Confusing!

So, I think I mentioned that I've always believed I was Irish (with a little Scott)/Native, Croatian/black.

And here is the thing, I look Croatian to actual Croatians.
I don't look black.
I don't look particularly Native (though I am going prematurely gray).
And I don't look very Irish.

















See, Croatian. Right? (Also, sidenote: Does my head look small to you too?) (Second sidenote: Isn't it nice that the picture cuts off right before any dangerous cleave sightings? That dress was too plungy and in every other picture it was like "Oh, there's me and Mebbie and Righty." Good times.)

Well, apparently my whole life my Mom had merely guesstimated and as it turns out I'm actually Romanian.

Shit, you guys. I don't know what Romanians even look like. I don't know a single Romanian. I know many Croatians and they look like me.

I have been in Croatian-drag for nearly 3 decades.

I am cognisant that the difference between one former Axis nation and the other is something like the distance in miles from Reno to Seattle.

But having grown up with essentially no racial identity, I really really have none now. With so little to call my own, I'm going to miss Croatian me.

Kamen, Kamen, Kamen! All Kamen; All the Time!

I don't want you guys thinking that all I do is sit around all day and Google (RAWR) Dean Kamen. But there is a lengthy and very interesting article about Dean Kamen in the Telegraph:
Dean Kamen: part man, part machine.

I'm pretty sure which part is the machine. (RAWR!)

Interesting (to me) niblet:
Kamen did spend nearly eight years sharing his home with a girlfriend he met in 1994, but now lives alone. He's decided that he doesn't want to have a family: 'I would rather not be married than ever risk failing at that. It's not like failing at a project: pick yourself up, do another project. But if you have kids and you fail as a father... that's an unrecoverable failure in my mind. I wouldn't want that to happen.'

I think it is a little sad that a guy who takes so many risks and is focused on making products that are needed, but will make him little money (i.e. water and electricity for developing nations) is scared of that risk. On the other hand, perhaps Kamen just knows his strengths and weaknesses.

At any rate, I'm pretty sure that the important thing is that Dean Kamen is single.

Dean,

We don't have to get married. All this girl needs is robot penguin bartenders to serve me perfect martinis. I will accept adorable robots in lieu of marital commitments. (Still single! Tell your friends! But only if they are geniuses! With their own islands!)

Hugs!
q.

Additionally, as I had always suspected, Kamen does wear the same outfit all the time. Thanks, Telegraph! Your article contained exactly the two pieces of information in which I was most interested.

Word of the day: Upset

Upset, (ˌ)əp-ˈset: emotionally disturbed or agitated

Example: Quiana was so 'upset' when her temporary crown broke in half at dinner tonight that she could not finish her cannoli.

See also: 'angry with the world', 'pissed', and 'hurty faced'.

Here is where I blather about nothing:

1. Jim and I started watching Valentine. On the CW… with the Greek gods… starring the stalkery girlfriend from Dexter…. Is anyone watching this? Anyone? Just us. Great.
If you like fun, you should watch this show. If you don’t like fun, there is always ER. (Zing!)

2. Halloween approaches and I am stoked. My costume is 90% complete, so that is excitement right there. Now we just have some baking and decorating left. Mmmmmmmm baking (and the required taste testing).

3. I am throwing myself into winter hibernation mode with abandon. Yesterday (pretty much the whole day) I watched TV and drank delicious egg nog. (I know it is early, but it is Monica’s fault for having it last Saturday.) I am enjoying sweatpants and the nestlike bean bag chair. Winter beverages and winter foods. Hooray for cold weather! Hooray for staycation! Hooray for overzealous beverage companies that sell egg nog before Halloween!

4. I think all my blog friends hate me as it seems that so few people are updating their blogs. With all this lack of blog reading time I suppose I could invest in blog writing. Hmmmmmmm….

5. I am wondering about my fascination with Don Draper (RAWR) in Mad Men and why he is so attractive and feeling as though these rawr thoughts are the kind that a good Bryn Mawr feminist should not think. On the other hand, Don's wife is a Bryn Mawr Girl, perhaps we are all a tiny bit defective in that regard? (Or maybe it is just the design I find sexy. I love the clothes. I should have a sexy design party. We could watch Tron, Pushing Daisies, and Mad Men. Amazing design there.)

Occasional Lengthy, Rambling Posts About Nothing…now at SUC.

Things remain awesome on the island. I’m preparing for my Halloween-stravaganza, getting my robotics team prepped for competition, and helping my newest tutoring student (who is a real gem). In fact I feel a bit as though I am dipping my toes into my real life again. Which, honestly, is making me a little stressed out; but I think I need a little balance between the Wii Fit/TV viewing/ reading festival of Mathew McConaughey-level relaxation and my former complicated overly busy life.

I think part of that balance is retaining my 3 nights a week in rule and another part is quitting Smart People on Ice. Some of you probably noticed that I quit updating. I did make my goal and while I enjoyed putting things up there and knowing what I had been up to all that time, I wasn’t entirely honest about my activities every day and it was making my life more complicated. Part of the change is also learning to say ‘no’. ‘No’ is a very useful word, and letting go of all my feelings of obligation has been very challenging, but I am working on it.

In other news, work has been pretty stressful and I think that it is time for me to accept that my job will simply be harder and I will have to work very hard. It has been a while since I have been really challenged in my job either by workload or difficulty/complexity of tasks. (Of course dealing with idiots has been a constant challenge.)

In awesomer news, have I mentioned my ridiculous infatuation with geniuses (Hey, Dean Kamen! Still waiting for your call. Sitting here by the phone. Limbering up. Call me!), and obsessions with terrifying animals and Muppets are all featured heavily in the news lately? Uhm… cause they have:

1. Why Australia is not #1 on my list of vacation destinations, three words: spider eats BIRD. IT ATE A BIRD AND IT IS A SPIDER. If you don’t want to sleep again (ever) click the link. (I can’t stop looking. BLEEEEHHHHHHHH!)

2. Muppets you can make and own at FAO Schwartz.

3. Muppet Noir Murder Mystery being shopped according to The Hollywood Reporter.

4. More Muppet Youtube videos. GENIUS.

5. It looks like I have some tough competition in my quest for the hand of/stealing the life of Sir Richard Branson:

"He's got to be that guy that we all just secretly want to live his life. Even if it's just for a week I mean wouldn't that be incredible? If you had to pick one person he would be the guy for me, I would want to be him for a week." — Charlize Theron on Richard Branson.

Back to the rambling:

Last weekend I assembled the majority of my (awesome) Halloween costume and became aware that even though I had not really intended to be a slutty anything this year, a girl dressed as Big Bird cannot really help but look whore-y on account of the bare legs and feathers. Bare legs + feathers pretty much always = Vegas showgirl. The only saving grace is that my costume looks extremely… homemade so at least I won’t look like I was going for sexy. (Perhaps it is that I actually am unable to suppress the sexy.)

End of incoherent message.

This is why I kind of want to punch people in the face.

So soldiers in Iraq take in stray dogs and then want to bring them home. This I get. It is only natural that in times of high stress, soldiers would form such attachments.

I also acknowledge that the Iraqi dogs, when again abandoned, will have bleak and short futures.

However, 50,000 people signed a petition to force the Army to fly this dog back to the states. 50,000 people signed a petition to fly a DOG to the US.

I just feel like these 50,000 people could maybe be placing the weight of their collective opinions behind something more important. Perhaps better benefits for our soldiers. Or maybe protecting our rights from our intrusive government. Or standing up against the use of torture.

I’m glad the puppy gets to live a good life, but I would like it a lot if people cared as much about other people as they do a dog.

I also wonder how many of these people actually vote.

The shoe on the other foot.

It is an interesting thing to walk with a limp. Normally I walk with a clomping stride.

There was a time when I was younger and svelte, when I ran every day and walked with that hip forward shoulder back posture that characterizes girls from better schools.

Since I injured my foot my stride has been off and I walk with a clompyness that I am foolishly embarrassed by. It isn’t as though people probably notice the boyish clomptitude of my stride. But I do.

My foot has been hurting quite a bit for the last two days. In spite of icing and massage and elevation, my foot has hurt to the point that I have consolidated my trips away from my desk. And even as I walk now I move my hip differently, protecting my foot. When people notice that you limp they look at you differently; their eyes slide to your feet and away in a speedy shift.

I don’t think I’ve ever had that experience; the exhausting combination of shame/pity/curiosity in someone else’s eyes that would make me a hermit if I endured it for longer than a day.

Thanksgiving Update!

Even though Thanksgiving is not until Monday, I always force my parents to do the turkey today so I don't have to deal with Monday traffic on the way back down to Seattle.

So far the turkey has been bathed, had its butter massage, and been stuffed with homemade stuffing. (Which sounds quite relaxing from the turkey's perspective... other than the stuffing.) Last night I made 2 pumpkin pies from the America's Test Kitchen cookbook.

Left to make:
Potatoes
Gravy
Creamed corn (hurl)
Green Beans
Rolls
Cherry Pie
Whip cream

But right now I'm watching some Ghostbusters and drinking Coke made with real sugar. REAL SUGAR!! Wheeeeeeeeeeee!

I think I will peel some potatoes and then lose some Foosball.

Hooray!

Forwarded from my Step-mom.

A new feature! Actual forwards from my step-mom. For your enjoyment.

How do I miss these things?

My nerd cred is totally tarnished by not knowing about (Captain Jack from Torchwood) John Barrowman's musical past. Did you guys know that John Barrowman is an accomplished singer? With CD's out? A career in musical theater and a biography and what not?

I clearly need to spend more time aggressively googling hot sci-fi guys. (RAWR!)

Here is his newest music video:





I was going to make some cute comment about the next Torchwood mystery is why anyone thinks Burn Gorman (Owen on Torchwood) is a heart-throb. (Zing!) And here I see that he is also a musician. He is the "BBC 1Xtra Human Beatbox Champion" and has done work with Groove Armada and The Streets.

Then I was going to leave it there, but I had to look up Gareth David-Loyd (Ianto on Torchwood) and here I see he is the frontman of a blues band.

Together the men of Torchwood could start the nerdiest nerd band of all time!

Greetings from Mountlake Terrace!

I don't want to continually toot my horn regarding this particular issue, but my Staycation Plan of Inaction is a masterstroke of brilliance that artfully demonstrates how fantastic I could make the world if all of my energy wasn't spent on developing new poo jokes and daydreaming about Dean Kamen.

I am, in fact, so pleased with my staycation, that maybe I will stay here forever. I am less strict now with the rules, and I think that maybe after all my time running around like a crazy person, maybe I just need to spend a little time nested in my bean bag chair with a cookie, watching David Krumholtz solve crime using math. (OMG MATH, you guys.) Don't worry, my staycation stretch will not affect my blogging, which I hope to return to its normal schedule by Monday.

Additional gloating: I recieved 2 (TWO!) nice things yesterday.

1. I did someone a favor and she brought a mocha to my office. You see, I did something nice for her that I didn't have to do and that was not convenient and then she gave me a snack. Clearly she understands the nature of favors. De... wait for it... licious.

2. Our old custodian saw the state of my desk when he popped by last week and this week he mailed me a single pristine sheet of bubble wrap in an unmarked envelope. Perhaps he also heard how a crazy agressive dame got up in my face and I stood up and kicked her out of my office. Things at work are rollercoasteresqe in nature.

End of gloat.

In other news, I got my temporary crown on Sid, the Tooth of DOOM. This one damn tooth is costing me a fortune and the oft offered let's tie a string around it and tie the other to a door knob and slam the door idea would certainly have been more efficient than: filling it badly, adjusting it, filling it again when it chipped, pulling the whole shebang out and refilling it, having a root canal, coming in to adjust the filling due to pain (later to find out that this is probably a microcrack problem), having a temp crown put in, and then a permanent one next week. Apparently owning a grouchy tooth is akin to raising a child. I just hope that Sid wants to go to state school because I'm not paying for another shi-shi East Coast boutique fancy pants education.

I am especially annoyed at Sid's timing as this Friday I make my pilgrimage to Mother's for turkey and whatnot and having a hurty tooth at Thanksgiving is very irritating. The good news, however, is that I get to use my very neat new Enhanced Drivers License to cross the border, which will either be awesome or a complete clusterfuck. I am looking forward to doing some fun Vancouver-y things, and will do that rather than think about the last time Kim and I crossed the border and the wait was so long that we *almost* ran out of snacks.

In my final piece of non-linear non-sequitorial thought: my grandma (who reads this blog, by the way, so I should probably clean up my language- though, I won't) left me a very important voicemail to let me know that any non-Tom Selleck festooned birthday cake will be unsatisfactory for her next birthday.

Foggy Day

I love waking up on my island, the fog slugging about. It feels like mystery and smells like the ocean would, if it wasn’t full of so many things living and dead.

