Monthly Archives: September 2012

The house with a bear in its walls. No. Really. It’s totally a bear.

Let’s see. What day is this? Sunday? Not here. It’s a whole different day here. I’m trying to keep ahead of things. It’s a bit of a losing proposition, but I’m doing my best. This has been a week of craziness. The night shift is a strange beast. It is not the kindest on one’s sleeping schedule. Last night, I worked until 11:30. Then today I had to work at 11, so I got up early (well, early-ish, because I didn’t get to bed until 1:15) and got a call just as I was all ready and rip-roaring to go that the night-shift supervisor had called off, could I please please please take her shift instead of doing the shift I’d been planning on doing? So TECHNICALLY I could have slept in a little, boo. And now I have to work the night shift on the busiest day of the week over there AND be there at 11am tomorrow morning (it was supposed to be 9:30, but she pushed my shift back a little.) No, I am not complaining. I am very lucky to have a job, and I am very VERY lucky they give me as many hours as they do. I ALMOST was able to pay my bills this month! And will TOTALLY be able to pay them by the time my next paycheck comes in, huzzah! I am totally a productive member of society, look at me go.

Me! (Not at all me. I haven’t fallen asleep at work yet, promise. It’s hard to fall asleep with the phones ringing all the time, you see.)

I just spoke to Dad. Dad has had a VISITOR.

Dad: So remember you told me that stupid cat you have caught a mouse?


Me: YES. I am still so proud. What a good boy. OUCH, Dumbcat, stop DIGGING MY LEG.
Dad: That cat is so stupid. I wouldn’t have a cat that stupid.
Me: You wouldn’t have any pets. You hate pets.
Dad: I really do. ANYWAY, the day you mentioned mice, guess what happened.
Me: I don’t know. What happened.
Dad: There was a HUGE MOUSE in my wall.


Me: How do you know it was huge if it was in your wall?
Dad: It sounded as big as a monster. So I kicked the wall and it was quiet.
Me: That’s how you do it. Just kick that wall.
Dad: Then I put a bunch of mousetraps in the cellar.
Me: You know, if you had a cat, you could just put that cat in the cellar. STOP DIGGING, DUMBCAT!
Dad: I’d put that cat outside. Then I’d lock the door.
Me: SO MEAN. He is your GRANDCAT.
Dad: I don’t…you worry me.
Me: Aw, no. He is so good and furry.
Dad: So I put the mousetraps in the cellar, and guess what happened this morning.
Me: I can’t even begin to guess. This is like a mystery novel filled with INTRIGUE.
Dad: I went to the cellar and two of the traps were sprung and the peanut butter was GONE.

Once I asked Dad why he didn’t use cheese, and he said, “Why would anyone WASTE CHEESE?” He likes cheese about as much as I do. A lot, is how much.

Me: Huh. That is one crafty mouse-monster.
Dad: But the third trap? WAS GONE.
Me: Gone? Hee! Where did it go?
Dad: I DO NOT KNOW. I looked EVERYWHERE. Well, everywhere I could. That cellar is filled with junk. So then I decided that it’s not a mouse in the walls.
Me: Um. So, what’s in the walls?
Dad: Well, it could really be anything, but probably a bear.

Right in the walls. Right squished in there.

Me: You think there’s a bear in your walls?
Dad: Well, a mouse wouldn’t just steal your good mousetrap.
Me: Yes. And a bear totally would. Bears are known to do such things.
Dad: That bear better look out. It’s hunting season!
Me: That’s probably why he’s in your walls. Hiding from the hunters. And it’s nice that you put out peanut butter for him. He’s probably starving.
Dad: So now I have to set up some sort of system so that bear-mouse-monster doesn’t steal my remaining traps. I think I’ll drill holes in the floor and attach the traps to string and anchor them to the floor.
Me: My. That seems like…a lot…of work. For a mouse. Or a bear. Ooh, or a BADGER. Do you think it is a badger?

I’d totally like to have badgers in my walls. They’re so jaunty!

Dad: No. I don’t think it’s a badger. We don’t have badgers here.
Me: You do, however, have WALL-BEARS.

Let’s see. I don’t have much other news. Mostly, I’ve been working sleeping working sleeping writing this working sleeping repeat repeat repeat. I haven’t even gotten to speak to my most-beloved people as much as normal and that makes me very sad and I miss them much much much. Next week might be a little better, depending on what kind of hours I get. This week was just a little tough. And THEN! Next weekend! VERY EXCITING! A week from today, my parents are coming to visit, and THEN, a week from TOMORROW, it is SOMEONE’S BIRTHDAY I WONDER WHO THAT COULD BEEEEEE? Me me the answer is me! And I will be taking both days off and being COMPLETELY lazy and enjoying my birthday weekend. Well, if the weekend is Sunday and Monday, that is. So my parents are coming up to take me to lunch and we are having SEAFOOD and then we are going SHOPPING and they will bring me PRESENTS. Are you at all surprised that when it comes to birthdays, I am a child filled with excitement and totally count down days and get VERY EXCITED? Probably not. I LOVE BIRTHDAYS!!! Here’s my thought on birthdays. Everyone gets one day a year that is ALL THEIRS. There are 365 (sometimes, 366!) days in a year and one of those days is YOUR DAY. I think you should enjoy the hell out of your birthday. And I think you should help OTHERS have wonderful birthdays by doing fun things and surprising them and celebrating them. I AM VERY EXCITED ABOUT BIRTHDAYS. They make me bounce like Tigger. Bounce bounce bounce. This year my birthday will be weird and up-in-the-air and a little stressy, but I will STILL enjoy my birthday, dammit. I REFUSE TO DO OTHERWISE.

Well, in 8 days. IN 8 DAYS IT IS MY SPECIAL DAY!!!!!!

OK. Off to do things like eat lunch and then run off to work and WORK WORK WORK. And it’s going to be a scary scary night! Fridays at the answering service are not good times, no no. Since I am writing from the PAST and you are all in my FUTURE I can only assume that I survived it but I suppose we’ll see what happens. Send me good thoughts. ALL THE GOOD THOUGHTS. Deep breaths. DEEP BREATHS.

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Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat to scratch a man to death!

So this week I’m working the very late shift at work. I’m there until 11:30pm. On the weekends, that’s not so bad, but during the week it’s a little tougher because most people don’t call in that late during the week. They’re sleepin’! Getting ready for the workday ahead! Except for some kooky people who are calling in for weird reasons. Like, there was one man last night calling all of his doctor’s offices to tell them his new phone number. And he had a lot of doctor’s offices. He did this for about four hours. Calling random doctor’s offices all, “Here I am! Updating my info! At 10pm on a Tuesday!” Very strange. I suppose he could, like me, work weird hours, so that’s the only time he had to update things. It was just strange. He was very chipper about calling in that late with a non-emergency. I was not as chipper about taking his multiple calls.

Anyway, I worked and worked and worked, and then I got home super-late and it was almost the next day, and when I got home, Dumbcat was VERY PERKY. He usually is – he’s always so excited to see me when I get home, he’s very dog-like in that regard – but he was bopping around like a speed-freak last night. MEOW MOM MEOW! Meow meow MEOWWWW! So I was like, hey, bud! I will give you your treats! All is well! Here I am! And I went into the living room and thought, huh, that’s a funny-looking cat toy there in the middle of the floor. Wonder where he got that one? It’s…very…realistic. And furry. And…with shiny red parts.

And he was all “COME SEE WHAT I HAVE HERE MOMMMMMM!” and pranced around it like it was a maypole and IT WAS A DEAD MOUSE WHOSE HEAD WAS NOT ATTACHED. (It was THERE, just a little way away from the neck. I know. Sorry. Grossout.)

DUMBCAT KILLED ME A MOUSE! All hail the conquering hero!

There was a weird noise in my kitchen the other day, but I thought it was the pile of boxes I had by the garbage can that I was bringing to the dumpster on laundry day. Which in Casa del Amy is also garbage day. I thought they’d fallen a little. Dumbcat RAN into the kitchen when that happened and I was all, “DUMBCAT YOU STOP. You always think noises are mice. Curtains in the wind and boxes and my feet on the rug ARE NOT MICE. Stop being so weird.”

He was NOT being weird! IT WAS A MOUSE!

So apparently when I was at work, Dumbcat caught and (sorry, mousie) tortured and killed the invader in our house, and then left him in the middle of the living-room rug so he could present him to me when I finally returned home. I would assume he thought, “Mom ALWAYZ givse me treates. so I will giev HER a treet when she getes home tOO” in his inimitable Dumbcattian way.

So I very gingerly cleaned up the remains of Mickey (or I guess it could have been Jerry) and threw him over my porch and Dumbcat was all “MOM MOM MOM MY TOY IT IS GONE MOM? Where Is it my toye? MOMMMM!” and ran around the spot where the mouse was for quite some time and I washed my hands a million times and then gave him all the pettings because WHAT A GOOD BOY!

Listen, Dumbcat is the best. I’m not even going to be humble about this. I’m an animal lover, and I like almost all the animals, and if I go somewhere that a person has pets, I pretty much don’t talk to the humans, but spend the time hanging with the pets. Because the pets are the most awesome. Also because I am not great with people and pets are non-judgey. But Dumbcat is one special cat. Not just “special” special, like short-bus-special-needs-special, but he’s really the best. He makes me laugh regularly. He didn’t get his name because I’m being facetious. He’s really not the smartest cat in the world. He runs into walls with his face on a regular basis; he hisses at furniture; he falls off of things (bookcases, couches, chairs, beds, litterboxes); he falls into his water dish (and once he fell into the toilet.) He is a pratfall of a cat. I couldn’t love him more. He is hysterical. Yes, he sleeps 8/10 of the day, but the 2/10 of the day he’s awake, he is a Three Stooges movie, and it is almost completely impossible to be in a bad mood around him.

For all of those good things, I didn’t ever think he could catch (let alone kill) a mouse. When I had two cats, Dumbcat and Othercat (who was also known as Bitchycat) and we would get mice once and a while, Othercat would do the stalking and killing. She was relentless, Othercat. She didn’t suffer vermin gladly. Dumbcat would bounce around her all “SISTERCAT! Look at that THING you have! WHAT IS IT WHAT? IT IS MOVING AND SQUEEKING! SISTERCAT! Can I can I can I-I-I-I play with that? I want it! ME ME! SISTERCAT!” Then sometimes Othercat would cut him a break and pat the poor mouse over toward him and he’d jump a foot in the air in fear and hide behind the entertainment center (which is where he used to hide before we moved here and he moved into the pots and pans cupboard.) BUT! Somehow! When I was away, my poor silly boy killed a mouse ALL BY HIMSELF! Well, I suppose he could have invited over a friend-cat to help him, but how would the friend-cat have gotten in and out of here? No, I’m pretty sure it was all Dumbcat and his SUPERIOR HUNTING PROWESS!

I’ve been telling him all day how proud I am of him and what a VERY GOOD BOY he is and if there are any more mice he totally has my permission to dispatch them in whatever way he’d like to, because as much as I like animals, I do NOT like vermin in my home. So Dumbcat has my total permission to kill any vermin that get in here. I don’t want to catch the plague! (Don’t mice bring plague? Or the Black Death or something? THAT mouse is not bringing ANYTHING. That mouse is no longer. That is an EX-mouse.)

Then when I crawled out of bed this morning, all sleepy-eyed because I couldn’t even fall asleep until 2am, there was a cop car parked in front of my place for a couple of hours, but it didn’t seem to be doing anything, so I was all, “CHEESE IT DUMBCAT! It’s the fuzz! They know about the murder that went down here yesterday! You’re going to need an assumed identity and you’re going to need a false mustache and you’re going to need a FEDORA!” and he was all “Mom. I AM ASLEEPIN’.” And he rolled back over and snored himself back to sleep. (I still don’t know what was up with the cops. I have some shady neighbors a little way down from me and the cop car was right in front of their place so my thought is something was going down there.)

So! All hail my Dumbcat, who is a WINNER of HUNTING! I am so proud. He will do much better come the zombie apocalypse than I thought. Aw, buddy! SO PROUD! In honor of your win, I will let you sleep all cuddled up to my leg for the next twenty minutes until I have to make lunch. ALL FOR YOU, DUMBCAT!


I refuse to count these chickens. Utterly refuse. You can’t make me.

In the past here, we’ve talked about stupid saying and platitudes and such that make me want to stab things with knives. But when I was at work last night (when you work the late shift and things get slow you have a LOT of time for ponderings) I thought, huh, there are totally some of those old sayings that I not only believe, I totally follow as if they’re laws of the land. So I think that means that somewhere deep inside me there’s some sort of old-world housewife or something who throws salt over her shoulder and forks the sign of the evil eye at traveling salesmen.

SUPERSTITIOUS!!!

My mother and grandmother (and I would assume their people before them, but I didn’t know many of them) were very into old country sayings. I’ve mentioned it before, but my favorite saying of my grandmother’s, ever, was “Love will go wherever it’s sent! Even up a pig’s ass.” (This was in reference to a family member who had fallen in love with a jerk.) My grandmother is salty and cusses a lot and hates a lot of people and revels in gossip. She’s not the kind of grandmother you see on sitcoms who comforts you and makes you baked goods (although, yes, she does make baked goods, and they are FANTASTIC. My grandmother’s cooking is a., some of the best, and b., guaranteed to put fifty pounds on you in about 4 days. Her baked beans are known all around the county. People she doesn’t even KNOW ask her to make her famous baked beans. And if you ask her for the recipe, she doesn’t HAVE one. She’s all, “I don’t know, I just throw things in the pan, you know.”) She’s more the type who tells you lurid stories of the time your third cousin’s dick rotted off from the clap because he was having sex with all the whores (if you say, “there were all the whores? In the country? Really?” she changed the subject, so I don’t know that you can believe ALL of her stories), or long, rambling stories where she assumes you know who she’s talking about so she doesn’t use anyone’s names, just “the old guy” or something, and you’re all, “Um…I don’t…who is that?” and finally half an hour later you find out it’s your cousin’s husband’s grandfather who you’ve never met. I assume the pig’s ass saying is kind of a backdoor (heh) way to talk about bestiality. It made me laugh so hard I choked, and she just looked at me benignly, like, “what, that’s just a thing we say around here.” She is also the exact age (to the day!) of Hugh Hefner. I like that both my one-of-a-kind grandmother and smoking-jacketed Hefner were born on the same day, and one started a nudie empire, and one talks about pig-fuckery.

Twinsies with my gramma! I don’t know that she’s the most proud of this fact.

Anyway, as much as I think there are a lot of very, very stupid sayings (I just found, in doing research for this post – WHAT? I totally do research – a whole website of the WEIRDEST SAYINGS EVER, which I will share with you someday) there are some that I totally believe in. Whether this is because I am from cow-country and it’s in my genes (no, not my JEANS, never-you-mind what’s in my jeans, Ding Dong Joe) or this is because I am superstitious or practical or what it is, who knows. WHO EVER KNOWS. Let’s see what country-fresh sayings I totally think are valid, out of the billions of weird ones that are out there that I just (honestly) don’t understand at all.

Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched. Meaning: don’t count on something before it happens.

Don’t. Don’t you even.

Dad and I talked about this one just the other day. We are in complete agreement about our refusal to chicken-count. He was all, “oh, no. No, of course you don’t do that. Only idiots do that.”

Let me explain. Let’s say you get potential good news. Um…let me make up some potential good news. Someone tells you that in a month, you might get an awesome opportunity to do something you’ve always wanted to do. I’m making this up, please don’t read into this and think I have some sort of opportunity I don’t. Let’s see. Let’s say you’ve always wanted to skydive (ugh, why) and a friend tells you that a month from now, a friend of theirs with a plane and skydiving training will be in the area, maybe, so if they come, would you want to come along and skydive? So you tell EVERYONE YOU KNOW. And you get SO EXCITED. And you start a countdown on Facebook all “22 days til I’m flying like a BIRDIE!” And then a week before the supposed date, your friend sends you a message, “Oh, that fell through, sorry.” You feel like an asshole and you’re so let down and your friends keep asking about the opportunity and you have to tell them all it fell though. If you had just kept QUIET about it, you wouldn’t have to keep EXPLAINING it.

Dad taught me that if you get good news, until you have that good news LOCKED DOWN, you don’t tell ANYONE about that good news. (I break that rule a little – I have a handful of people that I can’t help but tell the good news to, whether it comes to fruition or not. NO, I’m not going to tell you who those people are. THEY ARE MY PEOPLE. Enough said.) My dad is the most secretive person in the world. He doesn’t tell anyone ANYTHING. I’m (well, obviously) not that bad, but anything big-newsy (the theater-review thing, my book, etc.) I don’t want to chicken-count until it’s official-official. What if it got yanked away? I’d feel like a huge jerk, then everyone would be asking about it and I’d have to explain it fell through. Better to not number those chickens until you KNOW they’re your chickens. (The things we learn from our parents are funny, aren’t they? I’ve learned a lot of weird ways-and-means from Dad. I’m an excellent secret-keeper. That’s Dad’s doing. I also refuse to give compliments to people who are fishing for them, I’m extremely weird about money, and I have a strange affinity for John Wayne westerns. Thank you, Dad!)

This kind of chicken always makes me laugh when I see it at the fair. It has Don King hair.

Also, for me, it’s a superstitious thing. I’m weird about a few things. This is one of them. I think if I mention a potential good thing, the world will teach me a lesson by not giving it to me. I know. I KNOW. I’m like a old Italian widow or something.

SIDE NOTE: In researching this, I found that this is a very old saying from the 1800s. Impressive, no? It’s from a poem about a milkmaid and her pail and she was VERY chicken-county and it brought her to ALL THE RUIN. Don’t be the chicken-counter. It’s bad news.

Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t. Meaning: better to deal with what you know than what you don’t, because what you don’t could be worse.

I’m not sure how Crowley on “Supernatural” is a good way to illustrate this statement since he’s more a demon than a devil…but I do admire him a lot, so we’ll go with it.

Now, I’m torn on this. Of course I think sometimes you need to take risks. Nothing is gained without risk. But here is a story. A while ago, I was working for a company that I enjoyed a great deal. (This was a long time ago. I want to say…um…7 years or so ago? A long time before I was Lucy’s Football.) And we got a new CEO. And he was – well, he was a goof. He wasn’t EVIL. He was just kind of a toolbag. He concentrated on the wrong things. Like, one day he was all, “Amy! I need plants for my office. Go to Lowe’s!” and he sent me to Lowe’s and I had to call him on my cell a billion times and describe the plants to him so he could have just the right plants for his office because we didn’t have cameraphones then. Well, I suppose SOMEONE had a cameraphone then, just not me. So he wasn’t EVIL, just SILLY. But a lot of the people at work really couldn’t stand him. And yes, he was a bit pesky, like a mosquito, but he wasn’t EVIL. You could distract him with shiny things, and he was never mean. And sometimes he even laughed. And my coworkers were all, “UGH! We need to get rid of this guy.” And I was like “No. It’s like that old saying; better the devil you know than the devil you don’t. If he leaves, who knows who we’ll get in his place?” AND! True to form, pesky CEO got fired (I don’t remember why…I think he just wasn’t very popular) and a new CEO came in. He was a DICK, you guys. All business; very mean; very yelly. And a couple months later, he brokered a deal to sell the company and we all lost our jobs and the company closed.

Eeeee-vil.

So the devil we knew (pesky CEO, who was not a devil at all, just kind of a mindless dork, I didn’t mind him at all) was MUCH better than the devil we didn’t (who I am CONVINCED had horns hidden under his perfectly-hairsprayed CEO hair-helmet.)

This saying, however, can keep you stuck in a job (I mean…we don’t know anyone who was in THAT situation for the past 6.5 years, do we? let’s think) for much longer than she should be because she is scared that there is nothing better out there for her and that her evil soul-sucking job (the devil she knows) is better than the unknown (unemployment = the devil she doesn’t.) I’m still in limbo about this situation, so I’ll let you all know what the outcome of that is. I’ll judge the devils once I know which one of them is less devilly.

What goes around, comes around Meaning: karma’s a bitch, dude.

Ouroboros! One of my favorite things ever!

This doesn’t always work. But a lot of times, it does. I try to keep it in mind as much as I can when going about my daily life. I can’t always – sometimes you are just in a REALLY REALLY BAD MOOD and you can’t help but be a little more of a bitch than you mean to be. (I don’t always react well under pressure. I’m a lot less “let the PRESSURE turn you into DIAMONDS” than I am “THIS PRESSURE IS MAKING ME LASH OUT LIKE A SEA-HARPY.”) But for the most part, if you put out good, you get good back. No, seriously. Try it sometime.

I’m not innocent enough to think “good things happen to good people ALWAYS AND FOREVER” but my weird nebulous non-religious religious feelings have a strong do-unto-others vibe, and I can just tell you, from my day-to-day observations, that the more good vibes you put out, the more good vibes you get back. The more positive you are, the more positivity you get in return. You are also more prepared to deal with the negative if you have a head full of positive. This is not always easy, but it’s the truth. True things are not always easy, jellybeans.

There’s no such thing as a free lunch Meaning: nothing in this life is free, babe.

Oh, this lunch is free. If you like a little death as a side-dish.

I don’t think this refers to free samples at the Costco, like of cheese or whatever. (Although in order to get those, sometimes you have to listen to someone trying to sell you more cheese, and I hate that. JUST GIMME MA CHEESE.) I think this is more, everything comes with a price. If you think someone’s helping you for free – well, they might be, no money might be attached, but other things might be. You need to be aware. ALSO, and this is tangentially attached – here is something I think needs to be addressed. NO ONE IS OWED ANYTHING IN THIS LIFE. You are owed what you earn. If you live in a country, you are technically owed what the laws of the land provide you – life, liberty, blah blah blah – but don’t expect it. You work your ass off and you get what you work for. If you’re in a tough spot, and your country has social programs to help you out – you paid into that when you were working, technically. I’m not saying you shouldn’t get food stamps or welfare. Don’t be silly. I’m just saying, people who think they’re OWED things – people who are greedy when there are free shows or when they’re given something for free and they complain the free thing isn’t BIG enough – make me INSANE. NOTHING IS FREE. You are owed NOTHING. You work, you make money, you buy yourself what you can afford. End of story. (This is why I very seldom go to free events. I don’t like the attitude of people at free events. They are very entitled and very rude and nothing is good enough. IT IS FREE WHY ARE YOU COMPLAINING.)

You can’t judge a book by its cover Meaning: What you see isn’t always what you get.

I judge this book. I like this. (Also, “It was a pleasure to burn,” just THINKING the phrase, gives me a thrill. EVERY DAMN TIME.)

This is true for books, and people, and cats, and movies, and television shows, and cars, and lots of things. I don’t underestimate things that don’t look like much to begin with. The stillest waters run the deepest. I’ve learned this over and over and over. What’s inside is often not what’s outside. And those of us who realize that are really the lucky ones, because we get the best stuff and aren’t dependent on the shiny.

I’m going to go over here now and NOT count these chickens that MAY OR MAY NOT BE HAPPENING. I spend my life in a constant state of non-chicken-counting, most sincerely. Happy day, all. Shush, you chickens, I don’t even know how many of you there are.


Vote Jack the Ripper for a Better America!

I’ve been saving some most-excellent news stories that we have to discuss but I haven’t had the time to talk about. I KNOW! SO BUSY! What with the punctuation and the stats and such. So many things going on here, whoo! Today, for example, I had to go to the doctor. But I forgot I had to go to the doctor this morning so I forgot to go to bed in a timely fashion last night so I am SO SO TIRED today. Blergh. I had to go to the doctor because all my prescriptions were running out and the doctor apparently needed to add to her vacation fund so she wanted to see me instead of just refilling them over the phone like she usually does. I’m not really sure what function this served other than I had to say “yep” a lot. “Yep, I’m still taking the migraine medication.” “Yep, I still have trouble sleeping unless I take medication to help me fall asleep.” “Yep, I still have crazy allergies.” Why I couldn’t just say these things over the phone is kind of a mystery. I long-ago decided that the whole visiting-the-doctor thing was a scam to make money. I’m the most jaded, aren’t I?  Well, mostly I’m broke so I don’t want to have to pay the doctor for something she could do for free over the phone. Anyway, I got a NEW sleeping pill which is supposed to be MAGIC KITTEN RAINBOWS so let’s see what happens. Maybe I will sleep for SIXTEEN YEARS! That’d be nice. (SIDE NOTE! She tried to give me Ambien and I’m totally freaked out by Ambien. Isn’t that the sleep-murdering drug? I don’t want to sleep-murder anyone. So I was all, um, let’s put a kibosh on the Ambien idea, what else ya got? Turns out, she had lots of other options. Apparently, no one can sleep, if we go by all the different sleeping pills in the world. Also, isn’t Ambien the giant-green-moth sleeping pill from the commercial? Oh, shit, no, I think that’s Lunesta. Either way, I don’t want to sleep-murder or see giant green moths.)

Get up offa me, moth.

Anyway, today, we are talking about something that will freak out the fellas, and how if you want to be president, you need to be a psychopath, and how (sigh, AGAIN) people are being idiots about Facebook.

First: PSYCHOPATH PRESIDENTS!

Apparently, presidents and psychopaths are QUITE SIMILAR. This probably surprises no one. I like that science backs this up.

Psychopaths have a bunch of traits (like “criminal versatility” and “parasitic lifestyle” and “glibness”) and through MUCH SCIENCE, sciency science types have discovered that the most successful presidents share a trait with psychopaths: fearless dominance.

Fearlessly dominant!

What is fearless dominance, according to the sciency types?

“An easy way to think about it is as a combination of physical and social fearlessness,” says Scott Lilienfeld, lead author of the study and professor of psychology at Emory University. “People high in boldness don’t have a lot of apprehension about either physical or social things that would scare the rest of us.”

He adds, “It’s often a kind of resilience because you don’t show lot of anxiety or frustration in the face of everyday life challenges.”

This trait helps presidents deal with big things like terrorist attacks and smaller things like public speaking. It’s the same trait that helps psychopaths ignore others’ feelings and negative consequences and do things all weirdly impulsive-like.

According to this study, the presidents that tested highest on this scale were JFK, Teddy Roosevelt, FDR, Reagan, and Clinton. Aw! Bill! Not you, Bill! NOT YOU!

Not my Bill! Aw, Bill.

SO! When you are voting in November, I guess you want to vote for the candidate who’s most like John Wayne Gacy because he would be most successful? I don’t know if I’m comfortable with that. Wouldn’t someone who has psychopathic tendencies need to be good at hiding them? So if you KNEW the person was a psychopath, they obviously wouldn’t be a very good psychopath. So I’m going to say vote for the person who seems LEAST like a psychopath. In this case, VOTE FOR OBAMA. (No, seriously, vote for Obama. You saw the “47% of Americans are lazy slackers” Romney quote, right? And the “why can’t I open the windows on an airplane?” quote? And the fact that in order to talk to a Hispanic audience, he put on gobs of self-tanner and went out in brownface so he would be easier to relate to? THIS MAN IS OUT OF HIS EVERLOVING MIND.)

Oh, yes. Very relatable. Not at all offensive. Nice. Oompa-loompa-doompety-doo.

OK, moving on from psychopaths, we have people who are very stupid about Facebook.

OK, I’m sure you’ve all heard about people who got fired because of Facebooking, right? Like, people who will friend their boss, call in sick, then post photos of themselves getting super-drunk when they’re supposed to be home with soup and tissues? (There are also people who get fired for Facebooking and I don’t think they should have – like I read about a teacher who was on vacation, had a photo of herself at a table with a bottle of beer in front of her on the table put up on Facebook, and the district let her go. That can’t possibly be legal. How can they even prove that was her beer? And she wasn’t even drinking it? I feel like this might be a falsehood.)

What? What’d I do? HELP HELP I’M BEING OPPRESSED.

But apparently there are some people who don’t understand that once you post something on the internet, it’s on the internet, even if you post it “friends only.” Here, I will give you a quick tutorial. Even if you have all of your settings locked down on Facebook and it’s friends-only, if you post something, your friends can share that with anyone they want. Who can, in turn, share that with anyone they want. It isn’t locked down. Once it’s posted, it’s out of your control. If you don’t want people to see something – DON’T POST IT ON FACEBOOK. Use a little discretion and common-sense.

Apparently, a gangstaaaaa in New York City was talking about the thug life, yo on Facebook. But he thought he was being all circumspect and marked the more sensitive posts, like the ones with drugs and murder references, “friends only.” But apparently the FBI is allowed to talk to your friends and ask your friends to share your posts with them, and your friends can do that. So the gangsta’s friends shared the info with the po-po (well, the Feds, I guess, what’s that, the fe-fe?) and now the guy’s going on trial for gangsta-ism.

So, we could argue for a while whether or not this guy’s friends were assholes (or, like a lot of people, he just randomly friended pretty much everyone – WHY DO PEOPLE DO THIS?!) or if they were upstanding citizens who wanted to help make the world a better place, but that’s not really the point. The point is that this guy thought he was being secretive and he was just being a jackass.

Rule of thumb: if it’s illegal, don’t post it on Facebook. If it’s potentially embarrassing to someone (yourself, others, whatever) think about it before posting it. Yes, yes. Your profile is marked private. But once it’s out there, your friends can share that with anyone, jellybeans. Use your thinker for thinking thoughts.

Finally: this one’s going to make you cringe, fellas. Sorry.

I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is that science has discovered a way to perhaps extend your lifespan so it is equal to a woman’s lifespan! The bad news is that the way to go about it is…well…maybe not something you’d be willing to do.

Researchers in Korea discovered that, after studying the genealogical records of the Chosun dynasty, eunuchs tended to live almost 20 years longer than intact males.

Lord Varys is very pleased with this development.

Yep. Eunuchs. So, in order to earn another twenty years, all you have to do is undergo castration. What do you think, guys? Worth it? Good tradeoff?

Now, before you’re all “that’s because eunuchs lived this totally sheltered and cushy life!” the sciency types are onto you and compared the eunuchs to other men who lived a similar lifestyle. Don’t mess with the sciency types. They know what they’re doing.

I guess this leads the sciency-types to believe that male sex hormones may be to blame for men’s shorter lifespans.

I don’t know that I know too many men that would give up the fellas for a chance to live another couple of decades. But maybe the men I know are all obsessed with their man-junk, I don’t know. I suppose some men have to do this when they get testicular cancer, right?So what’s the thought, men-readers? If you were promised another 20 years on your life, would you become a eunuch? I’m honestly curious about the outcome of this one.

This is a real eunuch. He seems shocked by what’s befallen him.

ALL THE NEWS! OK, off to toil away at the night shift. It’s late-shift week this week for Amy. All the late-night crazies are all mine! All for me! I’ll let you all have some if you want them. I’m not greedy. Happy day, all!


Kind-of-Sort-of-Ask-Lucy a.k.a. I CAN ANSWER THAT! (Volume 8)

Well! Here we are at Amy-answers-all-your-burning-questions day! Well, if by “burning” you mean “probably not all that burning, maybe just a little itchy, like maybe a slight persistent itch, perhaps brought upon by hay fever or some such nonsense.” NEVERTHELESS! We beat on! Boats against the current! (How many people sneak their favorite Gatsby reference into a completely joking post answering strange questions from their search results? NOT VERY MANY is my guess! Huzzah!)

SIGH. Love. Love, love, love.

So, in case you don’t remember, here’s a quick rundown of what’s going on here. Just because YOU don’t need a rundown – yes I said YOU – doesn’t mean OTHERS don’t need one. Sheesh. Think of others once and a while, bub! Because the search terms posts tend to be insanely long, I break them up into two posts: an open letter to people who find my blog accidentally (that’s yesterday’s post, in case you have goldfish-memory) and a post with just the QUESTIONS that drive people to my blog. And I answer those questions to the best of my ability, and I give advice, some of which is more serious than the rest. And we all have a gay old time, just like on The Flintstones except our cars are not powered by our feetsies.

FOOT POWER!

So, yet again! 

Welcome to…  

Kind-of-sort-of Ask Lucy.  

Subtitled: I CAN ANSWER THAT!  

These are all ACTUAL SEARCH TERMS that brought people to my blog. So these people totally need my help, obviously, because they came to Google SEARCHING FOR HELP. And they obviously didn’t find it, because they ended up here. And since this is where I live, I feel an obligation to do my best to help them. I am nothing if not helpful. Also spastic, but mostly helpful.

do people who work in hospitals wear turtlenecks  Well, I guess it would depend on their dress code. Some hospitals make their employees wear scrubs; some are more laid-back. I know when I worked at a vet clinic, back in the day, I had to wear scrubs, and on cold days, I’d wear either thermals or a turtleneck under the scrubs (because the scrubs were a., extremely thin, and b., short-sleeved.) So I would either look at what the other employees are wearing, or ask whoever hires you what the rules are. Pretty easy, right? No one expects you to know these things on your first day. Don’t fret, sunshine. You’re welcome, have fun at the house of death! (Oh, wait, not everyone calls the hospital that? Just me? Sorry, I have a weird hospital-phobia.)        

Are any of these people wearing turtlenecks? I’m too exhausted to really investigate. There are a LOT of people here.

does joseph gordon levitt suffer with hay fever I don’t know, and I wouldn’t even know how to go about finding that out, to be honest. It’s not something you need to know, really. People want to know a lot of weird things about celebrities. Their shoe size, their allergens, if their skin would fit them as a suit if they kept them in a well in their basement. Joseph Gordon-Levitt is lovely and funny and handsome and creative, and one of my favorite people to watch onscreen, and please stop being his number-one fan, Annie Wilkes. You’re welcome, weirdo.

Who cares if he’s got allergies. LOOK HOW HANDSOME HE IS!

does zak bagans have asthma AGAIN. NOT IMPORTANT. I’m pretty sure he’s allergic to all things tasteful, does that help? To spell it out: he is a douchebag. You’re welcome, get a new celebrity crush.

what is a euphemism for happy accidents I think a happy accident is when you get pregnant by accident but you’re jazzed about it, right? Technically, and not to be an asshole, but “happy accident” IS a euphemism. Accidental pregnancy is the term, happy accident is the euphemism for that term. Additional euphemisms are “up the stump” and “on the nest” and “knocked up” and “OH SHIT THE CONDOM BROKE MOLLY!” You’re welcome, talk to Ken for additional help with euphemisms, it’s what we keep him around for. Well, that and the talk of cheese. You can’t really jettison someone who adores cheese that much, it would be unseemly.

I found this for you! I don’t understand the last paragraph. “Homefun?” Are you effing kidding me right now?

how do you interact when you have nothing in your hand I don’t…this makes me both entertained and perplexed. How do you interact with whom? What do you mean by this? Is this a theater thing, like, improv or something, like you’re pretending to attack something with an imaginary knife or something along those lines? Are you talking about talking with your hands, which I do a lot? Is this a euphemism for something? I really want to help you with this one, I really do, but I don’t know what you MEAN. You’re welcome, and much too vague.

how to be skinny like barbie? yahoo Are you looking for the yahoo search engine, or are you cheering, “yahoo!” Or maybe you’re calling someone a yahoo? Either way, you don’t want to be skinny like Barbie. You’d tip over because you’d be too top-heavy for your little skinny legs. Just be healthy for your body-type, you. Don’t hate on yourself too much. It makes me sad. You’re welcome, you’re beautiful.

The Huffington Post ran this recently – if Barbie were real. Nice, right? VERY sexy.

is “ice cream. it melted.” a poem? Um. Well, I suppose anything could be a poem, if presented properly. I read a book of poetry recently that was formatted like blog posts. Some might argue it wasn’t poetry. But it was presented as such, so who’s to say, really? I’d like to tell you that “ice cream.it melted” isn’t a poem, but I’m sure some people argued that e.e.cummings’ work wasn’t poetry when it came out, so I don’t want to be that asshole. No no not me. SPEAKING OF WHICH. I have discovered what might be my new favorite cummings’ poem. I might love it more than I love “ i carry your heart.”  I’m so putting it in here. THIS is a poem. You’re welcome, read more poetry. (I can’t find it anywhere with the original formatting, which I’m sure is much better than this. I need to track it down at the library.)

You are tired
e.e. cummings

You are tired,
(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.

Come with me, then,
And we’ll leave it far and far away
(Only you and I, understand!)

You have played,
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and
Just tired.
So am I.

But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
And I knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart
Open to me!
For I will show you places Nobody knows,
And, if you like,
The perfect places of Sleep.

Ah, come with me!
I’ll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
That floats forever and a day;
I’ll sing you the jacinth song
Of the probable stars;
I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
Until I find the Only Flower,
Which shall keep (I think) your little heart
While the moon comes out of the sea.

Isn’t that wonderful? I totally swooned the first time I read this. Then I re-read it. Then I had some tears, and then I read it out LOUD, and then I luxuriated in the third stanza, which is complete and utter perfection. “You have played,/(I think)/And broke the toys you were fondest of,/And are a little tired now;/Tired of things that break, and/Just tired./So am I.” Oh. Oh, my. That “so am I” kills me. I adore this. I like that I can discover cummings poetry even as an adult that makes me all knee-weak and fluttery.

does jerking off cause baldness I don’t know. Are you rubbing your head while you do it? In that case, it might. Otherwise, nope. It also doesn’t cause you to wet the bed or grow hair on your palms. I know! Shocky-shock-shockerton. That’s something that people tell teens because they’re scared of sexuality. Masturbation is fine and healthy and normal, and everyone does it. Or, well, I guess some people don’t, for one reason or another, but I’m of the firm (heh) opinion everyone should. Just kind of be discreet about it. You don’t need to be doing it all out in public. That’s how you get arrested. You’re welcome, you’re just fine and so is your hirsuteness.

what is a nerdy euphemism for dammit Shit, I don’t know. Crikey? For the love of Pete? Frak? Goshdarnit? Poop? You’re welcome, I think. Goshdarnit.

why do people wear clear tongue rings A few reasons, but mostly because they want to keep the piercing open and yet not let people know they’ve got a tongue ring. So they get a clear tongue ring. This is worn sometimes to job interviews and sometimes onstage as an actor or actress. There are also clear nose rings for the same purposes. I’ve had my piercings long enough that I can go a while with mine out and the holes won’t start to close up. I don’t take the tongue ring out for much – I just am smart enough to not open my mouth very wide when I’m somewhere CLASSAY. I don’t wear my nose ring to fancy places. I never got to wear it to my last job. They told me when they hired me I wasn’t allowed to wear it. It wasn’t “that type of office.” Oh, a good one? Shock. Awe. You’re welcome, wasn’t that enlightening?

See, you can still see it, it’s just not as noticeable. No, this isn’t me.

was meg ryan in howerd the duck No. It was Lea Thompson, from Back to the Future. I didn’t even have to look that up. You’re welcome, I’m a child of the 80s.

I can’t imagine she’s overly proud of this. There was one scene where she had to GET IN BED WITH THE DUCK. Ugh.

were really my heart lays Do you mean “where?” Where your heart lays? I think it’s “lies,” though. Anyway, I don’t know where your heart lies. Technically, in your chest, but I’m assuming you mean metaphorically, and you wouldn’t be asking this if you weren’t all angsty-angst in love, and that makes me sad for you. I know that feeling, cherry pie. It’s tough, right? You’re right between all the happy and all the sad? Yep. It’s kind of a mix of the best and the worst. I wish I had a fix for you, but I do not. I’d like to give you some cake and a hug, though. You’re welcome, best of all possible luck to you.

what does is that a blank in your pocket mean Well, when I used it a while back I was referring to that scandal where the kid got caught cheating at the Scrabble championship and he’d pocketed a few of the blanks they use when playing Scrabble. But when someone says, “is that a ____ in your pocket or are you just happy to see me,” it’s a joke. About erections. Do I need to explain it? FINE. See, if someone has something in their pocket that’s all poking out, you can say jokingly, “Is that a (shit, I don’t know, let’s say hammer) in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?” because it COULD be a hammer, or it could be that seeing you gave them a hardon. HA HA HA. Get it? You’re welcome, did you grow up in a bubble?

See? This’s been around for a while. I didn’t make this shit up.

what does it mean when you dream you hear nursery rhymes  I don’t know. What does it mean? I don’t 100% understand your question. Sorry. You’re hearing nursery rhymes in your sleep? Weird things happen in our sleep, I can’t explain it. I woke up with “Not While I’m Around” from Into the Woods in my head this morning, who can tell why. Just one of those things. You’re welcome, maybe listen to some music you like before bed or something?

what doesth phrase manofmen mean I don’t know that I’ve heard that phrase. “man of men?” How would you even use that, “you’re a man of men?” I’ve heard “he’s a man among men,” is that the same thing? So, I guess my answer in short is, I don’t know. Sorry, sunshine. I don’t know that it’s a thing. You’re welcome, I guess find another saying?

what hapened to dunkin donuts coffee? Did something happen to it? I haven’t been able to afford it in MONTHS. Does it taste different, or is it no longer available in your area and you’re all sadface? Someone else is going to have to answer this for me, I’m too poor for fancy coffee drinks, you guys. You’re welcome, you rich person, you.

WANT WANT WANT. Someday you will be mine again, coffee. Someday you will be mine.

what is the expression “pull the cart before the mule”? I think it’s PUT the cart before the mule (well, actually horse), and it means to switch shit up. To do things in an unexpected order. To put the cart first, for example – the cart usually comes last. To shut the barn door after the horse is already out. That kind of thing. It’s one of those country sayings that my gramma loves, just go with it. You’re welcome, do you really have a mule? Can I come visit it?

why does the isle of man coat of arms have a raven on it Ooh, Andreas taught us this one once, I think! It is a raven that is featured in Norse mythology: one of Odin’s ravens, either Huginn or Muninn. Isn’t it nice that we have a science fellow that ALSO knows about NORSE MYTHOLOGY? Andreas really is the best. Someday I’m going to meet him and hug him the most. It’s going to be most excellent. You’re welcome, I’m so pleased I could answer that one intelligently!     

Raven! And a falcon, too, don’t forget the falcon!

why is the frog attracted to the pig because she is a whore The phrasing of this question totally gives me the giggles. “Because she is a whore!” Judgey much? I don’t know that Kermit’s attracted to Miss Piggy because she’s a WHORE, per se. I think he likes bossy women, or something. Who knows? That always confused me a little, too. But I don’t know that whorishness played into it. You’re welcome, this is a very funny question.

Oh, total streetwalker. Yep.

why is there so much secrecy surrounding gang stalking? Hee! Well, it wouldn’t really be “stalking” if EVERYONE knew about it, now would it? It would be more like…following. All out in the open. I think stalking, in itself, has to be kept on the down-low. Or else it’s no longer a thing. What do you want, questioner? Like, a book called “I Was a Gang Stalker?” I don’t know what to tell you, here. You’re welcome, this question makes me equal parts giggly and perplexed.           

woman called me a bitch in the street is there anything i can do? There are lots of things you can do. You can yell back at her. You can walk away. You can put your coffee cup on your head and do a silly dance. You can buss a cap in her ass. (Is that the proper use of that phrase? I don’t know that I’ve ever written that out before.) You can pretend not to speak English and just keep saying, “por que? por que?” You can tell her to go take a flying leap in sign language. Your possibilities, my friend, are endless. Are you wondering if you can sue? Is that what you’re asking? Well, I’m sure there’s an ambulance-chasing lawyer in your town somewhere, call ‘em up and see what they think. Mostly, I’d play it by ear. Most of the time, it’s best to ignore it, but if you just can’t control yourself, think of some sort of comeback and have at it – as long as you don’t think she’ll shank you. If you think she looks stabby, RUN AWAY. You’re welcome, I’m sorry you got street-shouted.

Well, there we go! All the questions, my sweet potatoes! All for you! Are you the most enlightened and amused and do you know ALL THE THINGS you didn’t know before? Yes! Yay! Keep on askin’ ‘em, I’ll keep on answerin’ em!

Until next month – may your questions be answered and your searches bring you somewhere helpful, like here, or maybe to a therapist, who not only can answer your questions but can ALSO prescribe you MOOD-ALTERING DRUGS. YAY FOR BETTER LIVING THROUGH PHARMACEUTICALS!


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