Category Archives: Sunday

Hey, I always notice that bored look in their eyes, alright?

I’m having a very lazy day. I probably should be doing a million billion things, but mostly what I decided was a good use of my time today was to watch Chasing Amy and blog. And play with the internet. I feel like a sloth. A super-slothful slothy sloth. I will have you know that I did change out of my pajamas about an hour ago. It was kind of the biggest thing I did today and utterly exhausted me.

Also, can I just say that I could watch this movie a billion times and never get tired of it? There are a lot of reasons for this, but let’s be honest. The main reason is young Jason Lee. Oh, young Jason Lee, before he got all puffy and weird and Scientology-obsessed and named his child Pilot Inspektor; so, so Amy’s perfect movie-boyfriend.

All damagey and potty-mouthed and insanely loyal and beardy and artsy and those EYES. Sigh. (I also love Mallrats Jason Lee, but the movie’s not as good. It’s fine, I like it just fine, but there aren’t enough serious bits. I like the serious bits the most, you see.)

ALSO, can I just say, I refuse to accept that Kevin Smith decided that Banky was gay all along in Chasing Amy and announced that to the world in Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back? No, thanks. It was better when it was up for interpretation. I don’t think Banky in Chasing Amy was gay; I think at the end of the movie, when he agrees to the threesome, he’s doing it because he’s staying true to the character he spent the movie creating; he’s a loyal friend, he loves Holden, he’s been Holden’s best friend for twenty years, and he sees that his best friend is close to breaking. When someone you love that much is close to the edge, you’ll do pretty much anything to pull them back, even if it’s not in your own best interest, because your own best interests need to take a backseat right then. Especially if you’re one of my tribe: my loyal-to-a-fault tribe. So, sure, Kevin Smith, if you say Banky was gay and that was the impetus for his actions in the movie, I guess I have to believe you, but I don’t think that was the character that Jason Lee was playing, and I think it’s unfair to the fans to decide that for them.

Retcon it if you want, but I've seen this movie a billion times, and this is a friendship to me. Pure & simple.

Retcon it if you want, but I’ve seen this movie a billion times, and this is a friendship to me. Pure & simple.

I may have spent a bit of time thinking about this.

Oh, shush, I have other plans today. I’m going to actually leave the house at some point and head on over to the library to get some books and return some books; I actually read a whole play this morning (I have like 25 of them to read this month; we’re in the middle of play selection for next season at the theater, so when I’m not doing one of my million other things, I’m reading reading READING all the plays, some of which are more successful than others) and at some point I have to make some food, or order some food. That’s still up in the air. You know what’s nice? Having money so I can make this decision. It’s the nicest. This is a very nice day off of laziness.

I want a BEBE SLOTH NECKLACE! ZOMG. This is the BEST.

I want a BEBE SLOTH NECKLACE! ZOMG. This is the BEST.

The cat is still under the tree. This is ok as long as he doesn’t decide he needs to groom himself. When THAT happens, the whole tree starts bopping around like it’s possessed and I have to say “DUMBCAT STOP DUMBCAT STOP GET OUT FROM UNDER THE TREE TO LICK.” And he doesn’t. He doesn’t take direction well, my boy. So I have to shoo him when that happens.

Here is a Dumbcat story. Did I tell you this? Over the fridge there is a little cabinet. It’s where I keep things I don’t use often. I think there are some vases in there. And maybe the popcorn popper, and the mixer. So one day a couple weeks ago I came home from work and that little cabinet door was standing open. I never open that door, so either I have a ghost, or…DUMBCAT!

It's kind of like this cabinet, only a lot less fancy. I don't live in a nice place, you see.

It’s kind of like this cabinet, only a lot less fancy. I don’t live in a nice place, you see.

So in order to get there, he’d have had to jump up on the kitchen counter (that’s probably…4 feet up? maybe a little more? I’m terrible at estimating height, I assume all women are 5’5 and all men are 6′ tall, it just makes things easier. I also can’t guess weight. I guess I’d make a terrible carny) and then hop up on the fridge (another couple of feet) and then move things out of the way (there’s a bag of cat toys and treats on top of the fridge, plus a box of napkins and a bottle of this vanilla coffee flavoring stuff Mom bought me once I have never used) and open the cabinet (it’s not so easy to open – but he has his polydactyl thumbs, you see. He can get into all kinds of cupboards. How do you think he gets into the pots and pans cupboard? He levers it open with his little thumbs. I’m not even kidding. When I lived with roommate C., the other cats used to look to him to get them into things. He’s like the more evolved version of a cat. Well, thumbs-wise, anyway. Brain-wise, he’s on the low-end of the spectrum. BUT HE IS BELOVED DAMMIT.

You could open cabinets, too, if you had boss thumbs like this. (NO, this isn't Dumbcat. But he has thumbs much like this.)

You could open cabinets, too, if you had boss thumbs like this. (NO, this isn’t Dumbcat. But he has thumbs much like this.)

So the first time, I was all “Aw! Dumbcat! Did you jump up like 6 feet and for some reason get into the teeny cupboard over the fridge? That’s…weird. Adorable, but weird. You’re so fat, how did you even fit in there?”

Dumbcat wants you to all know he’s not fat, he’s big-boned, and he resents that implication.

Then the next day the door was open again. And again the next day. And again and again. And a few days later, he’d apparently fallen off the fridge, because everything was knocked off the top of the fridge and every single thing I have on the fridge – magnets, things I’ve hung up there, all my fridge-crap – was on the floor.

“DUMBCAT! This is ENOUGH!” I said. He looked at me with wide Dumbcat-eyes. So I blocked off his pathway to the cupboard of his obsession with more things and strategically-placed items and it seems to have worked because nothing’s been moved since.

This is a weird cat. Do you think he was this weird when I got him, or it was the living with the weird human that made him weird? What came first, the weird-chicken or the weird-egg?

Chasing Amy is still happening. Things like “If this is a crush, I don’t think I could take it if the real thing ever happened” kind of still get to me. Dammit, Kevin Smith, this movie makes me all squishy. Is this really only fifteen years old? Good grief. Everyone in this looks about 14 years old and everyone’s smoking in public. I feel like maybe I’m super-old. I was just barely legally able to buy LIQUOR when this movie came out, I mean, seriously.

I know it's sappy. Shush. I'm a fan of movie-sap, sometimes. It's a thing about me.

I know it’s sappy. Shush. I’m a fan of movie-sap, sometimes. It’s a thing about me.

(Also, I know it was became very trendy to hate Ben Affleck for a while, and then now we’re all tentatively liking him again now that he’s legitimate and directing excellent intelligent movies. However, I never hated Ben Affleck, even when he was embroiled in that Bennifer nonsense. The reason was his collaboration with Kevin Smith. I could never hate Ben Affleck because of his work in this movie and Dogma. He won me for life with those two movies. Apparently my weirdo loyalty extends to celebrities as well. Although I have to say, his hair looks RIDICULOUS in this movie. IT IS SO TALL! It’s a PUFF of man-hair. It’s ARCHITECTURAL, this hairdo!)

OK, this is short, and very random, but it’s library-time and also I’d like to do some other things today, like maybe write something else, and send email to some people I love, and call Dad and see what’s up in Dad-land, and do some food-related preparation, and think about work next week, and start working on my top-secret Christmas plan that I want to have done for a week from Monday (shh, SECRET PLANS AND SCHEMES! My favorite kind!) and also maybe at some point I might want to start thinking about doing Christmas cards, maybe. SO MANY THINGS.

So this is what lazy days are like, right? Huh. I could get used to this. Easily. EASILY. Maybe Ken is onto something with this idling-being-awesome thing. Hmm. I should probably heed him more often, right? Shh, don’t tell him, though, he’ll get all full of himself. We wouldn’t want THAT, now, would we?

What’s that? He’s probably going to read this?

Ooh, crap, whoops.


Sunday in the Park with Nephew

I realize I haven’t told you about my visit with The Nephew. I think I’ve still been processing. Also, I had other things to tell you about, like international men of mystery and weirdo pervs who have dolphin sex. Yes, yes, my mind is a wondrous place to behold, like those shelves at Target that are way off to the back that have a whole plethora of junk on them that’s all marked way down and you never know what you’ll find, like maybe calcium pills! Or coffee filters! Or condoms! All in a gross jumble, and covered with leaky lice shampoo. This is my mind, ladies and gentlemen. YOU ARE WELCOME TO ENTER. Don’t worry about the “you break it, you buy it” rule. It’s all already brokedy-broke anyway.

(Speaking of topics, I seriously have a file titled “Shit to Write About Someday” that is FILLED TO THE BRIM with weirdness. There is TRASH and there is TREASURE. Most of it is stuff I have to take time researching, but once I do, it’s going to be awesome. Like, for example, remember the post about the pickup artists? A friend sent me the link, I didn’t dare look at it at work because it looked like it had too many bikini ladies on it, so I filed in in my junk-drawer file. Then one day I said, DUDE! PUA POST! And I wrote it. And by the way, I totally psychically ganked it from Ken, who that SAME DAY, was planning to write A VERY SIMILAR POST. I know! You’re hearing Twilight Zone music in your head, right? It’s ok. Ken and I are secret siblings. This shit happens all the time to us. ANYWAY, I think most of these awesome trash-or-treasure posts are going to end up being written after tax season when my head’s back on my shoulders. So if in the back of your mind you’re thinking, “Hey, Amy mentioned she was going to talk about BLANK at one point, whatever happened with that, perhaps she is LOSING HER MIND!” the answer is yes, yes I am losing my mind, thank you very much, but I’ll be getting it back in approximately a month, and WHOO DOGIES then won’t we have fun?)

Anyway, The Nephew. That kid. THAT KID. I can’t even tell you. Oh, wait. YES, I CAN. It’s WHAT I DO HERE.

I’d put a photo here, like normal people would, but the mere thought of anyone perving over The Nephew makes me want to stab someone with an icepick, so sorry. Just imagine the cutest, best, most wonderful child ever, then multiply that times a million, and add things that are just a BIT better than that. THE NEPHEW!

So I met his mom at her parents’ house. When I pulled up, The Nephew was playing with a tricycle and a sled. There’s no snow. He was just playing with it. He gains a lot of enjoyment out of things, what can I say. His other aunt (I like to think of her as “COMPETITION” but she’s actually quite lovely) picked him up and said, “The Nephew! Look who’s here!” and he squinted his little eyes and saw me and I thought, “Will The Nephew remember me? It’s been three months. Maybe he’s forgotten me. This could be heartbreaking. Prepare yourself for that, Amy, you big goober, and don’t start crying like you did that one time that he didn’t remember you and you looked like an asshole.” (I like to be a hardass with myself. Unfortunately, it very seldom works.)

The Nephew saw me. I saw The Nephew. My Grinch heart IMMEDIATELY grew three sizes and broke the measuring machine and I grinned like an escapee from the mental institution. Because he’s grown so big! And he’s so adorable! And his little cheeks were all pink from playing outside! And he was SO DAMN CUTE!

And The Nephew’s face LIT RIGHT UP LIKE A CANDLE, you guys. No joke. The Nephew NOT ONLY REMEMBERED ME, he was EXCITED TO SEE ME.

So his aunt brought him over to me and he totally let me hold him for a minute, which is a tough thing with a little wiggleworm like The Nephew, then he said, very seriously, “Do you want to play in the dirt with me?” and I said, “Yes!” and he said, “Let’s go!” so we went over to play in the dirt.

It’s very hard to be a Grumpy McGrump Grump when your Grinch heart has broken the measuring machine and your beloved Nephew is showing you his tricycle and his sled and running all around talking to you in his little voice with all of his new words and you’re just soaking him in because you know you only get a couple of hours before he has to head back home and that’s four hours away and you won’t see him for probably four more months and he’s the one person you love more than anyone else in the entire world, sorry everyone else in the entire world.

Then it was time to go inside, only The Nephew did not want to go inside. He wanted to continue to play in the dirt.

Me: The Nephew, if we go inside, I have some presents for you.
The Nephew: Presents? FOR ME?
Me: Yep!
The Nephew: Where are the presents?
Me: In my car!
The Nephew: Let’s go!

I want this kind of unbridled enthusiasm about everything in my life. I think it would make every day an adventure. This kid is ALL EXCLAMATION POINTS ALL THE TIME. Which is why when he grows up I think we’ll be like peas and carrots, because I think he’ll appreciate my caps-lock obsession.

Then I gave him the Matchbox cars that I mortgaged my life for* (*might be an exaggeration) and he was VERY EXCITED. Especially about the one that you play with in the bathtub.

The Nephew: Let’s play with this now!
Me: We can’t play with that one now, kiddo. That one’s for tonight, when you get home and take a bath.
The Nephew: I can take a bath now!
Me: Well, yes, you CAN, but let’s wait til tonight.
The Nephew: But I’m dirty now! (Shows me his little grubby hands from playing in the dirt)

You can’t argue with impeccable logic like that. You just cannot.

So then it was time to go to the playground. As The Nephew got on his outdoor gear, he told me, “I’m going to the PLAYGROUND!” in tones a normal person would use for “I just won THE PUBLISHER’S CLEARING HOUSE SWEEPSTAKES!” or I would use for “I LOVE PUDDING!” So I told him, “I know, that sounds like so much fun! Do you think I can go with you?”

The Nephew answered, after a moment’s thought, “Yes. I like you!”

ZOMG, The Nephew. I LIKE YOU, TOO. MORE than pudding. SO MUCH MORE.

Then we went to the playground, where The Nephew went up the stairs, down a slide, up the stairs, down a slide, up the stairs, down a slide, over and over and over and over. That entertained him to no end. I was entertained just watching him. I’m pretty sure anyone looking at us would think I was a looney because I had crazy eyes of love and I was carrying water and a Tupperware of blueberries in case he needed a snack for a twenty-minute trip to the playground. YOU NEVER KNOW. Hunger can strike AT ANY TIME.

Next there was a BIG slide, which was a little daunting for The Nephew, but I promised him I would catch him at the end. AND HE TRUSTED ME TO. What do you think of that? That’s a little scary, right? A child TRUSTED HIS LIFE TO ME. I know! (Don’t fret. I totally caught him at the end. I was rewarded with a grin and a “whee!”)

The Nephew then attempted to make friends with another child by hucking a handful of playground rocks at his face. I’m not really sure what the strategy was, here, but I’m sure, as it was MY Nephew, it was brilliant. However, he was thwarted in his friendship schemery by his mom, who caught his arm at the last minute and therefore the rocks did not hit their intended target, and then he had to apologize, and the other kid just shrugged and walked away. I tried to put a positive spin on it by telling The Nephew’s mom that he’d just been trying to SHOW the other kid the BEAUTY inherent in the rocks by letting them SPARKLE and SHINE through the SUNLIGHT but she wasn’t buying my used car salesmanship of the rock-pitching.

Finally, it was time to go home, have some lunch, and hit the road. The Nephew wasn’t having any of that. NO NO NO. He wanted to PLAY MORE. But neither his mom or his other aunt wanted to be the one who was the badguy and pick him up and bring him to the car. I’m totally up for being the badguy. What, the kid’s not going to hold a grudge. He’s not even three yet. He’ll forget which of us took him away from the playground. He’s a kiddo. The WORLD is his playground.

So I said “Time to go, favorite nephew!” and scooped  him up and he was all “NO NO NO! WANT TO PLAY!” and began to “cry” but it was not real crying as if he’d hurt himself. So I said, “What is this? Crying? There’s no crying on playgrounds!” and was QUITE IMPRESSED with my A League of Their Own quote-bastardization. Then as I walked to the car I flipped him upside down and used a wacky voice. When I flipped him right-side-up, he said, “NO NO NO!” and pretended to be sad but he was also grinning and giggling and then pretending to hide the grins and giggles with a VERY STERN FACE but he was not succeeding. So more upside-down flippage and more giggles and more pretend-sterniness until we got to the car and he’d totally forgotten I’d forced him to leave the playground of wonder. I WIN AUNTING.

When we got back to his grandmother’s house, it was time for lunch. Lunch was peanut butter toast and grapes and juice. I got to sit with him during lunch. Things that happened during lunch:

  • He got kind of covered in peanut butter, like, in his HAIR and on his FACE and on his HANDS and on his SHIRT
  • He lathered his face with half a grape, and also all that peanut butter, like a little ingenious spa facial
  • He sang me “The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round”
  • He told me in NO UNCERTAIN TERMS that he was NOT eating “a peanut butter sandwich” but “PEANUT BUTTER TOAST”
  • He recited the alphabet thusly: “ABCA,AAA,AAAAAAA,JJJ,JJJ” – totally in tune to the Alphabet Song, though – then had a humongous giggle fit when I told him that “if that’s the alphabet, pumpkin, we’d certainly have a hard time communicating”
  • He told me his dad cut his hair (he has a wee toddler brush cut, it’s adorable, I only touched it about a gajillion times) and when I told him, “Your dad is my brother!” he looked at me very seriously, mulled this over in his mind, then said, “Nah.”

It was finally the end of lunchtime, and that’s his least favorite time, because it’s “grab a wet washcloth and scrub The Nephew” time! He doesn’t appreciate that much. But you know what makes it enjoyable? Making it into a MUSICAL. Called, “We’re washing off the PEANUT BUTTER TOASTTTT! With the washcloth of WONDERRRRRR!” He LAUGHED and LAUGHED. So I said, “Listen, kiddo, you’re just about the only person who appreciates that life would be better as a musical, you know? I like that about you.” And he looked at me and said, “Yes!”

Yes, indeed, magical child of goodness and light. YES INDEED.

Then it was “put on our shoes and coat time” because after THAT it was the worst time of the day: strap The Nephew into a carseat and watch him drive away. No one likes that time of day.

He did not want to put his shoes on. You’d put one on, and as you were putting the other one on, he’d attempt to kick you in the face, or pull off the first one, or BOTH. But, again, making into a “we are putting on our SHOOOEEEESSS!” musical worked wonders. I’m really quite good at this aunting thing, I’d like to say right now.

Right before they left, his mom told me they were coming up for a long weekend in April. SO! Instead of having to wait until possibly the summer to see The Nephew again, I get to see him in a little over a month. That made watching him leave a little less ouchy. But only a little.

I leaned into his door and kissed my finger and patted him on the cheek with it and he grinned at me like a little heartbreaker. “I’ll see you next month, buddy,” I said.

He looked at me with his little serious face. “I see you NOW,” he said.

“Yes, but you’re going home now, so I won’t see you in a minute. I’ll see you next month, though! You’re coming back to visit again!”

“OK,” he said.

“I love you, The Nephew,” I said. He nodded, very seriously, and said, “I have a firetruck!” (and showed me his new firetruck his grandmother got him.)

I like to think that means, “I love you, too, Aunt Amy. As my most eccentric aunt, you get my toddler stamp of approval, and as we grow older, I look forward to us becoming closer and more bonded!”

Then they drove away, and I had a few tears in my car because I AM NOT MADE OF STONE, PEOPLE.

(And, side note, my mom told me the next day she went over to see him, and he said, “Come here!” and brought her to the bathroom, where the Matchbox tub toy was, and showed her how the car went WHOOSH down the ramp when you put water in it, and he told her that Aunt Amy gave it to him. And his mom told my mom that he didn’t want to get out of the bathtub the night before. He kept saying, “No! I’m PLAYING!” I WIN GIFTING.)

I find it very hard to believe that even though I don’t care about, well, much of anything, somehow this kid has completely, totally, and utterly stolen my heart and is walking around with it in his little wee chest. HOW DID THIS HAPPEN. The Nephew! You’re like the world’s best cat burglar, I swear.

See you in five weeks, kiddo. Love you more than all the pudding. All the pudding in the whole damn WORLD.


“Throw your hands in the air! Wave ’em like you just don’t care!” NO. No, I don’t think I will. BOSSY. Sheesh.

At this VERY SECOND, I am teching Rumors at my theater. I know, HOW AM I ALSO POSTING THIS. Because I’m staying up in the wee hours Saturday night to write this, I love you all so much I want to squish all your faces, THAT’S HOW.

Amy! What is teching? You might ask. I mean, you might. I don’t know. You might not. You might still be mad at me for all that porn yesterday, what the hell do I know. (BEE TEE DUBS. I totally got linked on a porn site yesterday because of that post. Does this mean I’ve made it? I THINK IT DOES BABY.)

Teching, for those of you who do NOT spend all of their free time at the most awesome place in the world, also known as the theater, means our show opens in a week, so we spend most of the day the Sunday before we open making sure the lights and sound are just right, and then the actors get to act with lights, sound, and costumes for the first time, and the booth ops get to run the lights and sound the first time and see where they might have problem spots, and the director gets to see where he or she might have problem spots, and it is EXCITING and it is EXHAUSTING and there is A LOT OF ACTIVITY and it only makes me want to hide under a table a few times in a day, so that’s alright.

I’m totally the light and sound operator. And the stage manager. Why? Do you really have to ask? Because I rock. That’s why. I’m embarrassed I had to tell you that, honestly. You should just know it.

Also, I made dark chocolate swirl chip brownies for everyone for tomorrow. Again, why? I AM THE AWESOMEST. Yeah, I know. You can send flowers and gifts, if you want. I’ll never turn down a good token of appreciation.

So anyway. I was driving home from work last night (I have a SIDE NOTE about work which I will add in a minute) and I heard two songs in a row that made me think, you know what? I hate bossy songs that attempt to get me to say or do things.

This all ties into I don’t like people telling me what to do. Even SONGS. I don’t like orders. I would really have been a horrible member of the armed forces, wouldn’t I?

I was thinking about how, when you’re a kid, in gym class, they think it’s a good idea to make you sing and dance and frolic along to these totally bossy songs. Like the Hoky Poky. The Hoky Poky is just about the bossiest. It’s got you putting your feet in and your hands in and your head in and shaking like you’ve got epilepsy or something. I was not very compliant in gym class.

Then they’d make you square dance, which was WORSE, because it was a bossy song, but you had to TOUCH A BOY. We were like EIGHT. Touching boys was ICKY. And it would be all “DO SI DO” and “SWING YOUR PARTNER” and “PROMENADE” or whatever the hell and we were all trying to get as far away from our partners as we could but still remain in contact or else our fascist gym  teacher would come smoosh us together like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and laugh and laugh and so you had TOUCHING and you had BOSSERY and you had MEAN GYM TEACHERS. Is it really any wonder that I didn’t want anyone telling me what to do?

Then these songs came on the radio, because (I think I’ve mentioned this before) I can’t listen to the GOOD channels on Saturday nights, because they think it’s a good idea to put stupid programming on like oldies and techno, so I have to listen to the weird retro channel which is the lesser of the evils, and so I get to listen to the songs of my ill-begotten teen years. (ZOMG. Tonight, they played “Heaven” by effing WHITESNAKE. Are you KIDDING me. That was AWESOMESAUCE. I totally sang along to that to the top of my lungs even though I’m tonedeaf. There is no self-respecting child of the late 80s and early 90s who wouldn’t do the same exact thing unless you were brought up in a sequestered cult of some sort.)

OK, first. (Let me just say, I didn’t know what these were and had to look them up. I have no musical knowledge. None. Well, Whitesnake. I know Whitesnake. OF COURSE I DO.)

“Whoomp There it Is”
by Tag Team (really? That seems like…a bad band name choice)
Popular in: 1993

Sample bossy lyrics:

“Party people let me hear some noise”
“Jump, jump, rejoice”
“Wave your hands in the air/shake your derriere”
“Bring it back, y’all. Bring it back, y’all. Bring it back, y’all.”

I think you all know this song. I kind of knew this song. They are always playing this song when they want to indicate “THIS IS SET IN THE 90s” in movies. Also, Wikipedia tells me they play it at sporting events. I wouldn’t know about that. The last sporting event I attended was in 1992. I AM TOTALLY SERIOUS. Go, go, Shamrocks! (YES, my high school mascot was the Shamrocks. I don’t want to talk about it. I SAID I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT. Yes. I realize that shamrocks don’t exactly strike fear into the heart of teams like “panthers” and “huskies” and what-have-you. IT WAS A SMALL SCHOOL LEAVE ME ALONE I DIDN’T PICK THE DUMB MASCOT.)

It’s so bossy, damn. It’s telling me to make NOISE and JUMP and REJOICE and WAVE MY HANDS and SHAKE MY DERRIERE (ugh, really? gross) and “bring it back, y’all” and I don’t even know what they want me to BRING back. What’s IT? What am I bringing back? Library books? An undercooked hamburger? This single, purchased by mistake?

Then THIS song happened. And if I thought the bossiness factor was high on the last song, well, HOLY HELL is this one worse.

“Let Me Clear My Throat”
by DJ Kool (ugh, there’s nothing “kool” about spelling “cool” like that)
Popular in: 1996

Sample bossy lyrics:

“Now when I say uh, you say ah Uh. And now when I say hey, you say ha Hey hey. Now when I say uh, you say ah Uh Uh. Now when I say hey you say ha Hey.  Now when I say freeze you just freeze one time. When I say freeze y’all stop on a dime. When I say freeze you just freeze one time. When I say freeze y’all stop on a dime. FREEZE. Now all the ladies in the place. If you got real hair, real fingernails. If you got a job, you going to school. And y’all need nobody to help you handle your business. Make some noise. One, two, three, come on now. When I say freeze you just freeze one time. When I say freeze y’all stop on a dime. When I say freeze you just freeze one time. When I say freeze y’all stop on a dime. FREEZE. Now to all the brothas in the place. That don’t give a damn about what them ladies talking about. Cuz you just trying to get chummy. Make some noise.”

WHAT THE HELL.

No, I’m totally serious. This is ALL ONE SECTION. I transcribed this directly from one of those shady lyrics sites online. It gave me a popup to go back to college so now I’m getting my degree as a vet tech. WHAT. It’s TOTALLY LEGIT. This song went on FOREVER on my radio, and I had never heard it before today (that’s because, in 1996, I was busy HAVING A LIFE and GRADUATING COLLEGE and GETTING DRUNK AND MAKING OUT WITH MEN THAT WERE BAD DECISIONS, thank you very much) and this whole SECTION was telling people what to do. And it was LIVE. So people were all “hoooo” and “yeahhhh” in the background and making some noise and it was ANNOYING ME.

Also, “freeze?” Really? Were people doing this in dance clubs or whatever? That seems foolish, right? People would bash into you and stuff and probably pickpocket you while you were frozen. Like GYPSIES. When I was in Italy, people warned me a gajillion times to watch out for the gypsy pickpockets. And listen, I didn’t even see a SINGLE gypsy. I felt gypped. Pun most definitely intended.

And let’s not even talk about the sentence structure up there, seriously. No, I’m serious, let’s not. It’s making my eyeballs bleed.

“Get chummy?” That’s what they were calling it in 1996? I wasn’t calling it “getting chummy.” I was calling it…well, getting drunk and making mistakes, honestly. But I guess that didn’t work with the totally boss rhyme structure, DID IT, DJ Kool.

Then I thought, you know what other song is all bossy? That TLC song “Waterfalls” that one friend of yours used to be obsessed with and listened to on repeat all the time and it was annoying.

But then I looked up the lyrics so I could show them to you and it’s not BOSSY. It’s WEIRD and DISTRESSING. Look. No, really! Look! I will SHOW you!

“Waterfalls”
by TLC (I can’t think of TLC without thinking of that VH1 Behind the Music about TLC where they were interviewing someone about how Lisa “Left Eye” Lopes was a woman scorned and torched her ex’s house and the interviewee was all, “Lisa BURNED THE HOUSE DOWN” in this tone of awe that was HYSTERICAL and my friend and I used to say it ALL THE TIME in inappropriate situations.)

I'm not even making it up. Here's the mug shot. She totally BURNED THE HOUSE DOWN.

Popular in: 1995

Now, I thought this song was bossy because it was all “Don’t go chasing waterfalls” and I was GOING to make some humorous jokes about “well, what if I WANTED to chase waterfalls, TLC” but then I read the lyrics? And WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING IN THIS SONG.

Do you know what this song is about?

ME EITHER.

So it tells these two stories. The first is about a mother who can’t control her son and then he gets shot. I think. It’s kind of poorly written.

Then TLC tells me “don’t go chasing waterfalls, please stick to the rivers and the lakes that you’re used to.” So, are the waterfalls my DREAMS? Or are the waterfalls bad things, like drugs and street crime? If so, why are you calling them waterfalls, which are usually considered good things? This is kind of a mixed message, TLC. LISA BURNED THE HOUSE DOWN.

Then we get ANOTHER story, about how some guy is dying and some woman is to blame and “three letters took him to his final resting place” and I ASSUME those three letters are ESS EEE EXX but what killed him? AIDS? (Or, as my grandmother would say, “The AIDS?”) If so, wouldn’t that be four letters?

Then we get the warning about the waterfalls and the rivers and the lakes and the yadda yadda. I’m still confused. So now don’t go chasing whores, stick to nice girls, I guess? But again, if so, why are you comparing whores to waterfalls? Waterfalls are NICE. And CLEAN. Waterfalls don’t have VD.

Then there’s this INSANELY LONG RANT about rainbows and God and “tootin’ caine into your vein” (I’m not 100% sure the lyrics site spelled any of that right, what’s “caine?” Cocaine? I have NEVER heard cocaine called “caine” in my life. Honestly, the first thing I thought of? Michael Caine) and it is the WORST. It makes NO SENSE.

The best part of it:

“Dreams are hopeless aspirations
In hopes of comin’ true
Believe in yourself
The rest is up to me and you”

Dreams are “hopeless aspirations?” WHAT THE HELL, TLC. Are you trying to inspire people, or make them suicidal? I DO NOT GET THIS SONG AT ALL.

Also, “believe in yourself, the rest is up to me and you.” That doesn’t even make SENSE.

Then it’s more waterfalls and lakes and rivers.

This song won ALL THE AWARDS. Do you think no one was listening to the damn LYRICS? Were they too busy tootin’ caine into their veins?

This song, to me, is saying to not have dreams, because why bother? They are hopeless. But also don’t do drugs. Or have sex with whores. Or get shot in the street. Rainbows seem to be ok. Maybe. That’s a little up in the air. But rivers and lakes? Totally kosher.

I can’t even keep track of all these rules, seriously, I need a damn flowchart.

LISA BURNED THE HOUSE DOWN.

So, to sum up: songs that tell me what to do are not ok with me. Songs that make a suggestion: possibly ok, depending on how hectoring a tone they take with me. Songs that let me make up my own mind about how to go about my day: we’re cool, songs. We’re cool.

Happy Sunday, my little jellybabies.

(OH SNAP. I totally forgot my SIDE NOTE from up above! OK, here’s the scoop. I think the world would be a better place if, at some point, someone sat each and every human down – not ME, obviously, and not any of YOU, as you are all PERFECT and WONDROUS – and said, “Listen, you are an ADULT now. And as such? You need to TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR YOUR OWN SHIT. If you forget to fill your prescription and you realize it’s Saturday and the doctor’s office is closed? So sorry, Charlie. Plan better next time. If you have a colonoscopy on Monday morning and realize SATURDAY AFTERNOON you have no idea how you’re supposed to be prepping for that? Too bad. Play again another time. You lose this round. Plan ahead. It’s part of being an ADULT. In ADULT SOCIETY. If you need to make lists, write shit on a calendar, have pop-ups in your phone, whatever works for you – that’s fine! That’s not breaking any rules! But YOU ARE AN ADULT. And you are expected to behave as such. We are no longer going to pull your ass out of jams from now on. Pull up your big-boy and big-girl pants and TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR YOUR LIFE.” Whoo. OK. Just needed to let off a little steam. Much like my disgusting microwave meal I had last night that had a little hole marked “STEAM VENT DO NOT GET TOO CLOSE.” YOU are my steam vent, my friends and readers and possibly enemies who are reading this to make sure I don’t excoriate you online. THANK YOU FOR BEING MY STEAM VENT.)


WordPress, I would totally backseat makeout with you and steam up the windows.

I’ve been meaning to talk about this for a while, but got sidetracked by other things (seriously, my brain is a place of wonder and awe and shiny and sparkly but NOT VAMPIRES THEY DO NOT SPARKLE and bits and bobs and all things bright and beautiful and also some scary things under the bed with pointy parts) but then my wonderful long-lost sister @grngeekgirl reminded me that this was long overdue with her open letter to WordPress.com yesterday, which you should all go and read because everything she does is colored with awesome with a little additional tinge of added kickass.

If you’ve been here for any length of time (and if you have, hi! Thanks for sticking around, you’re the best! You and you and you and oh, wait, not you, PUT ON SOME PANTS, no one needs to see that this early in the morning, Nudity McGurk) you know that I switched over to WordPress from Blogger at the end of September. Yes, yes, this is going to be a totally boring post for those of you who don’t care a whit about blogging or whatever. But I’ll put funny shit in, ok? OK. Fine. Stop being all grumbly. Go eat an orange or something.

Now, when I started blogging, I knew NOTHING about it. Nothing. I can HEAR you, peanut gallery, back there saying I STILL know nothing about it, I am about to throw a SHOE at you. (SIDE NOTE! In college, I had a crazy professor, and he was weird about shoes being on the back of the desk in front of you. So if he saw that you’d propped your feet on the desk in front of you, he would stop class, point at you, and say, “SHOEEEEEEEE!” like he was in a Greek tragedy. It was funny, except if it was you, then it was scary. So you sat totally stiff and straight for the whole class so worried your traitorous feet would accidentally wander and then you’d get the “SHOEEEEEE!” treatment.) So when I decided I wanted to start a blog, I said, to myself, I said, “Self! How does one start a blog?”   And the answer I found, of course, was Blogger.

Why “of course?” Well, I’m Google’s bitch. I’ll admit it. I’m not ashamed. I love Google. I love everything about them. I love their mail and I love Google Chrome and I love their Reader and I love their documents and I’m sure I’d love Google Plus if I ever bothered to play with it and didn’t let it languish like a dying houseplant. Why wouldn’t I love their blogging software?

And at first, it was fine. You didn’t have many choices for customizing it, so that was alright. It was very basic and very simple and it worked fine.

I mean, “fine” in the sense that, I’d write a whole long post (I know, what? Not ME, not a LONG POST) and it would look totally awesome and I’d hit “preview” and then it would show it to me and the formatting would be gone. No formatting. All one gigantic chunk of text. No paragraphs, no sentences, just a mass of words. And you couldn’t fix it unless you went into the HTML tab. And listen, I know for some of you people, that’s like a totally easy thing to do, but for me, going into the HTML tab is like walking into a lion’s den wearing Gaga’s meat dress. I AM SCARED OF THE HTML TAB YOU GUYS. I don’t know how to use that. It’s why I stopped using Tumblr. Because I can’t figure out how to make my posts look pretty without messing with the HTML. And it’s scary. It’s like gangland territory back there.

But I dealt with it, because I didn’t know any better. And change is scary.

Then I started getting (GULP I KNOW) readers. And readers started commenting. And then the problems started.

Their comments wouldn’t appear, and they’d tell me they commented but I’d never see the comments. Google wouldn’t let me respond to my own comments; it kept telling me I was an invalid commenter. ON MY OWN BLOG.

I LOVE COMMENTS. They are my FAVORITE. I mean, not STUPID comments. But , truth be told, I get very few stupid comments. Well, spam. I get a lot of that. But real, true, stupid comments? Very few of them. I honestly have some of the most intelligent, most sarcastic readers out there, and I love them. So when they comment, I feel like I won the lottery of awesome.

Blogger was not only not going to let me have my comments of awesomesauce, it wasn’t going to let me RESPOND to my comments? I’m an invalid commenter? ON MY OWN BLOG? That I wrote? WITH MY OWN HANDS AND (debatable) BRAIN? NO NO NO BLOGGER.

So (as  I do with pretty much any major life change) I went to Twitter for help. (I’m pretty sure that if I ever get proposed to, I’ll be all “Just a sec, hon, gotta check this out with the minions” and then run to my phone all “Hey, Twitter, my SO just proposed – what do we think, hive mind?” And honestly, anyone who proposed would totally have to be cool with that. I mean, how many ladies come with their own set of minions, I ask you? NOT VERY DAMN MANY. It’s like falling in love with a PRINCESS with a RETINUE.) And Twitter was all “AMY. What the HELL. Why are you not on WordPress? It is AMAZEBALLS.”

So I went to WordPress and I checked it out. Here’s the thing. I am petrified of change. I mentioned that yesterday – petrified. PETRIFIED. I will keep doing something the same stupid wrong way just because it’s the only way I know how just because it means I don’t have to change it even though I KNOW it’s stupid just so it means I don’t have to change. I am a big weird weirdo about change. For example, I’m pretty sure there’s a quicker way to get home than the way I currently drive; it would involve me exploring a side road that I am not 100% sure where it leads. But I am scared to explore this road, because, well, I don’t know where it leads. What if it’s to Murderville? So for two years I’ve gone the same way. CHANGE IS SCARY.

But I was so mad at Blogger. SO MAD. And listen, when I get mad, I’m pretty much the bull with the red cape and all “ATTACK AHOY CONSEQUENCES BE DAMNED.” So I signed up for WordPress. Then I found out, for an additional $25 a year, you could get YOUR OWN DOMAIN NAME. Well! This was exciting! That made me feel official! Like a fancy blogger lady! And I’m totally poor, but I can handle $25.

I spent an entire day picking out a theme. Did you read @grngeekgirl‘s blog post? She’s totally right (well, about all of it, she’s one smart cookie) but about the themes, for sure. There are a KAJILLION of them. And I spent a whole day picking one out. But finally, I found one that I could live with – I’m not head-over-heels with ALL of it, but I like almost all of the functionality – and then moved onto the blogging.

But then! So many buttons! So many things that WordPress could do! And I kind of freaked out, because CHANGE SCARY CHANGE! But it’s surprisingly user-friendly, and I poked around, and found out how to import all of my old entries (which I am well-aware I need to re-format, because they still bear the signs of Blogger’s horrendous formatting, and I know I need to fix the categories and tagging nonsense, but listen, I AM VERY BUSY and sometimes I need to sleep or watch TV and eat popsicles IT HAPPENS) and then it happened.

I fell crazy in love with WordPress.

So easy. Formatting? Never a problem. Commenting? Never a problem. Want to immediately publicize your post on Twitter or Facebook? BAM IT IS DONE. Or don’t want to? That’s cool, too. The one nitpick I have? I don’t like that it automatically puts two spaces in-between paragraphs. I know, right? ONE NITPICK.

Also, this is a new thing that you can do. Ready? I’m trying this for the first time right now. I’m not 100% sure it’s going to work. BUT I’M TRYING IT READY HERE GOES.

ZOMG I totally somehow got new NEW Twitter today (although it keeps fading in and out STOP IT I LOVE IT I WANT IT TO STAY) and I can fancily embed Tweets THIS IS THE BEST LOOK HOW FANCIFIED.

(Also, the stupid was totally in the air yesterday, I’m not going to lie.)

Also, most of my favorite bloggers are on WordPress, so we can follow and like each other’s posts, giving each other a boost and putting a link to our blogs on each other’s blog in the process. It’s like a kick-ass club. Or maybe like the chess club, I don’t know. I was never in a kick-ass club so I don’t really have anything to compare.

ALSO, there’s a WordPress Android app that works brilliantly; the Blogger Android app was a piece of garbage that did NOTHING.

And, AND, there’s more functionality that I haven’t even PLAYED with. Like, I can put in a POLL. Which I’m totally going to do one of these days because I totally get a boner for statistics. Putting in photos is a breeze. Comments never screw up and I can totally respond whenever I want. The spam filter is awesome (although I get a lot more spam here than I ever got on Blogger…but that might be because WordPress is getting more hits than Blogger did, I suppose.)

When I was looking to switch over, I did a lot of internet research looking to compare the two (Blogger and WordPress) and found very little documentation telling me that YES, WordPress was far superior. So, in case anyone’s out there looking for the same thing I was a few months ago – let me say it in a number of ways, so that this will get picked up by search engines.

Blogger sucks.
WordPress is amazing.
WordPress is far superior to Blogger.
If you are planning on blogging on a regular basis, you owe it to yourself to get WordPress.
Using Blogger was like fighting with a very stupid animal or child and nothing got accomplished. You never need to fight with WordPress.
If you are looking to choose between WordPress or Blogger, choose WordPress for your own sanity.

So, yes, although my soul kind of is totally sold to Google, I am madly in love with WordPress and we are having a totally steamy side-affair where we throw things off the table and get it on up there and there is bruising.

Alright. Because I didn’t get any sleep last night and instead had insane dreams where I was back in high school, watching a mixed martial arts event (bout? match? what the hell do I know about such things?) in my high school gymnasium with this guy that I am totally not even friends with and I think we might be enemies now and he kept trying to make out with me and also let me wear his jacket because he thought I was cold but who’s cold in a GYM? And that dream went on for like a YEAR I SWEAR – I did not get enough sleep last night and now I have to go to a musical. I’m told it’s good, but I’m also told to not pay attention to things like some of the singing and/or dancing or I might laugh. So I think this might be an adventure.

Happy Sunday, minions!


Blood is thicker than water (but it’s creepy that we’re comparing the two liquids)

I bet you wonder, Amy, what do you do when you’re not working? On a lovely Sunday, for example, when most people are out, oh, I don’t know, picking pumpkins, or having some sort of fancy brunch, or hanging out with significant others, what exactly are you doing?

Aw! Isn’t that flattering that you would care so much. And a little creepy, because why do you care so much? Are you planning on stalking me? Because I would not care for that, no, not one bit.

Well, I will answer you, because frankly, I am an oversharer.

Today, I read the paper, cut out coupons, watched Fringe, and thought about adages.

I know! I live the glamorous high life, yes? But listen. When’s the last time you thought about adages? I mean, really thought about adages. Because they are ANNOYING.

In case anyone’s reading this who doesn’t know what an adage is, it’s a saying that’s quoted often that’s recognized to have truth to it. For example, “A penny saved is a penny earned.” Fine. Good. Grand. Wonderful. They are like idioms and very similar to aphorisms. If you want more information, Google it, stupid, I am not your professor. But would be happy to be if you wanted to send me some money!

But then I was thinking about other adages, and listen, they are STUPID. Do they have some truth to them? Sure. Sure they do. But I think they need some help. And who better to help old adages out on a gorgeous fall afternoon than me? No one, that’s who. YOU’RE WELCOME, ADAGES.

Adage: Beggars can’t be choosers.

No one told the beggars. Free shit brings out the most demanding people in the world. We offer six pay-what-you-will shows at my theater every year and you can’t even imagine the demands you get from some of those people. “I wanted to sit closer to the stage but someone’s already in that seat, can you tell them to move?” “Why aren’t you giving out free food, too? You really should give out free food.” “This show sucks. I can’t believe you’re even putting this on.” “Your toilet paper is really rough.” “What do you mean, there’s no intermission? That’s illegal.” IT’S A FREE SHOW THAT WOULD NORMALLY COST $15.

New adage: Beggars SHOULDN’T be choosers, and the only beggars that are choosers are total asshats.

Adage: Better late than never.

Nope. I hate lateness. To me, lateness is like telling the person you were meeting, “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t be bothered to arrive on time. Your time, and the time we agreed to meet, are really more of a guideline to me than a rule. You’re not a priority in my life.”

New adage: Better never than late, and if you’re late, you’re dead to me, except for cases of hospitalization or alien abduction.

Adage: Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

If someone’s giving me a horse, I’m immediately going to look in its mouth, because I don’t want some half-dead horse. Horse upkeep is totally expensive! I can barely afford to pay for the vet bills for my cats, can you even imagine how much a horse with dental problems might cost? And what kind of a rude bastard would gift someone a horse with dental issues? Might as well just pickpocket them from the get-go! I don’t want your damaged gift horse.

New adage: Always look gift horses in the mouth unless you’ve got money falling out of your asshole because horse dental bills are astronomically high.

Adage: Two heads are better than one.

Sometimes you’re saddled with someone idiotic, and much of your time is spent minding that person, and making sure they don’t play with pointy things or run with scissors or prank-call the police station, and you’re using up so much of your mental energy dealing with this time-sucker that you’re not getting the task at hand finished. In that case, one head is most definitely better than two.

New adage: Two heads are better than one, provided both heads are intelligent and can stay on-task, but if one head is a flake-ass, you should probably take him or her for a long walk in the desert and drive away when he or she is distracted by a mirage or something.

Adage: A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.

I think this is a little outdated, isn’t it? Who’s going around catching birds by hand anymore? I don’t even HAVE any bushes around me. And why do I even have a bird in my hand in the first place? The poor thing is probably scared to death and it’s really cruel of me to be holding a bird when all it wants is to fly away. Also, you can’t say “bush” nowadays. Because of pervs.

New adage: A bird in the hand may be worth two in the bush, but why the hell don’t you just go to the grocery store? They’ve got pre-cooked chicken there and it’s really very good.

Adage: Beauty is only skin-deep.

A lot of things are only skin-deep. It seems like a serial killer wrote this one. STOP THINKING ABOUT WHAT’S UNDER MY SKIN.

New adage: Beauty is only skin-deep, but so is ugliness. And so are moles, sunburns, eyebrows, and SKIN. Watch out for serial killers named Buffalo Bill.

Adage: A friend in need is a friend indeed.

Well, this one is just off-putting. Are you implying someone’s not your friend until they need you for something? Why are you such a fair-weather friend? Why can’t you like your friends when they’re doing well AND when they’re needy? You’re an asshole. Also, how often does this “friend indeed” need you? Because they might just be using you. This all might be an elaborate scam. You might be getting played, playa.

New adage: A friend in need is a friend indeed. Unless it’s 2am and you need a ride home from the bar. Take a cab, you self-important lush. I’m sleeping, here.

Adage: A fool and his money are soon parted.

This might have been the case back in the day when people were totally tight-fisted about their money. I read Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Farmer Boy again recently, and they were making a HUGE DEAL about a fifty-cent piece. BIG WHOOP ALMANZO.

New adage: EVERYONE and their money are soon parted. We’re in a recession, here, have you been living in a cave?

Adage: A watched pot never boils.

This is just stupid. Sure, it SEEMS to take longer, but think about this rationally, you dick. It will take the same amount of time to boil if you pull up a kitchen stool and stare at it (which is sad) or if you walk away and watch your neighbors have a huge fight in the parking lot (which is true.)

New adage:  A watched pot will boil, eventually, and so will a non-watched pot, and if you think otherwise, maybe you should have stopped passing notes in physics class in high school.

Adage: A wink is as good as a nod to a blind horse.

There are entirely too many horse-related adages. Which makes me think that either cowboys made these up or they actually mean to say “whore” which is a funny substitution and I’ll take it. Seriously, do that right now. “A wink is as good as a nod to a blind whore.” “Don’t look a gift whore in the mouth.” THAT MAKES THE ADAGES MAKE MORE SENSE. Oh, FINE, back to the adage at hand. WHY THE HELL ARE YOU WINKING AND NODDING AT A BLIND HORSE YOU TOTAL WEIRDO.

New adage: A wink is as good as a nod to a blind horse, but if you’re doing either, maybe you ought to be evaluated for schizophrenia.

Adage: It’s always darkest before the dawn.

Where the hell do you live? Let’s say the dawn is at 5:45. It is NOT darkest at 5:30. It’s gradually getting lighter, actually. THIS IS A VERY STUPID ADAGE.

New adage: It’s always darkest at about 2am so bring a flashlight if you’re going outside, you’re totally going to trip over those flowerpots that your wife keeps nagging you to put away but you’re too busy playing with the Wii to bother.

And, my favorite (sorry, sarcastic air-quote that favorite in your head as you’re reading, please):

Adage: A son is a son until he takes a wife; a daughter is a daughter for life.

What the hell? You will always have to provide for your daughter? I don’t get this at all but it seems highly sexist to me. Has anyone ever heard this before?

New adage: A son is a son until he takes a wife; a daughter is a daughter for life; and whoever wrote this better not reveal themselves to me or I’m going to skin them slowly with a dull dollar-store vegetable peeler.

There are two adages that I do NOT have a problem with.

Better the devil you know than the one you don’t.

I told the people I worked with at the job I had before this one this when our CEO was fired and replaced with a new CEO. No one liked the old CEO. He was kind of a tool, but he was harmless. The new guy was an unknown quantity. “No, Amy, ANYONE has to be better!” they foolishly said. Well, less than three months later, new CEO had convinced the board to sell the whole company and we were all out of jobs. DEVIL. I TOLD them. The other guy wouldn’t have done that. He was too busy sending me to Lowe’s to find him the perfect office plant even though that job took up the whole day and the phones went unanswered and our customers were PISSED. INEFFECTUAL BUT ONLY A MINOR DEMON.

And, courtesy of my grandmother, who has THE BEST SAYINGS IN THE WORLD, we have this one.

We were discussing someone who had fallen in love with someone that was not a good match, and how much trouble this romance was causing in her life, and my grandmother came out with:

Love will go wherever it’s sent; even up a pig’s ass.

THIS IS THE BEST ADAGE EVER SPOKEN. There is nothing wrong with this. I love it more than anything in the WORLD. I love even more that it was my GRANDMOTHER that said it. I’m not 100% on what it means, or where it came from? BUT IT KICKS 47 BRANDS OF ASS. Also? If you do a Google search for it? NOTHING COMES UP. My grandmother BROKE GOOGLE with her awesomeness. +1, Nanny. Friggin’ +1. You only WISH you had a grandmother this cool.


%d bloggers like this: