People seem to love taking naps, my sister swears by them. But for me it’s generally unplanned and will ruin much of the rest of my day, timing-wise. We call these “napcidents.” Yes they happen with enough frequency that they have a name. If I’m napping, something is already wrong or about to be.
Some people might say that part of the reason for these unplanned sleeps is that I do most of my living from on top of my bed. Reading books, chatting to friends online, reading articles online, chatting to customers for work — almost every time, I am sitting on the same surface that I use for bedtime sleeping. Also, usually, my TV computer is playing the same shows that I sleep to. I don’t hold much hope that I will find a better way to live than “from bed” but I suppose anything could be possible.
Once upon a time, I would hang out in a cafe in Michigan where I could obtain a constant flow of free beverages. I would stay there for several hours, if the day allowed. While this put a major hurting on their supply of lemonade, it opened up several horrifying experiences for me. Whether it was the day that I counted seventeen teenagers/old women (dressing hip in the hopes that someone wouldn’t realize they are eighty) wearing those fucking fur boots, or the time an overweight mentally handicapped individual was a mere foot away from my face and “dancing” to whatever shitty song was playing, I have seen some times at that store. Most of the people I have encountered are nothing short of insane, such as the lady who insisted that I keep living in Michigan because one day it will be “the only state that has water.”
Some were pretty cool though, like a fellow I talked to on a few occasions. Even though he told me a lot about his childhood, college days, 20’s, 30’s, 40’s, 50’s, and 60’s, I still considered him a stranger. I mean we were never going to go hang out at the bar or sit around the television and pull for whatever Michigan team wasn’t a complete failure (aside from hockey). I’m not completely sure if he viewed me as a stranger too. I’m unsure of this because of a particular conversation we shared. It was that kind of conversation you could never prepare yourself for or really predict you would get into over the course of the day. Some topics just seem like safe topics around strangers in that you know you won’t be discussing them. Someone probably isn’t going to want to talk about religion with a person they don’t know. A man probably isn’t going to start a talk about their family problems with a stranger. Someone isn’t going to just openly discuss their wife and her horrific shitting problems with a total and complete stranger either.
Yes… well two out of three of those topics are still sacred.
Allegedly, engaging in word games, brainteasers, and various types of puzzles is a healthy activity.We love health! We love activity! It keeps your mind sharp. It staves off senility. And, most importantly, it is a nifty little diversion from all of life’s many little stresses. Some people hate crosswords, be they standard or cryptic. Other people love them! Personally, I don’t really like word searches, but I sure made one for you to do!
In fact, I decided to be a big shot today and make a fun activities page for your pleasure and benefit, because I’m nice like that. Print these out, copy them into a drawing program and do them there, do them silently, all in only your mind — whatever suits your fancy. Just have some semblance of fun and I will feel satisfied.
We all know that I’m no luckier in love than I am in cards. Without realizing at first, I’ve dated abusive men, racists, actual monsters. No less than three of my boyfriends have read my conversations with Amandoll. Two have punched furniture inches away from me. One punched me.
But none of that is very funny, and this post isn’t about my traumatic experiences with men who later stalk me. This post is about a more important thing: red flags in dating. I’ve compiled a list of urgent details to consider when considering that special someone.
Gather ’round, children, and I will tell you a tale. Way back in the year 2004, I thought it would be a great idea to fall off a shelf that was about fifteen feet off the ground and land directly on my ass. I immediately felt the effects of my little incident, because it seemed that I had broken every part of my ass ten times over, and thrown it in a wood-chipper for good measure. I was pretty sure most of my tail bone was located in my neck. For those of you unable to understand just what happened, here’s a quick diagram of what it felt like:
Being sick is the pits, but it doesn’t have to be the total pits! While you are lying in bed, sweating through your sheets while simultaneously experiencing a coldness that will never subside, you can still accrue life points. If you are gaining life points then time is not a-wastin’ and you will be able to rest more completely whenever you finally let yourself rest. And you need to rest!
Whether you have a cold or a flu, a persistent infection of the sinus or the respiratory system, strep throat, earache, hayfever, measles, mumps, rubella — well, the list is as long and as varied as any medical dictionary — but no matter what you have, it is probably the worst you’ve ever felt. God knows the flu I just rapidly cycled through gave me lasting memories and a new inner strength that resulted from just surviving.
Our posts are late because since she arrived back from Australia, Dollissa has been in a crumpled heap somewhere on the East Coast. She has not made it back to HQ, but we found this journal in her drafts.
Hour 1: The plane is full. Planes usually are. The first flight is scheduled to be 15 hours. I take a deep breath, buckle my seat belt as shown in the probably unnecessary demonstration of how to buckle your seat belt, and settle in. I mean not really, there’s no room to settle.
Hour 2: We were already given drinks. I’m afraid to drink it because I’ll have to use the bathroom, but I do anyway so that I don’t die of dehydration. It’s water.
Hour 3: I’ve been scolded twice for trying to use my phone on the plane. Apparently it’s a Chinese rule that you can’t use mobile devices on an aircraft, which is contrary to any flight I’ve ever been on. Goodbye, Spotify.
Hour 4: My notebook isn’t writing in itself, so I put it in my lap with the pen. It’s time to try to nod off angrily, but I can’t sleep unless my head is slammed into something and my hands are in little fists. I eat a minuscule airplane meal and try again.
As I grapple with all seven stages of grief at the same time, rapidly cycling, alone and in bizarre combinations, over the death of AOL Instant Messenger today, December 15th, 2017 — a very dark day, I figured that I should try to get a taste of “Reconstruction and Working Through” (stage six) by celebrating that I have had good times there. I am doing this by putting up a comic, by acknowledging International Tea Day, and by crafting unwieldy, ugly sentences. Please pardon me. I am GRIEVING.
Somewhat recently, fellow resident of the Sneer House, Lisa, and I took a trip to the Midwestern United States’ Largest Flea Market, which is conveniently located just north of Cincinnati. For those of you unfamiliar with the large scale flea market, let me just describe it as an expansive building filled with booths that are full of an array of garbage that is for sale. Some of the booths actually sell quality items, and you wonder what they are doing there, but mostly it seems to be junk that fell off of the back of a truck and these people scavenged it and put low, low price tags on it — or absurdly high price tags. For those of you who ARE familiar with flea markets, you know that the “bottom” in my title means a butt.
Welcome back to our monthly comic series, Doofus and Darling. If you had Highlights for Children magazine when you were young, you’ve seen Goofus and Gallant. If not, it probably doesn’t matter anyway.