This is why I don't socialize often

This week is full of Lunches. Does this happen to you? You can go for a month just eating your salad in the lunch room or occasionally popping out to the mall, and then all of a sudden all the "we should do lunch!" conversations you've had in the last few weeks align like the stars and you're booked solid.

Although, my lunch date yesterday was with my Mom, so I'm not sure if that earns me popularity points. But she did bring me presents - some random stuff from my Grandma's house, which everybody has been spending the past 6 months cleaning and organizing.

(My grandma lived in a 5-bedroom, 4-level split for over 50 years, the last 40 of them by herself, before going to a home. Why the hell would she throw stuff out? She had closet space to beat the band.)

The bag had some tea (unopened), a couple of christmas ornaments, and what looked like a dead squirrel.

"Um." I pointed to it. My mom isn't in the habit of gifting me with dead squirrels, although since she's basically an older version of me I wouldn't put it past her.

"Um, yes. We found that. Your grandma still had it." 

I inspected it more closely and realized what it was. My hair. From when I was 9 years old and decided to chop it all off. My grandma was so distraught at the thought of her only granddaughter cutting her long locks that she asked to keep it.

Probably nobody thought she would keep it for THIRTY YEARS.

 

(The note says: "Nov 10 - 1983, Keely's ponytail after having her hair cut she saved it for me". Then she initialed it. I'm not sure who exactly she was keeping a record for, but it's kind of charming, in a "one day this will all be dust in the wind so better write it down" kind of way.)

"Why would you think I'd want it?" I asked mom.

"I don't know, I didn't know what else to do with it," she replied.

(Well, neither do I. Does anybody know if Locks of Love accepts 30-year-old hair?)

The dead squirrel sat on the chair next to me until the conclusion of our viet-thai food lunch, at which point my fortune cookie told me, "That recurring dream you keep having? It is your destiny."

I only have one recurring dream. It's the one about the zombie apocalypse. 

So yeah. Here's hoping tomorrow's lunch date is less...weird.

What's on your agenda?

Love means making the important sacrifices

Me: “Mom wants to know if we want to go camping for a weekend, but she thinks that all the cabins might be booked, so we’d have to do the tent thing.”

Alfred: “Um, well, up to you.  I’m up for whatever, but I’ve never really camped or put up a tent or done anything outdoorsy.  I’d be pretty much useless.”

Me: “Okay.”

Alfred: “I’d be useless in case of a Zombie Apocalypse, too.”

Me: “Oh, I know.  I’ve already decided to throw you under the proverbial bus if that happens.”

Alfred: (joking) “Well, I can run faster scared, than the zombies can mad!”

 

…bless him.  He thinks I’m kidding.

The leftover Mini-Pops go to the chicken zombies: Random Tuesday Thoughts


Let’s get ready to rrraaaaaaaaaaaannnndddddddoooomm!

Well, are you ready?  Do you know what to do?  Don’t look at me, I took advantage of your momentary confusion to get a head start.  I’m competitive that way.

Me: “What do you think happens to Mini-Pops when they’re too old to be Mini-Pops?  You’d think at least one of them would go on to fame and fortune, or something.”

Alfred: “Soylent Green.  They’re fuel for the next generation of Mini-Pops.”

(UPDATED: I can't believe y'all don't know what the Mini Pops are.  I desperately wanted their albums when I was a kid; I don't know why I didn't just get the ORIGINAL music, but whatevs.  Here:  http://www.minipopkids.com/mpk6.php )

I’ve blocked four IP addresses from that John Rambo guy who keeps trying to get me to boycott American Women.  I’m telling you, I’VE TRIED, I just can’t quit you guys.

How the zombie plague will really get started. (Because, well, that WOULD totally be hilarious.)

I have a job interview for a job that I reeeeeaaaalllly want this week.  Send me good vibes, and maybe it will help me to not vomit.  Or at least not vomit at a really inopportune time.

My laptop is back and virus-free, yay!  And fully functional.  Other than that missing software.  And…the charge cord they claimed they didn’t have, so I had to buy a new one. For $120.

But they completely forgot to charge me the $190 for the virus removal, so I guess I’m ahead of the game.

You know, I can’t say as I’d recommend the Geek Squad.

And now, before the time bomb they planted explodes, I think I’ll be done.

Got a random post?  Link it up!

Where are my hover shoes, dammit? (Random Tuesday Thoughts)

randomtuesday

 

IT.  IS.  TWENTY ELEVEN.

That is all.  Carry on with the random.

I didn’t manage to gain my 5lbs in December.  In fact, I weighed myself today and I haven’t gained any weight.  I mean, I knew it was hard to lose weight – I’ve never been the sort of person who could give up chewing gum and lose 5 pounds as a result – but I had no idea it was hard to gain it, too.  However, apparently I can eat every Christmas treat in front of me and chug nog for a solid month, without any ill effects.

This is fascinating information to have.

I finally went ahead and booked my flight to Nashville for the BlissDom conference at the end of the month.  Yay!

I should probably tell my boss I’m going to that, huh?

Did you all have a good New Year’s Eve?  I remember when it used to be a thing for me.  There was excitement, anticipation, more than a few cocktails. We considered carefully what we would wear, we tried desperately to get rid of our shifts at work if we had them.  Even if you didn’t make plans the weeks or months in advance, there was always something going on.

The last few years, though, not as much.  This year, Alfred had to work, though he was home by 10.  I had a glass of wine and watched the second episode of Walking Dead, and went to bed at 11.  I was probably still awake when midnight rolled around, but only because I was lying there shivering and imagining how I’ll get home to protect my family if the Zombie Apocalypse hit while I am in Nashville.

So, just like every other night, really.

A couple of days ago I ordered some books online and I was going to include Eat Pray Love  because MindyAnn recommended it a while ago and also I’m probably the last person on the planet to read it.  But then they only had a used copy and it was going to be 2 weeks to ship and blah blah, I figured I’d just go buy one in the next couple of days.

Then today my Mom gave me my Christmas present, which included a copy of Eat Pray Love

Don’t you just love Christmas miracles?

I feel like I should have been more productive over my little break.  I was going to brush up on my Mac skills, do some drawing.  Instead I drank a lot of wine and watched non-PBSKids television for the first time in 2 years.  I’m sort of disappointed in myself.  I could have built a lightsaber, or something.

It was really good television though.

Muppets with people eyes.  Warning:  You cannot unsee this.

Okay, now I’m going to go read my book.  And learn how to Pray and maybe Love.  I have the Eating down to an art form already.

Oh, I don't know, something about zombies: Random Tuesday Thoughts

So, I re-did the Random Tuesday button.  What do you think?

(Note: I didn't say I de-uglified it.  It's still purple.  And there's still a ham on there.  TRADITIONS, people.)

There is definite weirdness going on with the link, though - in theory I should have eradicated ALL of the old fugly purple buttons, and replaced them with the new fugly purple buttons.  But the old ones are still showing up.  They're a little like an insidious disease. 

So I'm sorry if you're diseased.

The other day I pulled up behind a car that had no less than 6 sparkly pink stickers that proclaimed it's owner "SPOILED".

It was an early 90s Chevy Caprice.

I kind of wanted to leave a dictionary as a gift.    I probably could have hefted one through the missing window.

So most of you were pretty skeptical about my "advice column" idea.  And asked a lot of questions about mayonnaise.  But then someone asked a question that I HAVE AN ANSWER TO, so now I have to go through with the whole thing just to prove to you guys that I am a font of useless information.

(Also, that I can be a know-it-all jackhole.  But you probably already suspected as much.)

You should probably help me out.  You can use the 'contact me' form on the right to ask a question anonymously, if you're not comfortable posting it publicly.  Go on with your shameful queries, you dirty birds.

Don't make me answer some of the stuff that gets people here via google:

...even though those people clearly need help.

Drinkers outlive non-drinkers.  Booyah.

How did you guys spend your labor day?  I spent mine dicking around on the internet, and playing the new(ish) Going Rogue content on my beloved City of Heros MMO (which is, essentially, more dicking around on the internet).  If there's a Creator, that's probably as they intended it.  Slacking is good for the soul.

Last week there were car eyelashes.  This week, the Y chromosome contingent felt left out, so there are car moustaches.

(I'm not sure why the only colors available are black or HOT PINK.)

There are changes, changes afoot in the casa del Un Mom.  Hubby is taking classes; I may have a job opportunity.  It's enough to make a person giddy.

(That could also be the wine.)

Anybody remember my New Years commitment to Two Week Resolutions?  No?  Good.

Hubby posted the trailer for the upcoming TV version of Walking Dead earlier, and I felt obliged to watch it. 

I'm no longer sure that he loves me.

 

...but you guys still love me, right?

PROVE IT! Get your Random on!

 

This Random is rather single-minded. Almost like a zombie.

randomtuesday

Intro, shmintro.

Cross-marketing that makes me say wtf:

A "New Moon" Wal-Mart gift card.

Yes, hubby and I had date night and went to Super WalMart again, why do you ask?

I finally have a composter in the backyard! Whee!

I'm old! I get excited about composting! Whee!


Single-serve disposable wine glasses. What's the point? I'd still need, like, twelve.

It must be "Pet Week" here at the Un Mom, because after telling you all about my cat, now I'm going to tell you about how my dog is a fucking pussy.

She's afraid of thunderstorms. Like bone-shaking, whimpering, trying-to-crawl-up-my-asshole afraid of them. Guess how many we've had in the past week or so? Approximately 523.

Under normal circumstances, my dog's preferred order of people goes: 1) Toddler with food, 2) Hubby, 3) Me, and 4) Toddler without food. In thunder conditions, for whatever reason, her order of preference changes to: 1) Me, 2) Me, 3) Where the hell is that woman anyway?, and 4) the toddler. I don't know why she thinks one of US is going to protect her better than the 6'3" guy, but she's not really known for her brains.

Anyway, that means that should thunderstorms occur at night, which, y'know, they occasionally do, she immediately clicks and jangles her way to the side of my bed and sits there panting heavy dog breath on my face. I can convince her to lie down by punching her in the head, but she has to sit up every 30 seconds or so to make sure I'm still there.

The second night of thunderstorms, I relocated myself to the couch, thinking she'd stay in the room with hubby, but no. She was unwilling to follow me to the living room, because the windows were open there, so she plowed her way into the kid's room, jumped up on the bed, and tried to lay on him. All 70 lbs of her. Needless to say, he complained to the management.

So guess how much sleep I had last week? Approximately none. It's a good thing we haven't had any storms for a couple of nights, because the dog wouldn't have made it. She would have died of fright or I would have smothered her with my pillow.

It's enough to make a person get a fucking CAT.


Things that an average person would do during the Zombie Apocalypse. I like to think I'd be in the minority, thankyouverymuch. Especially if I can get into this class.

I'm kind of hoping for an Apocalypse now. Not one single job I applied for has called me. At least an Apocalypse would give me something to do (and someone to stab in the head).

Good thing I don't have a therapist, I have no idea what they would say about that.


Aaaaaand on THAT cheery note, random up, you guys!

Define "normal", anyway: Random Tuesday Thoughts

randomtuesday

Hey kids, it's that Tues type of day again! How does that keep happening?

So, you know what to do. Or if you don't, it's pretty simple - write a random post. Add the fugly purple button, and link up. Voila! Then go visit some of the other players in this weird little game, because they all rock.

Ready? Random!

I went for a massage today. I love massage therapy, I have chronic lower back problems. Unfortunately, the back problems stem from HIP problems, and I always balk at telling the massage therapist what the real issue is.

Because you know where the pain from hip problems manifests, right? Right, in your butt cheeks.

I don't know why, when I'm already pretty much naked and letting a stranger oil me up & rub me down, I have issues asking them to knead my ass, but I do. There's just a line there I can't cross, okay?


I have intercepted the UPS guy twice in the last week. It's either a freaking miracle, or the new guy doesn't have ninja skills on par with the last UPS delivery driver.

I'm going with "miracle", because both times he's looked rather confused that he's actually had to talk to someone.

How was your Mother's Day? Mine was great - brunch*, a card with a toddler 'signature' in it, and Iron Man 2. I even got to sleep in**.

*At home because I've spent too many years working in restaurants to enjoy or contribute to that kind of shit show.

**Read: "lie in bed listening to my kid yell and try to convince my bladder to let me remain there for 5 more minutes, because I'm supposed to be enjoying this, dammit".


If you haven't seen Iron Man 2 yet, perhaps this model of what the Iron Man suit would look like if it tried to turn into a lobster will help.

Or not.

So, Greece. What the hell happened, Greece?

According to my dad, who is a financial planner and therefore pays way more attention to these things than I do (because he actually cares), apparently part of the problem is that virtually everybody in Greece works for the government. And you can take a pension at, like, the age of 50, and if someone dies their spouse then benefits from that pension. And if THAT person dies, their children can inherit the pension. Essentially, the Greek government has been paying it's citizens just to exist.

So, one thing is clear. I should have moved to fucking GREECE.


My kid woke up at 5:30 this morning. No reason, he just felt like being an asshole I guess. Later in the day I texted Fashionista, with whom I had a coffee date, to cancel because hubby had a meeting and anyway, I was hitting a wall because X had gotten up at 5:30, what an asshole.

She texted me back: "Uh, I assume you mean HUBBY is an asshole?"

...sure. If thinking that makes you continue to like me.

It's not any worse than when I texted her on Friday to ask: did she think I should take the antibiotics I'd been prescribed, or should I hoard them for the zombie apocalypse, because they were a different kind and it was good to diversify?

Sometimes I wonder how I have normal friends at all.

That don't live in my computer, I mean. YOU guys are normal, right?

Yeah, right.

Random up!

Yes, my week sucked, but it could be worse. I could be on the Celebrity Apprentice (Random Tuesday Thoughts)

randomtuesday

I don't really feel like a chatty intro today. So I'm just going to launch into random. Get your button, do your thing. And...GO.

Did anybody else's Firefox offer to pretty itself up for you? Mine is now sporting a picture of a retro flapper girl. I feel like maybe my web browser is trying too hard.


Hubby and I had another date night tonight, we used up some gift cards we had to a swanky restaurant that's in the middle of the park. We got all dolled up, got a sitter, ate way too much and had some wine, and then came home less than two hours later and immediately got into our pajamas. Now I'm blogging and he's watching wrestling. Possibly one or both of us is farting. It was kind of like playing grown-up, there, for a little bit.

Last week? Sucked. My kid made a break for it at daycare, spent Friday puking, and burnt himself on the stove Sunday. I didn't get the job I interviewed for (I didn't really want it anyway, but that's not the fucking point) and the job I do have sucked with its regular force.

So I thought I'd get things off on the right foot this week with a dentists appointment this morning.

I know, I'm concerned about my IQ as well.


I think I hate getting my teeth cleaned more than the actual check up. After I jolted out of the chair for the 4th or 5th time, the dental hygienist remarked without much sympathy, "Oh, they're all very sensitive today, aren't they?"

Well, yes, if you're jabbing them with a pointy metal instrument, they're sensitive. Though I'm not sure that just applies to TODAY you evil bitch.

I almost never watch TV, let alone reality TV, but last night I found myself enthralled with the season premier of Celebrity Apprentice. I think it was because I was watching it in HD. Bret Michaels, Cyndi Lauper, and Sharon Osbourne? That is a LOT of facial crevices. I felt a bit discombobulated. Like I might fall in.


In the wrong end of town and lacking a dollar coin for the cart at Superstore, against my better moral judgement today I ventured into the new Super Wal Mart for groceries. Okay, now THAT was discombobulating. At one point I texted hubby: "Avocados are eleven cents each and there are zombies working here. I'm going to hell, aren't I?"

