Sunday, May 1, 2011

I'm just waiting under this chair for the title. It will come!

Kitty to People Translator!

Meow: Hello!

Prrrow: I'm happy to see you!

Meow-ow: Please pet me!

Prrrow-ow: You call this garbage chardonnay?

Me-ow-wow: You're not allowed outside today.

Prrrow-wow: You don't need friends, you have me.

Brrrrow: If your friends loved you they'd understand why you're not allowed to see them anymore.

Mrrrow-ow: Get away from the windows.

Brrreow-ow: Only a sacrifice made with love is pure.

Mrrreow-wow: In movie 2001 resurrect dead on planet Jupiter.

Mew: Dense cornsyrup under more happenings of leafy (garbled).

Prrreow-ow: I want snuggles!

Kitties are SO silly, aren't they?

Monday, April 25, 2011

Because I had more reasons to write a title than I had reasons not to.

Sentimentality Rating

Electric Hand Mixer

Retro Design: 8
Inherited: 10
Happy Memories: 2

Score: 20


Retro Design: 5
Inherited: 0
Happy Memories: 10

Score: 15

Functionality Rating

Electric Hand Mixer





Electric Hand Mixer

20 - 8 = 12


15 - 2 = 13

Okay, the dog stays. But in the hand mixer's defense it did take up less room in the cupboard.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

I 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

How long do imaginary pet goldfish live, anyway?

Friday, March 25, 2011

I dreamt I was the editor of Vogue magazine, and when I woke up this title was written on the dog in lipstick.

What Your Sleeping Position Reveals About You

Fetal Position: You are *completely normal.

Fetal Position - Tight Curl: You really need to start meeting those payments.

Face Up, On Back: Your boobs hurt.

Face Down, On Stomach: You apparently have the ability to breathe through your ears.

Center of the Bed: The only reason you have a personals ad is to get your mom off your back.

Head Under the Covers: Monsters are trying to eat you.

Extreme Edge of Mattress: You own a cat.

Extreme Edge of Mattress, Legs Tucked: You own a cat and a dog.

Diagonal, Head at Top of Bed: Rebel

Diagonal, Head at Bottom of Bed: Drunk

Sitting: You have three people on hold, all rebooting their computers.

Standing: You are a horse.

Hanging: Hope you've got some pillows under you for when your legs fall asleep there, goth boy.

While Having Sex: You are a new parent.

With Your Shoes On: You are forgetful.

Arms Curled Protectively Around Head: You are sleeping with my boyfriend.

Flailing Wildly: You are my boyfriend.

*extremely repressed

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Why does this title have drool on it, Max?

12 Ways My Dog Outsmarts Me

1) Waiting until I'm distracted and then asking for a second dinner.

2) Withholding poo to get multiple walks.

3) Annoying a cat just enough to make it complain, then asking for a belly rub when I come to investigate.

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.

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.

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.

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?"

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.

9) Substituting the stuffed toys that I have restricted from his diet with my socks.

10) Aggressively farting until I break down and buy the expensive dog food.

11) Picking up his food dish to act as an amplifier when he feels his barking is not being adequately heard.

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.

Monday, March 7, 2011

It's my title. I called dibs!

How not to be mom's favorite:

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.

Step Two: Develop a penchant for disrobing publicly.

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".

Step Four: Demand constantly, for a full year, that the family move into a camping trailer permanently.

Step Five: Throw a tantrum about being taken to kindergarten.

Step Six: Throw a tantrum about being taken home from kindergarten.

Step Seven: Paint the cat. Not a picture of the cat. The cat.

Step Eight: Paint the dog. With Cheez-whiz.

Step Nine: Sell all of your toys. And most of your brother's.

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.

Step Eleven: Repeat step ten after being transferred to a christian school.

Step Twelve: Demand a trumpet. Play it enthusiastically and often. Never learn any actual songs.

Step Thirteen: Develop large breasts early and a willingness to wear a bra late.

Step Fourteen: Demand all of the privileges of young adulthood. Accept none of the responsibilities.

Step Fifteen, and this is crucial: Have a sibling that does none of the above.

Sneaky bastard!

Friday, March 4, 2011

You'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.

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!

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.

Seriously. Rhinos are just so corporate now.

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.

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.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Did you actually see me write this title? No? Then you can't actually prove I did, can you?

Raise Your Hand!

Bought yourself Valentine's Candy. On sale. On February 15th.

Say the same things about current music that your parents said about your music.

Defied the five second rule.

Literally sat in the dark pretending not to be home until they went away.

Use "I can't afford it" as a euphemism for "I'd rather spend the money on myself".

Are the only person on the road at any given time who knows how to drive.

Did/drank/ate it knowing full well it was going to make you vomit.

Take lots of pennies. Have never, ever left a penny.

Don't believe in astrology, do check your horoscope.

Dress out of the laundry hamper.

Play funhouse when people leave their prescription lenses unattended.

Took two when it clearly said take one.

Use your sleeve.

Monday, February 28, 2011

Roses are red, violets are blue. Obvious titles are lame, but this will just have to do.

Dogs Should Not be Allowed to Write Greeting Cards

If I could express
How much I care
How much I love you
And how much you mean to me
If I could put it all into words
And say it to you...
...would you let me have the last cheese puff?


I am touched... your hand on my bum.


Because I know you can't rip my intestines out with those blunt, square little monkey teeth...
...rub my belly.


If you love something
Give it cheese
If it eats the cheese
Give it more cheese
If it does not eat the cheese
It is probably dead.
(and you can eat it)
(and you can also eat the cheese)


One mediocre snack is worth a thousand "good dog"s.


Without you...
...I'm hungry.

And Neither Should Cats.

Because you took me in when I had nowhere else to go
Because you nurtured me and made me strong
Because you give me shelter and security
And you comfort me when I'm afraid
And you care for me when I am sick
Because you care about my happiness
And because a day doesn't go by
That you don't tell me
How much you love me.
Because of all of this, and so much more...
...I tolerate you.

Hamsters, However, Are Fine

Happy Birthday, Giant Hand!

Thursday, February 24, 2011

If someone else writes the same title as you, does that mean you're soulmates?

Reading about the internet dating adventures of the always engagingly candid Kernut The Blonde (you can trust that a blog link on AAA1 Quality Blog, Ltd. will always lead to finely crafted entertainments) has me in a reflective mood. As glad as I am not to be on dating sites anymore, I gotta admit - I loved 'em when I needed 'em. I use the internet to shop for practically everything else, why not people? I kinda can't remember where you find people when they're not on the internet anymore anyway. The mall maybe? I don't know. They still have those, right? Anyway it's a whole lot easier to just dress up once and take a picture than to practice grooming and personal hygiene ev-er-y sin-gle day. Haha! You think you're flirting with some chick who's having a good hair day, don't you? Well guess what? You just called a woman who looks like she slept in a nest of drunk ferrets "cutie"!


Aside from the obvious advantages of being able to seduce complete strangers while wearing a dog hair covered track suit and rocking a corn chip orange smile, internet dating offers you the opportunity to assess people according to their levels of literacy. Welcome to the twenty first century, folks. If only you'd known how dependent your ability to get laid in twenty years' time would be on your retention of the basic skills they were trying to teach you in English class. You may have focused slightly less attention on carving penises into your desk with your geometry set. Remember: like attracts like. While you think you're giving some sweet thing the lust sweats with your intoxicating character mash of internet leet, you've in fact just spent the last half hour engaged in a passionate chat session with a cat napping on the keyboard of an unattended laptop. You know what's sexier than a trout pout in a bathroom mirror? Complete sentences! Add a few of those to your profile and watch the magic happen!

Of course, it's a rare person who begins and ends their dating site adventures on the same profile. Like grief and addiction, dating profiles go through a variety of stages:

