Change is hard.

I don't buy into the whole, "If it's free, you can't complain" dogma.  My lungs are free, came with the package, but I am totally complaining, as loudly as I possibly can, if they stop working in a useful and helpful way. Something being free doesn't and shouldn't preclude it from receiving feedback, as far as I am concerned.

I do, however, think that making the best of everything is the easiest policy, for one's own sanity, and I rarely join in the "OMG! MAKE IT GO BACK!" crowd. I would rather just make fun of the situation and get on with it... so I have annotated my personal Facebook page below to give everyone a positive spin on all the changes that have happened to the Facebook Layout.

While it seems horrifically changed, it really isn't.  

• There is the addition of the "Awesome Stalk-O-Matic ™" scrolling bar on the right - which is perfect for people who like to obsessively keep up with their favorite people and see EVERY SINGLE INTERACTION THEY HAVE... which is right up my alley.  

          These can likely be cut down by altering your subscriptions to people you don't give a damn about.

• Then there is the "Ninja Algorithm Cool Stuff ™" that is marked by little blue triangles which seems to have no rhyme or reason, but a game can be made of trying to figure out the pattern.

• And all the other stuff that you saw before the change lives underneath the new stuff. Mostly. Except possibly your own posts. Unless you are popular. 

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!

Let My People Go!

It's Passover, which means, it is time for Matzo-related injuries.  If you've never had Matzo, let me clue you in... it is some stabby shit. Think 'stabbing power of Doritos if Doritos were twice as thick.'  And I am not talking about the rounded-edged Doritos that they likely switched to because they were undoubtedly getting sued for injuring so many unsuspecting customers, I am talking old school, 'put it in your mouth wrong and bleed for half an hour' Doritos.

On the first night of Passover, while eating a buttered piece of Matzo, I managed to puncture my mouth, and my throat, as well as stabbing myself in the face with it when I missed my mouth whilst I was complaining about stabbing myself in the mouth area.

Of course, I like to think that the sharp edges are part of the lesson.  "You think being stabbed in the mouth by a bland cracker made of only flour and water is bad... try being a slave.. try wandering around the desert for 40 years... now complain about a freaking piece of unleavened bread, you ungrateful bastard!"

But my people are well known for making the best of a bad situation, so, to take advantage of their natural properties, I think I will work on fashioning my own line of self-defense items made of Matzo... Jewish Throwing Stars, anyone?

It's really hard to nibble the hole out of the center though...

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On another note, I have lost one of my followers in the influx of other awesome followers and I want to find you again.  Your blog is pink, it might have princesses in the title. You once dressed as Rita Skeeter for Halloween, and it was your profile image for a while but not any more... You have great recipes. I need the link to your blog again, please!

Comment Marauder

It has been pointed out to me that I am strange in my habit of reading comments on other people's postings.  I do this for pieces of art, blog posts, videos, facebook pages... pretty much anywhere someone posts something to solicit comments, I am going to read the comments.  To me, the reason for sharing things on the internet is to interact with other people and as such, the interaction is part of the experience.

The response that I get when I tell people this is usually, "Well, I read my comments!"

Yes, I read your comments too. I want to hear what people say about things that I take the time to read, for the most part. Comments are really interesting, often funny.  There are whole websites dedicated to seeing people's replies (for Facebook, at least).  So yes, usually, I click and read everything that everyone says to my friends.  I even go back when I have nothing better to do and check if there are more comments.

Okay, fine, maybe I am just a creepy stalker...

And hey guys, my friend, Pat, is looking for support for a short movie he is trying to make.  If you would be interested in helping out a beginning director with his horror movie, please check out this link.

House Stalking

Every once in a while, I become convinced that I am going to win the lottery so I begin detailed plans for investments and other extravagant purchases.

Part of that, recently, has been house hunting.  And hunting is precisely what I have been doing, because unless you live here in my city, you probably have no idea that the people who did the street planning in this town either had severe ADHD OR they were heavily intoxicated. Probably the latter since this is the wild west and cowboys are always drunk as hell on whiskey in westerns, right?

See, my town has a Cheese Drive*, a Cheese Lane, and 2 Cheese Avenues, and the address on the website just said "900 Cheese."

After three tries, I became convinced that expensive houses for sale in my town have some sort of cloaking device that makes them only visible to people who actually HAVE the money to even consider buying the house...

Today's hunt was made on account of a search for another house that I decided against (in my imaginary search for a house to buy). Even though the pictures of it were beautiful, and amazing, and perfectly the design I wanted, it was up a mountain, on a road that was at grade of approximately 30 degrees.  It was hard enough getting my car to agree to go up the street when the roads were clear, but I would have had to refrain from leave my house for 8 months out of the year when snow was on the ground, so my car didn't slide down the super steep hill, killing myself (and a lovely neighborhood full of frolicking children and rich folk who like jogging up ridiculously steep roads) in a spectacular fiery crash, because that is what happens when you slide down an ice covered incline, right?

But, actually, I couldn't find that house.  I found where it SHOULD be, but it wasn't really there, as far as I could see.

I did find the house today, on the fourth try.  On the second Cheese Avenue, that I didn't know existed, that was about 8 blocks away from the normal Cheese Avenue, down a one way street...

For the record, I do not waste any relator's time being shown the insides of houses I want to "imaginary buy", I just stalk the houses, driving by, looking at them longingly while playing Journey songs for them on my car stereo.

*The name of the street has been changed in case I really do win the lottery and buy said house, though living on Cheese Ave. would be pretty boss.

Dear Valentine...

The cheeseblarg animals have some Valentine's cards for you.  They told me what to write, so blame them, not me.  Feel free to share them... surely they will be well received!

Sometimes, fearing the shadows is a good idea.

I've been accused of being pessimistic before, and I really don't think that I am.  I always hope for the best, I believe good things can and will happen, I just think that you have to be realistic in regards to what you might be facing, instead of blindly optimistic. The actual interaction below is an example of my "constructive pessimism."


"Never fear shadows. They simply mean there's a light shining somewhere nearby." ~ Ruth E. Renkel

 "Yes, the light the rapist needs to see you walking by as he lurks in the shadow." ~ JRose

OMG IT’S FULL OF STARS!

I find one of the most disappointing thing about celebrities on social media is that the majority of them ignore the majority of us.  I understand they have other things to do and can't spend all day looking at links people send them of the same baby panda sneezing and scaring its mom.  But like, when someone takes their time to paint a picture of a famous person, or for a famous person, I make note of ones who actually respond with thanks and a link to said picture, and I am impressed.

I enjoy getting to know people who like my art and/or writing.  If I ever get famous for it, which I plan on doing, damn it, I'd hire a friend to scour the web looking for things made for me by fans so I could give proper credit, if it got too overwhelming to do myself. That way, I can be secure in knowing that there is no one out there making a voodoo doll of me and covering it in syrup because they drew me an awesome llama-narwhal hybrid and I didn't look at it or more so, thank them.

Narwhal Detective Agency

Although I am awesome at being funny and drawing, I think I would make a great detective. I am very good at deductive logic, researching, and have a vast library of stored knowledge in my noggin. Plus, I look great in a trench coat and hat.  I mean, all a private detective is, really, is just a stalker who gets paid, so I should be awesome at it.

I guess I could be a personal online assistant, or a library research assistant although the wardrobe isn't as exciting.  I'm just really good at finding things online, so I figure either I have amazing researching skills, or everyone close to me is totally inept at googling.

Interesting fact: Narwhals have no teeth.  I just learned that by researching it.  See, awesome detective.