Anxiety is a hell of a drug.

     Well not really. I just like to sound like a jaded 70s club queen sometimes. Keeps things interesting. So, anyway! I'm back from my adventure! I went gallivanting off to Louisiana to visit mon petit ami, which was a really big test for me to see how far I've come in dealing with my anxiety. As you'll know if you've been reading for a while, homegirl has problems. Problems interacting with people, or being haunted by slightly embarrassing mistakes for years longer than is strictly necessary, or worrying myself to the point of physical illness over all the things that could potentially go wrong in a given situation. So you can see where flying alone across five states and a time zone, with a layover in the middle, could be a bit of a challenge for me. But in the words of the great Meatloaf, I would do anything for love (but he wouldn't do that. He sucks. Ipso facto, I'm a better girlfriend than Meatloaf. Schwing!), so I put on my big girl pants (they're leggings) and did it anyway. And I was really pleasantly surprised by how non-anxious I was! Airports are designed for dum-dums in the first place, so navigating them wasn't difficult at all, and it wasn't even stressful to interact with the people working in them or on the planes, because in a place like an airport, you know the employees have all seen some shit. They are used to the stupidest, most belligerent people on earth; you'd have to do something incredibly, catastrophically, brain-meltingly stupid for them to even remember it. So it doesn't matter if the question you need answered really is stupid. 

     Aside from those sort of organizational, "be in place A at time B" aspects of traveling, it was completely stress-free. That's what makes me say "Anxiety is a hell of a drug." It's so amusing to me that my brain decides talking to the nice old dude at the ticket counter is cause for abject terror, while hurtling through the sky at 500 miles per hour in a tuna can with wings is a totally chill delight. It's like all the fear I was allotted in this life was assigned to people and the passage of time, and there was none left to go towards normal things like fear of, oh, I dunno, literally any situation that could lead to my death. I've said it before and I'll say it again: Brains are funny little things. 

     So yes! I can now officially boast having traveled alone without getting irreparably lost (keyword irreparably. I got lost driving once, but I figured it out, so it doesn't count) or having a panic attack. The only issue I ran into is the part during takeoff where it feels like your head is squashing down like a Barbie face under a shoe. I still don't love that. 

 Yes, like dees.

If I call these Vignettes does it sound fancier?

     Basically let's just take a look at some of the weird unexplained crap on my phone and make it weird explained crap. Yeah? Yeah. 

     In case you were curious what I'd look like if I dyed my hair purple, the answer is "an alien hooker from the moon." Glad we could clear that up! Amanda had dug out her purple wig from Halloweens past for some reason, then asked if I wanted to try it on. Girl you know I wanna try on all the wigs. Have we even met? 

     Basically my life in a nutshell. Or my life in a Tumblr error message, as it were. 

     My current favorite Tea Party sign. And by favorite I mean FITS OF BURNING SEETHING RAGE. Like dudes, you can have more than one crisis at a time. Cause we definitely have lots of crises right now. And I'm not even sure this stance is consistent with your party views. Like if you actually go to the website listed on this very sign (I don't know what compelled me to do so -- journalistic integrity, let's call it? -- but it's exactly what you'd expect: a flashback to 1998 before we could do fancy internet things) there's a National Debt counter at the bottom of the page. So clearly they're at least a little concerned about debt. So I'm not sure how they're determining the threshold for when exactly something becomes a threat, here. Oh and don't worry, I wasn't driving when I took this picture, I was stopped waiting for a train to go through off to the right. 

     Hey, surprise, I still excel at getting videogame cars stuck in places that no one else could get stuck in even if they were trying! The best part is that you'd think I was driving up the stairs and got stuck on the corner, but nope. Fell from the sky and just nestled right in there after driving over another car and getting some big air.

Things are wrong with me.

     Like, lots of things. Big things (holla anxiety club!), little things. Ok, a lot of little things. Let's examine this for a second.

THING 1: I GET IRRATIONALLY ANGRY AT PEOPLE WHO SHUCK CORN IN THE STORE

     I can't even explain why this makes me so angry. They put a big bin by the corn specifically to accommodate these people. But it still infuriates me. It's one thing to peel back the husk a bit to make sure it's a good ear. It is completely another to stand there and shuck six ears of corn in the middle of Food Lion while everyone waits to get around you and pick their corn, which they will then shuck at home LIKE A DECENT HUMAN BEING. It's just such a weird thing to do! Do you peel your bananas in the store too, ya freak of nature?

THING 2: I AM INCAPABLE OF EATING A MCDONALD'S CHEESEBURGER NORMALLY

     This is apparently a thing I started doing when I was very, very young, and then just never grew out of, sort of like having an incredibly on-point startle reflex (I spend a lot of time looking like Edvard Munch's The Scream). It has to go pickles first, top bun, then burger. Bottom bun is garbage. When I was very little the bottom bun went to my grandparents' dog, but then he tried to rip my throat out, so he didn't get the bottom bun anymore after that because we were not friends anymore. It's only McDonald's burgers, too. A burger from literally any other place on earth gets eaten normally. Fortunately I pretty much only eat at McDonald's when I'm hungover, so people don't have to witness this spectacle of horror very often.

THING 3: ANIMAL SQUEAL OF DOOM

     I can't not shriek the name of an animal when I see one. It's another one of the ways in which I'm still at the developmental level of small child, I guess. Even when I'm driving. Even when I'm driving alone. Always. There will never be a time that I see a horse and don't squeal "pony!!!!" at a pitch un-hearable by any animal other than dogs, dolphins, bats, and old people with very sensitive hearing aids. Sometimes there is clapping involved. It is somewhat embarrassing.

Lemme tell you a story.

     A story of brain fog. A story of loss. A story of how I'm getting stupider with each passing day and should not be trusted to attempt general life without proper supervision. A story of breakfast. 

     Picture it: Virginia, 2014. Jen called and woke me up bright and early to tell me, basically, "GET READY NOW AND COME TO MY HOUSE THIS INSTANT." So I put on the things most closely resembling actual clothes I could find (basically a transition from jimjams to slightly more acceptable loungewear), made a quick but unenthusiastic attempt at taming my hair, and was just about ready to go when I realized wait! I hadn't eaten breakfast! The most important meal of the day (Trailed closely by second breakfast)! But I didn't have any time; the alarm was set and you have 30 seconds to get out of the house before your presence will alert the hounds after you set it. So I figured I'd grab a Toaster Scramble out of the fridge in the garage and toast it at Jen's house. 

     Then my old arch-foe, packaging showed up. No matter how hard I pulled apart that stupid plastic baggie they come in, I could not gain access to my savory tasty breakfast. But I didn't give up. I just kept pulling. I channeled my inner athlete to gain dominance over this bag. But I guess I channeled a little too much, because I went full Hulk-hands and absolutely EXPLODED the bag open, sending Toaster Scrambles flying in every direction. One on the floor, one on the hood of the SUV next to me, one that I managed to catch mid-air. I swore a blue streak, but picked them up within five seconds (Hi, I'm disgusting and don't care about floor germs) and shoved them back in the box, then got on my way. 

     Then this morning I returned to the scene of the crime to see if today I couldn't fetch myself some breakfast without catastrophic failure. I noticed there was one less in the box than there would have been if only the one I had were eaten, but figured someone else must have had one. 

     Halfway through the day yesterday, my mom walks up to me and drops a Toaster Scramble in my lap. "Guess where I found this?" she asked. I shrugged, but had a feeling I was about to be in trouble. "Behind the bug guard on the hood of the car" she said incredulously. This was yesterday, I remind you. The exploding bag incident was on TUESDAY. Which means I left a Toaster Scramble on the hood of a car for two days. And it stayed there through two days of driving! I showed that Toaster Scramble more sights than it had any hope or expectation of seeing. I gave it a good life. Showed it the world. 

     I don't even know how it managed to stay there for two whole days. That seems like it ought to defy physics or something. Like we're lucky it didn't come shimmying up the windshield after a short stop and scare the shit out of someone. Or like if nothing else, a tenacious bird should have run off with it. 

     How do these things even happen to me? I don't even feel like there's a lesson to be learned here. Don't use your Hulk-hands on breakfast-food packaging? Always check your car's exterior for stray pastries? Maybe it's a metaphor for perseverance? I DON'T EVEN KNOW YOU GUYS. 

What even?

     I've been having kind of a creative block so I thought I'd check the folder I have on my computer where I put things that I can't stop thinking about late at night. Supposedly it's good to get them down somewhere because then your brain can rest easy knowing you can pick it up another time. Except... I can't, because what even is this? Why was I so upset about this that I had to get it all out before I could sleep? Direct quote:

"I legitimately thought the lyrics to the Raffi "Peanut Butter Sandwich" song were "Peanut butter sandwich made with jam/ one for me and one for Uncle Sam" for the longest time. Like, whole life longest time. From childhood until a few months ago when Jen got the cd to play for the babies. I guess I just thought it was a cheery little pro-tax propaganda piece telling kids "hey, if you're making a sandwich make sure you make one for Uncle Sam, too, cause that's your civic duty." Now I find out it's actually "one for me and one for David Amram," who is...a composer, I guess? He didn't compose that song, that's for damn sure, so I'm not sure why he's in it. Now I don't know how to feel about it. When I thought we were making an extra sandwich for Uncle Sam I was kind of ok with it, like yeah it's kind of a pain but if you give Uncle Sam a peanut butter sandwich (made with jam) he will reciprocate with funding for roads and schools, and hey that's a pretty ok deal. But this David Amram, what has he done for me lately? What has he done to merit a sandwich? Why would I just make him one for no reason? Because Raffi tells me to? If Raffi told me to jump off a bridge, would I? I mean, MAYBE? I think I only brush my teeth so obsessively because he told me to in a catchy tune, and my propensity for sharing definitely has a direct link back to that song I still hear every time someone looks at a soda or food item and says "Whose is this?" and I answer "It's mine. But you can have some." And that's all well and good I guess, you use your sorcery for good, Raffi. But I'm not making David Amram a sandwich. I don't even know him." 

So... yeah, next time maybe let's not go scraping the bottom of the barrel for inspiration. There is sticky weirdness down there.

Illustrated Tweet: Cheater Cheater Monkey Tweeter Edition!

     Ok, this is a cheater's edition because I actually didn't do any illustrating this time. I honestly just need some feedback on this one. I tweeted this the other day:

     And I WAS NOT JOKING. Not even in the slightest. I actually saved the picture to my desktop as "makeeveryonelookatthisandfreakout.jpg" because I needed other people to tell me if I was justified in being so disturbed by this damn monkey. So here it is. LOOK AT IT. IT IS SO MESSED UP. Why is it so human-looking and stretched out but simultaneously so much a monkey and so hairy with its tiny little head? It haunts me. I can literally call this picture to mind in the middle of the day and get goosebumps on command. 

     So I need to know. Does this monkey disturb you? Or is it just a cute monkey doing yoga all cute-like, and I have issues? Don't worry about hurting my feelings if it's the latter, I already know I have issues. I'll just add "overly anthropomorphic monkeys" to the list. 