Stage One: I'm not really here. Unless you're interested. Then I might be.
  • Characterized by: Obscured photos, incomplete sentences, and shame.
  • Typical sentence: I don't even know why I'm here, but feel free to write.
  • What they mean by that: Only losers use dating sites, but I'm willing to have sex with a loser since, for some strange reason, people who aren't losers won't have sex with me.
  • People it attracts: Admin welcoming you to the site.
Stage Two: Oh Boy! I'm gonna get a date!
  • Characterized by: Vacation/party photos, optimism, and enough animated smiley faces to warrant a seizure disorder alert.
  • Typical sentence: Friends first and then we'll see how it goes!
  • What they mean by that: Okay losers, I'll play your game. Please form an orderly queue in your rush to have sex with me, and don't get your hopes up too high.
  • People it attracts: Members who have been on the site so long you're the only person left they haven't contacted yet.
Stage Three: Oh wait. This is harder than I thought.
  • Characterized by: Photos obviously taken specifically for a dating profile that attempt but fail to look like they weren't taken specifically for a dating profile. Extremely long, detailed, and often uncomfortably candid self-descriptions.
  • Typical sentence: I've met a lot of great people, but I still haven't found "the one".
  • What they mean by that: There seems to be some mis-communication - the people I am willing to have sex with don't appear to understand that I am currently available to have sex with them.
  • People it attracts: Other people who don't seem to understand why you aren't wildly excited to be contacted by them either.
Stage Four: Stage Three: take two.
  • Characterized by: Photos unabashedly taken specifically for a dating profile, often involving pets, vehicles, and other props. Self conscious attempts to seem breezy and casual.
  • Typical sentence: I'm open to anything.
  • What they mean by that: Hey, maybe these new people will have sex with me. They obviously enjoy parties and vacations, and surely a person with that many smiley faces wouldn't say no!
  • People it attracts: People you talked to before and never got anywhere with who are also running out of options.
Stage Five: The death of hope.
  • Characterized by: A sampling of photos from all previous stages, a main profile image ten to twenty years out of date, and poorly veiled critiques of previous internet dating experiences.
  • What they mean by that: How did these losers fail to realize how lucky they were I even put an ad on this site?
  • People it attracts: Nobody.
Alternately, and I've advocated this approach before, you can just post your income as being over $100,000.00. Then yeah, you could pretty much just fill out your profile with a picture of your dog licking his butt and the lyrics to a toilet paper jingle and still have too many people in your shopping cart for the express checkout lane.

Monday, February 21, 2011

Title (Circle One): Miss Mrs Ms Mr Almighty

Dear Applicant,

I am pleased to confirm that you are officially being considered for the position of my god. A formal interview will be arranged at a future date, but in the meantime please complete the following questionnaire to assist us in determining whether a permanent arrangement would be mutually beneficial. Pen is fine and pencils are available on request, but we ask for purposes of building code and hygiene that neither fire or blood be used as a marking device.

A) My holidays are best observed:
  1. in quiet contemplation
  2. in demonstrative supplication
  3. being emotionally vivisected at family gatherings
  4. at the mall
B) Devotion to me is best expressed through
  1. attendance at my places of worship
  2. respect for creation and all living things
  3. strict obedience to my laws
  4. bumper stickers
C) If I ever need to get your attention, I'll
  1. create a spectacular celestial event
  2. smite you with whatever's handy
  3. come to you in a dream
  4. just stare at you and expect you to figure out what's bothering me
D) The worst possible sin is
  1. the worship of another god
  2. murder
  3. sex (enjoying it)
  4. sex (not enjoying it)
E) I created the universe and everything in it, therefor
  1. you must worship me
  2. you are a part of me
  3. you are me
  4. it wouldn't kill you to say thank you
F) I summoned everything into existence
  1. because I was bored
  2. on a dare
  3. to pad my resume
  4. by accident
G) I love everyone
  1. equally
  2. mostly
  3. that loves me first
  4. none of the above
H) Drugs are
  1. a way of connecting with me
  2. a way of disconnecting from me
  3. too expensive
  4. therefor I am
I) Reincarnation
  1. enables beings to start fresh
  2. enables beings to continue on
  3. enables beings to pretend they're really Cleopatra
  4. saves on production costs
J) I am applying for this position because
  1. if you believed in me you'd already know
  2. if I believed in you I'd already know
  3. I made the mistake of saying you could ask me for anything
  4. this is just a formality, right?

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Some titles are better left unwritten.


- That job interview where I yawned.

- Accelerating to get out of the way of the cop who, it turns out, did not want to get past me, but instead had been trying to pull me over. For speeding.

- Clicking on that link in that e-mail that really did look like it had been sent by a friend of mine. It had not been sent by a friend of mine.

- Deciding that the best course of action to take when it starts to get dark on an unfamiliar mountain trail is to invent a shortcut.

- That word I said into an open mic at that wedding.

- That open bar at that wedding.

- Forgetting that owls can turn their heads completely around when I was holding one while wearing a very thin shirt. And an unpadded bra.

- Not taking the dog seriously about needing to go outside.

- Half the things I did to my hair in my twenties.

- Everything I did to my waistline in my thirties.

- Puberty.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Without pain, could these titles be as beautiful?

If I were to say that the hot wax method of removing hair was for wimps, a large percentage of people would immediately grasp the implication inherent in that statement. This large percentage could accurately be described as "women", and the implication they were grasping would be that I had just purchased an Epilady.

If I were to say that I had just purchased an Epilady, a large percentage of people would have absolutely no idea what I was talking about. This large percentage could accurately be described as "sane".

Epiladies are not for the weak. Or the particularly self-loving. The Epilady is a multipurpose tool that simultaneously removes unwanted hair and punishes you for growing it in the first place. Really, it's just a glorified electric razor. Unfortunately the glory is that it's angry, gnashing army of spinning, motorized tweezers rip your hairs out by the root instead of slicing them cleanly and painlessly in half.

I do this to myself of my own free accord. I paid money for the machine that I do it to myself with. I have not had recent counseling with a mental health professional. Draw your own conclusions there. It might not be rational, it definitely hurts, and it's absolutely one of my least favorite things to do in the whole world. But it makes me feel pretty.

And also I'm allowed to eat a whole batch of cookie dough when I'm done. It's a rule!

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

The serial number for this title is 64119482, and I HAVE IT REGISTERED.

You can't help but reflect on your life when you're standing over a hot air vent, heating a small dog to make it poo. It's just not a scenario anybody's imagination serves up when envisioning the future, and it comes as something of a shock to find oneself in it.

Yes, the same dog that wears panties and a maxi pad. She also wears a little sweater. While remarkably effective at making her look completely stupid, it really doesn't do a whole lot to keep her warm come February. No sweater can fully compensate the fact that small, twenty pound terriers were simply not designed to withstand the elements of a harsh Canadian winter. Small twenty pound terriers were not designed to withstand the elements of a kitchen where the refrigerator door has been left ajar.

Terriers are widely considered to be the cutest members of the crustacean family.

See, twenty pound terriers have two speeds: on, and off. When she's on Allison runs hotter than a blue star sipping a Tabasco sauce smoothie. When she's off, she's but a tiny burnt ember of a dog, with not so much as a faint glow left to keep her warm while she pees.

So she doesn't finish. She just stands there, shivering and unblinking as her eyes frost over, psychically screaming into my soul to take her inside. So I do bring her in, knowing full well that she's still fully equipped to turn our flooring into the saddest place on earth.

The trick is not letting her feet touch the ground. The tail hole in her little doggy diaper allows for freedom of more than just wagging, and as soon as the blood thaws in her happy bits she's ready to finish what she started. Under no circumstance can she be allowed purchase on a squat-able surface until that's happened. To speed up the process I hold her over the heat vent so we can hurry back outside for the exciting conclusion of her two part act.

Unfortunately there's no speeding it up to the point where you don't have an opportunity to think, and the thoughts you think when heating your dog's nether regions are never very charitable. A person can't help but think unforgiving thoughts about where their life has taken them. It's bad enough I don't have a personal genital warmer, but how did I wind up being the personal genital warmer for a dog? I admit, it makes a person feel pretty pathetic. It makes a person feel like the biggest loser on the planet.

But that changed today. A stranger changed my life last night, and helped me to see my life through fresh eyes.

Somebody stole my garbage bag. Took the garbage out, and stole the bag. Yes really. Yes really times a million, because I know that's how many times the word "Really?" is going to go through your head. Somebody really did unwrap a complete stranger's garbage just to steal the bag it was packed in.

Yes, the needs of a dog's ass come before my own needs. Yes, that's pretty pathetic.

But I don't steal used garbage bags.

Thank you, stranger, for being more pathetic than a woman who is subservient to a canine's rectum. It is because you exist that I can never be the biggest loser on the planet.

Saturday, February 5, 2011


This week's excuses:

- I wasn't tall enough.

- I'm pretty sure that day was only 22 hours long.

- When you said "the fridge" you didn't specify "inside".

- I wasn't sure which toe.

- Beans. Or possibly an asteroid.

- They're actually serious about that whole "no pants, no service" thing.

- The Queen of England doesn't, so why should I?

- I had no idea you took me seriously, or reason to suspect anybody ever would.

- You couldn't move for clowns in there.

- I'm positive it used to be legal.

- I ran out of rollerskates.

- Didn't look flammable.

- You expect the dog to just go naked?

Monday, January 24, 2011

It took thirty one minutes to write this title, so I guess it's free. I still expect my tip, though.

Scale of one to ten, how badly do I want pizza?

1 - eh, pizza, oatmeal, what's the difference?

2 - they aren't giving me one free, they're charging me for two no matter how many I order!

3 - if I pour ketchup on my mac n cheese and throw some bologna on top it'll be like a pepperoni pizza I can eat with a spoon! Kind of!

4 - not sure I'm down with the whole putting on pants to open the door thing.

5 - pizza's always good. Because it's pizza.

6 - pardon me, I don't usually drool. You were saying something about pizza?

7 - I can probably find enough change in the couch to pay for it

8 - I can probably find enough change in the neighbor's couch to pay for it - you distract them.

9 - would it be less creepy to run out and meet the delivery person at their car if I'm not cry-laughing and screaming "Thank You!" when I do it?

10 - not having pizza isn't a real option, is it?

Friday, January 21, 2011

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Titles are like snowflakes, except that they're all exactly alike. But otherwise, you know, it's uncanny.

So there you are, going about your perfectly normal way on a perfectly normal day. The atmosphere is allowing a comfortable ratio of sunlight through, plant life is flowering tastefully, and the birds are displaying a competent level of vocal skill. Then suddenly and without warning you become aware that something is very, very wrong.

One of your boobs is misplaced.

This is not an isolated incident I'm describing. It's a legitimate ongoing concern. This can and does happen in a variety of circumstances that in no way lend themselves to the misalignment of boob flesh. Waiting in line. Operating a motor vehicle. Enjoying calm, non-gestural conversation. One moment I'm completely focused on some non-boob related topic or activity, and the next I'm utterly fixated on the relative position of one of my boobs to the bra cup that contains it. Or select parts of it. Or select parts of it and an additional sampling of adjacent flesh.

C'mon, bra. Your job isn't that hard. I pay good money for you, and all you have to do is hold the boob. That's it. That's your whole job. Do you have any idea how many guys a woman can find who would do that for free?

And you, boobs. How much technology do I have to invest in before I convince you to stay where I put you? I'm not a cheerleader, jackhammer operator, or professional jumping jack champion. I'm a writer. I spend the majority of my time in a decidedly sedentary state. Why can't you just go with it and sit still when I do?

Don't worry! You get more than ample attention just by virtue of the fact that you exist. You do not need to start doing tricks to get noticed, I promise. As a matter of fact, if you want to continue to enjoy the attention you do get, you're going to have to settle down.

I'm serious. Don't make me get the duct tape.


Monday, January 17, 2011

Truth in Titles (Currently Unavailable)

I don't actually know what planet I'm from, but I can describe it perfectly.

Days on my planet are 30 hours long. I get to put off going to bed for an extra four hours every night and sleep an extra two hours every morning.

We have four seasons: summer, warmer summer, even warmer but still perfectly comfortable summer, and refreshingly cool but still perfectly comfortable and with prettier leaves than usual summer.

The only constellation in our night sky is the "Whole Buncha Random Stars" constellation, so everybody on my planet's astrological sign is Randomarian. Randomarians are well known not to believe in astrology, so that column in the news pretty much never gets read.

Our water has to be processed before it can be drunk. It has to be extracted from the coffee that flows in majestic rivers across the landscape.

Dogs on my planet hate people food. On my planet you can safely leave it lying around places that would be brazenly reckless to leave food if you own a dog here on earth, like on top of the refrigerator.

People on my planet have adopted the custom of skipping the argument and going straight to the make-up sex. This has had the unfortunate side effect of creating a culture of deliberate aggravation, but so far nobody's complaining.

On my planet you get paid days off for your birthday, Halloween, Valentines Day, and getting your nails done. If you come to work sick you have to pay everybody for the days they have to take off sick because of the cold they caught from you, and also bring them soup. And fashion magazines. And a Toblerone. And a lottery ticket.

And make sure you get the bonus pick.

I do get homesick, sure, but I'm doing my best to make myself comfortable here. I just wish I could find a tattoo artist that knows how to draw the Randomarian symbol, or at least have the decency to take their clothes off when I yell at them for getting it wrong.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

It's like I'm forgetting to write a word here... oh well, it's probably not important. Just kidding! Title!

Comments you will never see on my blog:

- That looks yummy!

- Could you customize my layout too?

- Your courage inspires me.

- Hawking hypothesized something similar once.

- I wish my pets were that well behaved!

- You really need to indulge yourself more.

- How do you get it all done in a day?

- I don't think what you did was stupid at all.

- Wow! Thirteen grapefruits at once?

Monday, January 10, 2011

I don't think anybody else is using this title - can I have it?

I love all of my readers, sincerely. When I write, I write for you. When I make you happy, I'm happy.

But I love *my dog, too.

Mackie, this post's for you:

Who's a good dog? You are! Yes you are! Yes you are! You are! Yes! You're a good dog! Yes! A very good dog! Yes a very good dog! Yes you are a good dog! Yes you are!

Who's got a blog post? You do! Yes you do! You gots a blog post! Yes you do! It's a blog post for Mackie! Yes it is! Good boy got a blog post! Yes he does! Is this your blog post? Is this your blog post? Is this Mackie's blog post? Yes it is! It is Mackie's blog post! Yes Mackie's blog post! Yes it is!

Did ums like his blog post? Was it a good blog post? Did Mackie like his blog post?

*I have two dogs, but the other one's just not much of a reader.

Saturday, January 8, 2011

The title of this entry is "Eggplant" - I know you know what I'm saying there.

2011 Resolutions: Update, Week 1

1) Be more popular!
  • poster campaign underway
  • public decency laws reviewed
  • fines paid
2) Get more vitamins!
  • achieved!
  • digestive tolerance of Flintstones Chewables @ 3/4 bottle per day
3) Get more exercise!
  • replaced all furniture with treadmills
  • sprained both ankles eating soup
  • burned 150 calories dragging self to phone!
4) Control the weather with my mind!
  • achieved!
  • skeptics remain
5) Master a foreign language!
  • pending (all languages investigated so far too "wordy")
6) Build an addition on to house!
  • plans drawn up
  • stalled at permit stage
  • researching precedent for alien craft landing pads
7) Start a family!
  • achieved?
  • followed directions on kit, still no sign of monkeys in tank
  • microwaving does not appear to have accelerated evolution as hoped
8) Be shinier!
  • achieved! (with restricted breathing)
9) Redecorate!
  • in progress
  • re-thinking "candy land" theme on veterinarian's recommendation
10) Start referring to self in third person!
  • limited success
  • have written name on back of hand to avoid further embarrassment

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Rhymes with title, only it starts with... oh never mind. I can't think of anything dirty that ends in itle.

12 Reasons Why I Would Make A Good Duck

  1. I am not water soluble.
  2. I can say "quack" in multiple languages.
  3. I have absolutely no problem with the required seasonal relocation to Florida.
  4. I have collected the necessary amount of twigs, grasses, and small sticks necessary to make a nest for all my eggs (although I will have to take them out of the carton first).
  5. I am not afraid to put my head underwater. Anymore. Much.
  6. I have the walk down cold. Ask anybody who's seen me after a shot of tequila.
  7. I have experience swallowing worms (see item #6).
  8. I'm delicious with orange sauce.
  9. My physique is well suited to bath toy design.
  10. Bread crumbs excite me.
  11. I've already learned not to swallow things with fish hooks in them (see item #7).
  12. I flap.
Based on these observations it is therefor logical to conclude that one of the following hypotheses must be true:

a) I was a duck in a former lifetime
b) My spirit/totem animal is a duck.
c) God is a duck, and we were all created in God's image.
d) I was raised by a herd of wild cartoon characters.

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