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.

Brilliant Product Idea #4: The Only Riding Lawn Mower That Makes Sense

I was driving past a golf course the other day, after my husband had been bragging about our lawn (that he had just mowed) being the nicest lawn in town. He's probably not wrong. He is Mr. Green Thumbs. I kill plants by thinking of them. That is beside the point. I was imagining my adorable redheaded husband woefully being engulfed in flames if it were his job to mow an entire golf course... and then someone drove by in a golf cart and I thought, why in the hell don't riding mowers have roofs!?



They need roofs. And air conditioning. It is not like lawn mowing is a night activity, or done when the sun isn't trying to give us all skin cancer by mutating all of our cells with its evil evil brightness. How come no one has jumped on this yet?

Wait, someone has... and it costs over 100,000 dollars!!

 source

This is patently ridiculous. A car with air conditioning costs less than $20k and a riding lawnmower costs less than $2000. Surely, we can put these together for less than 100,000 dollars. It really shouldn't be that hard.

Laughter is the best medicine cause it is free.

I'd like to talk about a major issue in my life right now. It's a downer, so prepare yourself.
So, I'm poor. I know I have said that before but when I say I am poor, I mean we survived last year on less than $6,000 income. Like super poor.
And one would think, "Oh, you're taken care of by the state," but nope.  If you don't have kids and you are poor, you can pretty much go fuck yourself... which apparently I have done by becoming ill while poor.
I have been chronically ill for about 8 years now. Longer really, but it has been steady for 8 years. I used to have a job, and I worked, and I loved working. I would even work for free, if they didn't have money to pay me because working was awesome and fun. But then I got sick and I had to go home from work all the time and had to ask people to cover for me, and my job was such that I couldn't just leave when I needed to... I had to wait for someone else to be there before I could go, so it sucked, and it made many people mad at me, and at the end of the year, I got let go. And the next year, my contract wasn't renewed. And then my day to day jobs stopped because I was making errors of judgment from being on pain pills that I was required to take... and then 4 years ago, I stopped working. I was making it through my days by refusing to eat or drink, because those things made me sick and made me have to go home, and working is hard when you have no food in you.  I know models do it, but they just have to stand there and look pretty... they don't have to keep other people safe and alive and stuff.
And the point of telling you that I am poor is to tell you I have no insurance. I have no medicaid, I ain't got shit... except a bunch of chronic illnesses that like to make me miserable and a moral code that tells me it is wrong to run up bills and not pay them.
Beyond that, I have several diseases, all autoimmune, that don't have cures.  My experiences with doctors has been this:

I am certain there is something actually wrong with me that hasn't been diagnosed, as far as my chronic pain and lessening muscle control, but I think I come off to doctors as a hypochondriac.  I say this because I complain and I complain and they just look at me cross-armed and say "Mmhm." and nothing gets done.
I had one doctor lady stand across from me, when I was pleading that she do some test, test for MS maybe because it runs in my family and I have almost all the symptoms of it, and I was being told "we don't know what is wrong so we aren't going to do any more tests on you," please test me, for the love of God, test me,  and she crossed her arms and her legs and said in a nasty accusatory tone, "Do you WANT to have MS?"
And you know, yeah, I would rather be diagnosed with MS when I have most of the symptoms of it anyway, and actually fucking be treated, than to sit in a room with shitty doctors who treat you like crap because you have problems that they don't have a name for. You get screwed because your symptoms are too hard to figure out and testing costs money and you don't have money, and people subsequently think you are making it all up, but you are in pain all the time and you know this is real.
So, I have tried to get help but all of the agencies say that there isn't enough documentation to prove that I am sick enough. Because when I am feeling my worst, I don't want to go sit in a doctor's office, or ER, for hours to tell them "I feel like shit, I am going to take some narcotics and lie in bed for the rest of the day. " Or "I feel like shit, I am puking and crapping and I can't stop." yelled through the bathroom door of the doctor's office because I don't relish the idea of wearing a diaper out in public. Or "Hi, my intestines are bleeding again. I have ulcers on every mucus membrane of my body. I can't sit up because it hurts so bad. You can't do anything about it because taking steroids all the time is going to kill me... so hi, bye, thanks for writing it down after I sat here miserable for 5 hours. That will be $500 I don't have. Please, make sure you call me every day to stress me about it which will make all of this flare worse."
And because it has been suggested that they can't do anything for me, it seems an exercise in futility to mention it. I don't WANT to spend every second thinking about being sick. I want to ignore it and do whatever I can to bring myself joy (like writing this blarg here, that I love, and interacting with all of you), but in order to get any help from any agency that is in place (disability, voc. rehab, etc), it seems that you can't have a moment of joy in your life, which is about how I feel right now. So, please, I can have help nao?

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)

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.

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.

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.

These Boots Were Made for Walking... Dead

Look, "The Walking Dead," I like you, or at least I want to like you, but fer real... I am going to have to start rooting for the zombies soon if you don't stop with making the humans complete freaking idiots.

I mean, yes, they are in the middle of a zombie apocalypse, they are a little stressed, I get that, but I cannot continue to spend the rest of the series yelling "OMG STFU you IDIOT!!!!" at my television.  Zombies=STFU. They just do. When things want to eat your flesh and/or brains, that is not the time for obnoxious whimpering or squealing or crying. It is time for absolute stillness and silence.

You're going to need to cover blood pressure pills for me if this continues.

Do not remove under penalty of law!

Now that they make clothing with screen printed tags in them, standard, I find myself very angry with all of my old clothes. It is barbaric, being stuck in the neck by a scratchy tag all the time. In my moments of anger, it seems like the only way to address the problem is with FIRE!

Don't Get Attached.

This morning, I tried to convince my mom to stop using crapo.com for her email service after talking her through the set up for a gmail account.  She pays 10 dollars a year for crapo-mail and has been using it since 1997.   It won't attach more than one item at a time. It sends forwards as attachments.  It takes up to two hours to send emails to my hotmail account at peak hours. It is, in fact, a piece of crap, especially for a paid service. She thinks it is fine.

I think that there is a fundamental difference in the way my generation uses computers compared to that of my mother's generation.   When I use a computer, having had access to them the majority of my life, I want the process to be completely efficient. I want to avoid erroneous clicking and mouse movements and downloading anything, ever. If I am forwarded something, the last thing I want to do is download a file to my computer that I have to open with another program to read a joke about a cheeky octogenarian ordering milk for a bath.  We don't even have milkmen anymore! And who the hell sells unpasteurized milk!?

My mom, on the other hand, is used to reading mail the conventional (read:old fashioned) way.  She expects to open an envelope, unfold a letter, and flip through the 6 different attached Sunday Funnies clipped from the newspaper, so she has no qualms about having to click 4 different things to get a stupid joke forward to open.  If she could do eBay via postcard, she would.  She won't, however, click links that I send her in emails.  Somehow she has learned that downloading things on her computer is fine, but links are super dangerous, especially those sent by your computer savvy daughter. Or maybe it is because crapo-mail doesn't generate clickable links in their incoming emails and she doesn't know how to copy and paste them...

Isla de la Comida Robada

I'd like to talk for a moment about one of the most terrifyingly unsettling members of our society.  As usual, it is a commercial that reminds me, because I watch a lot of commercials while I am not paying attention to the TV, whilst screwing around online, but I digress.

While I am a peace-loving, Pollyanna, give-everyone-the-benefit-of-the-doubt type of girl, I think that people who habitually and purposely steal other peoples' lunches in the work place are bad bad people.

Seriously, and I am not talking about, "starving, come in off the street, just need something to eat."  I'm talking about the kind of sociopath who has a job, money, and a lunch hour where they could go purchase their own food, or order take out, and yet, there they are, stalking through the lunches of their coworkers, stealing food for the sheer thrill of doing so.  These people are untrustworthy douchebags and should be shunned from society.

I mean, what has to be going through their heads?  They work with their victims.  They are committing their crime in a public area.  People look forward to lunch.  They know what they brought to eat. It is just unconscionable.

The best (and most logical) punishment, in my estimation, is a Lord of the Flies/ LOST sort of scenario in which discovered lunch thieves are placed on a desert island and all forced to make elaborate, delicious lunches each day, which they then put in a refrigerator that is routinely raided by crazed monkeys or possibly genetically-engineered dinosaurs, leaving them having to eat grubs and coconut milk for eternity.

They should also be fired.

Oh, I broke a nail!

When I was a kid, my sister and I used to crack up at the Lee Press-on Commercial that went like this:

Lady getting ready for a date.

Lady randomly jambs finger into wall then exclaims, "Oh, I broke a nail!"

Yadda yadda, buy plastic nails to cover up that you can't keep yourself from ramming your finger into walls for no reason. Now in GRAPE!

Only, after 32 years (I discount the years that I had no teeth in this figuring) I have stopped biting my fingernails*, and now, I have a little more sympathy for Ms. Lee Press-on, as I constantly ram my fingernails into things and myself because I am totally not used to them being there. Maybe I should invest in some Press-On Nails, just in case...


*I just forgot to do it in March of this year, and haven't really gotten around to it since... eventually, I'm sure I'll get back to it.

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!

The Case of the Cotton Candy Tree- SOLVED

So you know how I posted this tree the other day?

It was a tree Farmville didn't have*, which is why I drew it... 'cause a cotton candy tree is pretty boss, right?
And apparently someone at Farmville thought so too, because 5 days after I posted this image... which received an enormous amount of hits this weekend, thanks to a link from Cakewrecks, they created THIS:

Hrm, what an awesome idea... a cotton candy tree!

With a grey trunk, with white stripes on it...

That they are selling... 

That seems to be made on the fly because it is programmed with the information for a gum tree, not a cotton candy tree, but these things happen, right?

I'm not saying that Farmville has people stalking me to steal my ideas, because that would just be nutty, but I don't think it is outside the realm of possibility that my tree was seen and it inspired someone to create this as a result.

Until it is proven otherwise, I think I should put "concept artist for Farmville/Zynga" on my resume'.

*Proven otherwise, apparently they had it as a special item for a week during November, when I wasn't playing...I'm a dork... total coincidence, this is what happens when you're neurotic kids. Sorry FarmVille... nothing to see here.

Farmville Finishing School

Many people keep in touch with their friends and family via Facebook, and it is a great way to keep up. I adore Facebook; all my favorite people are there. But, every once in a while there arises a problem. Many of the friends and family members who we are glad to keep in touch with on Facebook also love playing social media games (read: Farmville) and, unfortunately, a few of them get a little over-excited and behave badly when it comes to common gaming courtesy. These are not things they would do face-to-face, of course, some of them even taught you the manners they are ignoring, but on the tubes, they sometimes need a little nudge in the courteous direction.

*shoves ever so gently*

Remember, this is for people who LIKE playing games. If you don’t ‘cause you’re really cool and have an actual social life/job, don’t take it out on the rest of us game dorks. Surely you figured out long ago how to block apps, but the following should still amuse.





Like it or leave it:
"Like" is a very handy feature for game playing on Facebook. It allows you to give a nod to the poster when you've taken something they've posted. It is like tipping your hat and saying thanks. It's like thank you notes your mom made you write for terrible things you got as presents growing up because it let the person who gifted it know you received it and that you were taught manners. If you don't acknowledge the gift-givers, they get annoyed...and then you don't receive any more black sweatshirts with glitter, and musical notes, and rhinestones, because you were in the orchestra and clearly, glitter and puff paint is your style. You write that thank you note even though wearing that sweatshirt, in south Florida where it doesn't even get cold, got you made fun of your entire 7th grade year and you have nightmares about it still...
But these are actually things you want, you are actively clicking them.
So make a point to “like” things when you take them, otherwise you are just a common snatcher... a common snatcher with bad manners.

Breakin’ 2- Electric Boogaloo:
When someone is sick/on vacation/mourning the death of a loved one and makes a point of announcing it on their status, unless they are sending you requests, LEAVE THEM ALONE. Get your watering cans/valentines/wooden boards somewhere else. Coming back to 332 requests after being in the hospital for a week in traction as a result of a terrible skiing accident just adds insult to injury. You might as well just post on their wall, “I didn’t care enough to notice that you were away… it probably wasn‘t very important anyway. Can I have a pixilated sheep?”

I'll steal your honey like I stole your bike :
Don't take everything someone posts. “But there are so many gold nuggets, I just can't help myself!” Help yourself, stop at 6. Sniping is bad. People don’t like snipers. That’s why they stick them in those towers alone. It’s not for the head shots, it is because they’re uncool.

I heard she’s been givin’ it up to all them graffiti guys:
Avoid allowing a game to post things on your friends' walls unless there is a damned good reason for it (or unless they have expressed that it is okay). When you post something one someone’s wall, they get notification, often an email. Then they get all excited that they have some love from a friend on their wall when they really needed it because they were having a really hard afternoon and all they needed was a kind gesture, and there it is… only it’s not love, it is a stupid post telling them that you found some fuel on their make-believe farm and that you have nothing nice to say to them at all. It’s a let-down.
I propose that all wall posts from games should be accompanied by a note reminding the recipient of what you like about them. That way, if you are crapping up their personal wall with your pig slop (does anyone ever want pig slop?!) at least when they see it is just a stupid game request, they can have an uplifting experience, instead of just annoyance.

Sham-a-lama-ding-dong:
You’re smart enough to know when it is a scam. Really? 100 unicorns for your farm by clicking HERE! No... and you'll probably need to change your password, too.

Something’s got to give:
Again, unless you have discussed it with someone beforehand, multiple gifts (6 or more a day) are obnoxious, really, even if you need them and are sending them so they can send it back. If you figure each person is sending 3 or more gift, times the amount of people you had to add to get a 26x26 farm, that is way too many freaking requests a day. And that is just one game. Most people play several.

The corollary of which is... If someone posts that they finished a collection, or mission, or that they are avoiding it all together, don't send them those objects. Request them, sure, but don't send them.

Yes, I am saying that you should actually make an effort to know what is going on with your friend's games (yes, your friends... people who you would like not to hate you). Take a minute to research. If worse comes to worse, just add random people whose friendship doesn't matter to you and annoy the crap out of them. Who cares if internet strangers think you’re a jerk!

Thanks to Rhea, Seja, and Gemma, for helping me with various aspects of this post!

There's got to be a better way!

We all know this, but I need to say it for the record:

Printers are ASSHOLES!

Today, I say this because I just spent WAY TOO LONG doing the double crosstic crossword puzzle posted today on Cakewrecks.com on account of my printer.  It would not have taken me nearly as long if my printer hadn't decided to trick me by printing out two pages while cutting off two entire clues and multiple letters from six of the numbered answer spaces. I caught the two missing clues about an hour sooner than I caught the missing letters. And of course, there was the migraine in there that slowed me down too, but my brain is less of an asshole than printers, which generally have a shitty attitude and poor work ethic.

This video from College Humor is an exceptional example of what I am talking about:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pQGtucrJ8hM

Ode to State Taxes

Montana, I would like to pay you taxes on all of our income, but you won't give me any information ANYWHERE on your website on where to list OTHER FREAKING INCOME on ANY OF YOUR TAX FORMS!!!!! Or maybe you do, but the fact is that I can not find it anywhere by looking in the booklets of ALL of the different tax forms, or the forms themselves (using ctrl-f), or by searching your website, or by sacrificing virgins on your digital alter in the hopes that maybe you will have some freaking mercy on me. Because we are talking about a $1000 discrepancy. A THOUSAND DOLLARS that is on a 1099-misc which you don't have space for anywhere... so I can just assume you don't want me to count that money, but I am guessing you probably would like the additional 20 bucks of tax money from me on that, and I would REALLY like to avoid being audited or corrected again like last year, or whatever, and I am certainly not paying 30 bucks to have H&R Block do it. . .


I just have to say, the state of Montana is very lucky that I am filing electronically or I would be rubbing the tax forms all over my ass before sending them out!

Fine, damn it, I called and talked to Tax Man Brian and I found out where to put the damned thing, but in this day and age I should not have to interact with actual humans to get information!

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.

Sticky Situation

I am almost physically incapable of interacting with syrup without getting some in my hair, eyebrows, arm hair, etc.

I didn't even consume any syrup today. I simply poured a tiny bit onto pancakes my nephew was eating for  lunch and I ended up with a piece of crumpled straw wrapper coated in strawberry syrup stuck to the side of my head.

I am fairly certain other people don't have this problem.

When gadgets attack!

I love my husband a lot but he has a tendency to go a little overboard when we get new gadgets, to the point that I now have to map out exactly how each new purchase can be misused before buying it.

Like there was a time when we were given a paper shredder, though I had specifically avoided getting a shredder, and he stayed up all night to shred all of the paper in the house. ALL OF THE PAPER. No really, all of it... not only old documents we needed to get rid of but newspapers and printer paper, as well as the drawing my friend's daughter had drawn for me of Ron Weasely... that he took off my bulletin board and shredded when he ran out of other papers to shred.

And then there was the time, when we first moved in together and I got him a vacuum sealer.  At first it was just all of the things in the refrigerator, including making individual packages of salad dressing from the large bottle to take to work with me. That was handy. But then, I came home from work one day and everything in the house that would fit in the plastic sleeves was vacuum sealed. My toy collection, my art supplies... anything he could fit... no matter how inconvenient or ridiculous it was. For weeks after, I would go to look for something and find, oh look, there is my watch... carefully sealed in a little plastic pouch. Ah, the spare dental floss.