Fur is the New Black

 

I just checked my stats this week, and I’ve got some bad news.

 

Statistically speaking, we are not friends.

 

I mean, obviously I love you because you take time out of your day to come here and read about me—my favorite topic in the world, thankyouverymuch—but there’s no denying that I don’t know and have never met an estimated 99.993% of you.*

 

Woman concentrates while equations flash

Math.  Not even once.

 

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WTB Farm

 

I have plenty of complaints—and the usual Actual Conversation,™ but first I need to update you on a critical issue.

 

One I’m sure—if you’re a regular around here—has been on your mind of late.  Probably keeping you from working (you’re welcome) or even getting a good night’s sleep (I’m sorry).

 

Because I know you’ve been deeply concerned for a certain member of my family.

 

John Stewart (hosting The Daily Show) eating popcorn while he stares, wide-eyed, at something

 

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Stuffing Fluffies

 

Sometimes I swear he says shit just to get a reaction out of me.

Barney Stinson "Whaaaaaat?!"

And by “reaction” I mean get me to blog about him.  So he can be Internet Famous.  Which makes you all his enablers.  Not me—I’m his wife, and legally obligated to support his bullshit for as long as it amuses me to do so—but y’all need to do some deep thinkin’ about what sort of behavior you want to encourage in the people who design the things that fly over your damned heads all day long.

 

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Ask Your Travel Agent

 

There are two things I can always count on in my own home; two principles by which I survive each treacherous day amongst the meth ghosts and kamikaze squirrels.

 

  1. Even the animals are working against me.
  2. I am married to a man who is determined to find humor in everything but particularly delights in my everyday vexation.

 

As you are no doubt itching for an example—and I happen to have one handy—let’s continue to waste time together.  Can’t have you working just because you’re on the clock, now can we?

 

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O, Chraoibh Puinnseanta!

 

Al* reminded me this weekend that I haven’t introduced the world to my Christmas tree this year, and we discussed the reason why.

 

Well, reasons.

 

Well, reason.

 

Okay, this is already getting complicated but the problem is I truly don’t know where to begin.  Do I start with whose fault it is, or the first problem, or the end result?

(Hellraiser) Pinhead (man with nails in face) saying, "Shall we begin?"

 

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Spectral Cat Toys are Cheaper

 

As I sit—taking a sweaty break from frantically cleaning up after handymen who track in some sort of prehistoric mud that only comes up if you scrape it—writing this post, we are only 72% sure Offspring will be joining us for Thanksgiving.  And, due to the stress of getting the house ready around said workmen, for a holiday dinner that may or may not include Private Squdgee BooBoo—who does not answer my texts when I tell him I am at the grocery store and need him to decide within the next 10 minutes whether he wants my thyme roasted carrots or the brown butter Brussels sprouts—I am admitting to you that you are not getting a written-on-Thanksgiving post-Thanksgiving post.

 

(looks back at weird, long, convoluted sentence)

Professor (in cardigan, sweater vest, tie and glasses) lecturing in front of blackboard concedes jovially, "All right, let's call that close enough"

This isn’t a grammar blog, y’all.

 

Instead, I feel like now is a good time to update you on what the Meth Ghosts have been up to.

 

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