The Real Reason Cats Knock Cups Over

I am sure you have all seen the hilarious sign that reads: "Please don't leave drinks unattended [the cat's an asshole]!"

What if cats aren't the assholes?

Dropsy

My hands are uncooperative today. 

Earlier today, I dropped my Kindle on my face while reading, giving myself a fat lip (though, as I said on twitter shortly after it happened, I was glad it was the kindle and not The Stand by Stephen King, which is what I was actually reading on the kindle, because that book would have given me a fat lip and knocked my tooth out... it's really big).

Before I started writing this, I grabbed my remote control to mute the show that was on TV to watch a video on Facebook and I ended up losing my grip on the remote and launching it at my laptop screen. I was concerned that it had broken the screen, but it seems to be okay. 

I think my point is, don't have me hold your baby today.

How I learned not to pack pick axes.

What with my trip tomorrow, I have been perusing the TSA website for potential lulz, and by potential lulz, I mean for lists of things that sane people would probably NOT try to bring on a plane.

As a collector of snow globes and meat cleavers, I can't tell you how disappointing this is.


*FYI, pre-purchase of art from the "Cheeseblarg Takes Manhattan" project through the donation link on "The Good, the Bad, and the Cheeseblarg Takes Manhattan" is available until October 29th.  After that, art will be available for sale on Cheeseblarg's Etsy site at retail prices.

Life in a Vacuum.

My husband is vacuuming in our bedroom, where I am, and while I appreciate that there will be less debris on the floor from my favorite blanket that likes to unravel itself, leaving strings everywhere, I really hate the vacuum cleaner.  See, our room is not all that big and there are times that he has to pick up the vacuum, to get to other parts of the room, which he does while it is still on, and it makes one of the worst sounds I have ever heard, like a garbage truck falling off the empire state building.

The vacuum itself is from the 1960s and I don't think a single part of it has ever been oiled since it was made, by the amount of squeaking coming from it. It also has its own transmission, since it weighs a ton, and you have to be careful not to get pulled under it... which is part of the reason that I refuse to vacuum.  As well as the fact that loud sounds startle me and it is very hard to vacuum whilst curled up in the fetal position with your hands over your ears.

And I must admit, my cat like reaction to the vacuum cleaner might have possibly been influenced by the movie "Mr. Mom", which is about an evil vacuum cleaner that likes to eat woobies.  That is what it's about, right? Well, that's what I took away from it. Vacuums are bad and have evil intentions, always.

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I entered this contest to redesign a Guylian candy box. There is a substantial cash prize I'd like to win to remedy that "no income" thing.  Half the score is likes from friends, family, whoever you can sucker into clicking, so, if you would click like to vote for mine, it would go towards possibly winning me a buttload of money that I can then use to take myself to the Grand Canyon, and I would be greatly appreciative. =D  

Click here and like over on the right, by my name, please, and then send over everyone you know!

P.S. Thanks to those who have bought stickers and donated! You helped get my husband's medicines this month so he doesn't have any more strokes!  <3

Travel Fantasy: Saint Louis, Missouri

I'm absolutely in love with the St. Louis Arch.  Of course, like most of the objects of my affection, it is totally uninterested in me, and pretty much just tolerates me standing near it and sighing, because it enjoys the attention and doesn't mind stringing people along. But as much as I love it, standing under it, looking up, I feeling slightly nauseated and anxious because it is just SO BIG, which I suppose kinda works with the crush metaphor but also sounds pretty wrong in that context.
Fine, fine, I am more like a stalker of the St. Louis Arch, because I drive past it and stare longingly at it every time I have the opportunity, and I am afraid to get up in it, and it makes me anxious, but I love it so. I really do.

The Saint Louis Arch (at my last drive-by with photobombing llama, of course.)


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This is my entry into the NileGuide Travel Fantasy Contest... and it is all completely true!

Limitations

I learned today, while sitting in front of my computer, that I do not have the ability to eat a chicken soft taco using only one hand.

Terror- It's What's for Dinner!

I often say that I wish that dinner would make itself for me, but no.  No.... if I came out, and food was actually making itself, the last thing I would want to do is eat it.

OMG! 100th POST!

HEY! HEY GUISE!!! This is my 100th post! OMG!!! I started this blarg in November because I wanted to bitch about my computer's touchpad. It is still a jerk, for the record. I think it would work better if I only had one finger. Damn my other fingers for being within THREE INCHES of the touch pad, DAMN THEM!


So, I'd like to tell you about one of the most frightening experiences of my teen years.  I grew up in a house in Miami Beach in a kinda middle class neighborhood.  My sister and I were both lucky enough to have our own rooms but we shared a bathroom.  Each night, there was an ongoing battle (that my sister probably didn't know was happening... can't recall ever bringing it up to her).

See, I am taller than my sister, and I'm also neurotic, as I have mentioned, and I was much more reserved than she was back then. So, every night when I went to take a shower, I would carefully stick together the pink plastic curtain that covered the big window in the shower (who the hell puts a giant window in a shower?!?) so that none of our neighbors would accidentally catch of glimpse of me while I was naked in the shower, that had a giant window in it... at my chest level, for some damned reason.  Of course, this meant I had to blindly fish for the shampoo and conditioners that were on the window sill behind the curtain, but it seemed worth it, because I am neurotic. Every single night, I would go in there and the curtain would be wide open and I would stick it back together, and every time my sister used it, being NOT neurotic, she would open it with wild abandon to get to the shampoo like a normal person.

And so it happened that I got up in the middle of the night, one night, to use the bathroom.  I sat down, half asleep, and started to pee.  And then I noticed movement to my left, towards the shower where my sister had left the curtain open.  'Ah,' I thought to myself plainly, 'It's just the shrub under the window.' And then it dawned on me, in slow motion. 'The shrub... is under my bedroom window.... not the bathroom...." at which point I turned my head ever so slowly to the left and saw the following:

Okay, he may not have had a Jason mask on, but I swear to weasels, that is what my brain interpreted in the split second I saw it. And then he was treated to the lovely view of me scrambling off the toilet (thankfully, I had finished peeing), pulling up my pants as I crawled, on all fours, out of the room.

Once I got out in the the hallway and shut the door, I tore through the house towards my parent's room and woke them up shouting that someone was looking in the window. This resulted in my dad pulling on his running shorts, backwards apparently, busting through the front door and chasing the Peeping Tom down our street holding up his shorts (that were threatening to fall off)  with one hand and waving, what I remember as a machete (but could have been either an ax handle or a Louisville Slugger), in his other hand, barefoot. He might have been yelling too.

I can't remember if that stopped the battle of the open curtain, but probably not.  It did give me a sort of kinship with Rockwell though.

Super (Sad) Bowl

I've spent my day cooking a ridiculous amount of food for my family for the Super Bowl.  We don't follow any teams, especially since our state doesn't have a football team, but I like excuses to cook and be ridiculous, and I like the commercials.

And I wasn't going to post anything, but I wanted to bolster the self-esteem of this poor bowl in my kitchen, the Super Sad Bowl, or I assume it must be because it attempted to jump out of my hands and plummet to its death EVERY time I picked it up.  No other kitchen implements did that, so I have to guess it is really unhappy and has given up on life.

But I want it to know that it doesn't have to feel so sad, because I really care about it.  Bowl, you were VERY helpful while I was cooking.  You did a really good job and I appreciate you a lot. It's not just when you are working though bowl, I appreciate you all the time, even when you are just sitting there on the shelf. So, cheer up little bowl;

I LOVE YOU!

Dare I say, WE love you!