I'm A Meat Popsicle.

I prefer to shower at night, or in the afternoon. That way I can put off sitting around with my head damp and freezing for as long as possible. During the winter, in this little house we've moved into, I have found that showering at night is a problem. The fan in our bathroom that's activated by our light switch is a conduit directly to outside, so turning the switch on means I am pumping fast moving sub-arctic air into a room where a fine mist of water is supposed to be warming me up (and cleaning me, yadda yadda). So until I get fed up and buy a lamp for the bathroom, my solution currently is just showering in the dark. My husband thought I did this because I'm a goth or something. I really have no idea what he thinks I'm doing half the time because he never asks, really, he just dutifully turns off the light for me and goes away, probably wondering why the hell he married such a weirdo.

And, in other news, the brand new computer I bought... it died... two weeks after getting it. The hard drive has been replaced after much complaining and flailing. They kindly sent out an awesome nerd tech named Nic who talked to me about fun nerd topics while we waited for it to actually install.

And I am working hard on a new novel, writing at least an hour every day. It deals with current affairs and is an R rated vigilante thriller. Becoming a patron on patreon with the button below can get you access to excerpts weekly with a pledge of just 3 dollars a post (with no more than 4 posts a month- so a minimum of 12 bucks a month maximum! Wait, that was confusing. it could be 3-12 bucks for access to good stuff). There are also art bonuses for higher levels of patronage.

Cheeseblarg does Makeup - Episode One

Despite being a lizard girl, I decided to see if I could actually produce a video of me putting on makeup that was entertaining enough to watch so that I can progress towards my goal of fancy makeup companies sending me free samples. According to my husband, it helps to actually care about putting on makeup when you watch it, which he really doesn't, but I did get a few laughs out of him when I held him down and forced him to preview it before I put my dry crackly face on the internet where hopefully I won't attract hoards of trolls who will mock me and make me cry for the rest of my life. Sorry, I digress. His final assessment was that it is worth watching and that I'm cute, and I like that sort of feedback, so here it is.

It IS somewhat long. I will learn in the future that blending times are times for quietness so I can fast forward through them without sounding like a chipmunk, but if you like makeup, or me, or just want to pretend that we hang out when I'm putting on makeup, maybe you could watch? And subscribe? And encourage me to make more and better videos of all sorts* where you get to see me doing things and talking? And even share it? Maybe?

*Like drawing... I have the technology to show myself drawing comics for the blarg while possibly speaking about what I'm doing.

for early access to videos and outtakes

Lizard Girl- Beauty Vlogger

So I have been wanting to create some videos of me putting on makeup in fancy ways, but I have Behcet's Syndrome (BS for short) and BS* is fucking up my face.

No matter what product I use, my face is dry and scaly. From basically forehead to jawline, I look like I'm molting. I've tried using moisturizers but they all just irritate my skin further, so I get blisters on my face in addition to scales. And yes, I've tried sensitive skin moisturizer and natural remedies with no man-made chemicals; it's all a no go. Sometimes, even water is too much for it.

When I brought up the idea of makeup tutorials, my skin was clear and soft for the first time in... well, most of my adult life, thanks to the wonders of chemotherapy**. But for some reason now, on the same dosage, my skin wants to pretend it's an alligator, so until I can adjust my dosage to the point that it works, I can either hold off on making videos, or I can embrace a new identity:

*quite the apropos abbreviation
** Chemotherapy is an accepted treatment for BS, which helps my body to stop attacking its own vascular system. I'm not just taking dangerous medicine to have nice skin, though it is a plus... when it actually works.

Why I am a careful and cautious driver.

I think most people can relate to this, but when you're wearing plus-sized jeans and you're poor, it hits home even harder. Every time I watch a medical drama where they are cutting people's clothes off, I gasp in horror and consider only wearing sweatpants in my car from now on.

Cheeseblarg's Guide to Not Hating Everyone and Everything

This Tumblr post was brought to my attention recently and it strikes me as something that's really important to share:

http://thespoontheory.tumblr.com/post/137585788887/riotrite-cream-and-stars

Though it hadn't completely occurred to me, it goes along with my general philosophy on life and that philosophy is this:

If something bothers you and you can't control it, always try to come up with a situation in which it is completely reasonable so it is more bearable.

It is probably part of the reason why I excel at fiction writing, and humor writing to boot. I am always imagining reasons why people behave the way that they do so that is is less insulting to me. I can almost always come up with a creative reason why bad behaviour is excusable, so I am rarely upset for long when strangers are jerks (or make products that would otherwise be silly if not considered in the right context).

How many times have you come out of a store to find a car is parked 4 inches away from your driver's side door so you can't get into your car without crawling over the passenger's side seat, possibly causing you to become biblically familiar with your gear shift?

Inexcusable if the person is just a lazy asshole, BUT if  you imagine that the driver was about to have explosive diarrhea and needed to get into the store so fast they didn't have time to park right? I'd give them a pass! I know what that's like, and sometimes, not ruining your pants/car interior/everything, always and forever, is worth parking like a jackhole.

Ever have a waitron who seems like she is competing for world's grumpiest server? You smile sweetly at her, say please and thank you, don't make any unreasonable requests or uncomfortable jokes, you're the ultimate diner but nothing can make her lighten up? In fact, you've been her patron many times in the past and have tipped her 30% but she still treats you like you stole her boyfriend and parked right up against her driver's side door?

While you might want to request another table when you can, if you get stuck in her section, you can just pretend the poor lady is experiencing a terrible case of vulvodynia. If your genitals hurt all the time and you had to bring pancakes to people all day, how nice would you be?



How about this?

If only nature would find a way to cover these oranges so we didn't need to waste so much plastic on them. pic.twitter.com/00YECaHB4D

— Nathalie Gordon (@awlilnatty) March 3, 2016

Plastic is no doubt wasteful, but there has got to be a reason other than overconsumption or laziness that naked oranges are good right? Thinking about the dialogue above, we can understand that there are some people whose needs outweigh the dismay at convenience packaging. I know that with the hammer-smashy hand arthritis I've had, having a pre-peeled orange would be a godsend... if I could eat citrus without it exploding my bladder, of course.

That is not to say that people should have carte blanche to act like dickbags because other people will excuse them. Like in the example above, there are likely much less wasteful ways to package peeled fruit that can simultaneously make them easy to consume while not using a buttload of plastic. Like covering them in fondant or a hard candy shell! (<---That's a funny joke for people who will be mad about putting dirty sugar around healthy natural fruit...)

There are people, though, who we all damned well know don't have excuses, who are just so self-absorbed that they're horrible to other people and it shouldn't be allowed, and I thank you for calling those people out, BUT there are definitely times when you can't really control other people and if you tire of being indignant (which is totally understandable, because lately, there is so much to be indignant about), you can make up little stories in your head so you don't have to wallow in the misery of all the assholes in the world.

with the chance of extra exclusive content!

T1-11?

In my mind, the names of these items are completely interchangeable:


 
                                                          source                                                                                                         source

Touchy, touchy!

Is everyone in the world just WAY less gross than I am or are touchscreen computers as awful an idea as I think they are?

I'm not a Luddite. I am happy to embrace new technology when I encounter it, but look... my screen is disgusting enough with me NOT touching it. I seriously thought a guy had a mole in the middle of his forehead scrolling through my Facebook feed tonight... until I scrolled a little more and then realized there is just a mole on my monitor.

Every year around Black Friday, I fantasize about getting a new laptop to replace the one I got 4 years ago that has no backspace key, that overheats in 10 minutes of being on, that randomly scrolls through page after page without any movement from me when it is in a bad mood, but if all of the laptops currently available are ALL touchscreen, I just cannot picture myself buying one.

And that is because... I have pictured myself using one.
I spend a lot of time on my computer, so it is not uncommon for me to be eating something while computing, or picking my nose, or. . . Look, lord knows where my fingers have been or what is on them when I am using a computer, okay? I wash my hands a lot, but I'm totally not getting up to wash my hands after eating an eclair while watching shows on Project Free TV so I can stop the video to obsessively check my email or whatever.

Beyond having to place your mouth or genitals on your monitor to use your computer, I cannot think of a worse design. So, is this working for people? Or do you all just have Cheetos dust covered, sticky, nasty monitors? Or am I just really really gross?

New Things I learned This Week - Episode 4

Thing #1:

There is only so long that I can listen to a child talk about Digimon before I am no longer able to feign interest.

I probably spelled everything wrong, because frankly, I don't give a shit how it is spelled or who they are or what their Mega Ru Mon form is. I love my nephew. I just... I just never want to hear about Weregarururu-ru-ru-ru-mon again. Ever.





