Category Archives: weirdness

Someone’s doing this wrong. It may well be me.

In an attempt to be a normal human, and to take 2014 by the horns (THE HORNS, people!) I decided to do something that might be a gigantic mistake.

NO, I didn’t dye my hair blonde. Don’t be absurd. I look terrible blonde. Tried it once, in grad school. I looked like I was wearing a terrible wig. I immediately went to a salon and had them fix it because it was too embarrassing to leave the house with. (Well, obviously I had to leave the house to go to the salon…I wore a hat.) Then I did it AGAIN years LATER but that time it was an accident. So I just dyed it back myself, because I was poor then. Anyway, in summation: I’m not a blonde, nor will I ever BE a blonde.

Yeah, I didn't even look this good. There might have been weeping, though.

Yeah, I didn’t even look this good. There might have been weeping, though.

Nope. What I DID do is sign up for online dating.

See, here’s the thing: you don’t meet a lot of people hanging around your house. You meet your cat, and sometimes the old guy who lives downstairs and coughs a lot and Dad talked to him once and said “he’s just waiting to die, his wife’s dead and he’s so depressed” and I said, “how did you find all that out from talking to him for, like, five SECONDS?” and Dad said, “Well, I might have guessed parts of that.” You sometimes meet package deliverymen and Chinese food deliverymen and maintenance men. None of these people are really dating potential. This isn’t a porn. No one’s showing up at my door asking “Did anyone call for a PLUMBER?” and then bow-chicka-wow-wow music’s going to start. Also, ew, that’s how you get the clap.

So even though the last time I tried this online dating situation I had…well, let’s just say the worst luck ever…I decided to give it another go. It would be nice to date someone. Or maybe a few someones. See what happens. It is a thing that people do, right? This dating thing? Yes. Yes, it is.

So with the support of my friends, who were all “that is a very good idea! You do that! You will meet someone awesome!” I filled out pages and pages of questions and silly blurbs and whether I liked dogs or cats (WHY MUST I CHOOSE?) and how very, very much I love long walks on the beach and getting caught in the rain and laughing like those people in the online dating commercials while eating pasta by candlelight. Online dating commercials about meeting the love of your life on the internet can’t lie, right? RIGHT?

However! I have learned some things from the online dating site that I think are important for people to bear in mind when attempting to online date. And I thought, should I share them with the internet?

Well, what the hell else am I going to do with them? The cat doesn’t care. He’s napping at the moment. As he does.


(Note: I’m not telling you WHAT site I signed up for; I think they’re all pretty much the same, other than you pay for some, and you don’t for others, and there’s one that hates the gays and athiests. Or at least it used to. I think I remember reading it grudgingly decided the gays and athiests had money to spend, too, and therefore changed things up a little bit.)

Many people can’t spell and make no attempt to do so. It’s not going to surprise you that I actually have it written in my profile that I’m a grammar nerd and there are extra points given to people that contact me that write well. Actual emails I’ve received on the site: “YOUR PRETY,” “what r u doin,” and “its cold in winter.” Yes, I realize that sometimes, a very good heart beats within the body of a person who cannot express themselves in their native language, but it still makes me cringe. Also, if your entire profile paragraph is an all-caps “TWO HEATS BEET AS ONE I AM LOKING FOR MY SOLEMATE” and you “flirt” with me (don’t ask, these sites are kind of ridiculous) I’m not replying to you. I’m not a cobbler. You’re going to have to keep looking for your solemate, my friend. All my best to you.

People can be very aggressive and persistent. One guy “flirted” and then “favorited” me and then sent me a message (which was “ANY LUCK HERE?” and that’s not at all off-putting) and we were not even a little compatable so I sent him one of the pre-written “no-thanks” responses and then the next time I signed on he immediately popped up as wanting to chat with me so I clicked the “I’m busy” button and seriously, dude? I feel like maybe you’re chasing me down the sidewalk. Down, boy. DOWN. (Also, why so interested, when I don’t meet any of your criteria? You wrote those damn criteria. If you hadn’t written you were only interested in young, young women and “no fatties” I MIGHT have replied, but since you did, I was all, “nope” and wrote you off as a dick.)

The particular site I signed up for doesn’t seem to understand how “matching” works. You put in your criteria (like, age and such) and the site’s supposed to send you daily matches, only my matches aren’t within my criteria, so either I’ve broken the site, or they don’t care what I like. Or maybe they know better than me. Do you think the site knows better than me, and I’d really love dating a 60-year-old with kids the same age as I am? I guess we could hit up the Golden Corral for the Senior Buffet. Thrifty!

My new husband! Only a couple years younger than Dad, so they could be besties!

My new husband! Only a couple years younger than Dad, so they could be besties!

People are either very vague or very specific in what they’re looking for. Some people don’t fill anything out, so you don’t know if you’d fit their criteria at all, and some people are all “I want a woman who’s 5’7, athletic and toned, with red hair, green eyes, 20 years younger than I am, liberal, only has a high school education, and has a cat.” This seems extremely limiting to me. Who is this person? And does she exist? I think you might have better luck contacting Warren to build you a Buffybot.

There you go, boys, I found you your perfect match.

There you go, boys, I found you your perfect match.

Apparently quite a few people don’t bother to read the information you took time to post. I get contacted by people regularly (that sounds braggy…please note that it’s not. These people are not anyone I want to hang with) and then I look at their profiles and the person they’re looking for is my exact opposite. Did you read my profile? Or did you just notice I’m female and live in your area? I’m confused.

Having conversations with these people is like pulling teeth. OK, anyone who emails me knows exactly what kind of emails I write. They look very much like one of my blog posts. I don’t know how to reply to an email of “yup” or “going to get food now.” How do you even answer that? You could start some sort of new conversation, like “let’s talk about your favorite cheeses” or something, but I’ve found in the past you’re not allowed to be kooky until the person’s known you for a while, or they think you’re insane and run off screaming. So apparently I’m in for a lot of back-and-forth of “Hi”/”Hi”/”How are you”/”Good”/”Weather’s nice today”/”Yes”/”How was work”/”Busy”/”Here too” and SINCERELY, I’m climbing the walls with boredom at this point.

Sooooo booooooreddddd

Sooooo booooooreddddd

Stop asking for more pictures. OK, I have pictures up on this site? But not, like, ALL the pictures. I’m undecided about whether or not I’m going to stay there, and also I find it creepy to put a billion photos on a dating site and then a stranger could see me at the grocery store and be all, “OMG, YOU ARE LOOKIN’ FOR LOVE ONLINE I RECOGNIZE YOU YO” or something. So people email me and their opening gambit is, “do you have more photos?” and what’s funny is, THEY hardly have any photos so I’m not sure if they want tit-shots or what the point here is. One guy was displeased and was all “I’m quitting the SITE” when I told him nope and one guy was all “OK, cool” but I’m pretty sure our conversation about dinner, weather, and such has come to a natural conclusion so we’ve broken up and I’ve already gone through the five stages of grief and I’ve come out the other side a better person for it.

What have we learned?

I’m very bad at this. I have been informed by a friend who does this on the regular I need to be more open-minded in order for this to work, and also maybe it would help if I lowered my standards a little. The former, probably. That would be better in a lot of aspects in my life. The latter…I don’t know. How can you force yourself to be attracted to someone? I’ve only had my mind changed twice, romantically, about someone (I mean, from my first impression to falling for them) in my life, and I’m kind of old. Maybe some people can become attracted to someone after some time and getting to know someone, but I’m weird about such things. I like the click. Everyone who’s important in my life, who’s been long-term important in my life, either romantically or on a friendship level: there’s been that click, where it’s like meeting someone you’ve known all along but have been separated from for whatever reason, and then you found them again. Is that naïve, waiting for that? Yeah, maybe. Is it likely I’ll get over that? Probably not, but I suppose anything can happen.

If anyone wants to tell me a., how to do this correctly, b., if there’s a dating site for internet geeks who like books and where people can SPELL, dammit, where I would be in high demand, or c., that they have a brother/cousin/male BFF I’d be perfect for, I’m down for all the advice. Comment it up, yo.

Stay tuned, jellybeans. WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT. Will Amy go on an actual out-of-the-house date with one of these people? Will she give up and delete her whole profile because the whole thing gives her the willies? Will she be psychokilled by an internet murderer? ONLY TIME WILL TELL.

Adventures in Inadvertent Homesteading

So, as you may be aware, I am on vacation. 9 days in the mountains! In my parents’ nice, quiet cabin! Just me, the pine trees, and Dumbcat!

What’s that loud noise from next door?

That’s the best-laid plans of mice and men going astray, ladies and gentlemen.

I am presently sitting at the picnic table, trying to beat sunset to write this. Because when it gets dark, well, that’s it. You can’t blog well by flashlight. I tried last night.

But, I’m jumping ahead.

Yesterday I came home from work, threw everything in the car, and immediately almost passed out from heatstroke. It was 95, but the handy-dandy weather app on my phone said it felt like 105. (I’d put the degrees sign in there, but I don’t know how with the WordPress app. Sorry. We’re bare-bones until my brother brings me his mobile hotspot thingy tomorrow around these parts.)

It was probably not best to travel under those conditions, but what can I say. I’m stubborn as hell, and I wanted an extra night of vacation.

I put an icepack in a towel for Dumbcat, prayed to the gods of weather that it would cool down, and took off. (I also packed a ton of cold water and ice for myself and some cold wet washcloths in a baggie in case I needed to swab myself off, guerilla-style, while driving. I’m awesomely planning-ahead like that.)

We got about an hour and a half from home (with Dumbcat melodically alternating between yowling and panting the whole way, which scared the shit out of me, even though when I’d pet him he was purring, weirdo) when I realized he was soggy. “Why are you soggy, buddy?” I asked. He yowled. I thought, maybe the icepack is leaking?

The smell in the car made it immediately apparent it was not a leaking icepack, but a Dumbcat TAKING a leak. In the carrier. All over his fur.

So I pulled over at a rest stop, praised all the random deities I may or may not believe in for the planning-aheadness of the wet washcloths, and swabbed off my cranky-as-hell pee-soaked cat. And his carrier. He then looked like a drowned rat, and while I cleaned the carrier he ran around the car saying “Meow meow MEOW” very cheerfully because he thought he’d escaped. (I’d let him ride without the carrier, but he’d fall out a window. He’s not called Dumbcat for shits and giggles.)

Back in the carrier. Hit the road and BAM! Thunder! Lightning! The way you love me is frightening! Oh, wait, that’s a song. No! HAIL! All the hail! And rain! In the ten minutes to clean Dumbcat’s mess, AN APOCALYPSE HAPPENED!

I drove in the terrible rain with my windows only cracked a little so as to not get soaked and grumbled about my lack of AC.

I FINALLY arrived at camp, Dumbcat yowling the whole way, and the lights weren’t on. “UGH!” thought I. “Why did Mom and Dad not turn the lights on?”

I called them. “Where’s the breaker box? You guys didn’t turn the lights on for me.”

Dad was silent. “Um. Amy? The power’s been out in the whole area for about three hours. The lights are out. REALLY out. We had a huge storm.”

This means no water, no showers, no toilet-flushing, no lights, no television, no phone-charging, no laptop-charging, no Kindle-charging…


So I unpacked the car with a flashlight, was VERY pleased to see I had cell service so I could tell my people I wasn’t dead, tended to a very smelly Dumbcat as best I could, and went to bed early. What the hell else am I going to do? It’s not like I could do anything else. TOTAL DARKNESS.

When I woke up today, the power was still out. (The loud noise mentioned earlier? The neighbors’ obnoxious generator. SO LOUD. Yet I want one, because I WANT A SHOWER.) So I tried to call home. House phone was out. “How lucky my cell works!” I said. Nope. No coverage.

No power, water, phone, or cell.

I did what anyone in this situation who hadn’t showered in 36 hours, was covered in sweat and cat pee and sunscreen, couldn’t have breakfast because the milk had gone bad and hadn’t eaten in 15 hours would do.

I started to cry and threw on clothes and headed to my parents’ house.

Yes, I’m almost 40 years old, thank you very much.

On the way, I stopped at McDonalds. SHUT UP I AM ON VACATION. That Egg McMuffin was like manna from on high. I HAD NOT EATEN IN FIFTEEN HOURS.

I also emailed people because I couldn’t when I woke up and called Mom and Dad and said, “I AM COMING HOME I AM DISGUSTING AND SMELL TERRIBLE I HATE VACATION RIGHT NOW.”

They very wisely agreed this was a good plan.

I got home. I showered. It was GLORIOUS. I felt like a new woman. Until I spilled iced coffee all over my clean clothes, but we can pretend that didn’t happen.

THEN I got to spend a few hours with The Nephew! That was unexpected. We played Lego and raced cars and he showed me all his toys and he was SO HAPPY TO SEE ME! And listen, if you haven’t heard the person you love most in the whole world say, “You’re funny, Aunt Amy” and giggle? (Well, substitute your name in for “Aunt Amy,” unless you, too, are an Aunt Amy.) Then you have not LIVED, my friend. He makes my whole heart hurt with the happiness of him.

(Tomorrow I get to hang with him for all the daylight hours. ALL OF THEM! We will be watching Finding Nemo and reading books and playing games and blowing bubbles and playing with Play-Doh and I am MOST excited. I cannot wait!)

I got to meet my brother’s cat, Abby, who is the teeniest calico you have ever seen and who I wanted to hide in my teeshirt and bring home with me, and cuddle with his dog who I love very much and she went “haroo! HAROO!” when she saw me because she is a beagle and that’s how she rolls, and my brother made me lunch! WITH A FRYING PAN AND MEAT AND VEGETABLES! “I’m a grownup who cooks now!” he said gleefully. (I’m apparently still a kid, because when he wasn’t looking, I put my carrots on his plate so he would eat them. Blech, carrots.)

Then I braved it and came back to the mountains. Where there is still no power.


There are 178 people without power in this town, and 180 people live here and are serviced by National Grid.


Better still, where do they live, and can I come take a shower at their house?

(I told Dad I thought it was the mayor and his mistress; Dad said “That town doesn’t have a mayor. It’s too small. Stop making up things.”)

Also, on the drive through town, I saw many funny things, like:

A sign that said “wood ahead” and I yelled, “EUPHEMISM!” (Really, they were just selling wood. FIREWOOD. Not “wood.”)

A lot of houses that had just collapsed from neglect; I kept saying, “Well, THAT fell down.”

A deli named “Shat’s.” Is that not the worst named thing you’ve ever heard of? When I told Dad that, he was all, “That’s a good name. You city folk are so weird.” YOU DO NOT NAME YOUR DELI SOMETHING THAT SOUNDS LIKE POO.

Now I am going to publish this, and read on my Kindle for a bit because it’s too dark for anything else, and go to bed early because what else can I do, and also, The Nephew will be here early! (Also, supposedly, the power will be back on around 10pm-midnight. WISH ME LUCK!!!)

Oh, vacation. You certainly are turning out to be more work than was intended.

A good place to be lonely is the Walmart. Also, the turning down of awards!

In your world it is Thursday. Here, it is Monday. I had every intention to go to work this morning. However, I could not sleep last night. Not even a little. After tossing and turning and coughing up a lung (maybe both lungs) for a few hours, I finally fell asleep, but when the alarm went off, there was no way I could go to work today, because I was stumbling around like a zombie person and I couldn’t open my eyes and I was coughing and coughing and just wanted more sleep. MORE SLEEP. I was like a junkie and the only thing I needed? SLEEP. So I called off from work and went back to bed. And promptly slept for – ready for this? FIVE MORE HOURS. Yes. In total, I slept for about 11 hours last night/today. That is too much sleep. Or maybe just enough, I don’t know. I am attempting, today, to stay awake, in the hope that tonight I will be SO TIRED I can sleep normal hours and go to work tomorrow. I can’t miss MORE work due to a cold. This is ridiculous.

Also, I was supposed to see The Nephew tonight, and because I love him, I decided to cancel that. He doesn’t need my germs. It makes me sad, though. You know I love to hang out with my best little buddy more than almost anything.

So today Dumbcat and I are hanging on the couch watching bad television. I am trying to stay awake. He is not even trying. He’s been asleep all day long. Dammit, Dumbcat, way to be a good companion.

Today I have to mention that I have been nominated for THREE awards and isn’t that fancy? Yes, it is! Well, twice for the same award, but twice is twice, right? Right.

Most of you know my stance on awards. I find it very nice to be nominated, but I can’t accept them. Why can’t I accept them? Because they make you nominate a number of other blogs. And if you nominate other blogs, then you’re leaving some blogs out, and feelings get hurt. And I hate to hurt feelings. I hate to hurt feelings more than I hate to clean the litterbox, and that’s a lot, yo. So, as always, I am very thankful for the awards, and for thinking of me; it is most kind, and most appreciated.

So, the first award I have been nominated for is the Versatile Blogger Award. I feel like I’ve gotten this one before, right? I could go back and look but, well, sick. And kind of lazy. Sorry, world.

First I was nominated by meANXIETYme. Thank you!

Then I was nominated by Kat at Kat’s Den. And thank YOU!

Then I was nominated for the Very Inspiring Blogger award by Andrea at When in New Places. Also, thanks to YOU!

I am supposed to state seven things about myself and then nominate fifteen blogs. Well, I refuse to nominate anyone, as is my wont, and therefore I CANNOT ACCEPT THE AWARDS. Mostly because these things seem like a pyramid scheme, you see. I don’t like pyramids. All triangular like that. Sticking up out of the sand. Being all pointy.



I don’t know if there are seven things about myself you don’t already know, other than the things I’m not going to tell you because they’re mine. Oh, shush, we all get a few things that are ours. You can’t even tell me that you don’t keep some things just for yourself. So instead, here, I will tell you my top seven favorite cities in all the world that I have actually been in with my whole body. Yes, my whole body! Not just my toe.

  1. New York, NY
  2. Rome, Italy
  3. Albany, NY
  4. Sedona, AZ
  5. Santa Barbara, CA
  6. Rouen, France
  7. Baltimore, MD
New York wins! You are not at all surprised by this, are you? Didn't think so.

New York wins! You are not at all surprised by this, are you? Didn’t think so.

There you go. It’s LIKE seven things you didn’t know about me, only in NUMERICAL ORDER. (The top two haven’t changed since 1995. I’m pretty damn predictable.) Do I win going places? Yes. Also, I think it’s a sign I’m in the right place, life-wise, that where I live is in the top three. Because that means there are two places that are like dream vacation spots, but then coming home is in the top three. That’s good, I think.

So, in summation: thank you for the awards, ladies. I am honored and humbled, even though I can’t accept; the fact that I can’t accept is not at all your fault and completely mine. I so appreciate the thought, and give you many internet smooches for the gifting.

Before we go, let’s talk about a super-classy thing that happened here lately. And when I say super-classy, I mean like BEYOND classy. It makes me so proud I can’t even. CAN. NOT. EVEN.

(Props to sj for finding me that most excellent pie chart.)

So, Queensbury is about an hour from me. And in Queensbury, there is a Walmart. I mean, of course there is. Where is there not a Walmart? There’s probably a Walmart in Antarctica for all I know. (In that Walmart they would probably sell a lot of mittens.)

Apparently, you can get more than beef jerky and large boxes of Cheese Nips at the Queensbury Walmart.

Someone called the po-po and said, “You guys? There’s a Walmart employee doin’ the nasty back in the corner of the housewares section.”

Because nothing says "illicit sex" like a ton of flair on a blue vest.

Because nothing says “illicit sex” like a ton of flair on a blue vest.

So I guess one of the Walmart customers offered the employee some cash under the table if he…um…did a naked price-check for him in a corner? And the employee did? And then someone shopping for a new toaster was totally scandalized and was all “OMG MY EYES MY EYESSSSS” and called the cops and to jail the Walmart employee went, hopefully before someone had to call for a cleanup in aisle three.

I don’t know who to feel more pity for in this scenario, honestly. The employee, who is obviously making so little money that he had to take some (probably icky, let’s be honest) customer up on his offer of a quickie BJ in a corner? The customer who, for who-knows-what-reason decided to solicit a most-likely minimum-wage employee for sex at a Walmart? The customer who was going about his or her business and stumbled upon oral pleasure by the dishtowels?

Oh, Queensbury. This isn’t very regal behavior at all. Shame, shame. See, this is why I shop at Target. The most scandalous thing I’ve seen at Target recently is a price-check on some shampoo that was irregularly priced and a customer who was SO PISSED about that.

OK. I’m attempting to go to sleep at like 9pm tonight. Hopefully, by the time you read this, I am healthy and happy. Wise, I don’t know. I think that’s a lot to ask, to be honest. I’ll stick with healthy and happy for now.

Five tons = 2.5 elephants worth. SO MANY CHOCOLATEY ELEPHANTS!

Today we are going to talk about a weird but kind of awesome thing that happened in the world. As we do ’round there here parts from time to time, yo. I think we also might do this Wednesday, because I found ANOTHER awesome thing. But tonight I want to go to bed early so I can finish reading my book because I’m pretty sure the thief is about to forgive the queen and there will be much kissing. MUCH KISSING. Shush, sometimes I like books with much kissing.

Sometimes I also like young adult literature and fantasy books. I am not always highbrow. Sorry to burst the bubble!

Sometimes I also like young adult literature and fantasy books. I am not always highbrow. Sorry to burst the bubble!

But FIRST, sometimes I like to change things in blogland. So from now on, if you comment, and if you have EVER commented here, your comment will IMMEDIATELY SHOW UP ON THE BLOG. Like, IMMEDIATELY. However! Don’t use this as an excuse to crack wise, buckaroos. I still have the option to delete or edit your comments, should I decide to do that. I still get an email every time you comment, and can hop on my phone and make your comment poof. OK, I take that back. Please feel free to crack wise. I like you to crack wise. Wise folks are my favorites. However, please don’t do things like use racial slurs or gaybash or talk about things that make me have the vapors. I trust my regular commenters won’t do this. And if you’re new, hello! Please comment! I am glad you are here!

It’s a thing I’m trying. It will make comments show up faster when I’m not able to approve them in a timely fashion. Let’s see how it goes. I can always change it back if I want to.


Listen, the world is a wild and weird place, buckaroos. How will you know how weird without someone telling you about it? You’re WELCOME. In ADVANCE.

Over the weekend, someone stole some Nutella in Germany.

I know this doesn’t sound all that weird and/or shocking. Here, I’ll make it better by throwing some FACTS down on you.

Over the weekend, someone stole FIVE TONS of Nutella from a town named BAD HERSFELD in Germany.

So! Much! Nutella!

So! Much! Nutella!

So much better, right?

FIVE TONS OF NUTELLA! That is so much Nutella. SO MUCH. One article I read said it only translated to about $21,000 worth of Nutella, though, so probably it wasn’t for the resale value.

Of COURSE it wasn’t. It was so they’d have a LIFETIME SUPPLY OF NUTELLA! I mean, duh. You don’t even have to think very hard about that one. All the Nutella! Every last bit of it!

Also, can we just talk about Bad Hersfeld for a minute? Could there BE a better town-name? I have MOST THOROUGHLY researched it and although it sounds like it’s most badass and kind of where all the bikers would live, really it designates that there is, or was, a health spa of some sort in the town, as apparently “bad” means “bath” in German. Why did a town with a health spa need so much Nutella? This is a mystery that even Scooby Doo couldn’t solve, methinks. Maybe all those people who are eating spinach salads were having a craving for hazelnut spread? Like, from being deprived of it and all?

Ooh, Bad Hersfeld gets its own STAMP. That's fancy, yo.

Ooh, Bad Hersfeld gets its own STAMP. That’s fancy, yo.

AND, look what the article ALSO says:

“Germans news agency dpa reported that thieves have previously stolen a load of energy drinks from the same location.”

I think if there's this much thievery in one place, maybe don't leave big loads of foodstuffs there? Just a thought.

I think if there’s this much thievery in one place, maybe don’t leave big loads of foodstuffs there? Just a thought.

No, I don’t know why “dpa” is all lowercase like that, I didn’t write the article, sheesh. ANYWAY. So these people now have a lifetime supply of Red Bull AND a lifetime supply of Nutella? OMG, they are going to be SPEEDY. I think you need all that Nutella to wash the taste of Red Bull out of your mouth. Red Bull tastes like caffeinated death, seriously. Blech. Once, many years ago, my friend Matt who I have lost touch with (Matt! I miss your face!) and who I used to work at the Humane Society with had all the Red Bull and I was all, “Matt, dude, let me taste that.” And he was all, “You will hate it.” And I said, “EVERYONE loves Red Bull.” And he said “You will HATE it. It’s only if you need energy. You don’t need energy, you’re made of energy, you have trouble powering down.” And I said, “MATT GIVE ME THAT RED BULL RIGHT NOW I PROMISE I WILL NOT BACKWASH.” So Matt totally gave me his Red Bull because we were work besties and I would have trusted him with my whole life, seriously, and I had a little sip and I was all “MATT THAT IS THE WORST” and made a face and he laughed and laughed and said “I TOLD YOU SO!” and then would ask me to make the Red Bull face whenever he needed a good laugh and I would scowl at him and say “No, MATT” and he would laugh MORE. Matt was most sincerely awesome, I hope that someday life brings me across his path again. I would like to give him a hug and thank him for being one of the most protective, funny, brave, and strong men I’ve ever known. I don’t know if younger-me realized how important it was to tell people such things when you weren’t sure if you would see them again. Older-me has learned that such things are important and tries to say them often, in case she is hit by lightning and dies all of a sudden and can’t say them ever again. You don’t know when the lightning will come. YOU DON’T.

Watch out for the lightning, jellybeans, it comes out of nowhere, you know.

Watch out for the lightning, jellybeans, it comes out of nowhere, you know.

So now in Bad Hersfeld, there is a thief with ALL the Red Bull (or whatever the German equivalent of Red Bull is, probably Rot Stier. I don’t even want to drink Red Bull, I sure as hell don’t want to drink Rot Stier) and ALL the Nutella. That is a thief to be reckoned with, yo. You look out for that thief. I would assume it would be easy to identify him or her. They’d be all jumpy and also sticky-fingered. I feel like they’d leap out from alleys screaming “ROT STIER!” But don’t even try to catch him or her. They’re going to be speedy. They’ll be gone in a FLASH.

Tonight I am off reviewing a show so I’m thinking you will not see much of me tomorrow. I’ll be back soon. More weird news to discuss, I think. Now my book is calling to me. I can totally hear it. What, that is COMPLETELY normal. Your books don’t talk to you? Well, what a sad, lonely life you must lead, seriously!

Happy Tuesday, internet. Comment it up, they’ll pop up fast, fast like MAGIC. Just you wait and see!

(Psst, also, happy birthday, Amy’s brother, I hope you have a great day of magicalness! Even though you will not read the blog because this is where all the “rapists and people with one hand” hang out! Yeah, I don’t know either. HAPPY BIRTHDAY LITTLE BROTHER!)

An Open Letter to People Who Find my Blog Accidentally (Volume 21)

Dear People Who Find My Blog Accidentally:

Well, happy March, people of the intertubes. I think it’s supposed to be spring now? Or spring-ish? And sometimes it kind of is. But mostly it’s still cold. I want to open the windows! I want to feel spring breezes on my face! I want to sit on my porch and not freeze my buns off! Plus, Dumbcat loves the spring. He sits in the window and his little nose goes and he squints his eyes with happiness. I don’t know if Newcat will love the window. I assume they will not love the window at the same time, because then there will be all the hissery. SO MUCH HISSERY!

So! Much! Hissery!

So! Much! Hissery!

Well, you know what time this is, right? It’s the end of the month, so that means your cable bills are due, and also your rent bills. And it’s also time to see what search terms are bringing people to the old Football this month! I know you’re probably totally anticipating this every month. I do what I can to brighten your days, my little chocolate drops.

I again tried to make this post not so insanely long this month. Mostly because I’d like to get to bed before midnight tonight. It’s tough to stay awake at my desk if I stayed up until midnight the night before blogging about tomfoolery. (SIDE NOTE: I’m very good at staying up late and not very good at getting up early. I think I have something wrong with my internal clock. That has a name, doesn’t it? Circadian rhythms, right? I like to imagine that like the Church of Scientology and their Thetans. SOMEONE FIX MY CIRCADIANS THEY’RE NOT BEHAVING!)

So, just in case you’re new, let me catch you up on this recurring post. I’m obsessed with my stats; I like to check what search terms drive people to my blog; then I feel REALLY BAD this isn’t what they were looking for. So I write them a letter of apology (this is the twenty-first one. Aw, my little posts can legally get drunk now! Be careful, little posts, or you’ll wake up on the floor next to your toilet questioning your life choices! Oh, yeah, if you’re interested, search for the others; they’re stellar.) Why do I do this? I live a very rich inner life, chickadees. As I write these, I like to imagine I’m a FANCY ROCKSTAR with a SPARKLY SEQUINED JUMPSUIT. Just roll with it.

So I’m going to break you down into categories and address you in groups. SIDE NOTE: at work, we had to break into groups today. My task was to be the person who made the chart we hung on the wall. Guess whose group had the prettiest chart? Yep, mine. I have EXCELLENT handwriting. Even the group facilitator was all, “You have lovely handwriting. My handwriting on these charts is always terrible and I’m so embarrassed.” I WIN HANDWRITING! I asked one of my group members if I could find a job where I could utilize my marker-and-large-piece-of-paper writing skills, and he said, “Yes. Pre-K teacher.” I said, “How about a job where I don’t have to deal with humans?” He shook his head sadly no.

I don't write anything like this. I always thought these Qs were RIDICULOUS. They just look like 2s. TWOS!

I don’t write anything like this. I always thought these Qs were RIDICULOUS. They just look like 2s. TWOS!

Category the First: So. Many. People.

people you may know facebook (164)

That’s right. One-hundred and sixty-four people searched using some variation of the phrase “people you may know facebook.” That Facebook post I wrote a million billion years ago? Is like the second- or third-most popular post I’ve ever written. People are OBSESSED with People You May Know. And I cannot figure that out. And – check this out. I got an EMAIL the other day from someone asking how to get rid of the People You May Know. An email! From a total stranger who doesn’t even comment on the blog! Like I’m an EXPERT on Facebook! I totally answered it, too. Nicely. And said, “You can’t get rid of that. Sorry.”

Category the Second: No. No, she can’t. Also, that’s rape, chum.

“she can sleep through” cum

Did we learn nothing from Steubenville? If someone’s sleeping, they can’t give consent. And if someone can’t give consent, it’s rape. I would go more into detail about this, but that’s really all you need. Because that’s it. If she can’t say yes or no, it’s a no. And if you go ahead with it anyway, you are a rapist. End of story.

Category the Third: Also known as, everything I’ve ever written here, ever.

a very long story about high school

I also write very long stories about travel, friends, theater, books, television, cats, and sometimes NOTHING AT ALL. You are WELCOME.

Category the Fourth: Porny porn pornerson!

beastsex beast movies sybil d’28 little baby animal porn
mournfull sex story of brother sister

That first one is a LOT of WORDS. You got your beastsex and your beast MOVIES and your Sybil and your “d’28” whatever that is and your little baby animal porn. Put that all together and what do you have? I…don’t even know. Whatever it is, it’s worrisome, and also horrifying.

I think it’s kind of funny that you consider incest mournful (sorry, “mournfull”) and yet you still hit the Googles to search for it. Good job, creeper.

You should ask Jaime about the mournfulness, I think he'd have some serious insights for you.

You should ask Jaime about the mournfulness, I think he’d have some serious insights for you.

Category the Fifth: Ha!

“my penis is gone” srs
baby seal piñata
cant sleep cause my friends are an fire
fight on maury
girl bowel movement
girls that say they sleep sith zak bagans
hello mr. tumnus! i haven’t seen you in a while, but i just wanted to write you a letter to let you know i am doing very well.
i bet you i won’t even get one like with a puppy
married to a frog oreilly
most romantic high schools
turpentine on ebay

This is my favorite category because it cracks me up, yo.

SRS. My penis is gone for SRS. I’m sorry, dude. You probably should SRS call the cops and put in a report or something. It might show up in someone’s lost and found box, you never know.

A baby seal piñata makes me laugh because then you could totally club a baby seal at a party so it’s like multitasky. Also, I like that you put that squiggly over the n. Tilde? I think it’s a tilde? Don’t yell at me. I took French. Oui, mes petites, c’est vrai.

It is a THING! Hooray!

It is a THING! Hooray!

OMG, that is the best misheard music lyric ever. OK, so the lyric (from one of my favorite songs, “Psycho Killer”) is “I can’t sleep ’cause my bed’s on fire.” “I can’t sleep ’cause my FRIENDS are an fire” is HYSTERICAL to me. Also, of COURSE you can’t sleep if your friends are on fire. If you’re sleeping through your friends burning to death, you have no soul. I can’t sleep if my friends are even the slightest bit UPSET about something, I mean, come on, seriously. ON FIRE? Also? PUT THEM OUT!!! THEY ARE YOUR FRIENDS!!!

WHICH fight on Maury are you referring to? Because there are a billion. A BILLION FIGHTS.

Psst, here’s a secret I need to let you in on: yes. It is true. Girls have bowel movements, too. JUST LIKE GUYS. We all poop! Everyone does! Every last person and animal and even goldfish! Try not to be too shocked. I thought it was important you knew.

OMG SITH ZAK BAGANS. I knew there was something sketchy about that ghost hunter! He’s a SITH! That makes SO MUCH SENSE!



Why is someone writing a letter to Mr. Tumnus on my blog? OK, nevermind, I’ll pass it along to him next time I see him, I suppose. As we hang. We do a lot of hanging, me and Mr. Tumnus. We’re tight, yo.

I bet you won’t even GET one. Like with a PUPPY. *kicks rocks* *rues the day*

Aw, I love that you came here looking for Bill O’Reilly comparing gay marriage to marrying a frog. It was actually a turtle, but you’re close. Hi! And welcome! We often like to call out asshattery here; you’re in the right place if you like this kind of thing.

Most ROMANTIC high schools? It’s HIGH SCHOOL. It’s not ROMANTIC. It’s HELL. You’re lucky if you get out ALIVE. It’s not like there are candles in the hallway or chocolate-dipped-strawberries in the library.

Why are you buying turpentine on Ebay? Wouldn’t it be cheaper at Target or something? The shipping alone would be more expensive than just going out and buying it. Unless you’re looking to buy Brandi Carlile’s “Turpentine.” And if that’s the case, you want her whole album The Story, which is wonderful. You should buy it. Absolutely. Here, I haven’t been able to stop listening to this one lately.

Sorry, there’s no real video and this is kind of terrible. Just close your eyes and listen. “I was born when I met you/Now I’m dying to forget you/And that is what I know.”

Category the Sixth: Heads up: I’m pretty easy NOW. Plus I’m bendier than I’ll be then.

amy easy over 70

I’m easy when I’m over 70? Goodness gracious, when I’m over 70, I’ll be kind of tired. Why will I be easy? Also, why are you wasting my easy years, which I’m pretty sure are now? That’s totally wasteful of you. You’re not going to win any environmental awards for that.

Category the Seventh: ME!

crazy without drugs

I am crazy without drugs. I’m just larger-than-life and over the top ALL THE TIME. And there’s no drugs here, babycakes. Well, prescription drugs, but they don’t count. I mean, if I don’t take them, I’d probably die. They don’t take away the crazy, though. It’s good crazy. Don’t worry. I’m not stabbing anyone or wearing tinfoil hats. I don’t think.

Category the Ninth: Why you trying to gank my boyfriend, yo?

daryl dixon
pregnant by daryl Dixon

You cannot have Daryl Dixon. He’s taken. BY ME. I don’t want Norman Reedus, just Daryl Dixon. So, hands off, grabby. You can have Hershel if you want. He’s free. And can’t move very fast so you can totally catch him in a footrace.



Category the Tenth: You cannot. Better people than you have tried. And failed. Miserably.

define:lucy’s football

I reject definitions. I am MANY THINGS to MANY PEOPLE. Some days I’m all serious-face and some days I’m all jokey-face and some days I’m crying over something and some days I’m laughing so hard I’m hiccuping. I’m an enigma. Don’t you slap your definitions on me. They’ll slide right off. I’m like TEFLON, baby.

Category the Eleventh: SJ! THIS ONE IS FOR YOU!

happysj contraccion

I’m not sure what’s happening here, but it’s totally for you, sj. You’re happy and you’re…um…contraccioning? Is it like a contraction? I’m not even sure, but it makes me smile. I like that you get searches here. I’m happy about that. You’re always welcome to my searches, my most favorite sj.

Category the Twelfth: YES! That’s totally what summer’s like around here!

lucy summer red hot central

It is red-hot central around here in the summer, babes. I walk around in a BIKINI, and there are a lot of SHENANIGANS, and water-throwing, and…um…sun-tanning…and…shit, I can’t even keep this up. What I do in the summer is come home, put on my coolest clothing, and flop in front of the air conditioning and pant like an overheated Newfoundland puppy. I don’t deal well with heat. It’s the worst. The. Worst. Sorry to ruin your sexytimes thoughts.

Category the Thirteenth: Yes! Wait. Who the hell’s Patricia?

sex lucy aka patricia

I was so excited I got an indecent proposal and then I think this is misdirected and you’re looking for someone named Patricia and I am most definitely not Patricia and I’m only minimally Lucy so I think this isn’t even for me at all. Dammit. WHEN’S IT GONNA BE MY TIME?

Category the Fourteenth: They ARE? Cool, send ‘em on over.

this person is in love with you

A PERSON! Is in LOVE with me! Well, good. Listen, I’m totally looking forward to this. Because it’s been a long time. I could use a pleasant diversion. And if the guy’s already in love with me, well, there’s half the battle won. But I will tell you right now: if you, person, break my heart, I WILL STAB YOU WITH A BARBECUE SKEWER. I’ve had enough of that shit to last my whole lifetime over. So get on over here. Extra points if you bring a boombox and a trenchcoat and some Peter Gabriel, darlin’.

Is the person in love with me Lloyd Dobler? I'm down with that.

Is the person in love with me Lloyd Dobler? I’m down with that.

There. We are finished for the month! All the search terms! All in one post! ALL FOR YOU DAMIEN! I know, it’s really very impressive. I don’t know where you people come from, but I like that you’re here. You make life so much more interesting, you know? And who wants a boring life? No one, is who.

Until next month, my poor lost lambikins. May Google be kind in your searches.

Love, Me.

(As always, thank you to Mer for the inspiration for these posts!)

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