Hanukkah 2013: 8th Night- Doctor Whonukkah- The Last

On the 8th night of Hanukkah your Cheeseblarg gives to you:

A weeping angel to creep you out.

Needle felted by me... inquire by email if you want one of your own for $75 plus shipping.

The episode "Blink" from Doctor Who is one of the greatest episodes of the series, very much so because you don't have to know much about the Whoniverse to watch the episode; it really stands alone. If you've not seen it, I highly recommend it. You can watch it on Netflix by going to Season Three- Episode 11 of the new Doctor Who series.* Again, it doesn't need much explanation, other than it helps to know that the series is about a man named The Doctor and in this season, he is played by David Tennant, so you know him when you see him.

It is almost guaranteed to make you a Whovian, so prepare yourself for great amounts of joy to come!

With that, Happy Hanukkah, and Merry Eventual Christmas! I hope your enjoyed your presents. Cheeseblarg loves you, yadda.

And since I'm not hiding things from you anymore, finally, the whole tree!

Don't forget to comment! I'll announce the winner of the Dino Ball in two days!

*There are also skeevy places to watch it on the internet in its entirety, if you're into being a criminal and whatnot.

MY EYEBALLS!!!!!

Oh yeah, because I am going blind from all the floaters in my eyes, and the flashy things. 

I'm still not okay with it.

If they blind me with their eye touching machine, I am going to be angry.

And my drawings will probably not be as pretty as they are now.

Hanukkah 2011- 4th Night- Goodness Gracious

We are trying to teach my nephew the skill of being gracious. When you are going to get crappy gifts, you need to just suck it up and be as gracious as possible, because as much as we all are thinking it, it makes people angry when you say "I don't want this. Can I have something else?"

Tonight, I am testing your graciousness. And by that, I mean I got you a BEAUTIFUL piece of art that made me think of you the moment I saw it. I just KNOW you will LOVE IT!

Bonus points if you print it out and display it and provide me with proof in your thank you note.

(look over there to the left, click to open this OR scroll down)

Hanukkah 2011- 3rd Night- Spuna Snax!

A common Hanukkah present theme is bargain food items, and here I am representing. I even have recipe ideas I've drawn up  for you! Enjoy!

Baru hata adanoi... I don't know how to really transcribe Hebrew but that is how it sounds to me... probably a lot like the song Ken Lee to a real Hebrew speaker...

Nom nom click/scroll

Another time I thought I had cancer.

I learned yesterday that I don't like having needles stuck into my face.  I had an inkling before that it was the sort of thing that I would not be in to, but having it done totally cemented in my mind that I REALLY don't like it. I probably like it more than the prospect of having cancer though, which is why I allowed my doctor to put a needle into my face.  If he had just been like, "You know what would be fun? Stabbing you in the face with a needle!" and then he'd come at me all:

 I would have had to use my Hamster Style on him.

But why was a doctor sticking a needle into your face, JRose?

Funny you should ask.

On Friday, my face went all Volcano-mode and the mole by my nose did a dramatic recreation of the movie 2012.

I thought, eh, pimple, whatevs, because I like to talk to myself like I am cool and hep, as the kids say. I kept screwing with it 'til it popped because if I have a giant "end of the world" sort of face sore, I cannot do anything but poke and prod until it goes away or I pass out from pain.
I am not sure what it was, I don't think it was actually a pimple, but it had its sights on my signature mole which is now gone completely because it fell off.  PART OF MY FACE FELL OFF! One of my favorite parts of my face, too. I mean, I would miss my eyelids more, but I really liked that damned mole.

Of course, by "fell off" I mean I kept messing with the little flappy part that was threatening to fall off until it ripped off, but the results are the same, a bloody gross face hole that I was pretty sure was the deadliest kind of cancer, because I always think everything is the worst thing it could ever be... and obviously, my inane expectation that I'm going to die eminently led me to the doctor's office where I allowed him to inject shots into my face to do a biopsy because while it probably isn't cancer, he says, it would super suck to be wrong.

And now I feel sorry for strangers who have to look at my post-biopsy face because I am sure they must feel uncomfortable looking at me. It kind of looks like someone put a cigarette out on my face, which should totally be my story if anyone breaks social code and asks why I am so horribly disfigured.

It's a Trap!

I was reading an article on how to succeed at blarging, and apparently, it is my failure to "get a celebrity" that is holding me back.

I am assuming, at this point, that there is some secret to "getting a celebrity" that is being purposefully hidden from me, because celebrity endorsement is motherfucking elusive. Or more likely, it will take something enticing like... money, or... something of some sort of value to get acknowledged, because offerings of llama drawings have, thus far, been summarily ignored, as have portrait paintings and obnoxious @ messages on twitter.


I'm thinking that I should build some sort of celebrity trap, which makes me sound a bit like a serial killer, but I promise, I don't want to harm them... I would just chain them up for a fortnight and make them tweet links to my hilarious posts at which point I would let them go, if they promised not to press charges.

I just have to work out a) how to get celebrities to come to Montana, and b) what kind of bait I should use.

If you know a celebrity, send them my way...but if you link them to this post, tell them I was joking about the bear trap... and the new car.

The Crazy Eyes

Here is some special insider artist information from me to the blargisphere... just in case you find yourself being constantly called crazy (in part) because you take bizarre pictures that end up on the fronts of magazines and the world continues to make fun of you...

It's really in the positioning. Any show of over iris gives that alarmed/rabid animal look. This is a no-no if you want to appear sane. In general, the lids should touch the top and bottom of the iris, but most people can get away with some under iris before they get to full dismissive eyeroll territory.

Also, for the record: Eyes should match.  So there you go... because I like to be helpful.

Why broken windows are bad.

Today, I would like to talk about another of my great hatreds.

When I first moved in with my husband, who was then my boyfriend, we lived in a house that belonged to one of his coworkers, who also lived there with his cat named Nigel.  Nigel liked to go outside and hunt in the overgrown jungle that surrounded the house, and so, whether by happy accident, or on purpose, I never asked, one of the panes of the French doors at the entrance of the house was busted out which made a makeshift cat door.

But of course, as the case always is, nature doesn't follow the rules of a house and the cat was not the only thing that was able to enter through that door, no, not just the cat.

There was the night that I walked out towards the bathroom and saw a large raccoon happily eating the cat food in the front room, but that is not what this is about.

This is about the flying creatures that trespassed into the house.

Moths have always bothered me (especially since I share their desire to hurt myself with bright lights) but one evening, it was kicked in to full blown phobia realms.  I went into the kitchen and opened the cabinet to get ingredients for dinner.

 I had cut up some chicken and grabbed a box of seasoned rice to make a quick fry up, and so I melted butter in the pan and poured the rice into the pan to brown it before I added the water.

 Only, some of the rice was moving.

And then I looked in the box and found a moth, obviously a mommy moth, and then I screamed, and cried in a  totally hysterical manner, before throwing the rice away and all of the boxes of rice that were in the pantry.  And then I went out to buy the biggest container of mothballs that I could possibly find.

I've gotten to the point where I no longer need to make my house smell like that of a grandma (it only took a few years), but I still am prone to screaming and flapping when a moth finds its way into my environment, and I call (read: screech)  for its immediate removal and/or murder.

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.

 ____________________________________________________________

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

Dirty, dirty baby-hater!

I don't have any children.  I don't want to have any children. I’m not going to have children.

I like kids just fine (as should be evident by how much I adore my nephew), but I like kids when they are able to reliably use the bathroom on their own, and are able to be reasoned with.
Little itty bitty babies, on the other hand, scare the living hell out of me.

In the past, people have given me the "OMG how can you not like babies!? You were once a baby!" argument and I don't even know what kind of logic that is supposed to be. If I once had the flu, would I have to like sick people? Because I don’t. I can commiserate with them that we both were sick (or babies) once, but that doesn’t make me like them by default.

In actuality, I once had a boss threaten to fire me because I let it be known that I don't like babies.  It's not like I was punching babies, or threatening to eat babies, or had any plans to be menacing towards babies, I just simply said, while doing an exercise talking about fears "GHA! I hate babies, they scare the crap out of me!" which I didn't realize was such a controversial statement until I was counseled the next day for being a 'dirty dirty baby hater.'  I MIGHT have also drawn a picture to go along with the exercise personifying my fear (which was also part of the assignment- to draw your fear as a monster) that looked something like this:

But I still assert that it does not make me fire-worthy.

Let me make it clear, it is not like I sat down one day and made a conscious choice not to enjoy babies. I didn't have any baby trauma, they just aren't my thing and never have been.

And again, I am not against the idea of babies. I don't sit around thinking about ways to conquer babies. I have no problem with other people having them, and loving them, and being excited by them, except that people get very upset with you if you don't actively participate in the sport of adoring the crap out of them… and I don’t.

To PM or NOT to PM, that is the question!

To me, private messages on Facebook are for things that you don't want to discuss aloud.  It is like a whispered conversation.  As such, it is immeasurably creepy when you ask an innocuous question of someone, or send them a birthday wish, and they see fit to answer you with a private message.
Here are some scenarios in which it is both appropriate and inappropriate to private message someone.

Times when it is appropriate to private message someone:

OR anything that is actually private or doesn't need to be shared with everyone you know...

Times when a private message is inappropriate:

OR

OR

Yeah, this one... don't do that... if it is SO creepy you know it is inappropriate for the general public, just keep it inside, please.

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.

The Woodsman

Sorry for my sporadic absences, but I'm fairly certain there is a crazed woodsman with a hatchet in my brain cavity.  He looks a lot like "Texx with two Xs" in my mind.  My nephew warned me about him after watching Scooby-Doo, but I told him I was impervious to woodsmen... which seems to be untrue.

I actually have a long history of migraine headaches, and have tried many things to get rid of them.  The first prophylactic intervention was a blood pressure medicine, but seeing as I have low blood pressure usually, it basically made me sleep 18 hours a day... after which I usually woke up with a dull aching in my head.

And then there was the Topomax, which was one of the worst experiences of my life.  I trogged through days of crying hysterically at insanely stupid things (like not being able to find my keys in my purse and then realizing that my husband had used them and I would have to walk back inside to get them), not being able to drive at all because I was too spaced out, scaring the hell out of my family with aggressive behavior that I don't recall at all, and then the proverbial straw on the back of a overloaded camel, forgetting how to walk.

I guess you would call it forgetting how to walk...  I came out of the bathroom walking just fine, I abruptly stopped and then I was standing there, a few steps from the end of my bed, trying to will myself to walk forward and lay down and my brain's answers was, "Nope, I don't believe we will be doing that."  So I stood there, swaying, while my husband tried to figure out what the hell I was doing, and had a silent conversation in my head trying to convince my brain to let me move, that sounded like this:

Me: Uh, I'd like to lay down now...
Brain: Nope...
Me: No really, let's lay down.
Brain: Yeah... no.
Me: But this is really easy, just go forward, bend at knees, plop onto bed?
Brain: Yeah... not gonna happen.
Me (thinking): I could just flop onto the bed and be done with this foolishness...
Brain: You know I can hear you, right...?

Somehow I indicated to my husband what was happening and he came and helped me lower myself onto the bed.  At that moment, an executive decision was made that being able to move at will was really important to me and I would no longer be taking devil drugs to prevent migraines.

At the most now, I lose several hours a day to sitting in dark rooms and crying that my brain is being hacked apart while I wait for my medications to kick in.  I find though, that it is a far sight better than being completely useless 24 hours a day from drugs that are designed to stop me from having a few hours of pain.



Note: My doctor is convinced it is just migraines though I've had no MRIs or CAT scans w/ contrast (because I have no insurance so they avoid those expensive tests, though I think I'll be forcing the issue next month when I see her)... but it is not vision problems, or blood pressure. And it is not caffeine or lack of caffeine, or diet, or exercise... changing all of those things makes no difference at all... my brain is just an asshole... or there is a crazed woodsman in there.

More terrifying than a barrel of monkeys!

I don't think "fun" is the appropriate adjective for a barrel of monkeys.  And who the hell stores monkeys in a barrel, anyway?  That seems really cruel.

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.

I vant to suck your blood!

I am usually fairly level-headed and logical, silly, yes, but firmly rooted in reality.

However, I have learned that I am not immune from drawing completely ridiculous conclusions when my brain is challenged by information that just doesn't make sense in how it knows the world is supposed to work.

That incident, in this case, was the time that my husband had innocently propped a mirrored tile up against the front of the mirror next to our bed.  I had been laying in bed watching a movie and I sat up to go to the bathroom and looked to my left at the mirror, because I always look in mirrors if there is a mirror available, or at my reflection in windows, cars, etc.  I'm obsessed with looking at myself. Anyway... I sat up and looked to the left and the mirrored tile just happened to be exactly where my head was and when I looked, instead of seeing my face in the mirror as I expected, I saw only the white reflection of the wall behind me (which was actually the ceiling I was seeing).

And my immediate thought was, "OMG! I'm a vampire!!!" And then in my flailing panic, I realized that when I moved I could see myself around the white patch of mirror, and then I felt dumb... and also relieved that I was not a vampire.

Something in the pipes.

There is a nightly ritual in my house. It goes like this:

Me (yelled throughout house): TAKING A SHOWER!!!
Family (yelled back through house): OKAY!!
Me, happily showering.
Burbling clicking sound.
Water slows to a trickle.
Horrid screeching monster sound from pipes as a result of family member turning on water despite my making them aware I would be in the shower and they should not flush toilets/do dishes/water the lawn.
Me, being angry/frightened/concerned by my bleeding ears.

I've had water systems before that didn't like other water being used, but seriously, the pipes in my house now sound like they are possessed by some sort of terrible terrible creature.

Don't miss the video of the sounds  in the next post!