He assures me I have to spend more than $250 in a trip before they punch my ticket to the infernal realm, but I'm not convinced.


I'm pretty sure I saw this lady there. She winked at me and handed me an avocado.

I'm starting to feel bad for John Cusack. Hot Tub Time Machine, really? Really? If you need money, man, all you have to do is ask.

(I still love ya though. Call me.)

On that note - that desperate, love-hate kind of note - I'm out. Random up, kids.

Batten down the hatches

According to the Zombie Survival Guide, I am woefully ill-prepared. I don't have a crossbow. I don't have an armored car. I have a stupid dog that will bark and draw attention to us and my house will suck to defend.

(But where am I going to find a house on stilts for sale on the bald ass prairie?)

I'm sure that when I've mentioned these concerns before, you probably laughed and thought I was joking. But I'm not. I really do worry about what I'll do when the dead walk. I really do lay awake after I wake up from a nightmare, wondering whether it would make sense to build a perimeter wall.

Because if I'm worrying about that, I don't have to think about spending another day in a workplace I loathe. I don't have to dwell on how small my boss makes me feel, when he used to be a friend and all-round good guy but has somehow slowly turned into a selfish, uncaring asshole. I don't have to think about how I might turn into that same person if I can't find another job soon.

If I'm running through the mental exercise of how many cans of food I'd need to wait out hordes of the undead, then I'm not thinking about my stupid broken uterus. I'm not stressing about my self-imposed deadline for baby-making, which is horrifyingly close. I'm not gnashing my teeth about not being able to get in to see a specialist for months, someone who might not be able to fix me but at least could tell me my options.

If I'm considering a weapon for close-range combat with a reanimated corpse, then I'm not considering the range of human horrors this society could inflict upon my son. I'm not stressing about things in his future that are years away, like what school to send him to and whether to drive him everywhere and how he'll react to peer pressure. I'm not letting myself think that his weird toddler quirks might be signs of something more.

If I'm planning and worrying about something that will never happen, then I am not wasting time bemoaning things I have little to no control over.

The other day I ditched on a coffee date with my friend Fashionista, because I was so tired and crabby and I just didn't deserve to be interacting with people. She told me I was allowed to have an 'off' day, I have a lot of stress. I said I didn't think I had any more stress than anybody else.

She said, "I think you do."

And while I still don't think I have any more stress than anybody else, I'm willing to concede that yes, indeed, I do have stress.

I mean, I can NOT find a half-decent machete ANYWHERE.

She'd probably write better blog posts, too

Angst via text:

Me: Am stuck doing boring sales calls with boss for self-important government types ALL DAY. Kill me now.

Hubby: Aw :(

Me: I hate my job.

Me: I wish the zombies would just rise up and kill me, already.

Hubby: Who would that leave me with?

Me: Zombie Keely. Pretty much the same thing, just less whiny and a little more bitey.

Hubby: ....

I'll have a dreamscape full of zombified blue cat people: Random Tuesday Thoughts

randomtuesday

And it's Tuesday. Again. How does that happen? One minute, you're cruising along thinking you just posted a random type Tuesday post, it's probably only Saturday by now, Sunday tops, and BAM! It's Tuesday again!

The fact that I have to go to work probably should have tipped me off.

Anyway. Write your random, glue it together with spit and the purple button, and link up. Shall we begin?

Best cardio workout ever: carrying your 40-lb toddler while slogging through 2 feet of snow, into a park to use a slide that's been abandoned since October. Seriously, Jillian Michaels has nothing on this. I was seeing black spots. One of them even spoke to me.

(Alternate title: How to NOT freeze to death despite the fact that it's freezing.)


I feel like I've been losing my blogging mojo lately, other than Random Tuesdays. I need something like Stiletto Mom's Shoebox Chronicles. I need topics, people.

Oh, and could you write the posts for me while you're at it? Thanks.