It makes me feel like I’m on the edge of an adventure; that I could walk through the wardrobe, or run straight into Dr. Who.

Today is a foggy day. And the first day I am allowed to put up my Halloween decorations. It is the first of the month and I will pay all my bills. I am very satisfied to have everything all paid up. Everything in its place.

Yesterday I started coaching my Robotics Team again. The core of great kids from last year’s team are back and I think this year we will put both a 7^th and 8^th grade team into competition. Why not field two teams? It isn’t as though I’m busy or anything.

Tonight is the first Pushing Daises of the season. I will enjoy it with pie and new friends. I will play with their baby and dog.

The fog means fall is creeping in, and with it the best holidays, warm sweaters, winter food. All year I long for hot cocoa, stews, soups, and casseroles.

And I am happy.

It is hard to enjoy your staycation when...

you realize you will never retire. 777 point drop in the DOW? There will be day traders turning tricks by Thursday.

Did anyone see this graph? Oh NYT, why do you make sad graphs? Graphs should only be used for good, not depressing.
















Looking back on my choice to enter into a career in a non-profit field where I myself net almost no profit I am now feeling somewhat reassured that no matter what, come this year, I would be absolutely fucked.

Job #1: Pay off student loans by December 2009.

Job #2: Pray.

Job #3: Start saving money for my retirement under my mattress or in my flour jar; somewhere it is safe from molestation.

Postzilla- I just write it, you sort it out.

1. Ok, Fringe, I grudgingly like you. But I will drop you the second I am slightly less interested. Joshua Jackson, you are not a very good actor; and testing my endurance greatly (and yet, you are mysteriously kind of sexy- how do you do this, are you magic?). IQ of 190 (oft repeated), I’m thinking those numbers are in the wrong order.

I’ve heard a lot of people complain that it is going to be freak of the week X-Files sans David Duchovny; I ask, what about that doesn't sound good. Monsters without Duchovny's sucking petulance, the abortive non-romance, and the overarching conspiracy theories poorly connected to culminate in 'yes, what you thought about your sister for the entire series was right [and boring].'

In related news, I think I have to learn how to use the time tape feature on my VCR. Yes, I own a VCR still. Now that we are watching Fringe we are Tivo-ing two things Monday at 9 and that bumps Big Bang Theory right off the Tivo. (Hey, TV stations, try showing all the good shows spread out rather than between 8 and 10 on Mondays. KTHX)

2. The number of threats of burning down my office have significantly dropped off, which I think signals that my staycation is working nicely. I have made serious headway in all of my projects and that is very exciting.

3. Yesterday I went to the DOL to get my enhanced driver’s license (which will allow me to cross the Canadian border without additional paperwork) and it was quite the riggamaroll. The guy who interviewed me had the strongest (just guessing Turkish?) accent and I think he was hitting on me. It is hard to say because I only caught 50% of his heavily accented mumblings.

Ex:

Maybe Turkish Homeland Security Clearance Guy: Blardy Blardy Blar Canada often?

Q: pause… Yes, between 4 and 7 times a year for the last 6 years.

MTHSCG: Blardy Blar visiting your boyfriend?

Q: pause… My mother.

Yea, because I’ve been dating some joker for 6 years and I see him quarterly. Hmmmmm… actually that seems somewhat appealing and realistic to situations in my life. Perhaps this is more troubling than I had initially thought.

Also, he asked me questions I did not know the answers to such as:

Where was your father born?

How do you spell Fort Ord?

He seemed kind of appalled that I knew so little about my father; for example when I had to look up his birthday in my Palm. I think that Mumbles von Accent needs to lay of the judging.

4. I am super broke right now due to my own over-eagerness to pay off my credit card completely next month and I am resentful that I am so obsessed with paying off my debts. (Although I did shop more than I ought to have this month according to my crazy budget, and it was a really heavy gift month with numerous birthdays, babies, and weddings.)

5. (This is much longer than I expected, maybe I missed blogging.) Is anyone else excited about ABC’s Castle (to come out midseason 2009)? It stars Nathan Fillion as a mystery writer who helps the police solve crimes. You guys, it is like Murder She Wrote, but with Nathan Fillion. Now all this show needs is Tom Selleck and I would join the fan club.

Where is my delicious Tom Selleck [cake]?

Has everyone seen this yet? If not, feast your eyes upon the delight which is Tom Selleck in cake form:



















Very nice, Alicia of alicia policia.

In addition to making me aware that all of my previous cake eating experiences have been sub-par, Alicia also pointed out that Tom Selleck is no stranger to life in cake form. Unfortunately the Tom Selleck cakes linked previously sound... revolting.

In other cake news: where is my Han Solo encased in carbonite cake?
























And do not even get me started on Dalek cakes.

Is anyone else here feeling a little hungry?

It's ok, you see, I've come up with a new new plan.

This is how everything will be alright. Things have not been alright lately. I am drowning in bad feelings, work, inexplicable loneliness, exhaustion, frustration, and a disorganized life that I feel like I do not own.

Hence the blog-hiatus. I don't want to have a blog where I write beautiful entries about my difficult and beautiful life, and my sad but hopeful feelings. That is not who I am. I make plans. And watch movies about aliens where things blow up. And worry about high fructose corn syrup. And floss EVERY DAY.

I do not worry about my relationship with my father. I do not worry about my map in life. There is a stranger attempting to helm my blog (and maybe my life) and I do not like them or their feelings oriented ways.

Last week I came up with an ingenious plan to spend 3 nights a week at home every week till Christmas.

This week I realize that this is not a strong enough measure. I am in a funk bog thick as jell-o jigglers. Having time to paint my toenails and do my laundry (but not at the same time) is not going to solve this problem.

I need a vacation. So I will be taking one. Here, at home. Through October 15, you may consider me on vacation on the tropical island of Mountlake Terrace.

I plan to mostly stay home. Mostly nap and read. Mostly tend to my garden. I want to use my kitchen aid to make delicious food. Clean the garage. Get some order and discipline. Finish up the work project with a looming October 15 due date. Smell the daisies. Have my cake and eat it too.

Then, butterfly-like, I shall emerge on the 16th, tidied and relaxed. And I will not have to kill anyone.

Maybe.

So, my blog may or may not be somewhat sparse for the next month. I will update when I feel like it. And not update when I don't. I will probably not make a lot of plans to go out. But if you want to come visit me on my island, let me know.

It is always sunny in Mountlake Terrace. Where the women make cookies, the men kill spiders, and the children play in the M'n F'n street even when you yell at them. Every day.

Reach out and punch someone...

in the face. Then duck and run away, because that person could surely take you out of the world as quickly as you were brought in.

Trying to make plans with Dad is like making peace in the Middle East. All I want to know is when and where to meet on the pre-established day. And what was his response.

"Why don't I just call you when I get settled in?"

Why don't you just call? Empirical evidence suggests that is a long shot.

I swear in front of God and the entire internet, that if I drive down to Portland and he does not call me, I will really really really never ever give him a bazillionth chance. Because I have been fooled so many times that I don't know which of us should be more ashamed.

That is all.

I think it is time for ice cream and This Old House. Norm would never leave me hanging.

Unrelated (mostly) sidenote: does anyone else find Kevin O'Connor ridiculously adorable? I need to stop watching TOH. (#1 sign you watch too much, you use the abbreviation 'TOH'.)

I am Batman

She sat at a stop light, a mild mannered math-er headed out after a hard day of adding and subtracting. The rain slid down the blue hood of her old car like cold tears. On the radio the tinny voice of some dame bemoaned the state of the world. Just another gray day in a gray city. A familiar crunch distracted the math-er from her musings. A car had turned straight into the car behind her. She stared into her rear view mirror and sighed, weighing her options and wondering if everything was alright. Something told her it wasn't.

The light turned green. Following her intuition, she pulled through the intersection and into the lot across the street. She watched the offending vehicle, a luxury model, pull into a joint next to the accident. The driver got out of the car and slid her hands along her vehicle. She was young. Too young to know any better.

She looked both ways and legged it back to her car and took off.

Something in the math-er snapped. Her manner became decidedly un-mild and she gave chase, her large blue vehicle gliding along behind the speeding sports car. The math-er had had enough. Enough of people acting like assholes. Enough of assholes getting away with it. Enough of nice people sitting on the side of the road in their shitty smashed up domestic cars wondering why these things happen. And why they always happen to them.

The math-er knew why. Because some people think that they are above the law. Some people think that they are better than other people. They are wrong, thought the math-er, her jaw clenched with gritty determination.

The young woman was driving pretty fast, and the math-er almost lost sight of her. She saw a glint take a speedy right and followed it on a hunch. She thought of the battered old American car sitting in the road back at the intersection and gunned it. Ahead of her she saw the car. And ahead of it a 4-way stop. The math-er knew she had the young woman cornered. As she pulled up behind the car, the math-er wrote the license number on her hand. She watched as the young woman turned down a dead end. But the math-er had all she needed.

She hurried back to the scene of the crime and flagged down a police officer. The police praised her and took down her detailed statement. They called her a hero. The math-er was flattered, she preened but demurred, Aw shucks, just doing the right thing.

As the math-er walked back to her American relic the driver of the mutilated old car pressed her hands together in a gesture of thanks. The math-er turned and smiled. She gave the driver thumbs up.

Not just another day. A new day.

A new day in the gray city.

---------------------------------------

And that is why I didn't make it to your Pseudo-Bachelorette Party, Mon. My secret life as a crime fighter got in the way (again).

Seriously.

PS- This is my 1,000th post. Good job on not quitting, self. You should eat a cupcake tonight in celebration.

I was going to eat one anyway, but now I have an excuse!

Recipe for a Good Life

I know I am a whiner. I’m so busy. Wah wah wah. I have too many friends. Wah wah wah.

Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the amount of things I schedule for myself. I always get burnt out and threaten big changes, but in the end it comes down to one thing: I have the greatest friends ever. (In the entire history of friends. Pretty sure.) How can I complain that I am too busy when there is so much awesome to be had?

This weekend I had the final installment of birthday shenanigans and I was utterly touched by the thoughtfulness of my friends. Every gift was clearly chosen with care. Every person sacrificed a Sunday evening, traveling though torrential rain just to eat delicious cake with me.

Even after I threw a bitch-fit about only wanting one little party.

I am doubly blessed to have a caring family and friends who are there not just for cocktails and cake, but stick around even when I move or paint my home. I don't even need to ask.

I may not have all the things in life that people grasp at, but I am lucky to have the most elusive and valuable thing of all, fantastic friends.

For my birthday I received a host of amazing gifts including a Kitchen Aid stand mixer. My Kitchen Aid is just waiting on the counter. Shiny and new, like the new car I've never owned. It even has new mixer scent. Every year I've requested a Kitchen Aid, and my family has refused. Kitchen Aid stand mixers are for married women. Get married and we'll buy you one. The only thing better than being an independent woman and buying a Kitchen Aid is being given one by your friends. Confirmation that I am good the way I am.

I show my love for people in sacrifices of my most precious commodity: time. Standing in my kitchen kneading dough, cutting cookies, or frying up some bacon, while bopping along to music is the perfect way to 'talk' about my 'feelings'. Daydreaming of happy friends with full stomaches as I stir. The warmth of the oven, the clean white counters, and the safety of an apron are like a crackling fire, warm blanket, and a good book. I'm never more at peace than when I'm whipping something up for a loved one.

I've got all these images in my head. I see good friends at the table. Herbs from my garden. And in the kitchen things are stirring. Clippings from Gourmet and Cook's Illustrating are queuing up and I am ready. I am mixing dreams in that shiny metal bowl.

Passive Aggressive Notes to My Roommate: Spider Edition

Dear Roommate,

I am not sure how you persuaded me to come into the bathroom with you to “check out this HUGE spider in the garbage can” (I assume voodoo), but I would like to ask you to STOP IT, because I am permanently traumatized.

That spider was so huge that in spite of the fact that I knew it would be there, I screamed anyway. You pulled like 4 Kleenex out of the box to kill that spider. I would have tried the elephant gun first. Ok, that is not true because I would have just screamed and ran away. Also I don’t have an elephant gun.

Every morning I make my bed even though I am blind, deaf, and dumb until after I’ve showered and eaten. And do you know why, dear roommate? It is not because I’m OCD and must control my environment; no, it is because then spiders cannot get into my bed and lie in wait for me.

That spider was so huge that it crawls into my bed, reads my comics, and watches HGTV in my bath robe, then makes the bed again and leaves. So huge that it probably squeezes into the sexiest of my unmentionables and prances around like a pony, taking sassy pictures of itself then posts them on craigslist, because spiders are filthy kinky bastards like that.

So, in conclusion, the next time you see a spider the size of a heifer, just kill it and don’t even tell me it was ever there.

Definitely do not follow me into the living room and tell me that you killed another one upstairs already.

XOXO,
q.