Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Victory!




If you follow myself and/or @DunhamSmash on Twitter, you already know that he conquered his cancer via a partial thyroidectomy – and possibly a mutant healing factor – at the end of October. The weeks leading up to the surgery were hard: Jeremy wasn’t feeling well (obviously), the kids were being exceptionally bratty, and everyone was telling me things like, “Don’t be alone,” or “Stay strong,” which would totally make me break down during quiet moments because it was all quite touching, but also slightly frustrating since the ultimate outcome had been a massive unknown.

The surgery was rather straightforward: A two-inch incision was made in Jeremy’s neck, directly over his thyroid gland, and the left half – along with his tumor – was removed. He was appropriately stitched up and sent home the same day, sporting some sleepy stoner eyes and a really creepy (yet simple) apparatus that consisted of a fine tube that drained from his neck (via a big-ass needle) to a vacutainer that was placed into a protective plastic case that was clipped onto his shirt. The vacutainer had to be changed out once the drainage reached a certain point, and we had to save the vials for his follow-up appointment the next day.

So, I need to take a second to talk about changing out those tubes because it was nerve wracking as all fuck. The first and only time I attempted it, the suction of the protective case went POP! and the vacutainer came screaming out of it, like, “MUTHAFUCKAAAAA!!!!!” I was so scared that I had just ripped the giant needle straight out of my husband’s throat – you have no idea. I mean, how horrifying would that have been?? Needless to say, he handled the changing duties from then out, despite being in a bit of a drugged stupor. Thankfully it came out the next day.

Anyway, the recovery process has consisted of a lot of rest and a lot of Borderlands 2. Just under two months later, and Jeremy is still feeling a bit “blegh” – as most people tend to do after having had major surgery, healing factor or not – but the fact that he’s here to feel all “blegh” in the first place is just…

I don’t really have the words for it. I’m just really, truly glad that he made it through all of it.



Wednesday, November 14, 2012

A dorky place with dorky things

I was surprised as all shit when I discovered that this here blog was listed in an article run by Destructoid regarding gaming and geek blogs. I mean, wow! People actually read this shit? Whut?

However, I can't help feeling a little bad about all of the visitors that have come here. I'm not quite sure of what the expectation is: The "referral" stated that this blog is "deeply personal" -- which, as any of your returning folks know, is.

So... yeah. If you're coming from Destructoid, welcome, and I'll ramble about geek shit later. Feel free to check out the archives though.

But, for now, it's all about tumors and my husband's cancer-smashing healing factor. (Which I will be posting about soon.)

However, I will end this by saying that Face McShooty is one of the best things ever. (Borderlands 2 represent!)

Saturday, October 27, 2012

The Hat

I’m not sure if this comes across in any other posts, or on Twitter, but I like hats. I have several that I just love: A beanie with binary code on it; my Resident Evil S.T.A.R.S. baseball cap; that one super colourful number that the kids would regularly attempted to filch from me last winter; and, now, a bear hat – from Brave.


I picked up the hat back in June; it was hanging on a Brave-themed end cap at Toys R’ Us, and I thought it was cute and walked away before deciding, “Fuck it, I’d like something for me, too!” I swiftly dashed back to the display, yanked it off of the hook, and unapologetically placed it into the shopping cart. That evening, I put the hat on and it didn't come off until damn near one in the morning because that shit is seriously the most comfortable article of clothing that I own. Thus, I wore it through the house for the duration of the sometimes unusually hot summer, not caring if it was almost eighty degrees indoors. Now that the weather is back to the chilly gloom and doom that Seattle is known for, I have proudly worn the hat around town, not caring about the weird looks that I sometimes get from other parents at Midget’s school, or the fact that near-thirty year old chicks don’t usually wear such juvenile articles of clothing to begin with.

So, now, the hat is torn. I’m not sure of how it could have even happened, but the back seam is ripped along the bottom. Apparently my hair has bizarre, seam-ripping capabilities. Luckily, it’s in a spot where I can easily mend it. But that’s not the point, now is it? The torn hat is the proverbial straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back.

So many things on top of so many things.

As much as it fucking hurts to type this next statement out, Jeremy is dying. Until he has that murderous thing cut out of his neck, he is dying slowly – and surely. He's going into surgery this coming Monday, but there are so many what-if scenarios that are all as bad as the next. Clearly, the cancer is the biggest thing in the pile of shit hanging out on top of the camel. It’s followed by Midget’s recent diagnosis of mild ADHD; we’re still working on the odds and ends of what that will mean for her in class (the kid can almost never tell me what she does at school) as well as at home. We don’t want to medicate her, but goddamn is that child taxing. She’s also having bed-wetting issues, which requires her to be woken up in the middle of the night and walked to the loo so that she can use it, all the while in a weird, sleepy stupor that will sometimes involve her trying to literally fight her way back to bed, with no recollection of any of it the next morning. (We have decided to start using a spray bottle on her in these instances. She wholeheartedly supports this decision.) Then there’s Munchkin, who cries about everything and is turning four on Wednesday – Halloween. Then there’s the Halloween decorating, party planning, and trick-or-treating. (Jeremy loves Halloween and I suspect that he’s using the decorating as a distraction method for himself. (I don’t blame him.)) And then there are little things here and there: curtain rods that need to be installed, spaces to de-clutter and organize; Retard-Cat needs to go to the vet; there’s a parent-teacher conference next week, followed by all-around scheduling coordination (okay, that one's not that little) and trying not to straight-up end people who speak of having a little cold* as if it's the most awful thing in the world, while trying not to fall apart in front of anyone.

And now, on top of all of that shit, one of my favourite things in the world is damaged. (I know that sounds really dramatic, but it's true.)

It almost seems like some kind of sick metaphor for what's happening in my life right now. Thankfully, the hat is something that can be fixed very easily. The seam might look a little strange afterward, but only if it's carefully scrutinized. Nevertheless, the hat will be whole again, and perfectly wearable. Part of me wonders if that’s some sort of odd sign of hope; that maybe the universe, or The Fates, or what-the-fuck-ever is trying to let me know that things will be okay. Maybe it really is a weird metaphor for Jeremy. That would be kind of neat, right?

...I should go grab my needle and thread.

(* Okay, I know that cold and flu season is coming, and I totally get how head colds and Man Flu just suck, but cancer sucks harder, and watching someone you love go through it really, really makes you wish that they had a bad case of Man Flu – or regular flu – instead. Obviously.)

Sunday, October 14, 2012

Re-post: Resident Evil 6: Haters gonna hate?

Hey you guys. So, in the midst of all of this cancer-bullshit I found myself able to put together a coherent post for Gaming Angels about the widespread negativity surrounding the release of Resident Evil 6 a couple of weeks ago. I'm re-posting that article here because that's what I do or whatever. On a side note, I should have titled it "Resident Evil 6: Hot mess or Haters gonna hate?" but hindsight is a bitch. (Plus you know... kinda distracted over here.)

Anyway, without further ado...

__________________________________________________________________________

Resident Evil 6: Haters gonna hate?



Last week, people all over the interwebs were bashing Resident Evil 6 left and right. No matter where I turned, there was complaint after complaint about everything from QTEs to Piers’ weapon load out. The negative reception to a game that Capcom has been touting as, like, the goddamn messiah of theResident Evil series (a series that, as you might know, I love by the way) was almost overwhelming, really. I had followed the project since its announcement back in January and I enjoyed what I played in the demo so, naturally, I took a very keen interest in all of the hate and all of the flat-out nitpicking that was going on left and right. (Because, honestly, who cares if the QTE button prompts flash when you execute them correctly?)

Anyway, as you might have guessed, I’m totally enjoying my experience with Resident Evil 6 – not just as a fan of the franchise, but as a gamer in general. I’m digging the atmosphere and the much improved herb-mixing system, both of which I think are great. Counter-attacks, contextual kills with unique weapons, and a stamina gauge for melee attacks make combat more interesting than just running through and shooting everything. The zombies are very reminiscent of those seen in 28 Days Later, Mercenaries mode allows for some quick and easy mindless fun, and Ada Wong is, as always, a fierce bitch that puts everyone else to shame.

On the flip-side, RE6 is flawed as fuck. I have had far too many what-is-this-I-can’t-even moments; unclear button prompts have lead to far too many unnecessary deaths; the camera is completely bat-shit insane (which, in some cases, has also lead to a lot of unnecessary deaths); the chapters are ridiculously long, which is exacerbated by the fact that the game doesn’t save at every Checkpoint like its predecessor did. There are just a ton of really, really bad design choices that have left me shaking my head in awestruck horror. As I play through, I can’t help but miss my beloved RE5, where the story is clearer, the enemies aren’t completely ridiculous (emphasis on “completely”), and weapon upgrades are easily attainable. (Also, Jill. ‘Nuff said.)



Despite that lunchbox full of complaints, I don’t think that RE6 is a bad game, and I’m having fun, which is supposed to be the key focus of playing games, right? Also, I try to make an effort to enjoy things for what they are as opposed to hating them for what they are not. RE6 isn’t as OMG-AMAZEBALLS-AWESOME!!11!!1!! as I had hoped it would be, but it’s still enjoyable. Honestly, I can’t help thinking that people are focusing too much on the negatives instead of the positives.

But, hey – I’m not telling you how to live your life.

Saturday, October 6, 2012

Fucking motherfucker of fucking fucks

Everyone says that everything happens for a reason, but I can’t think of a single reason why my husband has thyroid cancer.

Seriously, where’s the reason for this? He’s in his mid-thirties, he’s healthy. He’s a good person. But here we are: Hürthle cell carcinoma has decided to shack up in his thyroid. For no goddamn reason.

We have had a lot of people send us well-wishes, and offers to “be there” or whatever, which is so touching that I can’t even. (Thanks to any of you reading this, btw!) There are so many feels; too many, really, as anyone that really knows me is aware that I have LOTS of feels. In fact, I’m getting a little weepy right now, but I digress.

So, the next step is surgery sometime soon – within the month. As far as I know this is easily treatable. Rare, but treatable. (Because of course it would have to be rare form of this shit! What the fuck??) Jeremy is determined to kick the shit out of it (he isn't called @DunhamSmash for nothing). And kick the shit out of it he will.

Also?

Fuck cancer.

Saturday, September 22, 2012

I'm getting spayed!

Whenever I hear stories about women who didn’t know they were pregnant and suddenly pop a baby out into the loo I cringe and wonder how those chicks could possibly be so fucking stupid. The changes that a body goes through during pregnancy are massive – so massive that it should be impossible to miss them. I would think that after missing a period for, say… I don’t know… four months, or experiencing the distinct feeling of a baby moving around – perhaps when it  jams a foot into the ribcage – one would be like, “Okay, maybe I should look into this.”

It’s fucking ridiculous, and I can’t wrap my head around how it even happens. Nevertheless, I have a completely irrational fear of becoming one of those women, and that after talking so much shit I would have the same thing happen to me because The Fates can be total assholes sometimes. Despite being on birth control for years, I will randomly panic and NEED to take a pregnancy test at completely random times in order to sate my sudden paranoia. It’s because of this, and because of the fact that birth control is fucking expensive, that I am going in for tubal ligation this coming Tuesday.

Now, before I go on, let me clarify the difference between tubal ligation and hysterectomy, as I have had to do so several times already and really do not wish to do it again (though I get the feeling that I’ll probably have to…):

Tubal ligation is a surgical procedure for sterilization in which the fallopian tubes are clamped and blocked, or severed and sealed, in order to prevent eggs from reaching the uterus for fertilization. A hysterectomy is the partial or complete removal of the uterus.

So, as much as I despise my uterus (we have always had a very rocky relationship) I am keeping it – I’m just having it tweaked to better fit my needs. Of course, once my birth control clears my system, I’ll start having normal periods again, providing the sadistic son of a bitch an opportunity for revenge. (Is it weird that I’m anthropomorphizing my uterus??)

Because I’m going under the knife my mom will be flying in to help around the house (and with the kids, of course) as I recover from being slit open. I haven’t seen her in almost three years, so her two week stay is going to be quite… interesting – as her visits always are. I’m sure that we’ll start bickering at about the five day mark due to tons of unsolicited advice and overall personality conflicts. But at least she was willing to fly across the country to ensure that I would take it easy, even after I insisted that I could find a way to manage. You might be asking yourself, “Well, what about your husband?” Jeremy will be able to stay home with me for two days before having to go back to work; it’s an incredibly busy time, and he just can’t miss a whole lot at the office.

On a side note, I know that the recovery time for these things is typically only a couple of days, but I’m a goddamn delicate flower, and with my luck I’ll end up incapacitated for longer than expected because my body really does kind of hate me.

Anyhow, wish me luck folks. I reckon I’m going to need it.

Re-post: Zombies and Lickers and... Children?! Oh, my!

If you follow me on Twitter, then you probably already know that I’ve landed a volunteer gig with the website Gaming Angels. I’m not going to lie: I’m really bummed about that whole lack of pay thing, as I was unaware of the addendum posted to the initial “We’re Hiring!” notice because I had already gone after the position and felt no need to check out the original post. Nevertheless, I wanted to do it, and so I am.

With that being said, I’m reposting my first article for them here (with a couple of minor tweaks in the form of a few handy-dandy links, and some general edits), as it was originally intended for this blog anyway. Enjoy, and don’t forget to look for some of my game-oriented ramblings (such as this bitchin' Hands-on of the RE6 demo) over there!

_________________________________________________________________________________


Zombies and Lickers and… Children?! Oh, my! 

g4tv.com

*Stop! Mild story spoilers for Resident Evil 5 (and possibly 6) ahead! If you haven’t yet played it, you have been warned!

A couple of months ago I had a very strange conversation with my then five-year old daughter: We sat at the kitchen table and discussed T-Virus versus C-Virus infection. Questions were asked and answered, some basic biology was discussed, and some rather adorable banter ensued. On the other side of us, my three-year old listened intently before enthusiastically asking me to play the E3 video of Leon Kennedy’s epic trek through the zombie-infested streets of Langshiang, China.

Yep; my kids are fully aware of the Resident Evil games, and they love them.

I know, I know – one of the cardinal rules of parenting is to never, ever, under any circumstances let your young children see any sort of violence or carnage, lest they become chainsaw wielding psychopaths. However, after a period of sustained horror and feelings of massive parental failure, I was hit with the realization that maybe the accidental exposure to RE wasn’t such a bad thing. My daughters entered the fray at a very cut scene heavy part of the RE5, which allowed the storyline to quickly overshadow the fact that I was balls deep in a never-ending sea of bloody, Plagas-infected mutations. The at times convoluted narrative sucked the girls in and they quickly became completely enamored by the cast – particularly the women. Sheva Alomar and Jill Valentine were kicking all kinds of ass, and they were just blown away. The older of my daughters – whom I shall refer to as Midget – could not take her eyes off of the last bit of Resident Evil 5′s Chapter 5-3. She was so awe-struck by Jill’s ability to take down her hulking bloke of a partner that she drew a P30 chest piece onto one of her drawings in what I assume was an effort to make the colorful little girl on the paper a badass. 

Left: Jill as pictured in Ultimate Marvel vs. Capcom 3; Right: Midget's P30 drawing

And, really, why shouldn’t the Wee Ones be allowed to see empowered women in action? Because, let’s face it – even though movies, television, and games have come a long way, they are all still permeated with a plethora of completely useless dames. Strong, powerful chicks running and gunning it with the big boys while keeping their clothes on is just as appealing to little girls as glitter and ponies. I know that when I was young, I ate that shit up.

There’s another plus-side to the whole thing, and it’s that monsters in general don’t scare my daughters as much anymore. I mean, they are mildly freaked out by zombies (Midget moreso than her sister, Munchkin), but things like the Cephalo, Duvalia, and, now the J’avo? The slimy, randomly mutated bastards don’t really faze them; in fact, Munchkin tends to find them absolutely hilarious! (Which, okay, Duvalias kind of are, because honestly, what in the hell…?) This has translated into easier times during Halloween, when stores are teeming with costumes and animatronics that a lot of older kids find terrifying. Case in point, my eleven-year old nephew will get freaked out at the very sight of fake blood and/or certain types of props. Meanwhile the girls will enthusiastically request to go to the “Halloween Store” whenever possible, and have helped to pick out some of our creepier decorations.

Now, does the fact that I let my daughters see me play Resident Evil games translate to me being completely lax in the types of things that I allow them to witness? Absolutely not! There have been numerous times in which I have asked them to close their eyes or leave the room altogether and they have done so without question. With that being said, the release of RE6 is now only a couple of weeks away, and I do intend to let my daughters sit down and watch me play bits of it – particularly any segments featuring Sherry Birkin or Ada Wong, whom they have taken a keen interest in.

However, I can tell you now that some big chunks of Leon’s campaign are going to be completely off-limits, as I draw the line at excessively brutal gore-fests and overtly sexual spider-bitches.

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Shadowbox

Last year, I wrote a quick post about Jeremy and I being together for a million years, and how we’re hella fucking boss because of that. And even though today marks our ten-year wedding anniversary (for a total of fourteen years together), this post isn’t going to be a poignant, witty, or insightful musing about love and what it means to be together despite numerous people saying and thinking that it would never last (not that last year’s post was, either). Instead, I’m going to tell you a story:

Every year I secretly pride myself for being on top of the whole anniversary gig: I always have a nice gift, a sappy card, and an even sappier grin at the ready. Naturally, for the rather significant milestone of reaching ten married years together, I was going to have some epic shit done. I was going to have a sappy card – maybe with glitter – and a cool gift, and a much sappier grin than ever thought possible; it was going to be grand! But, then, well… something happened. Somewhere along the line, I got to thinking about how, because I’m doing the stay-at-home thing and not pulling in a supplemental income, Jeremy would technically be buying his own gift. Add to that the fact that he bought me a nice, shiny new wedding ring to replace my old one (this was my early anniversary gift, purchased at the start of the month), and I was extremely apprehensive about spending a damn thing.

So, with that in mind, I decided that instead of looking for something to buy (with his money, no less), I would use my artsy-crafty skills to MAKE something. So what if I haven’t drawn anything in, like, a year? Or crafted anything other than some magnets a few months ago? I would pull this shit off, and it would be motherfucking EPIC!!!!

And ONE OF A KIND!!!!

And SENTIMENTAL!!!!

And...

…A COMPLETE mystery, because I had NO idea of what to do or even where to start.

Over the course of several weeks I racked my brain for ideas, downed enough Mountain Dew to kill a small to medium-sized animal, and lamented my complete and utter lack of direction. In fact, I almost considered giving up until a wayward comment from Jeremy, followed by some suggestions from a good friend of mine, came together to finally form an idea! It would be cute, and sentimental, and something that might be somehow meaningful to Jeremy and I! It would be great!

So, I finally had a concrete project to put together; unfortunately, the idea came to me just under two days before the big day. That’s not a whole lot of time to work with when you consider that whole job thing – you know, keeping the house clean, the laundry laundered, and the kids alive. Also worth mentioning is that small children and secret projects just can’t coexist -- at all. Nevertheless, I set to work, and after hours of rough sketching, and erasing, and more rough sketching, and more erasing, and EVEN MORE ERASING, it occurred to me that despite having several bins and bags of art supplies, I didn't have the material(s) that I needed for this project:

A goddamned shadowbox frame.

With zero opportunity to set out and buy the aforementioned object, I continued my frantic cycle of drawing and erasing because I figured that maybe – just maybe – I stood a chance of getting this damn thing at least 75% done before the end of the night. Then I would get the frame in the morning while Jeremy was at work, and he would come home to a finished gift, primed and ready on our actual anniversary. I was totally cutting it close, but the goal actually was attainable.

By the time midnight rolled around, I was only about 20% done with the damn thing. On top of that, Jeremy had come down with a case of Man Flu, and was definitely not going to be going into the office.

Fuck!

Then the half-dead Jeremy – who, by the way, never buys cards – produced not only a card, but some flowers and a copy of Lollipop Chainsaw from thin air.

Fuuuuuuuuck! (But, also AWESOME!)

So, as of this writing, I’m STILL not done with his gift, but I did manage to procure that blasted frame (and a couple of other things); I should be good to go.

…In theory, anyway.

Luckily, my husband isn't at all materialistic, and he has repeatedly assured me that my gift being incomplete is okay -- which is great, even though I, myself, am super disappointed about it. But hey, at least I have my sappy card, and my even sappier grin to fall back on.

Saturday, August 18, 2012

Wait, whaaat?

Everybody knows that kids say some weird shit: Awhile back, I shared some of Midget’s more memorable gems from her younger days. Well, now that Munchkin has been legitimately speaking for the last two years, there are even more strange thoughts and phrases floating around the house.

Are you ready for this?

Cool.

Oddball quote #1:

Munchkin: I’m not a Pillow Pet, so do not pet me.


Oddball quote #2:

Midget: We are sitting and standing on ghosts right now that will rip out our spirits!


Oddball quote #3:

Munchkin: If Gizmo was a super-hero cat he would fly and hit his head all the way up there.


Oddball quote #4:

Me, in the kitchen doing some spontaneous sort of head-bobbing.

Munchkin: Stop dancing.

Me: No. [pause] Or what?

Munchkin: I will cut you.


Oddball quote #5:

Munchkin asked me to show her the Resident Evil 6 gameplay of Ada Wong's campaign (the kid really likes Resident Evil games; I'll probably put a separate post about this together because omg parenting fail, amirite?!) I wouldn't let her watch the video past a certain point because of a nude Spider-Bitch monster with shiny boobs and hella veins. So, after I explained that I can't let her see anymore, we started going back and forth, resulting in...

Munchkin: Mommy, I'm not scared.
Midget: It’s not because she’s SCARY – it’s because she’s NAKED!!

This was yelled very loudly, in the backyard, with no context whatsoever. Did I mention that the neighbors keep their windows open pretty much at all times? Face-palm


Oddball quote #6:

Munchkin: Awkwaaaar~d...

Amazingly enough this was not related to the previous quote. 


Smh... My girls.

Friday, August 3, 2012

Heart Songs -- Third Strike!

It occurred to me that I haven’t done one of these in awhile, so I figured, “Hey, why not?” Sharing my music may not be the strongest of blog posts, but it gives me an excuse to A) derp around on YouTube, and B) actually update this place.

Anyway, let's get started!


Phantogram: When I’m Small


Goddamn, I love this song.

The Raveonettes: The Beat Dies


Goddamn, I love this song, too. Ignore the stupid slide show and enjoy. Or don't. I'm not telling you how to live your life.

Fun. (feat. Jenelle Monae: We Are Young


Heard this in the trailer for This Is 40. It grew on me to the point that it's all up in my Spotify, clogging my ears. Also, this video is fucking weird.

Kanye West, Nicki Minaj, Rick Ross, Bon Iver: Monster


Sex with a pharaoh? What? Oh, Kanye... you so crazy! On the flip side, Nicki Minaj is fierce as always.

Men without Hats: Safety Dance


This is on Rolling Stone's list of the worst songs of the 80's. Naturally, I plan to burn it to disc and play it in the car with reckless abandon. By the way, what in the hell is happening in this video?

Petri Alanko: The Well-lit Room


The entire score for this game brings me to my happy place; it's really great. This song, you guys...

Beastie Boys: Intergalactic


The Beasties!! Every day, something by these guys. This just happens to be at the top lately. It's a shame that MCA passed away... Fuck cancer.

Ichiro Kohmoto: Cruel Marks


More good score action here. Slightly eerie but whatever.

Aperture Science Psychoacoustics Laboratory: Halls of Science-4


This is my ringtone and it's awesome.


So, reader(s), what have you been listening to lately? Share!

Friday, June 29, 2012

The story of a girl and her cat

Sometimes I think about strange things on strange days that, when really, truly analyzed, aren't that strange at all. For instance, I've been thinking a lot about my childhood pet lately. Even though she's been gone for quite a while, and I really am over it (seriously, I am, so don't make that face), today's date just kind of... sticks. And, so, I miss her a little, glare at Gizmo because I seriously can't believe how fucking dumb he is, and then that's it. 

The animal in question was, from what I understand, kind of a rarity outside of Russia (Siberian Forest Cat) and she just happened upon my parent’s back porch one day when I was about twelve. (I have a pretty strong theory as to how this particular type of cat ended up in the middle of fucking backwoods Georgia but I'm not going to get into that.) We already had a cat – a mean, tabby bastard called Woody – so nobody in my household was particularly keen on having another pet. However I was drawn to the adorable little thing on the porch and became attached rather quickly. I think the feeling was mutual.

I dubbed the cat C-chan (a reference to an old anime called Ranma 1/2) and hung out with her outside whenever I could. After months of her living in the back yard, I finally convinced my parents to let me keep her as an indoor-only pet. How could they not? She was way friendlier than their asshole cat ever was, and her fur was hella soft. (I also suspect that my mom was getting a little too freaked out about the "gifts" that C-chan was offering: random decapitated rodents. You know, to say "Thanks for feeding me," or whatever.) Of course, a new indoor pet meant a visit to the vet for some routine shots and some lab work to test for anything serious that could be lurking in her system. So her blood sample was taken, the doctor and tech excused themselves, and within minutes we heard -- from the other side of the wall, “We have a positive for Feline AIDS!”

The veterinarian obviously didn’t intend for us to hear that, but his tech lacked tact, and his practice lacked good wall insulation. Nevertheless, Doctor McDoctorson came in looking all grave and shit, and told us that C-chan only had about six months to live. And then I burst into tears, and my poor dad was all, “Oy vey,” and had to console me, which was definitely not how he had expected to spend his Saturday afternoon.

Anyway, C-chan stuck around for an additional seven years, which shows you the power of taking good care of your animal(s), folks.

I can’t really describe the bond that I had with that cat without sounding completely insane, but I’ll try my best. I’ll start by saying that my mother took to calling C-chan my “daughter” because she was kind of like my little hairy shadow of love and cuddles: She would sit on me and make muffins in the crook of my elbow; she would follow me around -- usually screaming a varied assortment of “MEH”s at the top of her little lungs, her dog-bone shaped collar jingling as she continuously begged to be fed (she was always hungry); she would sit and watch me draw, sometimes for hours on end; she would stand guard at the edge of my bed whenever I got sick, and she would curl up behind my knees for added comfort when it was time for sleep. For awhile she even acted as my personal alarm clock, waking me up exactly five minutes before the buzzer sounded (wtf kind of cat has a grasp on time?). I think one of the best examples of our... err... friendship, and something that really stuck with me, was a random moment during C-chan's final year with me. A few weeks before she fell ill (I’ll get to that in a minute), I shambled into a room and saw her perched on top of the cable box, just being... IDK. She was just sort of there. I myself was sad, and bored, and tired, and lonely, and stressed, and just in one hell of a funk. So I walked over, and instead of petting her, I hung my head: C-chan sat up and met me half way, her forehead knocking mine, and we stood there for about a minute. This will no doubt come across as crazy, but my cat fucking GOT me.

My only complaint was that she had some downright SATANIC gas: One fart could clear an entire room.

About a month after the "I know that feel bro" Forehead Bump she started to walk with a limp that would eventually begin to sporadically change legs. I had enough money in my meager bank account to take her to a vet, where she immediately turned on the terrified doctor (which was just not like her). This resulted in the most useless physical exam ever, as the woman doing said exam was afraid to touch or even go anywhere near her after that. So, we were sent on our way, with a small bottle of Torb in Val syrup (an opiate!) and only a couple of useless guesses as to what sort of leg injury was ailing the cat. As the weeks went on the limping got worse; her fur started to become lackluster and dull from a lack of grooming, and she developed an aversion to being touched anywhere other than her head. She started dropping weight like crazy and her insatiable appetite quickly became a thing of the past. However, she remained strangely bloated in her abdomen, but any attempts to palpate were met with uncharacteristic violence. She spent the majority of her time hiding under my roommates’ bed, presumably because the very act of moving had become painful for her. Something was very, very wrong, and – naturally – I was too goddamn broke to take her to the vet. This is going to come across as way overdramatic, but seeing her like that day after day was fucking brutal. I felt like the cruelest bitch on the planet because I couldn’t do anything to help her. (Damn you, super-crazy-expensive San Francisco prices!)

By the time I finally scrounged up enough extra money to take C-chan to the vet, it was too late. I mean, like, WAY too late: The day before her appointment I was home alone and I stooped down to pet her... and that’s when I finally felt it: a rock hard mass the size of a fucking golf ball in her abdomen. I flipped my shit right then and there, the Ugly Cry making one hell of a guest appearance right in the middle of the living room. That night, I went to bed feeling totally defeated: I had already had a pretty good idea that my cat was dying, but now I knew it for sure. What’s worse (?) is that she knew it, too. On our last night together C-chan tried to comfort me in her own strange way by mustering up the energy to climb onto the bed with me, and also by maintaining physical contact even though it actually hurt her to do so. For instance, I moved my leg (she was at the foot of the bed) and she moved over – through her pain – to make sure that we were touching.

Flash forward to the next morning.

“Oh, my God!” is something that you never, ever want to hear somebody say while giving a physical examination to anyone ever. But, that’s exactly what the doctor quietly breathed when he palpated C-chan’s bloated abdomen. The Little One had multiple tumors – at least three that could be felt. Plus FIV and old age. She was done. But she was also still (barely) alive, and that’s when I had to make the most devastating decision I had ever faced at that point. We were left alone, and I held onto her, and she did something she hadn’t done since before she got sick: she sat on my leg and made muffins in my elbow.

Jeremy went to wait outside and I stayed behind while C-chan was injected with Euthasol (AKA, the pink juice that will put your pet to sleep forever). I was hoping that she would at least close her eyes, but she never did, so I got to see the exact moment when the lights flipped off, so to speak.

It continues to be one of the most disturbing things I have ever fucking seen.

So, let’s stop to take a look at the overall situation I was in: I had moved 3,000+ miles away from all family and friends to a place I had never even visited; I was living with people that I didn’t know very well, working a shit job with shit pay (that’s a story for another time), the onset of my bipolar depression creeping in, and then I had to euthanize my furry little BFF who had always been there for me when no one else could. I did the only sensible thing I could think of: I called in sick to work and locked myself in my bedroom for two days.

That was exactly ten years ago today, which I find mind-blowing on so many levels. Of course I still feel a pang for my long-dead buddy when I see her photo or her old, beat up collar (of course I kept it) -- today, especially -- which is something that really probably should have passed by now. But she was family, so...

Anyway, now you know why everyone I knew thought that I was going to grow up to be a crazy cat lady.

Friday, May 25, 2012

Special Shorts

Over the last few days I tweeted about my oddly swollen leg, a trip to Urgent Care, and the fabulous news that an ultrasound of said swollen leg revealed that there were no blood clots threatening to kill me. Anyway, this is my snooze-tacular account of what happened.

First, I shall state the obvious: blood clots scare the ever living shit out of me. To be honest, that’s a gross understatement. I suppose that I could reiterate with caps lock, bold font, and underlines, but that still wouldn’t be able to convey the level of which the very thought of those things can wreck my shit.

See, my rampant fear of these wily little bastards developed many years ago, when a friend of Jeremy’s died suddenly from pulmonary embolism – the result of a blood clot that had traveled from his knee to his heart. The idea of dropping dead while watching a movie (which is exactly what happened to the poor guy) seriously freaked me out (and, really, how could it not?). Over the years my dread-filled musings over potential “what-if?” scenarios subsided, and eventually I wasn’t all that scared anymore… that is, until about a week or so after I had Midget. The combined experiences of L&D, defective boobs, and postpartum hormones just weren’t enough for me to deal with in that short time: One night after managing to get Midget into bed, a  sudden, sharp pain in my leg, followed by random swelling came screaming into the picture. Naturally, I flipped my shit and insisted that Jeremy drive me to the E.R. RIGHTFUCKINGTHEN  –  with the sleeping newborn in tow. That night I had an anticoagulant injected into my stomach as a precautionary measure before having an ultrasound done the next morning. The doctors were never quite sure of whether or not there really had been a clot, as the injection would have dissolved it anyway, but that was more than enough to keep me on-edge about that kind of shit for a lifetime.

Now that there’s some sufficient background info for you, let’s jump forward to sometime last week: I started having this weird sensation in my leg (specifically, my thigh) in which it felt as though it had been drenched in burning hot water. It was always so quick that I never really had more than a second to process it, and though I was very clearly aware of it, I hadn’t really been all that worried… until this past Monday.

I had that hot feeling in my leg, but instead of being gone in an instant, it lasted longer than usual and left a residual burning sensation – the type you would associate with analgesic creams like Icy Hot or BenGay. Naturally, I was all over WebMD during this time, wondering if I was going to die, so I did the next logical thing: I backed away from WebMD and Google, and the internet’s general “you have six months to live” diagnoses and decided to take a shower. And that’s when I noticed that holy fucking mother of balls, my leg was very noticeably swollen. This led to me immediately flipping my shit, and calling Jeremy to tell him that I was pretty sure that I needed to hit up the E.R. I then sped the fuck out of my house and hoped to hell that I wouldn’t drop dead behind the wheel.

Jeremy left work and arrived at the hospital before I did: When I pulled into the parking lot he was waiting with a really sweet receptionist who put me in a wheel-chair as a precautionary measure and wished us well before we rode the elevator upstairs. Upon arriving on one of the upper floors we were greeted by another really sweet receptionist who explained that I would see the triage nurse and go from there. I was confident in the staff; they were all so caring and genuinely concerned; there was no doubt in my mind that I was in good hands. And, so, I wheeled myself to the nurse’s closet of an office and was met by a woman who was the exact surly nurse stereotype that can be seen in movies and pop-culture. Everything about her just screamed “dismissive,” and “couldn’t care less”. She very obviously thought that I was totally full of shit, but she sent me to Urgent Care anyway. Once there I waited for I don’t even know how long to be seen by a doctor who clearly didn’t know how to apply her eye shadow. It was such a trivial thing to notice, but I couldn’t help it – the train wreck on this woman’s face had me mesmerized… and feeling a little less than comfortable about being looked over by someone who couldn’t be bothered to blend her shit right.

Once again, I felt a distinct lack of concern for my well-being: The woman asked me a few questions, took a quick look at my leg, and reached the conclusion that what I was feeling was somehow nerve related before telling me to take some Tylenol or Motrin. No diagnostic tests and no explanation for that swelling. I asked about what the possible cause could be and she nonchalantly assured me that it was all nerve-related. So, now, my imagination was really running wild because my Google and WebMD searches for burning leg sensations had mentioned multiple sclerosis – an autoimmune disease that ultimately killed one of my aunts. I had gone from paranoid about a clot reaching my heart and killing me to paranoid about my own immune system killing me. So, now, I was unsettled about blood clots and M.S. Great.

Two days later and my fears were REALLY running rampant: my leg was still. fucking. swollen. Ibuprofen, ice, and keeping it elevated hadn’t done SHIT. Determined to get some goddamn answers, I made a legitimate appointment with a doctor. And, so, once again I drove and hoped that I wouldn’t drop dead behind the wheel because that would be an obvious disaster, and what would Munchkin do? (She hasn’t started school yet so she is always with me; my surrogate Siamese twin, or something…) So, we arrived, and I seriously hoped to hell that I would be seen by a doctor that would at least try to give a shit. Because, seriously? There are few things more off-putting than seeking help for a problem and then having the person who is supposed to help you turn out to be a complete asshole.

Anyway, this time around the wait time wasn’t long at all: A nurse took me to the exam room, asked a few questions, and gave me a pair of the sexiest shorts I have ever had the privilege of wearing before making her exit. About three minutes later I was seen by a doctor who not only knew how to apply her makeup, but listened to what I had to say and ordered an ultrasound immediately. Hell yes! I would finally get my answers! However, I would also get some seriously long waiting time and an asshole that looked like my Munchkin but sure as fuck didn’t act like her. There was screaming, and crying, and whining, and waiting. After about six years I was called into the somewhat cozy ultrasound room, had my legs slathered in some cold-ass gel, and very thoroughly prodded with the little ultrasound probe-thing. It would have been pretty laid back if my child hadn’t been being a total brat THE ENTIRE FUCKING TIME.

Once that was done I had to go back to see the doctor and wait for the results, which had been sent out to some kind of specialist. Once again there was screaming, and crying, and whining, and waiting. At least this time there was a window so that the child could be occupied. That is, until she decided to fuck around with the doctor’s chair and the printer/copier. The resulting time-out was met with the type of screaming and crying one would expect from somebody being cut open with no anesthesia.

Finally, the doctor came back in, followed by the nurse from earlier, who was trying console the damn near hysterical Munchkin (that child cannot handle getting in trouble – it’s amazing!). Meanwhile, the verdict had come in and I was assured that I wasn’t going to die because there were no clots waiting to kill me. The ultrasound revealed that the mysterious swelling was being caused by some harmless fluid in my knee and thigh – the result of some kind of musculoskeletal inflammation. And, so, I was given a prescription for a strong anti-inflammatory drug and some much needed piece of mind.

Oh, and the shorts. The sexy, sexy shorts.


Sunday, May 20, 2012

Cheers for new beginnings, or something like that.

So, ummm…

April sucked.

Now that it’s over, I think I can talk about it at least a little bit – shed some light about the allusion I made in my last post. With that being said, I shall now fill you in on the massive bullshit that took place and absolutely ruined the month:

Zipper Interactive closed down, and the entire studio was laid off. That would include my husband. You know -- that guy that, like, provides for the family while I do that whole stay-at-home thing? Yeah, so, things were intensely stressful, to say the least. It didn’t help that the girls were, like, haywire. They still are, really; Munchkin has entered that horrifying stage of three where EVERYTHING warrants a fucking temper tantrum. And Midget has been… well… Midget: headstrong as always. I’m happy to say that Jeremy did find a new job (with these guys) and it’s looking way up! 


So, yay! 

(Which is a massive understatement.)

Saturday, April 14, 2012

I'm still alive, but not in the cool GLaDOS way.

It’s kind of funny that I’ve been so stuck on Alan Wake lately. See, Alan is a writer… a writer who has struggled with writer’s block for two years. Do you see why this is funny, yet? 

The writer.

My own personal bout of this… affliction (for lack of a better term) has been rather intense. I have things that I wish to write about, but the words won’t quite come together to form anything that makes sense. And, so, I sit around, eat ice cream sandwiches, and lament the situation. Meanwhile, this block seems to be seeping into everything else that I do. I can’t even tell you the last time I picked up my sketchbook. Or worked on craft projects, or scrapbooks. The motivation is there, but the actual product just isn’t.

I could blame this on the bullshit that has been my April, but that would be too easy, and not entirely true. This – whatever this is – spans back further than that. Maybe more music, less caffeine, and some Tarantino films will help draw me out of it.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Advanced Natural Tirade

http://helloprojectxtreme.blogspot.com
So, there’s a show that airs on the Disney Channel called A.N.T. Farm and I kind of hate it. Immensely. Naturally, the girls like it quite a lot.

The premise is that a high school in San Fran has something called the Advanced Natural Talents program – or ANTs! What a clever acronym! Tee hee! These kids are about 11-ish, but they are so naturally talented and advanced that they get to start high school early. The leads are a rather nasally girl called Chyna, who is musically gifted, and her BFF, Olive, who supposedly has some sort of crazy photographic memory and knows multiple languages (and yet has one of the worst Japanese accents I have ever heard…). The supporting cast is made up of a motley assortment of wacky personalities: the principle of the high school (whom you might know as Frau Farbissina from the Austin Powers movies); Chyna’s father (an officer for the SFPD); Chyna’s older brother; a couple of cheerleaders; a couple of other A.N.T.s, and the teacher of the A.N.T. program.

One of my main problems with the show is the amount of stereo-typing that goes on: One of the other A.N.T.s is a husky boy who’s name I can never remember because I am too busy marveling at how horrifying he is. He eats everything in sight (and disgustingly at that), thinks about food all the goddamn time, and abhors physical activity. An episode with a Chinese restaurant depicted the owner as something of a slave driver, completely indifferent to the terrible conditions in his kitchen. The most recent offender was a girl who was proficient in football, hockey, and MMA who had a major anger problem, screaming at and beating the shit out of anyone in her way. What the fuck?

My other issue is that half of these people are so fucking stupid that they really shouldn’t even be able to function. At all. Sub-par intelligence is a flaw present in at least one character in every Disney show, but in A.N.T. Farm it is completely out of control: One of the cheerleaders is pretty much illiterate, can’t do simple math, and can barely fucking walk without being faced with some sort of simple problem that she is unable to solve. The husky boy I mentioned previously is rather dim-witted (but he’s in the Advanced program because he’s a computer wiz? Huh?), and Chyna’s brother – a high school freshman – seems to have the intelligence of an immature 6th grader. Hell, even the teacher in charge of the gifted children is dumb as a box of rocks! I don’t know if the writers think that making the majority of the cast a bunch of idiots serves to make Chyna and Olive look smarter, but it doesn’t. If anything, it’s insanely annoying.

To top it all off, this show is on ALL THE GODDAMN TIME. I hate that the girls like it so much; I don’t want them to think that overweight people are slobs, or that blonde cheerleaders are idiots. Thankfully they understand that it’s just telly, but it’s still terrible that this kind of writing even exists in the first place.

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

I'll be waiting with a gun and a pack of sandwiches

I think there’s something in the air. Earlier this week The Bloggess wrote about not quite being herself, and I have to say that I’m right there with her. Something has me by my imaginary balls, a sort of general sense of malaise. I haven’t slept well in several weeks, and I’ve been kind of grumpy and out of it, so I suspect that this is a hypo-manic phase. I’m hoping that it will pass already, but environmental stress isn’t exactly helping.

Once I get back to my brand of normal I’ll start posting again: I have a lot of stuff I need to say about Disney, stereo-types, and my hair dye addiction.

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

Random Tuesday Thoughts #59 -- Katniss Everdeen would not be able to handle an armbar

I missed last week for some inexplicable reason, but I’ll try to make it up here, okay?

Stacy
Keely is still conspicuously absent, but it's all good. 

  • So, I started reading The Hunger Games Trilogy last week. My thoughts: the first one is okay and now I’m stoked to see how it translates on the big screen; second (Catching Fire) one brought it; third one (Mockingjay), which I have not finished yet, is boring as shit.
  • Awww shit, son! My husband's game, Unit 13, dropped in the States today! Yay!! I wrote about it in-depth yesterday.
  • My cat is a fucking idiot.
  • Sunday night’s Walking Dead: insert Darth Vader’s "NO" scream here.
  • I need warm weather in my life right fucking now. Snow seriously fucks up my shit.
  • Midget and Munchkin: still tormenting me with fucked up late night shenanigans. How I wish they understood that A) sleep is awesome and B) my internal mommy-mechanism won’t let me sleep until I know for certain that they are at rest.
  • Did not finish Alan Wake before the release of American Nightmare. Hell, I haven’t even popped it into the 360 since… fuck it, I don’t even know.
  • Female body builders freak me the fuck out.
  • Saturday night was the huge women’s MMA fight between Ronda Rousey and Miesha Tate. Rousey took the victory by armbar, as usual, but HOLY FUCK, the way she twisted Tate’s arm was INSANE! Also insane is the fact that Tate didn’t tap the first time! She handled that shit like a boss! Here’s a picture of it because I’m a horrible human being. It was even worse in real time. Skip it if you’re unable to handle oddly bent appendages.
graciemag.com
Fuuuuuuuck!
  • Alright, maybe I shouldn’t have added that, but come on – you have to admire the woman’s tenacity: most people would break down the second that arm started to go, but she hung in there for a good bit.
Anyway, I’m tired, Munchkin requires attention. Here’s a palette cleanser to help get the horror of Rowdy Ronda’s finishing move out of your system.

Lo! It is Idiot Asshole Cat, come to heal your eyes and warm your heart!
Cheers~!

Monday, March 5, 2012

Oh shit, I'm talking about games again. But this one is a little different.

This post will probably seem like a shameless plug, or some kind of sponsored bullshit, but I assure you that it’s not; this is just something that I’d like to share because it flat out makes me happy.

Tomorrow marks the day when Unit 13 will be available for the PlayStation Vita here in North America. I’ve been anticipating this game in a much different fashion than, say, Marvel vs. Capcom 3 or Portal 2 prior to their respective releases; while I openly (and rabidly) fan-girled over those two titles in-particular, I’ve been very quiet about Unit 13, only mentioning it once or twice.

But why?

Because it’s Jeremy’s first game as senior designer and writer, and I didn’t want to accidentally let anything that shouldn’t slip slip. But I guess that, since it’s coming out, I can finally express – publicly – how fucking stoked I am. I watched my husband craft the characters and the setting, making his way over various hurdles. I was there when he wrote dialogue and even pointed out little typos here and there because, let’s face it, typing when you’re tired is hard.

So, yeah, Jeremy brought it, and I really hope that people pick this up and enjoy it. There’s been a good amount of buzz; the reactions to the demo have been positive, thus making me even happier for my man among men. I’m not going to tell you to buy it because I think that would be kind of weird, so I’ll just direct you to the official website so that you can take a look at some of his work on the character bios if you’re up for that. If not, no worries, but I assure you that it’s cool.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Random Tuesday Thoughts #58: Swiper, no swiping!

I’m bored and it’s Tuesday, so that must mean that it’s time for…

Stacy
  • Went out and saw The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo for Valentine’s last week. Romantic film choice, right? I rather enjoyed it, though. Good movie, even if it is long as fuck.
  • I think I need to keep a running tally of how many times I have to trek up and down the stairs after putting the kids to bed since they, you know, don’t go to bed. They are constantly getting into shenanigans that involve screaming (why, oh why, do kids love to scream?), jumping, and more often than not, Munchkin getting her ass kicked by doorknobs, poorly-timed jumps, and whatever the hell else can harm a three-year old child.
  • On the plus-side, my ass looks amazing because, well, fuck a regular exercise regimen! Two kids + two flights of stairs = firmness. I’m not entirely sure about my cardio, but I have a feeling that it, too, has seen some kind of improvement over the last few months.
  • There is a copy of Twilight: Breaking Dawn Part 1 sitting on a shelf across the room, waiting to be trolled.
  • A few days back I had to run some major diagnostics on my hard drive. iTunes was locking up my entire notebook, so, yeah, had to look into that. The scan found a bad cluster, so now I’m totally freaked out that my computer is going to die soon. Obviously I’m hoping that it doesn’t happen.
  • God, that would suuuuuck!!
  • I played Gears of War 3 for the first time over the weekend. Local multi-player; nothing special. I don’t feel the need to complete the campaign. I’ve seen the bulk of the cut-scenes including the ending, which, by the way, has some of the worst goddamn dialogue I’ve heard ever. So, so cheesy!
  • As of this moment I have been upstairs three times.
  • Found the missing pieces to the Sleeping Beauty puzzle I talked about last week. It’s all nice and framed and ready to be placed in Munchkin’s room. I just completed the Cinderella one earlier but I haven’t bought the frame yet.
  • LG suggested that I nickname her “Spoiler” because she tends to text me about The Walking Dead before I have seen the episode. Must change this.
  • I’m not particularly fond of this Timeline thing on Facebook. I changed over to it because I thought that it was going to be rolled out for all users on January 31st, but I guess that changed? So now I can't go back, but at least I have a bitchin' Portal image as my cover.
  • I’m totally cool with the “new” Twitter, though. I’m actually quite surprised that there are so many people out there that are just now getting it. I had it the first day it went live…
Okay, this has gone on longer than it should have. Sorry about that. Here, I’ll close out with Kevin Smith’s thoughts about Dora the Explorer, because it’s damn funny. Cheers!

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Random Tuesday Thoughts #57 -- I'm watching 28 Days Later right now and it's at the part where shit gets real.

It’s Tuesday and it’s Valentine’s Day! Woohoo!


Stacy

  • First thing’s first: I’m trying a few different things out with my coding, including a new commenting system, so, yeah. If, for some reason, you try to comment and it doesn’t work, would you kindly let me know? (Twitter will be your best bet.) EDIT: comment section was actually broken this morning, but all is well. Back to Blogger's crappy default system, but whatever. I'll take that over not working at all any day.
  • So, you know those sad sacks that walk around every Valentine’s Day all, “FUCK Valentine’s Day!” and mope around and talk shit? Yeah, those people are wankers.
  • I bought an amazing art-nouveau Sleeping Beauty puzzle a few days ago: 1,000 pieces, absolutely gorgeous. I initially picked it up as a project to do with the girls because they both love doing puzzles, but after the first ten minutes I realized that this would be exceedingly difficult for them to get in on. I resolved to finish the puzzle and frame it, give it to one of the girls, and to procure the sister puzzle (of Cinderella) to give to the other. As luck would have it, 1,000 pieces turned out to be 998; two were completely absent from the box, and I’m rather unhappy about that.
  • Stopped in to the comic book store last night and saw the oddest thing: two kids walked in (16? 17? Maybe 18?). One girl, one bloke. He was a brony – have you lot heard of these things? Bronies are male fans of My Little Pony: boy/bloke + pony = brony. Anyway, this kid was a brony, as evidenced by his attire: a too-small, pastel-coloured pony (or maybe it was a unicorn?) costume haphazardly thrown over some skinny jeans and whatnot. Also, he was on a leash. Words cannot even begin to describe HOW BADLY I wanted to get a photo of this kid! Sadly, I was unable to. Hell, I couldn’t even keep a sustained glance in the pair’s direction, it was so goddamn ridiculous!
  • I didn’t watch the Grammy’s at all, but I read plenty of live-tweets about the event. Deadmau5’s epic trolling of Skrillex was brilliant. For those of you who are like, “Eh?” the former showed up to the event wearing Skrillex’s phone number on his t-shirt.

buzzfeed.com
Brilliant!
  • New Girl is quickly becoming one of my favourite shows on telly. It’s consistently funny and I hope that the writers can keep it up. Last week, in particular, had me dying. I even watched it again via On Demand for good measure and laughed just as much as I had previously.
  • On the subject of telly: WALKING DEAD. Hells yes. That's all I can say about that.


Well, that's all for me. Happy Valentine's Day, you guys!

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Random Tuesday Thoughts #56: I'm too tired to think of a decent title, so I'll call this "Dracula's Lament" because I can

Oh, shit, you guys. Second week in a row that I’m doing this! Back in the swing of things? I honestly can’t say. Oh, well, whatever. Let’s go.


Stacy


  • The whole household has been sick over the last week or so. Jeremy and Munchkin got hit HELLA HARD. I feel so bad for both of them.
  • Related: anyone that follows me on Twitter knows of how I have been bitching about the “inspirational” messages that are being printed on Halls cough drop wrappers now. Anyone who doesn't follow, well, you were just given the abridged version.
  • The kids are still having massive sleep issues. It’s never going to stop: Jeremy has always been that way, and, obviously, he has passed it down to the kids. By the way, by “massive sleep issues,” I mean they literally cannot fall asleep until midnight or after (this is particularly bad with Midget). NOTHING WORKS. It’s brutal, to say the least.
  • I absolutely MUST finish Alan Wake at some point this year! I have been putting it off for so long; in fact, part of me wonders if I should be doing that instead of blogging right now? Anyway, the follow-up, American Nightmare, is coming soon, so I’m going to try to finish up before it comes out.
Alanwake.com
No more tweed jacket! Yes!!

  • I know this is hella old, but Cracked.com’s Series of Emails from Cyberdyne’s New Tech Guy is pretty goddamn funny. Check it out if you have a minute.
  • Midget has decided that she would like to be British, and so she tries to “speak British.” This is, infact, as ridiculous it sounds.
  • Rise of the Planet of the Apes is actually a pretty good movie. Pleasantly surprised by this.
  • Idiot-Asshole-Cat-Gizmo’s vet is borderline harassing me with reminders that he is overdue for his physical. Part of what was so awesome about the vet in Cali (aside from the fact that I worked there and the staff and I were hella cool with each other) is that they would send out reminder post cards on a monthly basis – not EVERY GODDAMN WEEK.
  • Walking Dead is coming back in two weeks! Who’s excited about that?

Alright, I think that does it this time around. I may not do these on a weekly basis anymore, so I can’t give you a neat little “come back next time” outro, so I’ll just encourage you to drop in every now and then to keep up with the crazy. Peace out~

Saturday, January 28, 2012

The decisive battle

A few days ago, I decided to take on the Herculean task of combing the knots out of the hair of a Rapunzel doll that Munchkin got for Christmas. In retrospect, giving a three-year old a doll that has long, golden magic hair was probably a bad idea, because small children have a tendency to ravage the living shit out of their toys, but, hey – the kid likes Rapunzel, so whatever.

I’d run into the doll here and there (since, you know, it too resides in my place of residence) and I would pick it up and kind of fix the hair a little bit and leave it alone because it really wasn’t that bad. Enter Monday afternoon, when I stumbled upon the doll in one of the bedrooms. Only this time, that long, golden hair was FUBAR. Hell, it was FUBAR beyond FUBAR.

Anybody with kids knows that fixing toys is part of the job description, and this definitely needed fixing. So, I grabbed several hair ties and a brush and went to work. It took a combined total of about four hours between two days (because I had hella shit to do) but in the end, I was victorious. There were a couple of minor set-backs: the brush broke twice, and I had to cut two knots out completely, but I did it; I won!



How do you like them apples, blondie?!


Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Random Tuesday Thoughts #55 -- Guess who's kind of back but not really

It’s been a minute since I’ve been a part of the random fray, and now Dorkisms feels empty and sad, so I’m going to join in this week and hope that the sleep-deprivation currently fueling this doesn’t make me look crazier than I already am. So, let’s get this shit started, yes?


Stacy




  • If you stopped by last Wednesday, you’re aware that I went dark for the SOPA and PIPA protest. I don’t know about you guys, but seeing as how I sometimes post copyrighted images and videos here, the bills would have the potential to seriously fuck up my shit. I’m so glad that both of them have been shelved indefinitely. Victory!
  • Those back to back storms that pelted the Pacific Northwest with hella snow? Yeah, that was in my neck of the woods. We had well over a foot; Midget’s school was closed for the entire week. It suuuucked.
  • On Sunday (once it was safe to drive again) Jeremy and I took the girls to see the Phineas & Ferb live show that had rolled into town. It was pretty neat: I totally recommend it. My only warning is that the Phineas mask is one of the creepiest looking things on the goddamn planet.
  • Resident Evil 6 was announced last week, and a bitchin’ trailer came with the news. I’ve been geeking out about it ever since.
  • Munchkin got a Rapunzel doll for Christmas, and her long, flowing locks are FUBAR. Yesterday I spent well over an hour combing its hair, and I’m not even halfway done.
  • I was tagged in a blog meme last week, and I have been dragging ass on completing it because my writing opportunities have been pretty sparse lately. I will get it done, damn it!!
  • I’ve been trying to cut back on Mountain Dew ever since that story about it having the capability to turn a mouse into gelatinous goop came out, but I just can’t do it. It tastes good and is filled with caffeine, damn it!


Well... fuck. I ran out of steam really quickly on this one. Now you understand why I haven’t been posting regularly! I need to go crash. Cheers!

Sunday, January 8, 2012

Beauty mouth?

I found this image uploaded to several Resident Evil fan pages by the same user, and I think it is bloody hilarious. Check it out:

Do you see what I see?
The person who made this (https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=672284427) went through a lot of trouble to crop these images and make them as symmetrical as possible while adding his own commentary regarding the obvious differences. What I find so amusing about this is that he did not go through the trouble of removing my watermark, and used the cropping and layering tools to cover it up as much as possible.

I'm a little flattered that my shot (on the left -- you can see it here) was so convenient for this person's use.

Also, "beauty mouth" is simply lolz.