Bobdee

I really dislike it when people misspell my name.

In my mind, if I were famous, people would actually remember how to spell my name.  In reality, I fear it would just up the amount of people trying to spell my name and failing.

For some reason, J-O-D-E-E is really difficult for people. I cannot count the amount of times that I've spelled my name aloud to someone only to find they have transcribed it as Joddee. Or the amount of times that I have sent an email wherein I sign my name, spelled correctly, from my email address that is comprised of my name... spelled correctly, only to get an email back that says, "Thanks Jodie, I would love a sack full of magenta hamster ornaments."  Well, fuck you, name misspeller! No hamsters for you!

I try not be an asshole about it.  I know my mom spelled my name weird.  I don't mind people assuming it isn't spelled in a ridiculous way before I tell them the spelling is different than almost every other Jody in the world... but once they see it is, I want them to remember it is not normal-spelled.

Now, why did my mom choose to spell my name dumb?  Well, it is either part of the experiment OR it is because it is a literal amalgamation of the two people I am named after: my grandpa, Jo, and my godmother, Dee.  I can only be thankful that my grandpa's name was not Bob.

Day 29

I don't know.  I've been writing for a month straight, shy of a day.  I've run out of things to say.

 I got ice cream for lunch. 

It wasn't a cone.... or a llama... but it should have been.

How to tell if someone is depressed, or maybe a hipster.

I couldn't be bothered to put on pants today to leave the house.

I don't mean I went out buck-assed naked on the bottom half, I just couldn't be bothered to put on ACTUAL pants to leave the house today.  Nor a bra.

I was just going to pick my nephew up from school and knew I was not getting out of my car (unless it somehow exploded into flames or something), so I think I am still safe.  When I start walking around in public wearing pajama pants and an old shirt with no bra, it is probably time for medication.

Although, one time, when I was in college, I decided that I would wear my flannel pajama top with a pair of jeans because it was cold out and I thought the top was cute.  I ended up at the health clinic and a lovely, but very concerned doctor tried to diagnose me with depression.  I assured him I had a raging case of weirdness, but that I had not giving up on life because I made ill-advised fashion choices.

It's the bra, really.  As long as someone who needs it is wearing a bra or some sort of chestal support with non-sexy clothing , I am willing to believe that they still have some sort of hold on their sanity. As long as the bra is worn as prescribed, of course.  It doesn't count if it is on the outside of their clothes, or on their head.  And even that can be argued for the sake of fashion, I suppose. I really don't know how to gauge it for people who don't need bras. Not brushing their hair? Wearing sweatpants to work when their job does not involve working out in cold climates? Am I just describing hipsters now?

By Tuesday, I will no longer be a liar.

I've been lying to you all.  I've shamelessly misrepresented myself.
Last week, there was a mix-up and I missed an appointment to get my bangs trimmed (that is my fringe for OG English speakers).  I've needed a bang trim since before I went to NYC in fact, and instead of drawing myself as I actually look, I have continued to draw myself with cute short bangs. I'm sorry.  But there is a reason.

Now, I am cute.  I have no doubt about it, but when my  bangs get to a certain length, it causes some sort of illusion wherein I look like a frumpy cross dressing cave man.

Perhaps it is the hair in my eyes that causes this visual disturbance, but it can only be combated by wearing more makeup than I usually have the patience to wear, and since I don't draw any realistic features on my cartoon representation, it is easier to just create the same effect by making my bangs the right length.

Believe me, I did it for you... and also for me... because I'm vain and don't want to be hassled by scientists thinking they've found a missing link.

OH, and my Coco Llama,  the actual piece that was in the museum in NYC is now for sale on eBay.  Share it with everyone you know. I still need to pay for that trip!

CLICKY to go to EBAY

Pudding Post

I'm super excited.  I went to lunch today at our local Chinese buffet and my fortune cookie gave me great news:

The project you have in mind will soon gain momentum.

Which is pretty awesome because I wasn't sure how it would be received. But here it is:

Of course, I will only offer butterscotch pudding, since that is the best flavor. 

This is going to be great.  I should go get a post office box RIGHT NOW!

JUDGING!

JRose took the advice of her readers and took a muscle relaxer, which is why she has only been awake for three hours today.  As a result, she has nothing to write about and her neck/shoulder still hurt but she had a dream that a cop named Ron Rodney pulled her over for going 75 in a 77 mph zone, after she got in a shouting argument with a woman working at a Hungry Howie's Pizzas and Subs shop for being less than nice while giving her mom a pizza.

She thinks it might be the muscle relaxer that is also making her talk about herself in third person.

Don't do drugs. At least muscle relaxers. They make you not want to draw, and taxidermed horned creatures will judge you.

THEY'RE JUDGING YOU!

JUDGING!

That word has now lost all meaning.

Judge.

Cheeseblarg Takes Manhattan- Macy's Day Parade

I've not woken up earlier enough to see the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade in years.  Certainly not since I moved to Montana, as we are two hours behind the East coast and I would have to wake at 7 am to see it (and nope, no DVR either) and I only wake up that early if I am in dire pain or my bladder is being a jerk.

But what good timing, my first piece from the Cheeseblarg Takes Manhattan series is done, and as promised, I have overtaken a famous New York landmark with a well known Cheeseblarg icon.  And in case you don't wake up early enough to see the Macy's Day Parade (which is what James, the fabulous tour guide, told us real New Yorkers call it), you can just pretend this really happened.

Do feel free to biggify this to see all the details that I spent ten hours drawing 

(which is like the equivalent of 40 hours for most other artists).

Poster prints are now on sale at Zazzle in several different sizes if you are interested!

Macy's Day Parade by cheeseblarg
Browse more Macy Posters


HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

Why should this year be any different?

It was silly of me to think I could get through a holiday without any sort of ridiculous issue.  For years now, I manage to have some sort of illness that totally screws up the holiday season.

Last year, I had a virus syndrome that lasted two weeks, during which time I was bed ridden, that spanned from two days before the premier of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows part 1, so I couldn't go to the midnight showing, through Thanksgiving.  I'd had a big fancy menu picked out and went shopping well ahead of time, but when Thanksgiving came around, I couldn't get out of bed without coughing so hard it caused my back to go out. But still, I was going to get up, for my husband's sake.  When I got into the kitchen to start the turkey, my mother had already started cooking the food I bought.

"What did you put on the turkey?" I inquired.  I had planned an orange and sage butter rub.

"Butter spray, salt and pepper."

Butter spray? Didn't they stop selling that in the 80s? Apparently not, but she had not sprayed the turkey with butter or liquidized margarine, she had sprayed it with butter flavored generic Pam, which sent me over the edge into a coughing yelling rage.  Which was, in actuality, because of my stupid jerk allergies that cause me to have to pay more to get food that everyone else can buy for reasonable prices to avoid becoming extremely sick, hence my unreasonable reaction to defiling the poor, very expensive bird with cooking spray. And I can be a total jerk sometimes...plus that sucker was just coated in pepper.  Thankfully, I had no appetite anyway from being sick, so I rubbed the turkey with a stick of butter and squeezed an orange over it, had some can-shaped cranberry sauce, and went back to bed.

This year, I thought it was smooth sailing. I've managed to avoid getting my nephew's cold, I have been diligent about washing my hands to avoid germs from strangers... and then this morning at 6 am, I woke up unable to move my neck without excruciating pain. When I got up, I realized it extended all the way down to my shoulder blades. So I have two options, I can either make our Thanksgiving feast while doing a Quasimodo impersonation, or I can take a muscle relaxer and relive the wedding scene from Sixteen Candles.

OR

(there is a video here, non-page viewers)

Holiday Movie Review: ThanksKilling

I would like to share with you one of the most poignant films of the Thanksgiving season.  It is THE best Thanksgiving movie I have ever seen in the Comedy Horror genre.  It is also one of the only Thanksgiving movies I have ever seen in said genre, but that is beside the point, because if you have not seen the movie ThanksKilling, you are really missing out.

Some of the better points:

• Gratuitous nudity in the first seconds of the film.
• A really punny foul-mouthed murdering turkey.
• INCREDIBLY bad acting... like REALLY bad. So bad.
• Gore and lots of it.
• Hilariously funny plot- the interactions with the killer are my favorite part.
• The opening music. Gobble gobble gobble.

