Category Archives: adventures

It’s Sportsball Season Again

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Because it’s always sportsball season because Jesus doesn’t want me to be happy, I guess.

Anyway, I figured this was a perfect excuse opportunity to explain how much I don’t grok about any sportsball. Any. And what’s more, if you tried to explain it to me, honestly, I’m gonna start humming Pachabel’s Canon in D until you stop. If we’re both infinitely lucky, it’ll only be in my head. If you are passionate about sportsball, neither of us will be lucky.

The thing is, everything I know about any kind of sportsball I know because I had friends/family/whoever who was interested in it when I was younger and nearly all of my exposure to sportsball has been without my personal consent.  I had to be in the Pep Band to flute at people. I had to go to games featuring brothers or cousins or whatever because if you love family, you go and do things you hate because family.  I would read or take pictures or do pretty much anything that didn’t involve watching the “game” and it’s really left me with a cyclopedic knowledge of all things sportsball — if we define cyclopedic in this context as “patchy at best.” Mostly I just like the word cyclopedic and it’s my freaking blog.

(Speaking of, I have family humans who have snuck in without my knowledge. Everybody just act normal till they get bored and wander off, okay? NOBODY MENTION THE SQUID PORN.)

Anyway, I figured I’d open sportsball season (because it’s ALWAYS sportsball season) by explaining exactly how much I know about stick-puckey on ice. The NHL prefers we call it “hockey,” but that’s ridiculous. There’s not any kind of hock involved in stick-puckey on ice, while I can demonstrate precisely how much stick, puckey and ice are involved in stick-puckey on ice. My name is better; I win.

Did I mention the razor blades? Oh. Well, also razor blades.

Did I mention the razor blades? Oh. Well, also razor blades.

Stick puckey is what happens when people (in this case, Canada) decides to become a relatively peaceful nation. See, most humans aren’t actually peaceful by nature. They’re terrible. Or, okay, some of them. But instead of traipsing off and colonizing the rest of the world, Canada decided to start Stick Puckey. This is essentially what happens when you don’t do war, but you still want to hurt people. If you’re Canada, you look to your national resources — in this case, ice. What do you do with 78% of your country is made of ice and beavers and the beavers are all rabid? You start smacking people with sticks while dancing on razor blades. On ice.

The puck is there mostly to give some excuse for the violence. Don’t be fooled. It’s incidental. It was actually a pancake that fell onto the ice during the inaugural game and got written into the rules by accident.

I’ve had people try to explain “scoring” and “goals” and “leagues” and that kind of thing to me, to which I … blank out and star at their left ears till they shut up. Partly because I watched The Mighty Ducks and I don’t care what you say: stick puckey is absolutely about smacking people with sticks. I think the points are awarded for not actually killing people.

Join us next time when we’ll discuss another thing I don’t know about!

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So you’re 34, today, huh?

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“So, what are you doing for the big day?”

“Drawing, playing Pottermore and eating cake!”

“…”

Seriously, if you ask me, your birthday should be last in the list of days on which you’re expected to behave like a grownup.

For my birthday, I’m about to go hang out with my brother, SIL and nieces. But when I was 16, I embraced the idea of a birthday month. So on Wednesday, I am going to do stuff with my best friends in the universe. And until sometime in mid-September, I’m going to act exactly as mature as I feel, which is more like the sum of 3 and 4 than the actual age 34.

ETA:  My spate of acting 7 is to blame for blog lag this week.  Sorry.  I’ve been really random.  But I’ll be back, possibly with pictures of cake. Or something.  ❤

Yes, But That’s Stupid

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That’s what I WANTED to say on a FB post earlier, one that reminded me why I normally like to pretend that FB doesn’t exist. This one was about something forgettable, but I realized I want to say it a LOT when I’m on Facebook.  Twitter, on the other hand, is full of brilliant and witty people with whom I actually engage in useful discussions.  Social media is awesome, except when it sucks.

Moving on, though, to the real crux of this post.  It’s about Google.

Listen, Google. You do great work. You’re really good at what you’re good at.  Hell, I’m even using Chrome right now on my Mac because you nailed the browser thing. Nailed it. I was a beta tester for gmail. Remember those days?  Back when people had to use hotmail or Yahoo! just to talk to each other? Dark days, my friend. But then there was Gmail. There was light. And 1GB of space. I know that sounds silly now that you’ve given us, what, 15GB? And Google Drive? I even briefly considered acquiring a Chromebook at some point in the future before my iThings ganged up on me and threatened my survival. Anyway, I’m just saying that there are things you are really good at and you should stick to those things.

This is the awkward part, though.

You’re known for creative thinking. Innovation. Doing stuff in a different way.  That’s why I was really sad to see the Google Doodle on Monday.  I mean, I almost didn’t even mention it because, let’s face it, I’m afraid you’ll take away my data or something. You hold the power in this relationship.  But remember last week when I invented the Quantum Reactive Schröedinger’s  Pie cult? Last week. Like, before Monday.

Okay, I know I didn’t invent Schröedinger or the idea of quanta reacting differently on observation, but I did draw pictures about it. Like… three of them. Maybe it was two. I don’t know, Google; I’ve had a couple Klonopin smoothies since then and it’s a bit of a blur.  But the thing is Monday, I saw this:

You and I both know what you did. Is this a cry for help?

You and I both know what you did. Is this a cry for help?

Really, Google, you could at least have been subtle about it.  This is just blatant. I really feel like maybe you need to talk to someone. Have you called your mother? Google, we can get through this, but you have to stop cribbing off my blog. Just admit you have a problem and, I don’t know, Google something. See? That’s another thing you’re good at.  You don’t have to keep following me online.  It’s a little creepy, sometimes, really.  I’m sorry. It just had to be said.  I think we might need some time apart — except for email and searching and browsing and storing things online, I mean. But all that other time?  Yeah.  I need space.

It’ll be okay, Google.  But I’m not letting you borrow my iPad again.

 

It seemed like a good idea at the time…

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I live in Mordor, but I’m pretty sure I heard ice giants on the move….

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I Don’t Know How It Happened….

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So I was gonna blog about the whole twitter silence thing that I didn’t participate in for reasons. But I can’t do that thing right now because I FELL DOWN THE PRETTY LITTLE LIARS RABBIT HOLE.

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Sorry?

I’m usually smarter

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A couple of weeks ago, I entered an argument with a wall about who had the right of way.  Physics decided to back up the wall because physics is a jerk. The results of this miscarriage of science were several very mean thoughts, a ridiculous headache and a pair of broken specs that I could not locate.

See, I’m extremely nearsighted. Legally blind, in fact.  If you take away my glasses, the world disappears.  This doesn’t make you David Copperfield, though; it just makes my eyes pretty useless without adequate backup.  Did I mention this whole thing happened during an attempted potty break at 3 a.m.?  That might be TMI but it also kind of explains that it was dark and I didn’t shout words of anger at Newton just because it would have woken people up.  Because I’m considerate. Unlike science.  (The Jerk.)

I keep an emergency pair of older Rx glasses in a place I can reach even blindly because there are times I didn’t put my actual glasses where I thought I did when I fell asleep and therefore cannot function until they’re found.  But this happened on the other end of the house.  I had to navigate the entire obstacle course between my broken and unlocateable glasses and my not-broken, but not-particularly-useful glasses without any optical enhancement. In the dark.  I broke a toe.

I eventually located my old glasses, put them on my face and cursed because everything was only somewhat less blurry.  So this time, I hobbled half-blind, injured and cranky back across the dark house to locate broken glasses, assess the damage and attempt to fix them.  (I just really want to point out the jerkishness of science since I feel it played a vital role in making the night so miserable. Sorry all you science-lovers, but really, science is a jerk.)

If you cannot see, you should not attempt to glue things with any sort of permanent fixative.  Because due to the continued mean-spiritedness of science, they not only attach acetate earpieces to the rest of the frame, but they also attach your hand to the frame.  Possibly twice.  (Shut up.)

When your newly detached-from-your-hand glasses finish drying, you will put them on and realize that you have obviously done a very bad job.

Then you get to wait for almost 2 weeks for new glasses because science is a jerk and hasn’t invented teleportation yet.

So remember:  I’m not clumsy. Science is just a jerk.

It made more sense in my head….

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So there’s not really a post today, as you can tell because it’s all dark outside and I usually have a post up around lunchtime. But sometimes life demands that you take a day off.  Or possibly three.  And then life will troll you and you will accidentally have an allergic reaction, take a grown-up dose of benedryl by taking several pediatric melty tabs of benedryl and when your BFF wonders why you’re so out of it, you’ll tell her with a meaningful look, “ALL MY SKIN IS BEES” before falling dead asleep again.

Probably you didn’t have a stroke.  At least if you’re me.

And that’s a good thing. Which is really the lesson to take from this.  Not how to OD on baby benedryl. Because that is almost never a good idea.