Completely normal.
If you don't think this is the cutest thing in the world, well...then y ou're probably made out of Lysol.
Get Boned.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
The only downside is that now I cry when we feed the snake
Meet Monty. He's naked. Except he's not *really* naked, he's just hairless. So it's kind of like he's that brown M&M lady from the commercials, and we're like the red M&M guy who strips down and starts dancing when we see him.
Completely normal.
Completely normal.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
I swear to god the only thing I'm on at the moment is coffee. Cold coffee.
Thursday night, when my car was snatched (very politely and by a guy who looked a little like Santa, and with minimal tears on my part), I found myself in a bit of a tailspin.
Friday was a tough day for my ego, and then I realized that I needed help. Help was offered. And I, the endlessly prideful dumb ass that I am, turned down the help. For real.
I've always liked the idea of not needing monetary help from anyone, and went most of my adult life without asking for much of it, but I did get a loan from a loved one to help buy my house. This house is the best place I've found so far, and I don't mean house-wise exactly, because it needs a lot of work, but this is where I belong for some reason. I don't ever want to leave this property, and I'm going to do my damnedest to make that reality.
Unless I change my mind, but you know...I'm impulsive like that.
After my tough day on Friday, Daylow and I made our semi-regular trek to out little dive bar in town, and we talked quite a bit, as we are wont to do, and I noticed a very interesting pattern unravelling.
The situations when I've desperately needed help from other people, thus far, were difficult to swallow, but when I finally prostrated my ego enough to accept offered help, those debts resulted in some of the best things that have ever happened to me.
The loan for my house started a huge snowball of life-changing events that brought me here.
Where's here?
Home. Finally home.
In the place where I broke my skull and knocked every spec of responsibility out of my fibers.
This is the place I love most in the state despite all of the painful things that have happened here.
Finally accepting help from someone gave me a home.
The snowball blew through 2011 and knocked everyone aside, including Gray, and along the way, that snowball brought people into my life that made other changes explode like really grizzly fireworks. Half was a good show, half was like a slap in the face with a stray limb.
I've never been more alone than I am right now. I've never been more financially desperate than I am right now. I have never been more scared than I am. Right now.
But that fucking snowball, despite all the carnage it scattered through my world, also brought me Daylow. He's the best, most unexpected present I've ever received*.
Along with Daylow came months of unemployment, and not the "I deserve a tiny violin" kind of unemployment, but the "holy fuck, that chick is retarded" kind of unemployment.
Unemployment brought be the most fun, least profitable job I've ever had, and it also made an odd network connection (courtesy of meeting one of those limb-in-the-face people from the snowball) that resulted in me finding my new job. The job that I love. With a company I can dig. And a paycheck that will allow me to pay for my home. And my vodka.
All of the mistakes that I've made recently, all of the ways that I've fallen into a very deep hole, the fact that I'm pretty much scraping rock bottom in every way right now...these things brought me the happiest Minnesota winter I've ever survived.
Well, those mistakes and the fact that it's been warm and snowless all year.
Now I'm seeing the pattern repeat, because I desperately need help to crawl out of my self-fashioned hole, and also because someone has again offered to help.
I realized that I had to change my RSVP from "thank you for the offer, but I'm too proud to accept your help" to "FUCK YEAH, thank you very much."
It might just bring another good thing my way.
*Thanks Dale. And Pat. And the futon.
Friday was a tough day for my ego, and then I realized that I needed help. Help was offered. And I, the endlessly prideful dumb ass that I am, turned down the help. For real.
I've always liked the idea of not needing monetary help from anyone, and went most of my adult life without asking for much of it, but I did get a loan from a loved one to help buy my house. This house is the best place I've found so far, and I don't mean house-wise exactly, because it needs a lot of work, but this is where I belong for some reason. I don't ever want to leave this property, and I'm going to do my damnedest to make that reality.
Unless I change my mind, but you know...I'm impulsive like that.
After my tough day on Friday, Daylow and I made our semi-regular trek to out little dive bar in town, and we talked quite a bit, as we are wont to do, and I noticed a very interesting pattern unravelling.
The situations when I've desperately needed help from other people, thus far, were difficult to swallow, but when I finally prostrated my ego enough to accept offered help, those debts resulted in some of the best things that have ever happened to me.
