The Most Hated Day of the Week.

Well. Monday is once again upon us. In it’s own lumbering, sleepy, deceptively casual way, it is welcoming us into the week.

People are always like “Screw Mondays!” and “I hate Mondays!” and “Why can’t Monday just go fling itself enthusiastically from the tops of a buttressed castle, into the churning waves and rocks below and leave us alone?!”

Oh, Garfield. So cute and fluffy, yet so angry.

WELL. First of all, you people have a wonderfully lyrical way about your insults, and I have to say, I am once again delighted by you not being terribly stupid.

Secondly, that is just not nice. In fact, it is rude, and do you kiss your mother with that rude mouth? I bet if she heard you say something like that to ANYTHING other than Mondays, she would wash your mouth out with soap, give you at least a mildly stern talking-to, and probably ground you, not letting you go to that wicked awesome party on Friday night that just everyone will be at, therefore pushing you to the very depths of your social caste.

It is not Monday’s FAULT that it is at the beginning of the week. Back in the Olden Days, when people were deciding stuff like that, they could have just as easily decided that work weeks ran Thursday through Monday, and then we would all adore Mondays, mildly tolerate Fridays, and live for Tuesday nights. Though of course, Tuesday nights would no longer be happy hour all night.

The point is, Monday is, in fact, providing a service. It allows you all to hate it, while revering Friday and Saturday, and taking all of your harsh words and cruel thoughts, in order to allow the week to begin.

Chew on this: Without a Monday to start the week, there would be no week-end. Oh yeah, baby. Food for thought.

Another thing everyone hates: That song “Friday” by Rebecca Black. Honestly, I hate it more than I hate corn. Which is a lot. Actually, part of me dreads Fridays because I know at least a couple of my jerky friends still think it’s funny to post that video on Facebook every single Friday, hoping, clearly, to torment the rest of us, start controversy, and make our ears bleed.

Don't worry, it's a screencap, not the video. Even I'm not that cruel.

Here’s the thing: The song is terrible, the lyrics are dumb, the girl doesn’t have that great of a voice, and the video is bad. Having said that, I feel slightly bad for the girl. She was only 13, and half the world was spewing hatred on Youtube and random internet sites. She maybe didn’t deserve all of that hatred, seeing as how she’s so young. On the other hand, she put it out there, online, for the world to see, and has, amazingly, benefitted and profited from it, so I guess it worked out for her in the end?

When I was little, I wanted to be a famous singer. I was so sure that I wanted everyone to know my name, everyone to know my face, kinda like Roxie Hart in Chicago! As I got older, I quickly realized that I did NOT want to be famous. I like being myself, knowing who my friends are, and pretty much being anonymous.

...unless everyone adores my blog and writes enough letters to Random House and Penguin, and I get a book deal and I get to spend the rest of my life doing one of the things I love best: writing and making people laugh, or think, or hate. I don’t care what emotion my writing stirs in you (though, gun-to-my-head, I prefer laughter), I want it to make you feel anything. Isn’t that what art is? Emotion on a page.

So, I definitely don’t want to be famous and live in the fishbowl we force our celebrities into. I do still want to make music and sing, I’ve simply switched to wanting to be the words behind the face. My hope is that someday, someone else who is out there in the limelight, will open their mouths and sing the words I’ve painstakingly written.

Wow.. This isn’t funny at ALL. How do you people stand me? Well, for the readers out there, here’s a couple funny pickup lines, courtesy of Comedy Central’s website. :) Not that they work, I’m not endorsing anything, here! But...if they DO work, I definitely want to know about it! You’re welcome. Love, The Best Wingman You’ll Ever Have.

Pickup Line Panda in his finest hour.

Because of my Anthropology background, I have no choice but to include this one:
“If I said you had a pronounced sloping brow, would you hold it against me?"

A lame pickup line. Has this EVER worked? However...a decent rebuttal.
“If I could rearrange the alphabet, I'd put "U" and "I" together.”
Answer: “I don’t have to rearrange it, because “N” and “O” are already together.”

Alright, this one made me snort-chuckle, so I feel honor-bound to include it. Is this outside the box thinking?
“I'd like to think inside your box.”

And last, but certainly not least, an Astronaut pickup line:
“My unit would like to explore your crater.”

If any of these work, it would be Barney Stinson playbook epic!

Back to Mondays. Haterz be hatin’. I am officially going to pledge here and now, to stop hating Mondays, and simply accept that every 7th day in my life, my alarm clock will wake me at a time that is wholly unacceptable, with a hauntingly familiar sound that vaguely reminds me of the stuff of which nightmares are made, and that I will then begrudgingly climb out of bed with a pout for myself and a sneer at the fact that Boyfriend gets to continue sleeping precious more time. I will rise above the ridiculous disease “the Mondays,” and I will take a shower, and wash away what’s left of the night, the weekend, the sleeping in, and I WILL STEP FORTH INTO THE WORLD. If not with a smile on my face, then at least without a grimace.

If not now, when? IF NOT ME, WHO?

Also, if you’ve ever said “Looks like someone’s got a case of the Mondays! Yuk yuk yuk!” Then you are dead to me. And I will make sure I kill you first when the Zombie Apocalypse comes.

I flippin' LOVE THIS MOVIE. Doesn't mean I won't hate you if you say it.

My Mom Can Burp The Alphabet And Other Fun Stuff

Hello, 2013!

So, I know it will sound weird, but my favorite numbers are 3 and 7. Not that it’s weird that I have favorite numbers, many people have “lucky” or “unlucky” numbers. Perhaps the reason is weird. I love them because for one thing, they are ODD numbers, so I can totally identify with that moniker, and also, they’re prime, which for some unknown reason, I adore.

My liking of 3 and 7 is not limited to only those. I will happily accept anything with 3 and 7 in it, like 13, 17, 23, and so on.

Except if they are repeating. I don’t like 33 or 77. That’s just weird.

Also, I don’t like the number 6. Not sure why, but I have always thought of it as a “bastardized 9.” Again, there is no explanation or reasoning for this. It just IS.

So, this year is going to be awesome. It is 2013, which I adore because it has 13 built right in, ANDDDD this is the year I turn 27! I just know 27 is going to be an awesome year! Why wouldn’t it be? I’ve got my favorite numbers with me, my guy who doesn’t question my weirdness about numbers, who is ALSO 27, and lots of adventures left before me in life.

Adventurin'!

And I do so adore getting older. I mean, I get to have new adventures and learn new things and travel to new places and read new books. Dude. BOOKS.

I mean, if I had to think about it, I would say we go about this whole ‘life’ thing backwards. There was some joke about this awhile back, but I don’t remember the punchline, I only remember the stuff I liked, which was the theory that we should start out as an old person, wise and with many experiences, move slowly backward, work for 40 years, party rock it out in college, then move back in with our parents, go nuts in high school, and eventually play with childhood again, ending with a few years of playing and people taking care of you. :) Sounds fun, right? Exactly

Not looking forward to the end in this version, either.

I wouldn’t trade where I am for anything. Though I don’t really do New Years Resolutions (I feel like it's a recipe for failure that only serves to make you feel guilty for a few days, around the 2nd week of January. I feel like you should be improving yourself and being happy ALL the time! However, perhaps this year, my NY Resolution will be to be able to properly spell "Hors d'oeuvres" whenever the need occurs. That’s a super hard word to spell, yo.), I do like to take stock around the beginning of the year. Look over the past year and what’s happened or didn’t happen, and what I have learned from the experiences of living another year.

This year, I get to be thankful for my family, whom I love dearly even when they irritate me beyond all human capacity for irritation, my friends, whom I will always love, and who took the time to come visit me in NYC this year!, my guy, who thinks I am great just the way I am and who being around reminds me every day how lucky we are, my travels, the place I’ve made my home, and more.

Now don’t think this is some sappy rah-rah ‘I love my life’ post. OH NO. We are talking NUMBERS and stuff here. Mostly stuff. The numbers topic has been somewhat exhausted.

Why is 6 afraid of 7? Because 7 is a rock-awesome zombie! BRAAAAINS!

Also, bite me. If I wanted to do some maudlin and serious post about how much I appreciate what I have in life and the work it took and continues to take, ya’ll would read it just the same. And it’s MY BLOG. I do what I want!

Crap. I noticed that I just wrote “ya’ll” above. I am from the South (yes, capital S), and have been living in NY for over 2.5 years. I have attempted to eradicate it from my vocabulary, and though I occasionally slip and SAY it, I think this is the first time I’ve written it since my teenage years. My mother should be so proud. I can see her now, just sitting there, claiming she is a Southern Belle (she’s not, she is from Miami), saying “I told you so!”

But she is also an English and reading teacher, so she might object to me using the written word “ya’ll,” since it isn’t exactly fancy proper English, now is it?

So, things I like, other than numbers, that I spend time thinking about on a fairly regular basis: penguins, drawing comic strips (not actually drawing them, I’m not very good), getting a puppy, how koala bears are false advertising (this is never far from my mind), airplanes, jogging (thinking about it more than actually doing it), Italy, whether or not I should take another stab at learning a foreign language, wondering what I’m going to be when I grow up, why I can’t hula hoop, and

Wait. How ridiculous is that? I can’t hula hoop, I can’t properly whistle, ANDDD I can’t even make myself burp. What kind of kid was I, anyway??

My almost-63-year-old mother can burp the alphabet. It is both super impressive and mildly gross. Though never embarrassing (for me, my brothers, or my stepdad). First of all, my mom is awesome and don’t you forget it. And secondly, if YOUR mother could burp the alphabet on command, wouldn’t YOU want to impress your friends with that kind of trick pony? Damn right. She finds it kind of embarrassing, but does it anyway, as long as we aren’t in public. It’s so frickin’ awesome. I can’t make myself burp at all, a constant source of disappointment in my otherwise high esteem from my family. Maybe “high esteem” is pushing it... 

I can't stress enough that I WISH I had a picture of my mom burping. Even though she would probably kill me for putting it up, you know, if she ever read this blog. :)

I also cannot hula hoop. It stays up for maybe one swing around my hips before despondently crashing to the ground as if to say “WHY do you keep doing this to me??” I can do it around my neck and arms, though! Unfortunately, even my 5 year old niece knows that is not impressive. I wonder if Mom can hula hoop. I have already determined that my sister can’t. Not really, though she’ll tell you differently. And, I can only whistle by sucking air IN to my mouth, not blowing air out of puckered lips. And so, I can’t hit the different fun notes, or whistle a song or anything. My failings continue to haunt me in this, the dawn of a new year

McKayla Maroney and 5 year olds everywhere are not impressed. 

In this vein, I find it incredibly annoying when other people just tunelessly whistle, like on a crowded train or walking RIGHT NEXT TO ME on the sidewalk. Or in the office. It seems like I can’t ever pinpoint exactly where it’s coming from, so I just want to poke random people in the bellybutton with a large stick until I find out which one is doing it, and then step on that person’s pinky toe, and then stick a straw through the hole they have in their lips for the whistling, because it will stop the whistle-y sound and they’ll also look funny, which is always nice.

This picture is nice and epic. And I've always adored the word "scoundrel." Also, "shenanigans."

Little Jew’s First Christmas: A Poem.

NYC Christmas tree at Rockefeller.

Woke up that morning,
On a wing and a dream.
Just another Tuesday,
Or so it might seem.

But this year, instead
Of movies and Chinese,
A new world opens up, with
New traditions, and cheese.

The day dawned quite clear,
The air was yet chilled,
The wind was a-blowin’, and
Her senses were thrilled.

And as they walked in,
Carrying presents and pie,
A great tree full of shiny
Caught her Little Jew eye.

And as she looked up
And saw them hung with care,
The ornaments twinkled,
Then her nose sniffed the air!

There was great food galore,
Broccoli, pasta, dessert!
So much to nom, so delicious
It made their tummies hurt.

Presents abound!
Wrapping paper was flung!
They ripped off the stockings
From whence they were hung!

Tinsel and ribbons and bows,
Everywhere!
Garlands and gift-cards and toys,
So much flair!

The nephew was bouncing,
Niece flying on a sugar high,
From cake and cookies and sprinkles
For no nap would she lie.

Little Jew, her eyes
Wide with wonder,
Said ‘Merry Christmas!!’
To all and asunder.

And after curling up
On the couch with hot cocoa,
And watching the Grinch, and
Learning the Christmas lingo,

They eventually left,
Little Jew and her guy,
Rolling off down the street, with a
Fresh Christmas twinkle in her eye.

And so it would be,
Little Jew's First Christmas.
And it turned out quite sparkly,
Though she was still stuffed up with sickness [and food].

Curled up that night,
Like a Jewy burrito,
After setting her shiny gift
With care on her bureau,

She thought to herself,
‘What a day I have had!’
And Little Jew learned
That Christmas wasn’t so bad!

It felt kinda like this.

There is a Thin Line Between Funny and Terrible.

I don't care WHAT you get/are getting for Hanukkah, Christmas, or Kwanzaa or Festivus. Your holiday is lame and so are your siblings. Now, I am not just randomly calling your brothers lame for no reason.

MY SISTER GOT ME A SET OF 4 STAINLESS STEEL SPORKS. Your argument is invalid.

Look at it. IT IS MAGNIFICENT.

Non-sequitor:
I have noticed that sometimes people are unsure whether to laugh at me or with me. I have chosen to take that as a comment on my genius. I am so hilarious and highbrow that sometimes people don’t get it. PHILISTINES!

However, I realize it is a very thin, teeeeny little line boundary between hilarious and groan-worthy. Having said that, I adore puns. To me, they are the best of groan-inducing hilarity that life has to offer. One of my absolute favorites is “I mustache you a question. But I’ll shave it for later!” and of course, the ever-awesome animal puns, which luckily for you, I posted below, but further below than the mustachioed dude.

Speaking of mustaches.

If that’s wrong, then I don’t want to be right. Not in any other sense, though. Just ask Boyfriend or my brothers. I am ALWAYS RIGHT! Actually, I take that back. Don’t ask any of them, just ask me. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.

Now, I have to admit, I have been known to step a toe over, straddle, perhaps even high jump over the line before. Not that I care. If I think I'm funny, any dissenters can go suck an egg. :)

And now, in lieu of being hysterically funny for all of you all by my lonesome, I have decided to treat you all to some wonderful puns! Now, I totally get that some of these may make you groan. Some are longer, some are shorter. Just take a deep breath and prepare to be amused. And there is a surprise at the bottom! Click on them to enlarge any of the pictures.

If you don’t find this amusing, you are dead to me. Ahh! I don't know why so blurry!

This will eventually get old. BUT NOT YET.

90s flashback pun!

Sad that the other guy is so mad at the Punny McPun! I liked it. :)

 And now, to end with something that isn’t a pun AT ALL. It is a supercute picture of Cookie Monster, who happens to top my list of all-time favorite monsters who love cookies. Followed at a close second by the Yeti. Partially because Yetis are rad and love cookies, and partially because “yeti” plays in Scrabble.

Omfg, too cute. This is so cute it make me angry. That's how adorable it is.

I showed the above picture to Boyfriend, explaining that it was so cute that it made me want to shark-punch a baby. He responded by letting me know that the proper rules of etiquette dictate that punching babies is not acceptable in society, as of yet. WELL THEN. 

Either way, my other friend was not clear on what shark-punching was. She hazarded a 3 part guess:
1) You punch someone in the neck like you'd try to punch an attacking shark's gills.
or
2) You make your hand look as shark-like as possible while you're going in for the punch.
or
3) You make a fake fin over your head with one hand while you punch the crap outta someone.

While 2 and 3 both intrigue me, and of course they are all correct, I had to try out my shark-punchin' face and grade it on it's intensity and the ability to strike fear into people's hearts. Here it is, in all of it's glory.

This is my shark-fin-headpiece, and my "I am about the moderately assault your person in the chestal (or facial) region with my metacarpals in the form of...SHARK!"

How To: Be An Awesome Girlfriend

Boyfriend bought a new pair of pants last week. And no joke, there was a tag on them that said “Comfort-Stretch Waistband: Because guys need their space.” We both thought this was hilarious. But it got me thinking about guys and girls and their needs and wants and stuff.

So, in this installment of intermittent how to articles that clearly make your life inconceivably better, I present to you:

How To: Be An Awesome Girlfriend.

I want to preface this by saying that there is more than one way to be irresistibly awesome to your hunky other half, and also warn you that sometimes, no matter how great you are, the other half of your relationship may not appreciate it, or deserve it. And like Old Kenny Rogers always says, in his wrinkly old-man voice, ‘You gotta know when to fold ‘em.’ Don’t give away all your lovin’ to someone who doesn’t respect and appreciate all of what your awesomeness has to offer.

Ok, PSA over. On to the fun stuff!

1. It’s true, guys need their space. AND SO DO CHICKS. I need my space sometimes and just want to hang out with the coolest person I know: ME. You can’t be together 24/7, because for one thing, you (hopefully) have different interests and can maintain those both with and without each other. Perfect example: Boyfriend plays video games. I literally could not have any less interest in sitting at a computer for hours playing the same thing. *shudder* However, I can curl up for hours reading a good book. BAM. Problem Solved. We do our own things, yet are at least slightly aware that the other person is in the room. Quality time, kids.

2. Make sure you have a super comfy couch. Boyfriends love comfy couches.

3. I suppose this one is more of a tip, than an actual step to being awesome. Either way, here it is. At some point after the beginning of a new relationship, when you’re still trying to look cute all the time, and wear sexy clothes and not pick your nose in front of each other, that stuff starts to fall by the wayside a bit. At this point, I am living with my boyfriend, and I cannot imagine an environment less conducive to trying to be perfect. He knows I work out in raggedy, old, holey, terrible clothes, he has seen me when I am sick (and you know how crappy you look with the flu!), he has seen me spit when I tasted something really gross, and he has taken note of some of my idiosyncrasies. I was WAY better able to hide the weird/not-cute stuff before!

But the point is that, it’s ok. I would rather him know the real me, and like it, than the always-plucked, cute-shoe-wearing, super polite version. Not that I’m not polite now, still! I just have my snarky, snotty, bitchy moments, too. And he has to bear witness to all of them.

4. In the same vein as number 3, get used to his grossness. When you first start dating, you’re both on your best behavior. By the year mark, he has gotten past that and moved on to the farting-in-front-of-you stage, which is closely followed by the farting-in-your-direction-and-laughing-hysterically phase. That last phase isn’t as fun as it sounds. Try not to eat too much Chinese food with him, it makes it worse. 

5. Laugh at him, laugh at yourself, laugh at life. I cannot stress this enough. You are not meant to be a comedian or anything, but damn it, laugh together. And laugh at each other! I make a lot of silly faces.

6. Be a macaroni and cheese connoisseur. Boyfriend loves my mac n’ cheese, and so do I. We do cook together, it’s something we enjoy, but when it comes to mac n’ cheese, it’s my kitchen and the cheese will do as I command. OBEY ME, CHEESE MINIONS!

Like these, but made of cheese and who love cheese more than anything else in the world, except obeying me!

7. Don’t bother investing in expensive lingerie. If your dude is anything like my dude, he won’t notice anyway. Besides, why waste tons of money on fancy underpants when naked is FREE? Hello, my Jewyness may be popping out here, but come on, I am so not spending $300 on some fancypants teddy thingy when I know he doesn’t care one way or the other. He might be like “You look hot” for half a second, but then it’s done, it’s purpose has been served, and I would’ve gotten the same result in my towel after a shower. Trust me on this one. If he wants the lingerie that badly, he can buy it himself. :)

8. Appreciate his facial hairs. Boyfriends love their goatee/soul patch/mustache/muttonchops. Appreciate it. Stroke his crazy face hair. Name it, talk to it, become it’s friend. And if the guy ever shaves it off, accuse him of killing your friend and pout about it. Make a sad face and puppy dog eyes.

9. Boyfriends can’t resist the puppy dog eyes, but they hate themselves a little bit for falling for them every time. Use the puppy dog eyes sparingly and only for important stuff. Tip: Used too often, they lose their power.

NOPE. POWER HAS MULTIPLIED, NOT DIMINISHED.

10. Never tell the men of your magical girlfriend powers!

11. Get into stuff together. It doesn’t have to be some big official thing, like joining a softball team together, or taking ballroom dance (good luck convincing him of that one, anyway!). Just get into stuff together. I have always loved card games, and Boyfriend does, too, so we have learned some new games that we can play together and with our friends.

12. Make fun of him mercilessly. How else will he know you care?!

13. Nagging is inevitable. I always swore I wouldn’t be a naggy girlfriend. I frickin’ lied. I didn’t know I was lying when I said it, but I was a Liar McPantsOnFireson. (Also, in reference to the liar liar idiom, I’d like to throw the following phrase into the ring, to be voted on to replace the traditional one: “You sir, are rewriting history in such a way that your pantaloons are aflame.”)

Back to the nagging. You never mean to, and you will tell yourself that you won’t do it, but you are lying directly to your own FACE. It starts small, reminding him of important things, and dates and stuff. It grows. Sometimes I remind him of stuff a little too hard. Possibly too often. I like to assume that he doesn’t notice that nagging, what with his selective man-hearing and all.Try to not be super-naggy!

14. Hair. Boyfriends like hair. But they like it more when it’s attached to your head and less when it’s clogging the drain. And be warned! They will blame the drain-clog hair on you, even with it’s theirs!! They will, I’ve seen them do it.

And now, a tip for the men:

Okay, so a lot of guys think they know what women want. Some think it is the stereotypical romantic comedy sensitive guy, some guys think women just want someone to take care of them, and others think we just want an unlimited amount of shoes (these specific guys are not TOTALLY wrong about the shoes). Still others, aka ‘idiots’ think all women want is swag and saggy pants. You know what isn’t attractive? Your pasty butt moderately covered in Ninja Turtles boxers, in 13 degree weather. Although, to be fair, it’s even worse when it is really hot outside and your pair your hero in a half-shell undies with a wifebeater tank top. 

ATTRACTIVE. Especially the part where they tuck their shirts into their underwear. The better to view the boxers, I guess!

So now, men and women can come together, free of artifice and secrets, and be wonderful. Men, you should be thanking me for letting the womenfolk know what you like, and women, you should be thanking me for telling the guys how we really feel about saggy pants.

And so...YOU’RE WELCOME, WORLD.

Do You See What I See?

When I see other people typing, they look so smooth and fast. When I look down at my typing, I feel like it looks like Wack-A-Mole. I remember when I was young, I used to watch my mom type really fast without looking at the keyboard, and I was very impressed with this skill.

And even though I now have that skill myself, it doesn’t seem the same at all! Even though I type really fast, too. It’s like that phenomenon of hearing yourself.

I hear myself all the time. I talk a lot! So, why is it that when I hear a recording of my voice, I am always shocked at how I sound. “Is that ME?” I say, incredulous, “Do I really sound like THAT?” Why is it so shocking? If I sounded out loud like I do in my head, I would be one smooth line away from being a radio-DJ or maybe a voiceover actor, but only narrating life, like JD in Scrubs, or Kevin on The Wonder Years.

I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who wasn’t at least mildly surprised when they hear themselves on a recording. It’s so weird. You “hear” yourself as one way, all the time, and then when you hear it, not in your own head, but in a recording of something, it’s always like “What? Who IS that, singing my song/reading my poem on that thing?” Also--when you’re wearing earplugs, and you talk, you sound weird in your head then, too.

On the other hand, I look like this.

That's my new Beardo! I got it online. It's a warm knitted winter beanie (that is about 17 times larger than my head could possibly ever need, even if I were to sustain a head injury that blew my head up to three times its normal size. Then I'd STILL be able to wear this hat with the inflammation, and also have room for one of my friends to join me in it.) with a detachable knitted beard and mustache! Winter, come at me, bro.

When I mentioned my thoughts on how I think I look weird when I type, my friend Megan said to me, “You should try typing like an old person. With only two fingers, poking at the keys like you're nervous something will bite you.” Officially the best-ever way to describe old people on computers.

But it brings up an interesting, yet mortifying thought. What does everyone else see when they see you? You look at yourself in the mirror every day, you see your face and body, but do we see ourselves the way everyone else does? This certainly isn’t something I bother to obsess over. Let’s face it, there are so many other things that I could obsess over, like why my oreos don’t seem to be uniform. Why is it that the stuffing isn’t the same in every single one? They are machine-made, so how is it possible that some have more delicious stuffing than others? I demand equality in my snack cookies! There should be no caste system, no race wars, in the cookie world. I will stand, and I will fight for cookie equality! Someone give me a sign to hold up passionately.

Standing right on the corner of Hmph Avenue and Pfft Lane, I realize that some of the things I may obsess over a tiny itsy bit about are a tad irrelevant. Why does it bother me when people leave 7 seconds left on the microwave? Why am I so annoyed when I buy a bag of air, only to realize there are 5 potato chips at the bottom of the bag? You don’t know me! I may need that bag of air for something really important, like popping it and freaking my boyfriend out when I am stealthing up behind him, and then you choose to force me to give him a potato-confetti shower with my stealth bag-popping? Is that what I ordered? Also annoying are people who use hashtags on Facebook. Again, I’m not sure why this bothers me, but I am crystal clear on the fact that it does. Especially those people who post one picture of fall leaves, but have 27 hashtagged words. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but if every one of those words are hastagged, then I don’t care what your picture has to say.

So, I am anticipating 2 more packages in the mail today. Boyfriend’s birthday is a week before Christmas. And everyone knows that you can’t give one gift for both, unless it is so amazetastically awesome that it can conceivably make that person excited enough to accept one gift for two of the only gimme-gimme-gift-giving holidays in the whole year. No one is handing out gifts on Columbus Day or Arbor Day. You only get your Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa, and your annual celebration of the anniversary of the day you were ripped out of your warm cozy womb and into the cold, cruel world with a slap and a bath.

This baby is not pleased with the recent turn of events.

The point is, I am in happily waiting in anticipation of the last of the packages I ordered from online, only to be frustrated that it is late afternoon and they haven’t arrived. THANKS FOR GETTING MY HOPES UP, UPS.COM. YOU ARE RUINING MY LIFE! I hope you’re satisfied.

I’m going to go ahead and put this out there, though: I am a good gift-giver. I love getting people something I know they’ll love. I am also a smart gifter: I am keeping both his birthday AND Christmas gifts at work and not at home, so that he can’t sneak a peek.

In other news, I already know what he got me for Hanukkah and I WANT IT RIGHT NOW. But, alas, I am not allowed to have it until actual Hanukkah. MEGA-POUT. It’s super great and I do so love shiny objects.

I started this post with typing and hearing weirdness and somehow ended up going on about gifts. Well...that sounds about right.

I guess I could start chatting about something else entirely. Hmm... how about this: Passive aggressive people make me aggressive. But in a more active way.

I mean, I find passive aggressive notes funny, when I read them online. And I do read them. You just can’t help it, they are funny! But in real life, I am not the passive aggressive sort. I am not going to hmph around and sigh at the sink full of dishes, I’ll either wash them myself, or ask the person whose turn it is. I am not going to post irrelevant and annoying sticky notes all over the place with things I don’t like. I will straight up say it to your face. I don’t really understand that passive aggressive approach. Things tend to work out faster and with better results when you just talk to someone face to face! So, why resort to snotty notes to get something done? Does anyone else see snotty notes and immediately have the urge to do the opposite?

In more exciting news--look at my new ZOMBIE KEY COVERS! (If you, too, need some adorable little brain-eating cuteness on your keys, they're only $6!--go here!)

My keys are going to be the most feared keys on the whole block. Braaaaaaains!!