experience it again for the first time?

I have dozens but one of my favorites is Shirley Jackson’s We Have Always Lived in the Castle.

It’s simple and complex and she perfectly captures the sense of otherness and of fear in a way that few people ever do.  It’s a strange book but one of my favorites.

Your turn.

(PS.  Tonight I’ll pick three commenters at random and send you a gift certificate for free books.  Just make sure you use an email address in your comment.)


You will thank me.

No blog post today because nothing I can write will be better to the response to this tweet.  Click here and scroll until your heart overloads on cuteness.  You will thank me.

Finding light

I got distracted by my dog’s vagina (if I had a nickel for every time that’s happened, right?) but I’m back to sum up the final part of our week in Europe.  If you missed the first two parts they’re here and here.


We took a train from London to Paris and went through the chunnel (the tunnel under the English channel) but it’s only cool in theory because it’s not made of glass so basically you’re just in the dark the whole time.  Have you ever traveled with your eyes closed?  That’s pretty much what the chunnel is like.

Also there was a lack of sasquatches:

We ate a lot.

The one thing I really wanted to do in Paris was to see the catacombs so we did that first just in case my anxiety hit and I had to miss everything else and it was amazing if for no other reason than this sign:

No eating. No flash photography. No molesting the corpses.

Also, we went visited a bunch of haunted places during our vacation because I’m a dorky ghost hunter but the only possible ghost picture we got the entire trip was in the catacombs and fucking Victor took it:

If you click on it you can see it larger. It sort of looks like the ghost is wearing high heels and skinny jeans but it’s Paris so I guess even the ghosts are fancier than us.

We went to the Paris Flea Market and I didn’t buy any of these things even though I really wanted to:

I was worried that the taxidermy would get stuck at customs but I did consider buying the girl mannequin. She’s LIFE-SIZED though and Victor refused to buy another plane ticket home and also she looked so real and unsettling that I was a little concerned that she was an actual demon.

We took our kid a show at the Moulin Rouge. There were a lot of nipples but she owns nipples so I think it was probably okay even though Victor kept whispering “YOU’RE A BAD MOM” every time someone took a top off. Also, the show was for “ages 7 and up” so things in Europe are a little different.

We took a boat ride down the Seine and I have a lot of beautiful pictures on instagram but this was a favorite:


We saw the Eiffel Tower and it was very bizarre because it’s one of those things that you don’t think really exists until you see it.  We didn’t go inside because there was a line and it was expensive and I hate elevators and stairs, plus if you go to the top of the Eiffel Tower you can’t actually see the Eiffel Tower, so I’m not sure what the point it.  But we ate crepes from a street vender outside and they were so good I screamed “ALL CLITORISES ARE BEAUTIFUL!” but only in my mind because my mouth was full.  (Of crepes.  Not clitorises.)

We wandered the streets and caught glimpses of the person our daughter is becoming:

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And in the evening the light turned golden – literally – and I suddenly saw why they call it the City of Light.

I tried to find an empty space to see the sun but it just wasn’t possible, so I stood in the deep shadows of the streets and I looked up to watch the light creep in and touch the tips of the buildings.  And I cried a little.  Because for so many months it seems all I seemed to write about was the dark depression I was in…how I was looking for the light.  And I found it.  Maybe just glimpses, but sometimes that’s enough.

It was enough for me.

And I’ll keep these pictures to remind myself that there is always light coming, even if you can’t always see it.

This day took a turn.

So last night Dorothy Barker wouldn’t sleep and she whined like crazy and tried to go out to pee at least 10 times so today I took her to the vet and the vet was like, “Her bladder is too small to stick a needle in (wtf?)  but we think your dog has a bacterial urinary tract infection and canine derma vaginitis” and I know the first one but the second one was new to me so the vet was like, “Her cooter’s all borked up.  That’ll be $300.”

Then she was like, “I’m giving y’all some medicated wipes. You’ll need to clean your dog’s vagina four times a day.”


Dorothy Barker:

But then I got home and Dottie refused to let me near her lady garden and I was running after her yelling “LET ME WIPE YOU” but she growled and hid under the table and I was like, “YOUR VAGINA IS A GROUP EFFORT, DOG” and then she tried to bite me and I was like, “LOOK, I’M NOT TRYING TO SHAME YOU.  I ASSURE YOU THIS IS ALL PERFECTLY NATURAL FOR A WOMAN” and then Victor came out of his office and yelled about how hard I made it to be professional on conference calls and I was like, “Dude, don’t blame me.  Blame your dog’s vagina” and then he was like:

Then I decided that maybe it would be easier to wipe the dog’s hoo-hoo if it didn’t have so much fur on it so I went to Target to find dog-clippers but they didn’t have any so I went to the men’s grooming section and there were a thousand trimmers but I didn’t know which one to use and a lady who works there asked if I needed help and I told her I was looking for the best way to shave my dog’s vagina and she was like, “Oh” and I explained that it was for medical reasons, not recreation but she still looked disturbed and then I realized that maybe she’s one of those people who is very pedantic about the term “vagina” meaning the tube part of the lady garden and honestly it would be weird to shave  inside a dog’s vagina so I corrected myself and said, “My dog’s vulva, I mean.  Obviously.  You know what I meant” but it seemed like she didn’t really so I grabbed the cheapest clippers with the ear hair attachment because it seemed like if it was safe for ears it was probably safe for dog vaginas.

But then when I got home  Dottie totally didn’t understand what I was trying to do…

…and she got freaked out by the clippers and kept running from me so I had to wrap a towel around her head so that we didn’t have to make eye contact and share our mutual shame and then she calmed down a little (which is probably the same way I’d want to get a bikini wax if I’m being honest) but I was holding her like a burrito in one hand and the clippers in another hand and she got squirmy and I totally cut a giant chunk of fur off of her tail and now it looks like she tried to cut her own bangs, but if her bangs were on her butt.

Then Victor yelled at me for breaking the dog but she was already broken and I have the doctor bill to prove it and technically she seemed pretty happy to have a freshly shaven vagina and she ran around the house feeling the breeze on her downstairs apartment and showing it off to anyone who would look.

This post is going to get me so many gross internet search results.



“What would you choose to have squirt out of your finger?”

Hailey asked me what I’d choose to have squirt out of my finger on demand if I had the choice of any liquid and I thought vodka would be good but a bottle of vodka lasts me forever so instead I went with gasoline and Hailey said that would taste terrible but then I explained that I’d use it to never have to go to the gas station again.  Hailey chose hot fudge, which I’m not sure is technically a liquid but is still a very good choice.  Then I asked Victor what liquid he’d choose to have squirt out of his finger and almost before I’d finished the question he said, “Acid.  For sure.  I’d squirt acid out of my finger.”  And then I just stared at him for a bit because he answered that way too quickly but I think our choices probably say a lot about our personalities and this is one of the weirdest Rorschach test ever.

PS. I just changed my answer because I think that probably the best liquid to squirt out of your finger is blood because blood banks are always low and that way I could donate a ton of blood.  Victor just pointed out that my finger already squirts out blood on demand if I cut the tip off so it’s almost like I got my wish, except not really at all, Victor.


And on an entirely different subject, it’s time for the Sunday wrap-up!

Shit I made 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 Better Help.  Some issues in life are best solved with the help of a professional and there’s no shame in asking for that help.  BetterHelp is a great online counseling platform that provides unlimited access to a licensed counselor for less than the cost of in-person therapy.  Get matched with a counselor and start communicating via text, live chat, phone call or video within 24 hours. You should check them out here.

London is beautiful…but a little too peoply.

(Click here for part 1)

SO…where were we?  Oh, we were in Scotland at the train station and I was thinking that Scotland would always be my favorite vacation spot and then someone told me that the national animal of Scotland is the unicorn (true story) and also that Scotland recently had to shut down part of a castle after a “very angry badger” took up residence there and refused to be lured out with peanuts and cat food and then I realized that Scotland was made for me and probably I should go live there.  And I’m fine with angry badgers because Victor travels all the time so it’d be like he was there even when he wasn’t, plus badgers eat snakes so it’d be like I had a personal snake security guard with me.  EVERYONE WINS.

We planned to take a sleeper train from Scotland to London and it seemed very smart because not only do you travel at night so you sleep through the travel but also you don’t have to spend money on a hotel because you sleep on the train, and it was awesome.  Mostly it was awesome at teaching us how much we never want to take a sleeper train again because as soon as I squeezed into the tiny room with all our suitcases I had the first bout of claustrophobia I’d had in 10 years and I had to tell Victor and Hailey to stop breathing because they were using up all the air and also the room was so tiny it smelled like feet and farts and fear almost immediately.  It was exciting though to see the country from the window and I enjoyed the booze part of the dining car once I stopped hyperventilating.

Also, people on twitter told me I needed to eat “neeps & tatties” so I asked for them but I forgot the name so instead I was like, “It’s Scottish and it goes with haggis?  I want to say ‘nipples and titties’ but I’m pretty sure that’s not it” and they agreed hardily.  Turns out it’s “neeps & tatties” (shorthand for “turnips & potatoes”) but I think I was pretty close.  Not close enough for the dining car people though, who were very confused, but in my defense this is a country that also sells “pasties” and they aren’t what you think they are either so I’m pretty sure none of this is my fault.  Victor disagrees.

But he did agree that the sleeper train was not a great fit for us (literally) but was excellent practice for prison.  I asked Victor to order 50 hard-boiled eggs and a harmonica but the dining car was out of both, I guess.

At the time, this night was one of the most uncomfortable of the vacation but looking back it was one of the best and I laughed myself a little sick. So never mind, I’ve decided I like the train after all.

Jesus.  This is supposed to be about London and I’m still on the damn train from Scotland.  Let’s hurry this up.

We got to London and were the last people on earth to see Hamilton (although Hailey and I already knew all the words by heart and I want a medal for not singing along) and I cried so much I gave myself a headache.  Also it was weird going to London to see a play about America but it worked.


We went to Dennis Severs’ House and it was an introvert’s dream because basically you’re going to a party where you’re not allowed to speak, the other guests are invisible and also Dennis Severs’ is dead so literally you get to enjoy an amazing (probably haunted) time capsule art installation house in absolute silence.  I can’t explain it well and I wasn’t allowed to take pictures but if you’re ever in London you should totally go.

We went to the Tower of London and saw the crown jewels and the torture chambers and the ravens and the weather was miserable but it matched the mood of the place so I give it points for accuracy.

Then we did the cheesy touristy London Dungeon, and I’m aware that it’s a terrible waste to go to the country where history comes from and spend hours at a semi-horror amusement part but we know who we are and we are the kind of people who love cheesy horror and ridiculousness and being chased by Jack the Ripper.  Part of traveling is learning who you are.  Turns out we are those people.

There were a lot of other things we wanted to do but I had a small panic attack at the bus station that left me needing to hide in a hotel room (but only for a few hours and this is what progress looks like for me) and Hailey sprained her ankle so we skipped all of the other stuff and just took our kid to a bar.  But it was a bar that had a full replica of Sherlock Holmes’ flat so I can’t be blamed.  Also, I was told that kids go to bars all the time in London so I guess in that way it’s a lot like Texas.

We wanted to do high tea but we couldn’t get in anywhere since we waited too late and honestly that was fine because I didn’t even know what high tea was.  Turns out it’s just tea, but sitting up high at a table rather than a couch, so I’m not sure what the draw is.  “Low tea” is drinking at a low sofa which seems better to me.  Personally I prefer “Super-low tea” which involves having wine coolers and cupcakes in your bathtub and which I just made up.

Then we went to Trafalgar Square where I half fell in the fountain getting this picture:

Worth it.

We watched the sunset and scraped our elbows climbing onto the giant lion statues and for a moment everything was golden.  I breathed.  I felt.  I soaked it in.  I stopped, and all was good.

I love this picture of me and Hailey. Are those guy unveiling a giant metal nipple? Just asking.

And then we got on another train for France.  Let’s take a break, okay?  I need some super-low tea.

PS. Everywhere in Scotland I kept seeing these signs that said “TO LET” and I was like, “They spelled ‘TOILET’ wrong” but apparently ‘letting’ is like ‘leasing’ and that makes more sense but also I was very impressed with the children of Scotland for not graffitiing an “I” into every sign because apparently they have much more self control/class than I do or possibly they just aren’t tall enough to do what all of us are thinking.

Someone get me a white paint pen and a ladder.  And bail money.  I’m gonna need bail money.