Thing #2:

There's something wrong with me.

In... er... never mind...

Everyone enjoys the pervy fun of adding "IN BED!" to fortune cookies, and it always works, because the more it doesn't make sense, the funnier it is.  I am convinced though, that there are fortunes where IN BED is probably going to make for some awkward after dinner conversation, as in the following:

Feel free to add your own.

How Outlines are Trying to Ruin My Life.

I am extremely mad at outlines, because I am fairly certain they are the only reason why my spell checker doesn't mark lower case "I"s as incorrect.

I will now outline all the reasons that outlines should go fuck themselves.

"Why Outlines Should Go Fuck Themselves"

I. They make me look stupid when I accidentally type "i" instead of "I" when typing quickly.
     A.  I am not dumb
               i. I have a college degree.
              ii. I graduated 8th in my high school class with a grade point average of 3.919.
             iii. I use big words and stuff.

     B. I should get kudos for typing quickly, instead of looking foolish.
               i. I learned to touch type by chatting for hours on end, which makes me cool.
              ii. I use more than one finger per hand to type, and am the only person in my household to do so.
             iii. I can type in the dark and while watching reality TV shows.

II.New outlines don't even use roman numeral support lists anymore.
     A. Apparently, kids today can't handle roman numerals.
               i. They're not being forced to conform to the stupid standards that we were, which is kinda unfair.
              ii. If I had to do that shit, they should have to also.

     B. Spell Checkers are totally out of date.
              i. In addition to not marking lower case "I"s as incorrect since Arabic numbers are now the
                standard, they don't know the word Wasabi.
                   1.Or internet. . .
                        a. But they do know the word shillelagh.

III. Conclusion.
     A. Outlines and Spell Checkers are acting in collusion to screw up my ability to look like the smarty pants I am.
            i. They should go fuck themselves, as a result.

They get me EVERY time.

Things That are Always Terrifying:

in order of amount of terror caused

                                                             created from this image

                                                                                        created from this video

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.

A Poignant Comic About Hot Cocoa

My Bad Summer of Eating Date with @Bing and @Klout

I took my husband out on a date today because I tried to take him on a date yesterday only to find the restaurant we wanted to go to didn't open at normal hours on Sunday, and now that my husband is working again, we can only do things on Sundays and Mondays because those are his days off.

I also took him out because I got a perk from Klout.com and Bing.com (because I am super popular), where I was given a wine set and a $10 Visa giftcard to celebrate their Summer of Eating promotion.
I even told our awesome waitron why we were there and she wrote down Klout.com in her order taking thingy, because she likes free things as much as everyone else likes free things, and as much as I like free things, which is an awesome reason to sign up for Klout.com-- because I have gotten quite a few great free things from them.

Only, when it came time to pay, I pulled out my super duper Visa giftcard, and IT DIDN'T FREAKING WORK.

It was like  one of those moments when you go on a date with some guy who picked you up on the internet and then after you have eaten delicious food that you THOUGHT he was gonna pay for, he is all, "Oh, sorry, I guess my card isn't working..." and you're all "FINE, the waitron has swiped your card three times and you need to know that I am SO NOT PUTTING OUT NOW, but fucking fuck, I'll pay for it. Asshole!"

That's how Klout/Bing made me feel.  They were the bad date that screws you over and makes you pay for the food they promised you, because THEY sure as hell aren't going to wash dishes to pay for this meal. Not that I would really expect them to, because websites and water don't really mix, but yeah, I was pretty damned disappointed.

That doesn't mean that I won't get free stuff from them again if its available, and that I didn't appreciate what they were TRYING to give me.  It was exciting to get such a cool perk.  And hey, I have this awesome wine set (though I don't drink wine, or anything I could use a wine set with). I'm sure I can find a use for it and as always, suggestions are welcome and illustrations are worth extra points.

It totally looks like a fancy murdering kit to me, but my parents bought me an Infamous Murderers book for Hanukkah when I was a teenager, so that probably explains that line of thought.


I just wish that after touting how awesome Klout and Bing were on twitter and in the restaurant, the friggen card worked so I didn't look like one of those girls...



And I think this kinda goes without saying, because of the content of this "review" but:

Influencer disclosure

I was given a free product or sample because I'm a Klout influencer. I was under no obligation to receive the sample or talk about this company. I get no additional benefits for talking about the product or company.

Crazy Mike and the Debbie Stick

Hey, mom and dad, you might want to skip this one…

Yesterday, I was in the gift shop in St. Regis, Montana, which is one of my regular stop-offs when going on road trips because it is roughly 2/3rds of the way from my house to my friend’s house, and because once I took a bus to Washington State and it stopped there, so since professional drivers deemed it a good place to stop, I do too. Also it has a Live Trout Museum, and if you won’t stop for a Live Trout Museum, what the hell will you stop for?

During this particular stop, I was searching this giant gift store for something small and amusing to give to a Cheeseblarg follower on Facebook, because I like rewarding people for paying attention to me and humoring me without my having to actually put a lot of effort into posting. I think of it as Operant Conditional Love.

What I wanted to buy was a flashing solar keychain that said “Debbie” but I realized that I hadn’t told you the story that makes referring to everyone as Debbie hilarious, so I bought something else that was equally as amusing, to me at least, and made a note to tell you guys the story, which is what I am about to do.

When I was in college, I had low self-esteem, which as we all know, leads to some really bad choices and amusing tales, thankfully. This story started at a Drag Show at the gay club in my college town. I sat outside on the porch, smoking (which I no longer do), and was approached by a very handsome guy who I had noticed around town before, due to his handsomeness, and somehow, the details of which are fuzzy, it lead to us making out by the stairs. (Yeah, parents, I told you to stop reading this).  As I was giving him a ride home, it occurred to me that I didn’t really know him and he was leading me down unlit and unpaved roads and that he might be leading me to a dark, out of the way clearing where he was going to murder me, but, as you might have guessed, since I am writing this now, and called it an amusing story, he didn’t kill or rape me, for which I am quite thankful.

I didn’t bother getting his number or anything, I just dropped him off and went back to my dorm because I realized that my stupidity was overwhelming, and that while it was quite an experience, it was really a dumb DUMB choice to let someone into my car who I didn't really know, but I could now cross “make out with random attractive stranger” off my list of things to experience in life, and yay, I survived it.

Except Crazy Mike apparently didn't feel the same way about the experience that I did.

I think it was when he started giving me random presents that he got the nickname, Crazy Mike. The first was a Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch tape. No case, just the tape.  And I should probably mention that this was about 1996 so Marky Mark had not been heard from for about 5 years.

 The next time he gave me a ring. I think it was a man’s ring. He might have found it discarded in the street.

“Oh, that’s nice…” I said sitting on the porch of the gay bar with my friends.
“Yeah, we’re gonna get married.” he told me.
“Oh?”
“You’re my girlfriend now.”
“Oh…” For fuck’s sake.  And THIS is why you are not supposed to make out with random strangers, THIS right here.
Entirely creeped out by this, I tried avoiding  the gay club. Crazy Mike, however, started showing up all over town, usually sitting on the hood of my car when I would come out of Denny‘s or Simon‘s. I drove a big ugly station wagon. It was pretty easy to find apparently.

So after a few weeks of being unable to avoid him, I finally went back to the club, and sitting on the porch was Crazy Mike’s equally crazy brother, Mark.

“Hey, Debbie! Debbie!” I looked around, and then realize he was talking to me.
“That’s not my name.”
“My brother likes you, Debbie.  I think you look like a hippopotamus.”
“Well, thank you, Mark. My name still isn‘t Debbie though.”
“He’s got a present for you…”

Oh yay, another present. How wonderful.

He wasn’t there though, so I went inside and watched the Drag Show, and after a while, I grabbed my friend and went to leave.

“I have something for you.” he said when I came out of the club.
Oh, was pretty much my standard response at the time, because OMG, LEAVE ME ALONE, somehow was not part of my vocabulary, most likely on account of the low self-esteem. I looked up at him, sitting on the top part of the porch, he was holding a knife and something that looked like a very long ax handle.
“I made you this, I’m carving your name into it.”
He handed me the stick, which I really can’t be sure wasn’t a very old ax handle. He had carved two lines all the way around it, kind of intertwining around the length of the stick, and at the top, he was starting to carve the name “Debbie.”
“Yeah, my name is NOT Debbie!”

After I received the Debbie stick, he seemed to lose interest in me, although a few weeks later, he found me outside Denny’s and told me that he had something to show me.  Apparently he had learned my name by then because he had it tattooed really crudely in a misshapen heart on his shoulder. I, on the other hand, really appreciated the gift of the stick, even though I had to change the name to my own, myself, because he had actually given me a weapon that I could use to bludgeon him if he had chosen to take his creepy stalking up to the next level. I actually still have it, because it was a nice stick. And also because it serves as a reminder not to make out with strangers who don’t know your name and who have brothers who tell you that you look like a hippopotamus.

Suffering Magnets

Does everyone have these people?

The ones who pop up when you are really upset and end up making everything SO MUCH WORSE?

Inevitably, every time you're really upset there they are, like some sort of suffering magnet, ready to beat you down until you are quivering jelly on the floor with their special misery boot-imprint stamped right on your globby forehead.

It should be legal to set those people on fire.

Just sayin'.

Warning, Meteorites!

I honestly had no idea what this sign meant, despite driving past it countless times when driving through my friend's neighborhood. I always thought it meant "Look out for Meteorites!" You've gotta give it to me though, it DOES look way more like a meteorite than an eye. In fact, I think, when informed that it was a Neighborhood Watch sign, I actually said, "What do meteorites have to do with crime?"

I like to imagine it being left over from the Cretaceous Period. If only they had had a Meteorite watch... if only.

All things pass into the night.

Pee Post

This pee post is nothing like the pudding post. For the record.

I want to know and understand the mechanism that makes me nearly pee on the bathroom floor every time I turn on the shower.  Theories are that it is operant conditioning, like Pavlov's dogs, but I have to wonder if it is the same mechanism that makes me dream of bathrooms to discourage me wetting the bed.
Am I the only one that has this? I have polled my friends in the past and it seems that  for the most part, men don't dream of bathrooms though some women do, I guess because guys have a built-in physical pee deterrent (morning wood, I mean... that is its purpose, no?).

But if you have no idea what I am talking about, here is a repeating feature of my dreams, nightly:

Crazy things happen.
Find a unicorn crafted from green banana peels.*
Kill a zombie cat who is actually one of my friends.*
Oh wait, I have to pee.
Hrm, is there a bathroom anywhere?
Oh, look, here is one, and then my brain presents me with a way to relieve myself, but there is always a hitch...

(click to biggify)

And so every night, I am treated to a new and novel variation (or four) of "trick bathrooms" to wake me up to go pee.


*I would like to reveal that these are both actual dreams that I had this week.

Down low, too slow!

I hate high fiving. A lot.

High fiving humans...
I will high five the shit out of animals.
Except birds, fuck birds, but I will high five any hamster that puts its creepy little alien paw up for me to gently tap with my palm (because it is a tiny cute hamster and full on high five might hurt it).

High fiving humans holds no interest for me because they judge you when you are awkward and your hand isn't a fucking physics major, so you kinda miss their hand on the forward trajectory, not hitting it right on, and then they know you have spacial issues, and they don't say anything but you can see it in the way that they avoid your eyes.

Or you go for the high five and they do the mercy hand position and there you are, slightly horrified, looking like you are defending yourself again a bully who wants to break your wrists and they are clutching at your hands, jumping up and down, excited, and you are just receding to your happy place until this stranger danger is over.

And it is stranger danger, because anyone who really knows me knows I don't want to touch their hands. They also probably know that they don't want to touch my hands (see the post about my activities on road trips). I'd rather most people put their genitals on me than their grubby dirty hands.


That job I had, the one that I got fired from, they were staunch believers in high fives.  My soul died a little every time I was forced to partake in their bizarre hand touching ritual. Thankfully they fired me though, so I didn't have to come up with bizarre reasons to dodge being touched.  I had already considered "leprosy from an armadillo bite" and "mail order ebola that accidentally got shipped to me instead of my terrorist next door neighbors."  They probably would have just gotten hazmat suits for everyone and upped the "up highs" to boost my morale.

ANIMAL HIGH FIVE CHALLENGE! 

The best ones will be posted later this week with a link to your blog. Draw them up and send them to my email (cheeseblarg at live dot com). You have until Wednesday, 11:59pm my time.

 p.s. Your drawings don't have to be drawings if you'd like to work in another medium, but it has to be self made.

                                     

I selected this post to be featured on my blog’s page at Humor Blogs.