The loan for my house started a huge snowball of life-changing events that brought me here.
Where's here?
Home. Finally home.
In the place where I broke my skull and knocked every spec of responsibility out of my fibers.
This is the place I love most in the state despite all of the painful things that have happened here.
Finally accepting help from someone gave me a home.
The snowball blew through 2011 and knocked everyone aside, including Gray, and along the way, that snowball brought people into my life that made other changes explode like really grizzly fireworks. Half was a good show, half was like a slap in the face with a stray limb.
I've never been more alone than I am right now. I've never been more financially desperate than I am right now. I have never been more scared than I am. Right now.
But that fucking snowball, despite all the carnage it scattered through my world, also brought me Daylow. He's the best, most unexpected present I've ever received*.
Along with Daylow came months of unemployment, and not the "I deserve a tiny violin" kind of unemployment, but the "holy fuck, that chick is retarded" kind of unemployment.
Unemployment brought be the most fun, least profitable job I've ever had, and it also made an odd network connection (courtesy of meeting one of those limb-in-the-face people from the snowball) that resulted in me finding my new job. The job that I love. With a company I can dig. And a paycheck that will allow me to pay for my home. And my vodka.
All of the mistakes that I've made recently, all of the ways that I've fallen into a very deep hole, the fact that I'm pretty much scraping rock bottom in every way right now...these things brought me the happiest Minnesota winter I've ever survived.
Well, those mistakes and the fact that it's been warm and snowless all year.
Now I'm seeing the pattern repeat, because I desperately need help to crawl out of my self-fashioned hole, and also because someone has again offered to help.
I realized that I had to change my RSVP from "thank you for the offer, but I'm too proud to accept your help" to "FUCK YEAH, thank you very much."
It might just bring another good thing my way.
*Thanks Dale. And Pat. And the futon.
Friday, January 27, 2012
FOR SALE: Toro snowblower, pretty much brand new, expensive, fancy, and sprays magic (instead of snow) out of its blade thingys
$8.15
No joke, this snow blower propels itself, shoots really high in the air, and the snow it disburses is like a sparkly rainbow of unicorn farts and angel kisses falling from heaven.
I'm asking the price of a quarter tank of gas for this beauty, basically because I'm that desperate at the moment, and in exchange, this Fancy Toro *Expensive Model* can be yours.
I haven't checked the forecast yet, but I'm assuming it might snow again this year, maybe once or twice, definitely in March and DEFINITELY after we've washed our cars, so it's probably a matter of life or death, whether or not you own my magical unicorn snow cone maker.
Call me. Buy this. I NEED GAS MONEY.
Except that...wait, NO I DON'T.
Why don't I need gasoline after all, you ask?
That's right, I almost forgot.
I thought I was acting out my perfectly normal routine of riding to work in Daylow's car and, once there, being stranded even though I didn't need to go anywhere, going to Arby's for lunch with a co-worker because I think he felt bad that he couldn't drive me around like a princess so, instead, he drove me to Arby's (which I didn't used to like, but now that I can't taste...I guess I actually do, and then working almost two hours later than I've recently been accustomed to working, but it seeming longer because it was dark when I left, the building was empty, and I'd gotten there at my regular time this morning, so it was a longer day in general, and then riding home (again, a passenger) by another very compassionate co-worker, and unlocking my front door to go inside, and having to explain to my very confused dog why I was entering from the wrong end of the house, did that mean she needed to get up and greet me, or was I planning to go around back and come in the correct way?
Except, as you can imagine, THAT IS NOT A NORMAL DAY FOR ME.
My car. It has been...returned to it's maker, shall we say, and is going to auction if I don't come up with a lotta cash soon.
So PLEASE call me. And buy my magical unicorn fan, and I'll only charge you the cost of a repo.
IF YOU DON'T PUT THE WORD "crustacean" in the subject line, I'll now your spam.
No joke, this snow blower propels itself, shoots really high in the air, and the snow it disburses is like a sparkly rainbow of unicorn farts and angel kisses falling from heaven.
I'm asking the price of a quarter tank of gas for this beauty, basically because I'm that desperate at the moment, and in exchange, this Fancy Toro *Expensive Model* can be yours.
I haven't checked the forecast yet, but I'm assuming it might snow again this year, maybe once or twice, definitely in March and DEFINITELY after we've washed our cars, so it's probably a matter of life or death, whether or not you own my magical unicorn snow cone maker.
Call me. Buy this. I NEED GAS MONEY.
Except that...wait, NO I DON'T.
Why don't I need gasoline after all, you ask?
That's right, I almost forgot.
I thought I was acting out my perfectly normal routine of riding to work in Daylow's car and, once there, being stranded even though I didn't need to go anywhere, going to Arby's for lunch with a co-worker because I think he felt bad that he couldn't drive me around like a princess so, instead, he drove me to Arby's (which I didn't used to like, but now that I can't taste...I guess I actually do, and then working almost two hours later than I've recently been accustomed to working, but it seeming longer because it was dark when I left, the building was empty, and I'd gotten there at my regular time this morning, so it was a longer day in general, and then riding home (again, a passenger) by another very compassionate co-worker, and unlocking my front door to go inside, and having to explain to my very confused dog why I was entering from the wrong end of the house, did that mean she needed to get up and greet me, or was I planning to go around back and come in the correct way?
Except, as you can imagine, THAT IS NOT A NORMAL DAY FOR ME.
My car. It has been...returned to it's maker, shall we say, and is going to auction if I don't come up with a lotta cash soon.
So PLEASE call me. And buy my magical unicorn fan, and I'll only charge you the cost of a repo.
IF YOU DON'T PUT THE WORD "crustacean" in the subject line, I'll now your spam.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Fetishes have come up again, but in a very unexpected way.
Maybe you can help settle this for me.
Daylow and I cook. We cook a lot. It's wasteful, really. We need to open a soup kitchen or something, because even though we eat like pigs and feed our roommate sometimes, there are a lot of leftovers. I need to start taking them all to the neighbors.
Food waste doesn't seem to bother us as much as it should, though, because Daylow and I love to shop. At the grocery store. Basically, the grocery store IS my Bloomingdale's. If you ask me what kind of gift card I'd like, the answer is ALWAYS to the grocery store. Or the gas station, I guess. Or the liquor store.
We basically always shop for food together because it's more fun and also because our menu is very rarely pre-planned. We just kind of browse around and get an idea, trying to use whatever meat or produce looks best. And cheapest.
Anyway, here's the only difference between Daylow and I on the matter of grocery shopping:
I was shopping for food by myself the other day and when I arrived at the check out, I realized I'd subconsciously tied ALL of the produce bags shut. No twist ties, no, but I'd done a loop knot to seal them.
First of all, WHAT THE FUCK HAS HAPPENED TO ME? I'm all of a sudden...tying produce bags for someone? He must be really good in bed or something. I don't like to compromise on my morals like that.
Secondly, I found an ideal compromise to our twist tie debate completely by accident. The loop knot is perfect because you just kind of...pull the knot out, and the bag stays poop-ready, but the produce stays properly...piled? Contained? What the hell is the purpose of using a twist tie? Maybe it's about vegetable safety or something.
Or perhaps Daylow has a twist tie fetish. I googled it, it's a real thing. Explains why he's got a twist tie cock ring.
I honestly have no idea why I'm compromising in this situation, but since I didn't realize I was doing it, I guess I'll let it pass.
This is why compromise is necessary.
Daylow and I cook. We cook a lot. It's wasteful, really. We need to open a soup kitchen or something, because even though we eat like pigs and feed our roommate sometimes, there are a lot of leftovers. I need to start taking them all to the neighbors.
Food waste doesn't seem to bother us as much as it should, though, because Daylow and I love to shop. At the grocery store. Basically, the grocery store IS my Bloomingdale's. If you ask me what kind of gift card I'd like, the answer is ALWAYS to the grocery store. Or the gas station, I guess. Or the liquor store.
We basically always shop for food together because it's more fun and also because our menu is very rarely pre-planned. We just kind of browse around and get an idea, trying to use whatever meat or produce looks best. And cheapest.
Anyway, here's the only difference between Daylow and I on the matter of grocery shopping:
- When I put fruit and veggies into a produce bag, I just kind of "twirl" the bag and plop the weight down on the loose bag end. It's quick, it's easy, and it leaves the produce bags in perfect condition to be re-used as dog poop bags. Sometimes, for stuff like garlic and limes, I don't use bags at all. I just throw produce in the cart and onto the checkout belt. Twist ties multiply like rabbits. I have a quart sized bag full of different sizes and types of twist ties, and I have another bag in my camping gear. I don't need more twist ties. I don't use them that often because, of course, I never re-seal the food once it's in my fridge. Bread doesn't need that stupid white contraption to keep it fresh. Just twirl the damn bag and lay the end of it underneath the bread. VOILA!
- Daylow...well, he not only ALWAYS uses a produce bag, but he also always uses twist ties to close the bags. No joke, there was a time when I ended up with an entire pocket full of twist ties because he was worried I would keep forgetting to use them and, say, we'd be in the dairy aisle when Daylow would realize I didn't use a twist tie (even just one!), and of course we'd have to go back to the produce department to get a twist tie, and so my pocket being full of twist ties makes perfect sense. He's practically preventing my stupidity. PROACTIVELY. Amazing.
I was shopping for food by myself the other day and when I arrived at the check out, I realized I'd subconsciously tied ALL of the produce bags shut. No twist ties, no, but I'd done a loop knot to seal them.
First of all, WHAT THE FUCK HAS HAPPENED TO ME? I'm all of a sudden...tying produce bags for someone? He must be really good in bed or something. I don't like to compromise on my morals like that.
Secondly, I found an ideal compromise to our twist tie debate completely by accident. The loop knot is perfect because you just kind of...pull the knot out, and the bag stays poop-ready, but the produce stays properly...piled? Contained? What the hell is the purpose of using a twist tie? Maybe it's about vegetable safety or something.
Or perhaps Daylow has a twist tie fetish. I googled it, it's a real thing. Explains why he's got a twist tie cock ring.
I honestly have no idea why I'm compromising in this situation, but since I didn't realize I was doing it, I guess I'll let it pass.
This is why compromise is necessary.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
I still don't understand how the Internet works
Every once in a while, I get curious about visitors to Zippy. What kind of freaks are you? Fortunately, there's a way to find out.
These are my Google Analytics scores going back to the beginning of this blog:
17,099 unique page views
2 mins 52 seconds average time on site
77.03% bounce rate
At first, it seems like a lot of page views, but then I look at the Content stats, which show that I've drawn lots of readers who had no interest in my blog, so they left right away.
The same is true when I check out the keyword search terms, because I'm pretty sure the guy who came to Zipbagofbones by googling, "Labia weights" didn't intend to find this post.
Naturally, I like to try to imagine which of my content pages got pegged by Google search to pull up a result which led a stranger to my blog. Labia was an easy guess, but what about "activia and anal fissures"? What about "how to break my arm"?
I MUST KNOW.
So now, we're going to play Let's Match That Google Search Keyword To A Post From This Blog!
To start us off, please welcome My Most Common Google Search Term:
Here are some others. I literally searched these terms in my blog dashboard, and I had exact matches for all of these. I really should pay more attention to what I'm saying...
These are my Google Analytics scores going back to the beginning of this blog:
2 mins 52 seconds average time on site
77.03% bounce rate
I MUST KNOW.
So now, we're going to play Let's Match That Google Search Keyword To A Post From This Blog!
To start us off, please welcome My Most Common Google Search Term:
- i want 18 (and other variations like iwant18, iwant 18, 1 want18.com, et. al.)
Here are some others. I literally searched these terms in my blog dashboard, and I had exact matches for all of these. I really should pay more attention to what I'm saying...
- eating feces
- kanye west toilet
- xxx
- kate gosselin pink cowboy hat
- midget joke
- christmas wedgie
- really sick shit This post also explains the search keywords "fursuit fetish, fursuit fetish story, and fursuit fetish gang bang.
- una's dwarf
- i smell bad
- i wear my sisters clothes
- scary bush baby (bush baby scary)
Thursday, January 12, 2012
No. NO. Reboot.
You know what? Fuck what I said the other day. I don't feel guilty at all.
Can anyone explain why people who talk a big game seem without variation to be hypocrites?
(For example, almost every outspoken anti-gay politician turns out to be gay. I say stick that dick wherever you'd like, just own it. OWN THAT DICK, Senator.)
The people I speak of preach safety! And security! And good will towards men! They are citizens who take action against hooligans! They build fences to protect their children from danger! And they have a big problem with people who don't take those same things seriously.
But when shit hits the fan and the big game talkers are implicated in a dangerous situation, it suddenly becomes someone else's problem. Some other person's responsibility. No apologies, no concern. They feel that the problems they "caused" not only should be overlooked, but all those other rules about safety and community involvement fly right out the window because suddenly, they are the ones under fire. They are the ones out of line.
Hypocrisy at its finest.
I agree that their lives are hard enough as it is right now, which really does suck. That's why I've tried to be helpful.
I can't do anything but hold up a mirror and hope they see themselves in it when what I really want to do is smash the mirror into their thick skulls and scream, "WHAT THE FUCK?!?! WHO ARE YOU!?!?"
So I take it back: I'm not sorry. I'm pissed, and I have every right to be.
Can anyone explain why people who talk a big game seem without variation to be hypocrites?
(For example, almost every outspoken anti-gay politician turns out to be gay. I say stick that dick wherever you'd like, just own it. OWN THAT DICK, Senator.)
The people I speak of preach safety! And security! And good will towards men! They are citizens who take action against hooligans! They build fences to protect their children from danger! And they have a big problem with people who don't take those same things seriously.
But when shit hits the fan and the big game talkers are implicated in a dangerous situation, it suddenly becomes someone else's problem. Some other person's responsibility. No apologies, no concern. They feel that the problems they "caused" not only should be overlooked, but all those other rules about safety and community involvement fly right out the window because suddenly, they are the ones under fire. They are the ones out of line.
Hypocrisy at its finest.
I agree that their lives are hard enough as it is right now, which really does suck. That's why I've tried to be helpful.
I can't do anything but hold up a mirror and hope they see themselves in it when what I really want to do is smash the mirror into their thick skulls and scream, "WHAT THE FUCK?!?! WHO ARE YOU!?!?"
So I take it back: I'm not sorry. I'm pissed, and I have every right to be.
Monday, January 09, 2012
I'm also awesome at sleeping
Well.
Today was my first day at a "real" job in about 3 months. CULTURE SHOCK. By 2:00, I had a pounding headache and a very serious disdain for the fluorescent lighting.
Interestingly enough, although a bit overwhelming, it was a really fun day. I met a ton of people whose names I'll try desperately to remember tomorrow, and all of them were very nice and welcoming. After one day of training, though, it's obvious that I am completely fucking clueless about how to do my job. But my entire department is in the same boat, so we're going to learn together.
I came straight home after work to check on Scary, who is now eating enough bread for me to get her meds in her belly. She seems to be feeling a little better today. Good news for good pups.
Unfortunately, after work I had to address an issue between myself and a friend, and it was incredibly unpleasant, as such things usually are. It seems my habit of broadcasting EVERYTHING to the internet (including my preference in vibrators and the epic shits I take) has come yet again at the cost of hurting others.
Inadvertent? Yes.
Icky, guilt-induced belly feeling? Double yes.
It seems, yet again, that I am a complete failure at life.
But on the plus side, I'm still awesome at ruining everything.
Today was my first day at a "real" job in about 3 months. CULTURE SHOCK. By 2:00, I had a pounding headache and a very serious disdain for the fluorescent lighting.
Interestingly enough, although a bit overwhelming, it was a really fun day. I met a ton of people whose names I'll try desperately to remember tomorrow, and all of them were very nice and welcoming. After one day of training, though, it's obvious that I am completely fucking clueless about how to do my job. But my entire department is in the same boat, so we're going to learn together.
I came straight home after work to check on Scary, who is now eating enough bread for me to get her meds in her belly. She seems to be feeling a little better today. Good news for good pups.
Unfortunately, after work I had to address an issue between myself and a friend, and it was incredibly unpleasant, as such things usually are. It seems my habit of broadcasting EVERYTHING to the internet (including my preference in vibrators and the epic shits I take) has come yet again at the cost of hurting others.
Inadvertent? Yes.
Icky, guilt-induced belly feeling? Double yes.
It seems, yet again, that I am a complete failure at life.
But on the plus side, I'm still awesome at ruining everything.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)