I pronounce it "nasta!"

The NSTA conference exploded all over our house. As you can see. I asked OD to go by the Molt HicSnoodle* booth and tell them to fuck off, you fucking fuckers but she was like "ummmmm...no." Wuss.



*Clever pseudonym

They hired me to type these numbers and hit "enter" all day

I went to a temp job and it was weird. While I was there someone slipped this note over the cube wall. Do you think I should worry?

puunaikutti

It's been about a year since our old-time kitty died, and we said hey! we have a toddler, and one of us is unemployed! Let's saddle ourselves with another high-maintenance mouth to feed! Long story short, new cat! She was this stray who landed herself in the pound, see, and they happened to give her the same name as our old cat, so how could we let her moulder in the pound? You see my point. It's not really her name because she doesn't respond to it plus it would be confusing to us. We haven't thought of a real name yet but one member of the household just calls her "Wow!" He's a fan.

It's like Video Cringe

Have you had opportunity yet today to mock anyone? If not, you are in luck. I present to you an extract from a video created nearly nine years ago, when I was young and frustrated with the job hunt. Although I am older now, and have more job interviews behind me, I still feel exactly like this on most days. Plus ca change etc.

About the hair: I know, okay? I think someone cut it drunk.

Available to Hire: Half a Brain

Dear Random House Australia, Penguin House USA, and/or Sarah Crichton Books:
I am hereby offering my services as a doubter, skeptic, and all-round Mary Mary Quite Contrary to you for a reasonable salary and benefits package. I do not actually check facts--I don't have that kind of time or patience--but I am severely non-gullible. So what can I do for you? Basically here is how we'll work. If any of your editors uses any of the following adjectives about a manuscript:

amazing
heartbreaking
wrenching
astonishing
far-fetched
novelistic

You send me the MS. I read it and say "I'm not buying it." You are thus spared the embarassment of an expose, the expense of returns, and the ecological harm of pulping all those bound books.

Mt. Ivy Press, keep walking. You are too dumb even for me. Wolves?? I ask you.

Worst Party Ever: You Vote

Two Parties, both amazingly terrible, but so different. One where I was insanely uncool (or was i?) and the other where everyone else was insanely uncool (or were they?). Your choice!

Party One!

I am 13 years old. I have never been invited to a party that wasn't a birthday party. I have never thrown a party that wasn't a birthday party. I am Not Cool. I am Not Popular. Middle School is Kicking My Ass. And now, I am invited to Cara's party at her house. Possibly at the demand of her mother, who believes we are great friends, which we decidedly are not. Cara has made this a theme party. The theme is "The Sixties!" which is a popular theme, although obviously none of us has ever been near the actual sixties.
You may know that there are two types of "Sixties!" aesthetic. One is more or less accurate. It's what someone who had been there, might remember, and might dig from her closet for such a party. The other type is what young children imagine to be "Sixties!". Basically you dress and talk like Janice, the Muppet. Cara's party was clearly intended to be this latter, fun-time "Sixties!" One was not expected to show up as Lyndon Johnson, for instance. There is nothing fun about Lyndon Johnson for 13 year olds.
Alas, my parents were in high school in the actual sixties. So, when I asked for a costume, my mother pulled out something completely authentic but also completely wrong. It was really just jeans, an ugly shirt, and these tall lace-up leather boots. Unfortunately for me, the only thing about this that would have seemed like "Sixties!" to 13-year-olds was the boots...vaguely.
So I show up at this party...I can't remember if I am excited or nervous. At the door, Cara informs me that her mom doesn't allow shoes in the house. I have to take off the boots and now I am dressed 100% wrong. Perfect!
Everyone else has a perfect cartoon-sixties costume. Everyone else has friends. I spend the evening eating potato chips in the corner. At the end of the night Cara tells me she needs my help to clean up. Stupidly, I do.

Party Two!

I was not invited to Party Two directly. I am a date of the invited guest, OD. It is a birthday party for someone from her guitar classes. His name is Steve. Steve lives in an old house, where he rents a room from the owner, a really weird guy about 65 years old. To me it's weird for a 65 year old guy to have roommates in their twenties. Anyway we show up thinking it's kind of a party for grownups. We bring wine. The living room furniture has all been pushed to the edges of the room and covered in plastic sheeting, like the party is going to involve dancing, or possibly vomiting. All the food and drink has been confined to the kitchen, several rooms away in the back of the house. So picture a party with no place to sit, no snacks to mingle around, and no drinks allowed in the living room. ROCKING! Then the elderly roommate puts on the music. The elderly roommate has a hobby. That hobby is collecting records. Novelty records. What are novelty records? You know, Tiny Tim, Dr. Demento, things like that. That's the party music.
The other guests consist of two types: hobos, and Young Republicans. I am not sure which group we were supposed to be in. I'll say hobos. Anyway one of the hobos is a bearded fellow wearing two different shoes. Neither of which has any laces left. He barely speaks a word to anyone the whole time, and never removes his backpack. One of the Young Republicans gives us a campaign pen. Another has us sign his petition to get on the ballot. The elderly roommate tells racist jokes.
Besides "Alvin and the Chipmunks Christmas", the entertainment includes the game Twister. It has been provided and spread out on the floor, but no one is playing. The hobo with the backpack takes a recorder from his backpack and begins to play, pausing to sing as well. Stunned, we soon make our excuses and run all the way home.


Voting is now open for the Worst Party!

Odd Dreams From the Last Week

Escape To Cuba!

a small group of people sets sail in a decrepit small boat, not to escape FROM Cuba, but to flee TO Cuba! Once there they cannot leave and cannot get wi-fi. It is a fiasco.

The Man Who Knew Too Much!

A mafia-esque group of Hasidic Jews is searching for one of their own against whom they have a longstanding grudge. He has left the community and now lives in Boston as a non-Jewish middle manager originally from Baltimore. It is my former boss! All his talk of his hometown crabcakes was a LIE!! I warn him to flee, because he has been found out!