Reverse reviewed:

In which my recent media choices of a movie and two books review mine and my husband’s decision to relocate to California.

The day after we got married, my husband flew to the Bay Area to interview with different companies for a new job. Three weeks he had an offer, and we celebrated by going out to dinner and toasting to his successful job hunt. The next day, we had to put my cat down, who I’d had for 18 years. The next week, we were in San Francisco scouring Craigslist ads for a suitable place to live. We ruled out the Tenderloin; too many needles. We found a place in SoMa (South of Market), a block from my husband’s new job. We returned to Colorado to pack; husband would be there for one more week before he had to return to Cali to begin his job, leaving me in Colorado to finish packing and moving. During that week, while in a Henry Fonda kind of mood, we decided to watch Grapes of Wrath. I hadn’t seen it since high school, and it’s questionable as to whether or not I actually saw it or just slept through the movie, figuring that having read the book was enough.

grapes of wrathThere Ain’t No Work

In Grapes of Wrath, the Joad family et. al. move from Oklahoma to California. They load about 12 or 13 people onto an old truck they call a jalopy and drive west. Along the way, they face some challenges, and Pa Joad dies. He’s buried on the side of the road, and the Joad family powers on. Once in California, though, they struggle to find work. Owners constantly work to undercut wages, and there’s so much competition for work—any work—that if you protest what you’re making, you can easily be replaced with the next poor soul. There’s no clear resolution, as the movie ends with the family still poor and un- or underemployed, driving their jalopy around the state looking for work.

As we watched the film, I checked with my husband: You did get an official offer, right? We’re not going to show up and they won’t have a job?

Yes dear, I have a signed employment agreement.

I was still nervous, seeing similarities between us and the Joads. You see, we also had a jalopy.

The Jalopy

Ours was a 1991 Honda Accord with 320,000+ miles. Though we probably weren’t going to bring it with us. It likely wouldn’t pass a vehicle inspection in California, as the car was missing a muffler, had at least three major cracks in the windshield, sometimes locked when turning left, had 80% of its door handles, weakly squirted windshield wiper fluid to wipers that floppily smeared the fluid across the windshield, and the back hatch was only able to stay open by propping up a ski pole (a legit Colorado solution to many problems), as the hydraulic arm had stopped working several owners earlier. The radio would come on about once a quarter and play static for 10 seconds, then turn off again, the antenna made a horrific noise each time the car started or was turned off, and the windows mostly went up and down, but the driver’s side window would sometimes revolt.


Artist’s rendering of author and husband having a smurfing time.

Unrelated to its performance, the car came with a Smurfs cassette tape, which included such classics as Smurfin’ All Around The World and Smurf Rodeo. We never listened to it, since the cassette player didn’t work either.

The car still ran, though, thanks to good engineering by Honda, a dedicated mechanic who insisted that 320K miles was “…only breaking it in!”, and my husband’s superstition that fixing anything cosmetic would cause something important and expensive, like a timing belt, to break. Although the car ran, it looked a bit of a mess from hail damage, snow, ice, and a hard-lived life. But it was our jalopy, and we cared about that car. Realistically, though, even if we could get it to the state of California, it would be hard to park in our new neighborhood, the insurance payment would increase, and it likely would be stolen (it was easy to break into), as cars are not uncommonly stolen in San Francisco for their ability to aid and abet criminals as easy getaway vehicles. We didn’t want our car to fall into a life of crime.

But still, the Joads had us worried: Maybe it was a bad idea for us, a family with a jalopy to our names and dreams of working in Califonya to give up stable jobs and a home and move everything somewhere else? Was this movie a subliminal bad omen? We decided it was a different enough economy from the depression that we’d risk it. Also, we had a signed contract for employment for at least one of us, and we weren’t taking the jalopy.

laurie notaro bookPageant Plans

Once we were in S.F., I decided one of the important things to do was to get a library card. I walked to the main library, which also happened to be the closest one, and got my library card that day. Without proof of residency, which I’d forgotten at home, I was only allowed to check out one book at a time, but I was happy with that. I had a library card and access to a real library! I’d been living in a small town so long, I forgot the wonder that being in a big library brings. So many options! So many authors! I settled on one of my favorites, Laurie Notaro, and used my one book limit on her book “There’s a (Slight) Chance I Might Be Going to Hell.”

The book opens with her prodding a dumpster looking for cardboard boxes, as she’s packing up her life in Arizona and moving to a small, university town in the Pacific North West–Spaulding *coughEugenecough*, in Washington *coughOregoncough*. (Despite Notaro insisting that the town described is nothing like Eugene, OR—where she actually does live—it absolutely is like Eugene, and her characterizations are perfect.)

Her descriptions of packing boxes and the endless piles of things that need to go into boxes rang sharp, having gone through that process only weeks ago. I empathized with wondering where the hell things kept appearing from—do I really have this much stuff? Where did this new pile of things come from? Haven’t I packed enough?!

Once moved, she experiences the difficulties of making new friends in a new city where you don’t quite fit in. In Spaulding, they all aggressively recycle. I, too, am facing this challenge in a city that’s beating all other major cities in the world for its recycling efforts. I’ve never had this many recycling options before!

She gets stuck in a too-small-at-the-neck sweater and scrapes her forehead trying to get the sweater off—unfortunately, she does this at her husband’s boss’s house and everyone accidentally walks in on her as her shirt is above her head. I, too, have scraped parts of my forehead trying to extract myself from sweaters and jackets that were perfectly suited for my neck, but too small for my head! The similarities are uncanny.

sweater problems

Artist’s rendering of author after taking off a sweater.

She joins a beauty pageant to make friends, which I can’t really see myself doing. Granted, I’m not yet desperate for friends, so I suppose I may surprise myself, but most of the beauty pageants around here seem to be for Queens, which I interpret as drag queens. Having seen the drag queens here, I already know I cannot compete, as their high heel game is on point and mine is stubbornly not. I don’t need to break an ankle to make friends. At least not yet.

I take comfort in telling myself that if my life continues mimicking Laurie Notaro’s book, at least I’ll be laughing a lot, because the woman is hilarious.

disrupted“[Company] is disrupting [industry]!” (Fill in the blanks)

Before a flight from SFO to Denver, I picked up a copy of “Disrupted,” by Dan Lyons. At 51, he joins a start-up in Boston after years of reporting on the state of things in the tech industry. He’s old enough, and was reporting on it while it was all happening, to have seen the build-up and subsequent burst of the first dot com bubble. But as a victim of the decline of newspapers (he’d worked for Newsweek, which used to be one of my favorites), he’s forced to find a job as a marketer at a tech company: HubSpot.

I’d heard of HubSpot!—and had my own opinions on it. Dan’s book didn’t dispel any of those opinions, and humorously explored the fish-out-of-water feeling he had working in a company with so many young people. Not just young, but white, college-educated, peppy people who he described as having just stepped out of a J. Crew catalog. I, too, have heard of J. Crew!

While talking about his time at HubSpot, Lyons also discusses the state of tech startups as a whole, the investment, valuation, and IPO-ing process. He mentions DreamForce, Salesforce’s annual conference, which had only wrapped up the week before I picked up his book. He discussed the tech culture of brogrammers, sexual harassment, and the financial success of some people even when a startup goes out of business. He mentions the Millennial coddling–nap pods, ping pong tables, and endless snacks. Just like HubSpot, my husband’s job also has a candy wall! But Lyons’ outlook is a bit grim. To him, it feels like it did before the first dot com bubble burst, only this time, these overvaluations and IPOs-before-profiting can’t continue, and it’s all going to come crashing down at some point. The book was published in spring of 2016.

The people, places, and behaviors he mentions and mocks in his book aren’t abstractions; I live there! The businesses he mentions are all around me. If it all comes crashing down, we’ll be at ground zero for the crash. “What have we done?” I started asking myself again. We’ve now moved to Califo-nya (granted, no jalopy) to work at a startup, which, if you believe Lyons, may be overvalued, not making a profit, and could go under if the right investor were to swoop in or out. What are we doing?!

At least the food in San Francisco is really good.



The Hungry Hungry Hippo Games

C: I might even rewatch The Big Lebowski

J: Oh good. Keep at it and you you’ll only be a decade behind pop culture.

C: Thanks. Your endless support is invaluable. And I’m going to see the Hungry Hungry Hippo Games tomorrow.

J: Hunger Games is lame.

C: You’re lame!

J: I watched it online; it’s lame.

C: That’s even lamer. I’m still going to watch it.

J: I didn’t say you shouldn’t, I’m just trying to save you money and a couple hours of your life.

C: I want to see it.

J: Correction: You think you want to see it. You are only going to be disappointed.

C: I don’t have high expectations. Also, I know how it ends. I only wish there were spoilers for NFL games.

J: You know the ending?

C: Yes. Her sister dies. She kills Coin.

J: There are spoilers for every sporting event. It’s called not watching it live.

C: I’m glad we beat the Patriots.

J: The solution is to have “elections” to solve the problems, like the same goobers who needed a young girl to tell them the hungry games were ducked up, aren’t going to make a mess of elections.

C: Does she ever get a sandwich at the end? Is she still hungry?

J: …also, the this is the young girl who is, at the end of the movie is still learning how much she doesn’t know, yet is allowed to go around killing people over obvious bad guy moves like killing innocent babies and children, but isn’t expected to take a leadership role herself. Instead, she’s expected to blindly trust yet another stranger to do an unspecified job for her, literally repeating the same mistakes made twice now in the main plot, but I guess it’s ok, because there aren’t innocent children killing children, overtly, right before the ending credits. The big idea to restore faith and order after winning the revolution? Another ducking hunger games.

C: Her and Peeta marry and have kids!

J: Omg, such a girl detail to add.

C: Maybe you missed the memo. I’m a girl. Shhhhhh.

J: Did I mention the water monsters and how they swarm the team in battle.

C: You did not.

J: There is a scene where she stabs a water monster with an arrow, only it doesn’t explode on her. Guess she was lucky it was a dud and didn’t think to bring any other weapon to fight with other than her freaking bow and arrow? …evil lady had people on the inside to fake an attack by the enemy and have her own troops right at the doorstep BUT she needed someone else to assassinate him instead with a weapon with limited range? C’mon.

C: But, but….she’s an archer.

J: Also, she’s walking around with explosive arrows. They act like it’s no big deal, but it’s a BFD when you’re the one with explosives on your back. I mean, they had airships with bombs, but they went with the bow and arrow. And the enemy has super tech everywhere, but no anti-air?

C: This is why I don’t watch these movies with you.

J: It’s not me, it’s the movie! My standards are objective. You can’t go back in time and save yourself!

C: And you’re still mad about me not watching Star Trek with you. :/ But Harry did go back and save himself!

J: New Harry Potter book: Voldemort goes back in time and creates a new horcrux right before Harry kills him, allowing him to survive and and seek revenge. Same logic for Voldemort saving himself as Harry Potter saving himself. There’s a reason why it bugs me so much and it’s not just because I’m an asshole.

C: I’m pretty sure it’s definitely partly because you’re an asshole. It’s Harry Potter. He is the boy who needs to live.

On Wednesdays, we burrito

C: On Wednesdays, we burrito. Did you burrito ?

J: I did not burrito yesterday. You cannot make me be a veggie! Take your soylent green somewhere else, sister! I have character and sand. My values and morals do not change with the wind. I cannot be bought off with a burrito.
rabble rabble rabble

C: You could have at least tried it. Sheesh.

You have character and sand? What does that even mean? I have sand too, but it’s in my sand jar and some in a ziplock baggie, and it’s not anything I brag about. Maybe you need to get that sand out of your vag, then you wouldn’t be such a cranky-pants.
Maybe you can’t be bought off with a burrito, but I know you can be bought off with two or more burritos.
Besides, it if was soylent green, I wouldn’t be making you a veggie. You’d still be eating meat–granted, it’d be people, but it’s still meat.
I secretly want to actually make you a cannibal. Or at least a little bit of a nibbling cannibal…

J: Two or more burritos is a different story. Every man has a weakness and ALL soy is people! It’s PEOPLE, Claudia, PEOPLE!!!

C: I know your weakness.
And soy is not people. Stop being so melodramatic.

J: “Soy” is short for SOYLENT GREEN. They SAY they grow it but do you know WHAT they grow it FROM?

C: Do you know what they grow melodramatic from? MELLOS! As in MARSHMELLOWS! You know who has to work the marshmallow fields? PEEPs. And because it’s hot, they melt in the sun and die. YOU ARE KILLING PEEPS EVERYTIME YOU GET ALL MELODRAMATIC ABOUT SOY. Why do you want to kill peeps?!?! WON’T SOMEONE THINK OF THE PEEPS!

J: I make sure i buy my marshmallows from free range peep farms.

C: But how do you know the peeps are being paid a living wage? They need to survive and raise their peep families somehow, and being paid less than minimum wage just widens the income gap between peeps.
Go peep yourself!


Sleep tight!

C: So last night I had a dream where I was doing something and then it was really hot. I laid down on the floor and started to evaporate. I have to say, the feeling of evaporating is very weird—it’s like floating and flying and also having your whole body come apart at once. It kind of freaked me out and then I woke up ’cause I had to pee.

I told Argon about it and he suggested that I had that dream because I sleep with close to 2,000 blankies on me.

J: You do sleep with too many blankets.

C: Well, I need them in order to maintain a temperature just below that of liquid hot magma while I sleep. If I don’t maintain that, I’ll start to solidify.

J: I always suspected that you were secretly a boiling pit of lava.

C: Um, lava and magma are totally different things thankyouverymuch.

J: You sleep with too many blankets.

On Tuesdays, we llama

C: Since it’s Tuesday, are you llama-ing? Because on Tuesdays, we llama.

J: Glad you didn’t get me a shirt with pink words on it. Also, are they stealing OUR use of llama? …and they treating it like it’s “smurf“?! Or is there a group of people out there, now with tee shirts, who have created an activity called llama, or llama-ing?


C: Why no pink? Are you discriminating against pink? What do you have against pink? My current boyfriend would wear pink…
I don’t think they’re stealing our use of llama. I think it has to do with drama llamas. So maybe more like “smurf” than TeamLllama©

J: WTF is a drama llama?!

And it’s not JUST the color pink, but words in the color of pink. I mean, who does that? Would you care to read something that’s going to hurt your eyes and be difficult to read? Great! Here’s a tee-shirt.

C: On a black background, pink is perfectly legible.
According to urban Dictionary, a drama llama is: A person who randomly throws their drama on others, in the same way a llama randomly spits.
“Oh no, here comes the drama llama! I haven’t finished cleaning up from the last time she spit drama on me!”

J: I don’t appreciate how the urban dictionary is disparaging llamas

Star Trek

J: I just don’t understand why you suddenly like Star Trek. Why now? What changed?

C: I don’t “like” it. I’ll watch if the group is watching. But some of the writing is absurd, and you don’t get to hear my commentary during the eps: “Who is that? Where did that person come from? How does that even work? What the hell kind of -onium are they talking about now? This is so sexist. That outfit is stupid. That make up and mask are terrible; you can’t even see the lips moving.” You’d hate it. I don’t take it seriously.

J: I mean, I can take things not so seriously sometimes.

C: I will say some of the concepts are intriguing. Also, I watch for Wil Wheaton’s sweaters.
Are we fighting about this?

J: I’m not trying to fight with you. I’m just not sure how much consideration you’ve given to telling the person you’ve yelled at before about not wanting to watch Star Trek that you’re now watching Star Trek, you know?

C: I’ll watch it if it’s on when I visit [boyfriend’s]. I’m not gonna walk into a situation where two people are watching a show they like and say that either they change the show or I’m leaving. The situation is completely different than with you. Besides, we never had yelling fights about not watching Star Trek, you know.







J: …see, stuff like this, like the person who just started watching one Star Trek show, telling someone who has watch them all, that they didn’t even watch Star Trek…

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The right to bare arms

J: Did you hear about the most recent gun-related tragedy? The gun enthusiasts got confused and accidentally armed bears.

C: I support MY RIGHT to arm bears!

J: I want to show up at a gun rally with a stuffed bear arm.

BarearmsC: What if you showed up with bare arms? Which reminds me, I heard an ad recently from Trojan for their “bear skin condoms.” I was like, ‘What the hell is a bear skin condom?’ Then I looked it up. Bare skin condoms

J: Bear Skin Condom: Strong enough for a man, pH balanced for a bear.
Bare skin condoms: aka, not wearing a condom at all.

C: Bear Skin Condoms: Endorsed by ManBearPig! For real men who are half man, half bear, half pig.

J: I just saw two squirrels having sex.

C: Were they using a condom?

J: A bare skin condom.

C: So that’s why we have so many squirrels.

Worst Roommate Ever: The Sequels

I wrote an article for for their Worst Roommate Ever column. It was published. The gist was: I had a roommate who could see auras. She talked to the cat. In a past life, the cat was a warrior. She kicked my boyfriend out in the middle of the night, then after some back and forth and changed stories, she kicked me out. We’d lived together 6 weeks.

I sent a draft of it to J for him to review. This is the feedback I received:

J: I emailed you a rewrite of the story. Spiffed it up a bit. Your roommate was actually an alien bounty hunter and your boyfriend was a quadriplegic who you beat when he talked back to you. Sheba is no longer a cat, but the ghost of a great warrior who, spoiler alert, reveals your roommate to be an alien, possesses your boyfriend’s wheelchair and crashes into bounty hunter alien roommate, knocking her out the window where she crashes, loses her memory, and you convince a doctor to keep her medicated and isolated in a correctional facility for the criminally insane. You’re welcome.

C: That’s fine. Except I’m not sold on the bounty hunter thing. I think alien antique seeker? Snake oil saleswoman?

J: The sequel is about the “ghost chair” where Sheba goes riding around fighting aliens with unwitting quadriplegics.

C: Yes, that’s totally the sequel! Can you flesh it out more?

J: Since you’re a feminist, I was thinking the aliens could be trying to collect vagina lips as trophies. And the ghost chair is stuck in impound. So you, the protagonist, must bribe or manipulate the security guard but then you end up falling in love with him because he’s sensitive and respects your authoritah as a woman.

Most of the story can be lame conversations about how you feel about each other, instead of explosions. Then the relationship doesn’t work because you have goals and he lets you go, reluctantly. The story closes with you eating chocolate ice cream and saying something like “I’ve earned this,” or “Who would have known those alien bastards were sitting on decade’s worth of weight-reducing ice cream?!”

C: They were? Bastards!


How aliens get dates: Ice cream.

J: The third movie is about evil ice cream makers trying to silence everyone who knows about the alien ice cream so they can continue their evil plot of making ladies feel bad about themselves do they’d say yes to the dates with evil ice cream owners.

C: Making all of us fat!

J: …only, they forgot one thing: A wheelchair possessed by a warrior ghost. “Wheel you marry me?” “Oh yes, a thousand times yes! During the downhills and the uphills!”

C: Does ’til death do we part apply?

J: No.

C: Figures.

J: It’s a ghost chair.

C: I know. How’d it die?

J: That’s the prequel!

C: Oh man. Are we Star Wars-ing this?

J: Star Wars wasn’t a prequel. They skipped the first trilogy initially.


Ghost chair.

C: You’re still not saying how the chair died.

J: The chair didn’t die. It’s possessed by a ghost warrior. A ghost warrior who died while protecting the throne. Part of the story will explain the secret origins of Musical Chairs. It’s actually how we chose kings and is far bloodier than our childhoods would have us believe.

If Hollywood gets a hold of this story, they’ll ruin it, calling it “Ghosts vs. Aliens,” but it will break box office records, to my great angst, as crowds will remember someone screaming during the movie “The book was better!” And then I can write a piece “It Happened to Me.” (full circle)

C: Um…wow.

Nebraskan Christian Radio

C: Llama llama. How’s the drive with your mom going?

J: Pretty hilarious. Left at 2 am. Nebraska is not for me. Too many Christian radio stations talking nonsense.

C: Yes, Nebraska has that going on. There’s also country music. My dad listened to Shakespeare on tape the whole time I drove with him through Nebraska. All I remember is Caesar: “Read the will!”

J: We listened to talk radio for hours. It took a lot for me to not call in.

C: Did you tell your mom why talkers were wrong? I could send you funny memes.

J: A little bit. She was laughing at me listening to it. It was pretty ridiculous. It went like: ‘God is called excellent; therefore, God is excellent.’ That logic alone is evidently enough for some people.

C: Evidently. The circular logic is astounding.


J: More shark attacks in North Carolina. The coward news media refuses to call it terrorism.

C: Who’s the terrorist organization claiming credit?

J: S.h.a.r.k.s. Sharks Hate All Races, Kindergartens, and Species.

C: Oh no! Not the kindergarteners? They’re only bite-sized!

J: Why did the shark cross the road? …to eat you.

C: The people the sharks attacked didn’t even die.

J: WTF?! Are you a shark apologist? If not for the actions of the civilians on the beach, they’d be dead. The sharks bit off their arms. That’s like Sharia law, only without the stealing! And humans are primarily on land. Once we move to the waters, there’ll be way more shark attacks!
I mean, squirrels run and hop fences and we kill them. We kill bears and wolves if they get too close. Sharks are no different! But much worse. We just don’t realize it because they’re out of sight and out of mind. It doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do something about it.

C:  ConfusedFace

Needs more pizzazz. No, more pizzas.

C: Am I pretentious?

J: About what? Your medical opinions on gerbils MAY be a touch pretentious.

C: Like, in general. About grammar.

J: Oh, for sure. But you’re a linguistics masters person and worked at a newspaper. Most grammar people ARE pretentious and people find them insufferable—like almost every copy across the board. I think it has something to do with the job, correcting mistakes in basic writing.

C: I also have a soapbox rant about “rules” being a product of upper classes oppressing the lower classes in response to increasing literacy throughout England (you know, since we speak English).


More pizzas or more pizzazz?
Why can’t we have both.

J: Copy editor: You’re not using that word correctly.
Writer: Step off, or I’ll use the word incorrectly on you!

Writer: I need something with a little more pizzas.
Copy editor: You mean pizzazz.
Writer: No. I mean pizzas.

C: Too many adjectives! Show, don’t tell.


C: My feelings on poetry haven’t changed. :/

J: Says the person whose default disagrees with the Stini.

C: What does that have to do with anything?

J: You probably do like poetry but are too stubborn.

C: I’m not stubborn!

Heeeere fishy fish…

whiterabbitJ: I have the foo chu fou shoo. 😦

C: What’s the foo chu? Are you going to survive?

J: The foo chu fou shoo is kinda like that feeling a zombie gets when it realizes it’s full and needs to take a nap. The foo chu fou shoo is kinda like what a dragon feels right before it breathes fire.

C: Hm, interesting… Is food related?

J: No, it’s not food related. Though it is kinda like that feeling Gargamel gets when he eats a Smurf.
Foo chu fou shoo is kinda like that feeling the Queen of Hearts has when she yells “Off with their heads!”
Foo chu fou shoo is also kinda how the White Rabbit feels when he shows up somewhere early.

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Learning Not to Cry Over Spilled (Sippy Cups of) Milk

spilled_milkJust as I got home, my mom called to tell me the sink was leaking again. She wanted me to ask our neighbor, who is also our plumber, if he could come over and fix it. I crossed the street to find him with his head poked inside the back of his truck while his kids, Kid and Little Brother, ran around the yard.

“Hey, Matt… so, our sink is leaking. Could you come over and fix it?”

“Again?! Goddammit! They’ve been breaking throughout the valley!” he yelled, not at me specifically, as he pulled his head out of the back of the truck.

“Oh. Bummer. Like, the piece itself?” I asked. By his tone, it was clear now was a bad time.

“Yeah. The damn manufacturer used cheap shit and they’re breaking after 6 months!”

“Oh dear,” I said,  unsure of what the right response was. “Well…whenever you have the time, we’d appreciate it if you could swing by.”

“I’ll be over in a minute. I just have to find my damn wrench…”

“Okay. Thanks!”

“In the meantime, you should go into the crawlspace and turn off the water!” he called out from halfway back inside the truck.

“Will do!” I said.

As I walked back to my house, Little Brother followed after me. He wanted to find the cat, Sheba, who hated him and who’d scratched him earlier in the year. He wasn’t phased by that, and in fact talked about it like a badge of honor. “Where Sheba?” he asked when he toddled in the door.

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Beware the puddles: Part 2


“GOTCHA!” ~the puddle

J: The damn puddles!

C: Oh no! The damn puddles again! You’re getting puddled! Normally in our family, we do the puddling.

J: Like five puddles jumped me on my way from class to my car.

C: Oh nos! What did they take? Your dryness? Your sense of dignity? Your socks?

J: Got my shoes and socks pretty good.

C: What did you do to the puddles?

J: I couldn’t DO anything! I was out numbered and they were calling for their friends in the clouds to help.

C: What do puddles sound like anyway?I would have thought they sounded all splooty, or splashy… And what did you do to them to piss them off that they ganged up on you?

J: They go plop and splish. I didn’t do anything to them! They’re bastards, like sharks and spiders.

C: The half-frozen ones go froooosh and splooobt.

J: It’s all part of the conspiracy. I think the lesson here is never trust a puddle.

Beware the puddles: Part 1


Sharks in our puddles! Beware!

After receiving a voicemail that Stini had successfully not stepped in a puddle this time on his way to class.

C: So proud of the Stini for beating the puddle! You’re a good Stini.

J: Duck you puddle! Puddles are on the list, joining sharks and spiders.

C: Ducking puddles! Being all wet and shit. Sharks probably live in puddles 😦

J: They make mosquitoes and freeze the tires and swamp our footwear. That’s so something a shark would do! Classic shark.

C: They’re trying to hurt hardworking Americans with their wetty wetness!

J: They just sit around all day doing nothing, the lazy puddles! Most people drown in 2 inches of water! Ducking puddles.

C: Two inches?! OMG! All those water glasses you used to leave around the apartment with 2 inches of water in them—are you saying I could have drowned in any one of them!? You put my life in danger!

J: …

All the nuance of Meh.

meh-catJ: Mehnal = someone who is in a state of “Meh.”
Phenomehnal = an event where someone’s mehness makes other people suffer.
Used in a sentence: Are you mehnal?! First you wanted to go out for dinner, and not you want to leave? That’s just phenomehnal.
Phenomehna = the event which triggered a bout of mehs.
Also, I just saw a cat on a leash.

C: Meh.

. ?


Does menstruation concern you?

C: Do you ever wonder sometimes if the woman you’re sitting next to on the bus or in a meeting is on her period? Like, do you ever think “Is this person actively bleeding out of her vagina right now?”

J: No, not usually. Unless I’m swimming in the ocean. Then I do because sharks.



Too sexy?


Sexy toothbrush time.

J: Oh no! My animal magnetism and tragic story line, coupled with my good looks and irresistible charm, may be getting me in trouble.

C: Oh no! Are you being trailed by a herd of rabid llamas? I’m sorry I set this in motion for you so many years ago…

J: Wait, what? …should I be worried about rabid llamas? …and them trailing me? WTF did you set in motion so many years ago, Claudia?

C: Your animalistic attraction! You attract rabid animals, like llamas, to you. I’m so sorry Stini 😦

J: Oh no. 😦 Maybe we can…reverse my polarity? That sounds like a thing, right?

C: I think so. Seems legit.

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