This movie, however, is TOTALLY not for kids and it is absolutely not for people who don't like bad words or nudity or BAD ACTING. But if you enjoy funny and gory, or can handle gory and bad acting for funny, watch this movie.  It is available for instant viewing on Netflix, and on Hulu and it can be bought on DVD finally.

Again, it is BAD... if you go into it expecting a serious, high-production, horror movie, you might well hate it, but since people who would listen to my suggestions anyway like me and my dumb humor, you should highly enjoy this movie.

And, I was going to post the trailer, but it gives away too much in my opinion, so here is a teaser trailer... that has nsfw language.

This review/suggestion is not paid and was made of my own volition. It is just a great bad movie that is perfect for an adult holiday!

It's (also) a Trap!

We've still not caught the mouse.  In fact, my husband is the only person in the house who has seen this mouse, and I am beginning to wonder if he is having rodent-centric hallucinations.
I bought two more humane traps today because he keeps seeing it in different rooms of the house, and since the trap in the dinning room area wasn't enticing it, it seemed only logical to get more.

Pro-tip for you: When you get a humane mouse trap, you have to put down the little flange so the effing mouse can get in it.

It's a Trap!

I was reading an article on how to succeed at blarging, and apparently, it is my failure to "get a celebrity" that is holding me back.

I am assuming, at this point, that there is some secret to "getting a celebrity" that is being purposefully hidden from me, because celebrity endorsement is motherfucking elusive. Or more likely, it will take something enticing like... money, or... something of some sort of value to get acknowledged, because offerings of llama drawings have, thus far, been summarily ignored, as have portrait paintings and obnoxious @ messages on twitter.


I'm thinking that I should build some sort of celebrity trap, which makes me sound a bit like a serial killer, but I promise, I don't want to harm them... I would just chain them up for a fortnight and make them tweet links to my hilarious posts at which point I would let them go, if they promised not to press charges.

I just have to work out a) how to get celebrities to come to Montana, and b) what kind of bait I should use.

If you know a celebrity, send them my way...but if you link them to this post, tell them I was joking about the bear trap... and the new car.

Everywhere a Llama, Llama- NYC

Since Saturdays are slow traffic days because, apparently, everyone else has a life and friends and stuff, I am going to share with you every single llama that resides within the American Museum of Natural History in New York City... because, I took pictures of ALL of them. Every single one.

To the LLAMAS!

Just read the label under it.

Those are llamas.

Also, a llama.

You guessed it, llama (and a cute spotted llama at that).

This one just wouldn't freaking stand still. I must have tried to take this picture about 30 times and this is the best of them. It was only about 2 inches high.... and is also a llama.

Boy llama.

Herd of gravy boat llamas.

I didn't see a single narwhal, but I was talked into leaving before I was done searching every room, in an attempt to get to the Bronx zoo before it closed.  We didn't get to the zoo because we started out late and had a few subway mishaps... but it gives me an excuse to go back.  

Charming Thanksgiving Fun

As I said last year, I like to terrorize my Thanksgiving guests and make them DO things before they can have their dinner.  Because I use up all my creativity drawing stupid pictures and joking about horrifying genres of porn, my staple torture device is "The Hand Turkey." If you are unfamiliar with the hand turkey tradition, you are either not American, were home-schooled, or may have some sort of memory disorder.  Basically, you trace your hand, and make the tracing into a turkey. Very complicated stuff.

I tried really hard to come up with more Thanksgiving crafts, but it took way more effort than I was willing to expend and I thought googling would be cheating. If you have any, especially if they are really awful (not goatse awful, please... although... no, not goatse awful) do let me know.  In the meantime, I created an easy set of print-outs so you can share my Thanksgiving traditions with your families.

Extra llama points if  you post a hand turkey on the FB page... just so you know!

Also, PLACE CARDS!  You have to have place cards at family dinners, because, a) you certainly cannot trust people to pick their own seats, and b) actually telling people where to sit is out of the question. You are already flustered enough trying to get everything out passive-aggressively hot so Aunt Beverly doesn't bitch that the potatoes are cold again this year, and if you have to repeat yourself at all, you may just stab a ho'.

I've included one for if your family has a sense of humor, and one to keep you from being disinherited. Just print it out on card stock, carefully cut along the blue border and write your guests' name in the blank area. Or something like that...



*if you don't know what Goaste is and you look it up, it is not my fault. I'm not kidding. Curiosity/Cat/Yadda. Eye Bleach does not exist.

Where he at?

Writing everyday is actually quite hard.  I mean, being funny everyday is hard when being funny includes drawing pictures.  Thankfully, I amuse myself and my standards are lower than everyone else's. Anyway, you can thank Mary for getting this stuck in my head, and now for getting it stuck in your head too.

And if you want to make writing easier for me, you can by encouraging me with comments, likes, and sharing my posts. And thank you to everyone who does.  You're more awesome than popsicles and platypuses.

Why you should leave aversion therapy to the professionals.

I hate black pepper. You know, the seasoning, that everyone in the world uses, that makes people sneeze? Yes. I hate it. And I hate it, I realized a few years ago, because I was conditioned, as a child, to hate it.

Here is a pro-tip for you: If you decide that it is a good idea to do DIY aversion therapy on your grandchild to get her to stop sucking her thumb by mixing something bad tasting into nail polish that is placed on her thumbnail, don't use a common spice that will be in her food for the rest of her life. Unless you want to be a dick, in which case, go for it.

Occupy the Holidays

It's getting closer to the holidays and after spending all night watching live feeds from Occupy Wall Street, I have some great gift ideas for your favorite Occupier!

Tired of hearing your occupying loved one complaining of being gassed and pepper sprayed?

How about this Festive Holiday Gas Mask?

It sure is getting cold up North and BOY, do those non-lethal projectiles sting! 

The Civil Disobedient Kitten Sweater is the perfect solution.

Cops raided your Occupier's camp and threw away all their food!? That won't happen again with the Patented Food Survival Suit- Holiday Edition!  Holds all your favorite Holiday Dinner leftovers in a place you are sure not to lose.

Choose from Holly Green, Jew Blue, Harvest Kwanzaa (red, black, and green), and Peppermint Stick!

New York: Secrets Revealed 2- The Garbage Monster

Living in an elevator shaft under Time Square Subway Station, there is a Garbage Monster.

There has to be, because the smell emanating from that elevator shaft is HORRIFICALLY offensive, and yet, it is a smell that I have never smelled before in my life and has no link to any sort of garbage that is created by man.

GERD is No Joke.

The ghost of a tuna fish tried to kill me last night while I slept.

Most people think of acid reflux as a minor annoyance, and while you are awake, I would tend to agree.  Having heartburn sucks, but at least you are awake, and aware of having it, and are most likely not lying down, and so you're slightly uncomfortable and can go take an acid reducer of some sort.  But when you are asleep, acid reflux tries to murder the shit out of you.

Last night, I was happily dreaming about magical spit when all of a sudden, I was awake and terribly aware that I was dying. I sat straight up, flailing, as one will do when they are jolted awake by choking to death, and tried to breathe but my lungs just gave me a big "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUU" and would not inflate.

The following conversation was then had with my lungs:
Me: "Please, I need to breathe!!!"
My Lungs: "You should have thought about that before you filled us with stomach acid, you asshole!"
Me: "Yeah, I wasn't trying to. I'm not enjoying this any more than you are."
My Lungs: "Stop eating tuna fish for dinner."
Me: "Yeah, I'm right on top of that, Rose.  In the mean time, could you let me get some fucking oxygen because I am dying here."
My Lungs: "Fine, if we must, but we're not kidding about the tuna."

And so, after probably only a few seconds that felt like way longer of desperately trying to breathe, my lungs began working again, and the ghost tuna was exorcised through a ritual of burping and puking that sounded like I had eaten a live velociraptor.

In case you are worried, I'm fine now, other than some slight lung-area pain and a major case of tuna-related PTSD.

Special Secret Family Recipe

Any time I hear about meat that is made from a "special secret family recipe," my brain immediately translates that as "IT'S MADE OF HUMANS!"

On Veteran's Day

I'm not going to be funny today, and I usually refrain from posting when I am not going to be funny, but I would like to say "Thank You" to all of our veterans everywhere today.  Being the child of two veterans of war, I know what a sacrifice you make, so, again:

If you would like to listen to the personal stories of how war affected my family members and my feelings on war, which again, is not funny at all and might cause facial wetness and feelings of sadness, you can watch this video I made 3 years ago on the subject. (There are a few not nice words in there, just so you know)

It's all brown to me!

For quite some time, I thought my husband was just difficult, intermittently.  Yesterday, I was driving him to a business in the next town over.  He had been there before and I hadn't.  Remembering that I am neurotic, I get a little anxious when I don't know exactly where I am going.  Remembering that I live in Montana (which is code for The Wild West), we went from being on a modern paved road to a scary dirt/rock road in the matter of a turn. I asked him where it was and he said "It's the green building." And so I looked around, passed a few buildings, and kept driving down the rocky road at which point I asked "Which green building?!" because there were no more buildings.
"The one BACK THERE!"

It was then that I remembered that my husband is colorblind.

I didn't find out my husband was colorblind until we had been married for 10 years.  He didn't know he was colorblind either, in fact. We were out together and he needed to make a call on the cell phone. He is not great with technologies, and so I was coaching him through it.  "Just press the green button once and choose the number you need to call, and then press the green button again."  And then, suddenly, he was greatly annoyed with me. "THERE IS NO GREEN BUTTON!"
"Uh, yes there is... it is opposite of the red button."
"THERE IS NO RED BUTTON!!!"
"Wha? Here! It's right here."
"That's green?"

I've learned many interesting things about color blindness.  For example, he can see traffic light colors just fine but he cannot see light colors on a phone.  He can't see that he has red hair in a mirror but can see it in photographs. And of course, he thinks that tan and gray buildings are green, which they totally aren't.

In case you happen to be colorblind, the words in the bubble are the title of this image.

Why I don't work for Hallmark.

There are certain times when people tell you things where, despite being pretty good at social responses, there is just no appropriate response available.  It is those times that I most want to make inappropriate cards for people.

This one is great for the stomach bug that seems to be going around this week... or if you have the ability to travel back in time, for people who didn't read the warnings on products that contained Olestra.

You're welcome.

Er... I guess a simple "Sorry!" would have worked too.

Non-confrontational Guide to Getting Your Waiter's Attention.

My waitress at lunch today was pretty damned inattentive.  Thankfully, she got back to us before I got to the cacophony.

I would like to state, for the record, that the comic originally said "waitron" instead of waitress, but it was argued that normal people don't use the word waitron and that it would mar the joke.  I urge you, however, to start referring to your wait people as waitrons, as it is an awesome genderless term that makes them sound like SUPER SERVICE ROBOTS.

Why the long face?

Sometimes, really cheerful people say really inanely stupid things when they should probably not talk.

Spring Forward, Fall Back... into bed

I realized, this morning, when I woke up at 6:45 am, that the "extra hour of sleep" that comes from us "falling back" only counts when you are the type of person who actually has things to do and wakes up using an alarm. Otherwise, it is just losing time as you lie in bed staring at the dark ceiling, waiting for the world to catch up with your obnoxious bladder that insists on waking you up ridiculously early, and who is in cahoots with your brain that refuses to let you go back to sleep after getting up to pee way too early in the morning.

And by tonight, my body will refuse to go to sleep at a decent time, and I will then get into a cycle where I get less and less sleep until I begin threatening people, and screaming randomly while crying, and then something will snap and I will sleep for five sixths of an entire day, after which I will get back to sleeping like a normal human being again.

In summary, if I continue to live in the United States, I should move to Arizona or Hawaii.

Happy Birthday, Cheeseblarg AKA How NOT to Make Cake Pops.

Today is da Cheeseblarg's FIRST birthday.  A year ago today, I started this here blarg to talk about my computer being a dick, which it still kinda is.  But to celebrate, I made us some cake pops! And I made us cake pops, mostly because making cake pops is one of my least favorite things to do in the ENTIRE world.

It was also to prove a point, because my mom thought that making cake balls might be a great idea for holiday gifts and having made them before (or well, cookie balls, which might actually suck more than cake balls) I wanted to show her that while we are good at A LOT of things, dipping shit just isn't in our skill set.

So here is a (partially) illustrated guide for how NOT to make cake pops:



1. Gather your ingredients. Take a picture. Forget ingredients.

2. Begin to make a cake which cues everyone else in your house to come into your very small kitchen to also cook. Get angry.

3. Mistake directions on cake box, read: mix on HIGH for 2 minutes, instead of MEDIUM and splatter entire kitchen with cake batter.

4. Fight the people in your kitchen to get to the oven to put the cake in to bake.

5. Remember to check how long you should bake the cake that is now in the oven. Take box out of garbage, consult, set timer (minus approximate amount of time it took you to remember that you should probably set a timer).

6. Wait a long damned time for cake to bake and cool. Begin writing and illustrating your hilarious blarg post on the subject in the meantime (optional).

7. Go to Bakerella.com and read the recipe because you realize you don't really know how much of what you are really supposed to use.

8. Crumble cake and mix in half a can of frosting. Roll into balls. Ask someone else to come in and set up a pan for you because your hands are now coated in cake and frosting.

9. Clean out fridge to make space for the balls to chill.

10. Take some prescription pain pills because this is going to suck, and also because you have been standing for hours and all of your joints hurt.

11. Read the directions on the candy melts, follow directions, spend 17 minutes melting stupid candy melts. Think using a blow dryer might be faster.

12. Begin dipping cakepops. Have an argument about dipping methods. Result in cakepop that looks like this:

13. Add Crisco to candy melts because Montana weather makes them harden up in approximately 1.75 minutes.

14. Give up on cakepops, turn to cakeballs.

15. Give up on cakeballs, dipping is too hard.  Roll rest of the batch in powdered sugar and call it a day.

I hope you enjoyed this tutorial on how not to make cake balls. You should probably not follow it. But, while I knew it was going to be bad when I started, I did manage to make one cute one.

The Mouse in the House

There's a mouse in my house, which is difficult for me, because while I don't want vermin in my house, I like mice a lot and I don't want to be part of crushing their little skulls or otherwise ending their lives just to rid my house of creatures that are probably going to give me the plague, or Ebola, or some variation of mouse-related cancer.

But, if they would meet my demands, they could totally stay.

click to see bigger

p.s. The Halloween Scavenger Hunt deadline is being extended as several people have let me know that they need more time. Remember, you don't have to get all the pictures... the person who gets the most first is the winner. 

I'm not cute.

I'm really not cute.  I know that I draw cute stuff, and it is all adorable and shit, but seriously, I don't know where it comes from. I suspect I may have a precious darling alternative personality that comes out when it is time to draw things, because in reality I am coarse, and vulgar, and get in trouble all the time for being inappropriate in public.  I mean, not in legal trouble or anything, but my mom gets on my case all the time for cursing, and talking about rude things, and generally being "un-cute."
I suppose being regarded as cute (and creating cute things) is not the most horrific thing that could happen... but it is not totally representative of who I am. My allusions to ridiculous porn and people pooping out of their mouths, that is much more me.

November Sticker Sale- Tom Llama

These stickers are only available during November. It is a limited edition sticker with only 25 available for sale. With shipping, each sticker is $2 USD. You can choose to send me more if you like, in case you are feeling generous, but of course, you don't have to.

 Each hand cut sticker is around 3.6  inches high by about 2.6 inches wide and has a matte finish. Will be sent first class mail by USPS.  For those outside the US, please choose the outside US option for the first sticker, and $2 for any additional sticker in the same order.

No longer for sale, sorry!

(for those viewing by RSS, there is a button to purchase the sticker on the actual post)








Why am I selling stickers?


Because people buy them and collecting things is fun.
Also, my husband lost his job in May. He still doesn't have a job. And, stickers are awesome, are within my skill set, and I like being able to not be stressed constantly about money.


Donation? Why would I give you a donation? Stop panhandling!


 The "donation" is just an option to pay a little bit extra, if one feels like it- for example, if you feel you have gotten extra value out of me drawing for you and making you laugh on a somewhat regular basis. One of my favorite musicians offers her albums for "60 cents or more," online and I wanted to do something similar, but I couldn't do it the way I wanted to because I needed to keep track of how many items sell, since the stickers are limited edition. No one is obligated to send me more, but it is there if you want to. 
And stop being mean, I am not panhandling... panhandling implies that I smell bad and have a sign. I have no sign.