Archive | Being Adult RSS feed for this section

Bread Explodes Ducks

26 Jun

Hey guys!

When I was a tiny human, the park nearest to my home was known for one thing– the Thug Duck.

He was this clean, normal looking duck until you got really close. If you weren’t close enough to the pond to threaten him, you could lure him to the shore with bread crumbs. Slowly, he’d come a little bit closer.

At the top of his little duck head, all of his feathers were up turned– almost as if he were trying to mimic the Elvis pompadour or a feathery afro.

He walked with such a heavy limp, but that wasn’t quite normal either. It was like watching Long John Silver from the Muppet’s Treasure Island. The character literally did not have a leg, and would have swing his peg back and forth to maneuver himself across a cramped ship kitchen. This duck walked just like that.

He’d swing his leg forward with every step and we were never sure whether to pity him… or whether he was a duck with swagger. Honestly, we felt like it would have been rude to ask.

He had this look in his eye, too. Like if you got too close, he’d rip your leg off. You would think, Oh ducks can’t do that. Tiny beak. large human leg. Math. But you’d be wrong– and if you looked this duck in the eye, you’d know that.

More recently though, at this local park, a friend and I were walking around a pond and kept seeing these strange signs everywhere:



If you came to this blog expecting high art, you have another thing coming, bro.

So, apparently, we can’t feed ducks bread anymore. Neither of us really knew why. There were dispensers all around the pond full of “duck food”– which really just looked like dog food.

Occasionally one would look at us with a glimmer of hope, only to see us grab stuff from the dispenser. The ducks just waddled off sadly when we tried to offer them food.

Meanwhile, the geese had a ravenous look in their eye. They looked like they wanted to goose us to death– then again, that’s how the geese always look.

After some highly intellectual deductions, my friend and I decided that the sign meant:


I imagine that it would explode in a ball of flame and gas, but maybe it’d explode into a mess of candy and confetti. I don’t know. I’ve never exploded a duck before.

Really, that was the only logical conclusion.

Unfortunately, I haven’t seen the Thug Duck since I was in high school…but I’m certain he went out in a blaze of glory.

In other news, I’ve finished listening to “The Ocean At the End of the Lane”, written and narrated by Neil Gaiman. He is a fantastic narrator, but you can read my full review on goodreads if you are so inclined.

I’m now listening to “Guilty Pleasures” by Laurell K. Hamilton. It was free through my public library, and I’ve heard great things about it as an urban fantasy novel with vampires in it. It sounded like a good read.

… but y’all. I cannot get five minutes into it without giggling.

I think something in me is broken. Well, sort of. Maybe.

It is narrated by a lady who has this tendency to make the guy voices sound– oh my goodness, they sound hilarious. Plus, my natural immaturity comes out when I have a story like this one read out loud… I don’t know if I’ll end up finishing it.

I work in disability insurance, guys. If I start giggling in my cubicle, people will think I’ve gone mad.

Audiobooks with Joe ‘Damnation-For-All” Smith

11 Jun

My first experience with audiobooks was as a teenager. As a busy person who spent most of my time between AP study groups and band practice, reading was only something I did in short bursts—like, in those moments when the trumpet section had to spend half an hour working through their part, while the rest of us had to sit there and wait.

Thankfully, we never had any trumpeters with much skill.

Since I was so caught up between school, extracurricular, and copious amount of internet use, I decided to try audiobooks. After all, they’re something you can listen to while studying or while driving. Sure, you can’t listen to them while playing the flute, but you can only expect so much from the world.

In between band and school, though, I actively participated in a church youth group, and I got it in my head to attempt to read the entire bible. Yeah, I was that kid. Also, if you haven’t noticed, the bible is huge. Like the size of the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy, including all the appendices and The Hobbit. I didn’t have the time, much let the energy to power through it all… so I decided to try an audiobook.

As a student, though, I was cheap and clever. Many classics, including religious texts, can often be found for free as an audiobook, if you search the internet hard enough. For “The Holy Bible”, I found the audiobook under ‘Podcasts’ from iTunes. It had every book narrated by the same guy—seemed legit… until I turned it on.

Immediately, the audio starts with the sounds of thunder and lightning. It goes on for a bit—for dramatic effect, I assume—until a loud booming voice burst into my headphones saying “IN THE BEGINNING”.

I can only imagine that in some studio, there was some older gentleman reading the bible. Then, he is stopped. A producer peeks out from behind his monitor to say, “Try it again. But this time, make your voice deeper—almost scary. Think: hell fire, the plagues, floods to destroy mankind, top it off with a pinch of damnation. Remember, you’re competing against the thunder that we’re putting in the background.”

I couldn’t make it past thirty seconds… and the worst part is that I listened to the first 30 seconds to minute of at least 10 books—and all of them were like that. All of them.

After that, it was a while before I dared pick up another audiobook.

More recently, however, I’ve gotten a job where I’m alone in my cubbie, talking to no one for most of the day. I could listen to the back noise of the office—people walking, the drip coffee makers, the mumbling of a couple of radios, the fax machine… that damn fax machine. OR I could put my headphones on and listen something.

After I went through my entire iTunes library, I decided to delve into audiobooks again—only, this time, it wouldn’t be a free version of The Holy Bible narrated by Joe “Damnation For All” Smith.

Instead, I picked up “Howl’s Moving Castle” by Diana Wynne John narrated by Jenny Sterlin.

Guys, oh my gosh, y’all. It was awesome.

Jenny Sterlin had the perfect voice for this book. She was able to sound formal and smart for younger Sophie, and switch to the old and wily Sophie when she needed to. Even outside of the dialogue, her voice gave me that nostalgic feeling of being a third-grader again. I could remember sitting on the floor of my classroom, listening to my teacher read us a story. There was that feeling of nostalgic captivation throughout the entire story.

Now, I’m somewhat obsessed with finding audiobooks with great narration. I’ve finished Howl’s Moving Castle, and decided to pick up “Let’s Pretend This Never Happened” written/narrated by Jenny Lawson—aka The Bloggess. (Really, if you don’t know who she is, you should crawl out from under that rock you’ve been living under and google it).

I figure, a book narrated by the same person who wrote it had to be pretty good, right? Right. Totally

Update: I’m now between three and four hours into “Let’s Pretend This Never Happened”– it’s hilarious. I listened to the chapter on her experience in human resources and was laughing in my cubicle. My co-workers gave me looks of judgement. They’re totes jelly.

Peace out my home slices!

Just Being Honest

23 Apr

Hey y’all!

Sometimes, I wonder what high school people go to where they did not learn that bathrooms echo.

Fun fact, walk into any woman’s bathroom, and your voice will carry and echo—you’re conversation isn’t like Bilbo trying to sneak past Golum, all quiet and sneaky and successful. No. At best, you’d be more like Bill the Pony just wanting to follow Sam into the Mines of Moria like a faithful little pony… but you can’t because you’re just a pony…

Or, you’re like Pippin when everyone’s trying to quiet and stealthy up in those Mines of Moria– because everyone know those mines are filled with orcs. But then, because you’re not the brightest crayon in the hobbit crayon box, you stumble into a skeleton and push it down a well. Now everyone knows y’all are in Moria, Pippin. Pippin! You fool of a Took!

Right. Point being, there’s no chance you’re going to be successful.

When I walked into the bathrooms at work the other day, I heard something that I haven’t heard in a long time:

Now, I’m just being honest…

That phrase caught my ear—probably because I haven’t heard it since high school. I thought people grew out of the phrase. I thought people understood. I guess, hoping that I’d never hear that phrase again was like hoping Sam would ever get his precious pony back.

When people say, “Now I’m just being honest”, it seems like what they literally mean is “this is my subjective-somewhat-exaggerated-opinion”. Any logical person would think that “I’m just being honest” was something you could take literally—but no.

The idea that you had to preface this sentence with the phrase “Now, I’m just being honest” is a huge red-flag for me. What were you doing at every other point in this conversation? Lying to me? Lying to yourself? Telling Bill the Pony that Sam will be back in a minute?

Sam will not be back in jiffy, Bill, and you are not “just being honest”.

When I was a little bitty human being in second grade, I looked a bit like a hobbit, as most kids do. Every Monday our teacher would do a “characteristic of the week”, and, more than one week, we had honesty. It was around this time when I first heard this phrase.

The teacher would say, “Honesty is very important. Can you think of any good examples of someone being honest?”

Then that one kid—there’s always ‘that-one-kid’, even in the 2nd grade—would say, “Sometimes, cheaters tell the teacher on themselves and that’s honest.” That kid would get a gold star and sucker from the teacher.

This unleashed a spree in my second grade class. Suddenly, every kid who had ever done anything wrong would be like, “TEACHER! I CHEATED!” And, because they were being honest, they’d get no punishment AND a sucker.

Chaos. Mayhem. Destruction– 2nd grade.

When people say, “I’m just being honest”, my brain comes back to that. I imagine that this 20 to 40 year old woman gossiping in the bathroom was once a second grade girl who learned the definition of honesty, put it into practice, and got a sucker for it.

The thing is, we aren’t in 2nd grade anymore. “Just being honest” isn’t a pass to say or do whatever you want, bro— and you can’t throw a skeleton down the well and expect Gandalf to be alright with that.

I thought this was a basic fact that you learned in 3rd grade, around the same time you learned that gossiping in the bathroom was a terrible idea because bathrooms always echo…

Peace out, my home slices!

P.S. I made some more typographic things. I’ve posted them below, but, for the future, I’ll probably just throw them onto:

Pinterest or Tumblrthe fault


My Life was not Made By Disney

7 Apr

Hey guys!

My life has been a madhouse—cray, as us gangsters say.

After years and years of not fitting in at home, feeling a little awkward, some big beardy man came up to me a few weeks ago and was all like “If you become a hero, you’ll get to live in this big awesome mansion. You should totally do it!”

And, because I take advice from complete strangers, I went for it.

I grabbed my side kick—a short little guy with some goat legs. I don’t know what the deal with the goat legs is. I figured it was rude to ask or stare too closely.

Day after day, we walked straight into the craziest situations and saved people—more or less. We stepped on some snakes, slayed some dragons, took some orphans out of the bottom of wells.

People were screaming my name. Confetti was involved. There was no cake. The cake was a lie.

After a few months of utilizing my incredible strength to save the people who can’t save themselves, I was within an inch of that fancy mansion that beardy man was talking about…

… and then there was a catch.

The beardy man gave me a look. It was one of those weird looks that people give you when you have something on your face, but no one wants to tell you. It’s never a good situation.

Apparently, sidekicks aren’t allowed. Particularly, sidekicks with goat feet. Haters.

It wasn’t until I woke up with my face on my keyboard and imprints of keys on my face that I realized that I shouldn’t go to sleep with Hercules playing in the background.

In the meantime, I have gotten one of those “real people jobs”. From 8 to 5 I pretend to be a fully functioning adult. Then, when I get home, I crash into a stupor of Disney movies and sleep.

I don’t have much free time anymore, but, occasionally, I’ll get around to messing with some image editing website. Me and Pixlr have become besties as of late– but I wasn’t quite sure what to do with my creations… then I realized, that’s totally the point of a blog, right? Right. Yeah. Absolutely.

jude the obscure

If I had read this quote in middle school, I would have downed in a pool of Evanescence, terrible poetry, and depressing literature.

the book thief

The first line from The Book Thief– one of my favorite books. True story bro.

the dresden files

I’m slowly making my way through the The Dresden Files series, and lines like this bring a goofy look to my face that make people think that I’m a bit crazy.

hebrews 1112

You know, I don’t think I’d ever heard this verse until I saw it on tumblr… I figure, I lost all my free time somewhere between tumblr and Pixlr and work. Oh, and traffic.

This is pretty much how I’ve been spending my free time lately. Feel free to leave suggestions for quotes, or tips on how to make this stuff better. My little cubicle at work will probably be littered with these things–and that’s really what I’m hoping for.

Oh, also, I’ll be posting these things to pinterest, so feel free to check them out ther’: Pinn ALL THE THINGS.
Peace out my home slices!

The Glorious Grilled Cheese

3 Mar

Hey y’all! I’m Not Paula Deen, and I’m going to teach how to cook a great American classic– grilled cheese.

For those of y’all how have not had the pleasure of experiencing the glory that is the grilled cheese sandwich… go ahead and crawl out of that rock you’ve been living under. Grilled cheese is a heavenly combination of bread, cheese, and butter that could make even Paula Deen weep.

Earlier today a week or so ago, one of my favorite beauty vlogers, Essie Button, deviated from her normal videos and put up a video on how to make grilled cheese and— holy moly, it’s awesome.

Now, as a tride and true citizen of the state of Georgia, I have my own ways of making grilled cheese, so I decided to follow Essie’s directions and mix in my own flair for grilled cheese and see the result.

Unfortunately, I forgot to take pictures until I was half way through eating it– so I’ve illustrated the steps with the memories from my brain.

Step One:

Ascertain boyfriend.

Well, I don’t have a boyfriend so I have mythical dragon at my side. He wears an apron too.


This is my dragon: Benny Dark-Lord-Of-Death. His apron would have had words and color…. but ain’t nobody got time for that.

Step Two: Bread time.

Essie used some uber fancy bread… but we’re a bit more simple than that up in my house. So I have a regular kroger brand bread– really, though, the important part is the crust. The crust is one of the best parts of the grilled cheese. Instead of using fancy bread, I use the two end pieces of the loaf. True story bro. It’s legit.

Step Three: Add fire.


As the Queen of Fire, my grilled cheeses tend to be extra crispy.

Normally, I’d use my stove– but, today, I have a dragon. So, instead of using the stove, you have to carefully balance the skillet on the nose of your dragon, much like a seal with a beach ball.

However, make sure you don’t tell your dragon that he’s like a seal with a beach ball because it will piss him off. Dragons like to think of themselves as fearsome beasts that haunt the nightmares of everyone– from small children to seasoned warriors. Therefore, while you are cooking your sandwich, be sure to encourage your dragon by saying things like:

Oh my gosh, you look so fearsome when you use your fiery-breath.

The sound you make when lighting a fire is like the sound of a thousand screaming children, or the whimper of dying kittens.

Or even,

This sandwich is going to be crispier than that village you burned up last week.


Essie added butter exactly where the sandwich is– but here in Georgia, Paula Deen is our state mascot, and we know better than that. Take your butter and spread it all over the pan. If you find yourself asking: is this enough butter, add a bit more and maybe that’s enough.

Step Five: It’s Cheese Time

Essie used pre-sliced cheese, and I’m all up on that. Just make sure that you don’t have too much coming up over the side of the bread, because the excess will melt and burn to the bottom of the pan.

Personally, I like to add a bit of cilantro, parsley, salt, and pepper at this point because it makes me feel like I actually know what I’m doing in the kitchen.

Step Six: Eggs, Bacon, Awesomeness

In her video, Essie just made a regular grilled cheese, but I woke up at noon today and wanted some breakfast.
I made scrambled eggs and hoisted it on top of the sandwich after I added the cheese, and you could do the same with bacon, salami, or whatever you like to have in your grilled cheese sammich.

Step Seven: The Other Bread

Stick the other piece of bread and put it on top of your cheese and egg mountain. Think of it like Bilbo Baggins has just gotten to the Misty Mountains and has seen the treasure of cheese and egg guarded by a great and terrible dragon– our metaphorical bread dragon.

Apparently, there are many dragons involved in the making of a grilled cheese. Who knew?

Step Eight: Acrobatics!

After a few moments, when the bottom piece has gotten all nice and crispy, you’ll need to flip it. This part get’s a bit tricky because your dragon assistant is already balancing your pan precariously on his nose, and now you have to use a spatula and try to flip it.

Step Nine: Reassembly

Now that you’ve dropped your sandwich, and it’s contents are spread chaotically across your skillet, it’s time to reassemble. Don’t worry, it’s not too hard: bread, egg, cheese, crispy bread.

Step Ten: Mo’ Butter

To add butter to the other side of the sammich, Aslan and Essie picked up the sandwich and added the butter.

I, however, am lazy. I scoot the flipped sandwich to the other side of the pan and, on the empty side, I toss in some butter. Once it’s mostly melted, I scoot the sandwich back over.

Yeah, I’m a boss.

Step Eleven: Plate time!

Once your bread is nice and crispy, your sandwich is pretty much done, bro. Tell your mythical dragon that his reign of chaos and destruction will have to be saved for another day.

Congratulations! You now have a delicious grilled cheese sammich!

This would have been a picture of a grilled cheese, but I ate it before I even thought about taking a pic.

This would have been a picture of a grilled cheese, but I ate it before I even thought about taking a pic. Needless to say, light came down from the heavens and shined on me whilst I ate it.

Slender: The Coffee Mug

8 Feb


As a recent college graduate, I’ve been going a lot of that unemployment thing.

For those of y’all who have never done this unemployment thing—i.e. trust fund children and people with a fairy godmother—it’s an incredibly frustrating train to be on. It’s constantly going from high speeds to a dead stop as you navigate through scheduling interviews and fighting off boredom… it’s a judgmental train too. Makes you want to punch the train in the face

I might have stretched this train metaphor too far.

Regardless, in my copious amounts of free time, I’ve been on Pinterest looking at all the funny pictures and snapshots of things I can’t afford. One of the large sections within Pinterest is the diy/craft section—clearly, a section where you just count all the things you think you want to do, but will never actually get around to doing.

However, there was one awesome tutorial that I saw and immediately just did because it’s awesome: how to make a personalized coffee mug with nothing but a white mug and a sharpie.

This is the link to the original blog tutorial for custom sharpie mugs:“A Beatuiful Mess”.

Caffeine Holding Utility Device: Complete With Universal Grip Handel

Caffeine Holding Utility Device: Complete With Universal Grip Handel

My sister and I have two things in common:

  1. Our love for coffee
  2. Our love for Slender: The Eight Pages

So, when I saw this, I immediately thought that I could make her a Slender-themed coffee mug and take my title as Best Sister Ever. All will bow to my supreme awesomeness.


Achievement Unlocked: Don’t Look Behind You

If you’ve never played Slender before, it’s a great indie-horror game. Best of all, it’s free—the best price there is, really.

If you’ve ever had a nightmare where you’re in a forest, and you’re not sure why, but you realize that you’re being followed… that’s the basic feeling of this game. In the game you need to collect eight pages for no specified reason, and, all the while, the Slender Man is watching.

I’m not going to give a full description, but for more information, this is the official page: Slender: The Eight Pages

Basically, here is what I did:

I started with a cheap white coffee mug that I got from the dollar store and a black sharpie that I had left over from my college supplies.

For this coffee mug, I wanted take a lot of elements from the eight pages that you collect in the game.

Really, it would be awesome to draw a picture of the forest illuminated by a flashlight—but I’m not that much of an artist, bro.

Ain’t nobody got time for that.

The eight pages are all drawn in messily and frantically, which means that it’s easy for a beginner like me-self.

As far as the design goes, I divided the coffee cup into three basic parts: top rim, middle, bottom rim. The middle is where the large illustrations would go, and I divided that into three basic parts too.

I started off by sketching out my three illustrations, which are three of the pages, each divided by one of those creepy trees.

Two Dimensional Ink Capturing Illustration Device: Now Made With Real Trees!

Two Dimensional Ink Capturing Illustration Device: Now Made With Real Trees!

Across the top and bottom rims, I wrote some of the messages from the pages, like “Don’t Look… or it takes you” and “Leave Me Alone”. When I got to the center of the top rim, I made the writing big and featured the title of the game, Slender.

Utility Caffeine Capturing Ceramic Device: Now in HD!

Utility Caffeine Capturing Ceramic Device: Now in HD!

Overall, the cup is a bit busy, with a lot of images and words to catch your eye, but the things that stands out the most is the huge drawing of the Slender Man that I put in the center of the mug.

[Tip: If you mess up with your sharpie, just use a bit of nail polish remover, and the mistake will come off cleanly. ;)]

slender1 006

slender1 008

slender1 007

slender1 005

Once you have your coffee mug decorated to your satisfaction, stick it in the oven for 350 degrees F for about thirty minutes. I’d also recommend putting it on a baking trey while it’s baking and cooling, and not touching it until it is completely cool. My oven mitt touched part of it while still cooling and a couple of the letters on the handle of smudged.

Hydrophobic Ceramic Coffee Dispenser: Now Holding 0% More Coffee And 100% More Fear!

Hydrophobic Ceramic Coffee Dispenser: Now Holding 0% More Coffee And 100% More Fear!

Overall, it turned out quite nicely. If I can get my hands on a rainbow of sharpies, I’ll defiantly try to make a Minecraft mug or, maybe, a mug with my favorite quotes on it. Sharpies are like duct tape—they make the world AWESOME!

Side note:

Here is the original tutorial blog post for sharpie coffee mugs here: “A Beautiful Mess”.

You can find me on Pinterest Here: BLARG; and on Twitter here: BLARG

Lastly, you can find the official Slender page here: Slender: The Eight Pages

Being Adult: They See Me Rollin’. They Hatin’.

15 Jan

Let me assure you, they are not “tryin’ to catch me ridin’ dirty”. The Po-po, that is. The police. I don’t drive around with illegal drugs is what I’m trying to say.

Now that we’ve gotten past that unnecessary clarification, I have a few stories to tell you.

The day after I got my drivers permit, my mom took me out to the local library to begin learning how to drive. This was possibly the worst idea my mom has ever had.

When we got there, the library was crowded—apparently my library has a rush hour. who knew?—and I was a ball of anxiety. Sure, I was only going ten miles in a parking lot, but those videos of deceased teens that drove off an icy road, drove home drunk, etc were the only thing could think of. It felt like my ultimate doom, my final game over, those ill-mannered fates that were determined to destroy me would all collide in this library parking lot.

Luckily, I didn’t die.

Unluckily, I did back into a light post… it just came out of nowhere.


Don’t let that concrete brick at the bottom of the lamp post fool you. Lamp posts are like ninjas. Concrete can’t stop them.

After that, I didn’t drive for the next two years, leading me to only get my drivers license when I was 20.

Even now, when I drive there is this overwhelming sense of nervousness that escalates when I see other drivers being worse at driving than I am. It takes a really special person to do that—or maybe just an intoxicated person.

You never really know what road rage feels like until someone pulls out in front of you when you’re going 45 mph… and then keeps their blinker on for the next five miles… and is also blaring their music as if the whole world wanted to hear it—fun fact: your music sucks.

My natural response has always been a high level of sarcasm.

Really? You couldn’t just wait could you? After all, your life is so important that the rest of us are just obstacles to be overcome.

Nice blinker, bro. It’s so much fun to use your blinker. Really, when you’ve already determined to be a crap driver, go ahead and leave your blinker on. No one knows what the hell you’re doing anyway.

Sarcasm, however, only makes me more frustrated and impatient. It doesn’t help me get over the fact that people are rude and partially blind sometimes—and my driving becomes that much worse.

Lately, however, I had an idea, which has been working pretty well over the past couple of weeks.

Disclaimer: if you try this in front of other people, they will be instantly weirded out. If you’re like me, it’s nothing new. My friends have come to expect this, but when you’re driving with someone who doesn’t know you very well—or your parents—you may want to repress it. Just don’t do it.

Okay, then.

Let’s say, some lady is talking on her phone and talking to her friend sitting shotgun—multitasking as it is. BUT, she is also driving right in front of you. You know exactly what she is doing because she just pulled her Prius out of the Alcove Coffee parking lot two feet in front of you, and you had to bring your massive minivan to a grinding halt. Thus, your headlights are now illuminating her entire car.

You can see her coffee cup. You want coffee.

You can also see how fluffy her hair is. She kinda’ looks like a poodle, but, really, a poodle knows better than to jump out in front of a minivan.

Right now, you want to scream profanities to the high heavens so loud that she, her friend on the phone, her friend sitting shotgun, and their next five generations to come can all hear it.

But don’t.

Take a moment and calm down. Then remember, there’s something deeper going on here.

She’s not merely a crazy lady who has gotten so careless in her driving that she felt confident in endangering the lives of those around her. No.

She is a dinosaur. Literally. She is the spirit of an old dinosaur god of pre-history stuck in the body of a human. She’s talking to other members of the Alpha-Wolf-Dino-Squad on her phone and arranging to meet them in the park. She, her dinosaur brethren, and some part-time recently recruited werewolves are meeting up tonight to take down a dangerous clan of vampires determined to convert the entire population of your city to their vampire clan thing.

That person next to her is a young woman who recently discovered that she had the spirit of one of these dinosaur gods living inside her. Her presence has turned the tables in the favor of the Alpha-Wolf-Dino-Squad. Their victory is almost assured.

Sure, she is driving like she is five different types of intoxicated—but she is currently repressing her anger for fear that her body will transform into its natural dinosaur form.

Who wants to be driving behind a brontosaurs that has just torn through a Prius?

No one. Brontosauruses are slow and take up two lanes. Traffic would be terrible.


The view of a brontosaurus in front of you from behind your windshield. Fortunately, brontosauruses are vegetarians, so she won’t try to eat you.  Unfortunately, dinosaurs don’t have blinkers or break lights, so she’ll probably hit you.

Instead, you keep your distance. That way, if she does transform, her tail won’t side-swipe you.


Sure, that guy right next two you saw your blinker and, instead of slowing down or speeding up, is going the same speed as you. He may seem to be speeding up and slowing down exactly as you do and refusing to let you over. But there is something deeper going on

He has mistaken your car for the minivan that his daughter drove—the same daughter who whose minivan was hijacked by a group of rogue shape shifters in the middle of nowhere. It took his daughter five days to find civilization after that, and he is pissed about it.


A bear and a snake steal your car: it’s both a start to a bad pun and something that you’d never want to tell the police.

Just keep trying to switch lanes. Eventually, he’ll see the back of your car and realize that you do NOT have the “Rogue Shape Shifters FTW” bumper sticker, so you couldn’t possibly be them. Once reassured, he’ll let you over.



What? Did that group of teenagers almost hit you while trying to pull out of their parking spot?

Calm down and keep your distance.

They just discovered they have superpowers, that they might be “the chosen one”, and are trying to figure out their lives.

High school sucks to begin with. Try adding laser beam eyes or the ability to inflate your entire body.

Then, consider that they also realized that the government wants to hunt them down to run experiments on them until they are no longer minors, at which point they’ll be made into super-soldiers.

Meanwhile, the one that can fly into outer space has just discovered a fleet of alien ships hovering just outside of our atmosphere with their guns pointing directly at your city.


Question: would having laser beam eyes get you a handicap sticker?

They got a lot of crap to deal with. Unfortunately, learning to drive is one of them.


There is something about thinking about terrible drivers being ridiculously not-quite-human that is instantly calming—and driving becomes ten times more awesome.

Would you rather yell at your windshield, wishing to give those drivers a three-hour lecture on how to properly make a left-turn, only to realize that they don’t care and don’t hear you…


Would you rather talk about how driving behind the former President of the Republic of Atlantis sucks because he is still trying to get used to the idea of having feet instead of a tail? Instead, you can have a lively discussion with anyone in your car about the situation that forced him into driving when he’s only had legs for the last 12 hours.

They wouldn’t have heard your swearing, so they certainly won’t hear you talk about their fictional romantic entanglements with a genie.

At first, making up these stories on the fly is a bit tricky. For the first week, the only thing I could think of was a plot involving a Turkish Prince who was determined to search for his bride-to-be that was kidnapped by the CIA. I don’t even think Turkey has princes…

If you need plot ideas, I would highly recommend reading through the Paranormal Romance summaries on Good Reads– The more ridiculous, the better. The more you come up with these plot entanglements, the easier it becomes.

For me, the frustration and anger that comes from road rage is much more distraction from driving than the effort it may take to create these stories.

Try it, my home slices. See if it works for you.

Peace out!

Being Adult: Because I’m a Lady. That’s Why.

10 Jul

Hey y’all 😀
Happy Monday Tuesday? Yes.
I like titling things, and then giving them subtitles. It makes me happy. SO I’ve decided that since I have a lot of things to say about my transition from teenager-hood to adult-get-a-real-life-hood, that I’m going to label them ”Being Adult”. Maybe this will also give me a reason to use the ‘Categories’ function too. So fancy.

As a college student approaching graduation, I’ve been collecting advice about: 1) How To Be Financially Independent From Your Parents and 2) How To Be A Classy Lady.

In regards to the second point, the best advice that I’ve gotten had come from ‘The Aristocats’: ladies don’t start fights but they can finish them and ‘Because I’m a lady, that’s why’ is an appropriate response for any occasion.

From personal experience, though, I’ve figured out that, as a lady, I gotta start reading labels before I buy important stuff—like pads.

[Hey guys. I know you guys cover your ears and walk away every time a girl starts talking about ‘feminine supplies’. I know this. I have brothers who do the exact same thing. But chill out, yo, because I have a solution.

Every time you read ‘pad’ or whatever just replace the word with PANDA, in your mind. BAM. Problem solved. You’re welcome.
I’ll even place in some visual clues, because, if you’re like my brothers, you’ll forget…
…then I’ll end up stuck at work because you got caught up in a heated part of Half Life 2 and couldn’t stop until you reached the Auto Save. Not cool, man. Not cool.]

I mentioned in my last blog post that it is impossible to walk into a grocery store and just find one particular thing. A couple of weeks ago, that item was [PANDAS] pads.

I was hoping that this would be a quick trip in and out—with minimal human interaction.

However, I was in a Kroger that I wasn’t very familiar with.
I didn’t have a firm layout of the store, but I figure:

The [PANDAS] pads would be in the same isle as the other stuff for ladies, right? The isle with the fancy shampoo and soap and baby stuff.
When I got to the isle, low and behold, there are these huge, bright pink packs with a picture of a [PANDA] pad on the front.
As I take a pack off the shelf, though, I notice an old guy in the isle across from me and he is giving me the look of judgment. He has two different brands of toothpaste in his hands, and is clearly making the difficult choice between Crest and Colgate.

I respond with, “Because I’m a lady, that’s why!”—in my head, at least. Then I drop eye contact and walk away.

I have found the item in less than five minutes! Success!
This is how adults do things. Efficently. I know, because, at this point, I’m feeling like the most adult-y adult there ever was.

I go through the self-checkout like a boss.

Do you have a Kroger Card?

Hell yes, I do. Well, my parents do. Same-same.

Press the ‘Cash’ button if you’re using cash, and ‘Card’ if you’re using—

Cash. Like a boss.

Put you bills into the bill slot face up—

BAM. Done.

Collect excess cash out of the cash dispenser and coins out of the coin dispenser. Thank you for shopping at Kroger.

I collect my cash and my bag, snap the receipt out of the machine, and walk out of Kroger and into the sweet air of victory.

Then I got into my car…

Once I get into the car, I set the bag down next to me and out of the corner of my eye… I see something.

What I saw was the word ‘bladder’.

Oh @!!#%$^.

I take them out of the bag and read the label.

Pads, indeed. They were pads for ‘discreet bladder protection’ and ‘unexpected wetness’. Not normal pads. Could these even be used for… what I needed them for? Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know.

Pandas– for the woman on the go

I could go in, return them, and get what I need… but do I really want to explain this to someone?

Oh, hello, could I exchange these bladder protecting pads for some of these other pads. I didn’t read the labels… on purpose. Stop laughing.

No. I wasn’t going to back in there to explain this to some judgmental cashier.

I still needed [PANDAS] pads, though, so I went back in there ready to buy some proper [PANDAS] pads.

I avoid all the employees who may have seen me come through a few minutes ago, and eventually reach the same isle as before—and that old guy is still in the same isle across from me. Apparently, toothpaste isn’t the only trick decision he has to make today, as he holds both the off brand deodorant and Old Spice deodorant in his hands.

We make eye contact for a moment. He smirks—he knew exactly what was going down.

‘Ladies don’t start fights, but they can finish them’ rang in my head, and I was tempted to give this guy a round house kick to the face.
Instead, I pretend that he didn’t exist, and looked up and down that isle. It has shampoo, conditioner, gels, hair brushes, baby products, and, apparently, bladder [PANDAS] pads.

But there are none of the [PANDAS] pads that I need in this isle. But where the hell else would they be?

I walk up and down that isle five or six times. Not there.

Then I walk up and down the cosmetics section. Not there.

Then, I try the next isle over. This isle is labeled: ‘Paper Towels. Toilet Paper. Paper Plates. Cleaning Supplies. School Supplies.’ Surly, it has to be here, because the next isle over are ‘Boxed Dinners. Soups. Condiments.’

I begin walking down and, once I get mid-way through, I spot them.

Between the paper towels and pencil sharpeners are the [PANDAS] pads that I’m looking for. Finally.

I quickly head to the self-checkout, and, as that machine says ‘Thank you for shopping at Kroger’, I can’t help but think:

Kroger 2-2.

Being Adult: Grocery Stores

29 Jun

I don’t know where it came from, but, somehow, I caught a cold. The first thing I did when I noticed the symptoms was make a trip to the grocery store—to pick up some medicine and chocolate, of course.

I’ve discovered, though, that it is impossible to go in a grocery store and just find a single item.

Finding the nasal decongestant in a grocery store is like trying to find a McDonalds in the middle of Narnia—you’re not sure how you got there or if the McDonalds is even there. There’s a McDonald’s everywhere though, right? So you think there’s gotta be one around there somewhere…

Ultimately, you’re tired, confused, and just want some nuggets (or nasal decongestant, as the case may be).

He could probably find a McDonalds, too. Mr. Tumnus is just that good.

[I just want to take a moment to point something out. My visual interpretation of Mr. Tumnus looks exactly like my interpretation of Hagrid. This is some high quality art work, y’all.]

Hagrid could probably be Mr. Tumnus in an overcoat and boots… and on stilts.

I have the exact same problem when I go into a grocery store to do normal shopping too.

Once every couple of weeks I will wake up and open the pantry door, looking for food. (Or coffee. In fact, it’s almost always coffee that I look for in the morning. Coffee is pretty much the substance I center my life around these days.)

Regardless, once I open this door two things immediately come to my attention:

  1. There is no coffee here…
  2. Wait. There’s no food here either.

And, thus, I know that I have to do grocery shopping.

The moment I enter a grocery store I’m simultaneously confused and annoyed

confused because I’ve instantly forgotten what exactly I need;

annoyed because some soccer mom comes up behind me with a buggy that’s as big as the SUV she drove to get there.

Normally, I have no problem with soccer moms—hey, my mom was one, AND they tend to make some awesome cookies. In a grocery store, though, they move through that place like they’re running a marathon, and, somehow, a couple of them tend to get stuck behind me.

She tries to cough quietly, telling me to move out of the way, but it comes out as more of a wheeze.

Quickly, I dodge right. BUT, little do I know, I’ve leaped right into the produce isle—soccer mom starts following me.

Throughout the store, we go one isle after another, and every few seconds I hear her tapping her shoe waiting for me to move along.

I’ve only been buying my own groceries for a half year now, though, and I still don’t know what I need to survive for two weeks. It still takes thought to figure out whether I not I need something.

It’s stressful, so I start to go a bit crazy with the shopping…


I know I need cheese, but we’re in an isle of Cheese-Its. We already passed the cheese section, didn’t we? Maybe. I don’t know.

And, really, they’re sort of the same thing.

Oh! Lunchables! Delicious!


Once we get to the cereal isle, soccer mom calms down a little—the sheer variety of cereals preoccupies her for the moment.

In this window of time, I have a moment to explore the pasta without her impatient sighs. This is probably why I eat so much pasta.


 Ew, what is this? It looks like horse radish… wait. It is horse radish.


The freezer isle is a little bit easier to manage.

She focuses on the kid’s frozen dinners. I focus on Lean Cuisines.

She gets those fancy pizzas with cookies or cheese-stuffed crust. I get the Kroger-brand stuff. If I close my eyes and pretend, the Kroger brand begins to taste just like the fancy stuff.


Hm. Do I already own bacon? Well, there ain’t no such thing as too much bacon!

Coffee! CoFfEe! COffeE CofFEE CoffEE! Yay!  


Toward the end of our grocery journey together, we reach the toilet-paper-and-napkins isle…

I look at the isle, then I stare hard at my buggy. Mainly, I want to know:

How fast will it go? And How far can it take me?

The opportunity it perfect. I’m in an isle that is covered in soft plushie cleaning supplies—it’s like bowling with bumper lanes! But I’m the ball!

BUT once I take that fateful step back—to gain some speed—I run into her. The soccer mom.

We exchange a look. Mine says, “Oh, my bad, forgot you were there.”

Hers says, “Don’t. You. Dare.”


As fate would have it, we both end up side-by-side at some self-checkout lanes, and it’s a constant staring match.

This lady gives me a judgment look because she knows I forgot the simple things, like milk and bread, and, instead, loaded up with chocolate and coffee and fruit roll-ups.

Meanwhile, I stare at her counting how many different types of yogurt she got—hell. I didn’t know that much yogurt existed. I do NOT remember seeing that much yogurt in the dairy section.

Rumor has it that there are these things called “grocery lists” that help people get what they need when they go shopping. From what I understand though, their existence is like Big Foot’s—people say they’ve seen it in the wild, but no one is able to prove it.

%d bloggers like this: