You know, tapas.

I dreamed ...

that people traveled around by sliding on their butts along all of the Swarovski crystals laying on the ground.

that I was trying to use chopsticks to drink water.

~~~~~

(while playing with a deck of cards)

4-year-old: Bingo!
5-year-old: No, you have to give me the right answer, then you can bingo and I'll bingo you.
4-year-old: *pauses for thought* Poop.
5-year-old: Correct!

~~~~~

My step-dad has an obsession with putting everything in the sink, while my mother and I prefer to leave something by the sink if we think we might use it again. I'd made a salad for my mother, but wanted to leave the cutting board and knife out, so I could make one for myself later - so I says to step-dad:

me: would you allow me to leave this stuff out? I'll make a salad for myself later.
step-dad: "allow" you? what are we, in France?

If anyone can explain to me what that means, I'd be ever so grateful.


I was left to dog-sit while my mother and step-dad took a trip to Virginia. Minutes after they arrived home, they began bickering in the kitchen as I sat in the living room.

step-dad: do you have any AA batteries?
mom: no.
step-dad: are you sure you don't any stored away somewhere?
mom: I said no!
step-dad: I just thought maybe you'd have some.
mom: will you leave me the fuck alone!
step-dad: I thought maybe you might have some, since you use them for your vibrator!
me: vibrator!

Next thing I know, my step-dad walks up to me, with his hand in his pocket saying that he has something for me. He pulls out a packet of grape-flavored Pop Rocks. Minutes later, my mother walks over and hands me some cinnamon-flavored toothpicks, and a bag of buttons. Okay, then.


~~~~~

After leaving Lowe's ...

me: This closet rod shoved next to me is really comfortable. And safe.
sister: *chortle*
me: Tomorrow, I'll get the flanges installed, re-measure, then cut the rod and get that up first. Then I'll sand down the edges of the boards, and dry fit it before I start painting it.
sister: Cool.
me: You know, that dude really softened his attitude once we had him cutting the wood for us. He said we'd do fine on the project, and I thought, "you know, you might not be an asshole."
sister: Yeah.

(medium-sized pause)

me: I think men lie. Like, all the time. They just lie.
sister: ...are we still talking about wood?

~~~~~

At the liquor store ...

male cashier: *looks at credit card* Can I see your ID?
me: it's my step-dad's card. I'm buying beer for him.
male cashier: *stares at card, unsure*
me: should we call him? He's drunk! You wanna call him?!
male cashier: *sighs*
me: seriously, I'm in here all the time, everyone knows it's not my card.
female cashier: *walks by briskly* It's true.
male cashier: *runs card*
me: did you really think I was drinking all of this Bud Lite by myself? Come on.
male cashier: ha! So is step-dad rooting for the Eagles?
me: Jets. I mean, I have no idea who he's rooting for right at this moment, but he's a Jets fan. I gotta be honest, he's probably really rooting for beer to come home.

~~~~~

I went on Omegle again.

It's not like I said I wasn't going to share.

Probably one of the more confusing things someone has said to me on Omegle.

Whoopie Goldberg is offensive to gay people?

I was getting a little grumpy by this point.

But this cheered me briefly.

.

It's hard to know how much tapas to get

My oldest son is obsessed with cats. He's carried around a stuffed grey and white kitty cat (named Taargus - by me, because I'm nuts) since he could carry things around. For a couple of years, it was always tucked under his arm, while he'd be playing with his toys. It's pretty mangy at this point. I've tried washing it, and it does nothing to improve Taargus' appearance. The poor thing, its neck looks broken and its demeanor appears to be cheerful dejection.

"Call the police."

At this point, my son is five, so he only keeps kitty cat around for bed time - but if you were to ask him about kitty cat, he would inform you that he is a "cyoot kyitty" and then kiss his kitty's face.

There are stray cats near his school - two of them are very friendly and let us pet them. I know, I know. I'm letting my children touch stray cats. I can feel your eyes on me. I can't help it. They're named Stanley and Stella and they love us, without having ever been fed by us.

My point for bringing this all up is that we were waiting at a doctor's appointment when he started asking me about a kitten he'd seen on television.

him: Why was that kitty eating rocks?
me: He was actually eating his litter, because he's stupid and thought it was food.
him: What's litter?
me: It's where kitty cats who live inside go to the bathroom.
him: What would happen if he was eating next to his poop?
me: God. when is this appointment going to be over?
him: What would happen if he was eating next to his poop?
me: You have to scoop the poop out after they go.
him: No. You'll have to do that.
me: No way man, it's your kitty, why should I scoop its poop?
him: Yeah, I'm not going to do that.
me: Well, neither am I. We should have daddy do it.
him: Okay.

I'm glad we have that settled.

