There’s No Place Like Home to Injure You in a Bizarre and Horrifying Fashion

Today my co-worker was watching a video about the woman who had reconstructive surgery after her friend’s chimpanzee pulled off her face and ate her hands. Do you remember this? My co-worker was very disturbed that I did not want to watch this momentous video with her. “It is amazing, Amy!” she kept calling over our cubicle wall. “She has a whole new face! Which doesn’t look at all like her old face! But they were not able to save her hands. She’s almost able to smile again!” 

My response was something along the lines of “NO NO NO MONKEYS ATE HER FACE.” 

Listen! There are a lot of very real dangers out there you have to beware of. I did research on this! MONKEYS CAN EAT YOUR FACE AND HANDS. 

Now, I know, there are people reading this who are going to get all up-in-arms and tell me “Chimpanzees aren’t MONKEYS. Chimpanzees are PRIMATES. There is a VERY REAL DIFFERENCE. We have almost IDENTICAL DNA.” And you know what? I’m totally aware of that. Because I’m very intelligent. However, I call anything monkey-like a monkey, from the humble spider monkey, to the terrifyingly distressing baboon with the scary blue backside, to chimpanzees and orangutans and gorillas. I’m well-aware they’re not all monkeys. But it’s one of my quirks, to call them all monkeys. It’s not like I’m publishing in a scientific journal, here. So if it’s really bothering you, go read Scientific American or watch a documentary or something. 

I’ve mentioned before, I am petrified of monkeys, with their cunning fast hands and destructive ways and evil beady eyes.  

Here’s the thing. I’m going to put this in caps AND put stars around it AND put it in bold-face type, because it is JUST THAT IMPORTANT. Ready? 

***WILD ANIMALS ARE NOT PETS*** 

They are WILD ANIMALS. They belong (best-case scenario) in the wild, or next-best, in a zoo, or last-best, in the basement of your weird uncle whose hobby is taxidermy and smells a little like feet. They do not belong to you to cuddle or play with or put on a leash. The word “wild” is in the phrase “wild animals” for a reason. We have domesticated animals. They are meant for pets! NOT WILD ANIMALS. 

Do you remember the time the cops in New York City went to some guy’s apartment and found that he had a tiger and a crocodile living in it? THAT WAS STUPID. Why do you think that’s a good idea? Even my housecats sometimes get the heebie-jeebies and attack my hands and/or cleavage. A tiger does that and you suddenly are one-breasted, like an Amazon woman. And really? A crocodile for a pet? That’s just odd. Crocodiles can’t show love. They are reptiles. They aren’t in the least bit cuddly. I mean, I know, not all pets are cuddly. I worked at an exotic pet store for a while, and I do get the appeal of having fish or a frog or a lizard for a pet. But not one that can eat you! Not one that takes up your whole bathtub all the time! Not one that eats entire chickens for dinner! 

So listen! This is important advice I am giving you. If your friend invites you over, and they are a little eccentric, like Grey Gardens-y, and they say, “Hey! Want to see my baby?” and they bring A GODDAMNED MONKEY out of the back room, RUN AWAY FROM THEM. First, because people that call pets their “babies” non-ironically are super-scary. Yes, I do it sometimes. But IRONICALLY. I’m aware I didn’t shoot my furry kiddos out of my vagina. Second, THAT MONKEY WANTS TO EAT YOUR FACE. It might happen today, it might happen tomorrow, but sometime in the future, that monkey is going to eat your face and you are going to be on a YouTube video looking like Resuscitation Annie with the immovable plastic surgery face because you forgot that WILD ANIMALS ARE NOT PETS.

Monkeys eating your face and hands aren’t the only severe danger in your household. I did important and serious research on this, and found out the following, which may or may not be true because it came from a kind-of suspect website but also it was from Britain and the way they spell things makes me more likely to believe them almost every time. So what I have learned? YOUR HOUSE IS TRYING TO KILL YOU. Also, I feel less clumsy, because only once have I had to go to the hospital for a household injury. 

67,000 people a year are injured while trying to peel the cellophane from a package of sandwiches, open a ready meal, or open a ring-pull can (this is called “experiencing ‘wrap-rage.’”) I don’t know much about cellophane being overly dangerous, because I mostly subscribe to the “if it doesn’t open HULK SMASH” theory? If it doesn’t open nicely, I tear that thing open with the strength of a circus strongman. Sometimes the food item goes flying across the room, exciting the cats. Why? Because I have no patience! I am hungry! I want it now! However, ring-top cans are very sharp and cutty. So watch out for those. Especially pudding cans. Which I don’t recommend you lick to get the last delicious bit of pudding from. Because that is kind of the most dangerous thing you can do ever to your tongue. But when it’s Thank You pudding, I don’t know how you can resist. (You’ve all had Thank You pudding, right? IT IS THE BEST. OK, if you haven’t? YOU RECTIFY THAT IMMEDIATELY.  I recommend the chocolate. Oh, well, if you don’t like really gooey pudding like the kind you had in elementary school, like canned pudding, then probably don’t try it. But if you’re a connoisseur of that, EAT IT YOU WILL LOVE IT. You are so welcome. Also, can you get them to start carrying at my Hannaford again? Because they stopped, and I really cried out in almost physical pain in the baking aisle that day.) 

150 people a day accidentally stab themselves trying to pry the top off of a jar or open a ready-to-eat meal with a knife. OK, well, that’s not really a smart thing to do. I mean, not that I would know that you could break your knife or stab your hand doing it, because it’s totally not like I’ve tried that or anything. 

37 people were injured in one year making tea, either by burning themselves on the teapot itself or by dropping the potholder on the floor, then slipping and falling on it. See? SEE? This is just another reason to hate tea! TEA IS THE DEVIL. (But, OK, I know, I KNOW, I’m going to hell, but the idea of someone dropping their potholder, then slipping and falling on it, made me laugh. Sorry, people that this happened to.) 

Almost 17,000 people injured themselves to the point of hospitalization while putting on their pants, socks, tights and stockings in a year. The main reason behind these injuries was falling or tripping because they were getting dressed too hastily. THIS IS MY FAVORITE STATISTIC EVER. Because, you know what it means, right? DON’T WEAR PANTS. Pants will most likely kill you. Let me reiterate: YOUR PANTS ARE TRYING TO KILL YOU. And women, we all know that stockings are evil. (That was sexist. Also, men. Men who also wear stockings. I don’t mean to be exclusionary.) I mean, stockings SUCK. They ride up, they are uncomfortable and sweaty and the toe-parts always move around and get under your toes and rub and are uncomfortable. Tights are a little better but not much. They are crotch-prisons, too. SO AWFUL. So! The next time you’re all walking around without pants? YOU HAVE MEDICAL PROOF TO BACK YOU UP. Again? You are WELCOME. 

Also, your undergarments are death instruments. True fact: a woman is suing Victoria’s Secret because she says a metal heart on one of their thongs slingshotted off of the garment and scratched her cornea, causing her to miss two weeks of work. I’m going to just state the obvious, here. In order for something to “slingshot,” there needs to be excessive stretchage and force. Which makes me think maybe that thong was a little too tight. So that’s not so much a household accident as it is a sartorial misstep. 

I’m just going to quote this outright – “Other menaces around the home included hair brushes (1394 incidents), vegetables (14,149) piles of ironing (5248) and Q-tips (8569). False teeth caused 933 accidents, clothes baskets 2768, toilet roll holders 287, Brillo pads 226, talcum powder 123, and deodorants 431.”  

Um. I don’t – ok. There are things here that I assume caused people to trip. Like piles of ironing (people have enough ironing to be a PILE of it? Whoa! I think I’ve ironed three times in the past ten years) and clothes baskets. And I guess you could hurt your gums with false teeth. And (shudder) I know people accidentally jam Q-tips into their ears too far and rupture their eardrums, which gives me the willies. I don’t know what the accidents were that the other things caused. Allergic reactions? Vegetables – please don’t let this be a sexual thing please don’t let this be a sexual thing please don’t let this be a sexual thing. Toilet roll holders? Did you drop it and slip and fall on it? Did you jam it in your eye socket? This list is perplexing. 

Almost 75,000 people went to the hospital after being injured by sofas, armchairs, and footstools. YOUR FURNITURE IS SENTIENT AND WANTS YOU DEAD AND IS MOST LIKELY IN CAHOOTS WITH YOUR PANTS. 

I had to quote this one. Sorry, Britain, I’m stealing left and right from you, here. But the report’s like ten years old so I don’t think I’ll be sued. “One accident report states a woman was carrying a pair in the waistband of her skirt - sharp end up - when she bent down and stabbed herself in the stomach.” OK, you know what? She deserved this. Completely deserved it. I have no sympathy. There is no one in the world who doesn’t know scissors are sharp. So let’s put them next to our soft bits and do some lunges! I hope you stabbed yourself in the babymaker because those genes don’t need to be passed down. 

In better news! There were apparently only a little over 1,100 people who went to the hospital with chainsaw-related injuries. So that’s good. Chainsaw accidents and/or murders are on the decline. I guess Leatherface was having an off-year? Probably in traction with a pants- or chair-related injury. 

So what have we learned today? Your house is trying to kill you. There wasn’t even anything in this article about all of the slip-and-falls in the bathtub (which I’m 99% sure will be the death of me if my adult-onset ADD or rabid monkeys or zombie apocalypse or midnight smothery breath-stealing cats don’t get me first) or people that fall out of windows or balconies or that commercial with the crash-test dummies that scared me so much when I was younger that some astronomical number of car accidents happened within a mile of your home.  

My recommendation: pantsless. Food with no cellophane, no vegetables, no packaging, no knives or scissors, no undergarments, no furniture. And for the love of all that’s shiny NO WILD ANIMAL PETS. Just sit quietly with your pantsless ass against your floor and gnaw on your loaf of bread or whatever and DO NOT MOVE. Also, you'd probably better give me all of your Thank You pudding, which is very dangerous. I'll gladly dispose of it in a safe way for you.

You’re welcome! I know. What would you do without me?

You've Got a Problem, Yo, I'll Solve It

I was at a loss today what to write about. So, as you do, I asked Google. Everyone does this, right? I assume so, because sometimes when I am searching Google, really stupid questions come up. You can tell because the auto-fill shows you the most popular (I mean, I think it’s the most popular – it might be the most recent, it doesn’t really tell you that) searches like your own. For example: today I typed in “What should I blog about today?” Now, please note that I did it more for a laugh than anything. But after typing in “What should I” this is what the auto fill brought back to me along the way:

What is my IP

What is planking
What does my name mean
What to expect
What does smh mean
What should I do
What should I eat
What should I make for dinner
What should I read next
What should I do with my life

This is a microcosm of what is going on in our collective minds right now, right? My favorites are the existential questions. Because I don’t exactly know what I should do with my life, either. Or what I should do, period. Or what to expect. But these people think Google knows. And I kind of love that! Google has become our mom and our dad and our encyclopedia and our library and our therapist all rolled into a ball. Google! HELP ME! 

(Also, I asked Google not too long ago what “smh” means. Shut it. I am old and often don’t know what acronyms stand for. I don’t like smh. I’ve mentioned this before. I think it’s stupid. “A guy paid me completely in nickels and dimes for his purchase at work. Smh.” Were you? WERE you syh? Because that seems like a foolish response to that situation. I’d be choumb, honestly. You won’t find that on Google. That’s cussing him out under my breath. You’re welcome!) 

So! Anyway. (Are you wondering right now, return readers of my blog, if I am this easily distracted and off-on-a-tangent-y in real life? Yes! Yes I am. It makes for some fun conversations with me, let me tell you. Sometimes people give up, honestly. They come to me for a discussion about one thing and leave not only without the answer to that, but with a head stuffed full of nonsensical information about things like serial killers in Vancouver or the best quick-dry nail polish topcoats or how much I hate the constant and inane flirting that these two gross people I know keep doing and I’m pretty sure they are quite confused, but also maybe a little charmed. Nope. Sorry. Just confused. And maybe angry.) 

Google actually came back with a lot of answers to what I should blog about today. And guess what most of them were? Dumb. Yes! Really, really dumb. One guy told me to talk about how I use Facebook to increase my social profile. Well, ok, I’d be happy to. I don’t! There. Shortest blog entry ever! I use Facebook to keep in touch with friends, stalk people, talk to my book club, “like” crap, decline stupid game requests, delete passive-aggressive comments from people I don’t really like but have to be friends with because it would cause a huge brouhaha if I refused them, tell people Happy Birthday, and keep up-to-date with all of the theater goings-on in my area, because that’s a full-time job in itself. That was not a helpful blog idea, guy. Fail! 

