Offspring is sat next to me, waiting for me to hurry this one along so I can go die in front of him. Again.
Oh, did I not mention one of my favorite Christmas gifts? I got many things I’ve been wanting, and Husband is no doubt a little butthurt that his outstanding choices in the video game department (Spiro and We Happy Few are currently burning a hole on my shelf) are not seeing any action due to Offspring’s breakout hit, Ark.
Holy shit, I am now taming and riding (and yes, hunting) actual dinosaurs! Lucy Grove Jones, I think of you every time something adorable pounces me and feasts on my entrails.
Anyway, we’ve decided that the best thing would be for me to make my way to someplace called Herbivore Island… which really should be a viable start location but apparently that’s not the way the game is meant to go. Death is an integral part of the experience, and you must die a minimum of 817 times before you accomplish anything. Also, I’m still waiting to get güd.
So. I need a quick, lazy post for New Year’s Day. Quite the challenge… unless, of course, someone out there has been exceptionally generous with their googling!
That’s right, the time has come for our 2018 Search Terms (part deux), which will be submitted to you in a more conversational format because I’m honestly convinced that these ones (my favorites from the lot) all came from one fascinating person.
I’m really sorry. That’ll happen. I mean, I hate to be all, “I told you so,” because it sounds like I didn’t get a chance to tell you so… really, it seems like the lesson here is less, “don’t try new things” and more “you should have been reading this blog all along so tell your friends.”
I assume, glancing ahead, that you’ve jumped conversational tracks. Which is a thing for which I cannot judge you, since it’s kind of my brand. I mean, I’m definitely claiming it from a legal perspective, in case anyone’s thinking of getting out ahead of me and trademarking it—I call dibs.
Um. Okay. I’m confused, but intrigued. Hang on… yes, I am contrigued.* So… are you in the market for a husband fluffer? Because that’s kind of how this reads and I understand why you’d think I do that, but it’s really just a rider on our marriage contract.
Also, I don’t want to.
Look, I’m just sat here, filling in at the Google desk, and you come in barking all this stuff at me… okay, hang on.
Well, that was quite the rabbit hole! It seems you’re looking to buy a genuine UN beret, of the sort Husband wore in his days as a Professional Walker and Army of One (sort of). Good news! There are loads of sites—in Russian—that will sell you exactly that hat as well as other official military hats and uniform items from every country except Russia. I will not be linking you to those sites because I’m 99% sure I shouldn’t have clicked on that shit. Seriously. I’m really only writing this up now by way of explanation for how innocently I ended up there (and with items already in my cart, I swear!) and all of this just proves to me that I really need to get serious about using one of those super-private untraceable browsers.
Which brings us to the question: who are you and why are you trying to get me in trouble?!
Riiiiiight. Like that’s not the oldest trick in the book. Look, I’m all for blaming your spouse when you want to don’t want to go to your friend’s stupid pancake fusion fiesta or yet another baby shower,** let’s be clear about one thing: I’m the blabbermouth in this conversation. Every one of your weird-ass questions is going to be reported to… (checks follower stats)… shut up. People, okay? Real people. Lots of them.
Yes, actually. I think this qualifies.
Unless you meant… right, we don’t really do those because—as I’ve mentioned several times—Husband doesn’t like horror or any scary things (“I don’t enjoy being scared, so why would I go somewhere to let people try?” he asks, like that’s a reasonable fucking question) but I think you might be looking for one of my Halloween posts. Go nuts.
Right, now we’re in a horror scenario. But at least I got an answer to my fluffing question, eh?
… Is this a paying thing? Because I just looked it up and fluffers—depending on where they work—make decent money. At some companies, they make truly insane amounts of money, all things considered. As in, “fuck yeah I’ll do the job for that salary!” dollars. I’m not sure what his work environment is like or what his actual take-home pay is, but it seems like if he’s good at what he does and gets in with the right production company he can make some serious doll hairs.
Don’t be so judgy.
