You know what drives me crazy? Those stickers that you always see in the back windows of minivans, with, like, a soccer ball and the kid’s name. Baseball bat and “Bobby.” Volleyball and “Suzie.”
Hi. Do you think you could make it any easier for a pedophile to grab your kid? Now they don’t have to resort to “Hey kid, wanna see a puppy?” Instead, they can say “Hey, Holly. Your mom’s stuck at work but she asked me to take you to softball practice.” Maybe it only works on one out of ten kids (if it’s not practice day), but is it really worth the risk? Jeez, people.
Then again, I don’t think you should put pictures of your kids on the internet either, so what do I know?
The guy who wrote the “100 Things To Do Before You Die” book… died recently. Presumably he’d completed most of his list. One hopes.
In that spirit, here’s What NOT to do before you die (most of which I’ve actually done):
Jumping out of a plane for fun must seem ridiculous to those people who have been forced to do so during a war.
Indeed, if you are going to play at being a paratrooper, why stop at being a modern soldier? Why not go back a few centuries and try charging across a muddy field while hundreds of stout yeomen fire longbows at you?
GO TO GLASTONBURY (OR ANY OTHER ROCK FESTIVAL)
For starters, tents (and festivals involving camping) are vile - apart from when you’re a child and the tent is in your garden, five yards from a fridge and a proper toilet.
They also leak, they’re freezing and they stink of. .. tent stink.
Hilariously written, and I think we can all use a laugh right now, right? So get the hell out of here. Read the whole thing.
Have I mentioned how much I love Freecycle, lately?
I looooove Freecycle!
It’s not that I’m a stereotypical packrat, exactly. I just move constantly. I’ve never lived anywhere for more than five years (usually much less) and when I pack, I tend to just throw everything in the box, with no weeding. So I have fifteen-ish years of crap that’s never been parsed.
So much of it is stuff that I don’t need, but that’s perfectly serviceable. You can’t just throw that stuff away, and most charity shops won’t take stuff like books and appliances. So give it to another packrat! (Kidding. Mostly.)
Actually, the local freecycle tanked since the last time I used it, and it’s ReUseIt, now. (You can find your local group(s) here.)
I broke down and bought a necklace on etsy. I’d been drooling over this guy’s work for months, but couldn’t pick one piece that I really wanted more than the rest (except for one piece that was already sold). He put up a new one today, and it was perfect, so I snatched it up.
I wasn’t able to use the gift card, since it’s a paypal-based site, but as jw said in the comments, money’s fungible. I’ll just spend it on groceries or work clothes something.
Go look at David Loong’s amazing, drool-inducing work. (Here’s his official site, with details on how he makes each piece.)
I saw the most wonderful thing on the way home last night. I wish I’d had a video camera, because I won’t be able to express how truly lovely it was.
I was stopped at a light, and when it changed to green, the guy next to me slammed on the gas and sped down the street, literally going about 70 mph, in this residential neighborhood. He was flying along in his BMW Of Compensation™ and came to his street, where a minivan was waiting to make a left into traffic. Instead of slowing down, like a normal person, he went screeching around the 90 degree turn in douchebaglike fashion, apparently hoping that a small child would wander into the street, so he could flatten it.
But he wasn’t watching his surroundings. There was a truck parked on that street, just around the corner.
I have no idea how he stopped in time to avoid hitting it, but he was left perfectly boxed in. Minivan to his left, who could go nowhere; truck parked in front of him, blocking his path; and street full of traffic behind him, where everyone else was going normal speed (30mph) and not exactly inspired to stop and let the minivan out. I swear I could hear him screaming in rage from 50 yards away.
I know, it’s schadenfreude, which is bad for you. But I couldn’t resist pointing at him and giving a Nelson Muntz-esque “HA-HA” as I drove past him, snickering.
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It’s come to my attention that I have one lonely little bat on my property. The pooch and I were hanging out in the yard last night, and I saw him making loops in the front yard, vacuuming up my larger-than-necessary stock of mosquitoes. And hopefully not too many of my fireflies.
My college had a huge flock of bats, and they’d fly in a giant, graceful loop between the trees at dusk, making that weird peeping sound. One of them got trapped in our dorm once, and it took about eight of us to get him back out, unharmed but terrified.
So I have a sort of soft spot for them. And, you know, the mosquitoes. Bonus. But I’m not planning on staying in this house for much longer, I don’t think. So. Do I buy (or make) a bat house, and try to coerce more of them into the neighborhood? Or would that just be cruel, since the next owners will undoubtedly chase them off?
As I was pumping air into one of my tires with a foot pump yesterday after work, I took my shoes off in the driveway (it’s harder to do in heels than it sounds). A few minutes later, I did a delayed double-take and realized that I’d worn mismatched shoes all day.
They were the same color (and my pants are too big, so the hems are pretty close to the ground), so hopefully no one noticed. I just can’t believe that I didn’t even notice after I’d taken them off and they were sitting right next to me. I mean, they don’t look anything alike.
I need a vacation.
I was driving home last night and noticed that the guy behind me — an older dude, maybe early sixties — had a weird smirk on his face. I’m a people-watcher. At first, I thought it was funny, but the longer that exact expression stayed on his face, the creepier it got.
We pulled up to a stoplight, and he lifted a Bud Light and took a giant swig out of it. Then, fortunately (for me, not others) he swung onto the freeway and disappeared.
It’s not like I’ve never seen anyone drink at the wheel before, but it’s been a long time. It sort of shocked me. I mean, during rush hour? At sixty years old? Jeez, grow up.
On the other hand, with that smirk, maybe he was just warming up for a tri-state killing spree.
Aw, Katrina’s dad and mom just came by (with their other dog), tromping thru the snow to give us healthy pooch snacks for big G and a thank you / Christmas card.
I’m floored. So nice.
My dad used to say that my dog was the only one he’d ever known who was actually, literally voice-trained. That I’d only have to say something three or four times, and he’d understand and follow directions. It fascinated and tickled him to no end.
It took three tries, and my dog now knows what “I can has kisses” means.
Anyone teaches him what “I can has cheezeburgers” means, I will hurt you.