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.

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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.

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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.

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Celebrity-themed junk mail!!!

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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 ...

Hey, what's all this crap?

I couldn't decide what to post, so you're getting blog tapas ... and you'll like it.

Here's an awesome e-mail conversation I had with a delightful young man from the Sims 3 fan page on Facebook. I can't recall what prompted him to seek private correspondence with me, because I say so many obnoxious things over the course of a day, I couldn't possibly be expected to remember them all.

If I'm being honest, I'm still not entirely sure what he was barking about. Despite my display photo being very obviously female, Dylon's not the first goofball to pull an aggressive posture toward me as though I were another dude.

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This ... is really something.  Please note that this is posted from a Legacy page, which means this person not only writes a story but is also currently advertising that story.

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This is what happened when I pushed the wrong button on Facebook and it created an ad for my blog, which it tried to sell to me.  It was so funny, we almost bought it ...


...except Facebook said its own ad was too naughty.  To be fair, they did take the text directly from my page. If Zuckerberg's failgorithms could come up with a description like that for me on its own, I'd have to start thinking they worked.

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Here are a few gigglers from my newsfeed: 

(If you don't know what these are, put your finger on your eyelid, and press your nose right here.)
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I think that people who read the Sims story on my blog should have a special nickname, like fans of Insane Clown Posse. Something cool like that. Who wants to be a Nicomo? You don't even have to paint your face, unless you want to.

If I could have just one wish, it would be to have a pygmy marmoset. A close second would be for a pygmy marmoset to read my Sims story. I don't think they can read, though. Maybe you could read it to them? I don't know, I haven't slept in about 36 hours. It's pretty hard to make sense. Read my blog.

It's my Sims story. You will not believe what I've done with this thing. I used verbs, adjectives and nouns, all for your amusement. I even put them into sentences and matched them to pictures. What more could you want? I could sing for you, but you probably wouldn't be able to hear it. That might be better, my story writing is better than my singing. Follow!

This Sims story is obviously hilarious, or I wouldn't be asking you to read and follow it - so why don't I just tell you what it isn't? It's not a helium balloon with a terrifying amount of glitter. It's not a plate of sugar-free cookies. It's not your ex who refuses to stop texting you. It's not Old Gregg ... and it is most definitely not a chore chart.

God said, "...and let there be a Sims story on the Grievances blog." and it was good. Or at least good enough that you should read it. You don't want to ignore god, do you? Sometimes he can get pretty, pretty, pretty cranky.

Facebook Ads (this time it's serious)

Don't you just love those ads on the side of your Facebook page?  Don't answer - of course you do.  Everybody loves seeing a failgorithm do its job.

Speaking of which, despite the fact that my name in no way resembles anything bird-related, I never discuss birds, I remain quite birdless and that I am, in-fact, still not a damned bird, Facebook ads continue their steadfast obsession with birds - parrots, in particular.  Let's take a freaking gander.

Pretty standard stuff here. Except if your parrot can't whistle, it's probably a hamster. Look into it.
Things do get a little strange, though.

Talk about bucket lists?  Yes, let's.  I thought you'd never ask.

Then what we have are your general wildlifery type ads.  Facebook is under the misapprehension that Nico spends a lot of time out-of-doors.  Facebook hasn't seen Nico's alabaster skin.

Facebook's overflowing, nearly infinite wisdom has now decided that I would make a stellar drug counselor.  Ha!  You're not a trip, Facebook - you're a 50-foot fall!