~~~~~

husband: So let me get this straight. You're saying that you're going to burp, and that burp is going to not only be heard by everyone on earth, but it will also force them all to come here?
5-year-old: Yes.
me: His burp is the new Mecca.


me: Hey you, come here. I have to tell you something.
5-year-old: Yeah?
me: One day, your teeth are going to fall out.
5-year-old: What, dad? ... mom?
me: One day your teeth are going to fall out.
5-year-old: Which day?
me: I don't know the exact day. But did you know that already, that your teeth will fall out?
5-year-old: Yeah.
me: Who told you?
5-year-old: You did.
me: So you found out just now?
5-year-old: Yeah. *runs off*
me: Wait, there's more.
5-year-old: *runs back*
me: New teeth will grow back in their place.
5-year-old: Oh! Great! *runs off*

~~~~~

I dreamed ...

that I was an excellent swimming improvisationalist.

that I worked back in my old office, but my original cubicle was taken, so I asked Kayne West if he minded if I sat in his cubicle with him and he was totally cool with it. I later realized that two cubicles which used to be occupied by claims reps were now blocked off and had gorillas in them. We'd need to hand them stuff like files or pieces of fruit, but had to be really careful because they'd sometimes try to swing at you.

that I had two foot long string bean nipples.

that I was playing with an ex-boyfriend's tiny baby, when I declared, "this cat is the only book I need!"

~~~~~

I discovered that I get a lot of spam comments on my blog. So I put some of thems quotes on pictures. It's really not any more complicated than that.

My face when I read that.

The rhymes must flow.

I will be there with a small turd on my head.

I dated a guy who looked a lot like this dude, but he never smiled when I tried to crush him. Not fair.

Now you all know about my tragically short tongue.

They don't pay those HOA fees for nuthin', kid.

Oh yeah, I'm definitely going to click that link.

He really does look like he's been boiling in a bag.

Start with a kitty, end with a kitty. That's my motto.

.

Here is the blog tapas you ordered.

4-year-old: In Austin, the floors were soft and didn't have dust all over them. Here, the floor is hard and it has dust.

Me: Mmhmm.

4-year-old: In the future, we can go back to Austin.

Me: No sweetie, we can't go back to our old apartment, somebody else lives there now.

4-year-old: Why does somebody else live there?

Me: Uhh...

4-year-old: Because I will go there and I will kick them out. Hard.

Me: You're cute.

4-year-old: Then I will open the door up and tell them, "You can't live in Austin anymore!"

~~~~~

IM with my best friend Bunny Walker

Me: you have cute feet, though
Me: my MIL keeps trying to get me out for a pedicure and I'm like "MY FEEEET?! NO."

Her: Thanks. They are persistently troublesome. Dry toes. Friends keep trying to gift me pedis. Nooooooope.

Me: dry toes. that's hilarious
Me:may I flirt with you for a few seconds?

Her: Well alright.

Me: I have some really good lines I've been working on

Her: Hahaha

Me: "you smell like peaches and there is NOTHING wrong with your vagina."

Her: Whoa! That escalated quickly.

Me: "your crotch does not disturb"
Me: these could use some work

Her: Mmm hmm. Sooooo why are you practicing pickin up chicks?

Me: "may I poke it?"

Her: Jesus.

Me: I'm sorry, I'm just making myself laugh

Her: Ok, I gotta go back to being harassed by my home life. Luv u.

Me: I don't really want to poke your vagina

~~~~~

So this is what happens when you have to rip stuff out of magazines to make collages for your kid's homework.

Being from south Jersey, this gives me an inordinate amount of rage. HoagieS rolls? Philly style? No. NO.
They're split completely in half! I have never once had a hoagie on a roll that was split in half.
Fucking hoagies rolls.

Action Bishop sold separately.

I wasn't even aware I had a bubble problem to solve.

~~~~~

Here's how I've been annoying celebrities on Twitter:

.

Blog Tapas for Everyone! (you get a blog tapas! you get a blog tapas!)

I dreamed ...

that Ashton Kutcher told my husband "never trust a girl willing to tug you off faster than an energetic 1-800 sex-thin."

~
that while walking down a hallway in high school, I flailed my arm up to gesture and accidentally poked (and got my finger stuck in the corner) of Oprah Winfrey's eyeball. She was really calm about it, and after I got my finger out, we decided we both had to pee. She led the way, opened the door to the rest room for me, and I decided to start pre-washing my hands in the sink with mud.

A young boy walked up to me and I shoved him and said, "get away from me!" I heard Oprah gasp and say, "oh my god!" and when I looked up, she was gone. I realized she'd led us into the men's room. She was unapologetic about the mistake. When I found the ladies room, it was full of young women whose hair indicated they'd been napping on the couches in there since the 60s. They languidly refused to let me use a toilet because I wasn't popular enough.

I went back to the men's room, which was now stuffed to death with handsome European soccer players and they were all very nice about showing me to a stall and explaining how to use it, but once the door was closed, I couldn't move because my boobs were suddenly huger than usual. I gave up and went to class where I found myself holding a crayon the size of a truncheon, and a handbag full of arcade tokens.

~
that someone had made a pitcher of grape Kool-Aid, and I couldn't figure out how to fit it in the fridge, but I didn't want to throw it away, so I just woke up.

~
that I had to report for jail, but first I wanted to grab a quick bowl of Rice Krispies. Unfortunately, I had no bowl or spoon nor milk. I looked up after starting to reach into my box and realized I was standing next to Lady Gaga's boyfriend, who was also eating his own Rice Krispies by hand - but he had poured milk straight into his box. I rudely reached over and grabbed a wet handful and started shoveling it into my mouth.

He was quite put out, yet started sharing his cereal by dropping fistfuls into my hand for me. Gaga walks up and before I can leave, she insists that I try to freestyle a song about how she's a hair stylist. I do terribly, of course, so I just reach down to pet her cat, and tell her that she's a very good kitty.

~~~~~

Sister: I'm going to attempt this applicatorless tampon. Wish me luck.
Me: ugh. I can't do those. my fingers are too stubby. good luck.
Sister: I have free ones and i wore a pad all day. I cant suffer another minute in my own filth.
Me: pads are ew.
Sister: I only wear them when I'm being lazy.
Me: or like squishing around.
Sister: Or like wearing a diaper.
Me: and having your crotch smell like a bloody swamp.
Sister: I just read in detail about this tampon
Me: "INSERT." "YOU KNOW WHERE."
Sister: Looooo
Me: well, I guess it's time for me to move to the couch and stare at the tv.

nice chat. hope your vagina holds your tampon well. I say that with the deepest love. har.

Sister: thanks for the words of vaginal encouragement.

~

Me (on her Facebook wall): you can't hammer a nail with your face, unless your face is made out of hammers.
Sister: Or just one big hammer.
Me: not as efficient as several hammers.
Sister: well, if you use the hammers one at a time in rapid succession, it's more effective. If you try to use them all at once, you end up with holes in your wall.
Me: trust me, my hammer face would be the most sensible.
Sister: of course, of course.

~~~~~

This is a message a girl I know from a Facebook group got sent by someone who has just got to be her new best friend by now.

~~~~~

These are a few ads Facebook actually wanted me to pay for to promote my page.

Now give us a kiss.
.

Blargh Tapas

I dreamed ...

that the wife from Everybody Loves Raymond punched a foot-and-half long cockroach for me.

that you had to kill rice before you ate it, and that I had a particularly aggressive batch, which I couldn't shut up about on Skype with my best friend Bunny Walker.

that I was an audience member on Conan who was picked to have John Krasinski stand behind her and do that comedic fake arm thing, while he wielded an ax.

that on the same occasion, Jenna Fisher remarked to me that Meryl Streep deserved to get hit in the eyeballs with a car door.

that it was Insult Day and my elderly female next-door neighbor strolled by as I was walking up to my house and shouted, "you're terrible in bed!" to which I replied, "that's not what they complain about!" We both chuckled, she called me a slut and I continued dragging my muddy sled into my front yard, at which point I declared, "I am Eva Mudlark!" then entered my house through the front window, nearly breaking a miniature desk which was sitting on top of my regular-sized desk.

~~~~~

Me: Would you hold a pig, like a baby pig?
Husband: Sure.
Me: Would you smooch it?
Him: ... uh, I suppose if it was being charming enough. And if it was clean. I'd kiss a clean and charming pig.
Me: So. Am I not cleaner and more charming than a pig?
Him: I absolutely refuse to answer that.

~~~~~
Have you ever got bored enough to look for all of your old Google searches? I did. Ob-ser-uv.

I needed to know. E. Studnicka is always talking about what her very hungry pet snail eats.

I probably should have already known the answer to both

I'm sure I just needed to know about the one.

Sometimes you need a delicious snack while looking at pictures of a childhood celebrity crush.

I'm sure these are unrelated.

I can multi-task. Meanwhile, what the snot is "club penguin"?

Their hamburgers are absolute garbage. But what do you expect from a frog.

I got super motivated one day and needed to know how to fix a leaky faucet
as well as everything there is to know about slow-growing brain tumors.

Grizzly Bear the band. I'm not actually obsessed with bears.

I gotta be honest, this is the type of thing I type into Google when I've had a few drinks.

I like Pilgrim Boy.

~~~~~

You done good.

.

Hungry? Blog tapas.

Feels like forever since we had some tapas. Let's start with a story.


Apparently, after I left the detox center, I was meant to go directly to some sort of appointment - of which I was not informed - possibly because I am not yet psychic. So, two days after leaving the center, I'm just cooling out in my kitchen preparing a sandwich when I hear a sharp knock at the door. Husband answers it, and I hear a female voice asking for me. Since I know exactly zero people in this entire state who would show up at my door looking for me, I responded in the only appropriate way possible: "Holy crap!"

It's this chick, wearing way too much perfume, telling me that although I'm not in "trouble", I missed that "mandatory" appointment and she was coming to check on me. Basically, she was there to make sure I'd filled my prescriptions (thank god I decided to!), I hadn't had any alcohol since leaving the detox center (nope), and that I wasn't in a bathtub with my wrists all slit and stuff (so far, so very good on that one).

Yadda yadda yadda, she hands me a card, and to prove that I'm diligent I immediately turn around and move to put it on the bulletin board behind me. Right on top of a birthday card for husband which reads, "BEER BEER BEER BEER BEER is the answer". Grate.

~~~~~

Anti-depressants sort of make my properties noticeably ... slowed. I can often be found just staring at shit that doesn't warrant being stared at. Which will explain these next two pictures.

 

Not sure why the idea of Pop Tart "gear" vexed me so much, but it did. Am I going to have to start gearing up for eating toast and bagels too, or is it only fruit-filled items I'll be toasting? I'm exhausted already.

Thank god they're still putting directions on things that should be self-explanatory to any sentient being, because when Husband isn't applying the toothpaste tube itself directly to his teeth, he's smacking himself in the face with the box of Cheez-Its, lamenting his continuing hunger.

~~~~~

Just over a year ago, I used to spend a lot of late-night time on the Sims 3 Facebook fan page, largely being annoyed (because I wasn't yet drinking all the time), and thus spending a huge amount of time just reporting annoying 11-year-olds and spammers, because sometimes you need to take a break from trying to write your blog. I've had this picture sitting in a folder since then, and I still can't figure out why it tickled me so at the time, especially since I didn't actually report the page.

~~~~~

Celebrity-themed junk mail!!!

~~~~~

Facebook ads!

...and finally, one of my last drunken Skype dates with my sister. It is my very mature reaction to her accidental spillage of liquid cheese.

That's my "very, very drunken hair" happening there. It's having a party of its own.
Anyhoo, love you all. Some of you more than others, but if you play your cards right ...

Title of Post

Welp, another Tuesday, another hastily assembled update. First, let's look at more Breaking Bad quotes-inspired motivational posters.

You don't want to? Go home. You're already home? Go to hell.

Junk mail!

Facebook ads!

Dreams!

I dreamed ...

that I was waxing a surfboard with a serious sense of urgency.

that when I couldn't find my shoes, someone suggested I wear backpacks on my feet.

that I was talking to a Mexican guy and kept shouting at him, "I eat your burrito!" while he shrugged at me.

that I kept going on business trips with former high school classmate/Facebook friend. During one meeting, where pizza that was cut into squares rather than triangular slices was served, this classmate insisted we eat from the middle to the outside edge, so that the grease wouldn't escape.

that I was walking up to a house in the middle of a junkyard with a friend, who was lagging behind.  I made it to the front stoop, where he caught up to me and informed me that some guy had just shook his hand and then ate yogurt with his finger. This was, according to my friend, some sort of redneck code for something.

Conversations with my husband!

Him: I used to be a hot dish, but now I'm a hot mess - help me Ove' Glove!

Me: I got my first "THIS!" on a message board.
Him: Huh? I don't know what that is.
Me: *explains*
Him. I hate the internet. But congratulations.

Him: ... wait - did you just say that a wild animal stole their rooster and nailed it to a tree?!
Me: No.

Me: I just realized this song is in French.
Him: ... uh ...?
Me: The song. I'm listening to. *gestures toward laptop & earbuds*
Him (relieved): Oh.

Me (touching face and hair): How am I such a greaseball so quickly?
Him: How are you such a ... faceball?

Me: Oooh, a line cook, that sounds fancy.
Him: Dare to dream.

.

I'm tapas-ed out of clever title ideas

Hi, kids.  I haven't actually been hanging around the Sims 3 Facebook fan page recently, but I did have a couple of things laying around. Hey look, it's Tania. She's always ... fun.

Also, this:

This next round of Youtube mistranscriptions requires a bit of explanation.  I have a friend named Andrew, from a magical land called Gamer Handles and he can rant like almost no one on this planet.  I've decided to put the chocolate of mistranscriptions right into Andrew's ranting peanut butter.

Here's Andrew (his rants are at the top, the transcriptions at the bottom) playing Track and Field - or, according to him, "God fucking Track and Field!  More like piece of shit and ass-fuck!"

Finally, a few bunches of Facebook ads.