This is my blog, and it is dangerous. Do you think I want to die like this?

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

I Play Sims 2 (part5)

What's all this intensity about, compadres?
Dammit, Maura - don't encourage them.
Teenage Gretchen. Eating a forkful of nothing - but the pink hair is ... kicky.
Perfect, your tree is on fire and it's stopped raining. Not to mention, it's completely inaccessible to the fire fighter.
He just stood in the house talking about not being able to do his job, while everyone watched it burn,
and the maid bitched about walking on a triangle.
It could have killed someone, but instead it chose to become this inaccessible pile of rubble. Good times.
Speaking of good times, I thought I told you two to quit this wacky horseshit. Go blog about your hobbies.
Eugene has no trouble keeping himself busy with his invisible horse.
His kitchen primping alone requires careful scheduling.
Plus, the amount of time he spends communicating through the island counters about
"the others" doesn't leave any time for shenanigans.
But yeah, just keep doing this. It won't end badly at all.
Because it's not just Eugene who is thinking, "enough with the serenading, woman."
Geneva may not know a fork from a sword, but that dancing made her your girlfriend and she's breaking up with you.
And that's why you're old and derp now. See how that works?
Now go start a microwave fire with your noodles and think about what you've done,
and how you got your neck to do ... that.
Who ... the hell is this goober on the back deck?
Now he's cooling out in the front room! Eugene! Do something!
Watch out, weirdo, Eugene is flexing.
I've seen manlier responses to a stranger in the house, but I'm sure this sends a message.
Now you've done it. He's thoroughly offended.
I Play Sims 2 (part6)
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Tuesday, November 11, 2014

Tapas! (Slightly Australian Edition)

I dreamed ...

that I had a marsupial pouch. Less fun than you'd expect.

that after having an angry exchange with my MIL, I started sticking panty liners to the soles of my boots before leaving the house. I'll show her.

that a little girl was pouring cookie crumbs into my shoe. I didn't like that kid.

that my glasses broke into useless bits right before a big night out of karaoke, and I'd just given birth four days earlier (which I kept mentioning to everyone, all the time). I somehow blurrily made it to the venue, but once there, I realized it wasn't karaoke, it was some sort of show where the seats moved all around the theater - in Australia. At this point, nothing else was on my mind except for how I ended up in Australia when I don't even have a passport.


E-mails from my ex:

"Yesterday, [6-year-old]'s homework was to draw a picture of something related to fire safety. So he drew a picture of his school on fire. Also (and this was an especially nice touch) there was a gravestone in front of the school that said "R.I.P. Kid"--he said it was a boy who died in the fire. So they buried him right there, presumably as the fire continued to rage."


The last time I talked to this son on the phone, he informed me that petting dogs was not a real job.
He is the dasher of dreams.

"It was 94 degrees yesterday, and [5-year-old] insisted on wearing shorts a size too small, as well as his fleece jacket, zipped up. He finally took it off after a few hours, because he said his legs were getting sweaty."

I think someone should write a sketch about if Windows 8 were a waiter at a restaurant. Constantly bringing the wrong food. Intentionally knocking forks out of patrons' hands. Trying to shove unwanted food into every open mouth. Stuff like that."


Also, for your viewing pleasure - and to keep things fair by posting a picture my younger son drew:

Look at the schadenfreude evident in the face of the hammer-wielder.
Let's also talk about the fact that this is the same child who said during a phone conversation, "Hitler was a powerful man. But you are not dead."

Have you ever heard a more disturbingly German pep talk from a 5-year-old before?
Probably not in English.


Here's something I did on Omegle when the guy I was talking to took a phone call.

That last bit was me trying to lip-read.

And finally, here is the lone Omegle experience I attempted during Drunk Fest:
Crunk Frest only happens when it snows.

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Tuesday, November 4, 2014

I Play Sims 2 (part4)

You just had to go and have a boy, didn't you. I'm naming him Eugene as your punishment.
Hurry up and shave his hand before he the other kids give him a special nickname.
Now get to work and slay a dragon or whatever it is you do in that getup.
Nice robe, old sport.
Beer in the fridge and you're drinking out of the milk carton? You are one boring immortal.
I do so enjoy your interpretive treadmill, though. I'll give you that.
All grown up, and wasting time drinking cans of juice. Get out there and impregnate someone.
Next time, try it without coats. I highly recommend doing it coatless. And inside.
I knew you could do it. Meanwhile, am I watching this from a fishbowl?
Gretchen, you are one creepy sleeper.
Maura! You've aged into Cyndi Lauper. That is rad.
Now that's a sturdy face.
I'm going to go right ahead and assume that a whole lotta foolin' around is the reason for this hair situation.
Calm all the way down, Karen - nobody wants to read your diary.
Whatever this is, it's probably none of my business.
Ugh. Alright, fine - I'll bite. What are you knuckleheads up to?
Pork chop sandwiches! How do you even start an inferno like this with a damned tv dinner.
How much do you want to bet that this would never happen if you just unplugged
the damned thing before you started jabbing screwdrivers into it?
Alright, this look isn't exactly burning my eyeballs. Definite improvement. Loving the ginger buns.
I Play Sims 2 (part5)
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