The Chaos of Crafting

Making memories?

Priceless.

Creating memorabilia from memorable moments?

Pricey.

And time-consuming.

But fun.

And also kind of stressful, come to think of it.

Remember my recent adventure in ocean snatching?

Well, guess what?

I finally did something productive with all those seashells, ocean water, and sand.

My masterpieces are finally done!

What can I say?

My creative streaks ebb and flow.

(Just like the tides of an ocean!)

It took me a few weeks to envision exactly what I wanted to create with all my awesome ocean loot.

All I knew was that I wanted to recreate a beach scene.

But how, exactly?

I’ve got my very own tropical island oasis right here at home, with a beachy island-themed office room that I’d designed myself.

Complete with an inflatable palm tree.

Yet, figuring out the best way to recreate the ocean at home with real ocean parts is no small feat.

Don’t get me wrong.

I love crafting.

I love making memories.

And I especially love the beach.

It’s a dangerous combination.

Forget all the money spent on the vacation itself…

If you truly want to preserve your memories, you’d best be prepared to shell out even more money with a trip to Hobby Lobby.

But first, let’s talk about glue.

One year, my brother gave my boys a cool sock puppet kit for Christmas.

But there was an awful lot of sewing involved to assemble and accessorize those puppets, and I am not a big fan of sewing.

Why sew when super glue is so much faster?

As glue oozed like a spewing volcano out of the tube, I discovered the sock puppet had become glued shut.

With my hand still inside.

Glue and I clearly have a complicated history.

And so there were all these little factors I had to take into account for my ocean project.

Like how to glue sand and seashells without having shells permanently attached to my fingertips.

And how to ensure ample air ventilation to avoid passing out from toxic glue fumes.

At any rate…

On a burst of creative energy, I was finally ready to turn my collection of goodies from the ocean into a work of art.

Or four.

One combining most of my prized loot into a display:

(A shadow box with a layer of beach sand as the backdrop for my Atlantic seashells, along with a little heart-shaped jar for the ocean water.)

Another for a more sensory-filled experience:

(My little sandy beach jar, with some of the smaller seashells. If sand beneath my feet isn’t an option, then I’ll settle for sand in my hands. Ooh, that rhymes!)

A stress-relief meditation jar:

(No, the glitter and pink water are not from ocean. And it’s also not technically a “jar”. But the seashells on top are indeed from the beach. Besides, it’s something to shake and throttle. What’s not to love?)

And another heart-shaped vial of ocean water:

(Because it seemed wrong to dump the leftover Atlantic Ocean water after all the trouble we went through to collect it. And drinking it just didn’t seem like a very good idea.)

Trying to capture the magnificence of a real beach is damn near impossible.

But if you’re going to steal from the beach, you might as well do something awesome with your loot, right?

Oh, and as for all the glue I used for my projects?

No matter how many times I scrubbed my hands afterward, they were still stickier than a pot of Winnie the Pooh’s honey.

I had to wear cotton socks to bed that night.

On my hands.

Because I was terrified I’d wake up glued to the sheets.

Or somehow stuck to the wall.

Or worse, with my hands permanently attached to my face, like that kid from Home Alone.

Whenever I use glue, I truly seem to have the whole world in my hands.

In the most literal sense possible.

Anyway…

I finally have something to show for my moment of blissful ocean kleptomania!

And yet, I still have 493 pictures from my trip to sort through, organize, and arrange into a scrapbook.

So much for the stress relief of crafting.

Where’s that !&#$ meditation jar when I need it?

~Happy Saturday, friends! Have a great weekend!~

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Southern Inhospitality

The struggle of being a former New Yorker/Washingtonian/Arizonan in an excessively friendly southern state is all too real.

One of the hardest things about being a transplant in the south is the challenging adjustment of having to talk to people.

Especially extraordinarily friendly people, because they make me feel like a sorry excuse of an ill-mannered human being.

For someone naturally reserved, such unexpected conversations with enthusiastic random strangers can be grounds for a full-blown anxiety attack.

On an exceptionally good day, I can plaster on my most natural fake smile.

Then I cross my fingers, in hopes that my face won’t actually freeze that way.

Especially if I am unintentionally bearing teeth.

When I’m out walking around my neighborhood and people go beyond the perfunctory wave and vocalize their greeting, or worse, initiate a conversation?

What am I supposed to do then?

The obvious answer, of course, is to make a run for it.

I go outside to throw away the trash in my pjs in broad daylight and the neighbor twelve houses down to the left with the terrifying horse-sized Scottish Deerhound smiles and starts waving a little too enthusiastically.

My typical instinct is to discreetly crouch down and scuttle away like the stealthy ninja that I am.

Suddenly, my brain is rapidly firing off panic signals.

Crap! You made eye contact! What were you thinking?

“How ya doing? Nice day out, don’t ya think?”

Great. Now the neighbor wants to make conversation while you’re standing outside like a fool in your Hello Kitty pajamas!

“A shame about that field being plowed down for another housing development, ain’t it? Where all them cows gonna go now?”

Might as well be standing outside naked. Maybe that’d be less awkward.

Must. Get. Out.

Quick! Excuse yourself! Get out of there NOW!

The last time I had been caught off guard by a neighbor, I managed to back out of there after a record time of 1 minute and 28 seconds.

By pleading a bathroom emergency.

Classy, I know.

But it was the best I could do after my overactive brain presented the pitiful excuse on a silver platter.

Yet once again, my brain is tasked with conjuring up “logical” excuses while my neighbor continues on with his riveting monologue about cows.

I’ve narrowed down my choices.

I have to go because:

a) Dinner is almost ready, and I need to go turn the oven off

b) The house is now on fire because dinner has been in the oven 5 minutes too long

c) The kids are beating each other within inches of their lives with Nerf swords

d) All of the above

While all of these seem like perfectly rational justifications, I naturally go with the most plausible one.

The house is on fire.

Not seeing the thick gray smoke?

Really?

Well, gotta go! See ya later!

~Happy Friday, friends! I’m sure all my fellow introverts out there can relate to this one all too well. Have a fantastic weekend!~

I made eye contact, and now it's all over. This must be the end.

I made eye contact, and now it’s all over. This must be the end.

(Southern Inhospitality originally appeared on Comically Quirky on 8/6/15)

Beep Beep Bo Bleep

Is this the real life?

Is this just fantasy?

Well, one thing’s for certain:

There’s no escaping reality.

Fire! Fire! Carbon monoxide warning! Get out! Get out!

No.

Not this crap again.

But this time around, it wasn’t merely the obnoxious chirping signifying a dead battery.

Or the smoke detector getting triggered by my disastrous attempts at cooking.

No.

This was a full-scale notification of distress, with every single alarm throughout the house screeching in synchronized cacophony.

At a ridiculously ungodly hour of the night.

Which is obviously when I do my clearest, most rational thinking.

I’m normally the world’s lightest sleeper.

Yet I jolted from a deep sleep in a state of utter confusion.

What was going on?

Was this seriously real?

The Bigly Bestest Doggie would probably know.

For surely, if anything were truly wrong, he’d alert us and then heroically save us the way Lassie saved Timmy.

Right?

Or not.

Loud noises terrify The Bigly Bestest Doggie.

And so he just laid there in his bed, looking for a cue of what to do next.

And then it hit me:

We had absolutely no concrete plan of action in place.

No clear-cut escape routes.

What the hell was wrong with us?

What kind of parents would wait for a moment like this to start planning?

I mean, we did have a plan.

Once upon a time.

In our old house.

But apparently we hadn’t given it any thought since moving several years ago.

Did I mention my husband was out of town for the evening on a business trip?

I briefly bemoaned my myriad of failures as a mother, figuring I’d probably drop dead from a panic attack anyway before my senses finally kicked in.

Only one kid stirred with all the commotion of the alarms.

The other zombie either somehow managed to sleep through it or simply didn’t want to be bothered to get out of bed.

My oldest demonstrated impressive priorities as he sleepily muttered that he couldn’t afford to spend $200 on another phone.

I forced both kids to move their butts and get out before rapidly searching for a potential source of fire.

After examining every single room, closet, and the garage, I dashed outside to check the perimeter.

The alarms were shockingly audible outside, too, their ear-splitting decibel enough to wake up the entire neighborhood.

Speaking of neighborhoods…

We just so happen to have a rather passive aggressive Facebook page for our development.

And while occasionally helpful, the discussions can get downright ugly sometimes.

I could almost picture it…

The audacity!

The nerve of those rude neighbors allowing their fire alarm to go off and disrupt our sleep!

The next time that happens there’d better be real flames bursting through the roof!

And why is that dog of theirs running frantically down the street?

Hello, animal control?

Fortunately, the alarm stopped on its own several minutes later.

Upon discovering it had been a false alarm, I got the boys settled back into bed for whatever was left of the evening,

I warily laid back in my own bed, unable and unwilling to sleep.

I could’ve sworn I felt a surge of heat as I thrashed around in bed.

Adrenaline?

Or was something really on fire?

I bolted out of bed to do another thorough check.

Then I noticed the flashing red light on a detector above my bed.

Something in my bedroom must’ve triggered the alarm.

But what?

A sadistic insect?

Unusually high humidity?

A defective smoke detector?

(Because that’d be incredibly comforting.)

Or was it my domestic ineptitude?

God knows I hadn’t dusted all that recently…

So I suppose that could’ve been it.

I’m far from coordinated when woken from a zombie-like state of sleep.

And you know what the best thing to do when you’re exhausted and can’t see straight?

That’s right!

Haul a gazillion-ton expandable ladder out of the garage!

And then attempt to drag  that ladder through the house without taking out a wall or knocking yourself out.

Obviously.

Isn’t that what any normal person would do?

That beast of a ladder could’ve reached the top of the Empire State Building.

Hell, that thing could’ve reached the top of Mount Everest.

But I couldn’t figure out how to open the monstrous thing.

And once I finally got it open, I didn’t pay any attention to the orientation of the battery when I yanked that sucker out of the alarm.

So I fumbled around with that for several more minutes.

Thank goodness it was only a false alarm.

But it was still downright scary.

And it showed just how ill prepared we were.

Which is even scarier.

The next day, the boys and I discussed fire safety and evacuation plans.

I think it’s safe to say that while we now have an effective plan in place, I also effectively scared the living crap out of them.

Now I’m worried if there’s ever another false alarm, they’re going to bolt out of bed and jump out their second-story windows without being 100 percent certain there’s actually an emergency.

I can picture it now.

Oh well.

Better safe than sorry.

Oh, and that ginormous ladder?

It’s still sitting in the middle of my bedroom, two weeks later.

But good news!

It’s being repurposed!

The ladder works surprisingly well as a clothes hanging rack.

The Industrial Look is fashionable, right?

Repurposing is awesome!

Beep beep bo bleep!

~Happy Friday, friends! Anyone here a fan of irony? Well, guess what? As I sat here typing this, my thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the wail of tornado sirens and hail slamming vigorously against the windows. Fortunately, everyone is safe. But I think we’ve had enough fun for a while…~

Could this be the future of bedroom design? If so, I want due credit for starting this trend!

Could this be the future of bedroom design? If so, I want due credit for starting this trend!

Ocean Commotion

This is a true tale.

A tale of ocean brawling.

Oh, and also of ocean snatching.

But we’ll get back to that in a moment.

It all started ten years ago, on a family vacation to Legoland California.

No trip to a coastal destination is ever complete without visiting the ocean.

At least, not in my opinion.

My then-2 year old son was thoroughly enjoying his second trip ever to the Pacific Ocean, collecting seashells and enjoying the feel of sand beneath his feet.

Until a temperamental wave crashed and leveled him onto the shore like a beached whale.

A few minutes later, he sat deep in thought on his ocean-themed beach towel with his plastic sand pail and shovel in hand, vengefully crafting his revenge.

Half an hour later, he left the Pacific Ocean with an ominous declaration:

I’ll get you, water!

Fast forward 10 years.

We had the privilege of visiting the Atlantic Ocean on our most recent road trip a few weeks ago.

And it was obviously time for payback.

Come at me!

My revenge-seeking child took a huge step backward, away from the shore, before continuing his tirade.

Come on! Show me what you’ve got!

Ah.

Coast to coast ocean brawling at its finest.

Then he stooped down to admire a cluster of seashells that had washed onto the shore.

Fortunately, he managed to escape the wrath of the Atlantic Ocean…

This time around.

Now, back to that whole ocean snatching incident…

My husband and I had set out with the intention of capturing an incredible sunrise on the beach.

And capture a sunrise we did.

Along with half the Atlantic Ocean.

Armed with our makeshift ocean snatching kit consisting of a freshly guzzled glacier cherry Gatorade bottle that I’d forced upon my husband…

Along with a Ziplock freezer bag that we’d been using as our travel toiletry bag and an R2D2 tote bag that held just the right amount of ocean loot.

Meanwhile, our trusty getaway mobile, a nondescript rental mini van with Oklahoma license plates, sat in the shadows of the parking lot.

It was a chilly 40-something degrees out that morning.

I couldn’t feel my toes.

But it was absolutely worth it.

For witnessing a majestic sunrise on the beach.

And feeling the lush sand beneath my feet.

And taking home the best souvenir money can’t buy.

Determined to make my very own authentic mini beach replica upon returning home, I needed to make the most of the opportunity.

And so we left the beach with bulging pockets full of seashells, a bottle full of Atlantic Ocean water, and a bag of Atlantic Ocean sand.

I absolutely love the ocean.

I love the melodious waves.

I love the paradoxical peaceful calm that dissipates with the intense crash of waves to the shore.

And I especially love majestic sunrises and sunsets.

Sunsets on the Pacific.

Sunrises on the Atlantic.

We had sacrificed precious sleep time to rise early on our vacation, just to witness a sunrise over the ocean.

But it was a sacrifice I was happy to make.

Did I mention I also love dolphins?

Unfortunately, we didn’t encounter any on this trip.

Which was probably just as well.

I might’ve been tempted to capture one and give it new life in my bathtub.

Wow.

I’m not just quirky, I’m apparently full-on crazy too.

Oh well.

I could happily live on the ocean forever.

But for now, I’m still working on creating my mini beach masterpiece.

I could really use my very own at-home oasis.

In the meantime, I’ve evidently become an ocean kleptomaniac.

I’m not sure what this says about my sanity…

But I’m okay with it.

More or less.

Now, I just need to devise a way to snatch a baby palm tree…

~Happy Saturday, friends! Can you tell I love the beach? The ocean is the most therapeutic place on earth, and I would totally live there if I could. One day…~

My prized ocean loot collection...

My prized ocean loot collection…

Comically Quirky by Quirky Girl

Happy Friday, friends! Have you been desperately yearning to discover just how crazy…I mean quirky, I might be? Then you’re in luck! Check out my interview with Kate, the lovely creator of Meet the Bloggers. Packed with fascinating fun facts about yours truly, along with advice for new bloggers and links to my favorite blog posts, it’s a great way to pass a few minutes. (Oh come on. You weren’t really all that excited about doing yet another load of laundry, were you? Yeah. Didn’t think so.)

Meet the Bloggers

Can’t remember when I met QG but it was ages ago, her mother also blogs as “TINK”.  Quirky writes great pieces about parenting, lack of cooking skills … all the little things in life in a totally hilarious manner.  Need a good laugh then hang out there for a while and your day will be brighter …

Please give a brief personal background and talk about your hobbies/interests?
I’m a fascinating mix of New Yorker/Washingtonian/Arizonan/No Man Lander. I was an avid reader as a child, and I’d write for hours at time about… well, everything a kid could possibly imagine. I’ve had a knack for finding humor in unexpected places for as long as I can remember, along with a tendency to see the world through a somewhat different perspective. Yet instead of going down the logical path of a writer, I set out to study Aeronautical Science in college…

View original post 948 more words

Rogue Rotisserie Nosh

More skin!

Give me more skin!

Ooh, it’s so soft!

And the bone is so weak!

Yeah.

So, I made the mistake of buying a rotisserie chicken.

For the boys, not myself.

I don’t eat meat.

And I’d prefer not to look at it, either.

But life is seldom so accommodating.

And so I sit there, watching my child wave around some chunk of chicken that appears to still have a butt attached.

Or maybe it’s a thigh.

Either way, I don’t want any part of it.

Yet there he sits, unwittingly recreating the scene from Star Wars: The Last Jedi, when Chewbacca prepares to devour a freshly prepped Porg in front of all the other Porgs.

Months later,  I still can’t help but wonder-

Was that Mama Porg?

Or one of their idolized big brothers?

Or perhaps it was their wise, Yoda-like grandfather figure?

I’ll never be able to look at Chewbacca the same way.

At any rate, the chunk of rotisserie chicken looked eerily like the rotisserie Porg in that moment.

No, my son doesn’t particularly resemble Chewy, aside from the dark brown fur.

I mean, hair.

But they both make similar, indecipherable noises.

Hmmm.

Maybe my son is actually a Porg-eating Chewbacca progeny…

Whoa.

I’ve gotten a bit off topic.

As the child continues to exhibit more animal-like conduct than an actual animal, I don’t know whether to be mildly amused, mortified, or just downright disgusted.

The Bigly Bestest Doggie surreptitiously creeps into the kitchen.

With big puppy dog eyes and preemptive lip smacking, he secures his position.

He settles in under the kitchen table and enthusiastically began his complimentary floor licking service.

Maybe, just maybe.

It’s no secret kids are notorious for getting more food on the floor than actually into their mouths.

I sadistically find myself almost wishing the doggie will leap up onto the kitchen table and scarf down the rest of chicken, effectively putting an end to this horror show.

But alas, his manners are disappointingly impeccable.

Mmm, yummy chicken!

Are you sure you don’t want some?

Come on, have a bite!

Right.

I haven’t eaten meat since I was 15, and I’m not about to start now.

Especially with something that’s probably a Porg.

~Happy Friday, friends! Have a great weekend!~

Is it any wonder those poor Porgs always look so sad

Is it any wonder those poor Porgs always look so sad?

Jail (For a) Break

Do people ever break in to jail?

No?

Well, I suppose there’s a first time for everything.

Most days, I drive by the local police station.

Some days, I’m tempted to turn myself in.

For a crime I haven’t even committed.

After being imprisoned in a vehicle with two brawling beasts for a matter of mere minutes…

Let’s just say a much-needed break is in order.

A vacation, if you will.

With free room and board.

And courtyards.

And even a complimentary library.

What’s not to like?

Sure, prison food might leave a bit to be desired.

But at least I wouldn’t have to do the cooking.

I’d say that probably qualifies as an acceptable trade-off.

And yes, amenities may be lacking.

But just think:

A break from never-ending heaps of laundry!

And from vacuuming and mopping!

And from stepping on Legos dangerously scattered across every inch of floor!

Oh, and what’s this I hear about free healthcare?

Just give me a couple of books, and a notebook and a pen, and I’ll be good to go.

But first, I need a plausible excuse.

You know…

People do get arrested for not wearing a seat belt.

And sometimes for using profanity in public places.

I even had a teacher in high school who managed to get thrown in jail for jaywalking.

Or what about twerking in public?

Surely, that could land a bit of time away from it all?

Some states have really bizarre laws that could earn some time in the slammer.

Did you know it’s illegal to drive blindfolded in Alabama?

(I don’t know why anyone would, but okay…)

And in Iowa, you simply can’t throw a brick onto a highway.

(Good luck pulling that one off.)

And in Missouri, bear wrestling is banned.

(Now we’re talking!)

And North Carolina heavily frowns upon Drunk Bingo.

(Woo hoo! Sounds like a good time!)

Oh, but there are no beaches in jail.

So maybe that’s not quite the right place for me.

Yeah.

Come to think of it, what I truly need is a relaxing trip to the beach…

~Happy Friday, friends! Hope you enjoy a bit of a break this weekend!~

Ah! Just what the doctor ordered...

Ah! Just what the doctor ordered…

Fundamentally Fashion Impaired

Dresses made out of trash bags.

Jumpsuits that resemble prison attire.

Crotchless jeans.

Um, hello?!?

Why do I always feel like I’m missing something?

Why would anyone want to parade around in attire that gives the disturbing impression of having just kicked Big Bird’s ass and then using his fashionable feathers to flaunt their victory?

I simply don’t get the world of fashion.

It’s so…

Weird.

And not the good kind of weird, either.

Haven’t these designers ever heard of yoga pants?

Or lounge pants?

Or better yet, pjs?

If not, they’re totally missing out.

Comfort should never be underestimated.

Who is all this eccentric stuff designed for, anyway?

Surely not most human beings?

Erma Bombeck said it best:

“Sometimes I can’t figure designers out. It’s as if they flunked human anatomy.”

This stuff possibly can’t be meant for real life.

I don’t know.

Maybe I don’t get out enough.

Or maybe I’m not normal.

And I’m perfectly okay with that.

But come on.

Who wears this stuff?

It’s like fashion from another planet.

Ooh, maybe that’s what this is!

Intergalactic fashion!

Garbage can lids for hats.

Rompers made from mops.

Boots that are furrier than a wooly mammoth.

Talk about statement pieces.

And celebrities only perpetuate the madness.

How about Lady Gaga’s infamous meat dress?

Or Bjork’s weird swan dress?

Or Katy Perry’s memorable carousel dress?

Somebody intentionally created these monstrosities.

Some of those outfits would result in common folk getting thrown in the slammer for indecent exposure.

Especially with a scarcely concealing dress made out of meat, for heaven’s sake.

But celebrities?

They can get away with strutting down through town wearing nothing more than a sheer scarf as a top and car mats for a skirt.

That’s fashion.

Using one’s body as a kooky canvas like that…

Well, Picasso would simply be horrified.

But the madness doesn’t stop there.

When I go shopping for clothes, it gets overwhelming sometimes.

Is that garment supposed to be a tube top or a dress?

Or is it intended to be worn as a cape?

And that freakish in-between-fingers ring…

Is it meant to be a weapon?

All I know is somebody’s gonna get hurt.

And it’s usually me.

Especially when sadistic curiosity gets the better of me and I take a questionable garment into the dressing room.

Which appendage is supposed to go through which strap?

Surely this can’t possibly be a dress if it doesn’t even begin to cover my butt…?

Why does this shirt seem to have three arm holes?

I truly don’t want to end up in ER after accidentally knocking myself out by trying to cram my unsuspecting head into a narrow little arm hole.

But I’ve lost track of the amount of times I’ve managed to clobber my own face while trying on some sort of whimsical attire.

Simplicity is the key for me.

I can live without Star Trek inspired looks.

Or leopard print from head to toe.

Or aluminum foil onesies.

These concepts are certainly costume party worthy, if nothing else.

And not only are these crazy pieces…well, crazy, they’re insanely expensive.

If you spend $2,000 on a hideous fringe-covered, barf-green purse- I mean handbag– will you actually have anything left to put in it?

It might be nice to have money left over to do other things.

Like eat.

And maybe even pay the mortgage.

Not to be a slave to the money-draining, ever-changing world of fashion.

I can’t do high maintenance.

It’s too exhausting.

And that level of quirkiness is far too much.

Even for me.

Some people spend ten dollars on clothing and look like a million bucks.

Some people spend a million bucks and look like disheveled cow-wrangling floozies.

It’s all in how you wear it.

So be true to yourself and wear whatever makes you feel like a million bucks.

Especially if you’ve actually spent a million bucks.

~Happy Friday, friends! Clearly, fashion is relative. Just ask that poor doggie in the picture. Have a great weekend!~

It seems anything goes in the world of fashion...

It seems anything goes in the world of fashion…

Rhymes with Croak

Just do you.

I could totally get behind that mantra.

Truly, I’d love to.

If the context were to be completely different.

Ah.

Diet Coke.

With their newest commercial, they’ve accomplished the impossible.

Defiantly boasting of the coolness of doing whatever the hell you want, with an alarming tone reeking of utter desperation…

Let’s just say they’ve stooped to a new low.

You want to run a marathon?

Why would you want to do that?

It sounds super hard.

Just have a Diet Coke!

Yeah, we know it’s bad for your health.

But who cares?

Might as well die happy while all your organs start mutating and eating you alive from the inside out!

Way to go, Coca-Cola.

You’re empowering people to be the utmost mediocre versions of themselves.

I’m impressed.

You’re all but admitting your product is total crap, while encouraging people to aim low.

What a spectacular way to rebrand.

It’s the quintessential opposite of Nike’s Just Do It slogan.

But I get it.

Sales are plummeting as people become more health conscious, and you guys need to convince your target audience that your product is still relevant and cool.

So now you’re trying hard to appeal to millennials.

Just do you.

You only live once.

So why not develop a fine new addiction?

Coca-Cola or cocaine?

Either kind of coke will probably do.

After all, why the hell not?

YOLO, right?

Ooooh!

Look at all the pretty new colorful cans!

They’re so…tall!

And so slender!

And still every bit as bad for you!

But who cares!

YOLO!

Yeah, I know.

Serves me right for watching five minutes of Hulu after last week’s trashing.

But still.

Because I can!

Clever catchphrase, paired up with idiotic rationale.

Diet Coke makes you feel good!

Just like drugs!

Oh, you love meth?

It makes you feel great?

That’s awesome!

You keep right on doing you!

Everyone and everything else be damned.

Did you know Coke is great for shining pennies and removing rust from toilets?

And also for removing skunk odors…?

Which begs the question:

How could it not be good for your insides?

Sure, it can cause breakouts.

And mood swings.

And metabolic disorders.

But what’s not to love?

Why run a super hard marathon when you can just drink a Diet Croak?

Uh, I mean, Coke.

At least completing a marathon is something one can look back on with some degree of pride.

So what are you proud of?

Oh, I just had a Diet Coke.

Because I can.

I’m a badass, defiant rebel like that.

Uh huh.

That’s right.

Because. I. Can.

I don’t know about you, but I think I’d rather live in a yurt.

I hate to say it, but desperation is not an attractive look for you, Diet Coke.

~Happy Friday, friends! For the record, if you’re a fan of Diet Coke, I’m not judging you in the least. I merely found this style of “marketing” to be too humorous to not poke fun at. Have a fantastic weekend!~

When the first part of your name starts with "die", incognito may be the way to go...

When the first part of your name starts with “die”, incognito may be the way to go…

TV or Not to Be

Hulu down!

Hulu down!

OMG!!!

What to do?

What to do?!?

Well, here’s a crazy suggestion:

Take a deep breath in.

Then exhale slowly.

Now peel your butt off the couch…

And go find something else to do.

Read a book, perhaps.

Reading is rapidly becoming a lost art.

Now is a great time to rediscover it.

Speaking of lost arts…

How about communication?

Talk?

Like, to other people?

What do you mean, not virtually?

Ewww.

How does that even work?

Are you telling me I have to talk to my family now?

Please don’t make me talk to my family!

Anything but that!

Augh!!!

Such was the general sentiment when I perused Twitter comments on Hulu Support after experiencing a brief outage.

I’m cancelling my service!

You’ve ruined my night!

What am I supposed to do now?

That’s it. I’m switching to Netflix!

You’ve ruined my life!!!

I’m not sure whether to be amused or disturbed.

I guess we’ll go with amusingly disturbed.

Or disturbingly amused.

I do tend to be easily amused, after all.

The nerve!

The outrage!

Geez, Hulu!

Get your shit together!

You’ve single-handedly managed to ruin millions of lives with your carelessness!

What’s that?

Hulu and Netflix are both down?

Alright, then.

Let’s try a different strategy.

Put on some shoes and open your front door.

Now step outside and close the door behind you.

Keep putting one foot in front of the other until you are doing this thing that is typically referred to as walking.

Now look up.

There’s the sky!

Isn’t it stunning?

Look down!

See those beautiful flowers?

Is it nighttime?

Look up again.

See that magnificent perfect crescent moon?

And what about that spectacular shooting star?

These phenomena are part of what we call nature.

And reality.

No, definitely not the same thing as reality TV.

Geez!

It’s okay to take a break from the tube every now and then.

You could be sparing yourself a fatal blood clot, just by standing up and walking out of the room.

Instead of gearing up for a 12 hour marathon of The Bachelor reruns.

So consider it a blessing.

While you’re at it, why not use that dramatic outrage and put it toward a more worthwhile cause for genuine problems in this world…

Rather than bemoaning the injustice of having no access to television for 25 minutes, when far too many people in this world have no access to clean water or food.

Talk about First World Problems.

I don’t know.

Maybe I’m a freak, but I’d personally take a book over TV any day.

Don’t get me wrong.

I love a good comedy sitcom.

But would I be losing any sleep if my TV were to accidentally go flying out the window one of these days while my boys are busy brawling?

Probably not.

Unless it happened to fall on a poor pedestrian who decided to take a break from watching TV by getting out for a walk.

TV or not TV…

It’s not really a question.

~Happy Friday, everyone! Have a great weekend!~

Ooh! Look at all the pretty colors! Surely that's more entertaining than anything else on TV!

Ooh! Look at all the pretty colors! Surely that’s more entertaining than anything else on TV!