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These are the helicopters I’m looking for

Don’t ask why I need these. Just know that I do. I need them the way the C3PO needs to be a rambling know it all that never shuts up. I need them the way the stormtroopers need better aim. I need them the way I need to read Japanese so I can figure out how to buy one.

By all means, if you live in Japan and want to make some terribly immature writer in the states happy, feel free to send me a Millennium Falcon helicopter. Thanks in advance.

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According to Slate, my sex life is way more impressive than I thought.

I’m just going to assume you used Slate’s Sex Calculator. How could you not? It’s literally the only time I’ve ever heard something that sounded vaguely like math and was still interested in it. I think I did this before I even drank any coffee this am. Priorities.

According to Slate, my sex life is pretty damn impressive. Which means either everyone else my age has a way sadder sex life than I do,  are all married and have been for a number of years, therefore driving down their overall number of sex partners, OR ( and I’m leaning heavily towards this being the truth) they’re a bunch a damn liars.

I also don’t know if I believe that the average number of partners for a Gen Xer is 10. That feels like a damn lie. Either that, or my friends were way bigger sluts in high school than I thought. ( I mean that with love. Sluts are awesome. All sluts. Go hug a slut right now!)

What’s possibly the most interesting, though, is that the average number of sex partners has gone down. I feel like there’s a joke there about hipsters and not being fuckable, but that feels like low-hanging fruit.

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This is a thing that exists: Personalized Bronze Anus Casting

What better first post back on my long neglected blog than to share this gem with you. I need to know a couple of things.

1- Who was the first person that thought “I really wish I could cast my anus in bronze ” then proceeded to find  a way to cast anuses in bronze.

2- What occasion is one gifting someone with a bronze casting of their anus?

3- What’s the return policy?

4- Why is this a thing?

You, too, can get your anus casted in bronze for the bargain price of $1,900.00.

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FYI…

In case you’re wondering, Robin exclaimed a variation of his “Holy….Batman!” catchphrase 359 times in the tv show.

Yeah, you weren’t wondering that. But you’re welcome anyway

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OMG, I Kinda Forgot I Have a Blog

I forgot all about you. Sorry about that. I made you a cake.

 

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Whatever, I googled you a cake. Don’t be so ungrateful. It’s the thought that counts. And since I just admitted I forgot about you, it’s safe to say my thought doesn’t count for much either. Shit.

 

So I forgot about you and didn’t make you a cake. But in my own defense, I did say upfront I suck at blogging. I obviously KNOW I have this blog, I just forget to blog on said blog. But I’m going to pay more attention to blogging on my blog, since that’s what blogs are for.

 

I just said blog a lot.

 

Also, saying blog very many times within short span of time makes you really realize how dumb the word “blog” is.

 

It actually kind of sounds like the word for the sound someone makes when they dry heave.

 

BLOG.

 

Ugh, gross.

 

 

And with that, I’m going to quit while I’m (not at all) ahead.

 

 

Happy 4th. Don’t blow your hand off lighting fireworks in your backyard. Or do- it’s a free country AND THAT’S WHAT TODAY’S ALL ABOUT. *allegedly

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Blogger” and “Writer” Are Not The Same Thing

I was really hesitant about having a blog. I think for the most part they’re pretty self-serving unless it’s a specialty blog about “food” or “music” or whatever. I already have Facebook and Pinterest and Instagram, all of which are full of shit I like, and my dogs, or other dogs, or sharing funny/interesting/informative shit I find on the interwebz.

So when I started this blog I was pretty realistic and looked at it more as a way to be writing a little more for the sake of writing versus because there’s anything of value in any of these posts. Basically this blog, like most blogs, is a bunch of brain farts. Occasionally my brain farts are funny and twisted. I’d also like to think I’m a little more honest about that’s what this blog is.

I never and still don’t want to be known as a blogger. I’m a writer, and they are in no way the same thing. Now, you may have a writer that has a blog and blogs occasionally; but they usually are able to actually write something be it articles, stories, scripts, poems, etc. There’s more that goes into writing than just firing up a WordPress and declaring yourself a blogger. That’s like saying the person who happens to be in a restaurant while they’re filming a Real Housewives scene is an actor just because they signed a release for when the episode airs. Just because you say it, doesn’t make it so.

Writers are artists just like actors, musicians, artists, etc. They actually work at their craft, study it in their own ways, and possibly have mounds of things they have written and never let a pair of eyes read because they are fiercely critical of their own work. I never started calling myself a writer until I was actually hired, paid to write, and published. And even then, I was very timid about doing so. I respect the word and what it means to be qualified as a writer, and even though I do get hired to write and have entered writing contests, I still almost whisper the designation when I apply it to myself. Part of it is a confidence thing. Part of it is because my goal is to accomplish something bigger as a writer, and I feel like only then can I securely consider myself one.

But bloggers? There’s a scene in Bring It On that explains what bloggers are to writers:

It’s not the same thing. And it shouldn’t be considered the same thing. But we are in a day and age where mediocracy garners praise and everyone’s goal is to be a celebrity or to be famous. Everyone wants to be on the D List. It’s a time where people think we all want to see their OOTD, TBT,FBF, dozens of selfies and pictures of them out with their friends like their night is being covered by TMZ, and where having hundreds of thousands of followers on a social media network makes them famous.

Whenever I come across something like this, someone who’s internet footprint exists really to just talk about themselves like they’re auditioning for a role as a Kardashian friend, I always try to find what it is they actually DO. What do they provide? What service or art or product are they offering? What are they creating? It’s usually nothing but a lot of smoke and mirrors. A bunch of wannabes that never were and never will, hyping themselves up to anyone who will listen. And it is sad because among a sea of noisemakers there’s something or someone who has integrity and offers something of value that’s getting ignored.

Because let’s face it, everyone slows down to look at a car crash. And the internet is like one massive, multi-car pile up that we can get stuck on. But just like in real life, you can get off the highway and take another road.

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Zombie Stray Cats

There was a random cat meowing outside my house last night. It was a really sad meow, too. Like it lost it’s best friend or fave toy or, I don’t know, like IT WAS FUCKING FREEZING OUT so WHY IS THIS POOR CAT OUTSIDE?!?!

So me being me and liking animals better than most people and not able to sit in my warm house with my pups knowing this poor cat is miserable, I throw my Sorel boots and my North Face coat over my pi’s and go outside to find the cat. There’s ice and slush and snow everywhere and it’s dark as fuck out, so I turn on the flashlight on my iPhone to find the owner of the meowing. I’m looking under cars and in snow banks and realize two things:

1- This light is barely strong enough to find a lost earring under a seat in the movie theater. Fail on my part.

2- I look like a crazy person that is trying to break into someones house or car. And is really bad at it.

I keep hearing this meow and it’s making me sad for the poor cat. I can’t deal with the fact that tomorrow I may come back outside and have one of my dogs peeing on a frozen, dead cat during their walk. So I look around some more then notice down the block a bit is another cat. It’s sitting on the sidewalk, under the street lamp, looking up the street at me. I hear the sad, pathetic meow again, which is definitely coming from a different cat than the one down the street.

This would be a good time to mention that there’s a LOT of stray cats in my neighborhood. I’m pretty sure the number of stray cats is going to out number the amount of humans pretty soon, that’s how many there are. They’re like a violent street-gang that keeps growing in numbers when no one’s looking.

And this cat, the one under the street lamp, it’s just sitting there. It’s calm. It’s not even shivering and it was brick out last night. I can almost see it’s cat breath in the cold night air. Or, it could have been smoking a cigarette for all I know. Because the cats in my hood are gangster.

Then the meowing stops. And I’m still looking at that damn cat down the block. And suddenly I start to feel like Karen in Goodfellas when Jimmy tells her to go down the alley to go pick out some furniture.

For all I know, this is a ploy and the cats are going to kill me and then come into my house and eat all the food and look at porn on the internet. This is their payback for people leaving them out in the cold in the winter.

The lesson here is don’t leave your damn animals outside in the cold because one day an innocent person will be killed by zombie cats because of you!