Then there were a lot of lists with hearts and flowers and lots of stars and such? Which made a migraine almost start? Which said I should blog about things like “review your favorite magazine LOL” and “talk about your crush but in a secret way.” Oh. Um, ok. Let’s give that a go! 

My favorite magazine is Entertainment Weekly LOL. (Wait, I’m confused. Do I have to use LOL after the magazine title? Or after every sentence? Because I hate LOL with the fire of a million suns. Am I going against some sort of rule, NOT using LOL? I’m going to buck the system and not use it. Is the star and heart and flower brigade going to come after me? Oh my, I hope not. I don’t really have the stamina to deal with that today, or ever, really.) To review: it does not make me think too hard, but it isn’t as stupid as People. It tells me about upcoming entertainment, and has pretty pictures. Also, the book section is really quite good. And Stephen King used to be a guest columnist but stopped and that was a sad moment. And the bullseye in the back always makes me laugh. 

Listen, I don’t have a lot to SAY about Entertainment Weekly. It comes every week, and it is somewhat entertaining while being about entertainment. This is an exercise in futility. 

Talk about my crush but in a secret way? OK! Shhh. There is this…individual? And I think he/she/it is peachy? However, he/she/it has no idea I feel that way, because I’m a GROWN-ASS WOMAN AND THIS IS RIDICULOUS I CAN’T DO THIS EFFFFFFFFF 

Listen, I’m too old to have a “crush.” Do I have someone that I refer to as my “internet boyfriend” because he is someone I only talk to on the internet and we will probably never meet and if we were to meet nothing of a romantic nature would happen because when I meet someone I’ve been talking to online in real life I always sabotage it in some way? Yes. Yes I do. (A few years ago I went on a date with a very nice man I met online. Who, listen, was really seriously and not even being sarcastic very nice. And intelligent. And funny. But when we met in person it was like I was dead inside. I was not in the least bit attracted to him. At all. And also he had no chin. Like, there was his bottom lip? And then it went directly to his neck. It was off-putting. And of course I assumed he felt the same about me, so I was quite befuddled when, the next day, he sent me an email telling me how well it had gone and how much he wanted to kiss me but he’d held off because he could tell I was a lady. Aw. So nice, see! And, because I am a complete and total heartless bitch, I told him that I was not attracted to him in real life, but thanks, bye! And then people said, Amy! You can’t SAY that. You should have made something up! To which I replied, why drag it out? It’s not like I SAID “You have no chin.” I was vaguer than that. I’d appreciate if a guy was honest with me for once; I assumed this guy would appreciate the same thing. I mean, who would benefit from me saying “I’m not in a good place, romantically, right now, sorry?” No one. He’d probably just say, “Let’s keep in touch and when you are we’ll reconnect” or some such nonsense! And unless there’s a way for someone to surgically grow a chin, that wasn’t ever going to happen, and I didn’t want to get an email every few months asking “Ready? Ready now? How about now?” That would be worrisome. Isn’t it always easier to pull the Band-Aid off in one quick yank? Yes. I know. I know, it’s rude to not be attracted to someone because they don’t have a chin. All I can say is, you like what you like; and I like men with chins. I’m sorry. If that makes me superficial, so be it. Mutter under your breath that I’ll be forever alone with an attitude like that. I don’t care. I CAN NOT BE WITH SOMEONE WITHOUT A CHIN.) Also, do I have various and random “TV boyfriends” that vary depending on what program I’m watching? Yes. Who doesn’t? But do I have a “crush”? No. Not really. The last real crush I had spun out so spectacularly that I am not eager to have another. That was almost a year ago; I still feel like someone’s stabbing me in the gut with a rusty penknife when I see him, not so much because he was not interested, but because I put myself out there and he rejected me and also he was a tool and I am the worst judge of character ever and apparently THAT doesn’t change with age. So. Top-secret-like? Crushes are stupid and I am not in high school and if an opportunity were to present itself for a real, grown-up romance, that would be swell, are you listening, internet boyfriend who has no idea you are my internet boyfriend and most likely doesn’t even read my blog? Kickass. 

But now, here is the BEST BLOG IDEA EVER. Ready? I totally buried the lead, here. A blog that used a lot of pastels and swirly things told me the following which I am not even going to link back to them because their layout annoyed me and also I’m kind of mocking them so that’s mean: “What problem is your blog solving? Identify a reader’s – or a potential reader’s – problem, and produce a post to solve it.”

What have I told you all like a million billion times? I AM TOTALLY A PROBLEM SOLVER. This is a blog idea I can WORK with.  

A problem I believe many people have, based on my extensive research (“research” defined as “observations I’ve made as I go about my day”) is “How Not to Be a Douchebag.” And I would love to give you a list of areas in which you might have increased douchebaggery – or even worse, TOOLbaggery – and then you can STOP DOING THEM. Your problem – SOLVED. By extension – my problem – having to DEAL with your douchebaggery – ALSO solved. Win-win! 

FIVE WAYS YOU CAN STOP BEING A DOUCHEBAG TODAY 

1.   Get away from the goddamn copier when you’re done using it. (Alternately – the computer/fax machine/printer/binding machine, but mostly the copier.) If you’re done with it, go lean somewhere else to have a half-hour conversation with someone, or to collate a stack of papers as tall as your torso. Because I need to use it ALL THE TIME. And can’t, if you’re using it to prop yourself up. You’re welcome! (This may seem like a job-specific issue, but can also be used in a Kinko’s setting, or a library, or anywhere else there are more people than machines. Like an ER, for example. Or a chopshop. Or a sweatshop, for that matter.) 

2.   Stop being giggly. It’s like you’re sticking a sharpened chopstick into my ear and grinding it around. STOP IT. You are a grown woman. There’s no reason to act like a five-year-old. I know! You think the guys think it’s cute. And honestly? From the looks you’re getting, it seems it’s working. But I can guarantee you, your fellow women not only don’t respect you, they LOATHE you. You’re setting feminism back 100 years with that giggly shit. Cut it OUT. If the only way you can get a man is by acting like a minor, maybe rethink the kind of man you’re attracting, because do they have a van with blacked-out windows and a lot of lollipops and a bedside drawer full of restraints? 

3.   Don’t assume the world revolves around you. Because hey, news flash AND spoiler alert – IT DOES NOT. There are other people here! All of whom think THE SAME THING. If 50 people can make a meeting time of 1pm, don’t email the meeting organizer and ask him to reschedule it for 4pm because 1pm doesn’t work for you – you are in the MINORITY. Why are you more important than all of those other people? And what’s with the attitude, chumpy? You are not more important than anyone else. However! Bear in mind that I am more important than EVERYONE else. Then we’ll get along like gangbusters! (Oh, by the way, because we haven’t had a tangent recently, guess who’s the Mayor of both her local library AND her theater on Foursquare? THIS WOMAN. So yeah, I have an EMPIRE. Deal with it. It’s quite obvious I am very, very important.) 

4.   No one likes that much cologne and/or perfume. I mean, really. If I can taste the way you smell when you leave the room, YOU ARE WEARING TOO MUCH. 

5.   Just because you’re part of a couple now doesn’t mean you can stop using your brain. I get it. You’re totally in love. And really, even though I’m a complete and total heartless bitch, as evidenced by my “no chin hit the road Jack” story, I am really, really happy for you. But just because now you are getting sex regularly and someone’s calling you sweetheart and buying you stuffed teddy bear-like items and helping you with the dishes and whatever else happy couples do (I WOULDN’T KNOW DAMN) it doesn’t mean your brain gets to stop working. Return emails; have dinner with friends without your significant other along once and a while; start conversations without “Bobby and I think…” or “Betty and I went…” at least every fifth sentence; don’t use “sorry, you know how it is!” *giggle* *blush* as an excuse to get out of your duties and assume we’ll think you were busy being one-half of a committed couple, therefore we have to take up your slack and like it. As I said: love you. Love your significant other. Also? Love your brain. Miss it, actually. Can it come back? 

There. I have solved a problem. This is bound to bring many new readers to my blog, readers who have an issue with douchebaggery. It will fix them! I will fix them! I AM A GOLDEN GODDESS. 

I think I also might have answered what I should do with my life. Obviously, go around the country and fix and/or smite douchebags. What a momentous day! Someday we’ll be celebrating August 10^th as Douchebag Day, and who’s laughing THEN? Me, from my gigantic pile of cash money I’ve somehow gotten from this highly lucrative enterprise I just made up out of thin air! Google! You really saved the day, here.

I Guess "Take the Money and Drive Around Aimlessly" Didn't Test Well

So last night I watched this new show Take the Money and Run. I know, I know. I’m not usually a fan of game shows. But it’s by the people who created The Amazing Race, and I LOVE The Amazing Race.  

Now, before we start talking about the insanity that is Take the Money and Run, let’s discuss The Amazing Race for a minute. First, we have the host. Phil Keoghan. Phil is adorable, and from New Zealand so he has a luscious accent, and he does that sexy skeptical eyebrow quirk thing that I adore. He is also polite, and does not treat the contestants like they are there to take money out of his pocket, Jeff Probst. (Jeff Probst lost the little respect I had for him the year on Survivor when they had him take the jar of final votes and pretend to travel through the jungle to bring them to the final vote tally in L.A., and he had a machete and chopped through the forest and it was night when he started and day when he got out, then he stood on the landing gear of the helicopter that was waiting for him and it took off as if it was going to carry him across the ocean on the landing gear – um, really, Survivor? How stupid do you think we are? I still sometimes mention in conversation “The time Probst chopped through the jungle all night” as an example of reality-show weirdness. Although the time Johnny Fairplay pretended his grandmother was dead was one of my favorite things EVER. “How’s Gramma?” “Dude, she died.” LOVE IT.) 

So, The Amazing Race. I love this show. I love most of the people. I love that they get to travel to amazing places and do fun tasks there. I love that I get to see these places, because I don’t have the money to travel, so it’s like a game show and a travel show all in one.  I love deciding which task I would pick if I were a contestant. (Easy: neither. I could never be a contestant. You have to run a lot and I am not good at that. Also sometimes they have to bungee jump. Nope. I’m out.) 

Things I do not like: contestants that fight too much and are obviously there just to stir up trouble and give the audience people to hate; people that complain about things not being “fair” like someone running faster than them to the mat or not giving them the answer to a task (IT IS A COMPETITION YOU DUMBASS); people who think speaking LOUDER ENGLISH to non-English speakers will make them understand you better (“LEFT! LEFT! Why isn’t he understanding me? God, I HATE Russia!”); couples who go on the show to get to know each other better (a reality show is NOT going to make you grow closer together – quite the opposite, actually, it usually makes you never want to see each other again); people who go on the show not knowing how to do a basic skill that you need to be able to do in order to play the game (swim or drive stick are the two biggest offenders here.) 

OK, so that was a tangent and a half. Take the Money and Run. Premise: a team of two people are given a briefcase with $100,000 in it. They have an hour to hide it somewhere in the city in which they live. After the hour is up, they are taken into “custody” by two police officers and two police interrogators, who attempt to find out where they hid the case. (The police officers have access to the GPS of the car they used and their cell phone records.) The police have 48 hours to find the case; if they don’t, the team gets to keep it. 

Questions I had going into this: 

Can the team just refuse to answer any of the questions? Apparently not. That was never explained, but it seems they couldn’t just sit there and plead the 5^th, because the team on the premiere that I watched squawked like a couple of monkeys for the entire 48 hours. So apparently you have to answer whatever’s asked of you. You can lie, but you seem to have to answer. 

If the police can just follow the GPS, this seems a little too easy. Yes. That is a problem. However, you don’t have to use the car all that much. You can park and go on foot, which they did in places. 

Again, if the police have access to your cell phone, they seem to have the upper hand. Yep. Again, this all seems to be in the police’s favor. See, I would have just not USED the phone? But they used it in what they thought was a tricky way. 

Does the team know about the police using the GPS and cell phone records? Yes. 

What is the point of this show? Well, different people will have different theories on this. But my theories are: to show you that if you attempt a crime, YOU WILL GET CAUGHT NO MATTER HOW STUPID THE POLICE ARE. And YOU AREN’T A GOOD LIAR EVEN IF YOU THINK YOU ARE. At first, I thought it might be to show you how the police work a crime, which would be interesting. But I decided that probably it was to make you scared to COMMIT a crime because even bumblers like the cops and interrogators on this team could (spoiler alert) find and keep your briefcase. 