I saw Avatar yesterday. I really liked it, though it wasn't without its faults. The plot was nothing original - it was pretty much Dances With Blue Kitties. And the dialogue wasn't spectacular, though at least it was consistent and didn't try to be witty or anything. But the visuals, holy crap. It's going to be a classic just for that. The way we used to look at closets and wardrobes, hoping that just this once it would open a door to Narnia? That's how this generation is going to be looking at tanning beds.


There was also a trailer for a movie called "Percy Jackson and the Something Something"...which kind of zoomed by but I'm pretty sure was subtitled "Oh Hai I'm Whimsical and Magical and Appealing To The Kid In You That Wanted To Be Special, Can I Be The Next Harry Potter Plz?"

My friend Fashionista gave me the Zombie Survival Guide by Max Brooks as a belated Christmas gift. I just started reading it today.

I'll call her at 3am to thank her, when I'm wide awake and wondering whether boarding up the windows will wake the toddler.


And that's about it for me. I know, right? But I have a feeling I should go read that book before...well, just before.

So write 'em and make 'em random, and be sure to visit your cohorts in craziness to say hi!


Gauntlet: A short film that will only ever exist in my head*

A heavy steel door opens with a thunk, letting in daylight and silhouetting me a woman standing wielding dual katana blades. Through the opening door we can hear the faint groans of the undead.

Cut to a side view of me the woman. She is wearing heavily reinforced leather gear and a helmet with a face shield. She's almost entirely covered but we can tell she's buff. She's staring straight ahead (out the door). The last thing she does before lowering her face shield is insert iPod ear buds.

The woman steps out of the doorway. The sunlight is blinding; she's washed out. As the door closes behind her, a tune starts up on her iPod, something upbeat but incongruous with zombie slaying, like Gnarls Barkley's Run or You Spin Me Right Round. She begins a choreographed run down a whitewashed alleyway, leaping, slashing, beheading. Zombies swarm her as she keeps moving, killing with precision. Zombie slime splashes across her visor.

As the song ends abruptly she stops at the other end of the alley, breathing hard, and raises her visor. She pauses, then looks down to her own shoulder. The leather has ripped away, showing very clearly a zombie bite. Her expression does not change as she lowers her visor again, and turns back to face the door. We get a close up of her hand tightening her grip on her sword.

A shot past her hip towards the door. It opens again with a mechanical clunk. A blurry silhouette holding two swords steps into view.

Fade to white.

*Though at some point I might draw it into a comic.

How to avoid the Zombie Flu, er, H1N1, if you don't trust the vaccine like certain paranoid individuals

This is kind of remedial, but I know people forget to take care of themselves. Especially Moms. I'm pretty sure that's why the H1N1 has been doing away with otherwise healthy women; they were too damn busy taking care of everybody else.

So! Listen up, class:

1. Wash your hands. Sing Happy Birthday while doing so. I don't know why your hands need to be serenaded, but it's in all the literature. Possibly your singing will scare the germs away.

Don't ask me about hand sanitizers, because you'll just get a rant about breeding new supergerms that are going to garrotte us in our sleep. I'm sure they're fine though.

2. Drink lots of hot liquids. Y'know, coffee with Baileys, mulled wine, hot rum toddys.

3. Ingest things that have a lot of Vitamin C. Like Screwdrivers and mimosas.

4. Gargle with salt water. It's okay, I'm sure YOU look totally dignified.

5. Rinse your nasal passages with salt water. I use a neti pot (or as hubby calls it, my "nose flute"), and have for years. I've been trying to teach my toddler, but he screams like he's being waterboarded. He's just not trying, I swear. It's like he wants to get sick.

6. And finally, if you're sick, STAY THE FUCK HOME. Quit trying to be a hero. You'll infect the rest of the office, who will infect the FedEx guy, who will show up at my house with a package and...you see where this is going, right?

Do you want to be responsible for the FedEx guy getting shot in the face because I thought he was a zombie?

No, I didn't think so. Stay healthy, everybody.

Zombie Roundup

I'm having a busy week and I don't really have my poop in a group to pull together a REAL post, so I thought I would share with you the things that people share with me.

That's right, the zombie things. That people send me. Because obviously they all really hate me.

For instance, did you know there is an entire organization dedicated to zombie preparedness? That's right, I'm not the ONLY whack job out there. Other people think dead things are coming to get them, too, and they're even going so far as to put together task forces. With tanks. And face shields, for the ones that like to nibble.

Peggy knows I like to read, I mean who could miss my rave review of World War Z? So she sent me this link to Pride and Prejudice (and zombies). Didn't think Jane Austen did zombies? Oh yeah, you were wrong. So very wrong. I think I'd seen that before but this time I actually read a few pages and...d'oh. I may have to buy it.

I'll be sending Peggy a bill for the therapy required after that.

Robin at Cinnamon & Honey figures me for a stiletto girl, so she sent me a link to these: Zombie high heels. Possibly she also thinks I'm a drag queen?

A while back Erin, the Head Bag Lady at Durtbagz, sent me a link to her new 'zombie crossing' t-shirts. Because obviously, zombies have the right of way. Unless you're driving the tank. Then I think you win.

And, just in case you thought this was all getting too silly, here are 5 Scientific Reasons a Zombie Apocalypse Could Actually Happen. Because that kind of information is EXACTLY what someone with my fear and rabid imagination needs.

You're welcome.

I bet we left a shotgun there, too

This is a picture of me and my Dad. Me and my little plastic alligator shovel are "helping" him dig the foundation for a log cabin that he and a buddy subsequently built BY HAND.

It's not hard to be the underachiever in my family, really. But I do it with style.

That cabin was the source of many happy family times until it fell into disuse during my teenage years. My parents offered to sell it to my brother and I for a dollar if we would only maintain it, and we both turned them down.

Which, in hindsight, was incredibly stupid, because when the Zombie Apocalypse happens I'm totally going to be kicking myself that I don't have a remote cabin in the woods to bug out to.


Posted in participation with:

(And on a totally unrelated note, do you like pretty things? If so, head over and enter the giveaway we've got going on today at Connoisseur du Jour!)

I just knew their rewards program was too good to be true

I have to work all day today so I got nothin' for ya. Except this:

avons-derma-full-totally-looks-like-the-t-virus

Yes, despite the zombie fear, I have seen Resident Evil. I'll be avoiding the Avon Lady and her "free samples".

In other news, over at the new review blog I posted about things that vibrate and oral.*

*I'm counting on you guys being too lazy to come back and give me shit because I'm not really talking about what you think I'm talking about.

Wine and body parts: Random Tuesday Thoughts

randomtuesday

It's that time again....I wonder how many of these things I've done? And if you added up all the random thoughts, would you get a story?

Feelin' scatterbrained and random? Need to take a mental piss before you can write properly? Grab the button, write an incohesive post, and ta-da! We can take that "does not play well with others" status off of your report card.

So, let's go!

I've recently decided that Weight Watchers can suck it when it comes to my wine during blogging. I'm just not as clever without it. It keeps up my spirits. Really, wine is essential to my success as a blogger.

Why yes, I can rationalize anything, why do you ask?


So I posted yesterday about my one over-developed ab (My keg, if you will, yes, thank you for that visual, Beth, remind me to repay you somehow) and how it's making life on that side of my body uncomfortable, but I didn't mention the various other self-diagnoses I ran through before arriving at that conclusion. Like, oh I don't know, a potentially enlarged liver. (See above). Or a lump on my lung or possibly some kind of pancreas injury.

That last one I kind of had mixed feelings about, because several many years ago in a fit of drunken hilarity (at least to us), a bunch of us all put five bucks into a pot, which was to be paid out to the first of us to require pancreatic surgery. And I totally had that $40 spent.

Yes, I have always been this demented, why do you ask?

Is it just me, or does "unoaked" shiraz taste like, well, someone shoved a bunch of grapes into an aluminum can to rot?


Hubby is off work all week because he needed a vacation. I could totally get into this "house husband" thing. So far he's cleaned the garage (um, no)
put up the drapes (wait, not quite)
done the dishes ( uh...)
finished the requirements to get our house energy efficient (okay, THAT one might even earn us money but...no.)
swept up dog hair (in his defense, there's a LOT of it)
gotten up with the toddler so I could sleep in
(hmph.)
...napped on the couch and fed the toddler ice cream.

Wait. WHY does anybody have a house husband, again?

Apparently now it can't be a Tuesday, or even a day ending in -day, without me mentioning zombies, because people keep sending me links like this.

Which? Totally practical for when the time comes and all, but, maybe not so much with a toddler around.

Also, I don't know if I've mentioned this or not, but ZOMBIES FREAK ME THE FUCK OUT. Stop making me think about them!


Despite all my talking about zombies here, exactly ONE google search containing the word 'zombie' has lured someone in. Yet there are all these sites and links about zombies that people are perfectly happy to send me. Which makes me conclude with scientific certainty that all zombie sites and campaigns are popularized VIRALLY.

Wait. Zombies...viral. Viral zombies. Zombies could be spread by a virus.

Crap. They don't even have to EXIST, and they're going to take over the internet.

Is there some kind of additional ingredient to "unoaked" shiraz that I'm not informed on?


This photo of my son in the bath is residing happily on Photobucket, but a photo of his naked butt got deleted. They must have an automatic "butt recognition" program or something? Who designs such software, and how is their job satisfaction? Or is it just one guy going through all the uploaded pics looking for ass crack?

Because I might need a new job. I suck at programming, but I'm good with butts.

So someone better start paying me to blog before I am sucked into the seedy world of photobucket porn. Til then, keep it random...grab the button, blather away (with or without wine, it's not mandatory, though I recommend it), and leave your link with Mr. Linky. Try to visit a few of the other participants, because everybody on this list RAWKS!

Happy Tuesday, ya'll!


Uh, yeah, still talking about zombies, sorry: Random Tuesday Thoughts

randomtuesday

So, I'm taking time out from my busy schedule cataloguing of belly button lint to once again bring you Random Tuesday Thoughts. Ready? Randomize!

I'm mostly done freaking out about the impending zombie apocalypse, but I'm still a little jumpy and prone to eyeing up people's craniums in case I have to puncture them. I think I have to read something to replace this paranoia, so I'm finally - yes, FINALLY - going to succumb to the whole Twilight thing. Only because Fashionista just read it and I begged her pathetically to let me borrow it she is forcing it down my throat. So you either won't see me for a few days, or I'll be back here momentarily ranting about shit everyone else ranted about 8 months ago.


My son was kind enough to distract me from my zombie fears by projectile vomiting everywhere yesterday for no apparent reason. So now I'm worried about possible demonic possession.

I have this stabby head pain. It feels like something shooting straight THROUGH my head. I've had it before, and I went to the doctor to tell her I was probably having brain spasms (what? It's a muscle). She tried not to laugh and said it was most likely my back and neck muscles, and I should go for a massage. So I'll try that, but I'm pretty sure that THIS time it's brain-related.


Okay - I just realized that you all probably think I'm a complete spaz. I'm not, really, in real life I'm the "low-key" person. People have actually said things to me along the lines of, "Um, so...do you ever actually...y'know...REACT to anything?". Apparently I just do a better job of keeping these weird neuroses in my head. And now! New and improved! In blog form!

I'm still quietly seething about my boss ditching me today and making me lead a meeting that I was woefully uninformed on. I totally rocked, but that ISN'T THE POINT. The point is I didn't want to rock. I wanted to sit in the background and take notes. It's easier.


I think the stabby head pains are making me feel sorry for myself. Usually that's Alcohol's job.

Hubby just texted me to say someone at his work had a stroke and the ambulance just left. Um, okay, I'm done feeling sorry for myself now.


Unless the zombies show up. Then I reserve the right to throw a small pity party, shortly before being eaten.

Okay, okay, I'll stop.

Want to play? You know the deal - grab the fugly button (I need a new button for this - any design-y volunteers??), randomize, then come back and leave your link with Mr. Linky!

Happy Tuesday!