Wednesday...Unfavorites?

     Yeah, that doesn't exactly have the same ring to it, I know, but sometimes you just need to have a good complain. So! Before we get to Friday and back to being all positive and stuff, here's some of the things I have not been enjoying lately. (This post dedicated to Jen, who suggested this be the post for today, and who is also a cluster of stardust and rainbows and happiness wrapped in a human husk.)

THIS HURT SO FREAKING BAD

     That, my friends, lurking beneath the bandage I put on because I'm not actually gonna fill this blog with minor day-to-day gore, is a cardboard cut. Akin to the paper cut, except more horrifying and sucky. I was opening a package from Amazon and I screamed obscenities so loud that Amanda thought I'd cut my finger off with the boxcutter. Nope. CARDBOARD. Ugh. I don't even know how this is a thing that happens; it's like cutting yourself on a pile of cooked spaghetti. The whole function of a cardboard box is to provide a degree of protection from harm when shipping an object. If I mailed you an apple in a cardboard box, it would not arrive shredded to ribbons from that sharp, slicey cardboard (it would probably be a little past ripe though. Post is so slow these days. Unless I paid for premium shipping, I guess, which let's be real, I'm not gonna do. Can you even mail fruit? Is that allowed? As long as you're not shipping internationally I guess, since customs doesn't want anybody shipping fruit-borne insects and plagues and funguses on accident. What is this post even about? I forget). Oh yeah.

GOOGLE BETRAYED ME, WHICH ALSO HURT

Here is an unrelated picture of Evie being cute but disgruntled to get you settled in, because I'm about to rant for a WHILE. 

     Last week I woke up and checked my email as per usual, and discovered a lovely little present from Google saying my Adsense account (what puts the ads on the pages and gives me a couple cents when people click them) had been suspended for "invalid click activity." Usually what they mean by that is clicking your own ads, asking people to click them, that sort of thing. I hadn't done any of that. I had actually told everyone under this roof "don't click the ads on my blog, it'll be on the same IP address and Google will think it's me being tricksty." So I immediately sent off an appeal form and started panicking. Why my account? I hadn't done anything wrong, and it's not like I was raking in the big bucks and they didn't want to pay me or something. You don't actually get any money until you hit $100, and over the course of months and months and months, I'd gotten up to almost $80. I was really freaking excited about it. So I was pretty upset to think that not only would I lose any opportunity to ever make money from it again (once they kick you out, that's it. No new accounts, no trying again), but I'd never see my eighty dollars. I know to most people that's not even that much money, but I'm a freelance editor living at home. Eighty dollars is a fortune to me. That's like ten trips to Chipotle. Gone right out from under me. But they said they would look at my appeal and the additional information I'd given them, and I'd hear back in about a week. 

     The very next morning I got an email saying they looked at it and couldn't reinstate my account. Which basically means a real person didn't even look at my case, my stats, my blog, at all. Because if a real person had looked at it, surely they would have realized "Oh yeah, this is just some girl writing silly rants about mattress commercials and drawing pictures of anthropomorphized animals, she's probably not the mastermind of some grand scheme to con us out of like 14 cents a day." And I know they must have an insanely high volume of cases to get through, so if a real person was looking at them it would have taken a little longer to get to mine. So. That's that.

     I went through like, the honest-to-God stages of grief about it. I spent a lot longer in "Anger" than I think you're supposed to, but whatever. I dealt. It is what it is, and it ain't what it ain't. And all that anger led me to discovering a new favorite thing, which I'll tell you about on Friday (don't worry, it's just an app, it's not like "shooting birds out of trees with a bb gun" or anything disturbing).

THERE SHOULD PROBABLY BE A THIRD ITEM TO AT LEAST MAKE THIS A PROPER LIST BUT IT TURNS OUT BEING NEGATIVE DOESN'T REALLY COME NATURALLY TO ME

     Uh...yeah. I'll do better on the favorites list.

Friday Favorites: I stink so goooood Edition!

FAVORITE VIDEOGAME: LEGO THE HOBBIT!

     First, a confession: I haven't seen either of the Hobbit movies, and I never finished reading the book. I got about halfway through it and then lost interest because the writing style was...somehow not as magical and descriptive as I had expected it to be? I dunno. Also there's no girl characters, and I ain't about that life. But I do plan to see the movies someday, in the same way that I plan to have a cool little cottage in the woods where I can grow flowers and cooking herbs and let the local children think I'm a witch, by which I mean I have taken no action to make this plan a reality beyond thinking "yeah, someday." But whatever. You know I love me some Lego games. They're super therapeutic because they're not particularly challenging and you get to run around smashing stuff all willy-nilly and collecting shiny things, which is basically all I ask for in a pastime. 

FAVORITE CONSUMABLE: DISCOUNT EASTER CANDY!

     Having bulk quantities of candy around the house after any holiday whose traditions dictate the exchange of sweets is one of those little things that make me proud to be an American. Oh, what's that other countries, you think we're fat and stupid? Well this stupid fatty just got like ten pounds of Cadbury mini-eggs for a nickel, who's stupid now? 

FAVORITE ONLINE PURCHASE: I'M A SEA GODDESS, IT SAYS SO RIGHT HERE

     I ordered a set of five choose-your-own perfume samples from this Etsy shop called Alkemia last week. Most of them were a bit of a let-down for me, and I'm not sure if it's because I just have crap taste and picked samples of things that I don't actually like, or maybe I was smelling the carrier oils in the samples or WHAT, but 3 out of 5 of them had a note of...bathroominess? To them? I'm doing that upward inflection because I have zero confidence in my abilities to describe scents. I've gotten many a strange look when trying to explain to someone that I don't like a particular popular perfume because it smells "newsprint-y" to me, in a way that reminds me of my dad fanning me with a newspaper while I had a bloody nose in the lobby of the church we went to when I was a kid, and I'm allergic to newsprint, so the paper made me sneeze and it was a mess. So...bad vibes, is what I'm saying, I guess. What?

      Anyway, back to the good perfume. The one I did really like was called Sea Goddess. The website says it has a bunch of fancy things like "saline aquatics" and junk in it, but to me it just smells like a beachy floral, but not old-lady floral at all (not that that's bad, I have a hand lotion that smells like Social Security in a bottle and I don't even care, I put it on every night). It's not going to be my forever-and-ever signature scent or anything, but it was only twelve dollars and it's definitely going to be my "this summer" signature scent, so that's an accomplishment. And they sent two new samples with my order, one of which still had the icky smell I don't like, but the other was really interesting. It's called "Mist Becoming Rain," I believe, and I immediately gave it to my mom because it smells like her interests: fresh and outdoorsy, kind of like you just watered the garden where you grow your arugula (it has kind of a peppery smell, I didn't just pick arugula out of thin air).

SURPRISE FAVORITE: I WENT INTO A TRADER JOE'S AND DIDN'T RAGE-TWITCH AN EYEBALL OUT!

     It's not that I have anything against Trader Joe's as a corporation or anything, my prejudice is based entirely on the fact that their parking lot is like the nexus of all assholery. It is a spawn point of assholes. Every time you've ever been cut off in traffic or tailgated, it's someone on their way to or from a Trader Joe's. They are born in the Trader Joe's parking lot, they go out into the world to spread misery and strife, then they come back to Trader Joe's at the end of their long lives of hooliganery to die. This is known. The one near me is located in an itsy little shopping center next to Ulta, and every time I have ever had the misfortune of finding myself at Ulta on a weekend, the ENTIRE parking lot for the WHOLE shopping center is taken up by all of Trader Joe's rudest minions. I can tell that's where they're going because they'll take the front spot at Ulta, then get their reusable sustainably sourced shopping bags and their aluminum water bottles full of spring water charged with "healing positive ions" out of the trunks of their Prius's and start hiking across the lot. All this I could forgive. I understand sometimes a store ends up in a shopping center whose parking lot just can't keep up with demand. But they are the single rudest identifiable subset of drivers I have ever had the misfortune to observe. They steal spots from people, don't observe any sort of common courtesy at multi-way stops, don't yield to pedestrians, honk at me if I yield to a pedestrian in front of them because how DARE I put ten more seconds between them and artisan-shelled fair-trade pistachios! Basically they suck. 

     BUT. The other day I realized I was running out of jojoba oil, which I use as moisturizer because I have idiotically sensitive skin and if I put normal-person moisturizer on my face-suit I basically become Professor Quirrell, clutching at my burning face screaming "What is this magic?!?" I usually order it online but somehow I had approximately none left, and it takes a while to get here. So I googled, and Trader Joe's seemed to be the only place I could buy it that day. Thus I ventured in. 

     I did end up actually getting it, but the surprise favorites were the two other things I found once I had braved the dreaded parking lot (which is kind of a pun, because they did have a white guy with "dreads" working there). The coconut body butter I bought because it looked like it would smell delightful (I have great purchase-justifying skills), and because there was an old guy who picked up two tubs of it as I was perusing and I thought "hey, he doesn't look too dry and crackly, it must work!" (told you). Then I picked up the "espresso pillows" waiting in line, because the fact that they call them "espresso pillows" cracked me up with how high on the pretentious scale that hits. You couldn't just call them espresso bits, or pieces or something? There's not even anything particularly pillowy about them, they're crunchy for God's sake. I dunno man. It's a weird place. 

     POINT BEING (I'm so sorry I just wrote three paragraphs about Trader Joe's, I just have a lot of feelings. About everything, apparently), the espresso ~*~pillows~*~ are tasty and the body butter is straight-up delightful. That is all. 

BONUS FAVORITE: THIS PICTURE FROM MY PHONE WHICH SHALL SLAY THE MASSES WITH ITS ADORABLENESS

     I don't even have anything to say about this, I'll just leave it here without comment to counteract the Homeric Saga I wrote above. 

Friday Favorites: Super Incohesive Edition!

     Since last Friday's favorites post was kind of a weird one, I thought I'd do a normal one this week. But then I remembered nothing I do is normal, so this ended up just being a jumble of things that I found really, really, disproportionately amusing. 

FAVORITE #1: MY PLANT IS GROWING! 

     Real talk, I was like 97% sure all I was going to get out of this was a delicately dressed jar of dirt, so this was a big surprise. Especially because it popped up preeetty much overnight. I was watering my other (already well-established -- I think it's from a cutting of one that's older than me, but I'd have to ask my mom to confirm that, and she's asleep, and it's my blog so...we're just gonna pretend that's right) plant a few days ago when I glanced over and OH HEY, A PLANT. It felt right at the time because it was all nice and springy and we had the windows open, but now that it's 27 degrees again it feels a little out of place. Whatever, it'll make sense again in a day or two, and I'm pleased with the little bit of spring hope it brings to my desk.

FAVORITE #2: I HAVE THE SEXIEST MOST INTRIGUING ARMPITS!

     So I was standing at the deodorant section, staring at all the possibilities and getting so overwhelmed that I was starting to think about just not buying anything and running off to live in the forests like the smelly ape that I truly must be, and eventually I started wantonly grabbing things and smelling them. None of them really spoke to me, but this one smelled decent enough (read: not entirely like straight-up baby powder. I mean whatever, baby powder is an ok smell, but I don't want to smell like a baby, damn it, because that's a weird thing for a childless person to smell like. What am I supposed to be hiding a baby in my armpit?). But then I looked at the label and knew I HAD to buy it. Because SEXY INTRIGUE. That is the actual name of the actual scent of this actual product that you can actually buy. A stick of chemical compounds designed to hide your sweaty smelly armpits to keep everyone from noticing your bodily processes. Called SEXY INTRIGUE. I laughed out loud, alone in the aisles of Target. That is exactly what I want, Degree. Really gonna complete the whole "sexy intrigue" look I rock when I'm dragging my sweaty sun-block drenched ass around in the sweltering heat of summer. People will walk past and murmur to their friends "She looks pretty rough right now, but how about those sexy intriguing armpits, amiright?" That is exactly what will happen. BRILLIANT MARKETING, GUYS. (I may make fun of it, but in the end who's the sucker who bought it anyway?)

FAVORITE #3: WHAT IS EVEN HAPPENING IN THIS PICTURE!

     I snapped this picture because I was sitting on my bed reading about pottery-firing methods of ancient Japan on Wikipedia because I have no idea how to have fun like a normal person and when I looked up for a second it took an abnormally long time for my brain to figure out what I was looking it. It looks like somebody snuck in and pasted a mural of a nice dusky horizon on my window, then when I opened it I revealed the black abyss of a cold indifferent universe lurking behind. In reality it's just a weird illusion of there being a hilly pasture over there that pulls the horizon right up to where my window ends. I mean, the picture is just an illusion. The cold indifferent universe is real. Sweet dreams, kiddos!

FAVORITE #4: I'M REALLY JUST ADDING ONE MORE IN CASE YOU FOUND THAT ENDING TOO SOBERING AND NEED SOME CHEERING NOW!

     This was Bess's face the entire time my mum was vacuuming the other day. The other cats all ran away  but Bess is too lazy, so she just sat there and stared at me like "Getting real tired of your bullshit. Trying to get a solid twelve hours of sleep here." And yes, I am that person who talks for their cat and laughs hysterically while taking twenty pictures in a row of them. It is what it is. 

The real Farm Hero is the undercover FDA worker filming it all for an expose on the nightly news.

     So Jen got me hooked on this game called Farm Heroes Saga...you may recognize it as the thing that floods your Facebook feed around the time everybody has lunch breaks. She downloaded it on my tablet while she was here one day, then when it finished downloading (about a week later. Have I mentioned recently we have somewhat poor internet here?) I thought, "Well, let's see what all the fuss is about." Cut to me, three days later, mumbling to myself "I hate this damn raccoon, tryna steal all my crops." But the more I played it, the more questions I had. 

     So it's just your standard sort of "shit falls from the sky and you put it in pairings to move on and your funny little brain-parts go 'Wheee! Order! Rewards!' and you feel like you accomplished things" kind of game, but if you stop to think about it, everything about it is so freaking weird. 

     My biggest question is what kind of freaky-ass genetic modification are they doing to this produce to make it all not only sentient, but also squee-incitingly adorable? For one thing, there's no way in hell this stuff is FDA approved. For another, I'm concerned enough about the fact that they're planning to sell giggling apples and onions with the ability to cry to the public for consumption in the first place -- do we need to get some sort of fruit-and-vegetable rights activism going here? -- but that raises the even more disconcerting question of who, exactly, the market for this is. Am I to believe that in the same magical universe where carrots and strawberries smile at you, there is a population of people who say "I could go for an apple, but what I really want is one that will scream and plead for mercy as I bite into it." A population large enough for whatever farm I'm trying to "hero" to be like "Sure, that sounds like a profitable and in no way morally turbulent decision?" 

    Or am I trying to save the produce FROM the farm? Because I do wonder, if this place has the kind of funding and resources available to engineer anthropomorphized fruit, why do I do all the harvesting with a dog pushing a wheelbarrow? Surely we could afford a tractor or something. Am I some sort of rogue super-heroine, saving the fruit and vegetables (and chickens --GOD DON'T GET ME STARTED ON THE CHICKENS -- they're always frozen, which I guess is probably an experiment in cryogenics so all the freaky fruit can live forever? Or maybe they're frozen in order to extract DNA to mix with fruits, thus begetting their cuteness and self-awareness? If so, GEEZ, evil genius hiding behind the front that is this sham of a farm, you're supposed to use the embryos for that, stop freezing already-hatched chickens, that's stupid and mean) from the clutches of some power-hungry mad scientist? Is that why the dog that pushes the wheelbarrow is wearing boots, and the pig is wearing a scarf and aviation goggles (getaway plane driver, I guess)? Because in this alternate universe all living things have gained human-like cognitive skills, and the animals and a select league of humans have banded together to defend the subjugated consumable class? 

WHAT IS THIS GAME EVEN ABOUT. 

The Supposedly True Meaning of my Epic Dream Saga

     I know no one actually likes to listen to people describe their rambling seven-part dreams that defy all rules of logic and the laws of the natural world, but I really did have a whopper of a dream the other night. So I thought I'd look up some of the key elements and see what the good ol' internet has to tell me about their symbolism, so we can have a good chuckle over how messed up it is inside my brainball. Let's see what my subconscious has to say!

Princesses: To see a princess in your dream represents the object of your affections or desires. (All definitions from dreammoods.com).

     What? That is a semantically meaningless sentence. So I guess no help here. For the record, I'm pretty sure the real "meaning" here is that Jen had "Sofia the First" on for the babies the day before I had the dream, so I had princesses on the brain. They were even like, little child princesses in my dream. I had to help them out on quests to defeat Maleficent. In related news, there's no entry for "evil queen" in any of the dream dictionaries I tried, but TWO of them had entires for "Queen of Hearts" and one had a dream meaning for "Princess Diana?" That's oddly specific, I feel. Surely more people dream of any number of archetypal evil queens than that they're having a chat with Lady Di. 

Portals: Would you believe none of the dictionaries had anything for "portal?" I can't be the only one having vaguely sci-fi themed dreams. They did have one for "black hole" though, which is almost-not-really-but-go-with-it similar:

     To see a black hole in your dream indicates that there is no turning back on a decision that you have made. Alternatively, the hole symbolizes the subconscious and the unknown.
     Hmm. Interesting. I haven't made any decisions larger than whether to have cereal or ice cream for dessert, and I'm not feeling like I need to turn back on that one (ice cream was definitely the right choice). As for symbolizing the subconscious and the unknown...well, in my dream, the portal was in a washing machine. So I guess my subconscious is a washing machine. Or I don't know how washing machines work. I dunno, the unknoooown, man. Nonetheless, I shall endeavor in the future to better listen to my subconscious washing machine. 

Wrapping presents: To dream that you are wrapping something indicates that you are trying to hide the truth; you are involved in a cover-up. Alternatively, the dream suggests that you are trying to present the ugly truth in a way that is easier to accept. Consider what you are wrapping and the color or pattern of the wrapping paper. The dream may be a pun on "rapping" and your need to speak up about something.
     I can't even begin to take this seriously because THE DREAM MAY BE A PUN. I can't. Like I know as far as puns go I'm a pretty big enthusiast, but there's just no damn way my subconscious washing machine is capable of making visual-to-vocal-to-representative PUNS. That's a stretch even for my awake brain, much less my sleeping one. One time I watched Madagascar before going to bed, and my dreams that night were, essentially, the plot of the movie Madagascar. My subconscious is an idiot. You are giving it way too much credit. You've lost me here.

Way harsh, Facebook.

     I've noticed that the ads on my Facebook page have gotten increasingly insulting lately. Here's a few I had recently.

     I mean, Facebook has always kind of been like that one relative that's aggressively over-invested in why you're still single, and when are you going to get married because your eggs won't be good forever in case you didn't know, so tick tock. But I've only recently noticed it becoming a direct command -- GO ON A DATE! -- which is annoying first because DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO FACEBOOK, YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME, and second because it's kind of like when you tell someone you haven't been sleeping well, and then when you're saying goodbye they say "Bye, get some sleep!" like you're going to turn around all wide-eyed and astonished, and say, "My God, you're right! The answer's been right in front of me all along! Go to sleep! Brilliant!" Oh, you noticed that I'm gearing up for a life of spinsterhood, eh Facebook? You're right, I should just go on a date! Nevermind that there's no men within fifteen years of my age in the surrounding wasteland of cows and moonshine stills, I'll just go on a date. Maybe one of the cows will go with me. That solves that problem. I'll just burn this stack of cat adoption papers. The pairing of that ad with the one for bridal photography is both baffling and kind of pushy. Baffling because clearly it knows that I'm single (you know, because I post my status every weekend as "Baying at the moon. #foreveralone") and obviously I have no need for a wedding photographer. Pushy because hey, let's take things one step at a time, Facebook. It's a pretty big leap from "Go on a date!" to "Plan your nuptials!"

     The menstrual pain study ad is...unsettling, to say the least. Mostly because I'm pretty sure I've never actually said anything about my lady sicknesses on Facebook. Granted, anyone with a lack of more rewarding and less creepy hobbies could easily learn way more than they needed to about the state of my uterus based on the alarming regularity at which I suddenly spend a week tweeting things like "Million dollar idea: someone start a business where I can pay an hourly fee to sit and brush a miniature pony when I'm sad," but that's not even the same social network. 

     I guess, though, based on the last ad there for experimental treatment for bipolar disorder, maybe something about my profile just gives off an "unstable" vibe, and they figure I must either be hormonal as all hell or straight-up mentally ill. And that's probably why I'm still single, I guess? I dunno. But until Facebook gets it together and finds an advertising algorithm that's slightly less openly acrimonious, maybe I'll just start posting a bunch of statuses about puppies and world travel until it picks up on the keywords and brings me some ads that don't imply I'm a crampy bipolar recluse with no concept of appropriate relationship pacing. 

Friday Favorites: Sick edition!

     As you may know, I've been dealing with some sort of horrible cold/flue/sinus issue all week long. Since I know there's a lot of colds and flus and various plagues swimming around out there right now, I thought I'd share some of the things that have helped me deal, in case anyone finds themselves in a similar situation. 

1. Two words: Heated. Blanket.

     I know I've said it before, but the importance of a nice heated blanket for the cold months in general, but especially during cold and flu season, cannot be overstated. When you're feverish and have chills so violent you think your skeleton's gonna jump right out of your body, there's nothing like cranking a heated blanket all the way up. I'm feeling a lot better now, but during the worst of my bout of illness, when I was basically just a shivering incubus of viral plague, I crawled back into my bed and turned it up to high after spending the night praying for the sweet release of death on the bathroom floor, and I swear that as soon as the heat hit me it soothed my broken body and toasted the chills right out. I finally fell asleep, and when I woke up a few hours later I felt approximately a trillion times better. It's the closest thing you're gonna get to a power-up in real life. 

2. Along the same lines: flannel PJs. 

     I've been living in flannel jimjams all week (they're from Kohls, in case you're wondering where you can get flannel jammies with Scotty dogs on them -- I also have the same pair in blue plaid). They're so soft and warm and delightful. I always thought I'd hate flannel pajamas because I'd overheat, but I've been pleasantly surprised by the shnuggliness. 

3. Entertainment: Lego Marvel Superheroes.

     Look, I know this isn't exactly high-brow entertainment, but you know what? Sometimes you want something intellectual and enlightening, and that's when you go watch the King's Speech or something, but sometimes you want to make Captain America punch a Lego velociraptor until it explodes. And for those times, this game is delightful. I really like the Lego videogames in general; they're easy to play, satisfying because you get to smash practically everything, and they have a sense of humor smart enough that it doesn't make you feel like you're playing a kids game (even though you kind of totally are, but whatever. Grab your happiness where you can). I've especially appreciated it this week because I could handle playing it even when I was taking cold medicine that dialed my reaction time and problem solving down to slow-mo. 

     So those are the little things that have gotten me through a week of germy grossness. I hope you all are staying healthy, but if not, I hope you're finding solace in little things too!

All they need are good friends, good fun...and a little time in the Harmony Hut!

     Today's illustrated tweet is brought to you courtesy of the Addams Family Values and Congressional incompetence. 

Ch-ch-changes!

     Ok, now that the obligatory Bowie reference is out of the way, let's get on with the post. Fall is the season of change, and thus, appropriately, I've been making a few little changes here and there lately. Let's take a look-see. 

1. I did this to my laptop.

Should maybe have added a warning to grab a bowl for when your eyeballs pop out.

      I dunno why. Cause I'm a grown-up now and I can put stickers on WHATEVER I WANT, I guess. I was just randomly struck with the urge to make my laptop look like it belonged to a third grader, so I covered it in ponies and Batman and sharks and Hello Kitty and cupcakes. Such is my life. I'll be mature in the ways I have to be (like being punctual and honest and responsible and shit) but you can pry my stickers and cartoons and sugary cereals from my cold, dead, sticky-from-recently-eating-candy hands. But this explosion of chid-like glee isn't the only thing I did to my laptop...

     (On a side note, if you're wondering why my reading lamp is turned upside down like that, it's because when I turned it on the other day the light bulb went out, and when I tried to change the light bulb, it turned to shards and dust-clouds in my hand, resulting in a big debacle in which I was pretty sure I was gonna die from accidentally breathing the powdery stuff they put inside light bulbs, and the coroner would be sure I was some delinquent trying to huff light bulb guts, and my family would live in shame forever. After that massive freak-out I kind of didn't feel like dealing with getting the remnants of the bulb out of the lamp, so for now it's just a decorative vase of glass shards hanging above my bed. Stylish.)

2. I replaced the keyboard. 

     This isn't exactly an exciting accomplishment, but I was pretty pleased with myself for getting it done without somehow mutilating the computer beyond repair and having to blow my savings on a whole new computer. Why did i have to replace the keyboard, you ask? WELL. That's because my mom threw a pattern envelope to me for my perusal, but I wasn't paying attention, so I didn't catch it. Instead it went skittering across my keyboard, popping off and breaking (as in, it was not a matter of just popping them back on) a few of the keys in the process. If that sounds implausible, that's because you must not know that apparently my mother has been a secret ninja, practiced in the art of the throwing star, all this time. Yeah, I was surprised too. You can order replacement keys, as well as the little plastic mechanisms that hold them on and make them function, but with the cost of the keys themselves plus the shipping cost (not to mention the wait-time that comes with standard shipping -- I can only go for so long without parentheses keys, you know? Yeah, you know), it ended up making more sense to just buy a replacement keyboard from Amazon with two-day Prime shipping so it'd be cheap and get here quickly. After watching a Youtube video showing how to change the keyboard on a laptop similar to my own, it was a pretty simple operation. Aaah, nothing like a new keyboard, keys all present and functional, all clicky and new, with no food crumbs stuck in the crevices (I'm the worst).

     I also have a pink keyboard skin coming to a) prevent any more freak accidents like that from happening again, b) help keep the new keyboard clean and dust/crumb free, and c) to really take the pink-cuteness factor from the stickers on the front and just amp it up to 11. Whose laptop is this, Katy Perry's? Nope, it's mine. 

3. I dyed my hair again. 

Oh look, it's super blown-out on a white background; it's like Terry Richardson takes my blog photos. Just kidding, I just get overzealous with the flash sometimes. Also ew, Terry Richardson.

      It's basically the same color I had before, but it had faded quite a bit and my roots were growing in blonde, which had a weird effect where it looked like my hair was thinning or I did a crap job brushing out my dry shampoo. It's super dark now, but it'll lighten up after a few washes. Not that I mind. I quite like having my hair very dark; I think it enhances my eyes (which is why I'm making the crazy-eyes face above. I think. Maybe that's just my face). Plus it's kind of fun to be really really pale with really really dark hair, like maybe I'm just in black and white, on my way to go hang with Steamboat Willie and Lucy Ricardo. 

4. I reconfigured my bookcase. Again. 

      You may recall that the last configuration I had going on there was a curtain-type cover held up by tension rods. Well, full disclosure: it didn't work out. Turns out I had underestimated my cat's innate instinct to annoy the absolute shit outta me. She got into the habit of pawing at the curtain at ungodly hours of the night and morning until she pushed the tension rods back, making a loud metallic shuffly sound that drove me absolutely batty. So I had to rethink the situation. I sat in the floor staring at the bookcase for a good half hour, plotting and scheming, while my mom's face floated around my head, cartoon style, saying "Why don't you just clear out the bottom shelf and let her have it?" I hadn't wanted to empty the shelf because there were approximately a million cords hanging back there that I didn't want her to chew on and die or start a house fire. And because it would look stupid to have the entire bottom shelf completely empty. So after some frenetic late night crafting, this is the solution I settled on. All the cords got organized (half of them weren't even connected to anything, so I rolled them up into a box in case I ever need them) and put into one of the shoeboxes on the middle shelf. There's only four cords going in there into a power strip (it looks like more, but some of what you see is cords connecting the dvd player and cable box to the tv, and the cable wire loops around like eight times back there, so it looks like more of a mess. Whatever, I'll deal). I'd read that you don't need to worry about cords getting too hot and posing a fire hazard unless they have that block adapter halfway through the cord, but just in case, I cut the back off the box so it stays ventilated and un-explode-y. 

     Once I had the cord situation under control, it was time to tackle that bottom shelf. I wanted to put Bessie's water and food dishes on it so that I wouldn't kick them as I walked by and make huge messes anymore, but I didn't want to risk a spill ruining the wood. So I grabbed an old Ikea shopping bag, which is essentially a tarp, and pulled it apart, cutting the resulting material to cover the shelf. But that's ugly! So then I raided my scrap fabric stash and found some navy and white polka dot fabric to put over that. To keep it in place I just wrapped it around the back, then pushed the bookcase against the wall to hold it, then wrapped it under the front and slid empty videogame and dvd cases under to hold the fabric taut. If this is all sounding very jury-rigged and mad-scientisty, it's because it was. I couldn't stand another night of waking up to that God-forsaken tension rod slipping. But it's worked so far, and it could look a lot worse. 

5. I don't really have a number five, but I like having five items in a list. 

     I did change some diapers yesterday, this time without having any catastrophic flooding events, so I was quite proud of that. But I don't think you'd appreciate a picture of that very much, so instead here's a picture of cute little baby feet in the grass. 

Friday Favorites!

     Favorite videogame: Saints Row IV
     I'm still really enjoying this game! It's kind of out-there in terms of storyline, but when the basic gist of a game is "Run around having superpowers and throwing bad guys into lakes" you don't need really need to understand why you're doing it. Also my character has turquoise mermaid hair and dual-wields pastel pink and white polka dotted submachine guns, so for that alone, five stars. 

      Favorite food: Turkey Hill Double Dunker ice cream
     Two kinds of cookie chunks in coffee-flavored ice cream? Yes please. This ice cream actually kind of ruined other ice creams for me for a bit there. I went to make myself of bowl of it the other day and when I found it had all been eaten I just couldn't bring myself to have a different kind instead. It was Double Dunker or nothing, apparently. I may have thrown a small fit, even after Amanda offered me one of her ice cream bars because that's not what I waaaanted (I am a joy to be around). 

     Favorite material possession: Turbie Twist
     I can't remember if I've had this on a favorites list before, but I feel like even if I have, it warrants another mention. This thing makes the hellish experience of showering (even when I'm not recreating horror movie scenes in the shower, I still hate it -- shampooing like thirty pounds of hair, having to shave my legs, knocking over shampoo bottles with every movement because the storage ledges are SO IDIOTICALLY SHALLOW-- I am just not a shower-enjoyer) slightly less miserable. Specifically, the after-shower portion of my evening, in which I used to slap a towel on my head and then walk around trying to keep it on long enough to dry my hair a bit while complaining about how heavy it made my already oversized head. The Turbie Twist is a lot lighter, so I can leave it on for more than thirty seconds and thus, it works better. Plus it stays on with a little elastic you loop the end through, so if you drop something or want to pet a cat or whatever you don't have to do that weird, perfectly vertical squat to keep the towel from toppling over and ripping half your hair out (just me?), which is always a plus because I hate being tricked into exercising.

     Favorite people: Babies! 
     It's been just over a week since my little niece and nephew were born, and they're already total heart-stealers. I know I'm biased, but I'm still pretty sure they're the cutest babies in the history of human existence. Even when they're covered in poo and screaming their lungs out because they're pretty sure air touching their undiapered butts is the worst thing this world has to offer, they're still cute (this assertion is probably influenced heavily by the fact that I'm not the one who has to remedy the screaming Poopocalypse nine hundred times a day. Aunt-hood is the sweetest gig).

Videogame break!

     I spent my whole Tuesday afternoon playing the newly released Saints Row IV. Without spoiling anything for those of you who may want to play it, it's....different! I haven't played through much of the story yet, so I can't tell you much about that, but from what I have played, I can think of at least three titles for this game that would have been just as accurate:

"SAINT'S ROW IV: WE REALLY LIKE DUBSTEP"

     This game is really heavy on the dubstep. Like, really heavy. In a game full of aliens and superpowers and simulated realities, the most hard-to-believe part of the whole game is still that there could ever be a world in which demand necessitates not one, but TWO dubstep radio stations. In related news, I'm getting old and don't understand what The Kids Today™ are listening to.

"SAINTS ROW IV: BLUE IS A NICE COLOR"

     Noticing some very subtle visual clues...

"SAINTS ROW IV: RUN FAST AND JUMP HIGH"

     Not that you'll find me complaining. 

The Little Things

     It's good to appreciate the small things in life. Here's a small joy of mine. 

How was your day?

     Here's the kind of day I had yesterday:

I got in a fight with the cat.

I over-reacted to stupid situations.

And I had a self-tanner ordeal.

     Hopefully today will be better. So tell me, what kind of day are you  having?