OK, so here’s what happened: 

The team got the briefcase. The team consisted of a super-hot jock type twenty-something and his chubby, out-of-shape losery brother who lived with their mom. And they lived in San Francisco. Which I visited once and it wasn’t as exciting as I’d always thought it would be, and it was SO COLD and I was underdressed for the occasion. But in places? There was poetry on the streets. Like, pavers with poetry written on it on the street. So I loved that. They got in the car and drove to where they wanted to drop it – a restaurant where no one knew the hot brother ate a lot. It was closed. So then they drove around kind of aimlessly calling a bunch of people and setting up false alibis like “if the cops call you tell them you saw me and my brother at 9:30 with the briefcase” and “can I hide a briefcase with you but not really ok cool” (this confused me and still does) and then ran out of options so they did a weird U-turn and buried it in a park under some bushes. This is where I decided the best possible outcome for this show would be for a homeless person to find the briefcase, because how awesome would it be if the police found the spot but IT WASN’T THERE and then the team went back all cocky and were all “Whaaa?” and then the cameras found a homeless guy strutting down the street in a fancy suit drinking Courvoisier and smoking a fancy Cuban cigar or something? Totally awesome, that’s how awesome. Anyway, they buried it, then went to a gas station and washed their hands really well so it didn’t look like they’d been digging in the dirt, then the hour was up so they got taken into fake custody by the cops. 

So the cops were the two investigators, who went around town checking out leads, like the people who were called on the cell phone and the different places along the GPS route, and the interrogators, who were a nice-seeming woman and a shady-seeming man who wore too many rings. This made me distrust him. I don’t know what it is, but if a man is wearing too many rings, I find him untrustworthy, like flashy-mobstery or something. Also his hair was too long and his face was a little rodenty. So they decided that the chubby brother was going to be the weak link and the hot brother was going to be hard to crack. 

Without going into too much detail, they grilled these two dummies for almost the entire time. The hot brother was a cocky son of a bitch. Like, he was that guy in Law and Order that you wanted to kick because you knew he was probably the serial rapist. “Oh! Yeah! Bring! It! On!” he told the interrogators.  Apparently, this was a dream of his, outsmarting the cops. The dumb brother? He BROKE DOWN. He could NOT handle this. Like, he was the WORST liar ever. “Why did you call Pedro?” “Um. Because. Um. The case? To. Hide? Driving. Money?” “ARE YOU LYING TO US?” *weeping* WORST CRIMINAL EVER, this guy. This isn’t even a REAL INTERROGATION, fella. Like, you’re not going to jail for this, you know. He was so scared. And the hot brother kept saying how slow and fat the other brother was! And the interrogators would come back and tell the chubby brother this! And he’d get all quiet and sad and his eyes would go all wide like he was imagining his life in the big house!  

Things that happened that bear mentioning:

• The cops had a list of the people that were called on the cell phone. The people that were called lied to them. They then crossed them off the list as potential suspects, based on the lie. So, if I’m figuring this correctly, the briefcase could have been with one of the accomplices and the cops, who blindly accepted “I’m too busy for you to search my apartment right now” as an answer to one of their questions, would never have found it. This does not instill confidence.
• Good cop, bad cop IS REALLY A THING. The interrogators kept using it. It did not fool hot brother. It did fool chubby brother.
• At one point, the investigators called the brother’s mom to get an address from her. They flat-out lied to her. “We’re friends with your sons and they need your other son’s address because they’re both unable to come to the phone right now to ask you for it themselves and they want to go to his house.” AND SHE GAVE IT TO THEM. Um. Mom? If you’re reading this? DO NOT FALL FOR THIS CLEVER RUSE IF IT HAPPENS TO YOU. Because it is how KILLERS find out PERSONAL INFO ABOUT YOU. The mom FELL for this? How were BOTH sons not able to come to the phone? How did both of her sons not know her third son’s address? Why didn’t her son’s friend give his name? And at the end of the call, she said, “Call anytime if you need anything else!” and the cops chuckled and said “Oh, we will. WE WILL.” Nefarious! So I’m pretty sure identity thieves would have a field day with this woman. “We need your social security number? For your son? We are his friend? He is in Africa? On safari? Also your date of birth?” “Of course, darlin’! Anytime! It’s 001-…”
• The cops went door to door asking if anyone had seen one of the cell phone people. One of the people they asked was my favorite person on the show. When he saw the photo, he said in an exhausted voice, “That looks like any of the frat boys I see EVERY DAY.” Ha! Way to be world-weary, San Franciscan. And way to have a generic photo, cops.
• The interrogators kept saying things like “There’s SOMETHING about this RESTAURANT” or “There’s SOMETHING about the guy they called at 9:53” when there WASN’T.

I know you’re wondering, because I rudely spoiled you, how did the cops find the briefcase?

Chubby brother cracked!

He got all stir-crazy, because apparently he was misinformed and thought that 48 hours = 48 years? Or was in video game withdrawal and wanted to go home because they showed what he did for a living and it seemed to be working at McDonalds and playing video games? I don’t know. The weird U-turn led them to think something had happened in the park where they buried the case. So they were interrogating him under hot lights and they said something about “So was that BEFORE or AFTER you buried the case in the park” and he said “After” and then you could see “OH SHIT” cross his face, poor chubby going-nowhere brother, and then he started crying again, and they were all, “You want to go home, don’t you,” and he was all, “Uh huh,” and they left very gleeful. And the cops found the case, and the best moment was the interrogators telling the cocky brother they found the case in the park and him pretending that was false, and saying, “Huh, how did they find it there?” and BAM, the cops came in and bashed it on the table in front of him. And at the end of the show the chubby brother couldn’t even look his brother in the eye, and the cocky brother said something in his exit interview like “And even though my brother cracked I still love him” but in a way that you knew it really meant “I’d like him to be eaten by a wolverine.” 

So what did we learn, here? 

• Well, in real life, don’t answer police questions without your lawyer present. Seriously. Bad, bad idea. 
• Don’t bury $100,000 in the park. Where is a better choice? I don’t know. I’m not a contestant. And I’d have no idea where to hide the money if I was, because honestly, I’d panic and crash the car in the first 2 minutes and spend the next 58 dealing with Geico.
•  This show is probably geared to subliminally make you think “there is no way I can outsmart the police so I shouldn’t commit a crime.” And yeah, you shouldn’t commit a crime anyway, because LISTEN, I totally watch crime shows, DNA is EVERYWHERE, don’t even BOTHER.  I am curious if the contestants are ever going to win. Because if they do, will that be a blueprint on how to outsmart the cops? And if so, I don’t think ABC will want to air that, will they? Curious. 
• This is really kind of perfect summer TV. It doesn’t make you think too hard; you can do other things while it’s on; it’s not very intelligent; and it’s a little weird. 

However, their host is someone named “The Mystery Man” which is just stupid.

PHIL KEOGHAN SHOULD HOST EVERYTHING.

Listen, NO ONE can defeat the fast zombies, DON'T EVER BOTHER.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the zombies.

Like, what will happen when they come? Not if. I’m fairly sure it’s a when. Because somehow zombies are a lot more believable to me than vampires or werewolves or other Big Bads. Zombies are rooted in reality. I mean, have you ever sat in a conference room at 8am with a bunch of accountants when the coffee hasn’t kicked in yet? They’re already zombies. It’s not much of a stretch from the 8am conference room to post-apocalyptic America and those same people shambling around moaning for your brains. 

Sometimes this worries me. I mean, I don’t know if I would survive the zombies. If they’re fast zombies, I am totally screwed. Like the zombies in 28 Days Later. Those things scared the hell out of me. Fast zombies? Oh HELL no. Not at ALL fair. Like, sneak-attack fast zombies? No thank you. I might as well just throw in the towel now if there are fast zombies. Because listen, I am not fast. And I am clumsy. Majorly clumsy. So if I tried to escape from the fast zombies, I would not be able to outrun them, and also I would fall down trying. Which would make for a good comedy, but wouldn’t be so good for my life expectancy. 

But then I think, hey, I have some skills. I have some coveted skills that, given slow, plodding, unable-to-plan zombies, might allow me to survive for a little while in a world overrun by the undead. 

WHAT I BRING TO THE TABLE WHEN AMERICA IS INEVITABLY OVERRUN BY ZOMBIES 

1.   I am very good with guns and knives. This is a true fact! You might not think it is, but I guarantee you, I not only know how to shoot a gun, I am fairly accurate with them, have a basic idea how to load them, and really kind of enjoy them. I don’t get all squeamish and weird about them. I know they kick and can hurt your shoulder. I know you don’t hold them sideways like movie gangstas. My father made sure I could handle a gun from a very young age; little did he know that someday this will come in handy when I will have to blow the head off a zombie who is coming for me and I won’t even flinch. I also know a lot about knives, and very seldom cut myself with them while using them. However, I cannot shave my legs without looking like I’ve walked through a field of barbed wire. No, I don’t know what’s going on there either.

2.   I have no problem killing, cleaning and cooking cute wittle animals. I can fish and hunt and don’t go “aw! Bambi!” I mean, I don’t get doing it for fun – I’m not a latent serial killer or anything – but if it comes down to us having to use our survival skills because the zombies have totally overrun the grocery stores and are waiting all slack-jawed for us to come in and see if there are any canned goods left, I’m your woman.

3.   I am kind of a hoarder. I am really good with coupons, and therefore, have a ton of things that I’ve gotten for free or close to free from Rite Aid. No, not like the crazy people on Extreme Couponing. I don’t have 214 boxes of pasta. (As an aside, I watched this for the first time recently, and it made me angry. NO ONE NEEDS 214 BOXES OF PASTA. Also, one of the women was stocking up on 40 jars of sauce and 40 boxes of pasta and her adorable moptopped kid was all, “Mommy look at this box of Fruit by the Foot can we get this?” and she turned on him all rabid-eyed and snapped “WE DON’T HAVE A COUPON FOR THAT.” Um, yeah, I’m thinking maybe your priorities are a little messed up if you can’t spend $3 on simulated fruit snacks for your kiddo but you can buy 86 kajillion bottles of handsoap and crow over them, “We won’t have to buy handsoap for FIVE YEARS!” Well, in five years, your child will be all Cat’s in the Cradle and you’ll be sobbing “why, why me”, while obsessively washing your hands with free handsoap, chica. Good times.) But anyway, we can totally barter with my stash. I have a lot of lotion and razors and bodywash, which will be like GOLD after the zombies show up. And we can trade them for things we need like canned soup. Plus we will smell nice and be clean-shaven if we so desire.

4.   I know a lot of things about zombies. I know how to kill them; I know the safest places to hide from them; I know their habits; I know their weaknesses. Now, I know you’re thinking, if you know so much, why don’t you tell me? Otherwise, how do I KNOW you know, you know? You’d like that, wouldn’t you. Well, no. Because then YOU will be in demand as an Apocalypse partner, and I have to keep my stock high. I don’t like people, but I know there’s safety in numbers, jackhole. If you want my zombie knowledge, you can just come seek me out when the zombies are here. Or watch and read all the zombie literature and movies you can get your hands on, I suppose. But good luck sifting through what’s real and what’s false. You want that, you come and find me on Zombie Day.

5.   I have a lot of obscure knowledge about things that will come in handy. I know you need to boil creek water before drinking it. Do you know why? BECAUSE YOU CAN CATCH BEAVER FEVER. Yes, that’s really a thing. My father says so and he’s really smart about outdoors stuff. No, I don’t know exactly what Beaver Fever does to you, although I could look it up on Wikipedia if I didn’t want to preserve the mystery of such a magical disease, and yes, every time he says it I laugh because it sounds like something a redneck would say right before he went into a singles bar (“Hope I get lucky tonight, boys, I got me the Beaver Fever!”) But the fact is, I KNOW ABOUT BEAVER FEVER. Are you wondering what else I might know about? Things. Lots of things. Things that we will need to know in order to survive the zombies.

6.   I don’t get cold that easily. See, we’re probably going to be freezing, once the winter comes and there’s no electricity because the people that run the power plants are brain-hungry masses of the undead. So we’re going to have to build fires and huddle together for warmth and such and there’s always going to be one person who’s constantly whining about how cold it is. Nope, see, not me. Because I am like a little furnace. I am ALWAYS HOT. Probably it’s because I don’t have a thyroid and that kind of regulates your temperature, but who cares? I will not be the whiny too-cold person. And that person is ANNOYING. And not someone you want on your team.

7.   I am an excellent fire-builder. I build and maintain an excellent fire. Like, the kind of fire people ooh and aah over. It’s kind of a gift I have. I am very good at it. You will want someone who can build a fire when you’re freezing. Also, how will you cook your food without me? You won’t, that’s how. Try eating cold beans from a can for a week, see how badly you want me along then.

8.   I am very good at thinking of alternate solutions to problems. If you can’t figure out how to do something, I can probably come up with a solution. And it probably won’t work, because I’m not omniscient, damn. But a lot of times, my weird solutions that can’t help anyone make you think of something that will help, and then you will take all the credit. And I will totally let you. YOU’RE WELCOME.

9.   I am full of inappropriate humor that will lighten the gloom. Things are not going to be cheery, what with the zombies that want to eat our brains, and no electricity and therefore no hot showers, and our loved ones most likely dead or inaccessibly far away, and we’ll have no cable television SO HOW WILL WE WATCH VH1 CELEBREALITY, and our cell phones won’t work and even if they did, who would we talk to, ZOMBIES? I don’t think so, what would they talk about, the best places to get BRAINS or something? I can’t imagine zombies could type on those little keyboards, either. Well, maybe the fast zombies. Goddamn you, fast zombies. And there’s death waiting for us around every corner, and that annoying “I’m too COLD!” person whining and moaning, and what have you. Listen, I am all about inappropriate humor. I will say something along the lines of, “Wish I could have seen my boss’s face when a zombie chomped on him! Way to be a dickhead NOW, Zombie Boss,” and that will make you laugh. Or, on the other hand, the kooky sidekick is usually the first one to go in the horror movies, for whatever reason. So if nothing else, I will be the distraction you need to escape the zombies while they are eating me up. Wait! Come back here, jackass! No man left behind!

10. I am very good with animals. I think it would behoove us to have some pets. Probably dogs. Although horses might be handy. Or cows and chickens, if we could stay in one place long enough for that to be feasible. I guess it would depend on the zombies, and if they would leave us alone long enough to set up a little farm. Anyway. I am good with animals. Animals like me. I think because they can sense I like them more than most people. Because I truly do. So we could totally get a gang of pit bulls, which I am very, very good with, having worked at the Humane Society for two years, and they would protect us from the zombies, or at least bark when then zombies were coming, and give us time to protect ourselves. Although this plan might backfire on me, because I don’t see how I could leave my animals behind, and therefore I would be eaten while going back for my animals. I guess we could just not tie them up and let them fend for themselves. Yeah, I think that’s the way to go. See? PROBLEM SOLVED. I am really awesome at this already.

11.  I am constantly filled with rage that can be harnessed toward zombie slaughter. You know how there's always that person in the movie that goes all berzerk and kills a bunch of people in a righteous haze of fury? I get that way about BAD DRIVERS. I get that way about RUDE PEOPLE IN THE GROCERY STORE. So just imagine how righteous my bad-ass rage will be when faced WITH AN ACTUAL THREAT. Harness my rage UP, folks. I will be a ZOMBIE KILLING MACHINE.

So, as you can see, if you ignore the fact that I really have no athletic skills whatsoever, and hate people, and hate most canned foods, and if I go more than a week without a hot shower or internet access I kind of turn into a crazy person, and need a lot of prescription medications to live? I would TOTALLY BE AN ASSET ONCE THE ZOMBIES COME. So make sure you include me in your plans for the Apocalypse. But let me know, because I’m going to have to be very selective. I mean, I can’t just hang out with ANYONE. This isn’t a RAVE. It’s the APOCALYPSE. A girl’s gotta have STANDARDS.

Vacation Roundup! Complete with clowns, witches, and hoodlums!

I just got back into town today. I spent the past 8.5 days in the mountains, in a cabin, with no cable and no internet. Which is nice, in a way, because it's mostly quiet, and I watch a lot of things I have recorded, and I read a lot of books, and I visit family and friends. And the best thing is, I am mega-poor, so hey, free vacation! But DAMN do I feel cut off from the rest of the world. Whoo.

So, without further ado, because I know you've been jonesing for it, here is:

***VACATION RECAP 2011***

(I made that fancy by adding the asterisks and bold-facing it. I know you appreciate the added fancy.)

I Was Born in a Small Town (but Got the Hell Out as Soon as I Was Able)

The town where I vacation is tiny and if you do a search for it on the internet you can barely find it. You have to drive about twenty minutes to get to the next biggest town, which is still pretty small. It is also full of strange things. For example:

• When you first drive into town from one direction, there is a farm with a boulder with "HEllO" written on it. Just like that, too. With the two L's lower-case. So it looks kind of like a schizophrenic wrote it. It's like jolly graffiti. I noticed the second time by it that, kind of faded out beside it, it says something about having a good day, too. Well! HEllO to you, too! I feel like this is the kind of place where they'd lure you in with cheerful boulders and then they'd serve you for dinner with a side of home-grown zucchini, or something.
• The only place in town where I could get internet access (except for the dialup at my parent's house, which is another town over and, well, dial-up is...have you ever had your fingernails removed with a pair of pliers while someone kicked you repeatedly in the kidneys with a steel-toed boot? That's the physical equivalent of the mental torture of waiting for a page to load while using dialup) was the local library. There are four computers in two groups of two, quite close together. I chose carefully. One had a tough kid listening to headphones; one had a lady who was muttering audibly and looked to be possibly indigent. I chose the tough. I chose well; he ignored me and did his thing. I left my things there for 3 minutes at one point and ran to the bathroom, which is just across the lobby. When I got back, a weirdo was in my seat. The tough, who apparently had decided we were buddies, gave the weirdo (who was pale, like a cellar-dwelling psycho, and had crazy eyes) a very mean look and said, "This guy STOLE YOUR SEAT YO. He put your PURSE on the FLOOR. I put it at the FRONT DESK FOR YOU." The weirdo didn't move. I thanked the tough and moved to the seat next to the lady, who, for the next half hour, kept talking to the computer. Mostly mutterings I didn't catch, but at one point, to the top of her lungs, and not to me, to the screen: "THEY WILL STEAL YOUR HOUSE." Who? Who will? The people in the computer? I don't know. I sat very still, thinking if I didn't make any sudden moves, perhaps she wouldn't know I was there.
• Waving. I will never get this. Everyone waves at everyone there. I guess it is a small-town friendliness thing, which I should celebrate. I think it makes you look foolish. You wave CONSTANTLY there. At STRANGERS. I am repeatedly shaking my hand around like a goofball while wondering "Do I know you? Or are we just being friendly? Maybe when I lived here we went out one time? I haven't lived here in like twenty years. Maybe I don't LIKE you. I don't know if I WANT to wave at you." So I did an experiment; I didn't wave at one guy who waved at me. AND HE STARTED CUSSING AND SHAKING HIS FIST AT ME. So it's like a requirement! If you don't wave like a doofus, you get cussed out and possibly burned at the stake! Good to know!
• You have to drive for an hour, almost, to get anywhere. This is one of the things I truly appreciate, living where I do. I like knowing that, within fifteen minutes at most, I can get dinner, see a movie or a play, visit friends, go to work, or go shopping. You have to block off your entire day to do anything there. This would make me crazy, and also eat up my entire salary with gas money (since gas is about 25 cents a gallon more expensive there.)
• The local paper has so many misspellings that you kind of cringe every third sentence. Also, the captions under each photo are very often wrong. And the misspellings are things that could be caught with a spell-check program in Word, so I'm not really sure what's going on there. And the article titles are trying to be bad puns but are failing badly. Like, the fair was in town, and it was free on Thursday, so the title was "Free-for-All." And that made me think it was like a brawl, but really it was. Free for all, I mean. So, yeah. It's kind of embarrassing. Also I found three errors in the crossword puzzle one day. Which doesn't really instill confidence in anyone or anything.

Into the Woods

The cabin is in the mountains, and in the woods, and is fairly quiet. However, this does not stop odd things from happening.

• My neighbor ran a very loud wood chipper for about 8 hours one day. I was fairly sure he was chopping up his family until I was informed he was gay and therefore didn't have one. My helpful comment of "maybe he's chopping up his lovers?" was not appreciated. Listen! If you are in the woods alone with no internet for a week, YOU MAKE UP YOUR OWN SAGAS.
• One evening, hoodlums arrived! Wait, that's exciting, so let's make it so. There! Were! HOODLUMS! Some teenagers were peeking in the windows and when I went outside to see what all the hubbub was they said "SHEEEIIIITTTTT" and ran off and then shot at each other with toy guns in the woods behind my cabin for about 45 minutes. And their dog came and hung out with me because I assume he was as annoyed with their childish antics as I was. Oh, and they were probably in their late teens, so toy guns were not really age-appropriate. Also they kept leaping out from behind trees at each other and saying "Dude you scared me." "No dude YOU! Scared ME!" over and over. Um. Yeah. This is fun? But can we stop? Because you're annoying the piss out of me. 
• Sometimes there was wildlife, but not enough wildlife to make it interesting. Like, a bear would have been exciting, but the most exciting thing I saw was a hummingbird. Oh, and two dragonflies doing it.

Helpful tips I would like to pass along to you because I am HELPFUL

1. Do not watch "Les Liaisons Dangereuses" with your mom, because there are some mega-graphic sex scenes in that, and talk about awkward. Whoo. This is especially true if it's in a live theater setting. Because they're RIGHT THERE IN FRONT OF YOU AND THERE'S MIMED CUNNILINGUS AND THIS IS NOT SOMETHING YOU WANT TO DISCUSS ON THE VERY LONG DRIVE HOME.
2. It is apparently embarrassing to people if you go to the movies and you're the only one in the theater so you get up in front of the theater before the show starts and pretend you're going to put on a little skit. Come on, how often do you get THAT opportunity? FUN.
3. Explaining Foursquare to your technophobe father is a HOOT. "So you're telling people where you ARE?" "Yes, Dad." "But then they know where you are." "Yes." "Are they going to come here?" "No. Well, I mean, I guess they COULD, but they probably won't. Since most of my Twitter friends don't live anywhere near here. And I'd actually love if they DID come here." "But the stalkers might find you." "Yeah, I guess. But I'm not interesting enough for stalkers, really. The stalker would have to be super-bored. And then if he kidnapped me I'd be all talky and he'd give me back. He'd probably pay his own ransom just to get rid of me." "Don't tell it where I am. I don't want it to know." "It doesn't know where YOU are, Dad. Just ME." "Well, don't. I don't want a stalker. Also, don't Tweeter about me."
4. If you watch 8.5 days of bad television back to back all alone, you learn a lot of really important things. Listen, I watched almost an entire SEASON of Celebrity Rehab. Do you know what I learned? Celebrities are ANNOYING and also NEED A LOT OF ATTENTION.  And Dr. Drew looks really hot in a t-shirt. Also, my taste in television is kind of appalling, and if someday, an archaeologist were to come along and look at what I watched, they'd probably write off the entire human race. Also, even though it's kind of stupid now, Grey's Anatomy still makes me cry like I lost my puppy.

Who Thought This Was a Good Idea?

There were two things I wanted to show you that I found at camp. I took photos of both. OK, first, a little background. My grandmother bought this camp, fully furnished, in the late 70's. The knickknacks are still there. And they are kind of horrible and kind of awesome and I'm fairly sure that someday I'm going to go on Antiques Roadshow with some of them and be that person that the antique dealer tells in a snooty voice "Do you know what you have here? It's a Bakelite Thingamabobbie. Only four of these were made. It's worth $500,000." And I will scream and probably drop and break it and the dealer will be horrified.

First, listen, this is very upsetting. The first thing? WAS TOTALLY AWESOME AND PROBABLY HAUNTED. I took a photo and it was there and NOW IT IS NOT THERE. So I am fairly sure, since all of the OTHER photos I took are still there, that it is a haunted thing that does not want to be seen. Or like a vampire whose image cannot be seen by the naked eye.

It was a decanter for hard liquor with shot glasses hanging off of it, and it was in the shape of a horribly dead-eyed clown which was in black-face, and its hat was the stopper, and the glasses were hanging off spikes sticking out of its waist in weird spots, and it was like it was looking into your soul with its dead and vaguely racist eyes.

This is the closest I can find online, but mine was worse. And probably haunted since somehow he got into my phone and deleted his own likeness.

This thing was watching me for over a week and I didn't know it was there until I was over by the television doing something and there were these EYES and I was all HOLY WHAT THE... and it was this. Only scarier. So, yeah.

Next: we have a lot of old children's books up there from when we were kids. This one...um...

Yes, you are reading that right. It is about a witch that ran out of jizzle. JIZZLE. What the hell?

As you can see, she would like to go to "the nearest jizzle station." I'm pretty sure a strange adult who comes asking kids that without their parents around = Bad News Bears.

Ignore the foolishness about how Pebbles and Bamm-Bamm (yeah, apparently the books at our camp were not the most haughty literary choices, bite me, Snobby McUpperCrust) only talk in baby babble. The important part is the continuing jizzle conversation. Now they admit they have never heard of jizzle. What will happen, what will happen!

Sorry. This one's blurry. I blame the scary vaguely racist clown. "What can we do about some jizzle" is JUST want you want strange adults saying to your children, though.

So I'm back! And internet, I have missed you terribly. Work - well, not so much with missing work. But as I barely escaped with my life from the dead-eyed clown, I suppose I should just be thankful I still have my soul.