Life’s Challenges

Jarring Judicial Jitters

/ Quirky Girl / 45 Comments

Augh!!!

It’s the single-most dreaded piece of mail to ever plague humanity.

That’s right.

A jury duty summons.

So many ponderings raced through my brain.

But luckily, No Man’s Land offers an exemption for parents with kids under the age of 12.

Twelve?!?

Are you kidding me? 

Have you seen my kids in action?

While I’m fortunate that one of them is indeed still younger than 12, they’re both probably going to require constant and direct supervision for a long time.

Like, until they’re 30.

At the very least.

I can’t, in good faith, leave them unattended for prolonged periods of time to burn the house down or clear out all of the neighbors’ refrigerators.

Uh uh.

Yet, there are seemingly no provisions for a lack of remaining sanity, other than the requirement of having sound mind and good judgment.

But isn’t this all relative?

I mean, my own questionable judgment leaves me scratching my head at times.

But am I truly insane in the brain?

Or insane in the membrane?

Probably not, by any clinical definition.

(Sorry, Cypress Hill.)

I’ve been told some people actually enjoy jury duty.

This is difficult to fathom, but more power to those good citizens for carrying out their civic duty without complaint.

For me, though, I can think of a whole host of reasons for why I personally might not be a good fit once I no longer qualify for an exemption.

I’d probably start off by pretending I’m anti-everything-under-the-sun.

Do you believe in justice?

I don’t know. Maybe?

Are you a fan of leniency?

No.

Are you for the death penalty?

No.

Do you even like people?

Hell, no! 

Ah, so you’re an antisocial people-hater.

That’s right! But at least I’m an equal opportunity people-hater!

Alrighty then… consider yourself excused. Seriously, please go ahead and show yourself the door.

Okay, so this isn’t exactly true.

I am not a people-hater.

I do like (most) people well enough.

Along with peace, rainbows, butterflies, and all that good stuff.

Ooh, a butterfly!

Did I mention I have the attention span of a flea?

It’s true.

I can’t sit still for five minutes.

And my overactive, imaginative mind is also prone to wandering.

Big time.

Should I show them I’m a raging psychopath by pairing a badly painted on Joker-like smile with completely mismatched shoes and a pair of Depends over my pants?

Or start roaring like a stegosaurus?

Or make a show of entering the courtroom while head banging to Let the Bodies Hit the Floor?

Or better yet…

Sing a catchy duet with a scruffy stuffed teddy bear that’s perched on my shoulder.

And if that doesn’t work, I could claim that the stuffed animal is actually a service pet, then bring it into the courtroom and proceed to defiantly whisper garbled, jumbled nonsense to it throughout deliberations.

Oh, yeah!

Or why not employ serious Valley Girl talk?

Like, oh my god!

He, like, did what?

Like, oh my God!

Oh my God, oh my God!

That meany man, like, totally maybe, like, killed somebody, and stuff! 

Hmmm.

Act smart!

No, pretend to be stupid!

No, just act totally average!

Say what?

It’s all such conflicting advice.

Well, when in doubt, why not mix things up a bit?

No comprendo!

Me not be get it!

What is this ‘reasonable doubt’ and ‘guilt’ you be speaking of?

Me still don’t not get it!

Or why not break out in laughter at totally inappropriate moments?

Or demand to be exclusively assigned to incredibly bizarre cases?

Preferably one about a guy who stole a Blue Ribbon winning pot belly pig named Bacon and then really turned him into bacon.

Or a case with an old lady who ran over a farmer’s favorite cow when the cow stuck its head out of a fence and into traffic to eat greener grass.

Or what about the true story of an elderly gentleman in Kansas City who robbed a bank…

And then stuck around until the police arrived to inform the cops that he’d only robbed the bank because he couldn’t stand to spend another minute at home with his wife.

Must’ve really been a match made in heaven for a guy to decide he’d rather go to jail than be home with his own wife.

But unfortunately, it didn’t turn the way he’d hoped, because along with probation and community service, the guy was also sentenced to 6 months of home confinement.

Well, so much for that.

Oh, but I really shouldn’t worry so much.

After all, I have virtually no sense of direction, so it’s unlikely I’d ever find my way to the courthouse, anyway.

If I truly had to go, that is.

Although…

To be fair, escaping to jury duty when you’ve got wild and crazy kids might not be such a bad thing.

Hell, it might even be the next closest thing to a vacation

Especially if there are spinning chairs involved.

Wheeeeee!!!!

~Happy weekend and Happy Father’s Day to all the dads out there!~

As fun as this looks, why add to the mayhem? I think it'd be best for me to do everyone a favor and keep my hyperactive, overactive-brained self safely at home.

As fun as this looks, why add to the mayhem? I think it’d be best for me to do everyone a favor and keep my hyperactive, overactive-brained self safely at home.

Go to Michigan!

/ Quirky Girl / 48 Comments

Go to Hell!

Evidently, this simple three-word phrase is heavily frowned upon in some places.

Especially in Bible Belt country.

And especially when used by a child.

In school.

(Gasp!)

How do I know this?

Well, from recent experience, of course.

I honestly don’t believe that is, by any stretch of the imagination, the worst thing a person could possibly say.

At the same time, I also don’t personally go around telling all my friends to go to hell…

Plenty of people struggle to speak a single, coherent sentence without the added flair of numerous, strategically placed curse words.

I am not one of those people.

Yes, I do occasionally use such words here on my blog for comedic impact.

But not in my everyday conversations.

And certainly not when speaking to my kids.

My child-free brother, on the other hand, ironically tends to pepper his speech so heavily with curse words that nobody even seems to notice anymore.

Including him.

Or my kids.

It’s like our brains have been trained to filter through to register only the important information.

In fact, I asked my sons whether they ever notice their uncle cursing.

After careful consideration, they both answered at once:

No!

But then my older one paused for a brief moment before correcting himself.

Well, there was that one time, on Easter.

One time?

And on Easter, of all days?

Seriously?

But that was more a question of curiosity, on my part.

Besides, my poor Easter-cursing brother lives too far away to be all that big of an influence.

If anything, YouTube is by far the bigger offender of the two.

It’s paradoxically helpful and a bad influence, all at once.

Damn it, YouTube!

But anyway…

This past Monday, I received a somber phone call from the assistant principal informing me that my little darling would be spending the entire day in in-school suspension for this uncharacteristic transgression.

I had to marvel at the severity of the consequence.

And, of course, I also had to question how that statement had even come about in the first place.

Oh, that!

Yeah.  

So-and-so said “hi!” to me in a weird voice.

So I told him to “go to hell”!

Right.

Because I can’t imagine any other plausible way to respond to such an appalling greeting.

And the best part?

That’s actually the kid’s real voice.

And, the child seemed to find this response humorous enough to laugh.

Geez.

The joys of middle school.

The struggle of trying to figure out who you are.

The struggle of trying to discover where you belong.

The struggle of simply trying to fit in.

This, evidently, is where the smartypants humor kicks in.

Who doesn’t love the class clown?

I know I’m a sucker for humor.

If someone makes me laugh, they’re my friend for life.

There’s no escaping my friendship.

Ever.

That’s pretty much all there is to it.

At any rate, I had to attend a conference at school the next morning.

And I had to put on real pants before going, because it seemed like it would probably be a good day to do so.

Perhaps I should’ve worn my World’s Okayest Mom shirt, too, but I didn’t think about it beforehand.

At least I didn’t burst out in laughter at any point during the meeting.

But I wonder if I should’ve pointed out that Hell is also a place in Michigan, and so perhaps my child was merely recommending a vacation idea…?

Or perhaps not.

Oh, well.

At least this makes for good writing material, right?

So…

If Hell is a place in Michigan…

Is it okay to tell someone to go to Michigan?

Sigh.

On a side note, maybe we really ought to go to Hell…

Hell, Michigan, that is.

Hey, you have to admit, it does sound rather intriguing…

~Happy weekend, everyone! Hope you all have a heavenly break from it all!~

Go to Hell! I mean, Michigan. Yeah. Go to Michigan!

Go to Hell! I mean, Michigan. Yeah. Go to Michigan!

Apocalyptic Annoyance

/ Quirky Girl / 52 Comments

Knock it off!

Make me!

You wanna go?!?

Sigh.

Some people get up and start the day with yoga and meditation.

But not us.

Oh, no.

We get up and start brawling.

It makes life so much more exciting.

Hey, no fair! He’s got more cereal than me!

Nuh uh! Why do you have more cereal than me?

Whack!

What was that for?

I wanted that book!

Well, I had it first!

Shut up!

No, you shut up!

I’m telling!

Not if I tell first!

Mom!!!!!

Mealtime has always been painful in this household.

One child eats only as a means of survival…

And even then, only by force.

Meanwhile, the other one “helps” clear his brother’s plate.

In the most annoying manner possible, of course.

Well…

Life is all about balance, I suppose.

Stop looking at me!

I’m not looking at you!

Knock it off, or I’ll lick you!

Mooooommmmm!!!!!

One boy reaches over and snatches a single piece of dry cereal out of his brother’s dish.

I need more food! He ate most of mine!

And so the flailing begins.

Between foot stomps and arm twists…

And pinches, punches, and pokes…

It’s little wonder I’m such a fan of finger foods.

No way am I encouraging the use of utensils if not absolutely necessary.

Fencing with forks?

Slapping with spoons?

Noogying with knives?

No, thank you.

Knock, knock!

Who’s there?

Boo.

Boo hoo?

Why are you crying?

Shut up!

No, you shut up!

Alrighty then.

I like trains!

You’re rude!

I like turtles!

And rotten!

Cheese! Cheese! Cheese!

And you’re annoying!

I swear, sometimes I can’t help but marvel at how I’m the most normal person in the room.

Yeah? Well, you’re mean!

No, you’re mean!

I like cheese with my squirrels,

I like squirrels with my cheese!

OMG! Why are you being so annoying?

Smell my feet! SMELL them!

You wanna go?!?

And so ended breakfast…

~Happy Friday, everyone! Hope you’ve had a great week! Enjoy your weekend, and try to stay out of trouble. Well, maybe a little mischief won’t hurt…~

I'm fairly certain my child invented this impressively annoying catchphrase...

I’m fairly certain my child invented this impressively annoying catchphrase…

Beeping Blasphemy

/ Quirky Girl / 43 Comments

Nine.

It sounds a lot like nein, the German word for no.

Did you know that the number nine is considered unlucky in Japan?

It’s true.

They pronounce it ku.

And apparently, it sounds exactly like the Japanese words for agony and torture.

Yikes.

Interestingly enough, nine is also the precise number of smoke detectors in my house.

Why would I know this?

Because I’d been running like a crazy person from one end of the house to the other, trying to figure out the source of an intermittent, peace-assailing racket.

That’s why.

Out of the blue, a nefarious, telltale sound echoed throughout the house.

And every thirty seconds, another beep would fill the air.

With nine smoke detectors at large, I struggled to pinpoint the source of annoyance.

It’s like that expression:

Every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings.

But in this case…

Every time a beep bleeped, I had to refrain from kicking stray stuffed animals and action figures into walls or out the window.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I dashed all over the house, from room to room, in hot pursuit.

Aha!

After locating the offending noisemaker, I dragged a kitchen chair over to the entryway and extended my arm upward.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Even on my tiptoes, I couldn’t quite reach.

So I ran out to the garage and grabbed the biggest ladder I could find.

Beeeeeeep. Beeeeeeeep. Beeeeeeeeep.

The ladder was so freaking cumbersome, I somehow managed to take out a chunk of wall as I maneuvered it through the house like a drunken firefighter, all the way from the garage and down the hall.

Damn.

I’d just finished touching up paint throughout the house a day earlier.

But at last, I could finally reach high enough to smack the button and put a stop to the madness.

The next thing I knew, alarms and sirens screeched in my ear:

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

What the hell?

After several minutes of this repetitive ear-splitting command, I managed to wrestle the battery compartment open.

But the dead battery fell out and hit me square in the throat, as I struggled to maintain my balance on the ladder.

At least the high-decibel wailing had stopped.

I regained my balance and crammed a new battery back in before slamming the compartment shut.

And then…silence.

Sweet, sweet silence.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

~Happy Friday! Hope you all have a great weekend!~

This beeping/meeping trio may possibly be the only thing noisier than a malfunctioning smoke alarm.

This beeping/meeping trio may possibly be the only thing noisier than a malfunctioning smoke alarm.

Sardonically Stressed

/ Quirky Girl / 43 Comments

Stress.

It’s an unfortunate and undesirable side-effect of simply being alive.

Some days, it’s lemons, lemons, and more lemons.

For everyone overwhelmed with stress lately, take heart.

Here’s proof that there’s always humor, even in times of stress:

stress18

(In all fairness, it should be noted that murder is rarely doctor-prescribed.)

stress24

(Are you kidding me? Way to burst my bubble!)

stress34

(I’d be hesitant to attempt this. I mean, what if I cram one down someone’s throat, then Karma steps in and makes them spit it up…straight into my eyeball?)

stress15

(Did you know it takes 45 minutes of meditation to equal the effects of a single satisfying glass of wine? Okay, fine. I just made that up.)

stress6

(A sure sign of mastering ki breathing! Or having taken up drinking…)

stress22

(Is being eaten alive really preferable to a little stress? My guess is probably not.)

stress1

(Finally! A refreshingly drug-free solution that’s both highly effective and easy to use. What’s not to love?)

stress9

(As Henry Kissinger once said, “There cannot be a stressful crisis next week. My schedule is already full.”)

stress8

(Sure, it helps reduce stress…unless you’re prone to perfectionistic, OCD-type tendencies. In which case, coloring can actually increase your stress levels.)

stress31

(Overall, pretty good advice from a dog. But maybe just stick with the walk away part and forget about peeing all over the place. It’s just not classy.)

stress33

(Food for thought, right? Speaking of which…)

stress26

(This might be stating the obvious, but here goes: You should never be your own food source. Never. No matter how stressed you may be, this is a horrible solution.)

stress29

(I’m stressed just thinking about how true this statement is.)

stress38

(This one has become my personal life motto. It makes me happy.)

Throwing things can be great stress relief.

No, really. It’s true!

And if you need some creative ideas for what to do with all those lemons life has been tossing your way, I’ve got some excellent suggestions.

Go on, give it a try!

Feel better now?

Excellent.

Stress?

What stress?

Ain’t nobody got time for that nonsense.

~Happy Friday, friends! Hope your weekend is relaxing, enjoyable, and stress-free. And if it’s not, I hope you always find a way to make lemonade. Or a lemon martini…~

Mortifying Modus Operandi

/ Quirky Girl / 67 Comments

Don’t embarrass me!

Um, helllooo!?!

I’m not the one sitting there, scratching my crotch at the table during breakfast.

Is it my fault your school requested that parents join their child in class to help guide them through the increasingly intricate course selection process, complete with 4-year plans and endorsements?

What kind of monster do you think I am?

And what kind of horrifying feats do you think I’ll manage to pull off in the 60 minutes I’m there, anyway?

Attempt to spoon-feed you your lunch?

Or show up in fishnet stockings and skanky heels?

Or worse yet, come crashing into your classroom on roller skates…in my pajamas?

Hashtag whatever.

Or perhaps I might discuss puberty/body odor/your latest crush loudly in front of all your classmates?

Or do some sort of ridiculous robot dance while singing a cringe-worthy Justin Bieber song at the top of my lungs?

Or lick your messy desk clean?

Or…

Maybe I’ll just wait for the perfect opportunity to declare:

You got an F on that test? An F?!? That’s it. Mama gonna go all gangsta on yo ass!

Right.

As fun as these scenarios might appear in my mind…

I can’t even.

As a natural introvert, I can assure you I will not be going out of my way to even talk to anyone, let alone cause chaos.

And as a self-respecting member of society, I don’t typically speak like that.

Ever.

Well, except maybe when I’m hangry.

I also wouldn’t purposely embarrass my kids, but ish happens.

Besides, if anything mortifying were to happen, consider it payback for all those unfortunate incidents where I wished for nothing more than the mercy of getting sucked into a black hole.

So just remember this:

I could be worse.

I could be much, much worse.

After all, I’m a badass black belt, dirt bike-riding, humor-writing Mom.

I’m cool AF.

Yaasss, I’m totally killin’ it.

So don’t be salty, bruh!

(Is that a thing?)

~Happy Friday! Thanks for stopping by and slinging some serious slang with me today. Have an amazing weekend!~

It's tough being a teenager. And an adult. Hell, life is rough for everyone.

It’s tough being a teenager. And an adult. Hell, life is rough for everyone.

The Video Gaming Vortex

/ Quirky Girl / 53 Comments

Some things get infinitely better with time, while other things seem to do the exact opposite.

One thing’s for certain:

Time can majorly mess with dormant gaming skills.

Clearly, I haven’t been playing video games anywhere near enough lately.

I recently discovered that I now totally suck at video games.

It’s true.

I’ve somehow gotten to the point where I now lose frequently… to any and every opponent.

The horror!

Not only have I been playing poorly, but my hands actually ache afterward from the determined death-grip I inflict upon my controller.

But determination alone still doesn’t stop me from losing.

I hate losing.

And more importantly, I’m far too young to be losing this badly.

Whatever happened to the days of being a badass Video Game Master?

I used to rule Old School.

And now?

I am undisputedly the worst player in my house.

Possibly even the worst player in my neighborhood.

Okay, so that may not be entirely true.

Surely, there must be at least a handful of electronically inept 90-year-olds who would do worse.

But seriously, where did I go wrong?

Modern games have become my worst nightmare.

I used to be able to defeat every last Goomba, Koopa, and Hammer Brother in record time on my quest to rescuing Princess Toadstool from that evil jerk Bowser, who had nowhere to go but down.

Down, down, down, into the fiery lava.

Which, apparently, is where all my gaming skills have ended up.

Super Mario Galaxy makes me feel like I’d just downed a few cases of liquor and then repeatedly smacked my head into a concrete wall before hitting the power button on the console.

And let’s talk about Rainbow Road.

Notorious for being a highly challenging level on Mario Kart, it’s only gotten more complicated over the years.

Naturally.

Especially now, with all the nauseating, seizure-inducing graphics that cause me to barrel off into a black hole in a fit of rage from all the flashing acid-trip type effects.

Mario Kart has evolved to the point where it makes me sick to my stomach as I drive my stylishly customized kart backward, off cliffs, and straight into the oblivion of dead-last place.

Don’t get me wrong, all of these incredibly realistic 3D graphics are astonishingly impressive.

They also make me wanna hurl.

I sometimes miss the days of 2D, where I wouldn’t become nauseated from inadvertently spinning myself sick in just a matter of minutes.

I’m naturally bad with directions as it is, so I really don’t need the additional challenge of getting lost for all eternity on a convulsion-inducing level of some infuriating game.

But all is not lost.

Super Smash Bros is one of the few games I do seem to excel at lately.

I suspect this stems solely from the joy of clobbering big bullies like Donkey Kong and Ganondorf with unassumingly cute characters like Yoshi and Kirby.

But even so, there are times when I get embarrassingly decimated by a highly skilled, child-controlled Jigglypuff.

Mortifying, I tell you.

I’m compelled to blame my unimpressive losing streak on my older brother.

Sure, it was years ago, but I firmly believe that always being stuck as the dreaded Player 2 as a child clearly accounts for my overall lack of game playing time.

By the time I’d finally be about to get my turn after watching my brother play Super Mario Bros for 57 straight minutes, he’d be so pissed about (finally) losing a life on level 8-3 that he’d reset the game and start all over.

I usually had to wait until he left the house altogether to even get a turn.

I suppose there’s also the remote possibility my skills have deteriorated due to my penchant for not being able to sit still for very long.

As an adult, there’s always this overwhelming inclination to get stuff done.

No time to sit idle when there’s so much to do!

But surely that can’t be the issue here.

Nah.

It probably has a lot more to do with the fact that kids are practically born with electronic devices in each hand nowadays.

Or maybe I just need to get more sleep.

At any rate, I guess this means it’s time to return to my Old School roots and start playing like a boss again so I can get back to kicking some butt.

Up, Up, Down, Down, Left, Right, Left, Right, B, A, Start…

Konami Code, help me!

Mario has kept up with the times. I, on the other hand, have some serious catching up to do.

Mario has kept up with the times. I, on the other hand, have some serious catching up to do.

Purposefully Perplexed

/ Quirky Girl / 62 Comments

Sometimes I have to wonder why I was put on this earth.

Well, one thing is for certain:

It sure as hell wasn’t for my domestic skills.

The world probably isn’t deficient in people who are disturbingly proficient at folding fitted sheets by rolling them into big, blobulous balls of fabric.

So that can’t possibly be it.

Hmmm…

Is it solely for my ability to load and unload the dishwasher?

Granted, I do a commendable job of balancing creativity and efficiency by cramming the crap out of the dishwasher with my mad Tetris skills.

But I can’t imagine that could possibly be it, either.

With the start of a new year, my brain has been doing that thing again.

You know, that thing where it encourages deeper and more intense thinking about…things.

Like purpose.

And I do contemplate my purpose, from time to time.

But mostly, I just try to get through the day without major disaster, chaos, or injury.

It’s the little things, right?

But getting back to purpose.

If I sit down and think about all the things I routinely manage to accomplish in the course of a day…

Chauffeuring kids to school in a crazed frenzy?

Running/folding a dozen loads of laundry?

Pushing the vacuum around the house?

Emptying overflowing trash?

Yeah, not very inspiring.

And these things definitely don’t hold much potential in the way of achieving a sense of purpose.

Oh, well.

Some of the more promising options on my list:

Unclogging the toilet during dinner?

(Thanks, boys! Can’t think of anything else I’d rather be doing.)

Being used for Nerf target practice while carrying a stack of fancy plates?

(I suppose a good challenge never hurt anyone…)

Slamming baseballs over the fence to flaunt my awesomeness?

(I am pretty good at hitting things.)

Making people laugh with my offbeat humor?

(Now we’re talking!)

If I was put on this earth to share the gift of humor through my writing, I’d be most honored.

But if that’s not my true purpose, I can only hope it’s not because I’m on track to becoming the World’s Best Toilet-Unclogger.

~Happy Friday, friends! Hope the first week of the new year has been treating you well!~

What's your superpower? I mean, purpose?

What’s your superpower? I mean, purpose?

Macabre Mobile Memories

/ Quirky Girl / 19 Comments

A picture is worth a thousand words.

But I don’t need anywhere near a thousand words. 

I just need three:  

What. The. Hell.

I think my phone is trying to tell me something.

Apparently my summer had sucked.

Like, really sucked.

And, according to my smart-ass phone, things have been sucking for the at least the last three months.

Minimum.

I swear, iPhone must be in cahoots with Siri after the latest iOS update.

You see, it oh-so-helpfully decided to categorize my “best” memories in an album it labeled Best of the Last 3 Months.

And in this album are a select handful of so-called best moments, as determined by… a computer.

Evidently, the best of the last few months consist almost entirely of pictures taken while sitting around, passing time at assorted hospitals.

Did it choose these fine photos because my life had been so dull that whenever I’d finally gotten out of the house, it was to go hang out at various hospitals across the city?

Because my summer did indeed revolve heavily on frequenting various medical facilities for various family members at various times.

Especially for my younger son, who had extensive corrective tendon surgery that landed him in bed for six weeks with two full leg casts, doing nothing but playing video games and watching every single cartoon in the world on Netflix.

But right before that, we had spent a fun-filled day at the Great Wolf Lodge.

Apparently that just wasn’t memorable enough. 

Oh, the irony.

And what about the photos of that kick-ass John Cena vs Bill Nye the Science Guy wrestling ring cake I had baked for my older son’s birthday?

Or the ones of both of my boys whacking the crap out of a WWE piñata with a neon orange baseball bat?

Or what about the first day of school, for goodness sake?

Why are those not among my best photos?

Oh, but that one with my son chilling with a visiting therapy dog is actually kind of cute.

And the handful of pictures of my boys dressed in medical gowns, gloves, and masks to visit Grandma in the ICU are actually pretty sweet, too, in some unsettling way.

Amazingly, one or two of the majestic sunsets I’d photographed managed to creep their way into the album, too.

In addition to all the fun hospital photos, there was no shortage of weird screen shots of everything from Chuck E. Cheese to Homer Simpson to a deranged-looking cartoon horse, courtesy of two crazy boys.

And a ton of funny Pokémon Go shots, mostly featuring Pidgeys and Rattatas in wacky places, like in my coffee cup. 

At a hospital, of course.

All I know is I’m afraid to brave a peak at my phone’s Best of the Year album that undoubtedly awaits.

This, evidently, was one of my better memories of recent. Oh, and hospitals are a great place to capture Pokémon, in case you were wondering.

This, evidently, was one of my better memories of recent. Oh, and hospitals are a great place to capture Pokémon, in case you were wondering.

Sleepless in No Man’s Land

/ Quirky Girl / 38 Comments

I’ve got sleep on the brain…

and that’s pretty much where it seems to stay lately.

Sleep deprivation from hell, thy name is insomnia.

On the positive side…

Since it is almost Halloween, I figure this zombie/walking-corpse look will be in fashion soon enough.

In the meantime, here’s proof that there is indeed humor even in sleepless situations:

insomnia-10

(Much like a tormentous older sibling, it’s a cruel joke between the brain and body that apparently never gets old.)

insomnia-24

(Another fun alternative: One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish, I do not like green eggs and ham, I do not like them, Sam I am! Today is your day! Make that cat go away! Tell that Cat in the Hat you do not want to play! Oh, the places you’ll go!)

insomnia-7

(Nothing beats waking up and starting the day after a refreshing few seconds of sleep!)

insomnia-14

(Is this true? Hell, even if it’s not, I’m gonna start using this line on my boys ASAP.)

insomnia-17

(Counting sheep doesn’t work for me, and crying takes too much effort. What to do?)

insomnia-5

(It’s probably just the reflection in the mirror, but how is it moving so much faster than me?)

insomnia-12

( Reboot, reboot, reboot!)

insomnia-6

(Right, because telling myself to close my eyes and claim that remaining 2 hours and 36 minutes of available sleep time will magically do the trick after those previous 83 failed attempts.)

insomnia-20

(But by that point, will we even recognize each other anymore?)

insomnia-9

(I don’t do normal very well, so in an effort to be unique, my body insists on subsisting on no more than twelve minutes of sleep.)

insomnia-11

(Ah, blue! No, black! No, wait! Green! Ok, ok. Enough of this crap. Let’s just stick with black. It is the color of mystery…right?)

insomnia-16

(While neither of my kids qualify as babies anymore, it’s true that once you become a parent, you will never sleep again. Let that sink in for a moment…)

Still can’t sleep?

Make a puppet show!

With socks!

No, not for the kids. 

They’ve been asleep for hours.

Hey, what do you think you’re doing?

Wake up!

Insomnia is calling!

~Happy Friday, friends! Hope your week has been wonderful!~