Category Archives: unicorns

A new year post on the actual day. Go me.

Happy new year, people of the interwebs! OK, so I missed New Year’s day for some of you. I know. I’m the worst at thinking in a timely fashion for other time zones. Please forgive me, other time zones. Here is a photo of Dumbcat looking pensive to make up for my transgression.

Hapey Noo Yere, peeple of bloge. I had a birfday this weeke adn am nowe fifeteene. In humaene yeers that is 76 yeers old. I shoulde reetire.

Hapey Noo Yere, peeple of bloge. I had a birfday this weeke adn am nowe fifeteene. In humaene yeers that is 76 yeers old. I shoulde reetire and get soceel securtee so Momee can stay homee and pet my furrs all the dayys.

A couple weeks ago at work, one of my most favorite coworkers (there are a lot of them…I kind of work with the best people in all the land) and I were talking about blogging. Here, I’ll give you our conversation. If he happens to read this (and I suppose he might, the internet’s a very small place sometimes), apologies in advance for stealing your words and putting them on the internets for all to read, one of my most favorite coworkers whose name I will not put on the blog because I’m about 99% sure it would embarrass the pants right off of you and I enjoy you so much I would never want to do that to you. Plus, also, workplace harassment, yo, I can’t be taking work-people’s pants off. I think there’s a seminar or something about that.

I seriously just snorted orange soda up my nose at this. This was NOT the image I went looking for, but look at the chick's face. It's like she's oblivious to the butt-groping. Or she's looking at a really funny kitten-GIF. Or maybe she just really likes the groping, I don't even know. Either way, it is my best thing of the day.

I seriously just snorted orange soda up my nose at this. This was NOT the image I went looking for, but look at the chick’s face. It’s like she’s oblivious to the butt-groping. Or she’s looking at a really funny kitten-GIF. Or maybe she just really likes the groping, I don’t even know. Either way, it is my best thing of the day.

Impressive Reporter Coworker: So I noticed the other day you’re a tweetaholic. You have over 20,000 tweets!
Me: Oh. Yeah. I used to tweet a lot. I don’t do that anymore.
IRC: Why?
Me: Oh, kind of a long story. I used to blog? And then tweet a lot, kind of in relation to that? I kind of fell out of practice.
IRC: You had a blog?
Me: Yeah. I kind of still do, I guess, but it just sits there.
IRC: What was it about?
Me: Um. Mostly me ranting about some things and making fun of other things? Also I talked about zoos a lot.

By the way, this happened a couple months ago in Syracuse. I like it because it looks like I Munchausen-by-Proxyed my penguin-baby and have gone cheerfully insane.

By the way, this happened a couple months ago in Syracuse. I like it because it looks like I Munchausen-by-proxyed my penguin-baby and have gone cheerfully insane.

IRC: And people would read it?
Me: Heh. Yeah. Lots of people would read it. I won some awards. And I met amazing people. And I went to Finland last year. Got to stay with people I met through blogging, actually. It was fantastic.
IRC: So…what happened?

And I didn’t have an answer for him. Not really.

What happened? Oh, I don’t know. Life, I guess. Andreas and I have spent copious amounts of time discussing that. Priorities change. Things change. People come in and out of your life. Moods rise and fall. Jobs come and go. I can most sincerely say that the person I was three and a half years ago when I started blogging isn’t the person I am now. I think back on that person and she seems like a complete stranger to me. It’s not that I’m embarrassed of her; it’s that I don’t know her at all, and I don’t know how I ever was her. I have a record that I was, I can look back on old posts and I know I wrote them, but as for remembering it, it’s kind of fuzzy. Too much water under the bridge.

So I’ve been doing a lot of thinking…and I realize there’s this itchy little part of me that wants to start writing again, and writing more. Otherwise I’m going to probably self-destruct.

I’m not juvenile enough to think resolutions ever stick. The first day of the year always seems so shiny and new, doesn’t it? Like you can accomplish anything. Like you have 365 days of newness (ooh, 366 this year, yeah?) to tackle and make your own. But I don’t know about you…but every resolution I’ve ever made has fizzled around February once you realize “oh, look, this shiny new year is very much like last year, what are the odds, yo.”

Instead, I’m going to be kind to myself, and promise myself I’ll do things that are good for me – and writing’s good for me. So writing here? Good for me. Writing poetry, essays, maybe even some short fiction? Good for me. And it’s good for my mind, because I need it to stop being so itchy. An itchy mind never did anyone any good.

(Side note: I have an amazing job, and every now and then I get to write. I got to write part of an article – FOR THE ACTUAL PAPER! – a couple months ago, and then got asked to write a LONG article for one of our related publications. A three-page article about traveling to Albany and all the things you can do there. It’s not online yet – will be eventually, and then you can read it, if you’re so inclined – but long story short, I get to write for work. I also get to do our social media, copyedit, proofread, and sometimes there’s totally a STOP THE PRESSES! moment with late-breaking news which makes me jump around in my chair because I feel like I’m in a 40s film with very impressive fedoras. My coworkers are fantastic, because they’ve totally accepted me even though I’m the biggest goofball. And I can say, with 100% certainty, I’ve never had a job where I can be more myself, and where I’ve felt more immediately at home with the people, than this one. Ever. When you can completely dork out about something three days in and no one even bats an eye? You have won employment.)

Sometimes I like to imagine that I'm in "His Girl Friday" only there's a lot less sexism (and also a lot fewer typewriters, ashtrays, and, sadly, fedoras.)

Sometimes I like to imagine that I’m in “His Girl Friday” only there’s a lot less sexism (and also a lot fewer typewriters, ashtrays, and, sadly, fedoras.)

I’m kind of rambling, here.

Anyway: I have a couple of people I’m going to encourage to blog, and they’re going to, in turn, encourage ME to blog, this year, so we’re responsible to one another as well as being cheerleady. And this will, hopefully, stop the brain-itching and get me back writing and being creative.

Happy New Year, internets. I hope your 2014s weren’t as fraught with weirdness as mine was (and most people I know had a TERRIBLE 2014, what’s going on, 2014, why were you so cursed?) and your 2015 looks like 366 (or 365, sorry, people of other time zones, I really meant to do this earlier in the day but I was too busy painting a unicorn head to go over my new fireplace…YES THAT IS REALLY A THING I DID TODAY, WHY ARE YOU ASKING) new and shiny days of awesome that you can tackle and wrestle into submission and make yours, all yours.

This is my unicorn head that is hanging over my fireplace. I don't have a name for him yet, but I'm leaning toward Reginald von Sparklenstein.

This is my new unicorn head that is hanging over my fireplace. I don’t have a name for him yet, but I’m leaning toward Baron Reginald von Sparklenstein.

Much love to your shiny little new-year faces. *smooch*

It’s only a matter of time before I’m riding a pegasus with Joseph Gordon-Levitt, this is going to be great.

OK, first, before I get going:



I called home tonight and I was all, “Hey, what’s up with the robin?” and Dad said, “That stupid robin is gone.”

The robin was gone when he woke up! It didn’t even come back today! This is the worst. I wanted CLOSURE, dammit.

Jim found us a link that explained the robin was attacking its own reflection because it thought its reflection was a competitor or some such nonsense. Well, good gravy, Robin, why so fighty? Make love not war, Robin. Especially not with my dad’s window, he didn’t like that one little bit.

OK, now on to the festivities. WHAT. We’re totally having festivities. EVERY DAY IS CARNIVALE AT LUCY’S FOOTBALL. Isn’t it?

So we were discussing dreams the other day on Twitter. More specifically, how I am broken, as I don’t have them. I mean, I DO, I suppose. “They” – the all great and powerful nebulous “they” – say that even if you can’t remember your dreams, you’re having them.

I totally feel ripped off. I think I would have the BEST dreams. I would WIN dreaming. I’m very creative. I can make up a story out of NOTHING. I do it ALL THE TIME. So therefore, my dreams would be full of bunnies made of rainbow yarn and being able to fly and staplers that talked. OH SHIT AND PEGASUSES. Right?

Well, who the hell knows, because I don’t even remember the last time I dreamed. Dreamed? Dreamt? Doesn’t dreamt look stupid and affected, like a hipster would say it? Spellcheck says it’s not a word. However, spellcheck says 99% of my posts aren’t words, because I make shit up. I think I’m sticking with dreamed. I don’t know if it’s the meds I’m on or just that I’m so damn tired but I can’t remember a single dream going back to last summer, that I recall clearly. And that one sucked, I was back in high school. WAY TO RIP ME OFF, LAST DREAM I REMEMBER.

ANYWAY, so I was thinking, you know what I want? My dreams back. Because I think they would be great and just a little added chance for awesomeness. I mean, I like to multitask.

So I went online to look for ways to make this happen. What, the internet can make ANYTHING happen.

(SIDE NOTE. You know how Google starts to autofill things when you start typing in questions? Some random autofills I found recently? “How to have twins” [um…genetics? Prayer? Luck?]; “How to insert a tampon” [this one made me utterly despair for the youth of America – there are INSTRUCTIONS inside the BOX of TAMPONS, come ON!]; “How to jumpstart a car” [hi, future thief, welcome to the internet!]; and “How to make moonshine” [YEE HAW!] Also, everyone seems to want to make something called a “fishtail braid.” I didn’t know what that was, so I looked it up.

Apparently it’s this, which is some sort of fashion craze:

Pretty enough, I guess. I can’t do braids. I have slippery hair. It just SLIIIDES out of braids and then goes back to being unruly. It’s all WILD HORSES CAN’T BE TAMED, my hair. I’ve stopped despairing, what’s the point.)

So, back to the dreaming conundrum. I looked up “why don’t I dream” and this poorly-designed site tells me that:

Would you please tell me why people do not dream?

Everybody dreams! This is a scientifically proven fact. Research has shown that all human beings in a study exhibit brain activity during their sleep. Just because you cannot remember your dreams does not mean that you do not dream. So why is it that some people don’t remember their dream? This may be attributed to alcohol consumption, certain antibiotics, fever, lack of sleep or too much sleep, high levels of stress, and/or unconscious fears about the content of your dreams. Some researchers believe that certain people have a genetic dispositions to forget their dreams as they come out of their sleep.


Well, hell, I am all kinds of strikes against me if this is true. Lack of sleep – CHECK. High levels of stress – CHECK. Genetics all wonky – CHECK. Drinking – eh, haven’t been lately, only because I had to stop because of the antibiotics I was on, then didn’t start again yet. I don’t think I have a fever. If I did, I know the cure is more cowbell, so I could clear that right up. I don’t know if I’m afraid of the content of my dreams. As stated, I’m sure they would be AWESOME. One time, I dreamed the boy I was in love with all through school showed up at my house and we…um…wooed. There was wooing. That was a nice dream. MORE WOOING PLEASE. (In case you’re wondering, wooing is a euphemism. For boning.)

So apparently there’s not much I can do to get back the dreams. My dreamer is broken. I suppose I could take acid or some such foolishness but I don’t believe in that. You know I’d end up all weird like Jim Morrison or something. Have I mentioned my irrational hatred of all things Jim Morrison? I HATE JIM MORRISON. So, so much. I don’t understand why everyone lionizes him. At all. You can enlighten me, if you want. I think he was a burnout, and I don’t think The Doors were all that good. Also, his poetry was AWFUL. It read like a NIGHTMARE OF SUCK.

But then I found this link that was all, “How to lucid dream” and clicked it and THIS IS TOTALLY EXCITING.

So apparently, once you master this shit, you’re totally going to be like the people in Inception.

I don’t especially want to be like the people in Inception. I REALLY don’t want to be Leonardo DiCaprio. He has the weirdest head. He looks like a pissed-off Kewpie Doll. I just don’t get the appeal. BUT, I am hoping, once I master this, I will be able to lucid dream my way into Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s lucid dream, the one in which he’s wearing those kick-ass Inception suits. Yowza.

Also, I SWEAR one of my blogger people that I read talked about this. And I DOUBLE swear it was Andreas. But I can’t find it, even with a total stalky-stalk of his blog. ANDREAS. Did you cover lucid dreaming somewhere on your blog? If you did, I so apologize, and please link in the comments, I’m an asshole who doesn’t know how to use a search box, apparently. (Also, SIDE NOTE, you know what’s fun? Watching the evolution of a friendship through blog comments when you’re supposed to be looking for a link to someone’s lucid dreaming post. Because I found this old comment I made on one of Andreas’s old posts and it was like I was all FORMAL and STUFFY and TRYING TO BE A GROWNUP! Then you see the comments now and I’m totally comfortable and wearing sweatpants and hanging out on a beanbag chair because we are BONDED NOW, yo. So that was fun. I think we may have figured out why I don’t ever get to sleep on time. It’s because I CAN’T STICK TO A TASK.)

