I don't think your pets respect you.

My sister has a gorgeous pitbull named Bijoux.

Okay, I know you're thinking "What's wrong with her?" but, honestly, she's a really sweet dog. I mean she may have the hands of a burly, wood-chopping, lumberjack, but she tries to be gentle, I think. She really almost does, kind of.

I think that when she jumps up on me, it's her way of saying, "Hey, we're friends, let's conversate and really see eye-to-eye on things." That's the idea I'm getting. Unfortunately, it translates physically into "My nails are made of broken bicycle spokes and I intend to do you great bodily harm while looking like I have a huge smile on my face because I'm mocking you."

Maybe if I spoke dog.

She just has these big sweet eyes, and she just looks at you so intently like she adores you or wants to eat the lips off your face, and you can't help but love her when she rolls on her back and flails her paws in the air, but that's the perfect moment to run because she's distracted.

Also, my best friend owns this adorable tabby cat named Izzy. There's nothing wrong with her, either. She just has the attention span of a cat with no attention span and obviously doesn't understand English. She's forever getting into trouble and tipping things over and laying on the scarecrow... don't ask. And every time I come over, she's managed to find the most ridiculous 'toys' to bat around the carpet.

Three bottle caps, a bottle, a screw, a Hanna Montana hair extension, lip balm, a candy wrapper, another screw, a ball of paper, a cough drop... Like, basically going to my best friend's house is never without a few rousing games of 'What's In Her Mouth?', 'Did You Hear That?', and 'What the F*** Is She Breaking Now??'. Better than Snakes and Ladders.

I'm not sure where I was going with this.

Yeah, I can't own pets, because if you're gonna be my pet, you will f***ing respect me and not put s*** in your mouth. And apparently, only rocks can do that, and rocks are great for throwing and we all know I have not-great anger management.

Let me tell you about Frieda...

So I was working at my second job today, at the party store, putting back some stray crap that you people (I mean humankind in general, you nasty gunkholes) like to leave in random parts of the store, and I happened upon Five-Dollar Frieda, and I was this close to yelling "Frieda!! How are you??"

That doesn't make up much of a story, I know, but there's a backdrop I need to lay, first.

Maybe two years ago, while I was at my first job at the electronics store, I was idling around the registers as this homely-looking lady was finishing up her transaction. It was all fine until the cashier says, "And look at that, you saved five dollars", which was nice and pleasant, and all. Then the customer exclaims, I mean literally, exclaims, "Wow! Now I can get that TV I've been looking at!"

But, the stupid thing is, she meant it. I mean, she wasn't being sarcastic, she, like, was ecstatic about it. She was all reading her receipt to make sure the cashier wasn't frippering around with her emotions, and by golly, she had saved five fricking dollars and she was darn proud of herself.

And, come on, really, had she been looking at a TV-shaped PEZ dispenser? What kind of television set could be expected at the price of 5 dollars? Like, what, she'd been saving up and by NOT spending this money she had put herself right on target? What kind of sense does that make? Whatever.

Anyway, in that moment (and every time she comes into my first job), I just took it upon myself to name her Five-Dollar Frieda, and some of the other employees have, too, but don't tell her that, because she's homely and already wears mom-jeans and an horrible coat and awful Keds, so more ridicule would just pummel her unnecessarily.

What was the point here...

Oh, so I saw her at the party store looking through her coupons and I thought it was funny that I almost called her out on her frugality. Plus, she would have said something like "Oh, no, my name's Mary-Anne."

No offense if you're name's Mary-Anne.
Or Frieda, for that matter.

Saturday Afternoon...

So the twins are over right now, and they forced me to come outside and watch them play... against my will. After several failed attempts at the 'Give Me a Lift' game, where one jumps on the other's back, Jasmine declared, "I have to go to the bathroom," and walked inside.
Next, Janelly threatened to traverse the clothesline by hoisting herself onto a patio chair. "It's for clothing, not people," I stated, firmly, and she quickly changed her mind. Instead of playing Navy Seal, she decides to join her sister upstairs, where I hear them now, conversing in the bathroom.
Now, I can only imagine they're filling the sink with bubbles again, or pouring shampoo into the toilet, but I'm going to let it go this once because what's a little fun here and there for children?
They just came bounding down the deck steps and giggling about something. I know that giggle. It's the "I got away with it" giggle. They're nearly six now, so they're not getting away with much anymore.
Uh-oh, they're back to Give Me a Lift, and they somehow made it over to the porch.
"Are you writing bad words?" Janelly asked.
"Only if you say something I need to quote."
Next, Jasmine picked up a rubber ball and and stated "If I make it into the basket, I win."
The 'basket' is an Adirondack chair.
"Bring it on!" Janelly yelled.
Jasmine won.
They got bored, I guess, because after hearing the sound of footsteps running up the steps, the sliding door, and the piano keys gloomily plinking, they began screaming my name through the window screens, asking for a snack.



I need to go inside before they eat all my cookies.

Oxygen adventure...

I thought this was so darn cute... and informative.

Oxygen from Christopher Hendryx on Vimeo.

Seven Month Mark

Ahhh, another month. Next month gives three great reasons to celebrate. The Curse of the Eight, my 25th Spirit Journey Formation Anniversary, and my parents' pilgrimage to New Mecca... okay, Albania, but we'll just say New Mecca.

I'm kind of screwed as far as money goes, seeing as I was frivolous during the beginning of Summer, and so now, I'm paying for everything I owe through the arsepot. Fortunately, I have things in a tolerable situation, but I cut it pretty close. It sucks because I need some new clothes, but it's not horrendous, in that I'm healthy and don't harbor any dangerous addictions that would warrant death threats from Loan Sharks. Sweet.

The Boy Wonder is still great, despite some odd mishaps. But who doesn't have anything to work on?

Anyway, things are alright. Not perfectly inclined, but I'm getting there. Hopefully I can still deal with everything that comes my way. We shall overcome.

Today was kind of like:

10 A.M. - Still sleeping.

11 A.M. - Still sleeping.

12 P.M. - Awake.

1 P.M. - More awake.

2 P.M. - Sleeping.

Yeah, today didn't get me anywhere. I started working on the Mayhem tutu and it's about six inches in. Bella just happened to get a kitten today. She said it's just 'staying with her for a few days.' I call b.s. on that... she's already bonded with it. She called her Izzy. Poignant. You're keeping her, Bella. Just tell your parents and get on with your happy life together. Anna will have to deal with it, and Beijo will have to wear a bib.

I think that if I do build a Magic deck, it'll be all White mana, mostly because I like the protection and flying it offers, and because that's the deck I know. Dawn Elementals look like those freaky birdbeasts in Avatar, but without all the noise and tying your hair onto it. I don't need all that emotional connection.

Do you realize what time it is? Late o'clock a.m. I'm supposed to be asleep, but I'm here. Not metaphysically here, as on the Intarwebz, but here at the Larsen house. Usually he knocks out at 4, but tomorrow's his day off, so I can only imagine the ungodly hour at which he happens to keel over. Adam's here, and that makes for additions to the chillax timeclock.

I'm going to sleep, whether they like it or not. Nobody better sit on my feet.

Magic: The Gathering

Last night, Bruce taught me how to play. And you know what? I'm not too awful at it.

I just need to figure out the tapping and untapping thing and what color I'm best at.

Also, I realized I suck at math trying to figure out how many hit points I just thwapped him for. At one point, I was at 63 and he was at, like, 7... I felt really good about myself.

Until he leveled me with a stupidumb Trample spell.

I still beat him at Luminess.

Tissue Paper Ball

Can now be found HERE.

Skittles

I think I speak for about 12% of the American populace when I say Skittles commercials are just plain frickin' wierd... I mean come on, the stuff these people come up with has to be drug-induced, because the average person looks at the subject matter with a scowl on his face (I've been running tests).
So yes, I get that you guys are trying to be creative and outside-of-the-box thinkers, but candy-sharing deer, opera-singing rabbits, and sprouts of abdomen-foliage... lilbit creeptastic, Skittles.
I never really liked Skittles, anyway... makes my spit taste like quarter-waters.

So I've been writing a new language...

Does that make me lame? I mean, I know I'm a total geek, but does that push me into dweeb territory?
Well, whatever you may think, I'm wondering if there's a language creation software on the market, but, like, for free. I don't need it bad enough to spend money on it...
Aww, pekeshuto, Imet lete so nessenakka ta nezigo.
Darn right.

Je nes sais quois...

Our romance was a heartbeat, this heartbeat is a drum.
This drum played out a rhythm, I killed it under my thumb.
My thumb hit the Escape key, I had to get away.
Away is where I'm running, so your love is just another nothing...
Heavy hit the back beat, the hit was to your head.
Your head was hanging low, so low, I thought you might be dead.
Your death was like a gunshot, the gun was my hello.
Hello turned into goodbye, but I couldn't let you go.

A Nursery Rhyme for the Present

Two little monkeys jumping on the bed;
One fell off and bumped his head.
Mama called the doctor, and the doctor said:
"Your insurance isn't accepted here, I'm sorry, ma'am."

You know how...

...when you go to the bathroom and try to get the toilet paper to start up, but friction has it stuck to the roll, so you're eyebrows knit together while you pinch, rub, and coochy coochy coo the tissue into your fingertips?

I think I'm going to start carrying a glue stick around and reattaching the toilet paper end back onto the roll, just to make it more frustrating. Then bathroom grunts will really mean something.

Funderful.

We've been talking about words that should be removed from the common vocabulary. A few of them are Funderful, of course, Scrumptious, and Drinkability. I'm thinking we should add 'tastic' to the ends of odd words to make them interesting, because... because I said so. Skagtastic, Funktastic, Stanktastic, Freaktastic... those are nice. Especially skagtastic, seeing as it means nothing whatsoever.

Some great words that get no play are High-falutin', Skylarking, Crimanitsy, and Flugtag. I'm pretty sure Flugtag is a noun, but I still like it. Applezapper, Pickleprune, and Rustysucker are some good doubled up words. Rustysucker is definitely going to get some use this week.

I'm not sure where I was headed with this, but... oh, yeah, Mason is a high-falutin' skagtastic sonuva snake-bellied rhinocerous jaw.
And you can take that to the bank.

Today has been really sans-disappointment.

So, the Boy Wonder and I baked cookies, and although they came out slightly less than satisfactory, the actual making them part was awesome. Much like having children, I hear. Since when does a polvorone recipe call for flour? That's redonkulous. I have never once used flour the past seven years I've been making them, and now the worldwide recipe has changed? Bullshot. I call bullshot on that.
Yesterday was a good day, which turned into a great night, dawning upon a magnificent morning, sprawling into a very nice evening, so far. We'll see. The Boy Wonder is my wonderdrug.

I need to think up some new tutorials. Meaning I need to think up some new sewing ideas. Seeing as I have most of the week free, and barely any money to spend on outside recreation, I'll have to expend my energies into crafty areas. I have been wanting to make a new corset, but I don't have any good black fabric, and, seriously, the garment should be somewhat allowed to match with most of the clothing I own.

I kind of have a craving for another one of those polvorones...

Tea for who?

I love tea. I think, if the food pyramid were still made of blocks and not pizza slices, tea would be the 6th food group.
Just below bread.
Making it the most important. Ever.
The only problem is the severity of my addiction to it. I find it's the better part of impossible to conduct daily affairs without engaging in a morning tête à tête with a steaming cup of the herbal. It's like coffee, but without fourth-grade-teacher-breath sliding around on your tongue.
Lately, I barely even bask in the loveliness of it long enough to remember what flavor I drank. First it's six spoon sips. Next, five cautious rim slurps. Then, two warmth-inducing swallows. Now I've begun to gulp, and just before I see the bottom of the mug, I start to hate myself.
But I sure love tea.

It's Tuesday for you, a little past Saturday for me.

I suppose today was a good one. Work went okay, despite a few setbacks here or there.

For the record, I was NOT, under any context, making sexytime in the warehouse Sunday afternoon. I'm not even sure how far the word will spread, but this is me we're talking about. I know I'm me and a best friend of the greater populace, but really, I'm only capable of so much. Next time catch me in the middle of a Friday night chat in Receiving. THEN we can attest to my indiscretions.

In other news, I thought I hit a frog while driving home tonight. Seeing as Connecticut winters wouldn't allow for a frog to be anywhere near my location, though, I decided it was a leaf and saved the prayer for another morsel of street carnage.

Tidbit of the day: "I always get a little nervous when three Mexican men are huddled around a jukebox cuing up Brian Adams." - Kevin