Monthly Archives: March 2012

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Yellow dancing and purple tears and WHAT IS HAPPENING

This is probably going to be scattery.  I’m in the midst of a project that is taking a bit of time and also brain power. It’s almost done, my little tater tots. Promise promise. I’ll be better early next week. Or maybe mid-April when tax season’s over. There’s an end in sight, I’m saying.

Anyway.

FRIDAY WAS THE DAY FROM HELL.

So in the clerical pool at work, there is me – full-time clerical drudge – and my co-worker K., part-time clerical drudge. K. had to take a vacation day yesterday, or she would stop accruing vacation time. I love K. Like bunches and tons. I don’t want her to stop accruing vacation time. I want her to have ALL the vacation time.

But when I got into work Friday, already KNOWING it was going to be complete and utter chaos with only me to deal with it, it was WORSE than that. Apparently, the tax elves had been busy overnight, so there were tax returns EVERYWHERE for me to work on. Plus all the typing. And filing. And the myriad other things I do in a day. Because I am VERY IMPORTANT. Like a junk drawer, where you put all the junk you don’t want but know you can’t get rid of? I’m where you junk all the jobs you don’t want, but know need to be done. Doesn’t that make me feel ever-so-fine? Sure does, bub.

So I worked and I toiled and I worked and I toiled and people came in and were mad I wasn’t working on THEIR job and they’d leave and ANOTHER person would come in and be all, “WHAT ABOUT MY JOB” and I just kept gesturing toward K.’s desk and muttering, “I’m doing the best I can.”

Then I started randomly humming “Totally Fucked” (sorry, did you need a cuss warning? Too tired to give one) under my breath (from Spring Awakening, because what better to help me out than a musical on the worst day of tax season yet?) because it entertained me that they just thought I was humming, possibly because I was mentally deranged, but really in my head, the lyrics “Yeah, you’re fucked all right, and all for spite, you can kiss your sorry ass goodbye, totally fucked, will they mess you up? Well you know they’re gonna try” were on repeat, LOUDLY, and it was AWESOME. Because they had NO IDEA. They thought I was humming a PRETTY LITTLE DITTY. Well, there you go, coworkers. THERE YOU GO. I was WELL-AWARE of my predicament, and I had the PERFECT SONG in my head to go with it, thank you very much.

Here’s the song. Starring my man Jonathan Groff. YOU ARE WELCOME. (Yes, I know it’s douchey some asshat filmed a live performance. But! GROFFFF!)

Also, I told one of my coworkers that I was pretty sure work had murdered my soul (this was after a billion other things went wrong and I was kind of chastised for something that wasn’t even WRONG and I was SO PISSED) and she was all, “Well, good, it’s about time, it’s a lot easier to work here if your soul is dead.”

I work at a place where it’s EASIER TO WORK IF YOUR SOUL HAS DIED.

I think maybe this is a huge old flashy warning sign, right?

Oh, and, there’s this thing where I have to sign up for a mentor, and I might have asked the lady in charge of it if my mentor would be able to help me with my career path of NOT LOSING MY SHIT. Probably that wasn’t wise as she’s in HR. I might be unemployed now. (If you’re interested, her answer was, in a soothing voice, “We may be able to find some resources to help you with that!” YOU GUYS I THINK MY OFFICE IS SENDING ME TO ANGER MANAGEMENT. Imagine the blogging potential there!)

Anyway. Then on my lunch break, I decided I had to get out or I would die, so I ran some errands, but one of the places I called to make sure that it would be open? Not open. Why would you be a liar? That’s disheartening. And also, every single person I got behind was driving SO SO SLOW and I was TOTALLY ROAD RAGEY and I wanted to punch everyone in the neck twice.

Yeah, so I had kind of a shit day.

But then things got better when I got home, and I had a package waiting for me in the mail which I will, once I have time, blog about in more detail, because it gave me such joy, and I got to talk to my dad (his solution for how much work sucks? “Record everything everyone says to you.” When I said, “What good would that do? Who would I give the recording to?” he didn’t have an answer. This doesn’t seem like much of a solution, to tell you the truth, but I love him for trying), and I learned that “doof” is German for “stupid” and that’s just a fun word to say, right? Apparently, you say it like “loaf” and not “roof.” You know, in case you wanted to call your cat that over and over. Not that anyone in THIS house would do that. And if they did, they did it in a loving VOICE, I mean, come ON.

So anyway, I was doing some stuff and driving around and two songs came on that bear note. One was happy; one was confusing because I finally listened to the lyrics.

The happy one first. I had never heard this before:

How much fun is THIS? Sorry, this is the live version, apparently there’s no video or something. But it’s like this adorable punk-looking British kid and he’s all swing-jivey! I kind of love this.

THEN, right after that, I was flipping around the channels because Bon Iver came on and I don’t allow that garbage in my earholes, and Lady Gaga’s “Paparazzi” came on. I’m not putting in the video. I’m sure you’ve all heard this song. If you haven’t, you’re probably just old! Like me! Hi, old-timers like me!

Now listen, I totally enjoy the Gaga. I do. She’s nutty and a total attention hog but I like her music. It’s fun and it makes me want to dance around the house like a looney.

I think they might have done this song on Glee, which is why it sounded familiar to me. I only know a handful of Lady Gaga songs very well and this isn’t one of them. But I was all, oh, hey, I’m in the shittiest of shitty moods! I will listen to this!

I find this whole song very confusing.

I apparently am TOO OLD FOR LADY GAGA. Well, at least too old to pay attention to the lyrics. Maybe I could just nod and hum or something. Because these are confusing lyrics, you guys. Like, half of this is a weirdo acid trip and the other half is a sad-panda emo stalker movie.

OK, so we start with:

We are the crowd, we’re c-comin’ out
Got my flash on, it’s true

(I assume this is about, well, paparazzi. Easy enough. It’s in the title.)

Need that picture of you
It so magical, we’d be so fantastical

(Either the stupid lyric site I’m working with has a typo, or “it so magical” is a lyric. Either way, I hate it. This still seems to be about paparazzi, even though it’s kind of dumb.)

Leather and jeans, garage glamorous
Not sure what it means

(I’m not, either, Gaga. Is “garage glamorous” a thing? Then the guy at my auto body shop is FABULOUS!)

But this photo of us it don’t have a price
Ready for those flashing light

(Ugh, this has to be the lyrics site, right? It has to be “ready for those flashing lights.” Otherwise I’m sending Gaga to remedial grammar school. I can forgive the “don’t” in the line above, it’s a choice, but not the “light.” Also, this is the first sign we have that this is not just about paparazzi but about stalkers.)

Then we have the chorus. It’s totally boppy. I like it a lot.

I’m your biggest fan, I’ll follow you until you love me
Papa, paparazzi

(Um. “I’ll follow you until you love me” is a worrisome thing. Don’t be putting ideas into little kiddos heads, now.)

Baby, there’s no other superstar, you know that I’ll be
Your papa, paparazzi

(Confusing. Who’s the superstar? The paparazzi? Or the celebrity? OOH. Maybe that’s the POINT. Maybe they’re INTERCHANGEABLE. No, wait, probably I’m reading too much into this shit, right?)

Promise I’ll be kind
But I won’t stop until that boy is mine

(Please stop encouraging this behavior. Hey, teens? Please stop if the boy isn’t interested. There’s a fine line between stalking and crushing, ok?)

Baby, you’ll be famous, chase you down until you love me
Papa, paparazzi

(STOP THIS MADNESS GAGA)

Remember we talked about advice songs the other day? Gaga’s giving us advice. Advice about how if you don’t give up, YOU CAN HAVE THE MAN OF YOUR DREAMS. That’s not true, by the way. If it was, I’d be married about 47 times right now.

I’ll be your girl backstage at your show
Velvet ropes and guitars
Yeah, cause you’re my rock star in between the sets
Eyeliner and cigarettes

(So…did the stalker GET the guy, or is she like a backstage ho, or what’s happening? Also, I know guys in eyeliner are hotties, but they’re also usually douchebags. Let my experience be your guide, my little lost starshines.)

Shadow is burnt, yellow dance and we turn
My lashes are dry, purple teardrops I cry

(WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING. This is getting totally the most weird. It’s like the poems I used to write when I was in junior high: “My heart is a velvet balloon of sorrow…it expands, it explodes…confetti of your love like rain, doves of sorrow scream…”)

(Please note I never wrote anything like that in high school and my writing, much like my taste, has ALWAYS been EXQUISITE.)

It don’t have a price, loving you is cherry pie

(Whenever I hear “cherry pie” outside of mention of ACTUAL cherry pie I always think of that video with Tawny Kitaen on the roof of the car, you know? I can’t help it. It makes me laugh.)

Then the chorus again, more encouraging little girls to be stalky, etc.

Real good, we dance in the studio
Snap, snap to that shit on the radio

(Now we’re…dancing? In a studio? And cussing and snapping? I don’t know, what happened to the yellow dancing and the purple  tears of sadness?)

Don’t stop for anyone
We’re plastic but we still have fun

(How are these people related to the stalkers, the stalkees, or the backstage hos? It’s like it’s a whole different song right now.)

Then more chorus. Then we’re done.

I liked this song a lot more when I thought it was about paparazzi and not encouraging young girls to go after their dream men and NEVER GIVE UP even if they get a restraining order against you or something.

Also, recently, a lovely young woman of my acquaintance posted the following on Facebook. I think it needs to be addressed.

“I was so afraid, now I realize, love is never wrong, and so it never dies.”

Google tells me this is from The Lion King 2. There was a Lion King 2? Huh. Learn something new and unneeded every day, I suppose.

Love is never wrong, so it never dies.

REALLY.

OK, listen. We all went through our sad little emo phases where we were all “HE/SHE COMPLETES ME” and “THIS IS FOREVER” and such. Is there a way to just shake this out of teenagers? I love this kid to distraction, by the way. She’s one of my jump-in-front-of-a-train-for people. I want to hide her under my bed and give her chocolate and not let anyone hurt her ever again; barring that, I want to find whatever asshat decided it was a good idea to mess with one of MY people, and I want to take a fireplace poker and stuff it up his nostril until it comes out the top of his head. Then I want to hit it with ANOTHER poker so it makes his whole body vibrate like a gong.

But here’s the thing, babe. Love is OFTEN wrong. Can I just tell you HOW wrong? The most. The most wrong. SO EFFING WRONG. And also? It TOTALLY dies. It turns into hate, sometimes; it dies right off so you don’t remember the person’s last name a couple years later, other times. Sometimes, it’s not even love! Sometimes, it’s lust, or infatuation, and it PRETENDS it’s love, but it’s not. It’s just slutty lust dressed in love’s ill-fitting party clothes, or goofy infatuation wearing love’s best shoes.

You’ll learn this, eventually. I promise. But maybe stop watching The Lion King 2. Because it’s obviously not teaching you the right things. Watch the first one, that one was all circle of life-y and shit, that was nice.

Also, I’m hoping she stays the hell away from Gaga. Otherwise, she’s going to start stalking the shit out of love-never-dies boy and that won’t be good times for anyone involved.

ALSO, just quickly, I told Dad about how I was totally going to go to Europe, once the rich people sponsored me? You know, because he was totally going to have to be gentled into this idea. Because my internet people are killers.

His response?

“That’ll be nice. You get so excited about things. You’d have a nice time.”

OK, so either he’s PRETENDING to agree because he does not believe in my rich-person plan (if so, BOO DAD, it’s TOTALLY going to work, you just have to give it TIME) or he really doesn’t care and maybe he believes the internet people are real.

This is all very perplexing.

Also, remember I was all excited about porridge? I told my mom about it and she said, “That’s just Cream of Wheat. You hate Cream of Wheat.”

I don’t know that I’ve ever TRIED Cream of Wheat, MOM, since when do you know all the foods I’ve tried in ever?  But if you put it THAT way it SOUNDS totally unappealing. Porridge sounds EXOTIC and like FAIRY TALE FOOD. Cream of Wheat sounds like what Nana eats when her dentures stop fitting.

To end on a happy note, I found out about the BEST MEME EVER this week. Ready?

SOCIALLY AWKWARD PENGUIN.

You all probably know about this and are all “OLD NEWS AMY GAAAHHH” but it made me laugh so hard I snorted.

OK. Off I go. Planning. Scheming. Hoping. Wishing. Etcetera.

Happy Saturday. Hope your day is free of angstiness! And full of bubblegum!


He ain’t never caught a rabbit, he ain’t no friend of mine (hiccup!)

I have three things to address today. THREE! So, random crap Friday it is. Hi, you guys! How was your week, so good? I hope so. Mine was kind of up and down and up and down, like a vomitous roller coaster.

FIRST THING!

Tara at Domestic Goddess (or at least pretending to be) tagged me, and hell, I like to be tagged. I’m down for this, you jive turkeys. Let’s get it ON.

Oh, shit. There are rules. I think you all know these aren’t going to end well.

1. Post the rules. (CHECK!)
2. Answer the questions the tagger set for you in their post. (CHECK! Well, in a minute. Hold your horses and/or helper mules.)
3. Create eleven new questions to ask the people you’ve tagged. (Um…)
3. Tag eleven people and link to them on your post. (Yeah, about that…)
4. Let them know you’ve tagged them! (Heh…heh heh…)

I’ll post the rules. I’ll answer the questions. But I’m not creating new questions and I’m not tagging anyone. I realize this means I am PICKING and CHOOSING what I want to do here, and that makes me a huge asshat and who do I think I am, but I’m a loner, Dottie. A rebel. Sorry. Really, rules just make me chafe and I hate bothering people.

1.  What book do you think everyone should take the time to read (or at least try to read)? I’ve been thinking and thinking about this, and honestly? Best answer I can come up with? Either the Betty Crocker or Better Homes and Gardens cookbook. The old-timey one. There’s some intelligent stuff in there, and everyone should at least know how to cook basic things. I know. I’m a book person! What a copout answer! No, see, as a book person, I realize that books are a very subjective thing. I’d never tell anyone that they should take the time to read anything. It might not be for them. Just because I think A Prayer for Owen Meany is amazing and one of the most influential books in my life, or Cat’s Eye, or Lolita, doesn’t mean that other people would get off on them. Quite the opposite, actually. Some people might LOATHE them. And I wouldn’t think any less of them for it. Taste in literature is very subjective.

2.  What makes you happy?  Oh, so many more things than I can enumerate here. But let’s just say The Nephew. The Nephew and pudding. The Nephew, pudding, and Dumbcat. The Nephew, pudding, Dumbcat, and my friends. And theater. There. That’s enough, or I’m going to start sounding like an Academy Award recipient and I’ll get played off.

I want to eat that with my FACE. Not even with the SPOON.

3.  What song do you love (but if it weren’t for this question), but are embarrassed to admit?  I’m not overly embarrassed by my song choices, because I KNOW they’re mostly awful but I’m proud of them anyway. Let’s see. What’s one that people might think is super-embarrassing. Ooh, I know. I am totally a closet old-school Eminem fan. Like, I BOUGHT SOME OF HIS ALBUMS. I know, could I be any more embarrassing? And I STILL LIKE HIS MUSIC. Yep. Totally do. Don’t even care who knows it. I mean, I have no idea what he’s doing now, other than that duet he had with Rihanna (which I dug so much I actually purchased it, thank you very much) but I liked his earlier stuff. It made me excited and boppy.

4.  Awesome is a favorite word of mine… so what would you say makes you pretty awesome? I’m very enthusiastic about things. I am extremely loyal. I have an abnormal ability to bounce back from shit. And I make excellent baked goods.

5.  If you could have just one superpower… What would it be? I want to be able to turn back time. Not to do anything awesome with it, just so I can get more sleep and get all the things done in a day that I want to do. What, that’s a superpower, right?

6.  Along the same lines… if you were a superhero what would your name be? Zomg. That’s pronounced like the “zom” in zombie, only with a “guh” sound at the end. Andreas taught it to me yesterday and it’s the bomb, yo.

7.  What trend or fad would you like to end (and have it never come back)?  I’m torn. Either kids wearing their pants way low or that horrendous Bieber hair that looks like it would make it hard to see anything and always make you want to sneeze.

8.  What did you want to be when you grew up?  Are you doing what you thought you would be? I wanted to be a scuba-diving veterinarian. Yes. Yes, I am. I’m blogging from the Marianas Trench, performing an emergency tracheotomy on a diving hippo, as you read this.

9.  What is one thing you want to do before you die? I’m good. I don’t like to talk about these things. I think it jinxes them.

10. What animal best shows your personality? Hmm. Is Tigger an animal? He’s a TIGER but I think I’m more a TIGGER. I’m going to say a Tigger.

Shut up, you wish you had this much enthusiasm for all the things.

11.  What post have you written do you think should not missed? ALL OF THEM. No, seriously, I don’t know. You guys choose, I never know which ones are the best. Ken being a world traveling bon vivant was a great day. The bullying post went over well and was totally cathartic. People seem to like Helper Mule. I’d link to those but I’m very tired. Do a search, there’s a search box on here somewhere. I’ve been writing every day for almost a year now, though, so you guys choose. What’s the best?

SECOND THING!

sj and Meg over at Snobbery gave me ANOTHER AWARD! Oh, you guys. I’m going to start getting a complex.

It is the BEAUTIFUL BLOGGER AWARD. Probably there’s been a mistake, but don’t tell anyone. I like to win an awful lot.

Are there rules? Yep.

  • Thank the person who gave you the award (THANK YOU sj and Meg!!!!)
  • Paste the award on your blog (I can’t, I’ll explain why in a minute)
  • Link the person who nominated you for the award (did that above, BAM)
  • Nominate 7 bloggers or less (um…nope)
  • Post links to the 7 blogs you nominated (again, nope)

I love awards. Love them! But, as I’ve mentioned in the past, I can never accept them. Because they mean I have to go all old-school gym class and choose other bloggers to give them to, and, subsequently, leave bloggers out. And I refuse to do so.

So as much as I LOVE AWARDS and I LOVE WINNING and I LOVE Snobbery (and you all should go check them out, I am so happy sj found me, we have had such fun getting to know each other and she is just the best, and I love the blog so much!) I cannot accept the award. IT IS NOT BECAUSE I AM AN ASSHOLE. It is because I don’t like to leave other kids out of kickball because I can’t deal with the little sad-faces. Please forgive.

THIRD THING!

Jim brought THIS to my attention yesterday. (Oh, can I just tell you a quick story about Jim? Jim was all NO NO NO I HATE FACEBOOK but he totally joined Facebook last week, OSTENSIBLY to publicize his blog? And you can’t even imagine how much Jim is winning Facebook right now. I don’t even mean on his blog page. On his PERSONAL page. He gets like HUNDREDS of comments when he posts something. JIM WINS FACEBOOK. He’s totally the most popular guy at the school dance, I’m not even kidding. It is DAZZLING to behold.)

You didn’t click that link, did you? That’s ok. I love your predictability.

A man in Montana brought his Pomeranian to a bar. The Pomeranian couldn’t walk straight. When the bar employees were all, “WTF, dude?” he said he’d given it a “to-go cup” of vodka.

Why exactly he thought this was a good idea is not explained. Maybe he just didn’t want to drink alone, I don’t know his life.

The cops were called. They arrested the guy, who SOMEHOW ended up standing next to an bag full of hydrocodone in the parking lot. They were totally someone else’s. HE WAS RAILROADED!!! The dog tested at .348 blood alcohol content – the state’s legal limit is .008.

The report Jim watched actually had the reporter saying “the dog was too intoxicated to drive” which makes me laugh SO HARD but I can’t find that exact report. I like to imagine the dog driving, all propped up on phone books. Like Toonces the Driving Cat from old Saturday Night Live episodes, only a little drunk dog.

Only imagine it a drunk Pomeranian. What, it's totally funny.

I don’t really have a moral to this story. I just thought you all should know. Don’t give your Pomeranian a full to-go cup of vodka. Those damn yappy dogs, they totally can’t hold their liquor, and you might end up going to jail because of them. Man’s best friend, my ass.

I know he LOOKS friendly and he's all, "Come on, dude, just a COUPLE SIPS" but he will rat you out in a MINUTE. Damn stoolpigeon dog.

Have a happy weekend, my littlest chickadees! I totally have all the plans and schemes. Two plans and one HUGE GIGANTIC SCHEME I’ve been plotting for a week that’s going to be the best. When I finally finish it, that is. Attention span of a gnat, this one.

Love your faces. Enjoy not-working for a couple of days, will you?


An Open Letter to Rich People with Excellent Business Sense and Impeccable Taste

Dear Rich People with Excellent Business Sense and Impeccable Taste:

I have a proposition for you. But since I don’t KNOW any rich people in really real life, I have come to the internet. Which is pretty much where I live. The internet. It is my HOME. I’ve made it very pretty. There are throw-rugs and knick-knacks and shit, it’s nice, you’d like it. Anyway, I assume since everyone uses the internet, that includes rich people, right? I mean, Bill Gates is a rich person, and he probably lives on the internet, too. So I can only assume that this will, eventually, find its way to its rightful home: on a screen in front of a very rich person. With excellent business sense. And impeccable taste. Also probably drinking expensive wine from a goblet, and using burning currency to light their fancy cee-gars.

So, very rich person. How are you? So good? I’m sure you are. I mean, how could you not be? You probably have all the things that money can buy, and many also-rich friends, and your clothing is made out of sumptuous fabrics, and I’d guess your refrigerator has an ice dispenser in the door. That’s how you KNOW you’ve made it. If your fridge has an ice dispenser in the door. Extra points if it makes that crushed ice, like in the red plastic glasses at the Pizza Hut. That’s my favorite and the EPITOME of classy. It just makes every beverage taste better, you know?

But, rich person, I can feel that you have an ache. Something’s missing. Something you can’t quite pin down. You don’t know what it is, exactly, but something’s not quite right. There’s something you need to make your life even MORE complete. And you have ALL THAT MONEY. You could totally spend ALL THAT MONEY on whatever-it-is, were you to just figure out WHAT it is.

I know what it is, Rich Person. I KNOW WHAT IT IS.

What you’re missing is the experience of sending a very crazy-eyed and unruly-haired blogger to Europe so she can a., visit two of her favorite people there (potentially more, we’ll come to that in a minute, hang tight), and b., blog about her experiences.

NOW WAIT. I know what you’re thinking! You’re all, I don’t think I’m missing that. OH I BEG TO DIFFER.

Let me explain why this would be a very excellent use of all that money you have that’s just SITTING THERE being WASTED or INVESTED or whatever. I mean, what if you died tomorrow, that would just go to your spoiled-rotten children and your plastic-surgery-obsessed wife (or your blow-dried helmet-haired husband, don’t want to be sexist, I’m happy to accept sponsorship from a LADY.) They don’t need that money. They already HAVE money. They wouldn’t even APPRECIATE it. Wouldn’t sponsoring an impoverished blogger who has trouble affording gas some days who would be SO GOOD AT BLOGGING and have ALL THE ADVENTURES be the best thing you could possibly ever do?

Let me tell you some of the pros of this plan.

  1. I don’t want to bring anyone with me, therefore you only have to pay for one person’s trip. I don’t have an immediate family, I don’t have any friends that I think would put up with me for an entire trip to Europe and still remain my friend when we got back to the States, and since I’m Forever Alone, I won’t even need to bring a significant other. This will help keep costs down. All of my friends mostly live on the internet, too. They fly FREE.
  2. I am a very thrifty traveler. For example! I am HAPPY to fly in the cheap seats. I mean, one time, I flew first-class, and I’m not going to say that WASN’T the best experience of my life. THEY GAVE ME A WHOLE BAG OF MINT MILANOS. I know! I actually wasn’t sure they were all for me. I was like, “I should take some, pass them around?” and she was all, “Nope. All for you” and I almost WET MY PANTS WITH EXCITEMENT. But I won’t ask you to spring for the fancy travel experience. I know how to pinch pennies, as I am a very poor person. Hence me coming to you for sponsorship. I would also happily stay at whatever the European version of the Motel 6 is. I mean, I assume there’s such a thing. (Google tells me that in Germany, were there such a thing, I’d be staying at the Motel Sechs and in Finland I’d be staying at the Motel Kuusi. ISN’T THIS ALREADY THE MOST FUN AND EDUCATIONAL??? Also, “Motel Sechs” sounds like a euphemism. I’m not sure I’m comfortable staying in a German euphemism, but I’d do it. I’M GAME.) I’d offer to stay at a hostel because I know those are even cheaper but a., I stayed at those when I went to Europe in college and they were creepstastic and also I was always itchy when I left because I don’t THINK there were bedbugs but I always thought MAYBE there were bedbugs so that made me scratchy, and b., I’ve seen the movie Hostel since and I don’t think I could stay in one now without screaming myself awake every five minutes, and they’d just kick me out anyway. ALSO! I would NOT expect fancy foods or drinks. I could totally survive on water I get from free water fountains and street food. NO, not food I pick up OFF the street. Ew. I don’t want to die of European food poisoning, gross. Street VENDOR food. Like  sandwiches and whatnot. I’m really very un-picky. Well, no, I’m PICKY, but not so picky I have to eat gourmet food all the time. And I don’t even need souvenirs! THIS IS GOING TO BE VERY GOOD ON YOUR WALLET.
  3. For your participation, you would get at least one, if not more, HILARIOUS blog posts EVERY SINGLE DAY. I mean, YOU wouldn’t get them. The INTERNET would. But I’d totally geek out about you. And mention you like a million times. I do that all the time anyway with other people, it’s not like that’s a stretch. I mean, think about this. I have written MULTIPLE blog posts about foreign locales that I am ASSURED are very funny. And I haven’t even VISITED those places. Can you even imagine the potential for awesome hilarity, were I actually IN these places? Also, I’d probably tweet hysterical things. And I wouldn’t even get homesick like I did the first time I was overseas, because what would I get homesick for? WORK? No one WANTS to get back to work. Come on, that’s stupid. You’d really get a lot for your money out of this. You could brag to your friends, and you could follow all my doings, and you could be all, “I DID THIS” and get a total fulfilling sense of pride from it. How awesome would that be? It’s like sponsoring one of those sad-faced children on the late-night TV ads? Only I’d be A LOT MORE EXCITED. And it wouldn’t really be life-or-death. This really isn’t a good analogy. You should also probably sponsor those children, now I feel terrible.

Now, I bet you’re really intrigued. I would be, too, were I a very rich person with money just totally burning a hole in the pockets of my lush silken kimono. “What,” you’re asking, “would you DO in Europe, Amy?”

I WOULD LOVE TO TELL YOU THAT RIGHT NOW.

The plan has TWO PARTS. With an optional THIRD part.

FIRST, I would visit Andreas in Finland.

The internet tells me this is Finland. I don't know that there's any way to tell, but doesn't it look MYSTERIOUS and FORBIDDEN and also FUN? Yes.

We have to wait til he MOVES to Finland. So the plan can’t take effect until after that happens. So probably the summer? Let’s say this summer, that’d be nice. Everyone likes the summer. It’s all summery and sunny and I mean, I’d have to bring a lot of sunscreen. Or you’d have to give me extra money for sunscreen. Can you throw in some extra money for sunscreen? Just in case? It might be very expensive in Europe and I burn like a delicate son of a bitch.

In Finland, I would first meet Andreas, and wouldn’t that be the most fun? YES IT WOULD. Then I would meet Andreas’s Fiancee and Andreas’s Baby Girl and Andreas’s pets. Are you aware that Andreas will live on an ISLAND in Finland? I know. That’s pretty stellar right there, I mean, I’d like to visit an island. I’d feel like a pirate. Who doesn’t want to feel like a pirate?

Anyway, Andreas’s whole clan and I will get along like gangbusters. Why would we not? I AM THE MOST FUN. I also am very good with small children, if The Nephew is any indication. He thinks I am HILARIOUS. Plus if they get sick of me, they know I w0n’t be staying FOREVER or anything. Also, it’s not like I’ll be around ALL THE TIME. I’ll need time to blog, and also hunt down Finnish street food since I promised you you didn’t have to spring for real food, Rich Person.

I plan on cajoling Andreas to take me to Lapland so we can visit the Santa Park. I don’t think I’ll get married in the Ice Marriage Chapel, but one can never tell what might happen. I mean, I could meet someone who looks like Alexander Skarsgård and we might get married in the Ice Marriage Chapel. YES I KNOW HE’S SWEDISH NOT FINNISH. It’s the POINT. He is SCANDINAVIAN. It is SIMILAR. Also, I’m going to eat many Willy Wonka-style adorably named berries, pick my own mushrooms like a fancy lady, and also EAT PORRIDGE. Listen, I have never had porridge. I don’t even know what porridge TASTES like! How about we rectify this, right? Doesn’t it sound delicious, and like I should be doing some little-bears-style housebreaking to eat it? Yes, it sure does! And you can HAVE it. In FINLAND.

Also, I’m quite sure I will make friends with many Finns. I think they will enjoy me the most. I think they will be CONFUSED by me, because I talk VERY FAST and also USE MY HANDS A LOT, but also I think they will be caught up in my infectuous joy. My joy in BEING IN FINLAND. And listening to people speak ANOTHER LANGUAGE. Which I DO NOT UNDERSTAND AT ALL. Which you, Rich Person, helped bring about! See how this is working out brilliantly for you?

THEN! Part two of my plan to WIN EUROPE.

I will fly to GERMANY.

Look how pretty Munich is! Ken never even TOLD me how pretty Munich is. This totally looks photoshopped. I DON'T EVEN CARE, that's how pretty this is.

Or, if that’s too expensive, I suppose I could take a train. But when I was in Europe I took a train for very long distances and it was kind of time-consuming and exhausting and the bathrooms scared me and also weird men would hit on me regularly? I was like a magnet for them. Usually for vaguely Eastern European men who smelled like feet and cigarettes. I’m not sure what that’s all about. But it is up to YOU, Rich Person. I’ll take that train. WITH A SMILE. If that’s what you think is best.

When in Germany, I will meet Ken and Mrs. Ken and Ken’s dogs. This will ALSO be very exciting and I’m sure we’ll all hit it right off, and, as mentioned above, if I start to annoy them they can just reassure themselves that THE VISIT WILL NOT BE FOREVER. I’m well-aware how exhausting I can be. Also, as mentioned, searching for street food will undoubtedly take some time. And blogging. And generally geeking out about all things Germany. It’ll be like being on The Amazing Race, only I don’t have to compete with other teams. I WILL HAVE ALREADY WON.

(Listen, Rich Person, at this point, you’re probably wondering why I’m not saving your hard-earned money by staying with these people rather than staying in the Motel Sechs and such. I WILL TELL YOU. Because did you ever stay with someone when you’re visiting? It’s so awkward. You never know when you can use the bathroom, and you always feel like a bother and like you’re being too loud, and you don’t know where they keep the emergency chocolate. That’s something important to know. I have trouble staying somewhere that I’m not sure where the emergency chocolate is. Also, one time, Ken posted a photo that really supposed to be of his socks, and I assume it was taken his house, otherwise why was he sitting there with his shoes off? That’d be weird if it was someone else’s house or a bookstore or something. Anyway, I know I was supposed to be paying attention to the socks, but what I got from that photo was, everything in his house looked VERY VERY PALE COLORED. And listen, I could NOT stay somewhere where everything was that light. I would ruin poor Ken and Mrs. Ken’s house like in two seconds flat. There would be all the stains. I’m not even kidding. I’m a walking slapstick comedy. I spill sometimes just walking PAST someone ELSE who is eating. After meals, I have the traditional “spraying my blouse with Shout” because I ALWAYS drop something on it. ALWAYS. Without FAIL. I would just feel TERRIBLE if I ruined Ken or Andreas’s nice homes with my messiness. They totally would not forgive me, even though they’d pretend to because that’s what people do until you leave. So, you will need to spring for a Motel Sechs. Preferably one with dark walls, carpeting, and bedding. Or one with PATTERNED walls, carpeting, and bedding, so that the stains don’t show so much. Thanks in advance, it’s really in the best interests for all involved.)

After I finish completely embarrassing myself by rolling around on the floor for hours with Ken’s dogs because if there are dogs, that’s what I’ll be doing, sorry, humans, but dogs are kind of the best thing (FINE, I’ll totally hug the shit out of Ken and Mrs. Ken first before I get all floor-dirty) I will convince Ken to take me on the following adventures:

  • A TRIP TO POING. I’m pretty sure I would rule Poing, given the opportunity. So I need to visit Poing, to see what I’ll be ruling. Also, I want to visit Wildpark Poing. SO BADLY.
  • I want to eat all the wurst. But not liverwurst, because I am informed this is a liver-flavored potted meat type product. There are so many things wrong with that description that I can’t even wrap my mind around them so I won’t even begin to try. However, I have to sit really far away from Ken while I’m eating all the wurst because he has some seriously effed-up food things he likes, like ALL THE GARLIC AND ONIONS and ROOM-TEMPERATURE MILK. So we’ll just sit across the room from one another. I think that will be best. I don’t want to gag while I’m in Germany. That would ruin it for everyone.
  • I want to listen to people speak German all around me because I think it would make me grin like a moron.
  • I want to go to the dog park and watch Ken’s dogs play because they are the happiest dogs in all of the world, seriously.
  • I want to find the restaurant I ate at one time when I was in Germany that served nothing but waffles and eat there. That might also have been in Amsterdam or Vienna, though, so this one’s optional.

THEN, once I have THOROUGHLY exhausted my welcome in Germany, it will be time to move on like the Little Hobo. YOU, Rich Person, will be all, aw, this has to come to an end now? But we’re having such fun! And THEN Part THREE of the plan!

See, after they see what awesome fun I’ve brought to Finland and Germany, I’m quite sure both Elaine and Rod will want me to visit THEM, in England and Ireland, respectively, and you’ll be SO EXCITED that this trip you’ve funded is not QUITE over yet that you’ll HAPPILY send me winging over there, right? RIGHT.

And then I will do many fun things there, like play with Elaine’s dog and be all fancy and LISTEN, I have never even BEEN to Ireland, I totally want to visit Ireland! I have ANCESTORS from Ireland! Won’t this be the most fun? Yes, it will. I have to admit I have not yet well-planned-out the England and Ireland portions of my trip. Because I have not yet been invited. I don’t like to count chickens before they hatch. Who does that? Assholes, is who, am I right? And you’d never sponsor an asshole to travel all over the world being awesome, I don’t think. But I’m pretty sure they WILL invite me. Once they see how much fun I have in Finland and Germany. I mean, wouldn’t ANYONE want someone as insane and filled with joy to visit them? I mean, I’d think so. I’m a little biased, though, because it’s me.

Then, Rich Person, I will come home. Exhausted and happy and filled with all the stories.

So, there you have it. A plan for global domination, well-thought-out and spelled-out and laid-out. ALL FOR YOU.

What do you think? Awesome, right?

Oh, most proposals come with a bid attached or something. Listen, I have no idea how much this will all cost. I’m telling you right up front. As a very poor poor person, I am not really good at figuring out imaginary travel costs. I mean, the other day Ken told me it cost like $50 to have DINNER in Poing. He did say that’s a NICE dinner, but still. So probably this won’t be cheap. Just as an example, I researched flights and those are going to be approximately $4,000, all-told. So using my math extrapolation skills, I’m thinking that the whole trip would probably cost you…um…let’s say $500,000.

Here, let me helpfully break that down for you.

$4,000 – flights
$100 – all the sunscreen
$2 – gum for the plane ride (so my ears don’t pop)
$495,898 – food and Motel Sechs-s and  dog treats and bus tickets and incidentals, like what if I see a really nice hat? I mean, I don’t wear hats, but maybe when I’m on vacation, I’d like to start. You don’t want me to NOT buy that hat, right? Who’d want THAT? Also, what if I see really sparkly nail polish? GERMAN or FINNISH nail polish? That I can’t GET here in the States? I can’t NOT buy that. I mean, that’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, right there. Oh, and also chocolate. CHOCOLATE FROM FOREIGN LANDS. That’s the BEST KIND.

That seems high. Does that seem high? I’d hate to ask for too little and get stranded in Morocco or something. I KNOW I’m not going anywhere near Morocco. THAT’S WHY IT WOULD BE SO DISCONCERTING.

SO. I’ll be waiting patiently for you to get back to me, Rich People with Excellent Business Sense and Impeccable Taste. You know how to reach me.

This is your CHANCE to give BACK. Don’t let this pass you by. You’ll totally regret it.

Sincerely,

Amy, the most crazy-eyed, desperate to travel, would be EVER SO GRATEFUL blogger in all of Blogonia


Oh, I’d like to see a mule as good as Sal.

So, I had a very important updatey conversation with my dad last night about everyone’s favorite blog topic.

NO, not the missing balloon. He won’t talk about that anymore. He thinks the government took it. We’re not allowed to talk about that.

HELPER MULE!

So, as you’ll all remember, a little over a month ago, my dad’s friend was waiting for the delivery of his helper mule. If you don’t remember, I’ve totally included the link above. You can click! There are animal photos, it’s really the best.

Since then, Helper Mule really has gotten quite a following. People want to know what’s going ON with Helper Mule! People want to know if he’s arrived! What he LOOKS like! If he’s…well…HELPFUL!

Luckily, we have my dad to answer all our burning questions.

I’ve been asking all month, on and off. Helper Mule was delayed for reasons unknown to anyone. Something about shipping? And difficulty getting a horse trailer? I assume because there’s no such thing as a Helper Mule trailer, that’s just way too specific of an item. sj was sure that the whole thing was a scam, perpetrated by the Russians. (She would, however, like you all to know she has nothing against Russians. It’s just that, in her head, the people who are scamming my dad’s friend HAPPEN to be Russian, not that ALL Russians are scammy.) I was kind of in agreement. I floated this theory past my dad, who ALSO thought maybe the Helper Mule thing was a scam. However, he thinks everyone’s in cahoots with everyone, so this really wasn’t much of a coup for me. I could tell him I saw an article that said the Mounties were working with the CIA on a spaceship to kill all the rhinoceroses and he’d be all, “Yep, sounds like them, the bastards.”

Also, Dad’s friend hired some guy to come over and build a Helper Mule barn and paddock but the guy never showed. I feel kind of bad for Dad’s friend. He’s getting screwed six ways to Sunday, here.

SO, a couple of days ago, Dad told me: HELPER MULE IS HERE!

Me: Any news on Helper Mule?
Dad: It’s here.
Me: WHAT? You didn’t START the conversation with that? I can’t believe you. It’s like I don’t even know you. Or YOU don’t even know ME.
Dad: Yeah, I’ll drive by sometime this week and check it out for you.
Me: Will you take PICTURES?
Dad: I’m not taking pictures of a mule.
Me: A HELPER mule. He’d probably help you focus it and everything. Pose for you. Helpfully. In his best light.
Dad: I’ll tell you what it looks like. That’s it.
Me: What if you ask your FRIEND to send you photos of the mule? Tell him the mule is famous on the internet. Tell him it has a twitter hashtag sometimes, and a whole blog post was written about it. I can’t imagine he wouldn’t send the photos THEN.
Dad: Um. I’m not telling him that. What the hell is a hashtag.
Me: It’s…this is not easy to explain. On Twitter, when you are talking about something, sometimes you put a pound sign in front of the topic? And then if people want, they can click that, and see who else is talking about it. And if ENOUGH people are talking about it, it’s one of the Trending Topics. So then you’re totally the most famous.
Dad: Um.
Me: I told you it’s really hard to explain.
Dad: I’m not telling him that.

So the next day…

Me: DID YOU SEE IT DID YOU SEE IT?
Dad: You know I’m watching basketball, right?
Me: HELPER MUUUUULE!
Dad: (sigh) Yes. It’s red. It’s supposedly red and white, but I didn’t see any white.
Me: Is its name Sal?
Dad: What the hell is wrong with you. Why would its name be Sal?
Me: Because of the Erie Canal Song, of course. If you have a mule and its name ISN’T Sal, you’re really missing an opportunity to sing it an awesome song.
Dad: I didn’t talk to him. I just drove by. There’s a red mule standing in a corral.
Me: See, also Sal rhymes with corral. Maybe it had white feet. Did you see its feet?
Dad: NO. I just DROVE BY. Its feet were in the mud.
Me: There’s already mud? That mule’s only been there one day. Sheesh. Is it the size of a horse or a donkey?
Dad: Between those two sizes.
Me: Did it look helpful?
Dad: It looked like a red mule, standing in a muddy corral.
Me: This isn’t a lot to go on. Go see it tomorrow. Take photos. THE INTERNET NEEDS TO KNOW.
Dad: I’m sending your uncle over to take photos. I told him about the hash browns.
Me: I…what? What hashbrowns? Are you going to buy him hashbrowns if he takes photos? That’s nice of you, everyone likes hashbrowns.
Dad: The internet hashbrowns so you can be famous about Helper Mules.
Me: ZOMG HASHTAGS.
Dad: That’s what I said.
Me: If the internet has hashbrowns, they’ve been holding back. I totally want some internet hashbrowns right now.

TODAY!

Me: So, what’s the scoop, old man?
Dad: I told you if you call me that, I’m hanging up. That’s very disrespectful of your loving father.
Me: FINE. What’s the mule news, youngish fella?
Dad: Not much better and it sounded forced. I saw the mule today.
Me: WHAT? You DID? Tell me ALL ABOUT IT.
Dad: Its name is Chief.
Me: What? “Got me a mule and its name is Chief?” THAT SUCKS. It doesn’t rhyme with ANYTHING in the song.
Dad: Well, don’t tell the mule that. It would hurt the mule’s feelings.
Me: Fine, I’ll keep that on the down low from the mule. I understand, I hate my name, too. Was it SO SO HELPFUL?
Dad: Wait, you hate your NAME? We GAVE you that name.
Me: That’s not the point. WAS THE MULE HELPFUL?
Dad: Um.
Me: What, um.
Dad: It won’t let anyone near it.
Me: WHAT?
Dad: It’s like it’s not a tame mule. It’s like a wild mule. It’s scared of people.
Me: So, what, he goes out there to have the mule kneel down to let him ride it and…
Dad: It runs away.
Me: LIKE DUMBCAT!
Dad: Yeah. It’s about as helpful as Dumbcat, I think.
Me: Wait. Do you think it’s just being stubborn? Because aren’t mules supposed to be stubborn?
Dad: No. It’s scared. And not tamed. Or trained to be at all helpful.
Me: OH THIS IS THE WORST. He totally got scammed! I know we’ve been saying that but I was so hoping it wasn’t true. Then the mule showed up and I thought for sure it was all going to be alright!
Dad: Nope. It’s not even a LITTLE helpful. Also, its ears don’t point in the same direction, so it looks foolish. I mean, from what I could see. Mostly all I saw was it running away, and peeking out from behind the barn.
Me: ZOMG it is TOTALLY the Dumbcat of mules. So what now?
Dad: I don’t know. Maybe it’ll calm down. If not, he’s got to get rid of it. But he can’t.
Me: What? Why? He could call the Russians and demand a refund or something.
Dad: In a strange turn of events, his wife has fallen in love with the mule.
Me: WHAT?
Dad: She said she wanted nothing to do with the mule, but now that it’s here, she gets up every morning early and tries to make friends with it and talks to it over the fence.
Me: OF COURSE SHE DOES. Anyone would! That’s what you DO with a scared animal. Much respect for his classy wife. OOH LISTEN.
Dad: Not much good ever came from you using that tone of voice.
Me: I am VERY GOOD with animals. They LOVE me. At the shelter, I was the BEST with the scared animals.
Dad: Yeah…
Me: So this SUMMER, I can totally Helper Mule Whisper that mule.
Dad: I don’t think that’s a thing.
Me: It will be once I do it. They might make a movie about me.
Dad: The Helper Mule Whisperer?
Me: YES. It will be a runaway smash hit and I will become SO SO FAMOUS. Also, smaller-picture-wise, I’ll get to see that mule.
Dad: You might be a little obsessed with this mule right now.
Me: IT IS RED AND I LIKE THINGS THAT ARE POTENTIALLY HELPFUL AND ALSO ANIMALS. You know that.
Dad: Yes, yes, I do. Oh, when I was there, I told him how famous his mule was.
Me: You DID? What did you say?
Dad: I told him you had a blog where you tell the internet all your personal business and someday it will get you murdered by a crazy, and also you’re on that Tweeter all the time, and that there are hashbrown tags.
Me: Getting better on the hashtags. I appreciate the effort. What did he say?
Dad: Not much. I think he was confused.
Me: It’s a little confusing. I’ll agree with that.
Dad: I also told him you said its name should be Sally, but he said that’s stupid since it’s a boy.
Me: SAL. Not Sally. “I got me a mule and its name is Sally, fifteen miles on the Erie Canally?” That doesn’t even make SENSE.
Dad: I also think he thought I was making most of how famous Helper Mule is on the internet up.
Me: Yeah. I sometimes think I am, too. It’s pretty far-fetched and too awesome to be real, most days. So, wait, did you take photos?
Dad:  No. He said he was going to send me some. So I guess he’s ok that Helper Mule is famous on the internet. But I think his wife would be really mad if some crazy stalker killed Helper Mule because of your blog, so don’t tell anyone where Helper Mule lives.
Me: He wouldn’t get in a kidnapper’s van, anyway. TOO SCARED.
Dad: Good point. Smart move, Helper Mule.
Me: See? He’s already helpful. He’s helping internet stalkers not get their hands on an awesome thing. I KNEW HELPER MULE HAD A PURPOSE.

SO! Hopefully, if all goes well, we MIGHT have Helper Mule photos before the week is out. I’m keeping my fingers crossed. Also, I’m kind of hoping Helper Mule calms down. For two reasons: a., poor Dad’s friend, with his high hopes for being helped even though I’m not sure why he needs a mule, and now he got scammed! and b., if Helper Mule doesn’t shape up, I might not get to see him over the summer, and how sad would that be? The MOST sad, is how sad!

UPDATE UPDATE UPDAAAATE!

So late in the day today I got an email from Dad. No text, just THIS attached. He’s a man of few words when it comes to typing, my dad.

Ladies, gentlemen, and whatever YOU are, Ding Dong Joe, I bring you:

CHIEF THE HELPER MULE WHO EITHER HATES OR IS TOO SCARED TO HELP.

I think he looks worried. And sad. Doesn’t he have totally sad eyes? Also, he’s kind of knock-kneed. I don’t think his ears look so weird, though, DAD. I think you made that part up to be funny.

Let’s end on happier note: here is a painting of a mule being helpful and carrying a pooper scooper that I totally found on the interwebs for you because I LOVE YOU.

According to her website, you can buy her mule paintings on Etsy. I know what Dad's getting his FRIEND for Christmas!


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