OK. Back to it. So. Lucid dreaming. Lucid dreaming is when you’re dreaming, but you KNOW you’re dreaming, so you can CONTROL your dream. Fun stuff, right? AMY, you’re wondering. HOW CAN I DO THIS?


I learned all about how to do this from WikiHow, because I learn good things from there. Like How to Flirt and How to be an Actress and How to Stop Thinking About Sex and How to Make Cheese out of Yogurt Also Known as YoCheese.

It’s a really long article. I’ll recap the important parts. I know you’re going to want to get to sleep and try this shit out. I’m saying shit a lot today, what’s up with that? I’m not even especially cranky.

  1. All day long, ask yourself, “Am I dreaming?” and pinch yourself. Then when you are sleeping, you will remember to ask yourself the SAME QUESTION! And apparently…um…give yourself a different answer!
  2. Keep a dream journal! According to WikiHow, this will “tell your mind you are SERIOUS about remembering your dreams!” Mine would be empty. I’d end up writing shopping lists in it. Or blog post ideas. It’d be the saddest dream journal ever.
  3. Research when is best to have a lucid dream. The article implies it is best to wake up, then take a nap a few hours later. Yeah, I think that’ll work out great. My boss will really enjoy me just crashing out around 9:15am. I’ll print out the WikiHow article, it’ll serve as a doctor’s note, right?
  4. Torture yourself. OK, the article didn’t say that, I did. But it said to set your alarm for four hours after you fall asleep, then wake up, write down what you were dreaming about in detail, then lie back down, repeating to yourself, “I will remember I am dreaming, I will remember I am dreaming” over and over. If I set my alarm for 4am, I’d be up at 4am. I’d never fall back to sleep. And if I repeated a stupid mantra like that I’d REALLY never get back to sleep. This is the worst.
  5. OH WAIT NO IT GETS WORSE. Then, THEN, it says to set your alarm for five hours after you fall asleep, make yourself stay awake for an hour concentrating on lucid dreaming and LUCID DREAMING ONLY, then fall back to sleep. LISTEN. Who has all this TIME for this shit? I’m lucky if I sleep 4-5 hours a night, lately. I don’t have time for effing with my alarm clock and talking to myself and nonsense like this. I just want to fly a magical dream pegasus. WHERE IS MY DREAM PEGASUS.
  6. Then it tells you to meditate for a while and that might make you lucid dream? This one’s confusing, let’s skip it.
  7. Ugh, this one is also about meditating. If you fall asleep while meditating, you might be doing it wrong.
  8. Write the letter “A” on your hand with a magic marker. Look at it ALL DAY LONG. It will remind you that you are awake! A FOR AWAKE! And then when you are asleep, you will look at your hand! And there will be NO A! And you will BAM! Realize you are DREAMING! Or maybe you’ll think, “No A. A for asleep” and then go right back to regular boring non-pegasus dreaming, I don’t know. Also, writing on your hand makes you look like a crazy. SIDE NOTE. I always have writing on my hands, do what you will with that information.
  9. ZOMG this one is the best so far, ready? OK, so WikiHow wants you to perform “reality checks” throughout the day, and then you’ll also do it in your dreams, eventually, and then realize you’re dreaming. Therefore calling the pegasuses. Pegasi? I don’t know. Here are some reality checks, according to WikiHow. (Also, please ignore the numbers in front of these, I can’t make them go away and WordPress is being a jerky jerk and it’s REALLY REALLY LATE AT NIGHT)
    • Looking in a mirror (your image will most often appear blurry or not appear at all in a dream). However, your figure can be horribly disfigured in a mirror, frightening you into nightmare or a dream; WTF THIS IS NIGHTMARISH
    •  Pinching your nose closed and trying to breathe; UGH NO THANKS
    •  Glancing at your hands, and asking yourself, “am I dreaming?” (when dreaming, you will most often see greater or fewer than five fingers on your hand); AAAHHHH
    •  Jumping in the air; you are usually able to fly during dreams YES PEGASUSES HERE I COME
    •  Poking yourself; when dreaming, your “flesh” might be more elastic than in real life; a common reality check is pushing your finger through the palm of your hand; WHY ARE YOU RUINING THIS FOR ME WIKIHOW
    •  Try leaning against a wall. In dreams, you will often fall through walls. STOP IT STOP IT RIGHT NOW
  10. Apparently you can prolong your lucid dreams by spinning around in your dreams (and maybe turning into butter?) or rubbing your hands (like Mr. Burns?) Odd.
  11. Look through your Dream Journal constantly. It will give you signs. Ooh! Will it tell me to swing away, Merrill? Will the aliens melt when touched by water, even though they came to a planet that is mostly water? Will asthma SAVE MY SON’S LIIIIIFFFEEE?

OK. These are not very good tips. None of them seem to make Joseph Gordon- Levitt appear in a suit, or pegasuses.

FINE. I’ll do it MYSELF. Stupid lucid dreams.

ZOMG. What is happening here WHAT IS HAPPENING. Unicorn! Pegasus! FIGHTING? And there's a wizard? Are they in the air? How did that unicorn get up there, unicorns can't fly. I'm getting this airbrushed on my panel van.

Aah. This makes it all better, right? Right.

This is likely the only back-to-school fashion article you’re going to read with unicorn sweaters in it.

It’s back-to-school time for the kiddos of the world. I know this because it is ALL YOU HEAR ABOUT EVERYWHERE EVER. The women in my office were discussing it this morning over their coffee. “When do YOUR kids go back to school?” “Oh, MY kids go back to school TODAY.” “Oh, MINE don’t go back until TOMORROW.”
This is all very interesting OMG I can’t even breathe with the overwhelming excitement please someone get me one of those paper bags so I can hyperventilate into it.
Fine, fine, the kids of America need to go to school, if only to learn the difference between “their” and “they’re” and that “alot” isn’t really a word and that Europe is a continent, not a country.
But you know what the back-to-schoolers need? Fashion tips. Because it is a scary world out there! A world full of options! What is in? What is out? HOW CAN I BE COOL?
Well, I am nothing if not helpful. And I enlisted AN ACTUAL TEENAGER to help me with fashion tips for the back-to-schoolers. You are welcome. Please mention me in your valedictory speech.
According to R., our helpful teen and a very stylish young lady, the place to shop is Delia’s. This is a store I have never heard of, because I am old and I’m pretty sure it’s the kind of place I would speed past when I go to the mall because it would frighten me. So I went to the Delia’s website to check out what fashions to endorse for the upcoming school year.
First, I am confused by the layout of the name of the store on the website. It is set up thusly: dELiA*s. AND IT IS IN MY SPELLCHECK LIKE THIS. That means Microsoft Word knows about this travesty of spelling. Is it code? I tried to decipher the code. ELA. dis? It is apparently a code that only teens can understand. DENIED!
R. – who was sporting a Flashdance-style off-the-shoulder shirt/tank top combo (but when I mentioned that they were popular when I was a teen as well, and how fashion is cyclical, said, “This is INSPIRED by the SEVENTIES” and when I said “Flashdance wasn’t in the 70’s – how old do you think I AM, anyway?” looked at me like I had two heads and each was spouting nonsense syllables) informed me of the following:
  • Skinny jeans and jeggings are the “in” thing this season.
  • Kids like “fun” t-shirts. But only if the “fun” is in air-quotes.
  • Fourteen-year-olds are too old to wear unicorn sweaters unless they’re wearing them ironically.
These are important tips. You can pass them along to your children, if you’d like. Or use them yourself, if you want to act younger than you are. But that’s kind of pathetic and you’re better than that, don’t you think?
So anyway. dELiA*s. Skinny jeans and jeggings (or, as my guide informed me, “Jeggings? You DO know what jeggings are, right?” *eyeroll*) look UNCOMFORTABLE. My stars. Example:
I picked these because wow, what a color! Like Big Bird!
THESE ARE TOO TIGHT. Look at the wrinkles of tightness! These would only look good on someone with NO BODY FAT AT ALL. Otherwise, you’d look like a sausage stuffed into these things.
When I was in school, the in thing was stirrup pants. They were AWESOME. Here, check this out. These are MUCH BETTER AND MORE FLATTERING THAN JEGGINGS.
See? They were awesome for many reasons. One of which being they never rode up. Because of the stirrup. Multitasky! No, I don’t KNOW why this photo is so fuzzy. It looks like a Barbara Walters interview subject. Probably because it’s vintage and doesn’t want you to know its real age.
Also, we liked tights with no feet in them but with a wide band of lace around the ankle. Then you would peg your jean cuffs and wear your feetless tights so that when you sat down, the lace peeked out. IT WAS JUST ABOUT THE SEXIEST. I would show you a picture but the only one I could find online was from some website that I’m pretty sure was a weird fetish website because IT WAS JUST THAT TITILLATING. BAM! We were the sexiest, yo.
Well, if you can’t dress in super-sexy stirrups or feetless fancy lacy tights I suppose you need to turn to anorexia and get yourself some jeggings because they are the in thing this season. If you don’t get them, you will not have any friends and also someone might throw tater tots at you in the lunchroom and wasting tater tots is a capital offense. Also you will never get a boyfriend if you don’t have tight pants. Sorry. SORRY! JEGGINGS. R. says you cannot call them tight pants. That makes you sound like an old person.
Next, let’s talk shirts. R. likes shirts with sayings on them but not stupid sayings. Well, I approve of that. dELiA*s apparently caters to all kinds of teens. Here are some examples:
This is from the television program Pretty Little Liars. Ezra is a teacher. There are a LOT of these shirts in different styles.  If I was in high school, I would get one of these, and if anyone asked, tell them it was referring to Ezra Pound? Because that would be AWESOME. Then they would throw tater tots at me. Also, I don’t know if dELiA*s should really be endorsing the underage teacher-student illegal relationship on its tees?
This is called, according to the website, the “Shinging Star Tee.” Well! That is a good name and not at all misspelled! We all like to shing. Shing on, you crazy diamond! Also, WHERE IS THE REST OF IT. Crop tops? These are still in style? Really? Well, I suppose if you have no body fat because you took my advice about the eating disorder in order to fit into your canary-yellow jeggings you’ll look just delectable in this top. You’ll totally shing like the sun.
OMG ZOMBIES TOTALLY TOOK BITES OUT OF THE SHOULDERS OF THIS SHIRT. “Live Free!” Well, until the zombies get you. Up until then, live free, though. Have a good time!
This one is wrong on a lot of levels.
  • Not enough sleeves!
  • Not long enough!
  • But what. BUT WHAT? Very vague, shirt. Is it an abstinence shirt? Like, “I love you, but don’t touch me there, please, because I don’t want to be on that MTV Teen Moms show?” Or, I love you, but not LOVE love you, and I was only experimenting, Jennie, I’m not really a lesbian, I’m sorry you got my name tattooed on your lower back? Or I love you, but I’m going to give you some constructive criticism right now like “when you talk it sounds like you’re gargling with razor blades please stop that?” SO MANY POSSIBILITIES.
dELiA*s also had a thing for any pun on the word “moustache.” Apparently, one of the marketing people got really high and realized that “moustache” sounds kind of like “must ask.” So there are a lot of things like this happening:
Ha! Whoa. What WITTY WORDPLAY. I am BLOWN AWAY by this.
And now, what NOT to wear, per R.
Unless you wear these ironically, these are NOT OK.  (And I don’t know how anyone could wear these ironically. Maybe draw wee horn-rimmed glasses on the unicorns?)

And there you go! This has been very helpful on many levels. I can’t even imagine all the things you’ve learned, probably there are SO MANY THINGS, but I’ve learned that going into dELiA*s would most likely cause me to run around tugging down the hemlines of all the t-shirts because I’m pretty sure all the girls would have chilly tummies. Also, that I miss the super-sexiness of high school. You don’t even know sexy until you’ve got your footless tights, pegged acid-washed jeans, baggy sweater, gigantic plastic earrings, and hair to the sky courtesy of Aqua Net and a ratting comb. I DO NOT UNDERSTAND WHY I MY FRIENDS AND I WERE NOT MORE IN DEMAND.

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