Coffee & Zombie Movies.

Romancing the Pup.

noreply@blogger.com (Chelle) — Mon, 23 Apr 2012 00:20:00 +0000

So my cat is a moron. A MORON. "Oh that isn't nice to say about a poor little animal, Michelle!"

I know. But she is. A MORON to be precise.

Smarties, the moron cat, has gone into heat and has found herself incredibly attracted to... "Another male cat in the neighborhood?", you ask, "But it's ill fated because he is neutered?

No.

"Another Ken doll?"

No.

"Your pillows again?"

Nope.

"How about a stuffed turtle? Is she writhing about in the hallway in ecstasy with a stuffed turtle, Michelle? Well is she? Eh???"

No, Readers. But thanks for asking.

Smarties has found a new object of affection to throw her sack of disgusting, trampy, desperate cat bones around at. To... saunter casually past and then ready herself into "the position" in case her heart's desire should requite her affections and become wild with passion for her.

It's futile for poor, confused Smarties, though. She is a star crossed lover. Poor, lonely Smarties.

She's hitting on the dog; the 4 month old, female, golden retriever puppy. I SWEAR IT. Moron.

I made this movie over the course of the past two days to prove it. Sit back, relax and enjoy this awesome romantic comedy:

That's right. My cat is a pedophile.

Don't be jealous of my life.

Wavin' Fwag.

noreply@blogger.com (Chelle) — Tue, 17 Apr 2012 22:52:00 +0000

Here is a wee bit of awesomeness from my day:

Also? I may have found out that Roxette will be playing in my city. *breathes into paper bag*. It's not a big deal. Seriously. ROXETTE? Lame right? *bites through lips*. I mean, Early 90s pop band?? *runs around kitchen island 24923842 times* Who even likes that? I'm like, super cool and listen to artists like Tom Waits and Joe Strummer and Billie Holiday. It puts more of an edge on the Spinnerette. Just because I have 3 Roxette albums on regular rotation in my itunes, mingling amongst the Ramones and the Pogues means NOTHING. NOTHING. It means NOTHING! You back off. I don't even CARE about Roxette. I only know all the words to every song because it was so overplayed in high school... by... someone. Probably not me. *pulls collar* No judgy.

I've never coveted those leggings in my life.

Derr... My kid eating a lemon! Looky:

*throws glitter* *does jazz hands out of the room*

Oh HAAAAaaaY. URINE here too? (get it? Being inappropriate by accident?)

noreply@blogger.com (Chelle) — Fri, 13 Apr 2012 04:14:00 +0000

So I finally went to see ThE HunGEr GaMes. (I wrote it that way so that you would read it in a squealy, up and down tone. I hope it worked). I was pretty excited about the whole thing. Do you know why? Do you, Readers? Because I had a coupon. A coupon for a free entree (with purchase of one regular priced entree) AND TWO MOVIE tickets. *dancy dancy*

I know! You're like, "WHAT!? WHERE THE EFF DID YOU SCORE THAT NOISE?" and I'm all, "I bought a coupon from one of the eighty gazillion spam extreme coupon websites that email me eleventy hundred times per day offering mainly facial laser resurfacing on the cheap, but this time it was movie tickets and a FREE ENTREE." Neil and I were quite pleased with the whole arrangement. Also, I think I just used the slang term "noise" incorrectly.

Anyhow, where was I? Oh yesh. Coupons and movies and excitement. So anyway, I was pretty eager to use my coupon (of which I purchased three) so off we went. We had our delicious half-free dinner (I chose fajitas. Freejitas). ..

INTERMISSION: I just had to pause in the middle of writing this to dig a lemon jellybean out of the dog's mouth. Imagine my disappointment when I discovered that it was just a jellybean and nothing lethal like the elastic band I was oringinally envisioning. *Not disappointed because Sunny will survive, but disappointed because if I hadn't been so concerned for her life, it would have been hilarious to sit back and watch her try and chew it even though it kept sticking to her teeth and she looked so pathetic and so happy all at the same time. Also, I may have given it back to her and watched her finish it and I may not have. Who's to know? Back to my important date night story.

So in my excitement, I quickly dispatched myself from the theatre to use the ladies; super fast before the movie began and stuff, right? Don't wanna miss any slaughtery and distopiaAAAaaa! So I zipped into the ladies room with purpose, only to discover a man peeing in a sink. In the ladies. I froze.

And then it got dark and fuzzy in my brain. Confusing. I saw many many many many spots. My life flashed before my eyes. Everything was topsy turvy and wrong. My surroundings shrunk and the room began to spin. All of these things did happen in the span of the 3 second decade that it took for me to fully accept the verisimilitude that I was not in the ladies room and that the man whom I was staring at was rightfully peeing away in a urinal.

