To my father, purveyor of the Old Man Dance

So this is not a ranty post.

SUPRISE! I’m capable of occasionally writing in a different style. I know, I know, I have many hidden talents. For one, I can open doors using my toes.

But I just felt like writing this. I don’t really talk about the other people in my life much on here, unless it’s a quote or a brief mention due to some crazy thing happening in my world, but here it goes.

So I have this Dad.

And for the past numerous years, I’m too lazy to actually count, he’s been living about an hour to two hours away from me. My parents are still married. The location is due to his work.  Our relationship hasn’t always been spectacular as we both suffer from that stereotypical disease where our communications skills suddenly revert back to caveman times any time we get into a disagreement or misunderstanding. Which is a lot.

But lately we’ve been getting along pretty well. And I guess I felt like writing this because the other day, when all the drama happened with crazypants, my Dad had this really sweet moment where instead of going home (like he almost always does) after our brief  outing to the Alternate Reality Door Store, he decided to drop by my house bearing food.

It was nice.

To just have a short visit. I can only think of a handful of times in the last 6 odd years where we’ve actually just sat alone together. There’s always someone else around or customers calling (he lives on his marina).

Despite our total lack of communication skills (which we totally have great communication skills UNLESS we are talking to each other) I enjoy my father’s company quite a bit.

Growing up my Dad has always done things to “embarrass” me. Or at least that’s what he says. I’ve actually very rarely been embarrassed of my Father. His attempts at embarrassment were really just him being goofy and since we are, as a whole, a goofy family, normally it’s just a bit of fun.

Something I will always remember fondly is my father’s Old Man Dance, in which he would stand stock still, and then do some form of disco/hip bump in robotically slow movements.

I have numerous pictures of him doing this dance using a fork as his “disco finger” during the holidays.

So here’s to my Dad, who sometimes bugs the piss outta me, but whom I love very much.

Wait for it…

Boogie Down!


It may not be pretty, but at least there aren’t Siffels living in it.

So, for the first time I’ve really taken a look at the search terms which have brought people to my blog.

Most of them are easily connected to something I’ve written.

Hand jobs

Kirby Penis

paperclip boners

Bipolar Disorder

But then there’s some that concern me. For example, why are so many people Googling “plants in my vagina”?

Honey, whoever you are, please listen to me. You should not have a plant in your vagina. You should not have a plant growing in/on/or around your vagina. You should not be storing plants in your vagina. Do not Google it. Go to a doctor. Like now. Because while I highly doubt there is an actual plant all up in there, if there’s something that looks like a plant all up in there, that’s not normal.

Also, either a Siffel is a thing that I’ve just never heard of because I’m not one of the cool kids, or somebody horribly misspelled Syphilis. Now, there’s a couple scenarios where someone might google

“Photos of Siffels on vagina”

One being that they are a Sex Ed teacher, who failed English and Spelling, but seriously wants to warn kids about the dangers of Syphilis.

Two being that a Siffel is a term I’ve never heard of, possibly pertaining to jewelry or maybe an exotic breed of crabs.

Three being that whoever Googled that is probably some 15 year old horn dog who thinks they’ve contracted Syphilis. This is much like the “plant vagina” lady….don’t Google it. GO TO A DOCTOR.

Now for the weird ones….

“Ageist Foot Fucking”

and “Incestuous Relationship Pics”

I just…I…I don’t know. I certainly don’t feature foot fucking on my blog. If I did they wouldn’t be elderly feet. I guess my question here is,


Why do you want to see that? What is that? Is it like a foot job? Did you mean foot job? Surely this isn’t a thing.

Nevermind, I don’t want to know. Same goes for the Incest one. Whoever you are….just no. Also, what’s the point in Googling that? Do they, like, post their birth certificates next to the photos to prove they are related? Because that’s pretty much the only way I see you getting any guarantee with that one.

Just really. I’m a little concerned right now.

Hence forth they shall be known as Crazypants and Bootylicious

So drama exists, just in case any of you forgot, and she (because this is a stereotype that I believe to be based in a bit of reality) is a crazy motherfucker that will stalk your ass like she’s got a GPS chip implanted in your left butt cheek. There’s no escaping.

I found this out two days ago.

As I was sitting at my desk, still at work and in a shockingly upbeat mood, I get this in my text box (Sort of. I’m going to paraphrase because in reality this person’s spelling/grammar are very difficult to understand in written form)

“Back up and leave me alone. Stop your immature bullshit lying.”

There were more cuss words and it was followed with about two hours of harassing texts. Now, I honestly thought at first that this person had sent a message to the wrong person.

See, I haven’t seen or spoken to this person, who I’m now dubbing crazypants, in about three weeks. Last I saw her was at a small party at my house. Everything seemed fine. Last I texted her was over some drama, which has now grown disproportionately to it’s level of importance.

Basically she hates this chick I introduced her friend to, and they’re dating now. (For the purposes of this story we shall call crazypant’s friend “Her friend” and we shall call MY friend Bootylicious) I asked her to “please try to lay off Bootylicious lol” and continued to explain that she wants to be friends, seeing as she’s dating someone who is connected with her.

There was no fight. No nothing. No cuss words were said, no back and forth, really.

Then weeks later…

I am so angry about this I can barely speak without taking on that vaguely “I am a demon who comes to consume your happiness” tone of voice. Accusations were thrown, I’m not exactly sure what they were because she never said what I was actually lying about. I’m not sure how I’ve done some of the things she claims because I simply don’t talk to her boyfriend, and haven’t really spoken to the couple involved. Also she never really mentioned how I did all these things, just that it’s apparently all my fault.

I’m just so done with people right now. I’ve known this person my entire life. Seriously, there’s pics of us when I’m like 6 going Trick or Treating together. I’d show you, but that would defeat the whole purpose of changing her name. We’ve never had a fallout that involved any sort of back stabbing. Occasionally through the years we lost touch here and there, to reconnect when it was more convenient for both of us. For awhile there she lived an hour away, which is only a big deal when gas is 3-4 dollars, which it always is.

Fact is I’ve never given her a reason to think I’d try to sabotage her, but here we are after three weeks of no communication and BOOM.

The only reason I asked her to back off Bootylicious is because, lately, this crazypants person has gotten into the habit of saying some pretty nasty things to people for no apparent reason. Things like

“Your ass is nasty. You need to go to the gym.”


“You’re boring”

Sometimes she’s more inventive, but the point is that these are not “Joke” insults. They’re just insults.

Out of the blue and to someone who has never done a single thing to her. She said that “nasty ass” one to Bootylicious (because she is bootylicious, but it’s not nasty).

I can speculate as to why she has this vitriol against her. I know she’s lying about why, because she tried to convince Bootylicious that I may or may not have told crazypants that Bootylicious was a “whore”.

First off, even if I think so lowly of someone that I would seriously comment on their promiscuity, that’s what I’d say. They are promiscuous. I’ve probly dropped the joking “Hoe” before, but whore?

I never say whore.

See, I have this thing with that word where I fucking hate it. Somehow in grade school people decided it was fun to call me a whore, or a hooker, and stuff poorly drawn stick figures doing sex acts into my locker. Usually it was of two chicks because I was also apparently a lesbian, and this was when we were all young enough that two chicks making out was still icky instead of “hawt”.

Please forgive me for typing “hawt” and forcing it upon your unsuspecting eyeballs…


If someone called me “whore,” even jokingly, I used to get very upset. I don’t do that as much now because I realize people are joking. Camo Pants says it a lot, and I know he means nothing by it, but for me to use it against someone would make me highly uncomfortable.

Second off, well…I didn’t call her a whore. So while I’m the bad guy in this made-up drama, she is the one trying to sabotage my friendships.

As angry as I am about all of this I’m also just a little broken hearted. It’s true that crazypants’s (crazypants’, crazypantii…) behavour has been basically appalling lately, but I swear maybe two years ago crazypants would not have been an appropriate nickname. Well…it’s probably still not appropriate per say but it is applicable at this point in time and it’s my blog so nyah!

It’s depressing that the insanely hyper, but overall nice girl, I used to basically think of as family has become the kind of person to lash out and attack people around her just because she can.

And I guess that’s why I’m having trouble letting go of it. I’ve known her forever so I know she’s capable of being a nice person. It’s not like she was born spitting hate at people. And I’ve been defending her for about a year to other friends of mine whom she’s insulted or annoyed.

I guess I just felt like maybe she was doing it because she didn’t know them and was on edge or uncomfortable. But I don’t think that’s it now. It’s almost like she thinks it’s cool to say these things. Like it somehow makes her a braver person, but in reality she’s just being hurtful.

I’m pretty sure it isn’t fixable. Not after the things she sent. And I know she isn’t going to sit down and reflect any time soon. Not only that, but I left a very serious and rage-faced voicemail after the last text she sent because man did it just hit all the wrong buttons, and I hadn’t been replying for nearly an hour so it was becoming obvious she wasn’t going to let it go.

I didn’t threaten her or cuss her out. But to be honest, I was in the middle of a store and everyone was looking at me with bug-eyes despite me intentionally not raising my voice or cussing, so I’m pretty sure my tone sounded “I shall consume your joy” regardless of the actual words I used.

Anyways. One friendship lost, after nearly 20 years, over nothing. Over imaginary drama that I wasn’t even aware of because I’ve been damn busy remodeling my house and making Thanksgiving food.

Which reminds me…


This is my NEW door…to the alternate reality beneath my house.


This is my OLD door, which got kicked in.


Also I’m sure you can see where it went from moldy pea soup color to happy color.

Here’s to small victories, and imaginary dimensions beneath houses only accessible by hallway floor doors.

Fireflies from Hell and Wire Hangers

This is a post about random crap I remember in relation to things today. It probably won’t flow very well as a literary piece. But whatev. I use words like twatwaffle and douchenozzle, so I’m not exactly expecting a Pulitzer for my blog.

You know how there’s all this controversy about violence in the media and the whole kids becoming homicidal maniacs thing?

Yeah, I don’t really agree. Should you let a five year old watch a movie in which proliferous decapitation is a thing? Probably not. Though more because of the nightmares and questions about Death that would follow than the possibility of them in turn decapitating the dog. Odds are they won’t decapitate the dog.

They may decapitate their Barbies though.

Because, you see, children pick up on things. But just because they pick up on them doesn’t mean they will enact them out to a “T”. Odds are you’re going to get a vaguely violent theme during a couple Barbie play sessions, which will in no way foreshadow what they will do in the real world as real people.

Barbies are not real. The character you play when you are holding a Barbie is not real. Kids know this. Same applies to video games.

Let me explain my “scientific” proof. Except that it’s not scientific at all and is really more of a group of anecdotes arranged so as to support my theory.

Theory Part 1: Even if you try to show them happy shit, they will still find something sinister in it.

Scientifically Bullshit Proof: See, my sister is eight years older than me, and being older than me she obviously watched lots of movies that were a little…mature… for someone my age to be watching. Most of the time she recognized that and made a good effort to watch “kid friendly” movies.

Even so, I managed to find something wonderfully not “kid friendly” about quite a few of them. For example, there’s…

“Hook” you know the one with Robin Williams? Where he’s a grown up Peter Pan? Awesome movie. I still love it to this day. I’d probably let lots of kids watch it, but I should point out that, if the child is enough of a copycat, there is one issue.

He calls Tinkerbell a firefly from hell. Which is no big deal, you know, until a little 5 year old is running around joyously outside screaming “FIREFLY FROM HELL” at all the lightning bugs. We used to live in a pretty rural area. There were a lot of lightning bugs.

“Drop Dead Fred” Now, I don’t know if this is a kid’s movie. Hard to tell…deals with imaginary friends and also semi-sexual issues…But I watched it. No biggie.

Except that Drop Dead Fred calls the main character’s mother the Mega Bitch….see where this is going?

Not only that, but come on. Disney? They shoot Bambi’s mom, crush Simba’s Dad,  impale Gaston,  strangle that evil dude whose name I can’t remember in Tarzan, spears AND ELECTROCUTES Ursula with a ship, poisons snow white, burns Frollo…

Looks like a peaceful way to go…

That’s a lot of ways to kill people. And they show all of them in “kids” movies.

Depicted: Dead Parent- every child’s fear.

Theory Part 2: Even if you only watch adult movies (not adult as in naughty, you perv) when they are not present, they will STILL pick up on it.

Scientifically Bullshit Proof: “Mother Dearest” Now this one is definitely not a kid’s movie. And my sister totally didn’t let me watch it. Really. I was in a whole other room playing Barbies. At the other end of her house. She had no clue I had picked up on anything from the movie, until she got a phone call informing her that I had started beating my barbies yelling “NO WIRE HANGERS”. See, I couldn’t hear most of the movie because it was turned down, but the scene where the psycho Mom screams that? Yeah, that carried.

Not over reacting at all.

Theory Part 3: It’s kind of in a kid’s nature to be a little violent when playing. It doesn’t mean they’ll grow up to be violent.

Scientifically Bullshit Proof: Let’s see…things I’ve done while playing that I have never done in real life.

1. hung my Barbie by the neck on a fan. Turned fan on. Watched Barbies legs come unhinged and fly across the room.

2. Froze numerous toys in ice water so that my other toys could “excavate” them. I knew in reality that say, my hamster, would die if I froze it in water. Even if I excavated him quickly. That’s why I never froze my hamster.

3. Picked up a hooker then killed her for her cash. Do I really need to explain how any normal functioning person would know this is bad to do in real life?

4. My Barbies had nudist colonies. I am not a nudist.

5. repeatedly stabbed toys with pins. In toy reality the pins were mighty swords. I neither stab real people with pins or swords, unless you count myself. But that was an accident during hide and seek, and people really shouldn’t store open containers of push pins under their bed.

Those are just a few. In Smash Bros I also enjoy gratuitously eating people with Kirby and electrocuting people with Pikachu. I had a torture chamber (which was mostly just styrafoam and string) for evil toys. I don’t even agree with capital punishment, but when I played with Barbies they got torture AND death. This does not translate into real life.

Just something I was thinking about.

Yes, you really CAN get crabs from a bar of soap.

My Thanksgiving was pretty awesome to tell the truth. This post is coming after a non-Thanksgiving post because, dude, I was in a bad mood ten minutes ago, but now I’m fine.

Go figure.

I even wrote a legit post right after complaining about not being creative. You don’t get to see that one yet because I am the commander of all things bloggy. At least when it’s my blog.

I think that’s reasonable…

Anywho. Thanksgiving! As per usual something went wrong with the turkey. At least they said something went wrong with the turkey. To be honest the pieces I got seemed quite tasty and accurately cooked. It did not gobble at me or look at me with sad longing eyes that you barely notice because you’re too busy looking at that gizzard thing dangling in the air all scrotum like.

Seriously, it looks like an inflamed scrotum.


And boy does it get worse when they are cooked.

Why oh why has happiness forsaken me!

I didn’t hear anyone whine about the one bathroom situation and for the most part everyone seemed pretty much in Holiday spirits. There was the usual cousin who was ever so diligent in continuing her holiday tradition of not actually socializing with the rest of us and the toddler who seemed intent to dive off the spiral staircase head first and with much joy, but over all a lovely night.

After the main horde had left for the night, the family that was left moved out into the yard beside a lovely fire pit filled with chemicals that make the fire burn pretty colors. It sounds unhealthy, and one day we may grow an extra pinky as sacrifice to those pretty colors.


But they were pretty.

As we sat about the fire we discussed what we were thankful for…family, friends, food, porn…

and my aunt had a few glasses of wine. Now, I must point out that she is one of those people who needs about a thimble of alcohol to be pleasantly tipsy. Somewhere along the line she had discovered a bottle of sweet red wine and had indulged. She was not sloppy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her sloppy, but she was amusing and far less censored than normal.

See, she really really wanted my cousin to sing a song around our toxically beautiful fire. And during this time frame it was decided that she needed to encourage our singing with a couple verses from “The Lion Sleeps Tonight”

This went well…until she got to the “Wimeweh” party. At which point she broke into giggles, pointing at the men going:

“YOU have a wimeweh and YOU have a wimeweh but WE…we don’t have wimewehs”

And then she announced she’d once had crabs.

It was an awesome night.

The Ponies Stole My Creativity. The Bastards.

It would appear I am out of creativity. It’s gone. Dried up and turned into that annoying dust that’s just impossible to get out of the cracks in your floor.

I am an empty shell.

Well, except for the approximately 3o pounds of food I’ve consumed in the last four days and a few vital organs tucked here and there.

But mostly empty.

It is a tragic thing to happen, and I am not sure when it shall pass. Perhaps I should Google pictures of kittens for inspiration? Or maybe ponies. Maybe not. Maybe ponies are what stole my creativity, and right now they are out in some golden field somewhere frolicking, as that’s what I believe ponies to do, writing 150 page poems that creatively exhibit the use of iambic pentameter.

Fuck those ponies.

The future is uncertain.

No, really. It’s like totally uncertain. Which is, in reality, probably why I am lacking in the creativity department. Stress is a major soul drain and you can’t have much creativity without a properly functioning soul.

And I am just filled to the brim with stress. Things just don’t seem to be what they were supposed to be and I feel very stuck. I’m going to get back into school soon but I can’t seem to push back the fear that I will never really get anywhere. That things will never really change.

I have to start looking for a job right after Christmas. It’s starting to feel like having two people in a household steadily working is a near impossible goal.

I’m just exhausted with it. Too exhausted to be sarcastically funny about it. I used up all my funny talking about ponies. That was the all of it, and that’s just sad because, really, ponies are more cute than funny.

Let’s just face it. There’s nothing funny about being jobless. there just really isn’t.

It just sucks, man. Sucks hard.

So in the meantime I’ll just keep moving as though I see something attainable over the horizon, even though I don’t. I’ll do my best to absorb Christmas cheer, even though it seems in short supply. I’ll try not to randomly burst into tears over things people have no clue are happening.

Wish me luck. Oh, here’s a picture of my Christmas tree. Told you I was doing my best to absorb the cheer.





I have sharp sticks and I’m not afraid to use them.

So, has anyone heard about the whole it’s Thanksgiving thing?

No? Figures. it’s not like it’s Christmas or anything. But I have to say, I rather enjoy Thanksgiving. Despite me not actually talking to my extended family on a regular basis (unless you count fb comments) I am actually pretty family oriented.

I live for the traditions my mother and I have developed through the years and I love big family holidays.

Even when they include family that bugs the piss out of me.

What can I say? I get in the spirit and all that jazz. So every year we have a big family Thanksgiving dinner at my aunts house. it’s always about an hour late, and generally some sort of gravy explodes.

Ok, that was only the once, but it was pretty epic.

There have been some grumblings in the family this year because my aunt has begun renting out the bottom half of her house, and now there will only be *gasp* one bathroom for the party.

I think these grumblers need to really just shut up. It’s about being with family, and yes one bathroom is inconvenient, but good lord people not everyone has multiple bathrooms to survive day-to-day. I mean, how spoiled does it get?

This grumbling coming from people who grew up in a tiny house and shared a tiny bedroom with multiple not so tiny siblings.


It pisses me off that people would make a single comment because to be honest my aunt works SO HARD on Thanksgiving dinner. She calls everyone and organizes who brings what, she tries to clean up the house . She plans, and shops, and cooks, and ends up supermega frazzled…

All so she can put on a big beautiful dinner for all the family. A damn good one for the most part. Ya know, except that one gravy exploding incident.

And people are gonna grumble about the bathroom?

THANKSgiving people.


Don’t make me engrave it in your forehead with a sharpened stick. I could do it. I have many sticks in my yard as I fail epically at lawn care. And they could be pointed at you.

Just a reminder.

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