quirkster’s Neighborhood

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How and when do you reward yourself?
Submitted by Rainbird.

I have this little "habit", if you will, which I might as well share, since it helps me get through those days when things aren't really going my way [read: up shit-creek].

As it happens, I have a quaint affinity towards wrapped presents, and think that occasions for getting wrapped presents are far too few over the course of a year. So, every now and then, I go out and by myself a little gift ( which might be a little Alessi design-piece, a good book or some high-quality chocolate), and then, instead of enjoying it right away, I wrap it up, wrap some string around it and hide my little present away in some cupboard. If I really wanna feel like spoiling myself, I even write up a little card and have it tag along.

( I realize this is probably one of the weirdest things a grown man can do in life, so if you all wanna feel a bit more manly, go wrap a bottle of vodka in cellophane.)

Sometimes the present stays wrapped for no longer than a day, sometimes it takes me whole months to open it; the most important point is opening it when you really feel like you've earned/need a little gift from someone. Might as well be yourself, right, since you know what you like best?

And believe me, nothing makes an ultra-sucky day at work feel ever-so-less sucky than a gift wrapped.

my flat is filled with too much crap. so much so that the walls have appeared to move inwards. i thought at first that is what had happened, that some guy stuck those goddam indiana jones inwardly moving walls in my flat but without the spikes. but its not that - just the slow inevitable collection of stuff. you see this is what a house really is. its a means to start buying books and other unnecessary things. before you had a house you would say 'but where am i going to put that?' before you bought something, you imagined yourself walking the earth with that thing on your back but now you just accumulate. i have only ever lived in top floor flats. really just by fluke. but i dont like the idea of someone living above me. i want to be highest. anyway living on the top floor makes the accumulation of crap all the worse. you drag the crap up four flights and when youre moving out you drag all the crap back down four flights. half the reason i havent moved is so i dont have to drag all this crap downstairs. and the thing is that even if you only bring a little shit into your nest every day, after a couple of years thats piles and piles of shit.

virus killer companies must have some wee guy in a room looking up everything on the internet so he can catch all the new viruses, then they can find a cure for them. he must go on all the grottiest wee sites and apply for all the daftest stuff and open all the dodgy emails.

Sour

Sourly eating sour cherry in a sour cherry tree, of course. Made with acrylic paint and cut up sweet wrappers on brown paper.

what chance do you give your wean when you call her Maleficent? its no wonder she turned out a bad egg.

maleficent macguyver

So I’m pushing my cart through Albertson’s this morning, minding my own business, when a round, jolly-looking woman comes from out of nowhere (I blame a ridiculously overstocked endcap) and runs her cart straight into the side of mine. There was a moment of startled silence before I spoke up.

“Well,” I deadpanned, “I guess we better exchange insurance information.”

At that, the rotund lady began laughing. Hysterically. And then she started to turn red. Then commenced coughing. And sort of shaking a little. I pretty much watched her pleasure turn into predicament in the span of maybe eight seconds. She was coughing so violently that I thought an internal organ might peek out her mouth momentarily. I started to move to her aid – rather instinctively, I now recollect – but she threw her hand up in that gesture that says, “It’s alright. Don’t freak out. I’ll be fine. This happens all the time.”

And sure enough, a few moments later, she was fully upright and breathing normally again. I think the redness probably lasted a while, though. Wiping her eyes, she said, “Lordy, that struck me funny. He he. Made me swallow hard.”

My relief that she was recovering completely overshadowed any pride I might have had in my flawlessly delivered bit of improv.

The moral of this story is if you’re an amateur and you go around trying to be funny all the time, your lack of professional experience is bound to end up causing casualties eventually. The right joke in the wrong hands delivered the right way to the wrong person might just have the power to kill.

Then the meaning of “funny” starts to slowly mutate until you no longer understand the difference between funny-haha and funny-ohgodthepain. Next thing you know, you’re so maniacally obsessed with making everyone understand your new brand of comedy, you’ll do anything to get their attention, including wear ghastly amounts of makeup and blow stuff up.

