Nighmares At The Museum...Or, Ways To Feel Lucky I'm Still Alive

This isn't a real post: it's a bunch of pics from our trip to the Houston Museum of Natural Science for my birthday (because the MAGNA CARTA was there, people, and nothing makes my geeky medieval heart beat quite as fast as a piece of parchment that was written in 1217).

 

After I stopped drooling on the glass attempting to read tiny scribblings I'm told are supposedly in  Latin but were written on really old skin, in fading ink, in a different language, by some sort of hobbit sized scribe erm... blind monks thrifty people trying to save messenger fees...

 

Anyway, after we finished geeking out over the Magna Carta we spent some time in the Paleontology exhibit.

 

Wherein I met monsters that I'm afraid are digging holes in my front yard and some unfortunate fellows had...incidents.

 

First, there were bugs. LOTS OF GIANT SNAKEPIDER BUGS.

If THIS is what's making a goddamned hole in my front garden, FUCK NO.

FUCKETY FUCK FUCK NO!!!!

Then, there were super awesome giant cross sections of huge trees that lived about a zillion years before man was even a blip on the cosmic radar. And they're pretty.

 

I'm 6' tall. This cross section of a fossilized tree is taller than me...just how many rings IS that?

Then Husband unfortunately lost his hand to some sort of giant sailing lizard. Sad. (It's possible he's attempting to choke said sailing lizard, which seems foolish considering the HUGE FUCKING TEETH, but it all turned out ok in the end.)

 

His new hook is on backorder. 



Then we discovered Syfy channel has failed utterly in their monster movie motifs. I mean, come ON: in the Hall of Monsters in the museum these dudes just hung out, waiting to stalk you and eat your brains. Except they were literally 15 to 20 feet tall, and looked fully large enough to carry off a Clydesdale. Syfy, their NAME is Gigantodactyl. YOUR WORK HAS BEEN DONE FOR YOU HERE.

We do not eat worms.
Unless it's a sandworm from Dune...those might be tasty, and we're definitely early.
And terrifying.
 

And then we discovered this unfortunate scene, in which a skeletal zombie mammoth is fighting skeletal human hunters. As you can see, the mammoth is CLEARLY winning here.

Or, prehistoric humans could fly. It's rather difficult to tell.

See the skeleton? Natural Selection at it's best.



Nope, this dude DEFINTELY looks like he's having a piss-poor hunting day. Maybe the Mammoth learned to appreciate human flight deaths from Robin Arryn? (Yes, that's a Game of Thrones reference. What? This could be the brother of the sad mammoths that died at the Wall)

 



You win this round, Mammoth.



And thus our trip to the museum ended. And I'm reminded that even though I'm closer to 40 today, I still have a longer life span than people who tried to fly around mammoths. And that's enough for me.



Mammoth Butt. The End.

Just a little NICE to pass around. Go ahead and call me Pollyanna. Unless you're not old enough to know who I'm talking about...Sigh.

While not-working this afternoon (it's slow here this week) I found THIS act of sneaky goodness via the Huffington Post. Never let it be said, I guess, that the HuffPo only reports crap news.

I adore random acts of generosity. Both my husband and I enjoy the anonymity of giving that way: it's not about getting thanks or about having a certain reputation or about making ourselves feel better: it's about giving something back and, corny as it sounds, putting a little positivity out there. We've been what I consider broke (not enough money for the gas to get to work, paycheck still two weeks away, and nothing left on the credit cards) more than once in our decade together. My husband lived in his car at one time in his life (therefore his definition of broke is different than mine, and as such he's often able to give me valuable perspective on the relativity of wealth). We were unbelievably lucky: through friends or family we had enough of a safety net to get through everything and come out on the other side mostly unscathed, still in possession of our home and things, and perhaps a bit in debt.

Not everyone is so lucky. Not everyone has a network of help. Not everyone gets second chances when they make mistakes that fuck up their lives.

I figure if we pick up another person's tab at Perkins without them knowing we did it, maybe that made their day. Maybe it pissed them off (although I'll tell you, someone picked up OUR check at a restaurant once out of random kindness, and it didn't occur to me to think we looked like we couldn't afford dinner: I just thought what a nice thing to do, that totally made my day!). Maybe they'll pass on the little bit of nice to the next person THEY see.

I love that these 9Nanas were able to keep such a major secret for so long: what a fun and rewarding way to spend their time. What's better than giving someone else a little bit of happiness in this life, especially when they're down?

Things I Never Thought I'd Say Out Loud...

...until I had dogs.

• THOR! STOP humping your brother!
• Who peed on the bathroom floor?
• Dude...it's a buttless, headless monkey (much beloved/abused stuffed animal)...gross.
• Chewy, I know you have to eviscerate stuffed animals, but do you HAVE to get the guts all over the floor?
• Chewy, seriously, poop THEN wander around. You look retarded.
• DON'T STEP IN IT!! GODDAMMIT!!!
• NO HUMPING!
• Thunder is not the sky barking at you. Shut up.
• That leaf is not out to get you. Shut up.
• No, you can't rip that squirrel apart. Stay in the house.
• Oh my god, stop bitching. Your bath isn't that bad.
• Don't sniff (insert any guest's name here)'s crotch!
• Seriously, go wipe your mouth, you ishy drool machine.
• NOT ON MY LEG!!
• What the hell?? Who peed on the kitchen floor?? What's WRONG with you?
• Dude...I wouldn't do that. He's gonna bite your face off. (To Chewy while he's tormenting Thor).
• Sigh. Told you so. Come here, let's see if you still have both eyes. (To Chewy, after Thor lost his temper).
• Belly rubs!
• Don't swallow that plastic/fuzz/paper/shoe!
• Stop licking your feet!
• Put your head out the window and shush (to Thor, in the car)
• Thor, why do you rip the ears off of every chew toy?
• Get off my foot, you fat cow.
• Oh dear, what have you done? (This is anytime I come home to two cowering, remorseful, hiding dogs instead of wagging-happy dogs).
• Don't eat barf!
• Did you DROOL in my shoe? You bastard!
• DROP THAT SOCK!
• Aww, snuggle-puppy

UPDATED: My husband commented on Facebook (NOT my blog: bad form dude, bad form) with the following:

You forgot "stop licking your brothers junk" and "no you can't have the bottle yet, it's not empty".

Touche Sir, I indeed forgot those two. Along the same lines: "put that away, nobody wants to see your junk."

Life is HARD.

For my dogs. Which I typed as "gods" by accident once during this post.

Also, life is apparently exhausting: 

Exhausting to the point of looking dead: