Tag Archives: ran-dumb

And this is why I don’t leave the house much…

For the past few days I have been incredibly irritable, cranky, sullen, aggravated & sleep-deprived. No, I don’t have a newborn baby that I must care for, instead my body decided to birth the mother of all rashes all over my skin parts. That’s right… I’ve got it:

Poison Ivy.

And it’s EV-ERY-WHERE.

*****

I want to die.

-No. That’s not quite it.

I want to kill myself.

-Hmmm… close, but still, that sentiment isn’t totally fitting.

Ok, got it…

I want the rip the flesh from my body, soak it in acid & bleach, scald it in boiling water, pass it through an industrial strength blow dryer and have it re-attached all while I am under heavy sedation so I can catch up on the COUNTLESS hours I’ve not slept ever since Mount St. Hellish erupted all over my oh-so sensitive limbs.

What probably sucks more than the itching and discomfort and lack of sleep at night is the fact that I have no one but myself to blame for this debacle.

Am I unreasonably susceptible to toxic weeds with poison oils? Why yes, yes, I am.

Have I, in the past, contracted said poison oils simply by washing the clothes of another who came in contact with the plant, although I had not? Damn right I have.

As a child, did I come down with multiple horrific cases of ivy poisoning during summer months, so so SO so bad that I once got it inside my eye, causing my lid to swell to the approximate size of a golf ball, forcing me to spend the following days trying to slide a thin layer of tissue between my swollen lids to collect my miserable, unjustly afflicted, childhood tears? This scenario, sadly, is also all too true.

So then why, when warned of poison leaves in the area, did I not flee? Why did I not wave my middle finger in the general direction of my offenders instead of waving the wand of a weed-killing spray in their face. That same blasted wand that literally managed to blast the irritating oils of its plant host back onto my body and clothing?

Because I am an idiot and an asshole.

At least that’s all I’ve been able to come up with.

*****

Do you want to know an interesting fact that I read about poisonous plants? One of the WORST things you can do is to spray them with weed-killer for the exact reason I mentioned above. It causes teeny-tiny offensive poison particles to become airborne, and for those of us with extreme cases of what I like to call “new-born dermatitis” (Do you get hives from moderate alcohol consumption while sitting in the sun? What about from applying certain types of sun block mixed with chlorinated pool water? Then this is you and your life if screwed…) you are risking not only spraying vicious oils all over your skin but you may also end up ingesting them, thus causing a shit storm of shit you do not want to deal with. Trust.

The worst thing about this particular instance is the fact that I didn’t even know I had poison ivy until about 3 days after it first reared its ugly pimpled head. It wasn’t until I awoke one night last week attempting to saw off my own leg with my ragged fingernails that I realized that what I assumed were above average sized mosquito bites were in fact, much much worse.

The next day I noticed a rash had begun to form and spread and those once large circular “mosquito bite” sized blobs on my legs had begun to transform themselves into things that looked more like red sand tropical islands rather than innocuous rosy-red orbs.

It wasn’t until this past Friday night (mind you I contracted the “sickness” on the previous Sunday afternoon) that I realized I had not only entered my home that Sunday, while covered in the offending oil, sat on the couch (which seconds as our bed), touched numerous household items and the cat, before I realized that I was also sleeping on the same sheets since that day. The same sheets that I’d been rolling around in for the entire week wondering why this shit was spreading all over my body like wildfire.

Needless to say… it was too late. A week since I first noticed the rash I am still accumulating new patches of discomfort. I have washed my sheets & any and all associated materials I may or may not have (can’t risk it) touched since the incident twice over now and I am on my way to get a shot of steroids from my doctor because I have left myself with no other options.

The bee and I have barely said a word to each other in days, mostly due to the fact that my emotional range is either that of a crazed, hypersensitive crying lunatic, weeping at the sign of a new blister or bump or that of an aloof, angry madwoman whose main purpose in life is now to eradicate all toxins from my living space.

*****

I’ve seen a doctor, received a shot of cortisone in my arm and am currently taking steroids despite the fact that I was always told they give men breasts and women mustaches. This was a risk I was mostly willing to take and since I already have both breasts and a mustache. I think I can say I’ve won this round.

*****

It is now a day after the doctor and the welts have begun to subside but more than that my state of mind is slightly more balanced than it had been. To put things into perspective I have included photographic evidence from the day I first noticed the bumps arise:

I sent this photo in a text to the bee with the light-hearted comment that my “bug bites” resembled two giant nipples. HAHAHA!

That joke proved even less funny after my leg started to look like this:

if possible, please try to ignore the unshaven-ness of my leg. it’s kind of hard to drag a razor over your skin when your legs are covered in festering sores.

In short…

Happy 4th! Stay safe, have fun, and stay the fuck inside.

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I, Me…

… do solemnly swear that I:

  • like turtles
  • will not do sit-ups on the bed and count that as “working out”
  • need to start looking more closely at the food that I pick up off the floor before I put it into my mouth
  • will stop eating cereal right before laying down for bed… Guurrgh, MILK BELLY… *gurgle*gurgle*blorp*mrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrobbbbbbbbb*
  • should kill less bugs starting now for the karmic benefits. Retribution for all the senseless years of slaughter CAN start today…
  • must cease and desist from being such a GD MFing internet hipster snob and just effing WRITE again and not give an effing eff about the shitty shorty shirtsleeves I think I’ve been dealt which cripples me and makes me want to see if I can outsleep my cat or all the brazillion reasons I have for not doing it and doing something else or usually just doing nothing and then feeling overly guilty about it instead of just “normally” guilty and basically just be a human-GD-being. Who writes. On the internet. When I’m not too busy self hating and being depressed about nothing and everything all at once. JK! LOL! OTFLASLOLFOJ!*
The End.

*on the floor laughing and simultaneously letting out little farts of joy!

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Pocketful of Meat

Here is a prime example of just how fucking demented I can be while out in public alone:

The other day I went to the deli to buy cold cuts.

You know how some deli workers will present you with a sample of your order and ask if it’s sliced to the thickness of your liking?

Turns out if you plan on ordering a variety of different items and the deli worker offers you a slice of each and you also end up asking him to slice a few items thinner than he first presented you with, and he hands over that sample to you as well, you will end up with a giant mound of meats and cheeses in your hand that you can either jam into your mouth despite having had your fill 2 slices ago and potentially choke on or you can literally sweat it out in your palm…

After gratefully devouring a slice of swiss cheese, roasted chicken, oven gold turkey and a too thick slice of provolone offered, I found myself accumulating more meat than I’ve ever wanted in my hand at one time.

It’s at this point that I began to panic.

I couldn’t find a napkin to stuff all the extraneous meat stuffs into and there wasn’t a trashcan in sight. There was no chance I was going to tell the kind and generous delicatessen worker to take back the slices he had previously offered and dispose of them for me.

And although I’m pretty sure he should have known to cut me off after the 4th or 5th slice, the ball was nonetheless in my court and I did nothing to dissuade him from keepin’ that ol’ meat train a-comin’…

So, I did what any truly brilliant/desperate/cold cut-crazy person in my position would do when faced with the dilemma of man-handling more than one can manage:

I folded up the second slice of provolone, a slice of honey maple ham and a slice of salami (why am i buying this much meat in the first place?) into a misshapen triangle of delicatessen freebies and jammed them into my jacket pocket.

When I got back home I removed the wad from my pocket and threw it to the woods in the hope that a baby deer or a scrawny fox might sniff them out for a late lunch but it failed to change the fact that I managed to walk out of a busy, local establishment with a quarter pound of balled up meat and cheese in my pocket instead of just telling the guy behind the counter: NO.

I believe the truth behind all this madness is simply that, if given the choice, I will almost exclusively choose the more embarrassing option.

*****

It has also come to my attention that I take 18,000 years to complete any one project. I’ve been “trying” to cook lately. It has (surprisingly) been mostly successful. That is to say that the tacos and tater-tot casseroles that I’ve spent far too much time on made have been downright masterful…or something.

I baked cupcakes tonight. From scratch. This was, by and large, a daunting task and one I’ve never even come close to attempting on my own before. Before tonight I wasn’t even sure I knew how to whisk things correctly. After tonight, I’m confident that I don’t.

I only managed to lose control of the whisk and fling melted butter and egg on myself and the side of the mixer once but it also took me almost 15 minutes to set up the mixer in the first place so maybe I shouldn’t be so proud so soon…

Also…

It took me, from first mix to final icing, over 4 hours to complete 12 cupcakes. I think the people on Cupcake Wars have 2 hours to make a thousand so I guess that kills any thought of my going into the competitive baking arena anytime soon.

The point is: cupcakes were made and it was an adventure.

A long, exhausting adventure full of expletives muttered at myself and a plethora of inanimate objects mostly labeled “Kitchen Aid”. An adventure that has now led me towards the greater pursuit and fervent study of whether or not Shiraz is considered a “dessert wine” and if I eat all 12 cupcakes is it OK to wash them down with an entire bottle?

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An Outside Opinion

the bee: I think you need to get out of the house more. It’s good for you. On the inside and out.

me: (peeks face out from behind open refrigerator door) I get out of the house (SNAP! *crunch*crunch*crunch*) …sometimes.

b: I mean somewhere besides the supermarket or the library.

m: (half-chewed orange substance sprays from mouth and freckles fridge door handle and shirtsleeve) Ai THIK yer fergaeg…

b: No…

Going to the drive-thru at the bank doesn’t count as “getting out”. Not really, anyway.

m: (uses open fridge door as make-shift ballet barre; *plié* *ronds de jambe* *plié* *relevé* *plié* *ronds de jambe* *plié* *développé* !!!)

I was going to say “the mayonnaise”. You’re forgetting the amount of mayonnaise that we consume in this house. I don’t think it’s fair to discredit my trips to the supermarket. I need to restock, like, bi-monthly.

If bi-monthly means what I think it means, which is to say I don’t know what it means and ANYWAY, where else am I SUPPOSED to go? (SNAP! *crunch*crunch*crunch*)

b: I dunno… ANYWHERE. Just go for a drive, get lost, have adventures, have FUN!

m: Do you have any idea how depressing that sounds? (waves a baby carrot in the air to emphasize the enormity of the issue) Who the hell wants to be out in public ALONE? It’s humiliating. The last time you told me I should go to the park because it was a beautiful day I did and it was a complete disaster. (SNAP! CRUNCH.)

b: Don’t you think calling it a “disaster” is a bit dramatic?

m: Ummm, NO… (baby carrot now inches from the nose of the offending conversationalist; half-chewed orange substance airborne and within range to fleck the shirtsleeves of others)

…I peeled off my cinch waisted pants and forced my hair into something resembling a trampled beaver’s den, though a thoughtfully maintained one, all so I could end up sweaty and looking pathetic while trying to find someplace isolated to sit and read my book.

Being amongst all those smiley, happy couples and families was honestly the most alone I’ve ever felt…

(dispiritedly grande pliés into the cold embrace of the refrigerator; crumples on the floor nestled between the ketchup and cold cuts where her mind transports us through a vast and trippy memory telescope/photo album type-thingy into… the recent past)

*****

I wandered aimlessly…

I took some pictures…

Lonely, DEPRESSING pictures…

I encountered 2 girls with a dog who happened to be hanging out in a shady place by the path I was on and I was pretty sure they were staring at me and laughing so I took this picture, which isn’t really of anything but it saved me from having to look them in the eyes while being publicly ridiculed…

Then I ended up getting kind of lost…

Honestly though, this rendezvous with desolation was the most welcoming moment the afternoon had offered so far…

So I decided to take a load off and just relax. I started messing with the camera to see if I could remember how to use all the different functions.

I couldn’t…

So I took a few not so great pictures…

Until…

Ahhh… That’s better…

I found some red in a tangle of green and brown…

A weeping, gnarled monster reaching skyward from its grave….

And not far from there, finally, a nice comfortable place to sit and read my book…

*****

b: How utterly… nightmarish.

m: I know. It really was.

But do you know the worst part about going out? What I would consider the ultimate in human degradation?

b: Ummmm…

Being harrassed by religious fanatics?

Feely airport security guards?

Not being able to cool yourself while simultaneously abusing precious home energy resources?

m: Close. But no.

b: Then what?

m: Eating in public. (closes fridge door and pirouettes out of the room)

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Air Kicks

the bee: You can go on into the bathroom first this morning.

me: UGH.

b: What?!

m: Well, thanks and all but it’s just so CA-CA-CA-COLD in there. *jitterbugs around the bed in a fetal position to really drive home the point*

b: *slowly turns body in opposite direction*

m: I wish you could air kick me like the Transporter into the bathroom so I wouldn’t have to touch the cold tiles.

b: Do what now? Like who?

m: You KNOW. Like the Transporter. Jason Statham. He is like a master of air kicks.

b: What are “air kicks?”

m: You’re kidding me, right?

b: But aren’t all kicks “air kicks”?

m: Pffffffffffffffffffft. No.

Air kicks are when you are specially trained in martial arts or something and you can make your body fly through the air with your legs shooting straight out, readied like a fist so you can kick-fist someone in the face.

b: Wouldn’t that be called a “flying kick” then?

m: I doubt it. Jason Statham can’t fly, but birds can. Flies can fly. Even planes can fly. You know why? Because they have wings. Jason Statham does not have wings, therefore he cannot “fly kick“, he air kicks.

b: Well, since you’ve presented your case with such an overwhelming amount of logic and reason, I suppose I have no other option but to agree with you.

m: I’m glad I could help you come to your senses.

Now.

Ready?

One, Two, Three… aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand GO!

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Filed under (me), just a thought..., the bee

5 Reasons Why Grape Nuts is Better Than Your Favorite Cereal

1. It is a great source of fiber and basically guarantees a successful and expedient evacuation of the previous days meal, leaving you with extra bathroom time that you can use for things like filing down the 12 weeks worth of toenail you’ve been cultivating despite the imminence of “sandal season” in just a few short months.

2. It even tastes good soggy. Better even. Can’t say that about Cheerio’s. CAN you?

3. Grape Nuts are neither made from grapes or nuts which is good because I don’t like either of those things in my cereal.

4. Grape Nuts are excellent when used in arts and crafts type projects. When I was in Kindergarten my friend and I decided to give our school’s crossing guard Christmas presents. When I found out she was giving her a necklace from K-Mart, my demented little brain pumped itself full of jealous rage and concocted the cruelest retaliation imaginable: a vastly better gift than the one my friend was giving. I chose to take a piece of white printer paper, draw a heart on it, fill it in with Elmer’s Glue and sprinkle Grape Nuts on top of it. It was beautiful. It was the most beautiful and crunchy and almost entirely edible gift anyone ever gave anyone and I gave it to the crossing guard. My crossing guard. And she loved it. I think.

And finally, the most important point to be made of all the 5 important reasons chosen for this list:

5. Under no circumstances ever or anytime will anyone EVER chose to eat your cereal (Grape Nuts) when presented with any other option. Ever.

So what does all this mean?

Well, if you eat Grape Nuts, it means: You WIN! You should probably get an award. Made of Grape Nuts. I could make one for you, but then I would need someone to make mine so maybe instead of awards we should just clink our bowls of delight together and smile knowing our colons are better off than they were before we starting eating all this amazing cereal and start planning what we’re gonna do with all the extra time we’re gonna have after everyone we know is dead because our colons outlived them all. Even us. So really the plans we’re making are for our colons. Just our colons. Because we’re all dead.

*clink*

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A Day in the Life

When I decided to leave my job I figured it would give me an overwhelming amount of free time to write and take pictures and just be generally creative. I thought at this point I would have created so much amazlingness that I would need to tell myself to slow the hell down and just relax already. Instead I find myself unable to wake before 10 and then frantically running around all day in the hopes that I can get something worthwhile accomplished. Most days lots gets done, just nothing worth mentioning.

Or IS it?

Since I’m unable to come up with anything original, I’ll just give you a basic rundown of a day in the life:

12:37 AM – Wake up on the couch with intense neck pain after dozing off while watching something uninteresting on the TiVO (probably Chuck since I don’t find any humor on that show save for Morgan but the bee begs to differ because he just loves it. choose your battles wisely, people.)

12:38-12:41 AM – Attempt to rouse a sleeping bee from the sofa, at first with sweetness and love, whispering things like “Hey, sleepy. It’s late, let’s go to bed, OK?”. When that inevitably doesn’t work and I’ve paced the room for the next few minutes after multiple futile attempts to wake his comatose ass it becomes “FINE! I’m going to bed, with or without you. You can sleep out here, ALONE, where it’s scary and there’s no one to protect you. Good luck.” Within moments a groggy bee will rise as late-night threats of impending fear and abandonment will almost always work in your favor.

4:23 AM – Wake to the sounds of “A-BANG-A-BANG-A-BANG” coming from the weird, dwarf-sized, pseudo-closet underneath our bed where the cat has decided for the umpteenth time to try to see if he can exit through a set of unnecessary double doors that lead only to a wall. Directly under our heads. Where we sleep at night.

This is then followed by the “SCRITCH-A-SCRITCH-A-SCRITCH” when the stinker realizes that his first tactic wasn’t completely fortuitous so he’s moved to the set of drawers built into our weird elevated bunk bed in the hopes that THIS will wake us up so we can git on down thar and play with his fuzzy little monkey butt.

4:24-5:05 AM – Unsuccessfully bargain with a cat, pleading for a decent nights sleep and some peace and quiet if he would only just let us have it: “Just two more hours, buddy. Then we play with flying string-feather alllllll day, OK?” which quickly turns into “WOULD YOU SHUT UP YOU HELL SPAWN JUST BE QUIET GODDAMN IT I’M LOSING MY MIND YOU JERK I SWEAR TO GOD I’M GONNA KIL…” until, finally, the cat gets bored with this charade and resumes sleeping peacefully wherever it is he wants to sleep and we are forced to separate (as it seems to be the ONLY way he’ll ever give us peace), one of us staying in the bed while the other mans the pull-out in the living room where we both end up passing out miserable and overflowing with rage.

Let me just say: It’s awesome.

VS.

note the slight shift in location and the subtle difference in eyelid presentation in both photos. i mention this because these things matter little. in either instance he is ready to take your sleep schedule and make it his bitch.

7:35-8:05 AM – I half-wake to the sounds of the bee getting ready for his day at the office. I remain barely fazed by his knocking about the house  and only regain consciousness again briefly as he stops to give me a kiss goodbye before he leaves the house.

I’m not gonna lie. I’m a huge fan of that part.

9:56 AM – I awake to the sound of “Meeeeeeer, meeeeer” and a little orange face staring up at me from the floor telling me to get the hell up already because he’s hungry, so let’s get this party started. This is closely followed by the “Bzzzzzzp, bzzzzzzp” of my phone which is the bee texting me to get the hell up already because he’s bored, so let’s get this party started.

10:02 – approx 1:30 PM – I begin frantically running about the house in attempt to get things done. I start by putting the kettle on for tea and feeding the cat while I work on straightening up the house because, for whatever reason, collectively we manage to make a mess of things on a daily basis so much so that each morning I have to turn the bed back into a couch or rearrange furniture that was moved to provide sufficient space for the flying string-feather obstacle course or, you know, because I am highly OCD and I just have to. During this time I will also drink my tea, eat my breakfast and manage to make myself feel sub par for not having accomplished more in the way of actual “work” all while sitting in the same dirty pajamas that I’ve worn all week. (that last part is more statement of fact than complaint because I LOVES me the time in my dirty ‘jams)

1:31-4:12 PM – Commence freaking out because it’s almost 2:00 and that’s when the bee goes on lunch which means he’s gonna call me and ask what I’m doing. Also, because technically I think I’m supposed to eat again but that’s so much work and I really don’t have the motivation but I better do it anyway because otherwise I’ll get yelled at (see: the bee). It’s around this time that I realize that I still haven’t managed to do the dishes from the night before and it never ceases to amaze me that no matter what the meal and regardless that it’s just the two of us we still have a towering mound of crap in the sink on a daily basis to deal with.

Also? I should probably shower. It’s been a while. Oh yeah, and the teeth. Still haven’t brushed the teeth.

4:15 PM – Decide that just brushing the teeth and putting on real clothes should be good enough in the way of grooming for the day. Attempt to go online and read-up on blogs and maybe get some writing done. This never happens. Instead I find that Don’t Tell Mom The Babysitter’s Dead is on Cinemax for the 11th time this week so I should probably watch it again because I’M RIGHT ON TOP OF THAT ROSE.

5:30 PM – The bee arrives home and any prospect of writing goes out the window. I’m totally fine with this. At least I will be until tomorrow morning (see: 1:35-4:12 PM) when I’ll just make myself feel guilty for being unproductive again. We catch up on the day’s happenings and the bee complains about some shitty thing that happened at his shitty job and I nod and roll my eyes because I totally get it and then I tell him about how fucking crazy MY new boss is. And he’ll do the same because he knows the deal with that too.

6:45 PM – We decide that we should probably start to think about what it is we might want to eat for dinner. Considering the time we look in the fridge to realize we only have 2 week old baked beans and some white-slime coated hot dogs and since it’s too late to defrost anything “real” in the freezer we realize we need to choose from the only two options left: Wendy’s or McDonald’s. Lately Wendy’s wins out since they have those new salads. You know the one’s with the nuts and cheese and berries? Yep, tooooootally love those. Have I mentioned I should be in sales?

7:55 – 10:15 PM – Return from Wendy’s and begin scarfing down dinner while watching hours of mind-numbing television programming. Remember all the things I had wanted to do during the day but didn’t and then realize that I’m just going to have to do all those things TOMORROW and I begin to panic. I don’t handle stress well. At all. So instead of beginning to relax and enjoy my time with my husband in a low-key laid-back scenario I start to obsess and voice my worry about all my shortcomings and past failures as a human. This makes for really shitty T.V. viewing. Thank god for TiVo. Again: sales?

10:30-ish – Regardless of what is happening, I begin to lose my ability to maintain consciousness. We could be in the middle of playing Dance Dance Revolution and the indefatigable need to just “go lay down for a minute” would sweep over me and that, my friends, is usually where I completely check-out. Sometimes I can pretend like I’m still with it enough to carry on a conversation or, at the very least, add commentary to something seen on T.V. but the truth is, anything after 10:45 for me is 100% auto-pilot which brings us right back to where we started.

Basically I’m just a manic-depressive, obsessive-compulsive, slightly neurotic, unemployed, over-sleeper with less than stellar hygiene, who loves her freak-show of a cat even though he’s *this close* to getting thrown out a window if he wakes her up again with his one-man-band percussive late-night music hour, with a very unhealthy relationship with fast food who really needs to get dressed and put on some make-up. Like now. It’s either that or cover up this pimple with my finger forever.

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Filed under (me), home, just a thought..., the bee

Last Minute Halloween Costume Ideas for the Recently Unemployed and Habitually Underpaid

Halloween is right around the corner, kitty cats and if you’re anything like me you wait until the absoLUTE last-minute to decide what the hell you’re wearing for the big day. That is why I have constructed this brief, yet immeasurably helpful, guide to turning something everyday into something uniquely Halloween-y.

Be a hipster zombie!

First off, this works incredibly well if you already happen to BE a hipster. For one you can just say you’re going as a zombie and, for two, you already have enough v-neck t-shirts and skinny jeans to start your own sizeable army of ennui, so clothing yourself shouldn’t be a problem. If you happen to be the antithesis a hipster, fret not. Get thee to a thrift store, post-haste!

If thrift stores are out of your budgetary range for this season’s scare-fest think familial! Do you have grandpa? Grandpa’s have an EXCELLENT assortment of ironic hipster garb so if you’ve got one, watch him CLOSELY. Hipsters are lurking everywhere just waiting for the moment to strike and steal that oversized cable-knit sweater with the mothball smell that won’t come out.

Now for the zombie part. Get some red lipstick and dark eyeshadow and apply liberally to your face parts. Go for gaping head wounds and festering sores, blood dripping from the mouth and eyes will really set you apart from the other store-bought zombies. If you ARE a hipster, obtaining said face-paint should be rather easy since most hipsters live within yelling distance of their mommies anyway. If not? Real blood and bruises work just as well too.

Be a human lint-brush!

If you have a cat, like I do, then you know that cats shed copious amounts of hair. Usually on places like your clothes or bath towels so that when you go to dry yourself off after a nice hot shower you find yourself coated in a fine layer of sweet kitty cat fluff and dander. Since it is a well-known fact that cats enjoy sitting on a freshly dried set of clean clothes, first wash your clothes (choose dark colors if your cat is light-colored and vice versa if your cat is dark) dry them in the highest heat, set down on the couch, chair, bed or table of choice and let the magic begin!

Before you know it, Mr. (or Ms.) kitty cat will be snuggling and leaving their fur mark all over your freshly laundered! Once the hair transferral process is complete, commence wearing said outfit and off you go! You have become the human equivalent of a walking-talking lint-brush. Other party-goers won’t know what hit them! Unless they’re allergic to cats. Then your presence will basically be like a sucker punch to their sinuses.

Be a pile of leaves!

Where I live, the ground is currently covered with fallen leaves that will eventually just get collected into large trash bags or burned in autumn bonfires. I say: Why waste all that potential costume fodder by handing it over to the garbage gods?! It’s time to put to use all the crafting options around us.

Since dead leaves are like nature’s velcro, this is probably the easiest cheap Halloween costume to construct. Step 1: Put on some clothes. Step 2: Go outside and roll around in the leaves. The leaves will adhere to your clothes and hair with ease. It’s like the two of you were MEANT to be together this way. Once an adequate amount of rotten foliage is stuck to your person you are ready to go!

Now, for those of you who live in slightly more temperate climates during the colder months and don’t have fallen leaves readily accessible to your person, I suggest you then go jump in a lake. Or the ocean because you probably still can since it’s like 85 degrees wherever you are.

Assholes.

**********************************************

In other news:

A photo of mine was recently featured over at Indie Ink for their Autumn Writing/Photo Contest and I’m super proud and flattered to be included so make sure  you hit them up and check out all the awesome submissions!

Also…

A TRUE ghost story of mine has been published over at Midwestern Mama Holly’s blog. The past week on her site has featured real-life stories of the strange and paranormal from some of her readers and they be FREAKY. So, go forth! and be prepared to be scared!

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Crossing the Threshold

It is common knowledge that everything changes when you get married. You no longer live a life of singularity but, rather, one of SOLIDarity. You and me’s turn into us and we’s. And rightly so. You have embarked upon a journey full of petty fights and make-up sex.

Here are some things I’ve learned about marriage in just the last few days:

 

Talk is cheap. But more than that, talking at all is overrated. Once married, your brains magically fuse in such a way that you really no longer need to speak thoughts or requests to the other. Things are simply understood.

 

Sharing is caring. One of the most wonderful things about married life is sharing. Everything. From money to food to clothes to life’s pesky little responsibilities. Like who’s turn it is to call and order the pizza:

 

All bets are off. Did you have a particular arrangement in place for chores or a specific agreement that you made prior to your wedding day? Well if so, consider all that cancelled. Marriage is about equality and if not taken literally your wedded bliss will soon turn to a chaotic nightmare.

 

Humility and self-respect be damned! This means that you no longer need to leave the room to fart or pick your nose or scratch… anywhere! This also means that you can begin to use the bathroom with the door open. Now anytime is a good time to tell your spouse about every single thought that pops into your head.

In conclusion,  remember:

Love means never having to poop with the door shut… 

but maybe you should anyway.

Just to be safe.

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Filed under (me), just a thought..., the bee

Look What *I* Found! Friday: Yeah, you just TRY to get stuff done (i DARE you) Edition

If you’ve read this blog before it should come as no surprise that I love my cat. It actually borders on obsession. Ok, let’s get real here, it IS obsession. He’s really awesome though, so I have a hard time seeing how this is my fault. He’s adorable and affectionate and, for whatever reason, likes to be wherever I am at. all. times. however inconvenient or inappropriate that place might be*. 

*yes, i’m talking about the bathroom and no, just because i let him in there while i’m showering or toilet… ing, doesn’t mean that i’m in a losing battle for the upper hand in this relationship while simultaneously cultivating a mini fur-monster who knows that if he mews and *scritch*scritch*scritches* at the door relentlessly i’ll let him in there because SOMEBODY has to look out for our home furnishings and i’m starting to not like where this is going so let’s just move on shall we… 

SHALL we? 

When I work from home it is unavoidable that at one point or another “the stinky one” decides that the place he needs to be at that very moment is on my lap or, even better, on the desk: lower half splayed across the mousepad while he claws and chews on the power cord or with legs strategically placed on my keyboard so that I accidentally send out interoffice announcements that read like: 

Hello All, 

I will be taking lunch from 1-eeeeeerrrrtttttttt78uuuiiiiiiooooooooooppppppppppp’ 

So I wasn’t too surprised when I found that monkey falling asleep in this position today: 

It’s really hard to be annoyed with him however TOTALLY ANNOYING it may be to shift his fuzzy little body around my work station so that I can actually get some, like, work done once in a while. 

Sheesh! 

sorry bout dat! dis iz bedur spot? affink dis werk owt gudz cuz nao ai can rilly keep mah EYE on yew...

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Filed under home, projects, work