By the way, have I mentioned yet how excited I am about the impending premiere of The Dark Night, two weeks* from today? Oh, it’s going to be something. Yes, indeedy.

I’m so excited, in fact, that I made you guys this lovely VOX banner. Feel free to use it as you see fit, at least until WB sends a cease and desist. :-P

Joker Banner

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Now, in the spirit of early preparation, I must go look up where my nearest IMAX theater is...

*three weeks for my friends in the UK.

How are you celebrating the 4th of July?

I will be going over to my friends place for an overnight stay. Lots of zombie related things are planned, 28 days later and Shaun of the Dead, plus I'll probably be playing some City of Heroes with my new zombie based character. Also, there will be some Silent Hill 2 which fits in with the theme. Well...not totally since that's not really a zombie related thing...but it's still horror type stuff.

It should be a good time and a good way to forget that the rest of this week ever happened. There's a reason I haven't done much blogging recently, but everything seems to have calmed down quite a bit now, so hopefully this long weekend will be good for relieving some stress.

Are you fucking KIDDING me?

After all my adventures last night, I get up this morning, and go out on the screen porch to enjoy my coffee.  From the window well I hear an all too familiar dry leaf rustling sound.  I look and over, yes, there's a teeny bun in the window well.  Only I know it ain't my teeny bun, because he's still in the bathtub, enjoying his breakfast in bed:

bun_buffet

Please meet Not-So-Teeny Bun.  He's more like Teenage Bun and just as wily.  Capturing him to remove from the window well was a bit more exciting, because he actually jumped in the window and ran around the basement.

big_little

Oy.  Now I've got to figure out what to do with them, because if I just put them back outside, I envision having to fish them out of the window well every other day.  Suggestions?

You'll notice that this was posted at the bizarre hour of 4:00 am.  Normally I would be asleep at this hour, but about 30 minutes ago, I was woken by a strange thumping noise.  I rolled over, felt around myself and found both the cats sleeping.  Not a cat.  I got up and checked on Teeny Bun.  To my relief I found him asleep, having eaten his fill of the Redzilla Guest House Salad Bar--fresh picked dandelion greens, clover, and lettuce.  So I walked the house for a while until I heard a suspicious scuttling, scraping sound outside my office window. 

Suddenly I remembered a possible source for the thumping: the brick I had placed on top of the sump pump well cover to block the raccoon-made hole and to weight it down.  I grabbed a flashlight and ran outside.  Around back, at the east* sump pump, what did I find?

A fucking raccoon, trying to get the cover off the sump pump well.  Yes, a raccoon who wanted to make the eleven foot fall to NOTHING but the bottom of a pit.  Grendel's mother?  Another daredevil moron?  Or the same?  No way to know. 

At any rate, I yelled at her and after a few moments of hesitation, she darted up the stairwell roof, over the garage, and away.  I put the cover more firmly on the sump well and piled two big limestone rocks on top of it. 

Jumping Christ on a Pogo Stick, what the fuck do those raccoons think is in the bottom of my sump well?  There is, as far as I know, and according to my plumber, nothing at the bottom of the well except mud, a ceramic tile, a brand new sump pump, and about three inches of water.  Did Grendel's grandpa leave a treasure map showing where all the loot from his days of banditry is buried and it's under my sump well?  Did Grendel's mother accidentally drop her wedding ring down there?  Does the sump well contain an entrance to Raccoon Paradise?

All I know is--I'm done.  This weekend I am building an elaborate, heavy, critter-proof cover for my sump pump wells, possibly with a raccoon trap/alarm/deterrent that is not a rudely awakened me, shouting and waving a flashlight.  Because I've had it with that shit.  Another raccoon falls into my sump pump well and I'm going to go all Tony Montana on his ass.

Raccoon_solution

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