Random List Monday.

1. Never pass up the opportunity to drop kick someone from an elevated position. Waist high is good enough.
2. Always wear shoes you can fight in or defend yourself with when going out at night. Bitch slapping someone with a flip flop does very little to discourage anal rape.
3. Assume all people you know are potential serial killers. Act accordingly. Everyone has the potential to become a sociopath. You may realize too late. Avoid the axe.
4. Escalators are dangerous. Don't fucking play. Get on in an orderly manner, maintain position, step widely as you exit.
5. Mind the bus.
6. Shenanigans end up in eye loss 89% of the time. Your mom was right. Call her. Apologize.
7. Never, ever, whatever you do, in the heat of the moment decide it is a good idea to cut up your only ATM card into a thousand tiny pieces.
8. The whole "Eat More Fiber" "You Need More Fiber in Your Diet" "Fiber is Fucking Awesome" marketing ploys (the last being a very brief ad campaign in which the people responsible were immediately sacked), come off very lie-y, if you know what I mean.
9. You will never know what I mean, not really and this is probably best.

I dig on the idea of giant rats, just not real ones.

Hello Blog. The crack, sometimes it just gets in the way of PRODUCTION. oh. no.
When I choose not to write it isn't because I have nothing to say; I have too much and the flood of thoughts makes my keyboard kryptonite. Mar.
Speaking of ark building, it is being managed by some interesting RX planks these days but we will get to that some other time. The verdict is still out on this one, Jury, my Jury(!).

We are buying a house, Hubbasaurus Rex and I. Holy crap. A house to hop around in, where if I break the floor, I CAN patch it up with duct tape and no one can say SHIT or hold onto my deposit for repairs. And other such things. Like bright orange paint and striped hallways (hoping that sentence was wearing a Cloak of Invisibility).

After having looked at several potentials, we've pursued "the one": donated DNA, bone marrow, blood, first-borns and so many printed copies of paperwork, that the hippie in me feels sad for being responsible for the equivalent of cutting down at least 10 trees. We are infiltrating the fold by moving further into the suburbs, where I will suspect many more of my neighbors committing foul, foul acts in extra wide garages. Trimmed hedges in the shapes of BMWs. A vampiric HOA with Security Guard syndrome. I am totally out of place but can play this role and even get used to it. Love it. Debating buying one of those two seater golf carts, to ride over to the Country Club on Saturdays, dressed in a tennis outfit (fuck the racquet though), martini in hand (extra olives). 10am. I am a late riser but a lifer. Hell. This MAY be fucking heaven. Scratch all of that. Give me my apron and Martha Stewart magazines, I GOT THIS.
Besides. I live with John Fucking Barrymore. Bathrobe wearing motherfucker.

In our colorful search we have come to understand better, the terminology associated with housing for sale.
For your future or current aide:

Pond view actually means: Ditch in the front or backyard.
Handyman special actually means: You will need to gut the place or burn it down and rebuild.
Unoccupied actually means: There will be dead roaches everywhere, be careful where you step.
Needs TLC actually means: Walk gently so your foot doesn't go through the floor.
Natural beauty actually means: Dirt in place of grass, hedges look like trees, vines are now making their way INTO the house.
Rustic beauty actually means: Old ass fixtures/appliances or miles from anything you need (hospital, store). Spiders. Rats.
Colorful neighborhood actually means: Rednecks, cars on blocks, houses painted weird colors, piles of junk everywhere.
Charming actually means: Appliances pre date 1970, wallpaper. Lots of it.
Modern actually means: Early 90s cookie cutter, lazy architect, non-licensed contractor, may not withstand 25mph winds.
One owner actually means: Someone just died in the house or has been sent to a retirement facility (see Unoccupied).
Great schools actually means: No one has been murdered in this neighborhood in the past year.
Quirky actually means: We took the garage and made it into 5 closet-sized bedrooms, in a maze pattern with a sink somewhere in the middle you will have to hook up to your water supply, if you want but you dont have to.
Unique actually means: See above.
In-law apartment actually means: There's a bed in the tool shed out back.
Spare bathroom actually means: A toilet and sink in the garage.
Urban living actually means: Ghetto (see Colorful neighborhood).
Zero lot line actually means: When you open up your bedroom window its going to hit the next house. If you spit out of your bathroom window, it will land in your neighbors kitchen. Hope you use public transportation or a bike because there is parking for only 1/4 a car.

We have none of these. We have big red front door, move-in ready with a pool and garden which we have come to understand is described simply as MONEY.
Now on to packing the old house up in boxes.
May stack and use them to create an indoor maze.
I dig on the idea of giant rats, just not real ones.

tweet tweet tweet

boy: let's tweet. we need a name.
boy: doesnotplaywellwithothers
girl: offmeds
girl: borkedfork
girl: feverishvag
girl: badvag
girl: cagedvag
girl: vaginacage
girl: vag in a cage
girl: cagedvulva
girl: straightjacketvulva
girl: tapeitshut
girl: omfgitbleeds
boy: genitalcandy
girl: genitalpop
girl: bringmeds
girl: donatelithium
girl: lithiumRus
girl: dentaljam
boy: iholdyourbreath
girl: bananasandblow
girl: junkievag
boy: nottheboozetalking
boy: theboozetalking
boy: talkingbooze
girl: nevermindthedrugs
girl: whitegloveheresy
girl: headpuke
boy: ragingtardon
girl: ragingtardation
girl: tardationnation
girl: nofoundation
girl: theassinclassy
boy: theassinclass
girl: hypotardon
boy: i can see this having 30 tweets an hour and then none for weeks

boy: hipolar
boy: highpolar
boy: crassballs
boy: imustbetrippin
girl: youmustbescriptin
girl: umustbescriptin
girl: hideyourscabsplease
girl: coverthatplease
girl: medicatethatnow
girl: burnitwithfire
girl: killitwithfire
girl: omfgstfukthxbye
boy: inspecthergadget
boy: OMGLOLkillyourself
girl: nocureonlyjelly
girl: omgloldietard
girl: OMGtardLOLdie
girl: nocureonlyham
girl: halfbakednutsack
boy: omgloldieretard
girl: omgloljustdie
girl: itshangingoutdouche
boy: shortbusgenius
girl: shortbusmensa
girl: mensatoast
girl: ltgovdouche
girl: ltgovdouchemd
girl: eatbullets
girl: tardbullets
girl: bulleteater
girl: bulleteaters
girl: bullet_eaters
boy: faketeats
girl: youregonnadieLOL
boy: LOLyouhaveaids
boy: tasteslikeshame
girl: tardsofafeather
girl: eatthehead
girl: aidsbus
girl: jesushasaids
girl: jesusherpes
girl: eatmyaids
girl: lickmytardbus
girl: windowlicker
girl: cortisonejesus
girl: lithiumjesus
girl: tardmessiah
boy: whatwouldjesuspoo
boy: WWJPoop
girl: WWJpoo
girl: cheesuspop
girl: untrainedtard
girl: retardus
boy: retardoricardo
boy: retroactivetard
boy: retroactiveretard
boy: contaminatedtard
boy: youarelemmings
boy: lemmingwhisperer
girl: mfinglemmings
girl: mindthebus
girl: infrontoftraffic
boy: runthoughtraffic
boy: enditnow
boy: tornadorally
girl: itsmyoxygen
girl: arsenictornado
girl: cyanidetornado
girl: fuandurmom
girl: fuandurdog
girl: wtgmedhead
boy: offyourmeds
boy: rxroulette

girl: rxroulette
girl: fucking hurrah.


*edited to appear twice as fucking manic.

Post apocalyptic shirt, you my only friend.

"Why were you late for work today?"
"Uh. Because I was mending my shirt."

I bought this shirt for 4.99 two weeks ago. The shirt is awesome by my standards, which means it is plain in color, fits and doesn't make me look fat (to myself, I might still look fat to other people but I don't give a fuck what anyone else thinks. Total lie.). When I put this shirt on for the first time, I knew it was going to be one of "those" shirts, the kind I wore until it fell apart, the kind I passed out still wearing after a hard night of sex drugs and rock n roll, the kind I shoved deep into my vagina pre-coitus (anal sex, obviously. Half lie). This damn shirt, even at 4.99, should not have started falling apart within a day but fuck it naysayers, I am going to save this shirt with my bare hands, because if there is one thing I love to do, it is proving my worth post-apocalypse.

The problem area is a seam right below my right breast. Both materials on the separate panels are some sort of hybrid nylonish cottony something. It pulled apart not in the way one could simply sew it back together without having to remove the entire seam running the length of the shirt, then re-stitching on a machine. Uh, no. I didn't want to Frankenstein it, so hand sewing was out of the question too. My solution was stitch witchery magic. This invention is the mack daddy and the daddy mack. You place it between two pieces of cloth, heat with an iron, and WA LA, it acts as some sort of fantastical cloth glue. Problem here is that I didn't have two pieces of cloth to glue back together so much as I had a bunch of shredded fibers I needed to miracle into cloth again. Whatever: we shall overcome, we. shall. overcome. The seam that shredded is tiny, the material already pulled taut. So I figured, I might try and use the stitch witchery to bind it together by mimicking a layer of thinly applied glue to the back of the whole seam burst. Genius. Yes, thank you. I placed the two pieces of material together as close as I could get them, put a piece of the stitch witchery behind it and behind that, put a piece of wax paper. Be the glue. BE THE GLUE. Yes, this can work. This will TOTALLY work!
Iron. Heat. Wait. Inspect.
My shirt is now glued to the wax paper.
Fuck.
Fail.
Try again.
Same result.
Fuck.
Fail.
Flip the wax paper over?
Try again.
Same result.
Fuck.
Fail.

One might say I had wasted half an hours worth of time, but I counter that by saying a scientist's time is NEVER wasted (I am not a scientist). My fingers are tacky, the iron is pretty much ruined, the shirt smells a little like burned but fuck all if I don't look totally awesome having done all this experimenting while: bare foot, topless, wearing jeans and also a very nice hat. FTW! All you really need sometimes is to just feel like a fucking badass. Aw yeah, fuck you post apocalyptic shirt, I still got my smile.

Looking like Michael Jackson on his tippy toes, I grabbed my hat, leaned my head back, looked to the sky, my other hand reached into the air, and summoning all the power of GreySkull: I turned back to the garment, issued a soft high pitch sound like "YEEEEE", took the seam, added more stitch witchery, SHAZAAM went my fingers as I smushed it together (!), BLAZE went the iron as I blasted heat in its general direction (!), WHAM, BAM, ZIP ZOW ZOOM!!
TAKE THAT HA HA!!

Inspect. Uh. Ok. Right.
My shirt looks worse than had I Frankenstein-ed it with needle and thread, yea, and probably a torch too, but I got a cool hat on, so I totally put the shirt on ANY WAY.
I am gonna wear this bitch till it falls off me and blows away on the wind, like a frail leaf. One day, if you happen to be staring at my right breast and see a fucked up seam, you would be meeting my post apocalyptic shirt. Say hi. Patches? You bet. Frankenstein stitches? Hell yea. Next week it might require a tracheotomy. I intend to give it a quadruple bypass when necessary. This shirt may outlive your children.

I love you 4.99 shirt.
There is not a god damn thing I won't ever do for you.
KA-POW!

P.S.
Other things that make me handy at the End of the World.
1. I know how to properly select, chop and split wood.
2. I have built many tree houses, forts, and shelters from found material.
3. I have little morals, so killing in the name of defense or food is A-OK with me, pass the hammer boss.
4. I can catch, clean, and cook fish.
5. I know how to filter and sanitize water.
6A. I can sew cloth (+).
6B. Blood, guts, ooze and burns don't bother me, so if I needed to, I could probably sew your skin (double +).
7. I have teeth like a beaver.
8. My skin seeps a high caloric sugary substance.
9. I breathe fire, so we wouldn't ever have to worry about starting one by rubbing sticks together FUCK THAT I'LL COOK UP OUR MEAT AND KEEP US SAFE FROM BEARS!

Revised movie lines.

You had me at Jello. You had me. At. Jello.

YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TOOTH!

No one can eat 50 legs.

Show me the HONEY!

Frankly, my beaver, I don't give a damn.

I can't believe I gave my panties to a leek.

Say hello to my little blend!

Here's looking at you, squid.

May the horse be with you.

I pre spread people.

Heeeeereeeeee's Tawny!

There's no brace like foam. There's no brace like foam.

If you chill it, sea will come.

DEMOCRATICA! DEMOCRATICA!

A Martini. Bacon, not curd.

I'll get you my kitty, and your little blog too!

comiko dot pickles at gmail dot com

I might have accidentally gotten myself banned from Facebook today (or very very soon) for trying to change my name to Comiko Pickles (Pickles is my middle name). But how do they know. How do they know I did not go down to the courthouse yesterday and change my name to Comiko Pickles? Is it really necessary Facebook, to bust my balls on this?
Don't think I won't go to bat on this one. Standing at the stern of my ship, I may go down in flames with my fists pumping the sky for vengeance, but mark my words, I will have my name change; now and forever my name shall be known as Comiko Pickles.*

MARK THEM.

MARK THEM!

You can now reach me at comiko dot pickles at gmail dot com, by the way. If you send me your email, I will forward TO YOU, the pickle picture of the day.
DO IT.

I watched two movies last night. One called Dear Zachary: A letter to a son about his father. Warning - Gut wrenchingly beautiful tale. You will cry buckets, then more buckets, then right at the end, total waterfall; you'll leave wanting to battle the Canadian government or shoot a moose or something.
Also (!) a National Geographic special on Mara Salvatrucha (MS13): International Trend Setters. They are the machete chopping gang. Every time you hear about someone getting chopped by a machete, it is probably these guys. That's some pretty fear inducing shit to be honest. I am actually contemplating deleting this post in case they google themselves periodically and find MY blog and hunt me down; for fucks sake, I do not want to be chopped by a machete. Ever. EVER.

Five other things I never want to violently come in contact with my skin:
1. Cheese Grater
2. Torch
3. Nail Clippers
4. False Teeth
5. YOUR MOMS VAGINA

Sorry.

* Now and Forever or until I decide to change it to something else.

Is This Really Necessary.

Being honest with yourself is hard.
A friend once told me to never write about real life.
I suppose this is good advice.
Eventually I may be brought up on charges.
Or I will disappear and someone will be sad I went away.

I wasn't supposed to reveal my earlier post, which was written more than a week ago. Well. I was advised not to.
Reading back over it, I still feel the same: it is honest.
So I decided for the purposes of history forever on the verge of being erased, it is necessary.

And now for something completely different...

I am officially embarking on the seas of a new mantra. Previous mantras have included the very popular, "NMFP (Not My Fucking Problem)", "Who Has it Worse" and "The Silver Lining". From now on I shall ask/state - Is This Really Necessary? That hat, that law, that attitude, that dog, that extra piece of cheese, that prescription, that mountain, that molehill, that crucifixion.
Is This Really Necessary.
I like it. Very eco. Minimal.

Speaking of venturing, I decided to conduct some personal research into the demographic groups that play Mafia and Vampire Wars. Unfortunately, I am working through a 2 day suspension of privileges set back for having added too many friends at one time on Facebook. Who knew. Detachment and social mutation as it relates to online communities and communication. I find interaction through filter-less means fascinating. Also grotesque.

Other items on my list for the next 4 years (in order):
Online Citywide Scavenger Hunt (in the works).
T-Shirts (four distinct lines created currently).
Personal Art Show (2 completed pieces, 2 nearing completion, and 5 more sketched out).
Finishing School (enrolled for summer 2011).
Taxidermy (staring at dead shit on the side of the road, wondering how psychotic I would appear, harvesting it after midnight).
Fucking Fish Paintings (I still hate you, fish of the world, but will eventually profit off you so, fuck off again, I win).

Maybe tomorrow I will make a bigger list.
Or not. It may be unnecessary.

alternate endings

Jaws
...they kill Jaws. The blood in the water attracts a large group of average sized tiger sharks. The men who survived are now picked to pieces, die slowly and very painfully.

Dawn of the Dead
...the remaining survivors fight back successfully and all the zombies are killed. The remaining population of humans, so small in size, breeds to replenish the earth but because the gene pool is so limited, all the offspring develop horrible abnormalities and extreme health problem, weakening the species further, until they all die out any way.

Return of the Jedi
...the Empire infects Endor with a virus, the Ewoks go totally feral, biting everyone and infecting them with Rage. The whole of Endor turns into 28 Days Later; bloodthirsty Ewoks ravage the moon hungry for flesh. The Empire uses trained Jedi to mind control them and sends the killer Ewoks out to take over the galaxy. Everyone still hates the Empire and now, the Ewoks too.

Leaving Las Vegas
....Nicholas Cage is convinced to go to rehab and sobers up. After realizing he is in love with a prostitute and she is pregnant with his baby, he opens up a vein in a hotel bathroom. Because of the repeated attempts at his life, he is committed to a mental institution where he remains for the next 20 years on heavy sedatives. Meanwhile Elisabeth Shue has his baby, it grows up without a father present and a mother who is still hooking. The child eventually becomes a Meth dealer. When Nick is finally released, his son, angry, hooks him on Meth purposely and then guts him like a fish, literally, during a ten day no sleep paranoia fueled drug haze.

Vanilla Sky
...it's not a dream and Tom Cruise is just schizophrenic. He has killed Penelope Cruz. The put him on trial for murder. Convicted and given the death penalty by lethal injection. Jason Lee shows up to witness his death.

Lord of the Rings
...Frodo totally fails. Sauron gets the ring back, and leading the orcs, they take over Middle Earth. Unchallenged, Sauron then turns on all the orcs killing them. Bored, he feels lonely. Wishes for friends. Doesn't even have a dog to keep him company. Regrets his choices. Cries a lot by himself lavaside. Develops lung cancer from hanging around too much volcanic ash. Sad.

Casino
...Crime bosses are brought to justice once in the courtroom - life sentences for all. Joe Pesci kills Robert De Niro, then Sharon Stone, picked up by the cops for both, sentenced to life. Bosses and Pesci all join the prison choir after turning their lives over to Christ. Become famous and put out a CD of their music. Give inner city turn your life around speeches about the dangers of trusting the Mob and gangs. Las Vegas Casinos continue to rape everyone of their money for the next 300 billion years.

yin yang

25 Things I am positively NOT going to do this weekend
(Friday Afternoon Work Procrastination Edition)

1. Rape anything organic.
2. Sing a song of sixpence.
3. Wrestle an alligator in a bikini.
4. Get a tattoo.
5. Fluff things (porn actors included).
6. Publish the cure for cancer.
7. Build a sacrificial alter in the likeness of Rob Pilatus.
8. Incubate or spit a byproduct out of my vagina.
9. Do the electric slide.
10. Buy any genetically modified animals.
11. Run for political office inside of the United States.
12. Use my super powers for good.
13. Steal anything with a label.
14. Drive my car off a bridge or into a wall.
15. Herd cats.
16. Use my incisors to tear into meat.
17. File bankruptcy.
18. Return the monkey.
19. Email anyone with the first name Jack or Jill.
20. Start a revolution.
21. Watch The Housewives of Beverly Hills.
22. Drool on my pillow.
23. Jiggle.
24. Shred documents vital to the continued stability of Parliament.
25. Be sad.

25 directly correlated ideas I am not positively ruling out as activities during the next 72 hours.
(Friday Afternoon Still Procrastinating Work Edition)

1. Fondle produce in the supermarket.
2. Fill my pocket full of rye.
3. Play UNO while lying naked on a bear skin rug.
4. Tag something with my new Graffiti artist name: Pookie Vajayjay.
5. Dip myself in oil; roll in feathers.
6. Write a grocery list.
7. Fantasize that Milli Vanilli is still together and booked to play my 37th birthday party.
8. Masturbate furiously and frequently.
9. Shark Mop my floors and then pull a Tom Cruise Risky Business move in my socks.
10. Grill steak.
11. Chart my advancement possibilities within the Canadian government.
12. Use my super powers for evil.
13. Steal a pair of something.
14. Take the city bus.
15. Wrangle teenagers.
16. Smile at a stranger.
17. File my nails.
18. Write a short story about my internet order, half-off deal, live monkey.
19. Post to my blog.
20. Start a fire (but not in a forest).
21. Watch The Housewives of Atlanta.
22. Drool on Husbandvestment's pillow.
23. Make Jello Shots.
24. Dance and Sing to Album: The Queen is Dead.
25. Be happy.

a few.

Jerk Move 572.
Lying down on the couch watching TV, with my legs in my husbands lap as he rubs my feet. I mistake my black toenail polish for a bug and scissor kick violently, knocking him in the face with one foot and balls with the other.
Way to go, no more foot rubs for you.

Jerk Move 38.
Coming out of Home Depot, wheeling on one of those long cart things a very large box containing an outdoor fireplace and right on top, a very small bag containing something very small. Walking through the parking lot, the wind begins to blow and my husband says, "Quick, grab the bag!", so I do, of course, then proceed with continued momentum, to wing it as hard as I can, through the air so it lands several yards away.
Me = Cackle.
Husband = Frowny Face.

Jerk Move 411.
Refuse to acknowledge anyone who does not address me directly by shouting through a used paper towel roll. For over two hours.

Jerk Move 68.
At a sushi restaurant, prawn head decorating the plate, and no one intends to eat it. After finishing meal, I repeat, "Eat the Head" until my husband indeed, eats the head and almost pukes all over the table as a result of combination nasty taste and disturbing "crunch" sound.
Take photos.
Repeat chant every time we eat sushi that includes a head.

i thought not.

Dedicated to my five beautiful mother friends out there, so very, very close to my heart, who are right now raising the awakened minds of our evolving nation. These beautiful mothers who have birthed, are teaching, raising and are on the back NINE, your kids approaching independence and you approaching midlife. These beautiful mothers who suddenly and without cause, collectively have had a stroke of biological clock countdown baby-mania.
When I use the word stroke, we are not talking epiphany like Einstein or genius like Da Vanci; we are referring to drooling 90 year old man, peeing his pants, brain shut the fuck down in a few key rationalization regions and if you think for a second I am going to allow in this crippled instance for your uterus, my doe eyed goddesses of peace and harmony, to be conquered by some invasive-ass, heat seeking missle sperm, you will find me on top of the mountain, with my picket sign and bullhorn, because I got at least 10 reasons : right here, right now : that will remind you why: Babies Fucking Suck.

10. They only smell good for a few days.
Like meat gone bad, these foul smelling creatures start to reek up the place shortly after you bring them home. They shit constantly because they eat constantly. Three years of feces and urine handling. That's over 1,000 days, after which you unwillingly become a biohazard expert having added in an endless, uncontrollable amount of snot and puke. Everywhere. On everything. Now it all smells.

9. They carry disease.
Rodents spread less germs. Since they mouth everything, you can count on removing any number of bizarre and disgusting things from their jaws. It will be covered in saliva and oh crap, gag reflex: See 10. I knew a woman who screamed uncontrollably watching in horror as her tiny daughter gummed a small, angry, live snake, refusing to surrender it. A snake. In her mouth. And she liked it enough to fight to keep it.
Your only true defense is putting them inside a bubble, in a secluded wing of the hospital, where everything it comes in contact with has undergone a five step process to make it sterile.
They catch every cold, and sickness carried on the wind. Their immune systems hold weekly tea parties, welcoming in new forms of bacteria and virus. Come. Stay. Make everyone else in the house sick.
Your 102° fever battling their 104° fever, changing puke soaked sheets at 3am in a hallucinogenic haze of insomnia. Now, do it again. And, again.
Then. Again.

Again.

Fuck you. Again.

8. They break easily.
Hold the baby very carefully, oh shit don't touch its soft spot, fuck this umbilical cord is awkward, holy shit wobbly loose neck head, must purchase the protected from any danger you can possibly imagine (and we come up with more everyday) car seat/stroller/playpen/crib/highchair/seat/toy/______, oh my god its scratching its face again get the nail clippers and mittens, is the bath water/food too hot/cold, what's this rash, is that dry skin or scales, it's snotting again, fuck not again with the puke, oh hold still please while I clean your everything, no kicking no kicking, don't wriggle off anything, fall out of anything, what's in its mouth again, its choking, oh geez it hit itself with something, it rolled on something, it fell on something, it walked into something, lock the cabinets, cushion the corners, protect the sockets, get rid of anything metal or glass, no sharp objects below 4 feet, we need a vehicle with more airbags, oh my god get out the bubble....
Take your eyes off it for 3 seconds and it will have broken itself, somehow whether spontaneously or otherwise.
You watch it. Constantly. Even when it sleeps, to make sure its still somehow miraculously breathing.
And if you are lucky to have this fucking scientifically intricate cellular miracle fall asleep safe and sound, have fun trying to rest yourself, waking to a daily pre-coffee panic attack in front of a live studio audience game of how long has it been awake totally unsupervised.

7. They don't have a mute button.
They cry. Loud. All the time. All hours of the day and night. In the middle of anything. Sometimes they don't stop. Sometimes for unknown reasons. They do not care to stop, even if you ask them to stop. Or beg them to stop. They don't give a shit. And until you figure out a precise set of Mensa written, 23rd level wizard spells in a foreign language, they continue to not give a shit. Even then, when the code has finally been broken and the puzzles solved, sometimes, they still, fucking loudly, fucking cry.

6. They are anti everything.
They won't let you have normal phone calls. They are anti TV and movie watching. They are anti reading. They are anti cooking. They are anti eating. They are anti cleaning. They are anti shower/bath taking - your own and theirs. They are anti public establishment. They are anti meetings and appointments. They are anti socializing.
They are selfish nihilists and now because of them, you are too. In a short amount of time, you just hate, the world.

5. They turn your brain into oatmeal.
You relearn the basics of life: colors, letters, numbers, your face contorted into a frozen lobotomized smile, glossy eyed, singing a set of catchy mind numbing songs now permanently burned into your psyche, entering your dreams unannounced and dropping your IQ (on average over the span of the first two years) 65 points.

4. They cost a lot of money.
Exponential yearly requirement of money for upkeep may eventually bankrupt and destroy you.

3. They are non-returnable.
Remember when you had a few bottles of wine at that dinner party with friends and laughed until two in the morning?
Remember when you woke up at 10am on a Saturday and took an hour to lazily get out of bed?
Remember when you went to the movies? That cool concert? That beautiful play?
Remember when you took a bubble bath?
Remember the last full nights worth of sleep you got? Or that nap you took?
Remember the last time you bought yourself a new outfit, got a pedicure, colored your hair, got your nails done?
Remember that romantic weekend vacation you took out of town?
Remember?
That was all before fucking babies came along.

2. They stretch, fatten, loosen, distort and morph your body in some irreversible manner just by incubating and birthing them.
I sneeze, pee my pants, upset my sciatic nerve and then just, cry. Fucking, hell.

1. They change everything.
Your comfortable routine, the life you knew, silently flutters away like a derailed train full of hyenas.
With each new baby, you hit reset. All the rules in the game change, get more complex and take double the amount of time to get used to.
Back to start for you; do not pass GO, do not collect $200.00 and oh wait - surprise! It's twins.

bathroom rules

Rule Number One: If I am around ANY bathroom and you happen to be around me and said bathroom because you or I are about to enter/exit, don’t ever fucking talk to me. Ever. It’s just weird. Let us just be invisible.

Rule Number Two: Don’t answer your cell phone in the bathroom. In fact, don't even bring it in there. When you talk at double volume in order to cover the sound of you urinating (or god only knows what else you do in there), it appears to me that you are shouting to yourself. Thats schizophrenic behavior, mate, and I might have to make a mental ward call.

Rule Number Three: If you are in charge of placing the water cooler somewhere in the office never put it near or in sight of the bathroom. This is just plain disgusting even though it seems to be the standard for water cooler placement committee everywhere I have ever worked. Gross. I don't want to drink that water and damn it, I am fucking dehydrating over here.

Rule Number Four: Bathroom time is alone time. We do not need buddies like we are in kindergarten; please do not ask me to escort you to the toilet.

Rule Number Five: Shut and lock the damn door. ALWAYS.

Let us never speak of these things again.

RideHer.

If I was famous, I would need a Rider for all appearances (to include dental and gynecology appointments).
This is what the famous do. Demand shit and get it.

MY RIDER
12 bottles Fiji water (chilled on ice)
2 bottles quality Cabernet Sauvignon
2 bottles Australian Sauvignon Blanc (chilled on ice)
6 cans of Red Bull (chilled on ice)
1 bottle Jagermeister (chilled on ice)
1 bottle Jack Daniel's
12 cans of Coke
Pita bread
Fresh Hummus
Shrimp Cocktail
Olives with Garlic Cloves in the center
Cheese tray (assorted)
Fruit tray (watermelon, kiwi, star fruit, and Bing cherries)
4 Medium Rare Filet Minions, seared and thinly sliced
1 Key Lime Pie
1 pack Hubba Bubba Strawberry bubblegum
1 pack Hubba Bubba Watermelon bubblegum
Over sized red couch with lots of fluffy down pillows
12 Nerf hand crossbows with extra darts
6 BigWheels for adults
Bob Sagat
Red Panda

Unless fame came in the form of great stupidity or illegal activity, in which case this list consists of 1 orange jump suit.

Nevermind.

Things I do not want to hear. Byproduct Edition.

How old do I have to be to wear a thong?
We have no snacks/there is nothing to eat.
Pretty soon, I'll be able to drive.
Can I stay in the house alone, by myself, overnight?
I gave my friend some of your condoms.
What if I want to be an interior decorator?
I need _______ (requires money).
What's for dinner?
My phone isn't working.
Can you get an STD from oral sex?
She's touching me.
We have no milk/toilet paper/bread/paper towels/tampons.
Do YOU have a vibrator?
When are we going to get there/how much longer is it going to be until we get there/how long does it take to get there/when are we leaving?
I don't feel good.
Do we have to watch this show/movie?
I don't like _______ (whatever I have cooked for dinner).
I can't find it.
She's making that face again.
I might have broken something.
Can you take me to the mall?

ten new things to be freakishly scared of pretty much all the time

1. Walking by a small hook of some sort, that is near my head, and catching the hook on the outside corner of my eye, thus yanking my skull back hard and causing me to bleed profusely.

2. Driving and flicking my cigarette ash out of the window too hard, causing the cherry to pop off and hit dried gasoline on the outside of the car (because when I was filling the tank, it overflowed and I didn't clean it good enough), thus igniting a gas trail leading straight into my tank, exploding my car into tiny bits.

3. Stepping in a hole, while wearing heels, so unexpected and at the precise slant/depth that my foot literally cracks off at the ankle.

4. Drinking heavily in the pool, unaware that a storm has suddenly rolled in and fumbling, unable to get out of the water before lightning makes direct contact.

5. Burning my forearms badly on the edge of the oven door because for some reason the springs spontaneously reactivate causing it to close while I am attempting to pull a large pan out. Or panicking because I think it is about to happen, using my knees to stop the door from going back up, resulting in burning the fuck out of my knees/shins.

6. Disposing of trash in any dumpster and coming in visual contact with a dead body. Also, being shoved in a trunk when kidnapped and coming in physical contact with a dead body.

7. Meeting a random seller on Craigslist, who lives in a wealthy neighborhood, but is really a serial killer with a sound proof basement and three car wide I can take my time disposing of your vehicle and body garage.

8. My face being eaten off by any animal; the smaller the mouth, the worse the vision.

9. Shredding my knuckles or hand while grating cheese.

10. Falling into lava face first and not being able to yell because it might get in my mouth.

Jobs I Would Like To Have Before I Die. v1

1. Toll Booth Operator
2. Carny
3. Projectionist at a Porn Theatre
4. Orange Vest Wearing, Traffic Coordinating, Stop Sign Carrier
5. Tambourine Player in a Hari Krishna Cult at the Airport
6. Bingo Caller
7. Suspected Antichrist
8. Strip Club DJ
9. Christmas Tree Logger
10. Puppeteer (Hand)
11. Graveyard Shift Police Precinct Checker-Iner
12. Organ Grinder with Monkey
13. Elvis Impersonator

Reasons why I am an Asshole. June 2010 edition.

1. Known to bite, wrestle, punch, poke, karate kick, imitate dinosaurs, rabid dogs and tigers, while licking and drooling on unsuspecting people at varying moments throughout the day/night.
2. Will purposely not pour myself a drink, just so I can reach for yours. And finish it. And laugh.
3. Steals. Hats, boxer shorts, decrepit old sweaters.
4. Likes to blow hard into your mouth when you think you are going to get a kiss. Hilarious.
5. Laughs at pain; your pain, twice as much.
6. Would make you wait for dinner if sudden urge to clean kitchen baseboards was too overwhelming.
7. Does not allow ownership of anything covered in patterns of dots.
8. Stays up way too late, gets bored, will occasionally wake you up for company figuring your 11pm-2am rest time a good enough nap, OLe!
9. Weekdays, as good as weekends for debauchery, fuck your 8am meeting, that's what coffee is for fool.
10. 3am scientific experiments and backyard urban development planning.
11. Hates your dog.
12. Would annihilate 98% of the population if given the resources.
13. Could be resourceful enough if procrastination wasn't so much fun.
14. Will flake or bail on plans 50% of the time for no reason what so ever.
15. Lies. Not because I have to but because its good practice in creative thinking.
16. Makes you wait in anticipation, of nothing, because its the waiting that is fun. At least, I think it is so you must as well.
17. Pretty much assumes you all think the same way I do, unless I deem you do not, in which case, have some cyanide. Just kidding. Not really.
18. Jokes, you never know. Laughter, never a clue.
19. Distracted by shiny things, hardly ever finishes
20. Argues incessantly.
21. Asinine rules reset every 24 hours.
22. Wanders in a daydream state so often fiction melds with reality, causing me to pick random fights about something that never actually happened.
23. Fights to win, with bricks if necessary, cheating always an option.
24. Requests the procurement of bizarre items with no personal intention of ever owning such, purpose being only to beg for something I know I will never have.
25. Can, have and will play one song on repeat... for more than 48 hours. Straight. Loud.
26. Ninja tendencies.
27. At some point in friendship will ask you to wear an animal costume and make you feel so bad for saying no, you'll agree to do it twice.
28. Still hates your fucking dog.

kiss me kiss me kiss me

In case you haven’t read the news this morning, here is a quick vague headline recap of the world: Death, civil war, bombing, murder, starvation, execution, death, rape, radicalism, violence, sadness, badness, death OH and more death.
Welcome to Friday, my lovelies.
Do everyone a favor and if you have had the supreme privilege of logging onto your computer or having a cup of coffee this morning, say a small prayer of thanks to the Universe. You could have woken up to bullets, blasts and bombs.

This weekend, my Top Ten Don’t Forget To:
1. Close your mind to the views and opinions of others.
2. Fear leaving your comfy little box.
3. Complain about something inane.
4. Prioritize backwards.
5. Blindly follow the Flavor of the Month sheep (or lemmings).
6. Deny reality: gas-up the car, buy a condo or go shopping at the dollar store.
7. Impose your belief system on others.
8. Get angry at something you cannot control (traffic, waiting in line).
9. Misinterpret or assume without clarification.
10. Kick a small dog or old woman down some stairs (might as well).

Then again, maybe you could just remember to give someone a hug, kiss, smile or a little bit of your time. Why not make it a point to spread love and understanding to as many people you can this weekend. It’s actually, far easier. Maybe it will catch on and spread. Perhaps then one day I can report the major news headlines as Peace, Love, Happiness, Discovery, and Success.

Camelot is such a silly place.

I kinda wish all my Chai Tea brought the boys to the yard because milkshakes aren't really my thing.
I wonder where my coffee brings the boys; I haven't run into them yet and I am beginning to worry they might be wandering around confused somewhere.

Things I will miss about working in the shop:
Being able to loofah my lips with vinyl.
Mike and Ike OCD sorting time.
Being barefoot.
Playing loud music.
Getting contact high when people paint inside the building.
Political debates with David.
Wearing clothes with rips, stains, covered in dried paint, that don't match and not caring.
Playing with new power tools.
Shop respect.
Being able to yell across the building.
Goofing off with a sweaty Shawn who lets me use his super cool welding mask.

Do the boys go to the front yard or the back yard because there are no real specifics in reference to exact location.
I hope they do not use Mapquest either as they might end up in my neighbors yard and I would hate to have someone upset at me for that kind of mistake.

Things I will NOT miss about working in the shop:
The water cooler being near the bathroom.
Talking about.... sunshine. And junkies.
Headache from the contact high when people paint inside the building.
The smell of acrylic burning.
The mind numbingly loud machines.
Paranoia about spiders.
Two words: CANDY MACHINE.
Thinking at any moment a rat will nibble at my toes.
Meat Locker temperatures.
Parking under sappy trees.
Cleaning my carpet with the anthrax vacuum.
Dogs.

Am I required to have punch and pie for the boys or is someone providing refreshments?
After arriving, can we move the boys to the living room or at least the porch? I am concerned there is not adequate seating in the yard.

Things I am looking forward to:
Being busy.
Using my brain.
Playing new music for my coworkers and singing funk/soul/R&B again with Gary.
Lightening the mood.
Having a bathroom that doesn't make me feel like puking when using it.
Coffee pot access: AMEN.
Clean air ducts.
A better chair to sit in.
Not having to walk across the street every time I have a design question.

I do not think I will be bringing any boys to the yard, on second thought.
The grass is not doing so well and what remains will probably just get trampled.
Boys are generally rough like that.

put to good use, finally

Baby A La King
Baby Stroganoff
BabyBurger with Cheese
Baby Pot Pie
Roasted Baby with New Potatoes
Baby Flambé
Babydog
Thai Pineapple Baby Curry
Baby Casserole
Moo Goo Baby Pan
Baby Rolls with Peanut Sauce
Baby Lo Mein
Baby Teriyaki
General Tso’s Baby
Broiled Bacon wrapped Baby
Cheese Pizza with onions and extra Baby
Peanut Butter and Baby Sandwich
Baby Pinwheels
Grilled Baby Kabobs
Baby on Field Greens with Balsamic Vinaigrette dressing
Stuffed Baby with Cranberry Sauce
Fricassee of Baby
Braised Baby
Baby Quesadillas – side of Guacamole
Lemon-Garlic Baby
Sweet and Sour Baby
Chili Con Baby
Baby Chowder Soup with Pan Fried Bread