Proper Grammar with Boogers

Oooh, oooh, I can't decide!!!

Oooh, oooh, I can’t decide!!!

Hi, all!  You may not remember (I didn’t) but two years ago I wrote a post entitled “Ten Things to Do With a Picked Booger”.  It wasn’t that impressive, booger-wise, just a top ten list. This post generated a lot of comments, as most of my highly intellectual posts do, but just the other day it got a new comment!  I am always excited to see new comments, especially when they are like this one.  I’m not even sure how to describe it.  Let’s say it’s better than the comment on the Dragon Tail’s Review post in which I was called a “40-year-old farthead”.  See for yourself!

Hiiii, Dorman!

Hiiii, Dorman!

This is my first response to dear Dorman.  I have so much to say.  First off, thank you for making a simple blogger very happy.  I haven’t had such a good laugh in a while.  Here are some other questions, off the top of my head.

  1. What exactly was your “random search”?  Was it for boogers?  Do you search the Internet looking for posts to grammar check?  Specifically booger posts?
  2. Did you like my fragments there?  Feel free to point out other errors.  I will save them up in my heart.
  3. You realize this was a post about boogers, right?
  4. I do have advanced degrees.  I have a B.A. and an M.A. in English and an MLS in Library Science.  I like to collect degrees, then completely ignore them.
  5. Thanks for letting me know that I can improve my comedic timing with a couple of well-placed colons and apostrophes.  I bet you are a laugh a minute: really!
  6. Do and not do not equal don’t. They equal “donot”, or using the proper English spelling, “donut”.
  7. You aren’t Shakespeare and, thusly, do not sally forth. 
  8. My Corps of Creative Types can beat up your honor student.
Allow me to present to you this badge, Dorman.

Allow me to present to you this badge, Dorman.

If you think this comment was bizarre all by itself, then get ready.  I showed this comment to a few people, and my old friend begged to answer it.  Ravin’s response was, to my delight, followed by more responses by Dorman. Thank you so much for not just performing a drive-by grammar run.  This is much better.

You can check the original post for all the comments at the bottom of the page, though they are unbelievably, and hilariously, long.  We are talking my lawyer friend with the genius I.Q. versus a blogger who probably sleeps with a grammar text.  This is the kind of thing you just can’t make up.

I do have some quotes I’ll use with proper quotations (or close enough).  My friend informed Dorman that I had advanced degrees.  Response: “George “Dubya” Bush has “advanced degrees”. You’re misinterpretation of my gentle nudge is sad, and likely testosterone-fuelled.”

"That wasn't funny, Dorman! I talk good!"

“That wasn’t funny, Dorman! I talk good!”

I’m wondering how exactly ol’ (see what I did there!) Dorman knew my friend was male, much less infused with lots of testosterone.  We’re talking a grammar argument here.  These are not generally considered overtly masculine.  I’ve never heard Arnold Schwarzenegger engage in one during a fire-fight.  I’m not even sure what sex Dorman is, so I’ll just refer to Dorman with the pronoun “it” until I have confirmation.

Here’s some other good ones.  Ravin suggested Dorman leave as we were all full up with crazy.  Response: “You’re entirely correct: ’cause “aliceatwonderland” is waaaaaaaaaaay overstocked.”  Thanks, Dorman! Crazy was exactly what I was aiming for, but you helped!

One last bit from my new friend.

Is twit-wit in the dictionary, or are you being 'funny' with us, Dorman? Ha: ha'.

Is twit-wit in the dictionary, or are you being ‘funny’ with us, Dorman? Ha: ha’.

I hope you, my readers, are properly educated by this post.  If you glance at the old post, you’ll see that some of you were there!  Ah, what a long, twisted, twisted road we’ve walked metaphorically.  Anyhoo, please leave comments below.  Hopefully Dorman will come back!

P.S. Dorman: My generation was not born with I-Pads and such.  We were born in the mid 1970s, so I guess you could call us “flower infants”.  How old are you?  Congrats on mastering the keyboard!

~ Alice

The 40 Club

While I mourn my 30s, read this little bit about turning 40 that she wrote just for me. 😀

Knocked Over By A Feather

Guess who’s joining the ranks of the 40 Club today?

Alice!! That’s who!!

40Don’t make fun of my meme, I was in a hurry.

I called her early this morning to sing happy birthday (sorry about that, dear.)

And now, because turning 40 is such a great and wonderful thing (not really) I am going to do a short post on how to tell you are now officially middle-aged.

Pay attention Alice, this is important information.

  • That popping sound coming from your knee? Yeah, that’s normal.
  • Music may start to become way too loud for you and you’ll find yourself reaching to turn it down because old.
  • Young people will completely befuddle the fuck out of you.

millennialsSay Snapchat!

  • You’ll experience total face-palm moments when you realize that 80’s music is now considered classic rock.
  • The cashier at the store is now calling you ma’am (or sir.)
  • Starting a…

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Kryptonite: A review of Captain America Civil War!

If I go crazy

then will you still call me Superman?

– 3 Doors Down

Please do not snort glowing, green rocks, kids!

Please do not snort glowing, green rocks, kids!

Even if you aren’t a nerd, you probably know about Superman.  The big, tough guy who wears his patriotic underpants over his tights, whose secret identity can be bought at Lens Crafters, and whose greatest weakness is Kryptonite, a green space rock.  The fun thing about superheroes is that you can identify with these guys, whether it’s wanting to be like them (for Superman flying, not wearing my underpants over my pants) or having a weakness.  And we have many weaknesses.  Internet, binge-watching competitive cooking shows, heroin, or secretly liking Justin Bieber.

You’ll note I didn’t add liking Trump to this list.  That falls under the category of “evil-doer’s minion”.  Justin first must get into politics to qualify for that.  I’m thinking 2030 or so, but don’t worry, by then we will probably all be extinct.  Accentuate the positive!

Supervillain? Or his own minion?

Supervillain? Or his own minion?

Anyway, I recently went to see Captain America: Civil War in the theater with Thing One who had only been nagging about this since the beginning of time.  Okay, I was wanting to see it too because I like all the humor mixed in with this latest series of Marvel Comic Books movies.  Superman is from another comic company called D.C.  The best way to tell them apart is that Marvel got bought out by the great Empire of Disney and makes really profitable movies, while D.C. . . . doesn’t.

Tell all your troubles to super mutt there.

Tell all your troubles to super mutt there.

What I like most about these movies, in spite of never having read the comic books, is all the humor combined with unbelievable violence that never seems to really affect anything.   Also it might be because the guys are super hot (get it?) and wear tight outfits over their muscles.  I am not a dirty old woman.  For your information Captain America was born like in the 30s or something but was frozen in ice like a popsickle for years because – who cares?  And Thor is totally a Norse God so he’s like several thousand years old, give or take you know.  I want to be a Norse Goddess in my next career.

As you can see, these back stories make complete sense, so we definitely want these guys to have realistic problems.  And this movie did it.  If you don’t want SPOILERS, and I do mean this both in revealing secrets and in the way I give this review (SARCASTICALLY) then you might want to run, RUN!

Okay moving on.

Hot guy on hot guy action! Wait I didn't - mean it that way. . .

Hot guy on hot guy action! Wait I didn’t – mean it that way. . .

This movie took a while to get started.  Like a long time.  There was this Russian guy, and this other Russian guy, and this dude called Bucky (no really) who was Captain America’s best friend back in World War II but is now an insane assassin but Cap knows there is still GOOD in him even though he kills lots of people.  Even more than Captain America does!

And turns out people are bugged about the death and destruction while superheroes fight the super villains and save everybody!  Except those dead people.  I always assumed that they went back and found the people safely ducking and covering under the smashed cars, then did Habitat for Heroes and rebuilt the buildings.  Not really, I honestly didn’t care.  But now the U.S. government IS caring about killing random people (this is a first) and decide they need to reign in the superheroes.  Maybe it’s because the government prefers to kill them themselves?

After they wake up from their naps, that is.

After they wake up from their naps, that is.

That’s what Captain America is thinking.  Why trust the government even though he was a loyal soldier back in the 1940s and was eager to fight Nazis for freedom?  And Iron Man (played by the adorable, snarky, sarcastic Robert Downey Jr.) normally does whatever the heck he wants partly because it annoys everyone else, especially his teammates.  I love people who purposely irritate others and get away with it!  But this was not the Iron Man here.  This Iron Man wants to give it over the government.  Why?  Because they had his girlfriend Pepper (no really) played by Gwyneth Paltrow (no really) leave him and people come up and yell at him for killing their children while saving the damn planet and this has him all depressed.

SEE? You're even making the kid cry, Robert.

SEE? You’re even making the kid cry, Robert.

Noooo.  Iron Man is what makes these movies so much fun.  This is like turning Tigger into Eeyore and expecting the same dynamic.  But it’s not really about the other Avengers (Thor and the Hulk are off playing a round of golf or something) but a Captain America movie.  That’s why we have Russians and Bucky.  Bucky, Bucky, Bucky.  Right, well, part of the group are meeting at the United Nations building to sign some contract and KA-BOOM big explosion.  The king of *Uganda – for some reason the U.S. is suddenly paying attention to violence in Uganda – is kinda dead.  Oops.  Luckily Black Widow, one of the two women in this superhero movie, has survived the massive explosion with, I’m not kidding, a bit of dirt on her cheek.  Her hair is great, her suit is fine.  She hasn’t even broken a nail.  At least there was unintentional humor there.

Before explosion.

Before explosion.

After explosion. We makes spies explosion proof these days.

After explosion. We makes spies explosion proof these days.

Now in the advertisements there was much to do about Captain America and Iron Man beating the crap out of each other.  So I was sort of waiting for that.  It took a long time.  Really long time.  Most of the time Cap is trying to protect Bucky from people wanting to kill him for pretty good reasons.  It turns out Bucky is not at fault, though he was for all the other deaths like oh . . . Iron Man’s parents.  OOOOPSIES.  Iron Man doesn’t take seeing video (by the random Russian guy) of his parents being tortured all that well.  So runs after old Bucky, who Captain America protects, so then he starts whackin’ on Captain America, who whacks back, and so forth.

Finally Captain America darn near kills Iron Man, and leaves him there.  Cause justice and the American way?  Bucky gets frozen again – oh yeah he was frozen too – and later Cap writes a letter saying gee sorry Iron Man, want to rejoin the club?  And why not, right?  And it just ends there.

Like, I'm sorry, okay?

Look, I’m sorry, okay?

Oh there were some good lines here and there.  They get a couple of new characters, and when they are all fighting each other and asking if they’re still, like, buds after this, it’s got that same old feel.  Humor and violence.  But still, it’s not my favorite of the series (and there are a lot of these movies to watch – you actually need a list to figure out the order of all the movies about various characters.)  The politics were confusing, like real politics, as was a lot of the story.  But maybe my main problem was that everything around me is depressing, and depressing is my Kryptonite.  For turn your brain off fun,  I recommend the first two Avengers movies, or the Iron Man Movies, or anything with the name “Robert Downey Jr” in it.  Or whatever you actually like to watch.

Robert Downey, Jr., please cheer up.  Heck with Gywneth.  I am available anytime.

-Alice

* Edited to Add: Thing One informed me the country is Wakanda, not Uganda.  So it just sounds like an African country.  My bad.  In my defense, I think the U.S.  wouldn’t care about Wakanda either.

For some fun, check out this video.

 

 

Broken, but still good

My friend Merry wrote this when I couldn’t. Please read.

Knocked Over By A Feather

I was chatting with my amazing friend Alice yesterday, as we usually do on a mostly daily basis. I never dreamed that blogging would gift me with another best friend to add to my short list of the two other people who have qualified as “best friend” material in my 40 some years on this planet.

Let’s face it, not everyone we meet is destined to be a real friend, someone who needs you as much as you need them to get through this thing called life. My mom told me years ago that if you have one good friend, you’re lucky.

I think that I must be extra lucky.

Someday I will find a way to fly to Texas so that I can give her a hug and we will laugh and cry together.

“Did you ever see the movie “Lilo and Stitch?” she asked.

I said yes, of…

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How do you fight evil?

Note: This is not a post furthering an agenda.  Unless that agenda is “Try not to be evil.”

I’m sure most people know about the Orlando shooting by now.  I didn’t until just this morning because I tend to avoid news outside of what pops up uninvited on Facebook while I am talking to friends on chat.  I had just discovered the brilliant workaround of placing a napkin over the fb news box when I started chatting with my pal Merbear.  First we discussed our emotional states (meh) and how to scramble eggs properly (I cannot even accomplish this) and what we were currently eating (Me: waffles.  Her:  An English muffin with sausage and cheese – just in case you were wondering).  She had just written a post on the tragedy, and was more than a little bummed that our world seems to be going straight to Hades.

The Onion had the same sentiment.

The Onion had the same sentiment.

“It’s simple, evil exists.” she said.  “How do we fight evil?  How?”

I’ve had difficulty writing lately.  It’s hard to see outside of a sad pony, and often you turn inward.  My plan was to try to pull out a post for my daughters’, because Thing Two just had a birthday on the 10th (12 years old?) and Thing One will turn 16 (16 years old?????) on the 17th.  Then I realized that even with the depressing subject matter, I could do both.  Mer mentioned that she wouldn’t want to bring children into this world now.  I agreed, but then I thought of my own kids who are here now.  I felt badly for them, for all the violence and hatred that they have faced, and will face.  But then I remembered that they are the answer on how to fight evil.  You fight evil with good, and hope, and love.  I know, I don’t normally talk like I’m farting out skittles (as Merry would say), but it is the truth.

toot toot?

toot toot?

The other day we were driving and a man stood on the corner with a sign.  As usual I tried not to make eye contact.  I never know what to do in that situation.  It’s kind of dangerous to just hand out money to someone while you’re driving – you might get hit by someone.  Plus I wonder if it will do any good at all.  One dollar?  Five dollars?  I don’t know.  But when I looked behind me I saw that Thing One had her hands grasped in prayer.  I thought it was because I’d just called her, in a friendly type way, a little twit for something.  But no, she was praying for the man.  Because, as she said, he’d asked for prayers.

No fanfare.  No look at me I’m praying!  I’d have never noticed if I hadn’t looked back.  Sure, you might say, it’s just a prayer.  She didn’t go out and invite the homeless person into our car so we could get him a room at the Hilton with a free breakfast.  But she did do something that too many Americans aren’t doing enough of today.  She took a few minutes out to think about someone else’s misfortune.  Her sister is equally sincere in her empathy for others, often challenging those who bully others.  I try to be a good mom, but that’s not all me.  A lot of that is just who they are.  And it is those values that will give them hope to keep going, to keep offering kindness, and to make a difference in this world.

And they, thankfully, are not the only ones.  A line of people formed around a blood donation bank early the next morning.  This was symbolic not only of thinking of others, but of doing something about it.  They were giving blood for the blood lost.  It will be too late for the 50 victims of this tragedy, but not for the many injured people today, and those who may sadly be shot tomorrow.  As John Oliver says, “The terrorists are vastly outnumbered.”  I’ll show you a clip, because he says this all better than I do.

I saw much discussion in the comment sections of articles on Facebook.  As usual, many have turned to politics.  Either wanting to take guns or have more guns or complaining about the agenda to have guns or not have guns, or just blaming it all on Obama like they do the mayonnaise shortage at your local Subway.  Certainly the fact that it was a gay club, and the terrorist was Islamic played into the response in places.  But that – as I stated above – is not what I’m getting into right now, although I easily could (and have).  It’s about the basic question: How do we fight evil?  Hint: It’s not in a political argument on Facebook.

It’s in thinking of others.  It’s in doing for others.  It’s in following the greatest commandment no matter what your faith: Love one another.  Even if all you do is buy a coke for one person feeling down (you don’t have to buy a coke for the entire world), you did something.  You made a difference.  We all make a difference, all the time, with our words and actions.  For good or for bad, we make a difference.  Let’s try to make the right difference.  Here’s just a few more examples of what people have done for the victims in Orlando, Florida, from the Orange County sheriff’s office.

We thank the legions of supporters who are reaching out to the Orlando community!!
As the investigation remains active and open in the horrific Pulse nightclub mass shooting, here are some resources and links available to the public.
•Orlando officials are identifying the victims and notifying their families. The names of the victims will be added to this link: http://www.cityoforlando.net/blog/victim….
•The Department of Veterans Affairs is providing emergency mental health assistance to Veterans, employees, and the general public in wake of the mass shooting. An Orlando VA Medical Center Mobile Medical Unit is located at the Beardall Senior Center, 800 Delaney Ave, Orlando, 32801, or call 321-277-6672.
• Blood donations — OneBlood has reached capacity for blood donations, so no further donations are immediately needed. However, anyone interested in making an appointment to donate in the near future can go to oneblood.org/donate-now/ or call 1.888.9Donate.
•Funds for victims and families — Equality Florida has set up a GoFundMe page at Gofundme.com/PulseVictimsFund.

I wish my beautiful daughters good luck in the future.  It may look dim now, but they will add brightness.  Because they are my Things.    They are my antidote to despair.  They are my reason for hope.  I love them both, and wish them a happy birthday.

~Alice

Nostalgia

Nostalgia.  Lately I’ve been dipping my toe in its waters.  Okay bathing in it.  Once you start, it’s just hard to stop.  I specialize in toy nostalgia, naturally, but my love for toys is more than just immaturity (though that’s a large part of it and I do highly recommend it).  Dolls, toys, the things that we play with reflect our environment and the styles, the culture, the values of the people living in it.  So you could say that collecting toys is rather like collecting a bit of history.

Yes, the 1980s really did happen.

Yes, the 1980s really did happen.

Note: Not all toy collectors live alone, dateless and friendless, in their parents’ basements.  Many people live alone dateless and friendless in their parents’ basements based on the economy alone.

Not all collectors are alike.  There are the ones who do it purely for evil monetary gain and will trip a small child to get to a new box of My Little Ponies only to immediately mark up Sparkle Twinkles on Ebay.  Not that I’m biased on that type of collector or anything.  Don’t get me wrong – having something that is of monetary value is cool.  And if you are in dire straights, like say having to live in your parents’ basement (oh nooooo) then at least you have some recourse.  Maybe you can sell your toys.

Who wouldn't pay big money for this? One-of-a-kind!!

Who wouldn’t pay big money for this? One-of-a-kind!!

Maybe.

But that’s the problem.  The prices of toys (and other collectible items) fluctuate wildly.  Some of the oldest toys may go for a lot of money, but not necessarily.  Even with a mint, still-in-the-box toy, you have no guarantee of high prices.  You have to deal with public tastes.  More than anything else, the monetary value of your toy ends up being pure luck.  Most items go up in value because no one realized it would go up in value.  If you make money in the end, consider it a bonus.  But don’t count on building a nest egg with rare toys.  There are quite a few homeless people now living in boxes filled with Beanie Babies.

You could always try breeding your own stuffed animals.

You could always try breeding your own stuffed animals.

Collect what you love.  Remember to still buy groceries.  You’ll win out in the end.  End of soap box.

Speaking of that old nostalgia, I mentioned earlier my new blog.  I wanted you to know that I won’t just be covering pretty plastic dollies.  I’ll cover anything.  G.I. Joes, Star Wars, Beatles toys, Sparkle Ponies, whatever.  Here’s just a sample of items I have lined up at the moment.

Lots of Barbies such as

  • A Barbie dog that eats its own poop
  • A Barbie with a magnetic stomach that gives birth only to have you shove baby back inside and make her do it all over again.
  • Barbie’s sisters (Skipper, Stacie, Kelly or Chelsea (this child is confused), and baby Krissy.  Yes, they are all her “sisters”.  Also a brother Todd who disappeared under mysterious circumstances.
  • The Ultimate Boyfriend Ken doll – he says just what you want him to say!  The entertainment value in this guy is limitless.
  • Remember when Barbie and Ken broke up?  Meet the home wrecker, Australian surfer rad dude Blaine.
  • Lots of fun Barbie play sets.  For example: Barbie and shopliftin’ Kelly!
See my baby (cough) sister!

See my baby (cough) sister!

But wait, there’s more:

  • The “Sunshine Family” dolls of the 1970s – and I do mean OMG 1970s.
  • Star Trek the Next Generation‘s dreamy Commander Riker doll (er 12 inch ACTION FIGURE)
  • High School Musical Dolls.  Did you forget about Disney’s overdone High School Musical movies?  Too bad, I have dolls!  One named after a type of dog.
  • Luke Skywalker 12 inch ACTION FIGURE wearing Yoda in a Baby Bjorn.
  • One Direction Dolls (Why?  They were cheap and we needed boyfriends for Skipper.)
  • My Little Pony and all its incarnations.  Sparkles!
  • A Mystery Doll that sparkles.  Oh how he sparkles.  You’ll never guess what it is.
  • Disney dolls.  Of COURSE Disney dolls.
Leave us aloooone.

Leave us aloooone.

That’s just the tip of the iceberg of my mind at the moment.  If there is anything you’d like me to cover, I’ll do it, even if I’ve never heard of it.  I do love research, the less value the better!  Just let me know in the comments.  Also – what do you like to collect?

Alice

Sad Pony and Squirrel Ride Again

I haven’t been posting as much lately.  I’m not sure if very many people have noticed, but I have, and there is a reason for it.  Put out an APB for one sad pony and one squirrel possibly high on meth tainted nuts.

What?

What?

I can't help it Alice has so many nuts in her attic and I just go wild man willllllllllllld!

I can’t help it Alice has so many nuts in her attic and I just go wild man willllllllllllld!

In case you don’t know much about these two (any first time people who somehow stumbled over here can find out more on my About page) these guys represent my depression and anxiety.  Guess which one is which?  I’ve been having issue with both of these little hairballs, and since I’m allergic to fur, I’m pretty sure I’m allergic to both of them as well.  Some say they are just pictures, but believe me, they are a little too real.

It's okay, I'm one of those non-shedding anxiety squirrels!

It’s okay, I’m one of those non-shedding anxiety squirrels!

These guys didn’t always represent my issues.  Originally Sad Pony was just a funny meme I found somewhere that I tossed onto my page.  I loved him so much I did this quite often.  There is something about a pony that just looks this sad.  I realize he probably isn’t really sad, he’s just tired, you know, typical pony burnout.  But he sure looks pathetic in that picture.  Added to the humor (my sense of humor is a little different, like me!) are the words “Sad Pony is Sad.”  I find this dopey redundant sentence totally hilarious.  But also fitting.  Because even depressed, I can see humor everywhere. Sometimes, with enough distance, I can see how humorous some of my depressive thoughts can seem.  Like Eeyore on steroids.

Noooobody worry about me. I'll just sit here. With pins in my eyes. No, no, I'm fine, just that my life is a hollow lie and my soul a darkened pit of despair and agony. Oh, and I'm sitting on a squirrel. This makes me uncomfortable.

Noooobody worry about me. I’ll just sit here. With pins in my eyes. No, no, I’m fine, just that my life is a hollow lie and my soul a darkened pit of despair and agony. Oh, and I’m sitting on a squirrel. This makes me uncomfortable.

At some point, Sad Pony just became another character on my blog, just as he is a character in my life.  I am not depression, and depression isn’t me.  In this case, it’s a fat pony that just flops down on top of me and says “Take a break.  Take 50.”  It’s rather hard to get things done with this thing sitting on you.  Forget the black dog.  I have a Sad Pony, and ponies are heavy, especially when lethargic.  Or so I’ve heard.  I’ve never met a real pony – er beside this one who is REAL.  Somewhere.  I mean I have no idea who shot this picture. But I thank them.

Thanks so bloody much, Internet.

Thanks so bloody much, Internet.

But I’m not always just sad.  I also have anxiety.  And the best way I’ve figured out to describe anxiety is with a squirrel.  Have you ever watched these guys before?  Holy crap, it’s like some wire in their brain is being repeatedly shocked so that they have to dart from here to there and back again for no particular reason that I can tell.  Maybe it’s because they are toward the bottom of the food chain, and don’t want to get eaten.  The only time I’ve seen them remotely calm is on the college campus where I currently work, and that’s because college students are always – purposely or not – feeding the little suckers.  They’d grown so unafraid that they will actually sit on your foot.  The squirrels, not the students.  These squirrels can never leave campus or they will be killed almost immediately.

I'm a college squirrel. My major is Abnormal Psychology.

I’m a college squirrel. My major is Abnormal Psychology.

Squirrel also started out as a picture I threw into posts partly because of the Disney movie “Up” where a dog is given the ability to speak and, not surprisingly, he has little to say and is often distracted.  He can be in the middle of a sentence, spot a squirrel, and yell randomly “SQUIRREL!”  That’s my anxiety in a nutshell (pun intended bwaha).  I can be totally fine and then suddenly feel extreme panic.  I am fearful of what most people are not, like say going to work.  Sure they might not want to go to work, but their adrenaline doesn’t shoot up because they are going there.  This anxiety would be considered normal if I worked in, say, an ER.  But I work in a library.  Rarely is my life in danger at a library, though we have had snakes, bats, spiders, wasps, and yes, once a squirrel invade.  Also when people shoot up campuses, they often go for the library.  I learned this is our Active Shooter Training at work.  It really helped with my anxiety.

OMG it's a gun! Ruuuuuun oh wait it's just someone's laptop my mistake!

OMG it’s a gun! Ruuuuuun oh wait it’s just someone’s laptop my mistake!

Laptops look nothing like guns, you moron.

Laptops look nothing like guns, you moron.

As you can see, these two fellows often interact.  Depression makes me see anxiety as even more ridiculous, causing me to feel sad, then spiraling me into anxiety because oh no I’m sad again and how long will this last and then back to depression because come on, you have nothing to be afraid of, Alice.  Well, except maybe the possibility of a Trump presidency.  Then again, if we do get him, we probably won’t last long as a country because we will be bombed off the earth.  Either by other countries or ourselves.

Trump? Trump Trump Trump Trump OMG it's a weapon of mass destruction!

Trump? Trump Trump Trump Trump OMG it’s a weapon of mass destruction!

That's his hair, you twit. Still . . . point made.

That’s his hair, you twit. Still . . . point made.

Comforting thoughts, there.  Not really, but what is comforting is that I have this blog.  And over the years, I’ve had others identify with these two, and even encourage the figments of my imagination.  It’s great when other people willingly share in your delusions.  And no matter how much that squirrel runs, no matter how much he distracts me, no matter how much he encourages me to scroll through the Internet all day long or do impulsive things, I have a support system.  Same with Sad Pony.  There is usually someone – like friends Lindy, Jody, my best blog friend Merbear and naturally my Things (among others) – to eventually help distract me from the distraction of that squirrel. There is usually someone who, while maybe unable to lift that pony, will lie down with me until he leaves.

Goldfish even made Sad Pony and Squirrel stickers in her Redbubble Shop! You can also get them on a photo (I have them hanging up), or a pillow, or a baby onesie. Provided she still has it up? I don't know. But it's awesome!

Goldfish even made Sad Pony and Squirrel stickers in her Redbubble Shop! You can also get them on a photo (I have them hanging up), or a pillow, or a baby onesie. Provided she still has it up? I don’t know. But it’s awesome!

So I’m having a lot of ups and downs.  Meds really help with this, especially this last one that injected several of Squirrel’s best friends directly into my bloodstream, leaving me wanting to literally climb the walls and run out of my own skin.  You are ready for anything to help you at that point, even a fat pony to sit on those squirrels.  But I stopped that med, and I continue to hope for the future.  For even the most sarcastic people have hope.  I thank this blog, and my blog readers, for helping keep up that hope.  I thank them for letting me be Alice.

When life throws you flamingos, play polo.

When life throws you flamingos, play polo.

P.S. As a little aside, I have started another blog about my dolls, titled appropriately Wonderland of Plastic.  I only have an introduction and one review up so far (Wonderrrr Womaaaaaaaaaan!), but promise more to come.  I discuss the dolls and history and since it’s me, Alice, of course I have snark.  I’m not sure I can totally write without it.  This is also where I’ll be moving my doll stories with the Things.  We have more torture planned for our Disney princess housewives.  Because there is life after the fairy tale.

Always.

~Alice

Someone Left My Cake Out By the Ocean

I’m out for a while, guys, away from Facebook news and stuff gets like, crazy crazy.  Droopy Dog Cruz just drops out, ka-poof, like he was tired of people (like fellow senators) saying he was the devil or something.  And apparently Kasich dropped out too, though no one really noticed, just like they didn’t really notice he was running.  And for like two days I didn’t even know this.  My mother told me, and we don’t even talk all that often (Happy Mother’s Day Mom and Ted!).

Even weirder, there’s not even that much about it on Facebook, the place I get all my liberally biased news.  That’s right, Facebook suppresses conservative news too!  (I tried to find the Gizmodo article, but only got this article by the same guys about painting a room by blowing up paint.) I think it must be true, though, cause Facebook news says Tylenol can make you emphasize less with people, which must be why I don’t care about a lot of really stupid people.  Frequent headaches and all.  Anyway, so we are left with . . .

Trump, te Trump, Trump, Truuuump.

Trump, te Trump, Trump, Truuuump.

No one quite knows what to do with this.  Oh, sure, comedians can laugh about it, but there’s this little edge to their laughter like ha ha Trump might be our president it’s hilarious and hahahahaha . . . ha . . . cough . . . choke.

So we’re left with Hillary and Bernie still duking it out because even though Bernie doesn’t stand much of a chance now, unlike Cruz, he’s just not going to leave Hillary alone until he absolutely has to because where would the fun in that be, huh?  Meanwhile, Facebook does bother to announce that, hello, Trump just won – uh what was that latest state – he won one, guys, and I am totally surprised what with him being the only one running.  Why are they bothering to announce this?  Is it actually possible for someone to be the only candidate and still lose?  I mean saying he’s not a Democrat running in Texas?

These days?  Anything is possible.  ANYTHING.

Time to start snortin' the baby powder, peeps.

Time to start snortin’ the baby powder, peeps.

One might think this is good for Democrats.  The problem is, if Hillary wins, there are many Bernie supporters who claim “Bernie or Bust” which is quite true because if they don’t vote for Hillary, they will, in fact, be voting for Trump, meaning “bust” big time.  Ka-boom.  I will write this out slowwwwly for people who are still uncertain about our two party system.  If you don’t vote for the candidate picked, even if you don’t like this candidate, you are, in effect, voting for the other party.  So then you just have to decide.  Hillary or Trump?

I think I lost some people there.  Come back, Canada is closing the gates!

This whole thing makes as much sense as that old song about cake getting wet.   You know “Someone left my cake out by the ocean” . . . wait, no that’s the new song with one of those Jonas brothers about . . . it’s totally just about eating cake by the ocean young Disney Channel viewers.  It’s edgy though, cause he says like bad words, and talks about cake.  Cake that is bound to get wet.  And you know what happens then.  I don’t think that I can take it. Cause it took so long to bake it. And we are never having that recipe again.

Soylent cake is made out of BABIES!

Facebook News: Soylent cake is made out of BABIES!

Oh nooooooooooo!  Ohhhhhhh nooooooo!

Did you see those metaphors just come flyin’ at you there?  I did.  They didn’t make any sense, just like this election, so it’s like we just took a perfectly good cake, left it out in the rain, on the beach, near a Jonas brother and a bunch of girls in bikinis, and now Trump may be President of the United States.  Actions have consequences, people.  Jonas brothers, ruined cake, Oompa Loompa politicians, people moving in mass to Canada where they probably don’t even have cake or oceans, I don’t know, and someone just “Wake Me Up When It’s All Over”.  When I’m wiser and I’m sober.

Till then, let’s just eat cake and dance to stupid songs.

-Alice

Alice is a Lying Liar or Help for Those With No Sarcasm Gene

It occurred to me a few posts back that someone coming upon this blog for the first time might not realize I like to parody annoying, stupid people and use heaping doses of sarcasm on a regular basis.  That would mean they would read something like say, my last post (Don’t worry, you get another chance!) and think that I am a really big racist.  I’m not (I mean not a BIG racist anyway) I just like to parody the worst of America.  Everyone else is going to do it; I might as well join in.

Dave Barry had this problem when he wrote for the Miami Herald, despite the newspaper clearly stating that he was, in fact, a humor columnist. He wrote “Mr. Language Person”, a column in which he purposely murdered the English language.  Every time he’d get letters from people who were very offended that he was teaching incorrect grammar.  So he wrote another column in which he explained what was B.S. and what wasn’t.  I figured I’d try the same thing by taking my last post and using helpful ellipsis in red (closed captioning!) for those who are sarcasm impaired.  I realize this is a repeat for some – in that case you can always just read the red parts – like in the Bible they’re the best!

*********(Warning: This Might Look Familiar) ********

I was driving to work today, and singing along to a song from the Disney movie Lilo and Stitch, because – I’m me. (note: weird) I like the Hawaiian songs, so naturally try to sing along (key word is “try”), even though I do not speak Hawaiian (I know “Aloha”), so it sounds kind of like this “Oh like oh e maya a una de tala a oof mana mana a eee eee eee eee oh.” (Well it sounds like that to me cause I don’t speak the language.  I’m sure Hawaiians understand it.  Probably.)

All Hawaiians hula dance. It's the law.

All Hawaiians hula dance. It’s the law. (Probably not really)

Then it occurred to me that I didn’t know what their language was really called. (I don’t.) Is it really called Hawaiian?  (beats me!) Cause I live in the United States, and we don’t speak United States.  Nor do we speak American. (I went to school a lot.) We do speak English (supposedly), but New England English is way different than Southern English, or California English.  And if we get online, our English doesn’t look like English at all.  (Texting is not writing.)  I once looked at an old text and realized I had not capitalized my “I”s, and I cringed because I like to use the word “I” a lot (true) and it just looked like I had barfed preschool on the phone. (I didn’t actually barf.  I just typed.  I might have made barfing noises.)  Or teen, take your pick. (I’m not prejudiced against teens, just honest.  Okay I’m prejudiced.)

People speak other languages here too, but we (We being mostly lazy, conservative Americans) expect everyone to also speak English, cause we are Americans, even if we actually borrowed English from the English, you know, before those guys screwed it up so much. (British people didn’t screw it up their own language.  Not anymore than Americans did (and do!)  I mean really – it’s not a jumper.  It’s a sweater.  (Why call it a jumper?  Does it jump?  Then again does a sweater sweat?  Language is weird period.) A jumper is something little girls wear, like overalls but with a skirt. (I have no idea why we even make these kinds of jumpers.) And we don’t take lifts, nor do we drive lorries, our cars don’t wear bonnets (Our cars wear hoods!  Not really, we just call them hoods or bonnets.  Or that thing in front of the car.) , and use a freaking article when you say “I’m going to university.”  It’s like we Americans have to tell you everything. (Well Americans certainly want to anyway.  Try to ignore us as usual.)

But England is weird too (fun weird!), because they don’t just go by England.  They also go by Great Britain, and call themselves British, not Greatish, or Greatish Britainish. (I do like wasting my English education.)  Or they could be the United Kingdom if you include the unimportant countries around them, like Scotland. (Scotland is full of very smart people who also hate Donald Trump.)  I think. (I have no idea) But again, no United Kindomners.  Also do you speak Scottish and Irish, or Gaelic, or just English cause everyone has to speak English because we do?  I don’t know. (true!) I have not even bothered to Google this. (also true!) I do know that even the most racist people love foreign accents, so if you have one, come on over.  We’ll go crazy for you.  (We really will.) Look how successful the Beatles were.  It wasn’t cause of their haircuts. (It was cause of their singing.)

It wasn't the clothes either.

It wasn’t the clothes either. (Were they kidding with this shot?)

Now Spain has it right, because their people speak Spanish, but then Mexico speaks Spanish too.  But the two are not actually the same.  Which means the Spanish I was taught by a white Anglo woman was Spain Spanish, and does little to help me speak Mexican Spanish, and there are a lot more Mexicans around Texas than there are Spaniards. (true) Just ask Donald Trump. (please don’t) I took several years of Spanish, but still can’t keep up with them because they speak, like, fast.   And then you like translate in your head, and have to respond, and I just can’t keep up with all of that.  (I suck at Spanish) Yet I see some people switch effortlessly from Spanish to English in one breath and I wonder if they are some sort of magician. (Seriously, how do they DO that?)

Then there’s France.  They speak French.  Fair enough.  But we have people in Louisiana who also speak French.  Also Cajun, whatever the heck that is.  (Gambit from the X-men speaks it!)  Parts of Canada speak French too.  They don’t speak Canadian, unless you count those guys who used to say “hooser” on Saturday Night Live. (Anyone remember their names?)

Like, Canada, let's have a beer. Then let us in your country. Please.

Like, Canada, let’s have a beer. Then let us in your country. Please.  (We’re really not kidding here.)

On to Japan.  They speak Japanese.  Yay.  Also English.  And Engrish, which is a combination of English and Japanese that usually results in hilarity.  Like small children wearing shirts with rather inappropriate words, while smiling big happy smiles. (Look it up.  It’s funny!) Of course Americans are known for getting tattoos done in Chinese or Japanese characters (they’re the same, right?) (no)  and end up permanently affixed with stupid words.  Just because the guy says it means “warrior” doesn’t mean it’s right.  You could be walking around with the word “sponge” on your bicep.  (Also funny!) I bet our Asian neighbors love it when they see this. (No they don’t.)  Asian is another word you can call Japanese, or Chinese, or Korean, or Vietnamese, because a lot of Americans aren’t going to bother with the difference. (True – partly because we really don’t know and don’t want to look like idiots)  Because we’re too busy playing their video games. (They do make good video games.)

Africa!  Now this is one crazy place.  (Africans are not insane.  Well not most of them.) They don’t all speak African, you guys.  They have different languages and dialects, and if I looked it up, I could probably tell you one of them. (I never looked it up.)  I think they sound very cool, even if they aren’t saying anything important, like in the introduction to the Lion King.  I heard it’s translated something like “It’s a lion, look it’s a lion” which is better than “Llama, llama, penguins in pajamas” which my friend mentioned, and now I hear every time that movie comes on. (Honestly, I hear nothing else now.  Llama, llama.)  I asked a student from Africa what some names meant, and Simba means “lion”, Mufasa means “king”, and Scar means “bad guy”.  Way to be creative, Disney! (You aren’t at all creative, Disney.)

We can say whatever we want to - you don't know what we are a sayin - you just think it a sounds a cool-ah. Cirrrrcle of Liiife!

We can say whatever we want to – you don’t know what we are a sayin – you just think it a sounds a cool-ah. Cirrrrcle of Liiife!

There are a lot more countries (Try looking at a map.  I might.), but I know most of you have no attention span and probably quit somewhere around England (Australians speak English too!  Sort of!) so I’ll stop here. (I probably would have stopped way back there too, if I were reading this.  Sorry I haven’t read your blogs lately!)   Suffice it to say, language is very confusing, especially when it doesn’t even match the country name, so I think everyone should have to change theirs to make it easier (sort of like when you guys all went metric and we didn’t, but yet you still didn’t change back to feet and inches).  (I don’t actually think people should change their language, or their metric system.  Because of our independence there, I never know how to measure squat.)  So a “good day” to those who speak Canadian, United Kingdom, Louisiana, Asian, African, and those other places on the map.  You’re welcome. (I’m sorry)

Alice (This isn’t even my real name)

 

 

 

What Country Do You Speak?

I was driving to work today, and singing along to a song from the Disney movie Lilo and Stitch, because – I’m me. I like the Hawaiian songs, so naturally try to sing along, even though I do not speak Hawaiian, so it sounds kind of like this “Oh like oh e maya a una de tala a oof mana mana a eee eee eee eee oh.”

All Hawaiians hula dance. It's the law.

All Hawaiians hula dance. It’s the law.

Then it occurred to me that I didn’t know what their language was really called.  Is it really called Hawaiian?  Cause I live in the United States, and we don’t speak United States.  Nor do we speak American.  We do speak English (supposedly), but New England English is way different than Southern English, or California English.  And if we get online, our English doesn’t look like English at all.  I once looked at an old text and realized I had not capitalized my “I”s, and I cringed because I like to use the word “I” a lot and it just looked like I had barfed preschool on the phone.  Or teen, take your pick.

People speak other languages here too, but we expect everyone to also speak English, cause we are Americans, even if we actually borrowed English from the English, you know, before those guys screwed it up so much.  I mean really – it’s not a jumper.  It’s a sweater.  A jumper is something little girls wear, like overalls but with a skirt.  And we don’t take lifts, nor do we drive lorries, our cars don’t wear bonnets, and use a freaking article when you say “I’m going to university.”  It’s like we Americans have to tell you everything.

But England is weird too, because they don’t just go by England.  They also go by Great Britain, and call themselves British, not Greatish, or Greatish Britainish.  Or they could be the United Kingdom if you include the unimportant countries around them, like Scotland.  I think.  But again, no United Kindomners.  Also do you speak Scottish and Irish, or Gaelic, or just English cause everyone has to speak English because we do?  I don’t know.  I have not even bothered to Google this.  I do know that even the most racist people love foreign accents, so if you have one, come on over.  We’ll go crazy for you.  Look how successful the Beatles were.  It wasn’t cause of their haircuts.

It wasn't the clothes either.

It wasn’t the clothes either.

Now Spain has it right, because their people speak Spanish, but then Mexico speaks Spanish too.  But the two are not actually the same.  Which means the Spanish I was taught by a white Anglo woman was Spain Spanish, and does little to help me speak Mexican Spanish, and there are a lot more Mexicans around Texas than there are Spaniards.  Just ask Donald Trump.  I took several years of Spanish, but still can’t keep up with them because they speak, like, fast.  And then you like translate in your head, and have to respond, and I just can’t keep up with all of that.  Yet I see some people switch effortlessly from Spanish to English in one breath and I wonder if they are some sort of magician.

Then there’s France.  They speak French.  Fair enough.  But we have people in Louisiana who also speak French.  Also Cajun, whatever the heck that is.  Parts of Canada speak French too.  They don’t speak Canadian, unless you count those guys who used to say “hooser” on Saturday Night Live.

Like, Canada, let's have a beer. Then let us in your country. Please.

Like, Canada, let’s have a beer. Then let us in your country. Please.

On to Japan.  They speak Japanese.  Yay.  Also English.  And Engrish, which is a combination of English and Japanese that usually results in hilarity.  Like small children wearing shirts with rather inappropriate words, while smiling big happy smiles.  Of course Americans are known for getting tattoos done in Chinese or Japanese characters (they’re the same, right?) and end up permanently affixed with stupid words.  Just because the guy says it means “warrior” doesn’t mean it’s right.  You could be walking around with the word “sponge” on your bicep.  I bet our Asian neighbors love it when they see this.  Asian is another word you can call Japanese, or Chinese, or Korean, or Vietnamese, because a lot of Americans aren’t going to bother with the difference.  Because we’re too busy playing their video games.

Africa!  Now this is one crazy place.  They don’t all speak African, you guys.  They have different languages and dialects, and if I looked it up, I could probably tell you one of them.  I think they sound very cool, even if they aren’t saying anything important, like in the introduction to the Lion King.  I heard it’s translated something like “It’s a lion, look it’s a lion” which is better than “Llama, llama, penguins in pajamas” which my friend mentioned, and now I hear every time that movie comes on.  I asked a student from Africa what some names meant, and Simba means “lion”, Mufasa means “king”, and Scar means “bad guy”.  Way to be creative, Disney!

We can say whatever we want to - you don't know what we are a sayin - you just think it a sounds a cool-ah. Cirrrrcle of Liiife!

We can say whatever we want to – you don’t know what we are a sayin – you just think it a sounds a cool-ah. Cirrrrcle of Liiife!

There are a lot more countries, but I know most of you have no attention span and probably quit somewhere around England (Australians speak English too!  Sort of!) so I’ll stop here.  Suffice it to say, language is very confusing, especially when it doesn’t even match the country name, so I think everyone should have to change theirs to make it easier (sort of like when you guys all went metric and we didn’t, but yet you still didn’t change back to feet and inches).  So a “good day” to those who speak Canadian, United Kingdom, Louisiana, Asian, African, and those other places on the map.  You’re welcome.

Alice

 

 

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