follow me or perish, sweater monkeys

Some of you may remember that this isn't my first rodeo blog, but that I used to have a blog in another corner of the internet called Long Story Short. Even fewer of you might still be subscribed to the feed so you may have noticed new posts popping up in your Greaders today. Which I imagine was confusing. Or you just marked them all as read and went about your business, I really don't know.

Anyway. I decided last night that, for a couple of reasons (but mostly because I have started and abandoned about 15 blogs in the past few years), I wanted to put all (or at least most) of my blog-spew in one place. So this morning I imported all of my Wonder Killer posts to Long Story Short, which is where I'll be posting from now on. I may even import posts from some of my other forgotten blogs, I can't decide yet. I'm not sure it's worth the mess, but then again, I do love me some organizing.

If you please, update your links, your feeds, your what-have-you, and follow me back to Long Story Short. I promise I won't move again for at least another few years, until I decide what I really need to do is start another blog. Wheeeeeeee.

Dear Fancy Nancy: Happy Baby Shower! PS: Thank you for not making us play games, especially that gross melted-candy-bar-in-the-diaper one.

One of my best friends is having a baby in October, which is weird for several reasons...one is that I think the whole pregnancy process is just plain weird. Right? I mean, you have this thing inside of you, stealing your nutrients and your energy and growing larger and larger until finally it rips its way out of you and we're all strangely OK with this. Have you ever seen the imprint of a fetus foot in a pregnant woman's belly? That shit is creepy.

(SIDEBAR: I've never actually seen that but I've heard about it. OK, actually, I think that's kind of cool. But still creepy. Hey, things can be creepy and cool at the same time. Case in point: CHRISTOPHER WALKEN I REST MY CASE.)

Two, it's crazy that any of my friends are even allowed to have babies. I've known them too long. I've gotten in too much trouble with them. How are we allowed to be in charge of a tiny baby? I've heard that they're pretty demanding. And, unlike a dog, you can't leave it alone with some food and water for a few hours if you want to go out to dinner. You really have to draw the line at like an hour, tops, and that's barely time to get through the line at Chipotle.

Three, when I'm with my friends, the friends I've had for the past decade, I feel like absolutely no time has passed, and that none of us have changed at all. So we can't be getting married or buying houses or HAVING BABIES because we are 19 years old and yes, I realize that you can do all those things when you're 19 but when we were 19, we weren't thinking about those things, we were thinking about more trivial things, like can you ride a mattress down the stairwell and the answer to that question is YES WE CAN.

Other things you can ride down the stairwell on: an inner tube, a pillow, and a bathroom stall door. Well. That last one makes a better slide, you can't really ride it down the stairs.

But seriously (folks), I feel like we can't have babies because when we're together I feel like I've time traveled to a time when none of us even wanted babies. Or if we did, we figured we'd have them when we were old. You know. Like 25. 

Even though I have all of those reasons none of us can be having babies yet, my friend is pregnant so I guess I'm wrong. THERE'S A FIRST TIME FOR EVERYTHING, AMIRITE? But you know what? Just because we're "grown ups" now, doesn't mean we have to grow up. In fact, she emailed Heidi and I the other day because she was 69 (heehahaha) days from her due date, and she wondered if she had to stop being immature because soon she's going to be a mom. We told her no, she was absolutely not allowed to stop being immature, both for our sakes and her daughter's.

And to prove my point, for her baby shower I got her (and the baby, I guess) Go the Fuck to Sleep, a That's What She Said onesie, and this:

Why, hello, I am a Wienermobile.

Because no. We never ever have to mature. And we won't. Not if I have anything to say about it and what I have to say about it is POOP BUTT BOOGERFACE.

if my brain could throw up, this is what it would look like

Did you know that you can only listen to 40 hours of Pandora a month? I didn't. Until I apparently reached my limit, which I did today. I thought at first that 40 hours was really impressive but I don't think it is. I have Pandora on most of the time at work, so that's an easy 40 hours right there. In a week, even.

At first I was really worried because WHAT WOULD I DO FOR MUSIC? I found out that we can hear the music from shows in our offices during rehearsals and showtime but there aren't any shows right now. And I always forget my iPod at home, or if I do remember it, it's not charged and don't ask me where my charger is because I DON'T KNOW I DON'T EVER KNOW. But whatever, don't worry (I know you were worried), I paid 99 cents and now I can listen to Pandora for the rest of the month and my limit starts over in September. Can you imagine, though? No music at work? To miss out on the joy that is Part of Your World popping up after, like, Radiohead or something? No thank you.

Anyway, what was I talking about? Who knows. How many times have I typed "what am I talking about?" on my blog might be a better question only probably not really because the answer is DUH A LOT. Guess what we did last night? Guess. I SAID GUESS. No, but seriously, folks, we put an offer on a house last night. I wasn't going to say anything because I was afraid of jinxing it but we didn't say anything LAST time we put an offer on a house and we still didn't get it so I am throwing caution to the wind. Here, wind! Take it! Take all the caution! I don't even want it anyway!

So, yeah, we met our realtor after work to sign all the paperwork and did you know putting on offer on a house is kind of a big deal? Because I guess it is. There's a contract and you have to hand over a check and everything. I signed my name a bunch of times and didn't even hyperventilate once! That will happen when and if we end up getting the house and I then realize we just bought this giant thing where millions of things could go wrong and we won't have a landlord to call anymore. OMG WHAT HAVE WE DONE.

No, seriously, it's fine. It'll be really nice if we get it because there's a giant backyard, all for Max, which is great because he refuses to use the litter box, unless he's sneaking into it to steal cat poop. We mentioned the cat-poop-thievery to the vet when she suggested putting Max on a diet (he's packed on a few pounds...don't mention it to him, he's sensitive) and I was all, "I think he's hungry because he got in the litter box the other day and hardly ever does that," and she was like, "Oh, yeah, he's not hungry, he's just stealing Kitty Cookies, lol. Cat poop is like dessert to dogs." It was an informative visit, is what I'm saying.

Anyway, there was an earthquake today, too, so that's weird. I mean, it wasn't IN Ohio but I certainly felt it in Ohio. We don't usually get earthquakes here but this one time when I was in 3rd grade they were worried about some giant earthquake that was supposed to hit (I don't know the details because I was 9, but it probably had something to do with the Hellmouth being in Cleveland) BUT ANYWAY we had to have earthquake drills and that consisted of sitting under our desks, which doesn't really seem that safe but whatever, I don't know about surviving an earthquake, only about surviving tornadoes and MORE IMPORTANTLY zombies. Did you know this entire paragraph was only two sentences? Well, three now. Four. Five. Shit.

You guys, WHAT is this post even about? You know what the problem is? I started it yesterday morning and now it is today evening and guess what I don't even care, I'm posting it anyway, non-sensicalness and all. For what is life without a little non-sensicalness? Besides more sensical and stuff. But who wants that? I can't decide how to end this but I need to go watch some Mad Men reruns until it's time to go to bed so BYE.

I think maybe Dexter used to live in Dayton, Ohio.

You know what? Weekends seem a lot shorter when you have a job to go to Monday morning. For like three months, weekends only felt different to me because Joe was home, which meant I (usually) showered before five o'clock. But this working thing? Working full-time, I mean? It's really cutting into my free time. For instance, I started writing this post LAST weekend and this is the first chance I've had to finish it. Although, that's not really true because I watched like three hours of Mad Men the other night but whatever I digress.

We've been filling a lot of our non-work free time with hunting houses. We found one that we loved and put an offer on but...didn't get it. Someone beat us. I would like to beat them. Jerks. But whatever, we'll just keep looking and I'm sure we'll find something. I keep going back to one of the first houses we saw that was built in like 1920 and had hidden little nooks and an awesome basement we could finish and WAS FREAKING BEAUTIFUL and just, you guys, we could not stop gushing about it. But the backyard is small, the garage looks like a strong wind might knock it down, and it's right on a busy street. This is what I keep reminding myself. Plus, we saw the electricity bills for the summer and the gas bills for the winter and HOLY MARY MOTHER OF GOD were they high. SIGH.

We looked at eight houses this morning and I have to admit, I'm feeling a bit discouraged because we weren't really wild about any of them. Two were OK but we had reservations about both. And my notes on the houses? The notes that started out really detailed with stuff like...I don't even remember, something about the taxes and the size of the rooms and whatever, house stuff? Those have devolved into this:

Which is not altogether helpful but, you guys, this house TOTALLY HAD A MURDER ROOM. I'm almost positive I saw blood on the walls but I don't know, I'm not a blood spatter expert.