Things that Go Bump in the Night.

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smilies-scaryI heard a loud noise last night. And then what I thought was a muffled scream. Since we had an attempted break-in last year, I’m easily startled when I’m sleeping. There’s nothing like someone breaking the glass out of your front door in the middle of the night to make you a tad neurotic for a while. And btw, I’m glad you’re still in jail, you dick. I’ll bet trying to beat up those two cops doesn’t seem like such an inspired idea now, huh?

Anyway, I was concerned about the scream, and waited it out, doing my best corpse impression. Wishing my heart would shut. the fuck. up. I couldn’t hear a thing over the loud beating. Beating that sounded like a weasel desperate to get out of a plastic tub. Not that I have any idea what that actually sounds like. I don’t even have a weasel, nor would I put him in a plastic tub, if I did. Really, PETA. Not even if I were a teenager. And it was a friend’s brother’s weasel, named Jorge. And we were really bored.

My heart finally calmed down, and I didn’t hear anything else. I figured my neighbors were having another karaoke smackdown with their windows open. Which by the way, is utterly charming when you’re trying to sleep and someone’s howling, “Hit Me with Your Best Shot,” with all the grace and talent of a horny cat. Think about a little consideration, karaoke people. What you sound like in your head is not entirely true-to-life.

However, knowing it wasn’t the neighbors this time, I rolled back over and closed my eyes. But I was still waiting for more clues as to what woke me up. And then I felt it. My stomach. And it seemed pretty pissed. Since I have a severe gluten intolerance, the slightest bit in my system can send me into a tailspin. Well, less of a tailspin and more of a… tail nnnnever mind. And I had eaten dinner out earlier, which can result in unintended gluten. Which can result in all kinds of bad shit. Pun totally intended. I’ve gotta have some fun here, y’all.

farting

If anyone has a photo credit on this, let me know. I would love to give credit where credit is due for this powerful visual. *snort*

I put it all together, and realized that the loud sound that woke me up was a huge fart. in. my. sleep. Yes, people. My own. My husband has since decided the word for that should be fartled. I fartled myself awake. You’re welcome, Webster’s. Now there’s a word for that. This is something that every less-than-careful person with Celiac disease can relate to. Gluten = farts. That, and so much more. Yaaaay, gluten!

So, once I figured out the loud noise, the source of the scream became clear. Apparently when I startled fartled myself, I also let out a little scream. Hey, those can be scary. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. Everyone does it… on average 35 times a day. Look it up. Perhaps yours are all when you’re alseep. And they don’t fartle you awake. Lucky you.  But I’ll bet your spouse can tell a tale or two about you tooting your trumpet in the middle of the night. They’re just too polite to mention it to you. Or they’re keeping the recordings for ammo, to whip out at your next party. If I were you, I’d ask before it’s too late. There’s nothing like a surprise video of you farting in your sleep to liven up a party.

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Posted in: Eeeeeew \ Tagged: ,

Do NOT Disturb

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I have no doubt that people think we’re the most friendly and approachable people on our block. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s the sign on our front porch. Everyone needs one of these. Seriously. We used to be solicitor crack. And now, only the seriously brave or pitifully stupid sales people dare to ring the bell.

Ya… it’s the sign… definitely the sign. no-solicitors

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Posted in: Shit You've Gotta Have

Friday Recess

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Ok, I’m phoning it in today. But I’ve done a little legwork, so I can still offer you a giggle and a snort. Ok, maybe the snort is just mine. I love this commercial. It inspires me to go out and play. Which is what I intend to do today. The brilliantly creative, Tyler and his friends at Broadscotch came up with this gem for Anthem/Blue Cross. Enjoy, y’all!

recessguru

Click on the photo to watch their brilliant commercial. I promise it’ll make you smile.

 

Posted in: Pure Awesome

Lloyd Karma

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I froze for a moment. Knowing in my mind that what I was seeing was confirmation that karma exists. And that I’m totally coming back as a dung beetle in my next life.

Once I was able to convince myself that what I was seeing was real, my first instinct was to run and get the camera. There was a lizard. A live lizard, and he was mocking me. Motherfucker was mocking me. He knew that I had just opened a box from the mail that contained one of his lizard brothers from Alabama. And his brother was dead. Not just dead, but the crispy-dipped-in-glitter kind of dead. And I had just squealed with joy at the sight of him. He just didn’t understand.

(If you didn’t read yesterday’s post, this is unlikely to make any sense at all. Keep up, people. For those of you who need to review, we’ll wait. *cue on-hold music track*

Find it here: “Lloyd and his Tiny T-rex Arms”

Ok. Are we all good? Realizing some of you cut out after reading yesterday’s post, and didn’t return, we can totally talk about them. They’re dickweeds, huh? I know, right? They’re missing out. Free beer for everyone who came back. Not really. Anyway, we’re here, and that’s all that counts. Let’s proceed, shall we?

So I opened the box, that contained Lloyd, and marveled at the beauty of my superbly sparkly get-well lizard. Lloyd looked up, giving me a toothy grin, cocked his tiny head, and gave me a peace sign, accompanied by a duck-lip-kissy-face pose. I think he may have spent a lot of time with a pack of roving teen girls on his journey from Alabama. Ok, ya, not really. C’mon, he’s dead. But I did laugh. out. loud. when I opened the box. I may have even snorted. Ok, I admit it. I totally snorted. Why do I do that more, now that I’m getting older? Shit. It’s not bad enough that a girl’s tits have to sag. And now the snorting thing? WTF. Sorry. I digress.

Now this is the part where it gets a little weird(er). And creepy. Especially if you believe in karma, and all.

I put Lloyd down on the counter and pulled out my phone to take a pic, so I could post a thank you on my sister-cousin’s fb wall. I was arranging Lloyd carefully on the counter top for his photo session, when I noticed outside on the Buddha statue in my yard, a large lizard sunning himself on Buddha’s lap. And when I looked, the scaly little asshole totally flipped me the bird. Ok, perhaps not that last part. But, shit. A lizard. in Buddha’s lap? Does it really get more like, “Hey bitch, you’re totally in trouble with the universe,” than this? I don’t think so. (And P.S. I had never before, nor since, seen a lizard sunning on the statue like that.) Do I have to explain karma, and Buddha and all that shit? Sorry, just go google it if you need to. I realize I risk losing another few of you here, when you decide not to come back. But, whatever… douchenozzles. More beer for the rest of us.

I don’t think the universe appreciated my joy in the desecration, I mean decoration of one of its lesser intelligent deceased critters. And I’d like to point out once again, in case the universe is listening, Lloyd committed suicide in his previous life. He sunned himself to death. I think the technical term is jerkyfied. A lot of women here in So. Cal. should take note. Because I’ve seen women here that look a lot like Lloyd. Minus the glitter and death part. With more mascara. And bigger lips.

Knowing no one would believe me, I ran to get the camera with the telephoto lens. Because I knew if I tried to snap him with my iphone camera, he’d be gone before I got close enough. (Note to Apple: we could really use an iphone superzoom, ok? It’s your fault I missed the shot.) The moment I was focusing in, the lizard got up and scrambled away, but not before he turned around and gave me the mobster, finger-slide-across-the-throat, “you’re totally dead” gesture. Ok, maybe that last part was in my mind.

Then he ran down the fence and met up with another lizard, and they did some lizard push ups while they laughed at me. I was riveted, watching them, half expecting Buddha-lap lizard to turn into Morgan Freeman, before ascending into the heavens. But instead the two continued the Venice Muscle Beach show until they got tired and scurried away. But not before Buddha-lizard flipped me off one last time. Asshole.

(If you like this post, read more about our lizard friends here.)

lloyd-buddha

Upon request, here’s a pic of Lloyd. He’s doing a dramatic reenactment of the story. And yes, Lloyd does appear that he died while hiking his tiny little leg like a dog. Don’t judge. It adds to his charm.

 

 

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Posted in: Karma

Lloyd and his Tiny T-Rex Arms

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I suppose some people would find it odd that I have a dead lizard, glue-dipped and coated with glitter on my desk. I don’t think so. He’s more like sun-baked lizard jerky, and he doesn’t stink. Much. Just don’t get your nose too close. Anyhooooooo… his name is Lloyd. Yes, I’ve named a piece of lizard jerky. Is that a problem? Ok, ya. You’re probably shaking your head. Whatever. Judgy people rarely understand things. Just sayin.’

Lloyd reminds me that people love me. And frankly, that’s good enough for me. Not that he reminds me in a way that he stands up on occasion and waves his tiny little T-rex arms and says, “Hey Lynn, people love you.” That would just be silly. Think about it. His arms would break off. And lizards don’t talk. Especially dead ones. Plus the glue is probably keeping his mouth shut. My husband would probably say I should be more like the lizard. And then I would say my husband is a dick. But he would never say that. (actually he totally might)

Sooooo… how in the hell does a dead, glitter-crusted lizard remind me that I’m loved?

I have a cousin I didn’t know very well when we were growing up. We lived on opposite coasts, and our interaction was limited to a handful of family visits over the years. (Get your mind out of the gutter. There was no cousin hanky panky. You’re gross.) Well, this guy had the sense to marry a really cool chick. And through the magic of Facebook (to be referred to as fb from now on, cuz I’m lazy), his wife and I have found that we are sisters, separated at birth. Ok, not for real. Because that would mean my cousin married his first cousin. And we’re not in Tennessee, people. So I’m pretty sure that shit’s not legal. But you get the picture. She and I have the same warped sense of humor. And will probably be the only person to really love this post.

My newfound sister/cousin lives in Alabama. Wait, marrying your cousin might be legal there. Oh, never mind. So where they live, they have lizards everywhere. And they seem to be unlike our California lizards, who have the sense to hide under a rock when it gets hot. Alabama lizards are just stupid. Right? I’m not getting judgy. It just seems that way to me.

So she mentioned one day that they had an abundance of dead, crispy, stupid lizards around. And out of a fb conversation, she and a few of her fb friends and I decided she should start a business, bedazzling lizards and making earrings, Christmas ornaments and lamps out of them. Ok, I realize the lamps are a stretch, but have some imagination, folks. Jeez. Helloooo… there you go with the judgy thing again.

Well, she’s a busy momma, and over the course of a few months, we kept offering her business plan addenda (totally the plural for addendum, I looked it up), and she kept telling us that plans were “on hold.” Frankly I can’t understand why. I can’t think of a single person who couldn’t use a glitter-dipped Tiny-T-Rex, or two. Or five. Right? This just seemed like a missed opportunity. Someone there was going to see the need to find a use for the abundance of crispy, stupid-lizards scattered all around, and was going to steal the idea. Then she’d be totally screwed. And JEEZ, think of the possibilities of line extensions, into, say the crispy armadillo market. God, I’m a genius.

So after months of encouraging her, we all gave up. It was the holidays, and we figured that even though she’d totally missed the market for crispy sparkle-dipped baby T-Rex ornaments, perhaps we could pick up the campaign after the first of the year, and get her to tap the Easter market. I mean, seriously, little lizard-jerky-on-a-crucifix Christmas ornaments couldn’t hold a candle to mini-T-Rex-Easter-bunny basket favors. Am I right?

So the holidays passed, with visions of glitter-dipped, crucified lizards dancing in my head. But as soon as the dust settled on New Year’s Day, I caught some nasty cough, fever, head cold thing. I literally coughed one of my lungs out. Ok, not literally. That’s gross. And I’d choke. But I was sick enough, that for a couple of days I didn’t get out of bed. Which in hindsight, totally doesn’t suck. And I recommend it, except for the sick part. That sucked. But I had plenty of fb time while I was stuck in bed. So everyone enjoyed my tales regaling my body aches and boogers. In hindsight, probably not.

As I was starting to feel better, I received a small, beautifully-wrapped package in the mail. My crazy sister/cousin sent me a get-well-lizard, that I promptly named Lloyd. Her kids had decorated his little box. Which I guess is technically Lloyd’s coffin. They decked it out it so beautifully; totally befitting of a lizard that looked like Liberace’s baby T-Rex baby brother. Lloyd seemed like a fitting name for Liberace’s less attractive, yet equally flamboyant sibling. And I imagined Liberace probably smelled much like Lloyd. So Lloyd it was.

I’d never felt so loved… a hand-made get-well lizard, just for me. Don’t be jealous. Some day you’ll be able to buy one. When she finally gets her business off the ground. If the truth were known, her husband (my cousin) is probably holding her back… some overly pragmatic reason, I’m sure. That shit runs in the family. He’s *just* like me. Super pragmatic. Yes, I know what pragmatic means. Stop. laughing.

So there you go. Whenever life starts pissing on my parade, Lloyd waves his tiny T-Rex arms (not really) and reminds me how lucky I am.

Theeeeeee end.

P.S. My sister-cousin assures me that marrying your first cousin is prohibited in Alabama. Marrying your second cousin is a-ok, however. If this knowledge has opened up the dating pool for y’all, you’re welcome!

P.P.S. to read more about Lloyd, go here.

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Posted in: WTF Wednesday \ Tagged: