From The Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt

I have notebooks.
LOTS of notebooks.
As any of my friends can tell you, I always have a small spiral notebook in my purse, waiting for shit to be written in it. I have grocery lists, weekly menus, movie names, phone numbers, notes from random crap that I thought was interesting that I should totally blog about...
*ahem*
I found a poor, abandoned notebook underneath my monitor. I found what could very well be one of the, and I mean THE best treasure troves of random awesomeness that I have ever compiled without knowing it, and just so that I can throw the poor fucking thing away and have this on the internet forever, I'm going to go through this notebook RIGHT NOW:

A business card for an auto glass place, and homeboy's name is ROCKY STORM. I knew that one day it would be awesome.

First page says: "squished elephant" WTF was I thinking here?

Second page: "two girls, high school age. won't STFU and is HYSTERICAL." More than likely here, I was at the pottery shop. Page three actually proves this hypothesis correct, and I have written down some choice gems. Why? Because these girls were about two feet away from me, and DIDN'T care. Who am I to say anything?

Page three, where the quotes begin: "You know all those kids at school make jokes or something and I don't get it because hel-LO I don't fill my head with that crap."

"I am so BLESSED to know you Sandy. You know, I have totally been thinking about you. A lot. And I totally think you are wonderful."

"Greg's been going through a lot of counseling lately."
"Like what kind of counseling?"
"I don't know; all I know is that they go into another room with a bible. But they did that for a couple of weeks and Greg was let back into the house after that."

^^^^^^Can I just get a hallelujah WTF from everyone here? I'm pretty much sure as all hell that THAT particular passage was why I saved this notebook. Moving on:

"Because we are TOTALLY above that, and he knows it. And he appreciates it. Because you are totally beautiful and gets it."

"You know what I'm totally gonna do one day? I'm gonna go somewhere and talk with a British accent all day. No one will know, and it'll be so cool!"

And you know, as I'm reliving this moment, I remember a lot more of what they said, but not verbatim so I can really type it out. DAMMIT. I really have to start taking my mp3 player around; its got a microphone and would be awesome for just that kind of moment (or is that weird?)

COMING SOON: ONE. MORE. NOTEBOOK!

And So It Begins....

The baking season, that is. We harvested-noshit-fifty pounds of apples from my mom's backyard the other day....that's a LOT. We still have about fifteen left, but I'm SO sick of putting apples into things and making things that involve lots of apples that I swear to god I'm going to have to go suck on a grapefruit to get the sweet out of my system.

BUT!

Et VOILA!

LOOK AT THIS BADASS MOTHERFUCKING PIE. TELL YOUR FRIENDS ABOUT THIS HUGE BADASS AWESOME FUCKING PIE RIGHT HERE. I AM A PIE GOD.

That bitch is SIX INCHES HIGH. I could almost puke from thinking about the pure awesomeness of this pie, that I made from SCRATCH and baked mahself. *snif* I could very well get emotional.

Wait, what's this? Is it anything like the picture, you ask? Let me just set your minds at ease then:



Other than the little dough-bit leaves, a pretty good match yes?

I RULE.

You may now carry on with your day.

Pa! Fetch Mah Shootguns!

I hate this time of year, and it's deeply rooted in my hate and despisation (is that a word?) of spiders.

And don't get me wrong, my hate and despisation (no seriously, IS that a word?)is directly related to size. I can deal with the harvestmen, which I don't think are really spiders, because they are slow and never make it into the house, and I can deal with the black grass spiders, for while they are plentiful and quick, they are nondescript and easily dispatchable despite their speed. For instance, I see a little black fucker crawling on the ceiling and I will squish the living shit out of it before thinking twice. BUT when I run into the bathroom on an emergency pee break and there is some crazy-ass quarter-sized bastard hanging over the toilet, I become a paragon of good breeding and promptly piss my pants (SO EMBARRASSING) before screaming for the hub-unit.

Problem is, the hub-unit is actually a spiderphobe himself, so the squishing duties are QUITE the bone of contention around here. The thing with him is, if I scream loud enough and point like a deafmute with a hot poker up my ass he will be filled with a scaredy-cat haterage and bludgeon said pointed-at arachnid with a two-by-four, so ocassionally it works out. Seriously, spider haterage. It's AWESOME.

No, it's this time of year that the BIG guns come out, because it's mating season, and the hyooge mammajamas are coming out to get their hump on to quickly propigate the species before the cold kills off all the males. This is where things get ugly.

The Wolf spiders, which EEEWWWW, are massive. We had one on the garage door that was no shit as big as the doorknob. Which, in case you were wondering, is BIG. We have the hideous Hobo spiders, which are fairly distinctive looking if you're looking at a female but not so much if you're f2f with a male, and their bite has the same effect as a brown recluse....tissue necrosis. NOT GOOD, especially if you find a bunch of them and your spiderphobe brain immediately loses it thinking about your KID getting a bite. There's also the False Widow, which at first glance looks EXACTLY like a black widow but when you look closer you notice that it's not really black but a dark brown and is in no way poisonous but still yucktastic. All are BIG spiders that can get progressively bigger, and they petrify me to the point that just a few weeks ago I couldn't even convince myself to go out into the garage to do laundry because OMG BIG FUCKING SPIDERS. Thank bob for Surety Pest Control. ANd OMG the Orb Weavers, which will cast a web between ANYTHING within five feet of it, so you've got these huge webs all cobwebby everywhere with these BIG HUGE stripey spiders with way too many leg joints just WAITING to pop out and be all "HAI! WHY YOU DESTROY WEBZ HOOMAN?"

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH.

BUT when the spray outside hits from our friendly pest control dude, they move inside in a mass exodus into my garage, which means that I have at least two days of crazy screaming spider-crushing hecticness. It blows.

NEXT YEAR, you little eight-legged douchebags, next year I will be prepared. With glue paper.

YEAH.

I'm Totally Eating Tabbouleh Right Now!

....Which has no bearing at all on this post, but I thought I'd just announce it for grins 'n shit.

Right. So I'm going through my comic book collection, narrowing it down to the ones I REALLY like and the ones that are worth the storage in a cull so epic most comic nerds in my area will organize a lynch mob the minute they happen to stumble upon this post. I forgot how much fun comics are, and how much MONEH I spent on that shit, and I found some gems.

Gems which I will NOT be sharing with you right now, because I have to go to bed because I have dental surgery tomorrow morning. And Wednesday morning. And Thursday morning...JEEZUS. Back on topic.

I will not be sharing comic book gems with you right now, but I DO have time to write out and share with you probably one of the WORST character ideas ever in the history of comic books, and really people, I've read The Adventures of The Defecatrix, The Fem Fecale, so that's saying a LOT. Here ya go:

HISTORY:
The warrior known today as the Dark aka Alan McGroth, has been a soldier in a legion of wars throughout his immortal life. He has fought in almost every major conflict from the Crusades to Vietnam. Now he has turned to a new battlefield, the drug-and crime-ridden streets of New York, adopting the vigilante identity of the Dark, a rogue warrior waging a one-man war against the evils which plague the city.
POWERS:
The Dark represents human physical perfection; The Dark possesses superhuman strength, endurance, agility, and regenerative powers. With complete control over the very cells in his body, The Dark can stop the flow of blood to a finger, heal any wound faster that his already increased regenerative powers, or counteract any poison instantly. All five of his sense have been heightened to a superhuman level. He could track an animal through the jungle a full day after the animal has passed. The Dark has been known to change his physical characteristics at will.
ABILITIES:
The Dark possess the knowledge of several dozen martial arts learned throughout his life while traveling across the globe. The Dark is also a natural born leader, in the ranks of G. Julius Caesar, Alexander the Great, and Richard the Lionheart.

PEOPLE, SAY IT WITH ME TO BETTER YOURSELF AS A HUMAN BEING:
MARTY SUE MUCH, YA DOUCHEBAG?

Go look up the term Mary Sue; I'm sure even Wikipedia has it. Find the related term MARTY SUE of MARY STU. Go ahead, I'll wait.

Found it? Great! Now agree with me, and also note that I did in NO WAY change the spelling or grammar used in that hideous blurb one IOTA.
And I'll catch up witchyall later.

Minimalism and O HAY, I Guess I Was Doing it Wrong: A Post In Two Parts

Everything on this blog has changed, I know you can see it. I've deleted my page tracker because I no longer care where people are coming from; keyword searches everyday take too much time away from real life. As do blogrolls, which is now conveniently absent as well. No more flashy pictures, no more identifying profile, no more stupid imageshark treefrogs....nothing. Some may think that this is because I am depressed; some may think it's because I've had some kind of bizarre falling out with some random internet buddy on some wack-ass website. Yall would be WRONG, just to let you know. I'm having a kind of internet renaissance, an epiphany, an epoch of enlightenment. No longer will I whore out my thoughts and random pictures to those just cruising through looking for fabulously flashy content and linky-doos; I am not that kind of writing person.



Of course, no offense meant to those that actually HAVE fancy flashy shit....I have come to the conclusion that it's just not mah thang.



RIGHT, PART TWO WHERE THINGS GET INTERESTING:

Apparently, I have been doing it wrong. According to an article that I just read over at ican-online , I should have been WAY more upset about having my stomach cut open to retrieve my rugmonkey. I get that the article was written focusing on Spain, but HOLY SHIT WOMEN GET SOME THERAPY. They're suffering form PTSD because of a c-section? Really? Am I THAT fucking callous and jaded that I just don't understand why it's so hard to find a professional to talk to? I mean, you're paying them money to hear you bitch and whine and complain; that's what therapists DO. Trust me, from personal experience here. SRSLY.
I suppose I'm just kind of sociopathic that way; that I can't see it from someone else's POV unless I have experienced it for myself, which kinda makes me sound like a douche. I mean, I had an emergency csec, and not once before during after or even post partum six months did I feel cheated or violated in any way due to what happened. I mean, the whole point of having a baby is HAVING THE BABY....I don't see how the method of delivery should change the end result of a healthy baby. But then, I believe that's addressed in the article. Or maybe the comments. Whatever.
God, sometimes I hate people. And then I hate myself for being such an inexperienced judgemental shit.

Oooh look, ponies!