What Do I Want To Do Today? Make Some Dogs Pose For Bluebonnet Pictures

I guess it’s nature week over here at WDIWTDT (good God, that’s a frighteningly long abbreviation. I might as well have typed the damn title out.) because I’ve been spending every day this week outdoors doing something outdoorsy.

Cause I love nature.

So does this girl… until a bird poops on her. Word to the wise chick, do not stand like that under a tree. You’re practically asking for a bird to shit on you.

 

For my outdoor fun today I took my darling Petra and her puppy buddy, Mr. Sagan (yes, after Carl Sagan.  No, you cannot call him Carl.) on a walk around the little trail/open field/dog park near my house.  It’s a great park less than a block away and tucked behind a parking lot so it’s private and feels very safe.  It’s a short trail, but the whole thing opens up to a massive field where the dogs can run and run and run till they collapse.

Which is really preferable.

Especially when you own a decently sized dog and are also puppy sitting a large dog (You’re not fat, Sagan, you’re just big-boned) and you realize that if you don’t run them down till they’re ragged, you’re basically leaving everything in your house to chance.  And by chance, I mean puppy jaws.

While we were running around and meeting other dogs and enjoying the day, I decided to inflict the worst possible torture you could ever submit dogs to:

Forcing them to sit still.  Outside.  While other dogs played around them.  Oh, and there were butterflies.  And flowers.  And bugs.  And piles of things and other fun things dogs love that I wouldn’t let them roll in.

I’m such a mean ol’ dog owner.

But I think I got some decent pics considering that my decision to force the dogs to submit to my whims was very last minute and thus I only had the camera on my phone to document everything.

 

What Do I Want To Do Today? Go Camping

I love me some camping.

And by camping, I mean primitive camping.  This ain’t your mama’s car camping (not that there is anything wrong with your mother or car camping, they’re just not my style).

The view is nice, but it’s just a little too bourgeois for me, what with the coolers full of entitlement and the four wheel drive.

Primitive camping (just in case) is when you pack everything  (yes, everything – tent, food, water, sleeping bags, camp gear, etc…) you’ll need into a backpack and then hike out to a remote site to set up.  This means that you had better remember all of your stuff because you are no where near your car since you’ve hiked at least 1 mile to get to your campsite.  Oh, and forget about taking a shower.  Unless you’re near a river.  Oh, and don’t even think for a second that there will be a nice flushable toilet nearby.  There won’t be.

This type of camping may not be for everyone, but I love the adventure of packing up and driving out to to the middle of nowhere and then finding the perfect remote spot to set up and enjoy nature. Even when it howls at you in the middle of the night when you get up to pee because you’ve had too much wine (true story). Or when an unexpected freeze happens and your sleeping bag isn’t rated for those kind of temps (another true story).

Camping is really fun… honest!

This past weekend I sprung the idea of camping on the mister and I was really glad when he agreed.  Central Texas has been having some really nice weather so I thought it would be the perfect time to get a quick trip in.  Plus, we had never taken our dog camping and I knew this would be the best time to see how she would handle it.

We’ve been to a lot of the state parks in our area, but we hadn’t been to Colorado Bend State Park before and I had heard good things about it.  I was especially excited about playing in the river and the springs.

I recently found my trusty little Pentax camera (yay!) so even though I don’t have the fancy-schmancy Nikon anymore and even though we only went for short trip, I was still able to get some pics to show the joys of primitive camping.

Oh, and because I’m from Texas and feel the need to share things like this:

So that’s primitive camping in a nutshell.  And it’s awesome.

What Do I Want To Do Today? Show Off Some Invitations I Made

One of my dearest, sweetest, bestest (yes, I said that) friends in the whole wide world is in the family way, y’all.

Everyone knows what that means right?

Just in case, you don’t: ‘y’all’ is a contraction of you + all.  It’s part of the common vernacular of the southern United States, and I use it more than any one human should have the right to.  Mostly because I think it’s funny to make myself sound really… Texan. Don’t ask me why, I just do.  Y’all.

Needless to say, I’m incredibly excited for my darling friend.

I might even go so far as to say that I could be happier about this than Coco is with her kitten.

And not just because this means I get to plan more parties.

Though I’m definitely not going to complain about that.

In fact, I’m neck deep in plans for her first party (yes, you read that right).

She wants to have a baby gender reveal party (that link leads to an over-explanation and some ridiculous ideas) so that her family and friends can find out the gender of the baby all at the same time.

I was really flattered when she asked me to help plan the party and we immediately started conspiring and working on ideas. Though I did insist that she let me do most of the work and come up with most of the decorations since I want this to be fun for her and as low stress as possible.  And because I’m not pushy at all.
Once we decided the place, date, and time, we then talked about the theme.  She wanted something more interesting than the standard baby pink and baby blue color theme, so we decided on bright red and turquoise (so it’s still close to that idea of boy and girl, but just a little more vibrant).  She also wanted to incorporate the idea of “a bun in the oven.” 
After we got that figured out, I started working on the invites.  She and her sister created a clipart design of an oven with a cupcake in it (this isn’t completely literal, y’all) and I did the rest.
On to the pics!  Sadly, I was creating the invites right around the time that our camera was stolen and then creepily returned to us without a lens but with the SD card still intact which is nice but still scary.  We haven’t been able to get the camera to work, so I was only able to get pics of the first part of the process (the envelope liners and the invitation backing).  The rest of the pics are taken with the camera on my phone.  Sorry, y’all.
The invitation liners (the pics will explain what that is):

 The invitations:

So there they are.  Handmade invitations for a baby gender reveal party.
Now on to the actual planning.

What Do I Want To Do Today? Figure Out Which Celebrity I Look Like

I was playing around on the internet and came across this site that takes your photo and compares it to celebrities and tells you who you supposedly look like. OH GOD IT’S HILARIOUS.

I put in a ton of pics because I make a ton of faces and sometimes my face looks thinner (you know, when I pose) and sometimes it looks like normal (i.e. fat).  So I just had to see what this amazo-generator decided to compare me to.

Oh, also I put the mister’s face in.  IT WAS EVEN MORE HILARIOUS.  But also a little odd and maybe insinuates that my mister is kinda douche-y.  HE IS NOT DOUCHE-Y, INSANO-GENERATOR.

If a picture is truly worth a thousand words, well, then considering how many pictures I’ve got posted, I’ve got a novel all up in here. So I’m going to let the pictures do the talking. (I did label each pic. For clarity.)

Here we go:

1. Pretending to be someone else face.

2. Thoughtful drunk face.

3. Bitchface.

4. Regular drunk face.

5. Normal face (see, I turned my face the other way).

6. Fat face.

7. Fuzzy semi-drunk/sort of normal face.

 

 

Now the mister’s turn.

1. Stoic face.

2. Trying to pretend he’s having a good time face.

3. Hasn’t showered in three days face (i.e. hiking face).

4. About to get into mischief face.

5. About to show me the contents in his mouth face. (I wish I were joking)

6. Drunk face.

 

 

There you have it.  I have questionable ethnicity and/or might be a black Dakota Fanning and the mister might be a woman.  Or Wayne Brady.  Or a douche bag.

Click here to go to MyHeritage’s site to find out which celebrity you might look like!

What Do I Want To Do Today? Take The Psychopath Test

A couple of months ago, I joined a book club.  We’ve read some pretty interesting books and I like that it’s given me the opportunity to check out some books that I wouldn’t have on my own.

Our most recent book club selection is The Psycopath Test

Haha, clicking this doesn’t let you look inside! Does that blatant lie and my subsequent joy at your disappointment make me a psychopath?

Let’s find out.

Psychologists (or other trained professionals) use the Hare Psychopathy Checklist to rate a person’s psychopathic or antisocial tendencies

It works like this (if you’re too lazy to read the wiki I linked to. No shame, y’all. I’d probably be too lazy, too):

  • There are 20 checklist items that cover topics such as lack of remorse, pathological lying, manipulation, callousness, impulsivity, irresponsibility, promiscuity, committing crimes as a youth, etc…
  • Each item is rated 0, 1, or 2.
  • 0 = not applicable, 1 = sorta applicable, 2 = shit.
  • The item scores are added together to get a final number and that number helps to determine psychopathy or, if used on a previous criminal, likelihood of rehabilitation or re-offense.

Of course I wondered what I would score on the test… I mean… checklist. So I went online and found one because the checklist in the book just didn’t seem interactive-y enough for me. (I want to click things and then hit continue and then be redirected to an ad and then finally get my score, dammit!)

Here’s how I did:

The realization that the best online psychopath test is administered by OkCupid caused enough worry, remorse, and fear to essentially prove I’m not a psychopath. (if you click the picture, it grows bigger and then you can read all about the psychoses I do have!)

I do think it’s pretty hilarious that it says I probably have a criminal background.  I know my mom must be so proud reading that. It’s even funnier considering how panicky and anxious I get at the thought of breaking rules.  Let me put it this way, if my life were a buddy cop movie, I’d be the uptight cop always freaking out and nagging the cool, renegade cop who “plays by his own rules” and my catchphrase would be, “I’m too anal-retentive for this shit!” and it would be funny, but not because my character would want it to be.

“I don’t know protagonist white cop with the questionably large 80s hair, Member’s Only jacket, and lumberjack plaid. Didn’t our good cop handbook say to point our guns down to our left and shoot six warning rounds to get the bad guys to straighten up and fly right?”

If you don’t already know by now, nothing is sacred here.  Not even Lethal Weapon.

Oh, and of course I couldn’t leave you hanging.  Here’s the link to the crazy OkCupid Psychopath Test… I mean.. Checklist.

What Do I Want To Do Today? Prove That It Never Hurts To Try

I was reading Wil Wheaton’s blog last night. Yes, I’ve been watching Star Trek: Next Gen incessantly and I remembered hearing that Wil Wheaton has a funny blog so I checked it out.  Don’t judge me!  I came across an interesting post of his. (you don’t have to read that cause the whole thing is further down below) (that’s what she said?)

And it gave me an idea.

Here in Austin, we have the best movie theatre in the world called Alamo Drafthouse. I know that’s a real big claim there, but it’s true.  They have an amazing range of movies and events and allow you to eat and drink while your enjoying the entertainment. Seriously, I once saw the craziest sci-fi bollywood movie while drinking a coffee porter and eating queso fries.

What also makes Alamo Drafthouse insanely amazing is the fact that they enforce a strict “shut the fuck up” policy during movies and make funny PSAs about it that they run before each film.

You might remember this one – not too long ago it made the news:

There’s also this one with Ann Richards:

And this one with Will Ferrell:

There are a ton of these PSAs, y’all (just go to YouTube if you want to see more).

 

 

So you can guess where this is going.  I emailed George, the dude who sends out the weekly Alamo Drafthouse emails (cause I didn’t know who else to email about this VERY IMPORTANT matter) and wrote this:

SUBJECT: Wil Wheaton wants (nay, NEEDS) to do a Drafthouse PSA

Hi George,

Wil Wheaton is looking for the perfect opportunity to do a “shut up while you’re watching the movie” PSA.

Drafthouse should give it to him.  Because Drafthouse is the best.

How do I know he wants to do this?  Proof from his website: http://wilwheaton.typepad.com/ (posted on March 9th)

 

Here’s his post:

Because it will give me an excuse to buy and own and wear an ascot.

Last night, I was out having a drink with a friend of mine. Because we are both nerds and writers, our conversation steered into nerdy writer territory and stayed there.

It was unseasonably warm, so we sat on an outdoor patio — one of the few that isn’t rendered useless to me by an army of smokers — and talked about the projects we’re working on now, the projects we hope to work on in the future, and whether Pluto Nash is truly the worst movie ever made.

It will come as no surprise to some of you reading this that the discussion about worst movie ever made was inspired by some talk about The Phantom Menace.

“But, if you count things like budget, Pluto Nash is the greatest failure in history. It cost something like 180 million dollars to make, and it grossed close to 2.” He said.

“Two dollars?” I asked, longing for the days when it was possible to see a movie for a dollar on a Wednesday afternoon.

“No,” he said. “Two million.”

(Note: Wikipedia says that it cost 100 million and grossed 7 million worldwide. It’s not as bad as he thought, but it’s still an epic fail. Also? His numbers were good enough for on-the-patio-in-March-having-a-drink math.)

“Goddamn,” I said. “That is an epic fail.”

“Did you see it?”

I gave him the same look I give people when they ask me questions like, “So, have you ever walked fifteen miles across broken glass in bare feet?” Or say things like, “How great was Ghost Rider!” or “RON PAUL RON PAUL RON PAUL!”

“No.” I said, dryly. “See, Hollywood and I have this agreement where it puts things on its posters and trailers that let me know not to see a certain movie. It’s sort of a secret code.”

I took a sip of my drink and continued. “It’s like, ‘Tom Cruise stars in…’ and I know it’s saying to me, ‘Hey, Wil, don’t bother with this.’

“‘Adam Sandler does that wacky voice he does in every movie, and hilarity ensues!’ is code for ‘just stay home, save thirteen dollars, and punch yourself in the junk.’”

An ambulance sped up the street. I paused to appreciate the Doppler Effect.

“In trailers, it uses music. If I hear ‘I Feel Good’ or ‘All Star’ or ‘Walking On Sunshine’, It’s Hollywood telling me to just avoid that movie entirely.”

“So you don’t see a lot of movies,” he said.

“I do not,” I said.

I took another sip of my drink.

“But I have this idea to record a PSA for people who do enjoy going to the movies,” I said.

“Wait. I have to pee,” he said, and got up to go to the bathroom.

I checked Twitter, and saw that my beloved LA Kings had lost yet another game to a team they could have beaten.

“Dammit, Kings,” I muttered to myself.

My friend came back.

“Okay, so remember those John Waters PSAs about smoking?”

“No.”

“He’s smoking a cigarette, and going on and on about how great it is, and then he tells the audience that they can’t smoke. Because apparently that was a thing you had to tell people at one time. ‘Hey, people in this potential firey death cage: don’t light anything ON FIRE while you’re here. Seriously. Thanks.’

“I don’t think I’ve seen that.” He said.

“That’s because you’re younger than me,” I said, and unconsciously rubbed my right hip.

“So I want to do one like that where I’m sitting in an opulent library, with rich mohagany shelves, and leather-bound books, and a roaring fireplace. I’m in a high-backed French chair, sipping a brandy and wearing an ascot.”

“Of course you’re wearing an ascot.”

“Why wouldn’t I be wearing an ascot?”

“That’s what I’m saying. Any excuse to wear an ascot,” he said.

“So that’s the scene, and I’m sitting in it like this.” I held an imaginary brandy snifter in my right hand, and straightened my back. “I turn to the camera and I go, ‘Hello, theater-goers. I’m Wil Wheaton. I hope you’re sitting comfortably, and having a delightful evening.’ I take a sip of the brandy, and savor it.

“‘The management of this fine movie house has invited me here to make a small and simple request of you before the film begins.’ I take another sip of the brandy, and smile at the camera. ‘Ah, that’s delicious brandy.’ My face changes slightly, and I get serious. ‘While you’re enjoying this movie, please, shut the fuck up.’ I smile warmly.”

My friend laughed and hit the table with an open palm.

“‘Also, turn off your fucking cell phones. You’re in a movie house, for fucks’ sake. You’re not in your fucking living room.’ Oh, and I’m smiling through all of this, staying very classy–”

“Of course you are.”

“‘So, out of respect for everyone around you: the people who got babysitters, the people who are on first dates, the Forever Alones, the husbands and wives who are here with their partners not because they want to see this film, but because they want to get laid later tonight… out of respect for all of them, turn your fucking phone off, and keep your fucking mouth shut for the duration of the picture.’ I toast the audience with my brandy and say, ‘Thank you ever so much. Enjoy the film, and have a lovely evening.’”

I leaned back in my chair and took a long drink.

“So that’s my idea,” I said.

“You should totally do that,” he said.

“Because it will give me an excuse to buy and own and wear an ascot,” I said. I thought for a second and added, “Oh, and maybe it will make going out to the movies something I enjoy, rather than endure.

“But, really, it’s all about the ascot.”

“Any excuse to wear an ascot.”

We ordered another round, and talked about Aliens.

________________

 

There you have it.

Also, thanks for your Drafthouse emails.

Erin

 

I sent that at 6:07am this morning. I thought ok, even if this gets read, no one will respond because… well.. .why would anyone respond to that?  BUT I DID get a response. At 11:57am this morning.

Here’s what George said:

Wowza, thanks for sharing. I think we need to send Wil an email… I’ll let you know how it turns out! Glad you enjoy the Drafthouse emails.

Cheers,

G

 

Ok, so I know it’s not a big thing (I still think it’s pretty cool, though), but I just threw that email out as a shot in the dark.  Instead of saying, “yeah that would be cool, but I’m probably not going to get a response so I just won’t do anything”, I said, “Fuck it. I don’t care if it goes to a spam folder and never gets read. I’m going to send this.”

I did my good deed for the day.

Tomorrow I might send Wil Wheaton an email.

So do you guys have any shot in the dark stories that worked out?

What Do I Want To Do Today? Share A Creepy Update And A Drawing

Last Friday I got myself into some shenanigans that resulted in a tall lesson in crawfishering and the theft of my mister’s camera.

Fun times.

But, the story doesn’t end there.

The next day was the crawfish boil.  In the midst of hurrying over to my friend’s house to help set up, I realized I had forgotten some supplies.  On the quick walk back to my place, as I was approaching the driveway (rushing so I could get out of the rain), I noticed something sitting on the curb leading up to the house.  It wasn’t there when I had gone over to my friend’s place not 15 minutes before.

It was the camera; set down on the curb, plain as day for me to find.

I looked around, not sure what I was looking for, but the streets were empty and I suddenly felt very alone.

I quickly picked up the camera and ran inside. The lens was gone and the memory card door was broken off.  But the memory card was still there. I called Andy and he told me to file a police report and to not touch the camera since there might be prints on it.

Of course there were no prints that could be retrieved since it had been sitting out in the rain. Luckily, the SD card still had all of my pics on it so I feel very fortunate in that respect.  I don’t know if the camera body works.

The whole thing was eerie, to say the least.

But now we move on.  To better things.  Things like shitty drawings!  I realized I never fully explained what to do with the supposedly super important crawfish towel, so I figured I give you my interpretation.

Here you go.  You can thank me later:

 

 

What Do I Want To Do Today? Get Into Some ‘I Love Lucy’ Style Shenanigans

When I was woken by the sound of my phone ringing at 10:30 this morning (after two hours of sleep), I didn’t exactly think to myself that it would just be so super amazingly awesome if I experienced a series of madcap antics and tomfoolery to rival that of an episode of I Love Lucy.  But, I take opportunity as it arises and today my opportunity arrived in the form of crawfish.  32 lbs of it to be exact.  Oh, and a dirty cooler.

Très intéressant. I KNOW.

Before I get into the story, I have to apologize for not being able to show any pictures (that’s all explained below) and having to make you read words and use your imagination like a damn savage.

I don’t care how excited you are, Levar, stop asking us to take a look.

As I mentioned above, I was woken up by my phone’s stupid ringing after an inordinately short amount of sleep.  It was my friend.  He wanted to know if I would be cool with a random dude stopping by my house and dropping off some truck seafood. Our conversation went something like this (liberties may have been taken with the wording):

Him: Hey, did I wake you?

Me: Yeah.

Him: Sorry, are you available today to have this dude come to your house and give you little baby lobsters out of the back of his truck?

Me: Uh, yeah, I guess.

Him: Cool. Sweet. I’ll have him call you. You still have your cooler, right?

Me: Yeah.

Him: Sweet. It’s a 32 lb sack of crawfish so we’ll need an insulated place for them to stink up.  Oh, and can you spare a towel and get some ice for the mudbugs to rub themselves on?  It’s the only way to really release the flavor.

Me: Really?

Him: Yeah.

Me: Neat.  So, what do I DO with the crawfish?

*imagines holding little crawfish wrestling matches and watching sea-life documentaries like Spongebob Squarepants with the crawfish by my side*

Him: He’ll take care of everything.  Just make sure you have your cooler ready with the towel you’ll never be able to use again and some ice.

Me: Ok.

Him: So I’ll give this totally random stranger your address so he can come and leave these ugly ass sea creatures in your house.

Me: Sounds good.

End scene.

I figured I had plenty of time before seafood dude comes over so I try to go back to sleep.  Dude calls me right as I’m about to fall asleep.

Lame.

He says that he’ll be over at around 1 or 2pm.  Maybe 2:30.  I know what that means: 2:30pm, but probably later.  More time to sleep.  Hoorays!  Just as I’m about to fall asleep again, it hits me that I might have loaned out the cooler and not gotten it back.  Damn.

I call my friend to see if he has a cooler because SURELY getting a cooler from his house around the corner would take less time than trying to get mine back or going to get a new one. SURELY, right? Here’s what he said:

Him: You don’t have your cooler? Shit.

Me: Sorry.

Him: Well, I have a cooler.  I have two.  But… they’re dirty.  Like, Santorum dirty.

Me: Really?

Him: Just choose the one that’s least dirty.  Sorry to make you have to clean it.

Me: I’m sure it’s not that bad.

 

Did I mention that it’s raining nonstop and is one of the more brisk days Austin, Texas has seen this year?  Yeah.  The coolers are outside.  Covered in dirt (even with the rain pounding down on them it doesn’t wash the dirt off).  Oh, bonus, they are filled with what I imagine to be most of the flotsam and jetsam of the River Styx combined with the eggy smell of a sulfur hot spring.

It takes me an hour to clean that one cooler (in the cold rain, btw, because there was no shelter available and with only half a roll of paper towels because I couldn’t find any thing else to use), but I’m proud of my badassness when I’m done.

I make sure everything is ready and luckily dude shows up not too long after.  He’s very nice, but clearly in a rush so when he drops off the crawfish, packed tightly into a purple mesh potato sack or something, he just drops the whole thing into the cooler and sets the ice on top. there was no mention of towel usage.  What do I do with the towel??  And I thought I heard him say to empty the bag into the cooler.  I THOUGHT I heard him say that.

So I empty the bag of little seafoods into the cooler. They were gettin’ pretty feisty.  Hmm… What do I do with the towel now?  And does the ice go on top of the LIVE crawfish?  Hmm…

Something doesn’t seem right.I don’t know what it is, but it just seems like… maybe I’m not suppose to let them out of the bag…

I check the internets.

I’M NOT SUPPOSED TO LET THEM OUT OF THE BAG.

Shit.

I call the dude. I tell him what I did.  He laughs. I laugh. (I don’t know why, but it just seemed appropriate)

Dude: Well, you gotta put ‘em back in the bag

I stop laughing.

Me: What?

Dude: Yeah, you gotta put ‘em back in the bag or they’ll kill each other

Me: THEY’LL KILL EACH OTHER??

Dude: Uh, yeah.  Get them back in the bag.  As long as you get them back in the bag everything will be fine. Grab some gloves or something and shove them in there.

 

I didn’t even have it in me to say, “That’s what she said,” to the glove thing.

Shit.  Ok.  Up until then, I had been taking pictures of the whole process – the shite cooler, the cleaning, the dude and his weird seafood truck, the little crawfish angrily waving their tiny little claws, etc…  I knew I had to get the buggers back into the bag, though, so I throw everything I have on me, including the camera, into the car to run to the store. When I went into the store I thought I had locked the door. I THOUGHT I had locked the door.  I know I pressed the lock button, but I was in too much of a hurry to look back and double check that the car had actually locked (which I usually do because I’m so paranoid).

When I got back to the car, I didn’t notice that the camera was gone.

Once home, I realized I couldn’t get the crawfish back into the bag by myself and called seeherknit to beg her to come help me put these bastards back into their potato sack cage.  She laughed when I told her.

It is actually pretty funny.

While waiting for seeherknit, I realized I couldn’t find the camera.  I tear through the house.  Shit shit shit.  I figure out what happened. The camera was taken from the car. Dammit, I’m dumb.  And I know shit happens, and I can remain calm and roll with it, but I feel horrible because it was my mister’s camera.  It was a nice camera. It was good to us.

I hope the bastard who stole it likes the pictures of the mister and I doing interpretations of American Gothic using a paint roller instead of a pitchfork and angry little crawfish. Jerkwad.

I call the mister and let him know.  He assures me he’s ok and that it’s not a big deal. I feel a little bit better because I know he means it.

I get back to focusing on the matter at hand: the angry horde of crawfish in a cooler in my carport.

Seeherknit arrives and we laugh about the absurdity of it. It really feels like it’s been a bit of a ridiculous day at that point. We manage to scoop the wiggly brutes back into the bag and laugh that the whole situation could have been an episode of I Love Lucy. (Thank you so much for your help, girl! You are my partner in crime.)

So that’s been my day, and since then I’ve been vegging out on the couch. I feel really bad that I can’t show anyone the pictures I took and that my mister will be the one to suffer for my thoughtlessness.  Also pictures would have made this story much, much shorter.

It is definitely time for sleep now.

What Do I Want To Do Today? Watch Some Stuff About Space

I recently saw this video:

It is amazing and inspiring and makes me feel like a dope for not knowing more about that expanse around us we call the universe.

You know what else makes me feel like a dope?
Not using the metric system.

Though I’m pretty sure it has to do with the fact that the thought of some king dying from chocolate milk would call into question way too many things that Americans hold dear. Like chocolate and milk.

Clearly, I digress.

I found Carl Sagan’s Cosmos streaming on Netflix (no, I’m not providing a link to Netflix) and decided that I’m going to do a Cosmos marathon sprinkled with episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation. (that show is awesome shut up don’t judge me!)

I’m going to boldly go where about a million nerds have gone before.

I’ll see you guys on the other side.

 

Also, Picard ftw against Kirk any day.

What Do I Want To Do Today? Make A Tooth-Shaped Cookie Cutter

For a party I recently planned, I determined that I needed a tooth-shaped cookie cutter.  No, I’m not going to say why I would need something like that for a party, just know that I did and without it there would have been no joy in the world.  Also, I’m positive your imagination is about a thousand and twelve times more interesting than the real reason I decided it was so important to have something so kind of ridiculous.

As we all know, the internet has everything, even cookie cutters forged into human molar shape.  However, since the party I was planning was last minute (as in, my friend and I decided on a Tuesday that we’d have a party for that upcoming Saturday) it wouldn’t have gotten to me in time if I had ordered one.  Bonus, none of the stores in my area had a cookie cutter even resembling what I needed.

What’s a girl to do?

Consult the Oracle at Delphi?

Nah, I hear she moved out. Can you blame her? I mean, look at that place – it’s a wreck.

Consult the Oracle?

Nah, she’ll just tell me that I’m not the One and that I need braces.

Consult Oracle?

Now why would anyone do that?

Stop goofing around and do a Google search?

Yeah, that’s right.

I found a lot of tutorials on how to make a cookie cutter (if you are so inclined, here is a Google search) and here is the one I used: http://blog.jugglingfrogs.com/2007/10/make-your-own-cookie-cutter-from-clip.html

The lady at that blog does a pretty good job of explaining the process, so I’ll just post the pics of what I did and explain a little so that it (hopefully) makes sense:

Here are a couple of pics from the cookie making process:

And for a couple more sad-faced teeth and giggles, here are some other things I put together for the party: