With the Mask You Are the Only One in Party. Because Everyone Else Went Screaming Out of the Room. (6 Awesome Things I Found On eBay That I Wasn’t Even Specifically Looking For)

1. Anti-Stab Vest

Item Description: “This Soft Anti-Stab Vest Protects the Vital Inner Body Parts from Stabs, Cuts, Slashes and Blows from Sharp, Edged, Spiked Weapons or Broken Bottles, and Hypodermic Needles as well as the Blurt Trauma (kicks, punches, being hit with bricks).”

Protects from the Blurt Trauma and looks good with a tie.  How often do people get stabbed in the chest with hypodermic needles? And hit with bricks?  You should move if you’re getting stabbed with hypodermic needles on a regular basis, unless you’re doing it to yourself, in which case, carry on, and I think you’re supposed to stab yourself in the arm, not the chest, so you should probably google how to do drugs properly.

2. Crystal Brooches for Every Occasion

Speaking of hypodermic needles, what could look more classy on your new wool peacoat than a Hypodermic Needle Brooch?

Or, if you’re a prostitute, show your pride in your profession:

Have you ever been stabbed in the head with an awl while wearing a blue helmet and thought, “Gee, I really wish I had a pin to commemorate this moment”?  Now you do:

There’s a pin for everyone!

3. Decapitated Pants-less G.I. Joe.

Item description: “You could even glue his head back on and play with him! He is clean and quite flexible in the legs. As shown in photo, his head is not attached and his pants are gone.”

…Is this an item description or a personal ad?

4. WTF.

Here for your consideration is this still new in the box Peeing wrestler.

Why?  ...Why?

Awesome toy.  Way to go, probably-Asian toy company.

5. My Backup Halloween Costume

This is one of the creepiest things I’ve ever seen (until I came across the next thing).

Item description: “Brand New excellent value Funy Face Michael Jackson Mask for all adult. With the Mask you are only one in party.”

…Because everyone else went screaming out of the room.

So, what could possibly be creepier than a horrifying, balding, rubber caricature of Michael Jackson’s face wrapped around a teenage girl’s head?

6. This:

Item desciption: “10 inch Funeral Grave Urn Vase Used As-Is No Reserve”

One funerary urn.  Used.  Uuuuuuused. “Item Condition: Item has dirt residue on the inside.”  ITEM STILL HAS PEOPLE IN IT.

Dude, can you at least rinse it out for me?

Dude, can you at least rinse it out for me?



Filed under Shit I Found on Ebay

A Touch of Class Gas

Me:  (ahem) “Excuse me.”

Q:  “Jeez, we got the Hindenburg over here.”

Me:  (looks puzzled)

Q:  “You’re German and full of gas.  Hindenburg.”

Me:  (makes offended grunt)

Q:  “I keep expecting to see you floating up by the ceiling.”

(five minutes later)

Q:  “Remember that one time when Indiana Jones was in you and he was walking around asking everybody for their tickets and then he punched that Nazi–”

Me:  “ALRIIIIGHT already.”

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Filed under Girls Don't Fart

COAL :::evil music:::

I got in trouble for calling my parents’ cat, Coal, an evil jerkface, but


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Filed under I'm So Right

Dude. That’s So Gross.

Me:  “Let’s go to happy hour!”

TSGITW:  “Hooray!  I haven’t seen you in FOREVER.”

Me:  “I KNOW. I’m like 6’2″ now.”

TSGITW:  “No way!  I’m an architect!  Together we are… a really tall lying architect?”

I could totally have grown a foot in the last month and a half.  Call ME a liar.  Don’t you watch all those medical mystery shows all day?  I do.  Because I’m still unemployed.  And it could totally happen.  And I would never lie to you about my height.

I sunk to a new low tonight and used my old learner’s permit, which was issued ten years ago and I’m not sure why I still have it but that’s not the point, to get drinks at happy hour at the Usual Spot because I wanted a drink that bad and because my current ID is in Q’s wallet and he had already left for work.  But then me and TSGITW decided to go to the bar down the street when we were done eating and I was all sketchy and like, dude, go get me a beer, because they probably won’t let me use my old learner’s here, but then I walked up to the bar and the bartender was all, “HEY!  I haven’t seen you in awhile!”  And I was embarrassed because, man, I don’t ever remember talking to this bartender, but I guess that’s what happens when you drink.  So I was like, “Yeah, I was in rehab for awhile,” and then he gave me a beer.  Obviously bartenders don’t care about my sobriety.  And then me and TSGITW lived happily ever after.  The end.

So, the other day I got home and the underside of my windowsill was accented with this neat black line, and I was like, That looks nice.  I don’t remember painting that. So I put on my glasses and got closer and then started screaming because it was AN ARMY OF ANTS all marching toward a case of empty beer bottles that I should have taken down to the recycle bin before I decided to not be home for a few days.

So I sprayed them all with Lysol All-Purpose Cleaner (And Ant Killer) and I took the trash out and when my horror subsided, I remembered I still had ant poison from last year (I always have an ant problem in the summer because this is an “all-inclusive community” which apparently means that they don’t discriminate against ants living in my cinder block walls).  But I also have cats, so I can’t just throw around ant poison because the cats might eat it (and by “cats”, I mean Elbat, because he is not really like a cat but like a dog slash vacuum cleaner), so I made a secret ant death box and was going to put ant poison in it so the cat(s) couldn’t get at it–

–so I got on a step stool to get the ant poison off the top of the fridge (okay, so I’m not really 6’2″) and I was ATTACKED BY AN ARMY OF FRUIT FLIES BECAUSE–

–Q likes to put shit on top of the fridge where I can’t see it and then I forget that it’s there, so I started yelling again and ran and got the vacuum and started sucking fruit flies right out of the air and that was actually kinda fun, until I remembered that one time when I sucked a tarantula* up in the vacuum and then I was afraid that it didn’t die, so I put the vacuum cleaner in the bathtub, and my mom was all, “Why the fuck is the vacuum cleaner in the bathtub?” and I was like, “Because there’s a tarantula* in it and I’m afraid it’s going to crawl back out!” and my mom was all, “You’re an idiot.”  But then two hours later she came screaming downstairs all, “There’s a tarantula* in the bathroom!” and I was all, “Told you.”  Which is why my vacuum is now in my washing machine.

*It was not actually a tarantula.  It was bigger.


Filed under My Mom Doesn't Ever Actually Cuss Unless She's Drunk, Why I Should Quit Drinking

Luray Caverns! Also, I’m the Whitest Person in America.

Q and I went to Luray Caverns last week, which was awesome.  I hadn’t been there since I was a kid.  Stalagmites and stalactites and such.  It’s almost hard to believe that it’s real as you’re walking through it.  My favorite is still the “fried eggs”–

–which totally look like fried eggs except they’re not, they’re rocks, so don’t eat them because you might break your teeth and also get yelled at by your 16-year-old tour guide.  Licking them is also not okay.

I also noticed that some of the stalactites above us had holes in the center.  This bugged me because I wanted to know WHY they were hollow, but Q said that asking him repeatedly didn’t make him suddenly know the answer and so I made a mental note to google it later, which I forgot about until right now.  Brb.

So, apparently, these are “soda straw” stalactites, and they have holes in the middle because water runs down the inside of them and deposits rings of calcite at the tip.  I also learned that I got a “cave kiss”, which is when a drop of water falls on you from one of these soda straws, which sounds a lot more romantic than me screaming that I probably just got a billion-year-old bacteria in my eye.

Q  convinced me to leave my digital camera at home for this trip because I spent too much time messing with it and retaking pictures when we went to the aquarium because they were blurry or off-center, so we each got our own disposable camera instead, and in the end, Q’s film was mostly “attack pictures” of me, in which he’d yell ATTACK! and then I’d look like a deer in headlights and see spots for five minutes:

Where is my mouth

Whitest. Person. Ever.

Eventually I learned to just stop looking at him.

"Stopppp itttt."

They also have a garden maze right next door to the caverns now.  The bushes are eight feet tall so you can’t see over them, and they’re grown on fences so you can’t climb through them.  We actually got pretty lost for awhile and it was kind of embarrassing because there were a bunch of kids that came in after us and beat us to a couple of the goal posts.  In the end though, we made it out before them and waited at the exit to make fun of them when they finally came out.  Just kidding, I would never taunt children.  Instead we went into the gift shop and I got a hat that says “Get Lost” which is almost as awesome as the magnet Q got from the caverns that says “got rocks?”

The end.


Filed under Adventures with Q, Attack!, Luray Caverns

Coyotes and Foxes and Deer, Oh My!

An update on the footwear situation: Q and I went over to use my dad’s grill last week and I got drunk and gave my Tevas to my mom after she complimented me on them and re-sparked the argument between Q and I about whose shoes were stupider. Luckily we wear the same shoe size (my mom and I, not Q and I) and she has eight thousand pairs of flip flops, so I traded up.  She called me the next day to ask if I really didn’t want them or was I just drunk and did I wake up wondering where my sandals were, but I reassured her that she should keep them for the sake of me and Q’s relationship.  When he overheard this, he groaned and asked if that meant he had to give up his Crocs, which proves that I win because he secretly likes his Crocs and looked like he was about to cry.*

*He didn’t really look like he was going to cry at all, I just overdramaticized it in my head to glean more satisfaction from it.**

**Not that I glean satisfaction from making Q give up his prized possessions, it’s just that my pride was a little hurt from being laughed at by someone wearing Crocs.***

***I love you no matter what you put on your feet, just in case you ever read my blog.****

****I probably ought to tell him I have a blog since I talk about him all the time.*****

*****He would probably just make fun of me and then I’d have to give my blog to my mom.

Q and I have been going runbiking when he gets off work recently.  (Runbiking = He runs, I bike, because I’m out of shape and can take breaks while coasting.)  It’s awesome because it’s usually around 4 a.m. so I can swerve all over the road and ride circles around him because there are no cars.  And also no people, so I can swerve all over the sidewalks and people’s front lawns too.  So, the other night we did TWELVE miles and now I’m all proud of myself for not dying and also really impressed that anyone can run twelve miles when I could hardly make it on a bike and had to actually get off and walk the damn bike up one of the hills.  In my defense, a fox ran out in front of me* about two thirds of the way up this really long, steep hill and messed up my concentration.  Over the course of the whole runbike, I saw two foxes, one deer, one rabbit, one drug deal, and one busted lamppost that was catching leaves on fire.  Things I also saw but didn’t tell Q about because then he would think I was a chicken: a monster with bloody dripping jaws in the woods that was waiting for me to stop moving so that it could jump out and eat me.  Next time I won’t wear glow-in-the-dark shoelaces so I’m not such an easy target for evil menacing forest monsters.

*I am now completely confident, having had extensive experience almost running over foxes, that the animal I confronted that one time I almost got mauled to death to save a kitten was NOT a fox.  It was a COYOTE.  Nobody believed me back then, no.  They were all, “It was probably a fox or a dog or a mountain lion, you silly drunk.”

EXHIBIT A: Not a coyote.

EXHIBIT A: Not a coyote.

EXHIBIT B: Not a coyote.

EXHIBIT B: Not a coyote.

EXHIBIT C: Probably not a coyote.

EXHIBIT C: Probably not a coyote.

So, I was up real late one night drunkpainting when I heard this high pitched noise over my headphones.  I took them off and listened and the cats were all freaking out, and when I heard the noise again, it was positively chilling.  Honest to god, I thought someone was killing a child right outside.  I looked out my window and saw a very small black cat cowering by a tree right by the door to my building.  I thought maybe the cat was making that noise, but it was like nothing I’d ever heard, and also I thought it might be my parents’ cat because he’s tiny and black and evil and a master of escape except that when he actually does get out he’s terrified because he’s also a chicken.  Then I noticed another animal in the shadows about ten feet away that kinda looked like a fox or maybe somebody’s dog, and thought to myself, oh hell no I’m not going to let that foxdog kill that cat, even if it is the Satanic jerkface that lives with my parents.  So I threw on my shoes and ran downstairs and out the door.

As the door shut behind me and I stood on the the edge of the stoop, the other animal stepped out of the shadow of the tree like a scene from a freakin’ movie, and I realized with some horror and quite a bit of sudden detachment, that it was NOT A FOX and certainly no one’s dog.  It was a fricking coyote, and I was sloppy drunk, and it was looking me right in the eye, and I had probably just interrupted its dinner-hunting, and I suddenly wondered if it was thinking, “Yay, bigger dinner!”  I was afraid to turn my back on it because it was so close, so I backed up and took off one shoe.  Like I was really going to scare off a goddamn hungry coyote with a shoe.  Luckily, as I was grabbing behind my back for the door handle, the cat took the coyote’s distraction as an opportunity to run away, and then someone yelled out a window from one of the other apartments, and the coyote ran off too.  And I went back inside and had another beer and wished there was someone I could call at 3 a.m. to tell them I was still alive.

Oh, and it wasn’t my parents’ cat after all.  Now every time I see the cat, which turned out to be my neighbor’s, I’m all, “You owe me, buddy.”  But he’s all, “Whatever, you stupid human, I still had like six lives left, it wasn’t THAT big a deal.”


Filed under Great Debates, I'm Kind Of Like A Drunk Superhero, Retelling Old Stories, Things We Saw While Runbiking

White People

My parents went to see Elton John and Billy Joel this weekend, and they were a little apprehensive about riding the Metro to the stadium, but they quickly realized that all they had to do was follow the crowd, because, well, everyone and their mama was taking the Metro to the Elton John concert too.  So, these ladies in front of them were studying a Metro map and trying to figure out how many stops until they got off.

Lady #1: “Is it five?  Five stops?  We’re getting off at the Waterfront?”

Lady #2: “Umm, yeah… I think… Yeah, the Waterfront.”

(Why I love my dad in 3, 2, 1…)

My Dad: “Just follow all the white people.”

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Filed under My Dad is Awesome