Bienvenidos. Come unos nachos.

It's a new week, and I'd like to welcome you to the party with a fantastic newesque tee.

The tape measure gracing this graphic might be asking "how do you measure up?" but to those incoming students who packed on the Freshman Fifteen during summer vacation, it clearly shouts

WELCOME, FATTY!

Hodge Podge [sic]

Consider this a Whitman's Sampler (my Valentine's gift to you, Sweetcheeks). It's got delicious caramel-filled chocolates and a few with a hints of hazelnut, vanilla, or peanut butter. But every few bites, you're bound to come across a molasses monstrosity that effectively glues your jaw shut. We begin with one such disappointment:

F-A-I-L is so much easier to spell.

...So's Austria, but if you think that's the point with this tee, you need to go back to your spelling lesson. Mad props on this one, though it was not nearly fitted enough to add to my closet (though it probably would have been the perfect fit for Ahnold).

I'm sure Soccer Mom was happy this atrocity wasn't permanent. FYI, the only Courgar I could find online was a certain John Courgar, who is currently a senior at Pima Community College and is -- according to his meager LinkedIn profile -- studying in Pima's "Academy of Chinese and Health Sciences" (acupuncture?).

Moving on to a tastier treat...

This find really just allowed me to indulge in some needless Googling. I approve of this, this, and especially this.

We finish off today with some questionable punctuation. Does Barney love a girl whose real name is too sacred to be shared -- thus the pseudonym "Brandi"? Does the purple people eater dinosaur really like the word "Brandi"? And what the hell is going on with all the tildes?!?!?

In a related story, a coworker's written commendation to another read:

Thank you "Andrew" for your "huge" help.

The first set of punctuation seems to mock the name, but the second? "Huge" might indicate an inside joke between friends or perhaps a scorned lover's jab at his "little" man... 

Surely that wasn't intended...????

Baking...Little Boys

Won a game of Hearts last night, lost Spades by 120 points, and was the first to go out on Magic: The Gathering but it was a good night with good people (except for that Shaun; he's terrible). Moving on to self-amusement (anything more is just a bonus):

I was a bit shocked to find that this cookbook required a 120/240V oven. I was hoping for some new recipes I could try out at my hearthstone. I guess I'll just stick to charring marshmallows over the campfire and frying eggs on the sidewalk...

Speaking of non sequiturs...

"God made hugs, smiles and little boys" ... but the devil made dem hoes.

(Still trying to find the second piece of nursery art in this collection, I might add.)

If you like the previous joke's structure, you might also like

Organic

So I seem to have taken a hiatus again. It occurs to me that part of the reason it's so difficult to keep up the blogging habit is because I set myself up to unreal expectations. I can't be hilarious every day to every person (though I sure as hell make myself laugh on the regular). And I surely can't write an essay every day of the week (at least not until I put some real effort into finding freelance work lucrative enough to allow my full-time retail job to become part-time). I read somewhere once that it takes 21 days to start a habit, so I'm going to shoot for twenty-one consecutive days of posts so I can test that theory. These posts may be 2/3 crap, but this goal is FOR ME more than anyone else so I can tolerate inferior quality to start with. I know in my heart that I can write stuff worth reading, but I've never really committed to PRACTICING so it's time to get that ball rolling. (I used to practice during my adolescence, before I realized what I was doing. At some point -- school? -- I learned that my creative writing "play" was a form of work and everything became more difficult. Now I realize it's supposed to be difficult if you're doing it right, so I'm seeking a happy medium.)

Else I talk to myself for another 15 minutes, I will proceed to today's humble photo:

The GREEN movement (or whatever the hell it's called) has grown into all sectors of business. There's "organic" produce and all kinds of health food that's supposed to be better for you because it lacks hormones and pesticides and horse semen and whatever. There are even organic cotton t-shirts so the pesticides from your brand-new Hanes tee don't seep into your gaping chest wounds (here's looking at you, meth head). But I guess it was too much to ask for women to shell out $10 for the opportunity to bleed on organic cotton...because a Big Lots had a whole shelf full.

When life throws you lemons...

...make a t-shirt.

...roast marshmallows. (I would not advise the the installation of these glass cases in crematoriums.)

...don't get things monogrammed.

Unpolished Sushi Rock

 

During a trip to Cincinnati last July, I joined my aunt and cousin for some sushi at a place called SUSHI ROCK. 

Pretty tasty sushi, though they made the situation much more complicated than a rock. Instead of opting for light, traditional melodies designed to lead one to zen, the management of this establishment chose to play thumping music at a volume so distracting as to remove the possibility of comfortable conversation (unless you're one of those people who shouts everything). And the tunes weren't live or even GOOD; it was Top-40s (do they stop at 40 anymore?) club-friendly crap. Okay, friends: I admit that I often listen to the genre when I'm doing housework in an empty house or in my car avoiding carpool lanes despite wishing to be eligible to use them. But I don't make a habit of listening to this light, inconsequential stuff with other people (unless we're having a "girls night" -- complete with manicures and makeovers! -- or we're suuuuuuuper drunk and I mean hate-myself-tomorrow plastered). Why the hell would I want to listen to a Justin Bieber dance mix with my aunt and cousin? (I mention Bieber -- whose name may or not follow the "i before e" rule without changing my world -- because the same song played twice during our hour-long stay.)

I suppose this would have been okay if the chopsticks wrappers had said "ROCKS" rather than summoning the animal-vegetable-MINERAL (!!) and YES, I suppose we could have better researched the establishment, but I also think that a place that takes the trouble to make their own chopsticks wrappers can take the time to put a damn rock in the place and at least FAKE some zen. For the prices they charge, I'd say I deserve as much.

Are these on your reading list?

For those who don't know me, I majored in English and -- true to type -- rarely have my nose out of a book. That being the case, it's strange that I haven't featured books in this bloggity bloggerson. (The previous statement was false, but let's pretend otherwise...as the challenge of rewriting this intro might defeat me and this post altogether.) That changes today.

First up, a book that I initially scorned...because I have prejudged the Fifty Shades series to be a bad thing because I semi-consciously cling to the puritanical idea that erotica's status as a genre is a baby step away from romance and shouldn't be lauded, let alone discussed in public by grown adults (or, God forbid, by their preteen daughters). Truth be told, I feel like my initial disinterest (which, embarrassingly enough, is crumbling under the stress of self-driven reverse psychology) stems from the fact -- if it's even true -- that the books were originally written as Twilight fanfiction. (Which is as fictive as fiction can get, if we're going to be honest.)

Just occurred to me that I haven't shown you a photo yet.

After having stepped away from this one for a few weeks, I'm now a bit anxious to check out the book again. (Not that I need any chicken recipes at the moment; I've got my hands full with cookies right now.) 

Extra points for F.L. Fowler writing a book about fowl. It seems I've screwed things up for myself by marrying a Chilean -- single Emily could have written about palm trees or palm reading or religious pilgrims...but what the hell is an Abarca supposed to compose?

Moving on.
  

I love the cover of this book (such enthusiam!) but he doesn't appear to be puzzled. No, he appears triumphant, or possibly bat-crazy (are bats as crazy as colloquialisms would have you believe?) after having spent an hour trying to find one stupid word.

Another crazy book (on sale for a mere $20 at the local thrift store):

 

In case you can't read the small font, the book is called Character Sketches from the Pages of Scripture Illustrated in the World of Nature. Whose highdea was this? ("Dude, Jesus is totally a woodchuck because he could have chucked through the wood of his cross but he didn't because his dad told him not to.")

Get ready for another helping of crazy!

Good ol' Screech, proving that some things do not get better with age. Has anyone told him yet that's he's not a magician?

I appreciate the fact that the key word of the subtitle is "behind the" label. (I take pleasure in the little things.)

Damn, I am definitely letting the team down tonight. I had 11 more photos in the queue and am too sleepy to continue. (Damn you, Dustin Diamond!) I suppose we can all point out at least one reason why a 15-topic blog post is a bad idea (not enough nudity, for one) so I'm going to assume that you're okay with this arrangement. Off to bed where my crazy noodles up top mix these four topics. 

The question is, WILL IT BLEND?