I already give a beginner’s course in this, but if you’re trying to win the fluffer argument… I’m still on his side. Sorry!
I have questions.
Is this still about the fluffing? Because in my experience, they’re easier to control with what’s in the panties… but maybe he just wants a nice pair for himself? Is that what he blabbed? Because that’s not your secret to keep or share, hon—it’s his.
Either way, this is getting weird and I am using my Subject Change card.
You’re still on this? Look, I know it’s disappointing; they biffed it. The game was amazing and almost perfect—really, most of my complaints come down to, “I want more of it” which… isn’t really a complaint in a game like that? But they really dropped the ball on that and I don’t know what else to tell you. Maybe go play Ark for a while? Spend some time waking up on a beach, naked, getting murdered just as you manage to pick up a rock… you’ll appreciate your little rusted scrap problem.
Also, seriously. Go play Ark. It’s what I want to be doing right now.
I don’t know what you’re trying to imply, but my meth use in no way—I mean… shut up!
Look. This house is haunted. That’s a fact. It’s been proven by science and cats, which are better than science. I don’t know for sure if the ghosts have any history of drug use or are currently under the influence, that’s just what we call them because of the weird thing in our lease. Which our neighbor swears must’ve been a typo.
I think she’s gotta tell herself something, because the lady on the other side—
Hang on, we’ve got off topic. What was your question?
“meth use and ghost stories”
Right. Well, I’ve only got the ghost stories, sorry. No meth here!
No, seriously… look, I know I’m saying it like there’s totally meth stuffed under my sofa cushions or whatever, but I’ve honestly never even seen… I mean, I’ve seen Breaking Bad—who hasn’t? But I looked it up and they used blue rock candy for that show (which means I know exactly what the actors who snorted that stuff on camera went through, and I applaud their commitment to their craft) so I can honestly say I’ve never even seen meth. Unless someone offered me rock candy once and it was actually meth, but that seems unlikely and also I still turned it down because I’ve never been a fan of rock candy. I don’t think it’s gross or anything—Jesus, why does candy corn get such hate, it’s literally just sugar and honey—but there are nicer flavors out there than pure sugar, in my opinion. Like candy corn. Or rootbeer. Even if it does taste exactly like toothpaste and now you’ll never be able to taste rootbeer again without noticing that minty fresh tingle that shouldn’t be there and wondering why you didn’t notice it before and cursing me for pointing it out and ruining rootbeer for you so that now you must complete the cycle and ruin it for others. Whatever, I still love rootbeer.
What was the question?
My second language.
See, there you go with the judgments again. Unless of course you just failed to finish the sentence… ooh, we could play a fun fill-in-the-blank sort of game, couldn’t we?
No, we can’t. Because I’ve remembered that I already started a goddamned guessing game and now we’re at the end of this post and I didn’t reveal. Well shit, I’m not going to do it now… most of you stopped reading somewhere around the second fluffer question and therefore totally missed my meth/rootbeer rant***
*Which is a word I just invented and is not in The Emotionary: a Dictionary of Words that Don’t Exist for Feelings that Do, though that is an excellent reference book and Eden Sher is to be commended for all her clever wordsies. Julia Wertz is no slouch either, and if you have any pretensions of wordsmithery, you’ll want that one on your shelf. I honestly don’t know how I didn’t know it existed, but it does and now I own it because Husband knows how to find things I didn’t know I needed more than air.
** You get one, for your first kid. That’s it. I’m sorry, but after that you’ve not only got plenty of baby shit but you’ve lost all sympathy—you know what causes pregnancy and that a baby will result and yet you chose to keep doing that thing. I’m not buying you another goddamned car seat or whatever because you forgot how expensive babies are. I’m sure I’ll take some heat for this, and to you shower-lovers I say: come at me. I’ve got free time on my hands and am well-oxygenated, because I haven’t been planning shower games or blowing up balloons.
*** And if you’re under the impression that rootbeer is actually two words, I’m fine with that. The internet was shockingly inconsistent, so I went with what looked right to me.