tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75579812694270772002024-03-14T04:19:35.147-06:00AAA1 Quality Blog, Ltd.Quality blog entertainments delivered in a convenient, electronic format.tattytiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18408220720084181008noreply@blogger.comBlogger136125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7557981269427077200.post-50816429742453350592017-09-22T15:30:00.003-06:002017-09-22T15:30:55.019-06:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.popartorium.com/">www.popartorium.com</a></span></b></div>
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<br />tattytiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18408220720084181008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7557981269427077200.post-25320206517726429002012-03-25T14:50:00.000-06:002012-03-25T14:50:02.992-06:00I view my titles as a means of expressing my love for you, (insert reader's name here).May all the bugs in your food turn out to be poppy seeds.<br />
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May you always pick the fastest cashier.<br />
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May your analogies always make sense and your anecdotes never ramble. <br />
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May your dog always make it to the yard in time.<br />
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May your cell phone miss the toilet bowl completely, and land in the laundry hamper.<br />
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May you manage to suck that thing out from between your teeth before it's your turn to talk.<br />
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May nobody have seen you trip, nor your lame attempt to make it look like it was on purpose.<br />
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May you get distracted before you find the dance floor when you're really really drunk. <br />
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May they accidentally delete those photos of you just before you really piss them off.<br />
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May you have new batteries on hand when the smoke alarm starts beeping.<br />
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May your kid ask the other parent where babies come from, and may that stain on their pants turn out to be chocolate.<br />
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May your bathroom scale be broken and reading five pounds too high.<br />
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May they credit your account, honor your expired coupons, and give you free upgrades.<br />
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And may there always be a cold beer in your fridge. <br />
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Namaste, my babies.tattytiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18408220720084181008noreply@blogger.com43tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7557981269427077200.post-63371777683577223862012-03-22T23:30:00.000-06:002012-03-22T23:30:21.749-06:00I bet I could finish writing a title in under ten seco<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The Twelve Times of Day</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">1) Coffee time</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">2) Yell at cars time. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">3) Watch the time time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">4) Coffee time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">5) Try to stop watching the time time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">6) Drive badly time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">7) Coffee time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">8) Dinner time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">9) Coffee time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">10) Beer time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">11) Bed time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">12) Get up to pee time.</span></span></div>tattytiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18408220720084181008noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7557981269427077200.post-25250985654509533592012-03-19T23:34:00.001-06:002012-03-19T23:34:09.116-06:00Write a title... done. Hey, that was the only thing on the list. Oh well, done is done. Cookie please!<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Perfectly Valid Reasons to be Happy</span></div>
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Your gloves happen to have the exact same number of fingers as your hands do.</div>
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Turns out the scary thing in the back of your fridge hasn't even expired yet.</div>
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The bell rang before it was your turn.</div>
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The *dog cleaned up what the cat did before you could even get a cloth.</div>
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The neighbourhood realtor came through with the free calendar just before you broke down and bought one.</div>
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The person leaving the stall you're next in line for was just in there cleaning it. </div>
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Shake shake shake, and now you're Not! out of ink!</div>
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Getting to read awesome blogs like <a href="http://thesmittenimage.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">The Smitten Image</a> <a href="http://www.injaynesworld.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">injaynesworld</a> and <a href="http://thatblueyak.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">That Blue Yak</a></div>
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Getting to **shamelessly promote your friends.</div>
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Not only is galoshes a real word, but there are actual things actually called galoshes.</div>
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You beat your boss to the elevator and got to push the button first.</div>
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Surprise! Free refill!</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-small;">*if you don't get this one, just let it go. For the best. Trust me. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-small;">** yes, that means I'll probably do it again, so don't even think your blog is safe just because you don't see it here</span></b></div>tattytiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18408220720084181008noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7557981269427077200.post-44096811146213049922012-03-13T23:28:00.000-06:002012-03-13T23:28:28.087-06:00sdrawkcab eltit eht etirw uoy fi skrow ylno tiSHH! The dog just ate bread. <br />
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Now we wait.<br />
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Apparently I need complete silence to be superstitious. I actually didn't know that about myself until just now. Neither did I know I was superstitious until just now. I had this zany notion that I was actually quite rational. In retrospect, that was probably the least rational notion I ever held right there.<br />
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Nobody's rational. Rational is not doable. Our brains are pattern seekers, and that quest is inherently tied to a need for satisfaction. Needs are not rational. I cite 85% of the things you did in puberty as proof of that.<br />
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I need this to work, and I'm willing to be however irrational I need to be to make it work. Seriously. I'll play the lottery, buy firming lotions, and marry for love. Whatever it takes.<br />
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I need sleep. The dog gagged all night last night. Not scary emergency vet gagging, but ate a blade of grass that wasn't ready to die and has plastered itself to the side of his throat like a masked, beret wearing, stripey shirted burglar gagging. I think maybe. <br />
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That or he is sick. I'm not keen on that second option at all.<br />
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Don't worry! The internet will save us! Maybe? I dunno. Something said to feed him bread. Yeah, okay. It definitely won't kill him, so I fed him bread.<br />
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And he's been silent ever since.<br />
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And so have I.<br />
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Because somehow my brain has decided that if I never talk again, he will never cough again. Because apparently at some point he coughed right after I'd spoken, and that was enough to convince Dr. Sciencey Proof Finder here that speaking causes dogs to cough. And that only bread can cure them. Or something.<br />
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Look, I don't see any logic lining up with ideas that might help me sleep through the night, so this is what we're going with. Okay?tattytiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18408220720084181008noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7557981269427077200.post-69657239882312320732012-03-09T22:31:00.000-07:002012-03-09T22:31:05.774-07:00Hey, for you guys? The good title. Definitely the good title.These are my fishies. They keep me safe.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NCzB3MyCqWA/T1rMYAEU7WI/AAAAAAAAATA/X-fnS7KqVys/s1600/PICT1705.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NCzB3MyCqWA/T1rMYAEU7WI/AAAAAAAAATA/X-fnS7KqVys/s320/PICT1705.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nothing bad happens in fishie land. Never ever. No it DOESN'T.</td></tr>
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The last person who bathed in my tub was the elderly man whose house I bought following his death, and whose carpeting crunched<i><b> </b></i>when I rolled it up. I have bleached and scoured and killed and re-killed the ghosts of any bacteria that have ever so much as looked at that tub, and I still refuse to allow any flesh on my body to commune with it's surface. My stomach even invented a specific convulsion reserved exclusively for when my feet stray off the happy fishie bathmat that both protects and distracts me from the horror surrounding my most vulnerable state.<br />
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And I am sad. I want to be naked and submerged and covered with bubbles. Without having to enter a radio contest. <br />
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Of course a much better place to be naked, wet and slippery would be my boyfriend's, anyway. Would be. If his water wasn't orange. Carrot with a spray tan orange. And if it didn't leave behind scales so thick and so sharp you could shave with them. Yes, he's had the water tested. Ask him about it sometime. It will give him great delight to drag out the report and show you how tiny the margin was by which it passed as drinkable.<br />
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I don't know. That's just the kind of thing farmers find funny, I guess. Keep in mind that 80% of the man's social contacts are cows. You gotta cut the guy some slack.<br />
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But this still leaves me in an unforgivably vertical state for all of my bathing practices.<br />
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Hm. Oh. Sorry. I guess none of this has anything to do with anything relevant for anybody reading this. I was just booking a hotel room for an upcoming over nighter, and was debating between the $78.00/night and the $171.00/night options. Writing this was... helpful.<br />
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Never mind! Back to your lives now.<br />
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Toodles!tattytiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18408220720084181008noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7557981269427077200.post-72690170577205702182012-03-07T23:28:00.001-07:002012-03-07T23:28:20.170-07:00And for those who hate titles, piping hot tough cookies up your nose!<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ten Reasons Not to Pour</span></span><br />
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span style="font-size: large;">Soup Down Your Pants</span></span></div>
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<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span><i><span style="font-size: small;">an unfavorable post about soup </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: small;">for the benefit of my beloved and </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: small;">most passionate soup hating readers</span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;">1) The crackers itch.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">2) What dogs lack in critical thinking skills they make up for in speed when they smell food.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">3) Your socks aren't nearly as absorbent as you think.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">4) Ants. Charming expression, horrific reality.</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">5) You probably won't remember to take your cell phone out of your pocket first.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">6) Root vegetables retain an alarming amount of heat.</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">7) You won't be allowed on the good furniture.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">8) You won't be allowed on school properties.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">9) You might spill and get some on your shoes. </span><i><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">10) I might be going out on a limb with this one, but isn't it just possible you might have something better to do?</span><i><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></i></div>tattytiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18408220720084181008noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7557981269427077200.post-19081098042555854662012-03-06T22:48:00.000-07:002012-03-06T22:48:09.192-07:0015) Write a title for this post!<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Blooooooog Cooooooonteeeeeeest!</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;">Follow these easy <strike>13</strike> <strike>14</strike> 15 steps to enter!</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">1) Follow my blog publicly. And passionately. This is important. I have to believe you mean it for your entry to qualify. I mean I am doing this for you, to make you happy. That's gotta mean something, right?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">2) Find three complete strangers and get them to follow my blog publicly. The use of force is authorized.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">3) Create ten new blogs to follow me publicly. Bonus entry: don't use the word "cat" in any of them.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">4) Create a post extolling the virtues of following me citing evidence of miraculous healings, lottery wins, and finding extra prizes in cereal boxes.</span><i><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">5) Follow me on Twitter and laugh at all my jokes. I will too know whether or not you actually laugh. Yes I will. Just do it.</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">6) Make MySpace more popular than Facebook. Make me the new Tila Tequila.</span><i><span style="font-size: small;"></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">7) Explain to me how MySpace is supposed to work. I never did figure that out, and they've probably changed it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">8) A card would be nice. It doesn't have to be my birthday or any special occasion or anything. Just something nice in the mail. I'm just saying.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">9) Brush my teeth. Make sure you get behind the back ones - that area is too often neglected.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">10) Stop using captcha codes. Do that whether or not you want to win anything. Do that to avoid being yelled at by a lot of people often. I did, and it improved my life immeasurably. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">11) Do everything else I do too. And don't question it first. That goes against the spirit of blind compliance, and takes the fun right out of it. If you're going to be like that about it don't even bother. Geez.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">12) Comment on this entry. I know, you're thinking I shouldn't have to tell people that, but I'm telling you, if I don't say it weeks from now somebody's going to come crying that they didn't win and I'm going to be all "well you didn't enter" and they're going to be all "well I assumed" and I'll be all "well c'mon, what am I supposed to do with that?" but they'll already be pissed and there's just no reasoning with people at that point, is there?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">13) Comment on this entry again. Dammit, I just know somebody's going to screw this up and it's going to come flying back on me even though I've made it perfectly clear. You don't comment, you don't win. Got it? So do it twice, and that way... oh hell. I don't even know why I bother. I really don't.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Don't delay! Lucky winners will receive </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">14) Secure a sponsor to provide a prize for the contest.</span></div>tattytiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18408220720084181008noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7557981269427077200.post-70516840956560105382012-03-04T17:42:00.000-07:002012-03-04T17:43:02.120-07:00Someday all my titles will bloom into full essays. About writing essays.A little bit about me? Okay. Well... I'm single, love animals, love dancing, love going to the library, and my hobbies include painting, playing the mandolin, learning French, and raising mutants.<br /><br />No, I'm not referring to Cynthia, the living embodiment of O_o:<br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_zeCOAXv2PA/T1QBcCM0cAI/AAAAAAAAASs/y47GgopDBtY/s1600/PICT1703.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_zeCOAXv2PA/T1QBcCM0cAI/AAAAAAAAASs/y47GgopDBtY/s320/PICT1703.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5716195408178606082" border="0" /></a><br />She qualifies as a mutant, sure, but she was a gimme. She came pre-mutated. It was no reflection on my nurturing.<br /><br />This is what a reflection on my nurturing looks like:<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-j6ANftnkEqI/T1QBp2LkrFI/AAAAAAAAAS4/7T8dL5myEBc/s1600/PICT1693.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-j6ANftnkEqI/T1QBp2LkrFI/AAAAAAAAAS4/7T8dL5myEBc/s320/PICT1693.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5716195645470321746" border="0" /></a><br />If it weren't for the little plastic marker I don't think even they'd know they were tulips. Being raised in a thin, diluted trickle of January light in a Northern Canadian basement without water or adequate nutrition has left them a bit confused about just how exactly one goes about being a plant. Do you grow straight up? Sideways? Straight up then sideways? Which end of the bulb do you come out of? Top? Bottom? Both?<br /><br />Apparently in the absence of a clear direction a variety of survival strategies were employed. Can't knock what works. There's no way the things should even be alive. Surely. It's just not normal. Natural. Right.<br /><br />They scare me. That degree of persistence is both impressive and alarming. It's also intimidating when there are justifiable grounds for grudge holding.<br /><br />I didn't mean to treat them badly. I swear! I meant to just leave them to die. I actually thought I'd succeeded in that, too.<br /><br />When they first came into my life last year they were actual, well adjusted, identifiably tulip-looking tulips which excelled in the art of being tulips. They had been raised with light and water and dirt and all that other fancy stuff over-privileged first world plants take for granted. And then they met me.<br /><br />Now I'm not a complete monster. I took very good care of them the whole time they were pretty. It wasn't until they stopped being pretty that I abandoned them to the basement to die.<br /><br />And there they remained for three seasons, waiting for me to get around to throwing them away so that I could recycle the cheap plastic pots they'd come in. <br /><br />And then the damn things went all Lazarus on me. Now stop just skimming this and really start reading because this is the important part where I redeem myself and look all heroic and stuff:<br /><br />I paid money to buy dirt. Then I gave that dirt to a bunch of plants. Plants that aren't even pretty.<br /><br />How's THAT for altruism?<br /><br />Charity to the homely, baby. I'm all about that. Told you I was a good person.tattytiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18408220720084181008noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7557981269427077200.post-66144986197745835452012-03-02T22:23:00.001-07:002012-03-02T22:24:23.184-07:00Oh look. I'm being self referential about my self referential titles. How precocious.<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" >New Slogans for t</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" >he</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" > Soup In</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" >dustry<br /><br /></span><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9DFXyPDfnKs/T1GnMq1r5ZI/AAAAAAAAAR8/6YGhj8v082w/s1600/PICT1679.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9DFXyPDfnKs/T1GnMq1r5ZI/AAAAAAAAAR8/6YGhj8v082w/s320/PICT1679.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715533238209602962" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Woo hoo! Look at me! I'm food blogging!</span></span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">SOUP - because if it's not soup, you're chewing too much.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">Enjoy your meal with the safest utensil. Enjoy SOUP.<br /><br />It's what other meals eventually become.<br />SOUP: the final food form.<br /><br />Rehydrate with SOUP!<br /></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">SOUP: it's like a bowl full of mom.<br /><br />You can't blow bubbles in a hamburger. <br />SOUP: it's more fun than hamburgers.<br /><br />The meat's never too dry when the meat's in SOUP.<br /><br />Enjoyed with head colds and broken jaws.<br />SOUP - nature's most loyal food.<br /><br />Monkeys eat with their hands.<br />SOUP: you can't eat it with your hands.<br /><br />SOUP: everything all at once, in every mouthful.<br /></span></div></div>tattytiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18408220720084181008noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7557981269427077200.post-2196253097980004972012-02-29T23:45:00.001-07:002012-02-29T23:46:35.418-07:00I think instead of writing a title I'll just spray paint the word whore across my computer screen.I am a slut.<br /><br />You're waiting for the classic blogger humor "No, not that kind of slut!" or other similarly whimsical twist, aren't you? Oh I admit it. I chose my words very carefully and wrote that first paragraph very specifically to get your attention.<br /><br />But not misleadingly. Sex is awesome. I like to have it. *The more opportunities I have to get it, the better, and the more attractive people I get to have it with the better.<br /><br />That's enough to qualify me right there. But why just qualify when you can take honors? I also wear whatever the hell I want, and if I think something might increase my chances of getting laid, there's an increased chance I'll wear it.<br /><br />Sluttity slut slut slut.<br /><br />But don't you say the word like it's a bad thing. It's not. It's a free, personal choice thing. One of those things that doesn't affect anybody except the person making that choice. That's not a bad thing, that's a none of your goddamn business thing. Unless I make it your business. Which I have. Which only surprises any of you if the first thing you wondered after finding my blog was "what's a blog"?<br /><br />That's pretty much all you need to know right there, actually. If you ever find yourself wondering "Is this person a slut?", just ask yourself "Does this person have a blog?" If the second answer is "no", then the first answer is "none of your goddamn business". See how easy?<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J-OuNlJet60/T08Uklex48I/AAAAAAAAARw/6jIkCmGZr7I/s1600/jub-mobil-app_1328713110462_eng.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 122px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J-OuNlJet60/T08Uklex48I/AAAAAAAAARw/6jIkCmGZr7I/s320/jub-mobil-app_1328713110462_eng.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714809070925505474" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:78%;" >Profile picture courtesy <a href="http://redhotblueblood.blogspot.com/">redhotblueblood.blogspot.com</a></span><br /><br /></div>Sluts pay taxes. They raise happy, healthy, well adjusted children. Some of them teach your children. No, not how to be sluts - honey if you need to be taught you're not going to be any good at it anyway (yes, I'm looking at you, burlesque workout class registrants) - to be good people. That's something sluts can do as ably as anybody else, because being a slut does not mean you're a bad person.<br /><br />It can certainly be argued that sluts actually contribute more to making the world a happier place than most people.<br /><br />Yes, there are a hundred and one domino arguments that can be raised, just like there are for anything else. There are risks associated with everything, and good and bad consequences to everything. If you make a driving error resulting in an accident while making an unnecessary trip to the store to buy junk food, are you a worse person than if you had been on your way to buy nothing but healthy essentials? Like Doritos scented corn fed poo you are.<br /><br />So go ahead. Call me a slut. The world is filled with sluts who have my deepest respect, so I'm okay with that.<br /><br />Call me a Limbaugh, on the other hand, and I will throw up all over your shoes.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">*when I'm not in a committed, monogamous relationship, which I happen to be at the moment. That's right - we're good people AND faithful, too. What are sluts coming to these days?</span>tattytiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18408220720084181008noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7557981269427077200.post-89651495845104800672012-02-27T22:26:00.000-07:002012-02-27T22:26:59.686-07:00Don't tell me you don't see a dirty word in every single title on this blog.I'm sure that, like myself, many of you are just now emerging from the influence secure spaces we all withdrew to following the media crises that occurred last night. I hope you were all able to use the time productively, meditating on wholesome thoughts such as blank paper, plain oatmeal, and multiplication tables. Before you fold up the quilts and put the chairs back around the dining room table, however, please take a moment to check on your friends and neighbors. If any of them are still in their spaces, gently remove their fingers from their ears and, shouting so that you can be heard over their tuneless humming, inform them that the crises was averted: Jennifer Lopez's nipple did not in fact appear on the Oscars telecast.<br /><br />While we are all grateful not to have actually witnessed the horror that lurks on women's breasts, I do still feel the responsible thing to do would be to punish the dress designer severely. It was, after all, the design of the dress that led us all to believe it was possible we might see a nipple. This in turn led many people to believe they had seen a nipple. <br /><br />The damage done to a mind by thinking it has seen a nipple is clearly going to be comparable to the damage done to a mind by actually seeing a nipple. Obviously, somebody has to be held accountable for that.<br /><br />Little children everywhere, sleepless and excited, eager as children always are to learn who the motion picture academy was going to honor for costume design, were accosted by the brutal perception that they actually saw a nipple on an adult. They are now, as a result, aware that their own nipples are permanently attached to their bodies. How young is too young to cope with that horrifying realization? Parents across the nation are now finding out. How many of those children will turn to hard drugs to deal with the trauma? It's absolutely and completely impossible to know. And that leaves us with no choice but to presume that all of them will.<br /><br />True, the damage is already done. Punishing the designer will not save the billions of children already completely destroyed by the probability of Jennifer Lopez's nipple. But that dress designer had a responsibility to protect all of the children in the entire world, and that dress designer failed. If we do not hold this designer responsible for exposing the nation to the probability of Jennifer Lopez's nipple this year, what can the poor innocent children huddled around their televisions, thrilling with the anticipation of learning who will take top honors for cinematography, expect to see walking the red carpet next year? I think we all know the answer to that.<br /><br />Penises. Penises everywhere. Penises on every man, woman and child, roaming free and driving everybody criminally insane. If we aren't even prepared to punish the possibility of one nipple, how prepared will we be for the actuality of an entire penis infestation?<br /><br />Those penises are on your front step, people. Are you going to allow a nipple to open the door for them?tattytiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18408220720084181008noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7557981269427077200.post-12004477548859005282012-02-25T18:26:00.001-07:002012-02-25T22:55:51.815-07:00Yeah everybody can read it, but you know who I really wrote this title for baby.If there's one thing I love about my neighborhood, it's the spirit of cooperation among the neighbors. It's been snowing steadily and hard since last night, and everybody's out shoveling walks. The funny thing is, though, that very few people out shoveling are shoveling their own walks. The whole pay it forward thing is on a bit of a loop. You go out to shovel your own walk, discover that it's already been shoveled, and then you shovel the walk next door. It's almost becoming a bit of a competition to see who can be the one to get out first to do their own walk and that of their neighbor!<br /><br />And you'd think my neighbors would have the advantage there, being old and all. Oh they are pure stealth, the elderly. You think they're just being feeble, going to bed all early and stuff, but that's exactly what they want you to think. "Oh you kids stay up and have a good time, I'm going to get some shut eye" they say, but what they mean is "Wear yourself out there, kiddo - I'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning, but you won't see me. You'll be completely unconscious, and I'll be sharp as a tack and ready for action MWAH HAHAHAHAHA!"<br /><br />And THAT's when they let their guard down. Make a note of that, because they don't let it down often. Remember, they're retired - they have nothing better to do all damn day but figure out ways to get a jump on you. You find a chink in their armor, you penetrate - don't hesitate!<br /><br />You go and you get up early, grandpa. Sweep that morning skiff of snow right up. And then you just take that lovely little gratified grin of yours off to the senior's center and enjoy your little bridge game, secure in the knowledge that you'll be home again in lots of time to scrape up the snow still falling before everybody gets back from work...<br /><br />...but oh wait, what's this? Could it be...<br /><br />...a work at home artist with no social life?<br /><br />Oooh yeah you got competition now, shovel boy! And oh, look what else you have. A clean sidewalk. A clean sidewalk that YOU didn't shovel.<br /><br />Now who's the altruistic one? Huh? Huh? Now who's got the warm feeling of neighborly love?<br /><br />That's right, baby. The game just got taken to the next level.<br /><br />How early you gonna go to bed now, hard candy man?tattytiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18408220720084181008noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7557981269427077200.post-82473693054840073912012-02-20T20:55:00.003-07:002012-02-20T21:07:17.368-07:00The titles, on the other hand, really do just write themselves. Actually I think I may already have used this one.This is so silly! I can't believe how long it's taking me to update my blog these days! I mean it's not like it's hard to do or anything. Just sit down, start typing, and<br /><br />Okay well let me start over for a sec. I guess I should include some kind of back story as to what I've been doing instead of blogging. The whole second job thing and everything. Well not a whole back story, just maybe a mention so that the post has some kind of context. Yeah I dunno. I mean if I'm not going to really tell it why even talk about it?<br /><br />Never mind never mind never mind forget I said that. Besides that's kind of typical to even address how long it's been. Haven't I already done that before?<br /><br />Actually, this whole public self analysis thing right here, I've kinda done this a few times already I'm sure. Not to mention the whole trying to find a fresh angle to parody the self aware gee it's been awhile since I've blogged post. I mean come on, people either already know it's been awhile since I posted and don't need to be told or they don't know and don't care and either way can this be less inspired?<br /><br />"Can this be less inspired"? Did I really just plug into that ancient comedy template? Why am I even bothering to write if I'm going to be that unoriginal?<br /><br />Look, I'm clearly over thinking this. This was supposed to be fun. Easy even. Just write what's on the top of my head and hit publish post. Why am I second guessing everything I write? Do I think it's clever to externalize my inner dialogue like this?<br /><br />Apparently so.tattytiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18408220720084181008noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7557981269427077200.post-71982280789111653602012-01-08T21:32:00.000-07:002012-01-08T21:32:36.860-07:00You wrote a title, right?<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Things to Say After the Fact</span></span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">You weren't supposed to swallow it.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">They aren't free samples?<br /><br />Teen! Not -ty!<br /><br />No, grandma's in your car.<br /><br />Sugar comes in a bag. That's salt.<br /><br />Is your cat allowed outside?<br /><br />And where were you were playing with the toys from mommy's drawer?<br /><br />Where did you put my phone when you washed my pants?<br /><br />I didn't even know you had a garburator.<br /><br />Am not! I just had the fruit punch!<br /><br />Do all computers have that search history thing?<br /></div></div>tattytiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18408220720084181008noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7557981269427077200.post-84774594592058721832012-01-02T20:11:00.000-07:002012-01-02T20:11:29.015-07:00Don't title me like you know me.Hi blog.<br /><br />Yeah, it's been awhile.<br /><br />No, I did not forget about you. I did not! I think about you all the time!<br /><br />Okay fine, maybe not all the time. But sometimes. And I miss you.<br /><br />I do too.<br /><br />Why do I have to tell you what I'm thinking for you to believe I'm thinking about you? Oh that's "the point" of our relationship, is it? Now you're going to dictate "the point" of our relationship to me?<br /><br />Yes, I am aware of what the definition of what a blog is. Some people use them to post recipes, you know - it's not an automatic ticket to touchy feely eat my brain time. It can be completely impersonal and still be a successful relationship I'll have you know.<br /><br />Don't get started with the "at least they post something", now. I already conceded it's been awhile.<br /><br />Yes! Fine! Too long! But I'm here now, okay?<br /><br />What? Yes, I am still "involved" with Twitter, but that has nothing to do with anything.<br /><br />I have a WordPress account too. I haven't done anything about it, but so you know - it's been made clear I would not get my hands slapped for typing there.<br /><br />No, I'm not threatening anything. I'm just... look. We got off on the wrong foot here. I'm back. That's good, right?<br /><br />Can we just take it from there and move forward?tattytiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18408220720084181008noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7557981269427077200.post-130066094107880172011-05-01T16:23:00.001-06:002011-05-01T16:28:44.474-06:00I'm just waiting under this chair for the title. It will come!<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Kitty to People Translator!<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Meow: Hello!<br /><br />Prrrow: I'm happy to see you!<br /><br />Meow-ow: Please pet me!<br /><br />Prrrow-ow: You call this garbage chardonnay?<br /><br />Me-ow-wow: You're not allowed outside today.<br /><br />Prrrow-wow: You don't need friends, you have me.<br /><br />Brrrrow: If your friends loved you they'd understand why you're not allowed to see them anymore.<br /><br />Mrrrow-ow: Get away from the windows.<br /><br />Brrreow-ow: Only a sacrifice made with love is pure.<br /><br />Mrrreow-wow: In movie 2001 resurrect dead on planet Jupiter.<br /><br />Mew: Dense cornsyrup under more happenings of leafy (garbled).<br /><br />Prrreow-ow: I want snuggles!<br /><br />Kitties are SO silly, aren't they?<br /></span></div></div>tattytiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18408220720084181008noreply@blogger.com80tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7557981269427077200.post-36969816971021222812011-04-25T23:14:00.000-06:002011-04-25T23:15:04.466-06:00Because I had more reasons to write a title than I had reasons not to.<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Sentimentality Rating</span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Electric Hand Mixer</span><br /><br />Retro Design: 8<br />Inherited: 10<br />Happy Memories: 2<br /><br />Score: 20<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Dog</span><br /><br />Retro Design: 5<br />Inherited: 0<br />Happy Memories: 10<br /><br />Score: 15<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Functionality Rating</span><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Electric Hand Mixer</span><br /><br />-8<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Dog</span><br /><br />-2<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Tally</span><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Electric Hand Mixer</span><br /><br />20 - 8 = 12<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Dog</span><br /><br />15 - 2 = 13<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Okay, the dog stays. But in the hand mixer's defense it did take up less room in the cupboard.<br /><br /></span></span><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XJligRkn-yA/TbZURXoXB9I/AAAAAAAAAPU/ezf1_JFsvEo/s1600/allieauth.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XJligRkn-yA/TbZURXoXB9I/AAAAAAAAAPU/ezf1_JFsvEo/s320/allieauth.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599755844059596754" border="0" /></a><br /></div></div></div></div></div></div>tattytiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18408220720084181008noreply@blogger.com66tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7557981269427077200.post-26810297431120449852011-04-14T17:09:00.002-06:002011-04-14T17:22:24.198-06:00I am writing the title. Right now. It's fine. Okay then you do it. Well then shut up.I am an adult. I have a career. I own my own home. I clog the tube slide at playland. I'm independent, intelligent, and capable of taking on responsibility. There's no reason in the world for me to fear commitment anymore. I can handle it now, and I actually think I'm ready to try.<br /><br />It's time I got an imaginary friend. Somebody who shares my priorities. Someone who understands how I communicate (via secret elfin language I developed in grade four math class). Someone who is completely accepting of who I am, regardless of how long it's been since I washed my long underwear, and who is always there for me. Mostly always there for me. Not in the bathroom, obviously. Imaginary or not, that's just weird. Someone who would enjoy taking long walks fairly regularly. Alone, I mean. I'm kind of used to having the house to myself. Weekends away would be nice too. An imaginary friend with airmiles.<br /><br />Okay maybe not an imaginary friend per say. Maybe just an imaginary friendly acquaintance. I mean I'm totally up for casual companionship, but nothing too intense. I really just don't have the time to pretend an imaginary person is calling drunk from a bar at two am after their imaginary boyfriend made out with the waitress, or help a pretend person with their make believe resume. I'm definitely not pretending to help anyfakebody move. But a nice imaginary friendly acquaintance, somebody that I could just exchange pleasantries with and get on with my day, that would be nice. Although maybe I should specify a nice imaginary friendly acquaintance who isn't overly chatty. I mean I don't want to nod hello to my imaginary friendly acquaintance on my way to the curb only to get stuck shivering in the alley way clutching a bag of garbage while I endure half an hour of small talk and my kettle boils dry.<br /><br />Okay, how about just an imaginary familiar person in the neighborhood who I don't really know well enough to talk to but seems okay? One that my neighbours don't imagine, so there would be no risk of introduction.<br /><br />You know, I'm starting to think I'm rushing into this a bit. I guess I'm just not all that sure I know what imaginary people's needs are. I want to make sure I'm not committing to more than I can fulfill, after all. Somefakebody could get hurt. A person needs to ease into a thing like this.<br /><br />How long do imaginary pet goldfish live, anyway?tattytiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18408220720084181008noreply@blogger.com75tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7557981269427077200.post-36982968356300868902011-03-25T16:05:00.002-06:002011-03-25T16:07:48.626-06:00I dreamt I was the editor of Vogue magazine, and when I woke up this title was written on the dog in lipstick.<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">What Your Sleeping Position Reveals About You<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Fetal Position: You are *completely normal.<br /><br />Fetal Position - Tight Curl: You really need to start meeting those payments.<br /><br />Face Up, On Back: Your boobs hurt.<br /><br />Face Down, On Stomach: You apparently have the ability to breathe through your ears.<br /><br />Center of the Bed: The only reason you have a personals ad is to get your mom off your back.<br /><br />Head Under the Covers: Monsters are trying to eat you.<br /><br />Extreme Edge of Mattress: You own a cat.<br /><br />Extreme Edge of Mattress, Legs Tucked: You own a cat and a dog.<br /><br />Diagonal, Head at Top of Bed: Rebel<br /><br />Diagonal, Head at Bottom of Bed: Drunk<br /><br />Sitting: You have three people on hold, all rebooting their computers.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Standing: You are a horse.<br /><br />Hanging: Hope you've got some pillows under you for when your legs fall asleep there, goth boy.<br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />While Having Sex: You are a new parent.<br /><br />With Your Shoes On: You are forgetful.<br /><br />Arms Curled Protectively Around Head: You are sleeping with my boyfriend.<br /><br />Flailing Wildly: You are my boyfriend.<br /><br />*extremely repressed<br /></span></div></div>tattytiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18408220720084181008noreply@blogger.com91tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7557981269427077200.post-29648829667333734042011-03-10T20:56:00.001-07:002011-03-10T23:07:28.792-07:00Why does this title have drool on it, Max?<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">12 Ways My Dog Outsmarts Me<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3031/2586712692_86ba0c7679_m.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 180px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3031/2586712692_86ba0c7679_m.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">1) Waiting until I'm distracted and then asking for a second dinner.<br /><br />2) Withholding poo to get multiple walks.<br /><br />3) Annoying a cat just enough to make it complain, then asking for a belly rub when I come to investigate.<br /><br />4) Sleeping in front of the door so that I have to reach the grocery bags in and set them, unguarded, directly in front of him - leaving him alone in the house with a week's worth of food while I attempt to turn into smoke and pour myself through the keyhole.<br /><br />5) Not breaking the "no touching my food" rule, but breathing so heavily on it that I don't want it any more and give it to him anyway.<br /><br />6) Rushing over to sit next to house guests when I give him a command he doesn't want to follow. Yes, it always works.<br /><br />7) Waiting until I'm too immersed, wet, and slippery to effectively chase him away before playing "what things from the recycling bin float in bath water?"<br /><br />8) Knowing that when he escapes from the yard the time to lay down, scream for somebody to dial the humane society and refuse to budge unless I let go of his collar is not when I first catch him, but always and only when we're in the exact middle of crossing the street on our way home.<br /><br />9) Substituting the stuffed toys that I have restricted from his diet with my socks.<br /><br />10) Aggressively farting until I break down and buy the expensive dog food.<br /><br />11) Picking up his food dish to act as an amplifier when he feels his barking is not being adequately heard.<br /><br />12) Convincing me utterly that I absolutely positively need to have 100 pounds of shedding, barking, mouth breathing, toxic farting, thieving, manipulative dog flesh on hand at all times.<br /></span></div></div>tattytiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18408220720084181008noreply@blogger.com101tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7557981269427077200.post-34321483228612033632011-03-07T06:00:00.003-07:002011-03-07T06:00:06.336-07:00It's my title. I called dibs!<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">How not to be mom's favorite:<br /></span></div><br />Step One: Be born almost a full month late. Bonus points for waiting until the highways are all but impassible from winter storms if your family lives in a town without a hospital.<br /><br />Step Two: Develop a penchant for disrobing publicly.<br /><br />Step Three: Use new-found powers of speech to inform any and all friends and relatives trying to feed you that their food is "disgusting".<br /><br />Step Four: Demand constantly, for a full year, that the family move into a camping trailer permanently.<br /><br />Step Five: Throw a tantrum about being taken to kindergarten.<br /><br />Step Six: Throw a tantrum about being taken home from kindergarten.<br /><br />Step Seven: Paint the cat. Not a picture of the cat. The cat.<br /><br />Step Eight: Paint the dog. With Cheez-whiz.<br /><br />Step Nine: Sell all of your toys. And most of your brother's.<br /><br />Step Ten: Be the only girl in the whole school clever enough to find pictures of naked people in school library books, and distribute widely with lascivious intent.<br /><br />Step Eleven: Repeat step ten after being transferred to a christian school.<br /><br />Step Twelve: Demand a trumpet. Play it enthusiastically and often. Never learn any actual songs.<br /><br />Step Thirteen: Develop large breasts early and a willingness to wear a bra late.<br /><br />Step Fourteen: Demand all of the privileges of young adulthood. Accept none of the responsibilities.<br /><br />Step Fifteen, and this is crucial: Have a sibling that does none of the above.<br /><br />Sneaky bastard!tattytiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18408220720084181008noreply@blogger.com74tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7557981269427077200.post-66582724114689042652011-03-04T06:00:00.001-07:002011-03-04T06:00:03.622-07:00You've probably never heard of this title.My next roommate will definitely not be a White Rhinoceros. I had fun until the novelty wore off and everything - having a rhinoceros for a roommate was more ironic than pipe smoking and sweater vests combined. Eventually, though, there are only so many fake mustaches and crocheted kitty ears you can put on the thing before you realize that actually? Doing the same things everybody else is doing is still doing the same things everybody else is doing, even if you are doing them to a White Rhinoceros.<br /><br />So now I'm stuck with a used White Rhinocerous to unload. I'll never get book price for the thing - you can totally see where all the mustache glue left a mark - and I can only sell it on Etsy if I taxidermy it first. A lot of extra work, but at least there I stand to make extra on the deal if I throw in all the leftover mustaches. Of course they're handmade!<br /><br />Anyway, once it's gone that's it. No more rhinos. It was a stupid, shortsighted and entirely wrong thing to do. But it was my idea. I do just want to say that. I did it first. Nobody else had rhinos when I got mine. Now it's like everybody has one.<br /><br />Seriously. Rhinos are just so corporate now.<br /><br />Frankly I'm getting tired of looking so desperate to be trendy anyway. Once I do unload the thing I'm just going to take the money and spend it getting dreads.<br /><br />Oh don't roll your eyes at me! I'm not that obvious. Yeah, I'm getting dreads, but get this - I'm also getting a mullet.tattytiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18408220720084181008noreply@blogger.com49tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7557981269427077200.post-76530544148647751172011-03-02T06:00:00.003-07:002011-03-02T10:05:16.153-07:00Did you actually see me write this title? No? Then you can't actually prove I did, can you?<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Raise Your Hand!<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Bought yourself Valentine's Candy. On sale. On February 15th.<br /><br />Say the same things about current music that your parents said about your music.<br /><br />Defied the five second rule.<br /><br />Literally sat in the dark pretending not to be home until they went away.<br /><br />Use "I can't afford it" as a euphemism for "I'd rather spend the money on myself".<br /><br />Are the only person on the road at any given time who knows how to drive.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Did/drank/ate it knowing full well it was going to make you vomit.<br /><br />Take lots of pennies. Have never, ever left a penny.<br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />Don't believe in astrology, do check your horoscope.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Dress out of the laundry hamper.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br />Play funhouse when people leave their prescription lenses unattended.<br /><br />Took two when it clearly said take one.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Use your sleeve.</span><br /></div></div>tattytiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18408220720084181008noreply@blogger.com57tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7557981269427077200.post-7476154865251428162011-02-28T06:00:00.002-07:002011-02-28T06:00:20.172-07:00Roses are red, violets are blue. Obvious titles are lame, but this will just have to do.<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Dogs Should Not be Allowed to Write Greeting Cards<br /></span><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">If I could express<br />How much I care<br />How much I love you<br />And how much you mean to me<br />If I could put it all into words<br />And say it to you...<br /> </span><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:100%;">...would you let me have the last cheese puff?<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;">~~~~~~~~~~<br /></div></div><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;">I am touched...<br /></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:100%;">...by your hand on my bum.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;">~~~~~~~~~~<br /></div></div><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />Because I know you can't rip my intestines out with those blunt, square little monkey teeth...<br /></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:100%;">...rub my belly.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">~~~~~~~~~~<br /><br /></div></div><span style="font-size:100%;">If you love something<br />Give it cheese<br />If it eats the cheese<br />Give it more cheese<br />If it does not eat the cheese<br />It is probably dead.<br />(and you can eat it)<br />(and you can also eat the cheese)<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;">~~~~~~~~~~<br /></div><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">One mediocre snack is worth a thousand "good dog"s.</span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;">~~~~~~~~~~<br /><br /></div><span style="font-size:100%;">Without you...<br /></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:100%;">...I'm hungry.</span><br /></div><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">And Neither Should Cats.</span><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Because you took me in when I had nowhere else to go<br />Because you nurtured me and made me strong<br />Because you give me shelter and security<br />And you comfort me when I'm afraid<br />And you care for me when I am sick<br />Because you care about my happiness<br />And because a day doesn't go by<br />That you don't tell me<br />How much you love me.<br />Because of all of this, and so much more...<br /></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:100%;">...I tolerate you.</span><br /></div><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Hamsters, However, Are Fine</span><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;">Happy Birthday, Giant Hand!<br /></div></div></div></div></div></div>tattytiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18408220720084181008noreply@blogger.com52