PAY ATTENTION TO ME!

There’s this weird thing that people do that baffles me. As an artist, it has happened to me but it clearly isn't just confined to art, but the puzzling phenomenon of people taking credit for things that they obviously didn't do.

That is not to say that I don’t get the general idea of lying to get attention...

But the chances of it backfiring and looking like a total jackhole when you are figured out totally skews the risk vs. reward ratio way too far into the TOO RISKY category for me and I think, most reasonable people. So much so that I have never actually considered such a ridiculous idea.

Part of the real confusion I experience with this is this "flying to close to the sun" urge that seems to come with the urge to lie about your achievements. Instead of lying in a small way that might give a small boost, it seems to be a huge ridiculous lie that is just so obvious it's kind of insulting. *cough Trump cough*

But there is another way.

For all the flack that millennials get, there’s this beautiful thing I have seen happening in the current generation that would totally satiate these low effort attention seekers without resulting in them needing to delete their Facebook account when their artist friends call out the fact that they have claimed to paint a picture that was painted by a really well-known artist…

It’s called… ASKING FOR COMPLIMENTS.

Honestly, it is the coolest thing about people now. When you’re having a bad day, if you’re friends with leftist millennials or similarly positive nice people, you can just ask for the attention you need and (if you don’t do this on a daily basis and you’re not a total asshole) they’ll totally say nice things about you to make you happy.

This also works with asking for a gif of kittens and pictures of hybrid corgi mixes, I've found. But seriously, have you looked up corgi mixes?



Anyway, if you find yourself in need of emotional support sometimes and claiming you painted the Mona Lisa starts looking tempting, I urge you to try asking for a compliment to get the ego boost you need. Just say, "Hey friends, I'm having a hard time. Could you say something nice about me to cheer me up?"


And there’s the added bonus of knowing who to unfriend if anyone tries to make you feel bad about having emotional needs that are met by receiving external validations sometimes, 'cause you deserve to be happy and feel loved and people who try to shit on that don't deserve corgis AT ALL.

Dead, dead, deadski.

My best friend of 14 years died in November. She was hilarious and smart and beautiful and a fantastic writer and it's really hard living without her. It's probably harder for her eight year old daughter who she left behind while she lingered in a coma for 6 months, while we all waited, some with more hope than others, to see if she would finally wake up. But damn it, it's hard for me.

When I think of her being gone, I think, "my Tracey is dead," but when I mention it elsewhere in the world, I change it to, "she passed away," or she "succumbed to her illness" or some other euphemism, not because I need to say it, but because I think people will somehow think I'm a jerk for plainly stating she is no longer alive.

I never hear anyone else using dead in conjunction with the death of a loved one. Does everyone else want to use it, but feel the same as I do? Like they have to make it into a poem to talk about it? Like other people might break, or think you just don't care if you plainly say, "Tracey died"?

Is it the proximity of the death? My previous best friend, Aimee, died 10 years ago, (I might add at this point, I'm a little afraid to claim another best friend as this seems to be a trend), and saying, "My friend died 10 years ago" doesn't feel quite as jarring. Does the fact that Tracey just fell through the veil (to borrow from the imagery of Harry Potter, which we both loved), make it seem that she could be right back if only I don't make it plain to others where she is? Is saying "she's dead" like a lock that keeps her trapped in the next world, where as "she passed away" allows for her to change her mind and pop back in, like she went out to smoke a cigarette with Jesus and changed her mind?

My Tracey is dead. She died because of the weird autoimmune disease we both have (had?) and I miss her every day. I miss her when I watch Seinfeld and when I read Stephen King books, and when I see the previews for the new Harry Potter movie that she'll never see unless a next world actually exists and has the same entertainment offerings as ours. I love her, and I always will, and I hate feeling that I have to compose a poem to lessen the sorrow of her loss for other people every time I want to mention that I had a friend and I don't any more.

The Art of Teaching Art

In my previous life, I was a teacher, probably not surprisingly, an art teacher. Let me tell you, you don't want to be unprepared in a middle school art room. The kids are all hopped up on hormones and there are sharp implements all over the place that can easily be weaponized. My kids were pretty good though, so when my friend Crystal, who worked in the office, offered to come to my classroom to teach my students how to make flowers out of tissue paper, I happily agreed. It was one of my favorite art projects when I was a kid, and it was marginally easy, so I was pretty sure my students would enjoy the project.

I got ready for Crystal’s lesson by preparing cut squares of tissue. I set my student aides to organizing the cut squares in 30 sets of complimenting colors (oh, how I miss having student aides- the closest I come now is having a husband who will go get me a soda or fetch the mail out of the mail box). I set up each “kit” of papers with pipe cleaners so that they could secure the center of their flowers and had them set out on the desks before the period started. My main mistake was that I failed to properly prepare Crystal.

The students were excited coming into the class. I told them we would have a guest so they were on their best behavior while still being 6th graders. I introduced Crystal and asked them all to pay attention while she showed them what to do.

I’d like you to imagine stepping in front of a group of 11 year old kids and then magically pulling a giant paper flower out of midair and telling them “Ok, so… do that!”

As my students sat staring at her like she was out of her mind, she turned to me with a slightly wild-eyed look and whispered behind her hand, “Is there …something wrong with them?”

Trying very hard not to laugh like a maniac, I let her know that there was not a single thing wrong with them, they just seemed to have missed a few of the steps that she performed. Perhaps all of them. Some of them were slightly aware that her flower was made of the same things they had in front of them.

After that, we walked slowly through the directions again, with no magical flower appearances, asking for volunteers for each step, modeling each fold, asking them to recall what came next. And finally, going slowly and stopping for questions, everyone ended up with a tissue flower of their own. Or six, because once they got it, it was almost impossible to get them to stop. It was like the Rose Bowl Parade up in there.

I loved teaching, but throwing Crystal into the lion’s den,  I remembered that it really is something you have to learn to do. It is not magic. No matter how good you are at your subject, it usually isn't a born talent. Teaching is a process that takes patience and education, and quite often, a good sense of humor.

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The Devolution of English

I was searching for the origin of the phrase "Hit the nail on the head" the other day, because I like words and knowing the origin of things makes me feel superior, and also gives me things to talk about when I am forced to interact with other humans on rare occasions. In this particular etymology, there was a sample of the first recorded use of the phrase and I came to the realization that our language seems to be coming full circle:

 -Old English-

  (source)                     

-New English-

(source)   

my friends are funny, and helpful.

Not all that different...

Anti-Anti-E

I was asked the other day if I have a Tumblr, and I must say, I really enjoy all of the things that Tumblr has to offer--  like GIFs of Evan Peters naked or licking peanut butter off of a blow up doll. Or for blogs like my friend's "Fuck Yeah, Goatse" page (again, if you don't know what Goatse is, don't just go wantonly googling that shit, you need to be prepared for it*),

 or Tard the Grumpy Cat's blog  (holy shit, I cannot get enough of that cat!), 

or Chandler Bing Dances on Things,   

(source, there ^)

but I don't have a Tumblr account, and I won't because I won't support companies that discriminate against the letter E.



I feel the same way about Flickr, but Yahoo went ahead and set up an account with them without my permission since once upon a time, I had a Yahoo email account and I verge on being an internet hoarder, so I never unregister for sites that sign me up (seriously, still get Netlog notifications... never signed up for it, but I am there, apparently).

I want to know what exactly they have against Es.

Yes, I know the E isn't needed. We don't REALLY pronounce it. But you don't pronounce both of the Es in my name but you don't see me spelling my name Jod.

So I guess what I'm saying, is that unless someone else signs me up for Tumblr, I won't have an account there where I will be forced to waste hours of my life looking at and reblarging pictures of cats and porny gifs.



*Also on the topic of Goatse, after watching this commercial (below) over and over again, I think that Goatse would be an excellent security password picture for a Windows 8 machine.

also, as a reminder, Hanukkah starts in 4 days, and as always, there will be 8 crazy days of me posting horrible/amusing things for you guys! So be there, or one of them will be Goatse.

The Tragic Tale of Carlos and Mari

(there is a video here, RSS subscribers)

I used to have two Siberian dwarf hamsters just like these when I was in college. My boyfriend and I bought them together. It was his idea and when we broke up, not long after we bought them, I retained custody of them. They were named Carlos and Mari. They were both very cute but they met bad ends.

Carlos died during winter break while being watched by my sister, and is buried behind the dorm I lived in at the time. I paid my friend to clean out the cage and bury him for me, because he had been dead a while apparently, before I had been made aware of his demise. We used a spork to mark his grave.

Mari had a stroke sometime the next semester, I think (though I am not veterinarian), and I released her into the wild to enjoy her freedom as an act of kindness, and also because seeing her dragging herself around her cage in circles made me sad. My family likes to tell me that she was probably promptly eaten by a hawk the moment I set her free.

This is part and parcel to why I don't own pets anymore and why I don't think having children is a good idea for me either.

Regrouping and Floor Cleaning

Fuck this moping shit. This needs to be the year of the JRose. I mean, last year I also declared it the year of the JRose (actually it was the "year of winning" but then Charlie Sheen had to go and implode and take my phrase and then I felt weird using it, but damn it, you get the idea), and in reality, for all the other crap, it was pretty much, indeed, a year of winning.  My campaign of terror on @blogger over at twitter, plus my sheer awesomeness, won me Blog of Note, allowing me to meet so many of you Cheeseblargians, which is fairly coincidental that you should already be called Cheeseblargians and then you should follow a site called "da Cheeseblarg."

I also um... I... won .. um... hrm.. I got my art published in a cookbook (Nadia G's Bitchin' Kitchen: Cookin' for Trouble) that I don't have a copy of so it may not actually be in there, so I am just going to assume it is because I signed a waiver saying it could be.  AND someone contacted me wanting to use a bad painting I did of David Hasselhoff in panties for the green room of some show he was going to be on to make him uncomfortable, though I never actually heard back from them...

The really bad painting in question. It's awful. I should have painted the one with the Shar Pei puppies.

 and then Conan O'Brien had my Coco Llama in his gallery AND talked about it after saying my name and another campaign of terror got me to NYC because I was in an art show in NYC and needed to see it in person, which was a life-long goal realized. Plus, I made a bunch of kick ass art. So this year, instead of bitching about bitchy shit, I just need to be winning-er. Being super win-y will make my shit crap health issues suck less by comparison. Especially if I become not poor while winning.

So let's start with the Shorty Awards under the category of blogging, because they didn't have a category for blarging, and I am nothing if not flexible.
Just scoot on over to this link (I imagine you should have a twitter account but why not try anyway) [link redacted] and tell them why I am the best blarger that ever lived (I stress "blarger."  I'm the only one, right? Or the original, at least? It should be easy to say I am the best without feeling like you are lying).

Then I seriously need to get this friggen celebrity endorsement, even if I need to become a celebrity myself and then do my own endorsement. It doesn't work that way does it? Well, I'll figure it out.


Point is, if I want my life to not be ruled by sucky aspects, I am gonna have to take it by the flappy bits and and shake it and say "HEY LIFE, STOP SUCKING. Health is not the only thing around. There's also internet awards, and celebrities who may someday pay attention to you, and  Bacon Jerky. And there are readers who give a shit and will be okay if you can't draw all the time, and frosting, and THESE FLOORS ARE DIRTY AS HELL AND I'M NOT GONNA TAKE IT ANYMORE!" At which point I imagine people will just stare at me and crickets will chirp, because UHF is a highly underrated movie.

Hanukkah 2011- 8th Night- From Us to You!

It's the last night of Hanukkah. Despite what calendars say, it is over now. Tomorrow is the last day, but Jews don't acknowledge days. We are like the vampires of the holiday world.
It has been a wild ride. You got some crappy gifts, I did too, but it was fun. Wasn't it? Okay, it wasn't terribly painful? Maybe a little? But the fun kind? Damn it, people!

Whatever, here is your stupid jerk gift.

(unwrap it... with the link below... or scroll... wow, this has been tedious telling people how to access a webpage...)

Cheeseblarg's Halloween Scavenger Hunt

As promised, though it took every bit of my energy to do this (so you better participate, or no scavenger hunt, ONE YEAR) the SECOND OFFICIAL CHEESEBLARG SCAVENGER HUNT- of HALLOWEENESS!

Grand Prize- Trick or Treat package courtesy of  Southern Fried Children 
Second and Third place prize- Halloween Llama (your choice of costume- delivered by email)


Participation badge for everyone else!


Internet searches don't count towards personalized prizes. To participate, take photos of all of the hunt items below.

Upload your finished scavenger hunt as one image by using http://www.photovisi.com (or a similar collage application). The first person with the most images from the hunt, uploaded by November 5th will receive a Trick or Treat package from the darling and wonderful Kelly of Southern Fried Children who was kind enough to help me out since all of my money is still gone with no word on when it will come back. Winners two and three get personalize llama art from me. I will announce the winners on the 6th, at which point info will be collected to send out prizes.

You must post a link to your image HERE IN THE COMMENTS to be considered for a prize. HERE. IT MUST BE HERE. IN THE COMMENTS. ON THE BLARG. It doesn't count if it is NOT here....

And what must you find?

1. A cross dresser
2. Scary Jack-o-lantern 
3. Funny/Cute Jack-o-lantern
4. Bobbing for Apples
5. The jackass who stole all my money
6. Caramel Apple
7. Star Wars Character
8. Group of at least 4 people acting like zombies
9. A person dressed as food
10. Food dressed as a person
11. Pet in a costume
12. Bad treats being given out
13. Silliest slutty costume you can find
14. Strangest person NOT in costume
15. Best house decoration
16. A crying child
17. A spider
18. A vampire (sparkling or not)
19. A person dressed as a farm animal
20. Harry Potter Character
21. Werewolf Attack
22. An Angry Bird
23. A graveyard
24. The BEST treat
25. A ghost
26. Current event costume
27. Inappropriate child costume
28. A Hunka Hunka Burning Love
29. A Skeleton
30. A child dressed as a waffle iron (this was my mom's suggestion and may give you some insight into what is wrong with me) - or a TRICK
31. Llama OR Narwhal

Good luck, happy hunting, and happy Halloween!

Cheeseblarg Takes Manhattan- An Update

I would like to announce that my friend and great patron Kelly L. is friggen amazing. 

While I still need to raise quite a bit of money (we've gotten up to 28 percent), thanks to Kelly and her frequent flyer miles, my plane ticket to NYC is now covered. Booked actually. 

I'm trying to get as much coverage on this as I can. There are only 5 days left and I think we really can meet this goal.  I need to get the word out, though, because now I have a ticket and I don't think that sleeping on the streets of NYC is legal or advisable for tourists.  So again, even a dollar can help (and has a prize) and all sharing of my project can make a difference.... as can coming up with awesome ideas like Kelly's that cost no extra money but get me where I need to be.

I can't even express how amazing it is that my plans seem to actually be working for once, and I am hoping against hopes that this is not part of the Experiment. 

Want more information on this post? See Cheeseblarg Takes Manhattan!  Go, and make sure to watch the videos.  And remember, I don't get any money, at all, unless my goal amount is reached.  This is not a donation, but an investment in art and da Cheeseblarg. I get NO money unless I get enough pledges.

Actual Conversations- Fire and Goats

These are hilarious and inappropriate, in that order. Because me and my friends are punny. You have been warned.

Evil Mike: A Cautionary Tale

The summer before my 10th grade year, I met my first boyfriend, Evil Mike*, over the phone while at my friend Veronica’s house.  Because I was awkward and weird and had REALLY low self-esteem, I immediately agreed when Evil Mike, after talking to me for a week or so, asked me to be his girlfriend.  This happened over the phone, of course, and I had not actually seen him yet, as the internet didn‘t exist so I couldn‘t force him to send me a picture before I accepted. I thought he was funny enough though, in a fart joke sort of way, and his voice was very attractive, which, you should know, is never indicative of how someone actually looks, but Veronica had assured me that he was “totally fine” so I figured I was good.

Yes, Clint Eastwood is my ultimate measure of sexiness, thank you.

I was still 14 when I agreed to his proposal of datitude, even though I was forbidden from actually dating, so our first date required the “best friend secret rendezvous” maneuver, wherein I’d spend the night at my friend Katriya’s house (because she was the friend my family liked/trusted the most) so I could do things my parents didn’t want me to do because they were bad bad ideas.  I got all dressed up in my sexiest acid wash mom jeans and an off-the-shoulder tube shirt with a horrendous flower pattern and applied my iridescent tan lipstick and off we went to meet him and his friend at Loehmann’s Plaza, where we were going to see Child’s Play III.

Katriya and I sat outside on a planter that doubled for an ashtray, nervously waiting for him to make his first appearance.  “Over there, that’s him!” Her voice was not kind  as she pointed at the pair of heshers coming out of the arcade.  “Veronica LIED!” I hissed at her as she began to laugh. Please let it be the blonde, please let it be the blonde, fuck, of course it’s not the blonde.  His friend was fairly attractive.  He, on the other hand, totally wasn’t.  He wasn’t much taller than I was, fancied himself a body builder, but his frame didn’t support it well so he just looked a bit like a tall little person. Beyond that, he had a mullet, but not just any mullet, it was a super mexi-mullet. And he was wearing a fitted jean jacket with Eddie Van Halen air brushed on the back of it. I wanted to flee. To pretend it wasn’t me, but it was too late. He had spotted me.

We bought tickets.  I can’t remember if he bought my ticket for me or if I had to buy my own. I spent the whole movie alternating between chastising myself for my desire to dump him on the spot because he was so repulsive to me and thinking how incredibly awful the movie was.  Really, have you seen Child’s Play III?! Serious crap! He spent the whole movie trying to touch my boobs and making me very uncomfortable by actually acting like he was my boyfriend. The only high point was that he smelled of Drakkar, which he might have bathed in.

Afterwards, we broke off from our friends and walked around the deserted outdoor mall. “So, what do you think?” I somehow realized he was asking me to assess his attractiveness. “Oh, yeah. You’re as fine they said.” I’m a liar, a dirty liar. Which should pay off right? Flattery and what not…  “And what about you?” Of course, he didn’t hold to the same principles that I did as his response was not flattering in the least. “Well, you’re not the beautiful flower they said you were, but you’re okay.”  He was entirely wrong.  I was an AMAZINGLY beautiful flower, and he was a jackass.

When I got back to Kat’s house, I called Veronica and informed her that she was a lying jerk, and she told me I was shallow (which I took to be a confession that she knew damned well that her pants were on fire) and she convinced me that I should give him a chance, which was a really bad suggestion, but somehow when you are 14 and you have really low self-esteem, you make really bad decisions, and instead of dumping him, like a sane person, I dated him for approximately two years.

Those were not two consecutive years, of course, because he would break up with me every couple of months/weeks/days because he was convinced I was either cheating on him at that moment, or was planning on cheating on him at any second, and I would cry and  plead with him not to dump me and he would declare that I just wanted to be with him because he was “sooooo fine.” Each time this declaration would come and each time it was really hard not to guffaw the moment he’d say it, but I somehow managed not to laugh openly at him and would assure him of all the stupid reasons I didn’t want him to break up with me, my level of attraction to him had ABSOLUTELY nothing to do with it.




* Evil Mike's name was coined after I started dating my husband, who is "good Mike" or just Mike.  But evil Mike was evil... or compared to all other Mikes who did not make my life miserable for 2+ years... Come to think of it, he wasn't really clever enough to be evil, I guess... he was really just a dick.. but Evil Mike has a better ring to it than "Dick Mike." 

_____________________________________________________

Remember, tomorrow is the last day to buy your Limited Edition September Sticker! 

http://cheeseblarg.blogspot.com/2011/09/september-sticker-sale-t-rex-wants-ice.html

Cheeseblarg's First Official Scavenger Hunt

I was talking to my friend, Kim, because she's awesome, but also because she has been having a crap-filled couple of days, not literally, at least I don't think so, but stressful as all get out, and she suggested that she needed to get out of the house to clear her mind.  Being the awesome and creative friend I am, I offered to create a scavenger hunt for her, because adventures are more exciting than moping in public. But then, the point of scavenger hunts, as I understand them, is to have competition, so that is where you guys come in.

While you could go the cheaty route and just google crap (especially if you are stuck in an office building and aren't allowed to leave your cubicle because you are chained to it until the whistle blows-- yeah, I have never actually worked in an office setting so I imagine that is how it works, right?) there are some items that will require actual photos, and really, actually taking the pictures yourself is more fun... but if you do google, against my will, it better be super creative.

Photo sets can be uploaded to http://www.flickr.com/groups/cheeseblarghunt with a link to your images in a comment here.  You can also, alternatively, upload your images to a post on your own blog and paste a link in the comment section.

Prizes
First 3 people to post completed hunts (that are not googled/binged/searched for on the internet and show that you actually left the house to do it), win an envelope of happiness from me in the mail.

Next 3 people to post completed hunts win a special personalized scavenger hunt winner badge.
And since only six people actually read this regularly, that should cover it.

No, no, all others will receive a scavenger hunt badge for their blog, or wall, or refrigerator.

Winners will be announced in a separate post and I will request addresses at that time to send out prizes.


Now, on to the hunt!

Remember, you can be as creative as you like, as long as one could reasonable associate your photo with the item on the list.


1. A cat in a window
2. Bare feet in grass
3. Bacon
4. A squeaker
5. 3 people holding cards
6. Cheese on an entire family
7. Someone wearing a hat
8. A bird, not in a tree
9. The color red, only the color red
10. You holding a sign referring to Da Cheeseblarg
11. The cutest chocolate you can find
12. Velcro
13. An upside down book
14. Something I write about all the time but have not put in the list
15. Ice cream
16. A chance
17. Something nerdy
18. A yellow flower
19. A crack in a sidewalk
20. The inside of a grocery store
21. A person wearing a barrette
22. A scavenger

I will also accept drawings/painting for each item, but they must be done by you, and stick figures don't count!

Never say never!

I can't be the only one who feels guilty when choosing NOT ATTENDING when sent an invitation for an event on Facebook that there is absolutely NO WAY I could get to. I just feel that if I REALLY tried, I might be able to make it.

I am Iron Man... er, woman...

This is a dramatic recreation of an actual conversation had with my friend, because my friends are pretty funny.

For the record, I also eat cheese and candy.

Book Report: Being Emelle

When I was in elementary school, we were assigned book reports to write, and frankly, I had no idea how to write a book report.  I was already aware of spoilers from my Star Wars debacle, and I didn’t want to give away any important details and so they all sounded like blurbs selling the book:

And so, I always got really bad grades on my book reports.

It is not like I wasn’t reading the books, or that I didn’t understand what I was reading.  I love reading. I love books.  I just don’t particularly trust myself to tell people things about books without giving away the plot.  I’m the same way with movies.  My reviews usually go:  “It was entertaining.  I didn’t want to punch myself in the face for having spent 3 hours watching it.”

And so, when my friend, who is a kick-ass author, asked me, at a dinner we were at together, if I would want an advanced copy of her book to read on my Kindle and maybe review here, I said, “Yes! Totally! Sure! That would be awesome…” I’m actually hoping to review some other books in the future, so it will be good practice, and then I realized she probably would not be very pleased with me reviewing her book in my normal manner, which would be:

“I read Being Emelle by E.M. Stoops. This book totally kicked ass.  I stayed up way too late reading it, and then I woke up early and read it some more even though I was totally tired and treated everyone like crap the rest of the day because I had to interact with them when what I really wanted to do was go back and read about Emelle, and OMG, are they gonna kiss?! They’d better kiss! 

I liked this book. You should read it to find out what happens next!” 

 But while all of that is true, it is not entirely helpful. So here goes.  In Being Emelle, you get to follow an awkward and intelligent Emelle from early childhood through adulthood, learning about his philosophies,  how he deals with the strained relationship with his father, his wonderful supportive mom, and the great dynamics with his best friend, Annalyn, and his other classmates. I, quite honestly, dug the hell out of her book.  It was sweet, and funny, and a little sad, and it was incredibly sexy, and a little kinky, and it flowed really nicely.  It is an advanced copy though, so it needs a tad bit more editing, but not so much that it affected my desire to keep reading. So if you have a kindle and you’d like to read it to, you can find it over on Amazon.com. At least check out the sample!

Being Emelle by E.M. Stoops

It is also available on Nook, I am being told- find it here!

This is not a paid review.  It is my honest opinion of a book written by a friend.  She didn't even buy me a cup of bacon to get me to write this.  I just received a PDF of the book to read.  If I am ever paid for a review, I will certainly let EVERYONE know. 

Do you want to party? It's party time!

It's been suggested, in the comments of the last post, that I have an "It's not a tumor" party.  Thankfully I was given the suggestion of having a make-believe one, because my friends only exist on the internet (that is, spread across the country and the world, and a portion of them don't even have internet access at the moment... I have friends, damn it! *sobs*). So, make-believe party it is.  You are all invited; it is a pot-luck.

I DON'T HAVE A BRAIN TUMOR!

Don't disappoint.

And don't forget, just a few more days left to get your Narwhal stickers! 

The Stalker

My family has a stalker.  I didn't realize that my internet fame would cause me problems this quickly.  I figured maybe, at some point, like when people actually knew who I was or gave a damn, I probably should invest in a post office box, but it seems I didn't do it quickly enough. And now... every time we leave the house, he is out there, staring at us menacingly. Or maybe she, I can't really tell.

Pictured here covertly hiding behind flowers while still staring at me.

I learned long ago that bunnies were not to be trusted.
In college, my friends Laura and Heather got me a bunny, an adorable ginger buck, or possibly a doe... I don't know. I really have a deficit in telling the sex of rabbits, but I named it Futurix, and I loved it... okay, I loved the idea of it... I didn't really love that it had free reign of my room as I had no cage and it escaped the makeshift corral I had set up for it in my spare closet and it decided the best thing to do when escaping a cozy closet hutch is to get up on its owner's bed and pee and poop all over it.

I also didn't love that I had to learn the hard way that bunnies can growl as I tried to gingerly get it out from under the bed where it was also pooping and peeing and I was met with fierce glowing eyes and satanic snarling.

 Or that bunnies could star in their own disgusting bunny internet shock videos (if only I had had another bun and a cup) because they eat their own poop, although I guess it was just helping with the removal of the tons of bunny poo it had deposited all over my room. Recycling, right?

After a day or two of the bunny and I tolerating each other's existences, I realized that it was possibly more my fault than the bunny's and I gave him/her back to Laura, who promptly litter trained it and gave it a happy life where no one judged it for eating it's own waste.

But that doesn't preclude the fact that I am now being stalked by a bunny... because it is out there...staring at us... with its fur, and its twitchy nose, and the nibbling... the nibbling!

Narwhal Dress-Up!

My friend asked me to tell her how to make a dress-up game for her blog this afternoon, and in order to do that, I had to walk myself through the process again, so, OMG! You guys get another dress-up game from me.  Remember, you can share your creations by pressing the print screen (or prt sc) key on your keyboard and then pasting into a paint program. Just upload them to the Facebook Fan Page (or you own host) to share them with me and the other Cheeseblargians (that is what you are called, by the way... now you know, and knowing is have the battle! GO JOE!).

Have fun!

Don't get fired!

ETA: In case you're confused, you can drag and drop the different clothes and accessories onto the narwhal.
AND If you can't get enough weird animal dress-up, there is the Llama Dress-Up over here! 

How I learned not to jump at solid objects.

Today's post is guest illustrated by my darling friend Vez, who is also (or actually) my darling friend Rhea, who has a link to her Etsy shop featured on the side of the blarg.  Check out her art blog here! And now to our regularly scheduled program!

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In middle school, my logic centers were not nearly as strong as they are now. This is best illustrated by the time I went to my friend, Marie Silva's, house one summer afternoon to go play in her pool.  They had a giant pool in a screened in area and it was awesome because it had a diving board AND mosquitoes couldn't eat you.  So, we were all playing in the water and taking turns jumping off the diving board, merrily as can be.  It was her little brother and sister and the two of us, and playing in the pool turned from just jumping off the board, to a frenzied race to be first off the diving board, up the ladder, around the pool, and back over to the diving board. So we jumped, and swam, and ran, soaking the pool deck, scrambling back on to the board to jump off again, quicker and quicker. After a few turns of this, I got it into my head that the best way to get out of the pool faster was to jump closer to the ladder.  Unfortunately, there was some sort of mathematical failure in my head (I probably forgot to carry the one, somewhere).

In fact, my brilliant idea of jumping towards the ladder did not work out as I had planned at all and actually turned into gracefully smashing my face into the metal ladder, biting nearly clear through my lip, and almost knocking myself out, as my chin hit the step.

This is also the day where I learned the lesson that other people's parents don't want to take you to the emergency room, as I was ushered into Ms. Silva's car and driven across Miami, past at least three hospitals, where I was unceremoniously dumped on my doorstep so my own mother could take me to the ER.

 Once there, we waited for a several hours, with a sock full of ice on my face, so they could tell me that I didn’t need stitches because I failed at biting through my lip all the way, and I just needed a butterfly bandage and a better respect for the laws of physics.