So what did I do? Sneak out stealthily? Undetected? Sheepishly? Silently into the cloak of theatre-y darkness? Of course not. I am incapable of behaving like that when I'm in a stupor of embarassment. I announced myself in a sports announcer type of voice. Of course.

The End.

PS. A little birdie named DBS'S daughter informed me on the facebook that DBS may or may not have had a verrrrry eeerily similar experience today in the mall while wearing certain protective headgear. Care to elaborate, DBS? EH? Do you? *squinty face*

OBSCENE Golden Retriever Cuteness and a Caption Contest. dancy dancy

noreply@blogger.com (Chelle) — Sun, 18 Mar 2012 01:05:00 +0000

Okay so that photo a day thing clearly didn't work out.

I got my heart broken.

Oliver-The-Dog had to find a new family sans little kids. He was "attacky" with other people's children. Bitey in the neck area of toddlers-ish. So. He went to find a new home. It just pretty much sucked.

I wasn't supposed to be a dog person. I have been fervently on team cat forever. Oliver changed that with his stupid sleeping on my feet and sneaking onto the couch and being underweight at first and looking pathetic when I made bacon. So I guess that was his purpose.. to change me into a pain in the arse dog person who's all "Cats are boring".

Well they are. That's why cat people LIKE cats. They are boring.

Stupid fun dogs.

So anyway, today we picked up Sunny from a really great breeder. Sunny is a golden retriever. Sunny had a busy day. I'm probably going to blog about Sunny more than a cool person like me should be comfortable doing.

OMG

OMG!

*chews through fists and wells up*

AW! We are so exciteeed! SQUEEEEE!!!

The cat, however? Is somewhat less thrilled.

So... I think that you should caption the following photo- because Readers? It must be caption contested. It must be caption contested sooooo hard. And the prize? I will personally draw YOU; my reader. That's a ~~free~~ awesome prize for a photo caption contest!!!!! ME! DRAWING YOU! WITH MY DRAWING PROGRAM!!!!11! Good prize, eh? So here is the photo of my idiot manwhore cat reacting to the new puppy.. AND GO:

"words" ~Michelle's Reader

Results will be posted.. um... in a few days? Sound Good? Ok. Go. And don't forget to link me up to your blog. Oh yeah and there is a limit of... letsay... 5 entries unless you are really funny and need to make more.

K go.

Yurts, Dog Breath... The Usual.

noreply@blogger.com (Chelle) — Thu, 08 Mar 2012 02:02:00 +0000

Right. A photo per day. I forgot. Er.. So I will catch up the days I missed in awesome, awesome draw-rings.

March 2- The photo theme is fruit. So. I ate all these kinds of fruits this week- except a smoking dragon fruit. Also, not one of the different fruits were wearing skinny jeans for real. Also, I'm not sure if a pimento stuffed olive totally counts as fruit, but I threw it in just in case. Also, I ate some chickpeas- but they are legumes, so they are not included in the photo.

March 2- Some Fruit.

March 3- Your Neighborhood. Look. It's dark out right now, so I have to do this from memory.

March 3- Your Neighborhood.

March 4- Bedside. It's nice to wake up to captain dog breath here.

March 4- Bedside.

March 5- A Smile. I actually have a photo for this because I built an awesome cardboard yurt for the kidlet. Now I can't stop saying yurt. Yurt Yurt. Alright fine, I made this the next day. This is the time traveling photo per day. You shutup.

March 5- A Smile AND a Yurt. I'm unstoppable!

March 6: 5:00 is the theme. Well.

It's 5:00 somewhere.. and that somewhere is a creepy flea market display of evil Barbie children.

I'll do today's later. Now I'm all caught up-like.

Memes and Meanies and Murrrrder, Oh My!

noreply@blogger.com (Chelle) — Fri, 02 Mar 2012 02:47:00 +0000

This blog needs some CPR and I need a distraction from dealing with a meanie who pops up in my life sometimes. I hope, Meanie, if/when you read this? That you start getting happier and that you find the end of the rainbow already and that you stop being so angry and sad. It's exhausting my dear.

OoOoooh..... mysterious drama. On a blog. Shut your pie hole, I do what I want.

Speaking of doing what I want, I'm doing a photo a day meme for a month. Yesh, I once did photo a day for a year, but there was nobody I've never met giving me topics, see? THIS time there is. It got really hard to find new material so this isn't much of a commitment and so... it's perfect Plus I decided to commit to this 4 minutes ago. Also, I stole it from my superstar friend Kara. Of course, she's traveling around the world with infinite amazing things going on in her life to take photos of and me? I just bought a house from a murderer. Oh.. didn't I tell you that, Blog? No? Wellll.... *crickets* So... I bought a house from a murderer. Sold by owner. *doodeedoodeee* I'm not ascared, Readers. He was probably framed. Right? Exactly. Wanna see my new-to-me tree?

Don't worry, it's friendly.

But my old dump of a supersuburban house soooooold! New Years Resolution? Nailed it.

Er... I'm a little stressed.

So here is the photo a day schedule from @fatmumslim (who I should probably go subscribe to, eh?): Also, there are probably rules but like I says, I do what I wants.

So. "Up", eh? Upupupupupup...... letsee.........

Well, Readers, murderhouse has really really pretty, original sculpted ceilings:

Photo One: UP

I love them.

The Bad Lady.

noreply@blogger.com (Chelle) — Tue, 28 Feb 2012 03:51:00 +0000

What if there was a mom who totally nerded up her kid's first date ever? What if, readers? What if a Mom showed up to pick up her kid after school and he sheepishly asked if he could go to a movie with a girl? And it was all so cute that the Mom almost squealed to death? Like as if she saw a baby orangutan in a frilly bathing suit, playing with another baby orangutan who was doing those little baby backward somersaults and giving kisses to baby kittens with floppy ears and then the baby orangutans had these big eyes and someone lets in a baby horse who is just learning to walk and the orangutans do that baby ape walk and clap and they all become best friend baby animals in cute outfits forever and they get bottles and fall asleep. THAT cute.


UH MUH GUH

Come close to me, little orangutan... let me love you.

Would her brain turn to goo and and just go Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!?? Would she be incapable of driving for a good 15 minutes while her brain processed the information?

What if that happened? What if she was wearing said kid's signature Canadian toque with the flaps that stick straight out on either side because she wasn't expecting anyone to be going on any dates today and she wan't even going to get out of the car in the first place, let alone try to be cool about a date... So not only did her brain slide out of her ear on one side, but she looked the part of ultra nerd mom with a flappy Canada toque. That is to say IF this lady is Canadian at all.

Lookin' good. Lookin' reeeeeal good.

What if her kid's date picked a movie that is pretty dang scary and then like... the mom heard some words coming out of her mouth as follows and couldn't stop them, because it just happened like that scene in Bridesmaids where Maya Rudolph poops in the street in a designer wedding gown?:

The Mom's mouth: Oh? Are you sure you want to see that one.......?

The Mom's inner thoughts: No... no... don't say it!!! STOPNOWSTOPNOWSTOPTALKING. DAH NAHT TAHK AN-AH-MARE!

The Mom's big fat mouth: Because it's really scary!! Are you sure you won't....

The Anonymous Mom's inner dialogue: SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP... You're saying it! You're saying it... it's happening... Oh god... It's coming out of your face.... What should I do? Should I punch myself in the throat??? Should I swallow a wallet or some keys? *fist fights itself from coming up toward her face* The dweebiness.. is...tooooo.... strong.......

The Mom: ....be too scared.....

The Mom's screaming inner dialogue: NoOoo NoooooooOOoooooooooo! It's his first date for the love of God!!!! FOR THE LOVE. OF. GAWD. SHE IS RIGHT THERE!!!!

The Mom's talking mouth again just a truckin' along like the holy greased pig of embarrassing mothers: ...... Honey?

Derrrrr......

*turns sheet white... realizes a battle has been lost this day... get the piper because the battle of cool is over. She might as well just buy those elastic-waisted jeans, those orthopedic shoes, that sun visor and join some kind of work-bee club and become the head of a homeowners association and spend her time measuring people's lawn growth so she can issue neighborhood citations It is time to just kind of wither away into a pruny, dead-eyed TV-bingo enthusiast because she's almost there, Readers. Do her a favour? Send her a cat tree and a box or two of white wine.

The Mom's inner dialogue: You did it. I can't believe this. In front of the girl. You might as well have wrapped him in a blanket and checked his teeth for sugar bugs and told him not to buy too much candy at the scary movie and to think about his guardian angel when he gets extra scared on his date. Why not just say those things? Being on a roll and everything. I am so depressed that I'm going to go read some W.H. Auden laments and take a muscle relaxer.

The Mom's mouth: Um... here is some money. Lots of it. I'm going home to have your Dad cut out my tongue. But first... Don't forget to have a hotdog at the movie cuz yer growing!!!!! *pinches cheeks*

Well.. almost that.

That's what I imagine might have happened if someone did that today if they existed. I just know that I'm personally in no way affiliated with this other dweeby woman *sips beer* *straightens bangs* *brushes cookie crumbs from boobs**Puts on Nirvana* *Turns Nirvana off again because loud*.

Sometimes I will Open the Freezer Door...

noreply@blogger.com (Chelle) — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 17:12:00 +0000

Only to find a grisly scene such as this:

Two things:

1. We are not buying any more paper dolls
2. I'm not ruling out foul play.

Got a Dog: Cue Anxiety Attack.

noreply@blogger.com (Chelle) — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 01:55:00 +0000

We sold the house.

We celebrated by rescuing a dog: Oliver. Of COURSE we did! Moving isn't nearly stressful enough!! I still have a strand or two of hair left, after all.

It just happened. It just... happened.

I mean, we wanted a dog, we said.

Pros: Kids will have to spend more time outside and less trying to get into the televisions; empathy; they want one; we have a really big yard now; I've managed to put it off for about 8 years.

Cons: We are in the process of actually moving; it's a dog. Wait, we're at the Humane Society?

Oliver is a duck tolling retriever and he was rescued from a high kill shelter. Pretty much we're going directly to heaven, and the swearword I said about my chairs? Cancelled out. You know it.

He follows me like I'm some kind of genius mentor. Dogs never follow ME. They usually know that I think they smell and they are dumb and only the mentally deranged would purchase a dog. Dogs need baths, and walking, and licenses, and dog sitters and attention and training- these are things I'm generally morally opposed to giving extra creatures outside of my gaggle of offspring. (Except that I don't need a license for the kids... seems..... probably fine. )

But Oliver is here and is gentle and quiet and housebroken and friendly and atrocious on a leash. Atrocious, Readers: so incredibly bad... Basically like putting a cat on a leash and expecting it to go in a straight line.

And the kids love him and Neil loves him and I am having a minor meltdown because he's decided to be MY dog. Me. The one who is having an anxiety siezure every time I look at him. I did not have this much anxiety when they handed me a baby at age 18 and said, "You got a carseat to take him home with?"

So what is the deal with me here? Is it so terrible that I can't just run off for a carefee weekend of reckless abandon now? Because like.... I don't think I've ever run off for a weekend of carefree abandon in my life. Getting a dog just kind of seals the deal, I guess. It's official.

At least I could sell it by agreeing that I will rarely, if ever, have to pick up his poop. Kid job! *high five self*

I picked up his poop twice today. *sad trombone*

He's pretty much adorable.... and horrendous on a leash. Did I mention that? Horrendous. The worst.

But he's underweight. My heart broke into 40 zillion pieces. UNDERWEIGHT? *bites fist*

I'm not ready for my life to change again, but obviously, it's too late. Oliver has arrived. I guess we might as well jump in with two feet if we're going to change our lives, right?

Good thing about the vodka I have in my cupboard. I'll pack that last. Because we are, after all, moving in the middle of winter. Why the hell WOULDN'T we rescue a dog?

And the kicker? Oliver speaks French and sneaks onto the sofa and then looks at me like he has no idea how he got there. Oh he's sly.

Cute little French Bastard.

New Years Resolutions. Anyone?

noreply@blogger.com (Chelle) — Sat, 07 Jan 2012 03:36:00 +0000

Sell this dump

Forgive some jerks

Stop calling them jerks

Maybe one more time:

Jerks. *snicker*

Be more brave.

Yes. That sounds so lame.

Stop sounding lame.

Stop worrying about sounding lame.

Stop confusing the issue.

Keep confusing the issue if it's funny.

It probably is.

Ha.
Ha.
ha.

Finish reading the heap of books before buying new ones; even if there are some boring ones in there.

Stop kidding yourself about finishing the boring ones.

Buy an article of clothing that is pink. Pale pale pink. Not black. To hell with slimming.

My chairs look like assholes.

noreply@blogger.com (Chelle) — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 04:54:00 +0000

That's another nickle in the old swear barrel for me.

Well they do. I bought a pair of super awesome 1950s chartreuse dining chairs for five bucks at a roadside flea market last spring. I love them so much.

Chartreuse floral vinyl and Chrome? Yes please.

We're selling the house.

My real estate agent told me to hide them because they might "turn off buyers". PSH. Buyers don't know what's hip like I do. Readers, they don't know.

So I had to put these stupid dresses on them. My breakfast nook looks like a lesbian wedding now. I mean, don't get me wrong, Readers, these chairs are 60 years old and certainly capable of making a decision together, but where do we draw the line? Before we know it, chairs will want to marry the garage or my luscious crane mobile. What then, Canada? WHAT. THEN? It's chairs and the table, not chairs and the stable. I'm making a sign straight away. People need to wake up.

And then? Pretend the computer on the table is a kindly priest.

Actually, I don't know what I'm still talking about. My point is that my chairs looked better when they were being themselves but I got totally sidetracked pretending to be a furniture bigot.

Whassat? Oooh! Beer! Gotta jet.

Update On my Past Two Days

noreply@blogger.com (Chelle) — Fri, 18 Nov 2011 18:48:00 +0000

So I had some books to return to Chapters the other day that I accidentally ordered in duplicate. So I packed them up and off I went to return them.

Me: I need to return these books because I already HAVE them, so I don't need them. I mean they're great books and everything, Lord knows I've read them to simply pieces, but I just don't need extra copies, you know? Like I don't know what I was thinking when I double ordered. They must have been in my online cart and I didn't notice or something. I should totally be more careful, eh?

Chapters Cashier: These were ordered from Amazon.com. I'm afraid that you can't return them to Chapters.

Me: Uh. Right. Chapters. *expletives*. Heh... this store isn't Amazon.com.

Chapters Cashier: *stares blankly*

Me: *strokes beard contemplatively* So I'm going to have to... mail them back to Amazon.com? Like.. I have to go to the post office??

CC: That would be correct.

Me: Riiiight... riiight for sure, for sure... but couldn't you just... take them and give me my money back?

CC: This is the wrong store, I'm afraid not.

Me: Yes of course it is. I know that. But couldn't you just, you know.... take the books and give me a return anyway?

CC: No. We can't. It's policy. And ridiculous.

Me: Oh I see. It's policy. But aren't policies more like just general behavioral guidelines? I mean you could just take these books and give me a return.... I'm sure you just explain it all to your boss. Hilarious right? Returning Books to the wrong store? So how about that return now? Easy Peasy. Amiright?

CC. No, you are not right.

Me: Eh? *eyebrow waggle*

CC: .

Me: *chest shimmy plus eyebrow waggle* Eh? A Return for me from you?

CC: ~Security to the cashier please~

Me: *does the Charleston with jazzhands down the cashier line and out the door with toddler who is also doing the Charleston with jazzhands for effect, although obviously not as well because she does not have the same amount of experience as I do at this.*

So i guess I'm going to the post office. Ugh.

But then today, my kid's teacher told me that not only is he doing really well but that I, Readers, that I look like I'm 22. Maybe she was a little sweet on me, who knows? All I know is that I had to come straight home and take pictures of myself for fifteen minutes. That school rocks. I totally look 10 years younger than I am. Shut up I do too. Just check these puppies out:

Right? Amazing.

Now go here and read my review of Twilight. Yeah. That's right. TWILIGHT.

My New Happy Place.

noreply@blogger.com (Chelle) — Mon, 14 Nov 2011 02:29:00 +0000

Everyone? I have a new happy place. My new happy place? Is this photo of my beautiful friends enjoying an evening out. The longer you look at it, the more you see. The more you see, the funnier it gets. I am going to frame it and put it beside my bed. No, really. I am. No that's not creepy, you guys. It's not. I love it. I love it so much, Readers. It's like one of those where's Waldo puzzles of hilarity. Thanks Shar & Kels.

***Also, please don't steal this photo. They were kind enough to give me permission to post it for the world to enjoy, already. Shanks.

Bento Santa Sneeze. Yeah.

noreply@blogger.com (Chelle) — Sat, 12 Nov 2011 15:39:00 +0000

I just sneezed so hard that the guitars hanging on the wall beside me started ringing. Neil was pretty amazed, but not amazed enough; which is why I'm here telling you people about it.

Now I have to think of something better to justify writing that as my blog entry.

....

Um. I'm thinking about making donuts with the brioche dough that is currently taking it's sweet assed time to raise.... and I wish I could crochet. Also, I've become enamored with the idea of making bento lunches for the kids. I want to make everything miniature. Well I want to... but I don't want to- you know? Like.. I wish I wanted to.. or maybe I wish I already had made everything miniature and it would already be done and then somebody else would arrange their lunches in adorable ways. For free, though.

D'awwww

I did cut their cheese into triangles, though which pretty much makes me mother of the year. At least I thought so until I learned that many a Japanese mother spends upwards of 45 minutes making each of her children's school lunches. Arranging and sculpting rice into adorableness for her beloved children. What showoffs. Now what, Japanese Bento Moms? Budget rainbow chip mini cookies wrapped in tinfoil aren't' good enough for you? Eh? Well. Fine. Fine, Imaginary Japanese Bento Moms. Be amazing. You'll see... my ham sausage and triangle shaped cheeses will overcome your rice sculpting skills. You'll see.

Maybe I could sculpt the cookies into pandadogs if I wet them first. Delish.

Also, we are going to see Santa today. Yeah. Already. The idea is that we'll go early before the malls turn into the seventh circle of hell. I wish my girl, Jami lived in this city. She showed up at my house one year dressed as Santa to surprise my kids. My son, who was 4 at the time, was completely convinced that her four foot tall, slight little frame was definitely Santa. Imagine his shock when Santa took off his beard and drank a beer. And he was a girl. "NORA'S MOM IS SANTA CLAUS???" Maybe she shouldn't pursue a career as a professional Santa, but it sure beats going to the mall. Aw! I miss my friend. :(

Ghoulies, Pee and Blueberry Daddy.

noreply@blogger.com (Chelle) — Thu, 10 Nov 2011 13:56:00 +0000

I woke up this morning soaked in pee.

Not my pee, thank you very much. Elly's. Not Elly, the blogger, either (who, if she has not been peed on, will be soon). Elly, my 3 year old.

There are monsters in our toilets now, you know. This is the worst thing that could possibly happen because I know the terror of a toilet phobia. I am finally over mine (unless we are talking about snakes in high-rise apartment toilets here, but that hardly counts because we're not talking about that. Obviously that is different).

None of us can be helped. None of us.

It took me until an embarrassing age to get over my fear of ghoulies in the terlets because when I was a kid, and we went to Frontier Video to rent movies, the Ghoulies movie case was always on display there. I anticipated seeing that movie case while riding in the back seat of the car on our way there. Like an attractive enemy, I would seek it out in the horror section; casually so that my Mom wouldn't see me doing it because for some reason she found it annoying. But I was drawn to it, as if to confirm my fear of evil in the toilet- and I would look at it, hard, for as long as I could manage. Then I would walk past and build up my courage to saunter by it again, pretending I totally wasn't scared. Again and again, I would casually sidle by, staring at the movie cover, eyes narrowing and steady lest the ghoulie with the tiny, wet, black, empty gaze and flashing grin jump from the photo. I needed to see that movie cover. I hated that movie cover. That movie cover was a thorn wedged deep into my 8 year old side.

So I was afraid of the toilet and now it has come full circle and my child is afraid of the toilet. Hers is thanks to Ghosbusters 2, which she saw at a friend's house. I'm wracking my brain to figure out a way to help her get over it, but if this child is anything like me (Which she is. Pretty much exactly), this is going to be a loooooong haul for her.

How do you explain reality to a child who believes wholeheartedly that she has an extra, imaginary friend called "Blueberry Daddy"? It's weird, right? I have to explain that Blueberry Daddy doesn't exist to all of her caregivers to ward off concern that her actual father might really let her drive the car and babysit infants, use sharp knives and that she never ever is really allowed to sleep in the dog cages at the pet store and that he has died about 1000 horrible deaths according to Elly. Car accidents, House fires, diseases, choking, falling off the world. It's all happened to poor, unlucky Blueberry Daddy.

In the mean time, I have the worst alarm clock in the world. Will the toilet ever stop ruining my life?

Hey Mickey! HEY MICKEY! WOO!

noreply@blogger.com (Chelle) — Thu, 10 Nov 2011 03:10:00 +0000

Hey Blarg.

Seriously, Self? Who says that? Blarg. Sick.

Anyhow, here is an update on me. Whee! I haven't been blogging lately. You know why? I feel like.. I feel like I'm not sharing my bits of life here because Facebook sucks it all up into its facey book of suck-void. I made that word up, "suck-void".    So you know what? Facebook is getting less of me. Take that, Mark Suck-Void-erberg (too much? What?)

Besides, Facebook is broken now. I can't do my morning scan of status updates, "like" all of them with a clickity-clickity, say "OoooH.. I wish there was a dislike button" a gagillion times for the people with updates about their colds and then carry on with my day. You know? Now I have to LOOK for them and go to people's actual pages and see every individual photo that people put up and what their bingo farm score is and wade through all of their high-larious internet travel souvenirs? Nothanks. No offense, it's just worky. It already takes all of my time to put up MY photos and internet souvenirs, you see? And for what? ..... Exactly.

Besides, stalking people got less fun when they started ratting you out on their new little minifeed. I don't want everyone to know when I feel like constantly writing "High five" or "Woo!" on everything Mickey Desadist says on Facebook, thankyouverymoosh.    That is between Mickey and I as strange facebook ~~best~~ friends to deal with.

It's funny because he thinks I've known him for a long time but he just forgot (I'm sure that's what he thinks, since that's what I told him and he didn't like.. argue.)

See? It's not even fun to stalk eccentric Canadian punk rockers from the 70s anymore. (What? We have stuff to be outraged about too.   Like how outraged I currently am that I can't think of anything to be mad about.)

BOOooOOOOoo

Don't worry, Mickey. I'll still pretend I know you. Woo!

But I did get a new macbook PRO. Because I'm a pro, basically and I needed a pro computer to help me look smart at starbucks when I'm googling things and making amazing photoshops like this:

You know what? I don't judge what kinds of professional things YOU do all day and I would expect the same courtesy, Judgy MacGoo.

Hallo.

noreply@blogger.com (Chelle) — Sun, 30 Oct 2011 01:01:00 +0000

Dese is de Pumpkins

Dese is de costumes. And yes, I know we are tactless. Wheeee!

The raisins are fizzing. This is a nightmare. And a song.

noreply@blogger.com (Chelle) — Sun, 16 Oct 2011 02:14:00 +0000

I know that you are all pretty concerned with the state of my raisin experiment. I just want you to know that they are in fact fizzing; and fizzing two days early to boot. So now what do I do? The lady who doesn't speak English on the youtube didn't specify what to do if you were TOO successful. My timeline is all whacked now. So I made an executive decision about these raisins and I strained them. Now the gassy raisin juice has to further deteriorate for another week until the day I make them into real and true raisin yeast and ideally... bread. For Neil (who..um... didn't actually ask for this). Why am I doing this again? Oh yeah, ~~stir crazy~~ ~~science~~ love. Now it's gotten out of control.

They Fizzed.

Strained fizzy raisins.

Strained fizzy raisins in the trash... because yuck. I just needed their yeasty hooch water. (No really, this is going to be awesome.)

I blame the colossal success all on the song I that have been singing to them, which is "Fizzy Raisins" to the tune of "Tiny Bubbles". I'm not going to say that I'm proud of this, I'm just going to say that I couldn't help it. The youtube lady said to love your raisins, probably. The translator in the video said she said that... so... I'm sure fermenting raisins enjoy being sung to about hooch even more than being talked to. It's like the gospel for them. They will one day be hooch yeast water, almost like beer. Wouldn't you like that if you were a raisin with a higher calling such as these fermenting raisins? Don't answer that or leave yet. I'm not finished talking to you about this.

Anyhow, what this means is that I'm going to have to figure out how to make bread with natural yeast two days ahead of schedule. This doesn't actually mess with anything, because I'm not actually ON a schedule... but if I was- things would be all kinds of messed up. *sips hard cider*. I'm adaptable though.

The raisin saga is nearly over. I promise. Soon I'll have a new hobby-for-a-week.

And then I made allLLLLllllLL of this:

noreply@blogger.com (Chelle) — Thu, 13 Oct 2011 23:44:00 +0000

Apple Pie Bread

Left: Boule Right: Rye with sesame. Open Rye. Good with Coke. IDK.

This? Is the most evil bread IN THE WORLD. Pumpkin Pie spiced caramel brioche monkeybread.

I will die from this.


This is what Michael Moore turned into. It's a little Isopodish, it's a little brainish, it's a lot awesome.

BwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAaaahhhhh (Why yes, Reader, that is the sound effect I chose).

I am going to stop soon. I just need to finish this bread thing. The thing is? I got a new cookbook all about artisan bread. This weekend I want to tackle bagels. All I know is that it's a good thing I've got a 13 year old boy to eat it all. No complaints so far.

Fizzy Raisin Hooch Yeast. You know you want to look.

noreply@blogger.com (Chelle) — Wed, 12 Oct 2011 00:47:00 +0000

I am up to some bread hijinks. That's what passes for excitement for me right now. Bread. Hijinks. For Science.

So I've been watching some youtubes about baking. I'll tell you, Readers, you get some fancy ideas when you go on a late night youtube trip that begins with stupid Michele Bachmann montages; carrying through to Jon Stewart arguing with Glenn Beck; then onward-ho to evolution arguments and talented dogs with a finish, obviously on bread recipes (with a little of this and a little of that thrown in for good viewing measure). Youtube is a strange animal. It placates me and puts me into a hypnotic, vapid state; for youtube hath charms to soothe a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak. Or something.

In any case, one youtube video resulted in me making THIS:

Raisin Experiment Day 1

Day 2. OMG.

This, everyone, is future natural bread yeast- from raisins. RAISINS. Shut up, you guys. Let's all just accept that I know it looks like a jar of something digested and that raisins are gross to begin with. That is beside the point here. Anyhow, I didn't know it would get that sick looking. The point is that they are raisins and they've begun to float; which is apparently a crucial sign of success in the process of turning raisins into bread yeast according to the lady on youtube (who doesn't speak English but whatevs).

I am so excited that the raisins are floating. Aren't you?

And you know, you guys, if this works, I'll never have to pay $3 for a year's worth of store-bought yeast again!! The savings! Plus it's a little bit sciency and I am about 8000% sure it will result in some remarkably ugly bread. Until then, I have to wait for the raisins to fizz which I guess takes 7-10 days. Then just 7 more days of letting it ferment into raisin hooch yeast. Let the good times roll.

So anyway, that isn't all, you guys. I am ALSO trying out a new bread recipe (also found via a weird youtube/google blend), which you may be stunned to find out, calls for neither oil nor sugar. If you are some kind of kitchen genius with mad bread skillz like me, you will understand why this is baffling. Firstly, I've never made bread without these 2 ingredients and Secondly (and mostly), why would anyone make anything without oil and/or sugar? Like seriously. I am finding out. So far it IS raising and it does look like Michael Moore which, in the world of bread dough, is good I guess.

Actual photo.

I don't know why I need to photoshop celebrities onto my bread, you guys. It is not something that has been diagnosed yet. You just enjoy it and stop asking questions.

And then I met James Randi.

noreply@blogger.com (Chelle) — Thu, 29 Sep 2011 04:20:00 +0000

I met him. Whee! Science Author High! He even signed in my porta-art journal, because I didn't have anything else for him to sign... He is adorable. He even made an adorable mistake:

He wrote "Oops" in my art journal thingy. D'awwwWWw!
Just like when David Sedaris drew a dead dog in my book.

I only had to elbow 6 mega nerds outta my way to get this signature. Super nerds with sword-umbrellas. Yeah. And the guy who was mad about James Randi not calling him back 5 years ago when he wanted to prove that he was psychic or something. Yes, that guy had to wait. Be mean to James Randi, and you have to go to the back of the line.

His lecture was witty, informative and very entertaining. He did magic, too. Yeah, Readers, inconceievable magic and when he said he was just doing a trick, I looked at him suspiciously. Skeptically, you could say. That was no trick, James "Grampy" Randi. I am convinced that he has lightning speed. Like Santa.... In fact he is just like the Santa from "Yes Virginia, There is a Santa Claus", except that he would tell Virgina to get proof; catch a flying reindeer; go for the prize. Hm.

He's got the moves.

D'aww!!!!

He is so passionate about science, so gracious about what he believes, he calls himself cute and handsome and he worries so much about people. I am immediately adding him to my collection of adorable old genius men to keep forever. The list also includes Victor Borge, BB King, Peter Faulk and Einsteiny. You just never mind with your judgy face.

And then I told him that I want a bike and a dowsing rod.

Wait... not a dousing rod (because they are fake).

It took every ounce of will power not to raise my hand during the Q&A part and ask him if I could fold him up into a little square and keep him in my purse so that I could take him home and feed him cookies and make him be my new fill-in Grand Dad. *ahem*

Is that so weird? Honestly, I am trying to write a serious review, but I can't get past the adorable part.

Go seem him, but remember: I called fake grandpa dibs.

The Face of EVIL.. is in my freezer.

noreply@blogger.com (Chelle) — Sun, 25 Sep 2011 03:02:00 +0000

The carnage.

Yesterday, while perusing the wares at my local grocery, I came across a really awesome deal. Bell Peppers. A bushel of them for... get ready.... Two Bucks. *fans self* That's right, of course I needed a bushel of bell peppers. Who doesn't?

So that meant that I had to wash, chop and freeze them in fancy little individual cooking portions. A bushel of peppers... or was it a peck? I don't know.. Nobody actually cares. Anyhow, there were a good amount of peppers to process. Enough to cause me to turn "*lights start flashing, camera moves in for a close up*.... delirious...... Yes. I know there is no camera. Sigh.

Ok, so on with it. What I discovered is that pumpkins are NOT the most evil produce. Bell Peppers... Bell Peppers represent the most evil. They are beautiful on the outside: Shiny, wholesome, hearty, crisp... the list just goes on in the positive column for bell peppers. But on the inside? Oh their beauty is indeed skin deep. Look at what their virtuous skins belie:

Evil.

E.V.I.L.

Fruit of the Devil.

This one is more like... an evil sidekick. Like Simon & Hecubus...

Get behind me, Peppers!

FYI, I also made this.

noreply@blogger.com (Chelle) — Sat, 24 Sep 2011 03:39:00 +0000

It seemed important.

Listening to The Heartless Bastards, Drinking a nice Lemon-Tea Beer...

noreply@blogger.com (Chelle) — Sat, 24 Sep 2011 02:56:00 +0000

...And sewing mittens for my kid :) That's my wild Friday night, Baby!

Fleece, lined with flannel. All scraps. No pattern. It took about an hour and half to make the first mitten and ten minutes to make the second... Not including the first mitten I made which turned out ridiculously small. Hilariously small, in fact.

Ta. Da.

The difference between "you're" and "your" with JFK, Stalin, and Strippers.

noreply@blogger.com (Chelle) — Tue, 20 Sep 2011 15:59:00 +0000

This is a special request from Miss Elly. She challenged me to make a graphic depicting the difference between "you're" and "your", using strippers. I happened to need something to do for the past 30 minutes... soo...... here you go, Elly.

PS. This instructional graphic is in response to this instructional graphic.