Thursday, February 23, 2017

How To Get Out of Babysitting: 101

Actual conversation with my sister (Han and Evil's mom) via text message. Of course I could've just posted the screenshot, but then anonymity for both my sister and Han would be lost. Plus, I MUST fix some of the text shorthand, because I'm a nerd and it drives me nuts how people don't spell out actual words in text.

I know, I know: emojis and shorthand are their own languages now...isn't it interesting how the modern equivalent of Egyptian Hieroglyphs are coming back as a real language through texting?

Um. Anyway...conversation as follows (edited only for privacy and incomplete words. I left the punctuation, because it makes me chuckle to imagine the over-enthusiasm).

S: Han's Actual Name Han asked me at dinner how the babies are going to get out of my belly.......

Me: You didn't show him Alien, did you?

Me: I'm no expert, but showing a 4 year old to explain birth might be bad parenting. Just sayin.

Me: Go with Aliens instead. Better movie all around. 

S: Heehee...I said we'd go to the hospital and the doc would help get them out. Then I changed the subject and said 'guess what!!! Grandpa is going to stay with you while we're at the hospital!!!!!'

S: oh good lord Jess, maybe you shouldn't babysit...*

Yeah. I babysit the kids a lot. They're my favorite. I'm pretty sure when the twins come I won't be allowed to touch them at all if Han and Evil are around.

Also, four kids under 5 all in one suburban house?

If you were wondering when the apocalypse starts, I'm pretty sure she's due sometime in March.

*As it turns out, not actually a deterrent from babysitting. Neither is giving the kiddos cherry popsicles so they look like little vampires.

Wednesday, February 22, 2017

It Must Be Wednesday - Yahoo Thinks I'm a Rich Frat Boy

Today's Spamalicious Hump Day offerings from Yahoo include eight offers of various sorts of encounter with chicks I don't know. 

I deleted two of them for offering explicit acts...not because I'm a prude: because I probably don't want people finding my blog as a search result for them. Sigh. 

Also, can I just say, Stiffler was 1999. 1999!! 18 years ago...shouldn't "MILF" have gone out of style by now? What the hell?  

Oh my god, I graduated college 18 years ago. I need more coffee for this shit. 

So, multi-aged various nationalities offering *ahem* hot evenings.
Dear Jenny M, no thanks but good luck with your boyfriend.
No, generalized nameless "naked girls", I sure don't remember you, and based on your email subject line you'd think I WOULD. Therefore, pretty sure you have the wrong girl here.

Extended Stay hotel (and apparently I own a timeshare somewhere: Ryan wants to buy it. Fuck you Ryan, I'm not giving up my sweet escape space for hot encounters with people I don't remember.)


See what I mean by wealthy frat boy as depicted in movies? The only offers missing are toga parties and beer.

Hmm. Maybe I should be flattered that Yahoo thinks I'm in my twenties?

Sunday, February 12, 2017

I need a weekend from my weekend.

I'm supposed to be working on a couple of book reviews today, and I'm fairly distracted. The writing conference yesterday was both awesomely educational and horribly disheartening, and while I have some helpful suggestions from an agent, working on non-fic is easier today. Therefore, tying up some loose ends and finding some ideas to pitch to magazines is on the docket, which means looking through the notes on my phone. I swear that's not a non-sequitur: smartphones are both awesome and dangerous for someone who has random ideas and conversations, because sometimes I go back and wonder what the hell I wanted to remember. 

So, because a glance of notes in my phone made me chuckle (titles only): 

"Hey! Don't knock Boones Farm. When you're poor in high school that's all you can afford." Said at a family gathering recently by one of my relatives who would never have admitted to drinking in high school when I was a teenager. Of course, that not only means she's always been fun and trouble, but also that I'm old.  

Quilters Dark Web: assassination orders, prohibited patterns, quilting a hellmouth portal... Oh yeah, there's a story in this. It's in my "pending attention" list. 

Lickubus - like succubus/incubus who snacks I have no appropriate explanation for this. Some of my conversations are astounding. 

Crotchless snowpants Came from the same convo as Lickubus. I wish I could remember if the two were related or some sort of weird progression...because I feel like a "bus" of any sort would be ALL ABOUT crotchless snowpants. 

"The Freckly Princess" by Godfried Bomans I'm bummed to discover I can't find this in English. I keep random books/authors in a list on my notes, so I don't lose them when I'm hanging out at Barnes & Noble. 

Dad's sloppy joes recipe Oh yeah!! YUM! DAd's secret to delicious Sloppy Joes is a can of Campbells Chicken Gumbo soup instead of anything ishy like Manwich. Ketchupy Joes and meat loaf make me gag: this is so much better. 

"Ta to cuid anois" = you're hers now Yeah. Not sure if that was kept as a threat or promise. Thanks, iphone. 

EvilRocks! Truth. Not sure why that's in my notes, but it's completely true. She DOES rock. And lately, she'd respond with "Yupper!"

Mt. Hekla in Iceland: gateway to hell Well, either that's part of the to-see list or a story location. Let's go with both. 

I have no decent explanation for any of this, except that my brain is a weird one; luckily so are the brains of my closest friends and family. 

Friday, February 10, 2017

Random Crap and Totally Inappropriate Lyrics

Does anyone else feel like 2017 is an extended (terrible) episode of the Twilight Zone? And that's all I'm going to say about the Oompa Loompa in charge, because I think it's covered better by all the media (social and mainstream) out there.

So, I haven't been here much since Thor died. I haven't honestly written much at all since then: worried about Chewy, hanging out with the family while they were in town for holidays, helping my ex get his stuff (well, the stuff left in my house/garage) ready to move down to Texas. My poor drawer-o-journals has been untouched for a couple of weeks now, which is pretty horrid since I MAY have bought yet another recently. *Sigh* yes, I have a problem. 

Tomorrow, I'm going to my first writing conference. It's stupid, but I'm beyond nervous: I'm bringing a page for critique (anonymously, thank all the deities out there) by agents, and signed up to do a pitch session. I can't decide if I'm pushing my boundaries in effort to become a professional writer someday, or if I'm just paying dearly for a moment of insanity months ago when I signed up to do this thing. Let's just all cross appendages that I stay within the non-arrestable forms of inappropriate behavior, shall we? 

Google says "arrestable" isn't a word. I disagree. 

I'm too nervous to come up with decent funny blog items tonight, but I AM back. And so instead I'll subject you to the dirtiest song I've actually ever heard (ok, that's not entirely true). No, I didn't know this song existed until the other day. Feel free to make fun of the video (which, if you listen to the lyrics has NOTHING to do with the song)...I did. Then I heard "cunning linguist" and really paid attention and HOLY CRAP they played this on the radio. Awesome and awfulsome.