Really, what is Twitter for if it's not to harass celebrities without any threat of a restraining order?

Conversation I had with Pat while I was peeing...

Pat: Dude, I just thought of something.

Me: ...what? (When Pat says that, you have to be kind of scared.)

Pat: Instead of writing letters to Santa, we should write letters to Tim Allen.

Me: Why would we-- oh...Does he have a Twitter?!

Because, you know, Tim Allen was Santa in that one movie. And the sequel. But I think there was only one sequel because there is such a thing as too many movies starring Tim Allen as Santa.

I know you're wondering and, no, Pat and I don't write letters to Santa. But his dad has a plastic light up Santa on his front lawn every year, and I'm pretty sure that counts. Except for when Santa got stolen and Christmas was ruined. I can't be sure, but I'm pretty sure it was the Grinch. Because that's the kind shit that asshole would totally do.

But really, so many adults would write letters to Santa if he was really Tim Allen. Because we all remember Home Improvement and that was an awesome show. And plus, we could all Tweet him with our Christmas wish lists and that involves way less effort than writing a letter and mailing it. Because who has stamps anymore?

So there you go. An obviously rock-solid logical argument for why you should Tweet @ofctimallen immediately to let him know what you want. And if you actually get it, then we'll know for sure. Tim Allen is magic. And instead of having a sleigh with reindeer, he probably rides a narwhal that will totally stab your ass if you tried to sneak a peek of Santa Allen. 

And while we're here, we also have to use our Twitter power to elect Tom Hanks as president. Because I'm pretty sure that's how presidents are elected and,  really, who wouldn't want Tom Hanks as their president? Satanists, that's who. And maybe a few guys that were forced to see You've Got Mail with their girlfriends and for some reason, they're holding a grudge against Tom Hanks. But really, it's not his fault you have a shitty girlfriend, bro.

So, recap: Tweet your Christmas list to @ofctimallen and elect #TomHanks2012 and I'm pretty sure that will fix the entire world. Do some good this Christmas, folks. 

A response to Lemons. Not the actual fruit, though...stop nitpicking and just read it.

My friend Sam of Sacto Food and Insurance recently posted about a strange tradition his family has involving lemons. Not strange as in we-use-lemon-zest-for-our-human-sacrifices, but more like we're-a-family-of-dorks-that-come-up-with-weird-games-because-we-can-and-because-it's-better-than-zesting-each-other-and-arguing-over-who's-turn-it-is-to-kill-Uncle-Bill.

So, you know. Not strange at all.

And I was going to post a comment about my favorite thing about lemons, but I thought it was blog-worthy because, honestly, I spend too much time reading other people's blogs instead of updating mine and so I should probably just isolate myself from the rest of the world because maybe then I'll actually get something done. Except I'm pretty sure that isolation would mean that I wouldn't even be able to update my blog because the Internet is the world and unless my telepathic blogging powers improve, I still need a laptop and Internet.

Call now to find out about free shipping. But wait, there's more! Call now and we'll throw in a free Crazy Critter!

Sorry. I just got my telepathic blogging confused with the television commercial that I didn't even know I was paying attention to. Wait--does that mean the advertisers are communicating telepathically to me so I can write telepathically to you about Crazy Critters? Touche, dog vacuum cleaner people.

I just had to re-read the beginning of this post because I forgot what I was talking about. Lemons. I was talking about lemons. And human sacrifices. Which pleases the gods way more if they involves lemon zest. I know these things because I watch National Geographic.

In order to understand the awesomeness of lemons, you'll need a hyperactive dog and a lemon. Give said lemon to dog to play with. Watch dog and laugh when her teeth break through the peel and she suddenly realizes that what you gave to her was not a ball, but some sour-tasting ball impostor. Like an alien ball or something. And then laugh some more when she stares at you while licking her lips with that bitter beer look on her face.

But don't leave the room just yet, because soon enough, the dog will smell the lemon. She'll think, maybe it wasn't what created that weird taste. Maybe it was aliens. It's always aliens to your dog if you train it right. And so happy puppy forgets about her first taste of lemon, picks it up, tastes it again, and immediately drops it. And then stares at you with contempt. It's absolutely hilarious to watch, especially if your dog is a little slow and tries to play with the lemon again and again. I'm pretty sure this is like an official dog IQ test.

And if you smell lemons during the middle of the night while you're sleeping, you might want to wake your sleeping ass up and run because your dog is probably very pissed off and may be trying to kill you. But at least her breath smells nice. It's a win for everyone.

Side note: I found this talking cat thing and made it say "If I were you, I wouldn't fall asleep tonight. Just sayin'. I may be a zombie. Or I may just want to eat you because I've always wondered what human flesh tastes like. Either way, I'm feeling a little bite-y today." Except it says it in the Nigel voice and every time I play it, I giggle a lot and I want to show it to Pat, but he's taking a nap right now and I can't send it to him without signing up for a free trial and I'm pretty sure free trials are just made up by companies so they can steal your soul. But the joke's on them because by the end of your life, you've already signed up for a million free trials to get pudding and send murderous talking cats to people, so they really only get a small portion of your soul. And there's nothing you can do with 0.000000005% of a soul, except maybe mash it together with the other small soul pieces you have. And I'm pretty sure that's how monsters are made. So, really, I'm saving us all from monsters by having this talking cat waiting to do his shit on another tab for the past hour (Pat takes long naps), even if it's slowing my computer down. That's sacrifice, y'all. The martyr kind, not the kind with lemon zest.

Side note 2: I just showed the homicidal talking cat to Pat and he just laughed. Not even a lot. But when I told him that waiting for him to get up so I could show it to him, he said "really?!" like I had said that I wanted to season him with lemon zest. But really, I'm saving his life from mashed-up-soul monsters.

Giving Thanks...brought to you by the letter "B"

It's Thanskgiving Day, and while I'm sifting through the insane amounts of "Happy Thanksgiving" posts on Facebook, I thought I'd share in the odd festivities (think about it: today is the day we're supposed to give thanks, but not many do that now because they just want to eat. So instead, we stuff ourselves silly on a meal that took hours and hours and hours to cook and then lay on the couch in a food coma while our bodies digest enough food to make room for dessert. Best. Holiday. Ever). So I present to you: the things I am thankful for...


Friends, family and all that junk. Let's just be honest here. If I didn't put this first, I'd start getting calls from family members because they don't understand how I could possibly be more thankful for farts than them. And then I'd probably end up disowned or something. So let's just get it out of the way.


Cats with extra toes. It's evolution in the making.

The Internet. Because without it, where would we go to learn things? And get our porn?

Farts. Because they're funny and useful for many things--clearing some space in your stomach, ruining touching moments, giving your fiance a dutch oven (hi honey! I love you!) and clearing out a room for some much-needed alone time.

Burps. They're like farts, but from your mouth.

Dogs that fart and burp. One of the best laughs I've ever had was when Luna burped while licking her...um...private area. Just thinking about it makes me feel all giggly.

Rubber band balls. Did I ever tell you that Sir Baron Bouncy Biggles Barnum Baxter Francis III came back? Well, he did. And he's been an asshole ever since, but as long as I can bounce him around on my desk, I'll deal.

Bed. Because it's super awesome and warm.

Turkey basters WITHOUT holes in them. When I was a kid, I was burned by a leaky turkey baster. In the place that would've been my boob if I had any then. Ever since then, I've had a very delicate relationship with basters. As long as they don't have holes in them where they can horribly burn me with hot turkey jizz, I'll give them credit for making turkeys juicy and delicious--that is what they do, right?

Being a college graduate. Thanksgiving sucks when you have midterms or finals to worry about.

Bacon. The 8th-10th wonder of the world. Yeah, that's right. Bacon is so awesome that it's more than one wonder. I mean, is there anything that can't be made better with bacon? No. Even bacon tastes better with bacon.

Smartphones. Recently, Pat and I joined the world of smartphone ownership. So now, not only can we check our twitter on the go, but we have more ways to avoid talking to someone in an awkward situation. Maybe I'm getting an important text message, or maybe I'm just playing Words With Friends. Either way, I'm not paying attention to you.

Beer. For making life more fun.

Boobies. I have them, you want them.

Breakfast served all day. Pat and I never wake up in time for breakfast, but we don't want to miss out on the most important meal of the day. So it's nice when places will give us breakfast, even after all the normal people have already had theirs. No thanks to you, McDonald's.

I don't know if you've noticed, but a lot of awesome things start with "B." So not only is this post like a cornucopia of awesome things that we should all be thankful for, it's like Sesame Street over here now. I'm teaching your children about B and all the fun things it bring. Kids: B is the awesomest letter in the entire alphabet. It'll kick G's ass! Unless it's your grade, and in that case, it's not good enough and you're a disappointment to mommy and daddy.

You Win Again, Windows Update!

I hate Windows update. And you best believe that I'm going to tell you why.

So here I am on my day off, getting into my daily habit of avoiding doing things with the internet. And Windows update, which has been happily downloading in the background while I make sure I'm not missing any super-important updates on Facebook, pops up to tell me I need to restart my laptop to install said updates.


So I delay the update, telling them to remind me in four hours because, surely in four hours, I'll actually be doing something useful instead of looking at bikes I want to buy on the internet.

Well, of course I'm doing something else in four hours. I'm watching a video about Pee-Wee Herman and Footloose. On the internet. And the little reminder pops up again to tell me what a loser I am for spending the past four hours straight getting distracted by random things online while still in my PJs.

I delay it for another hour, knowing that there's things I need to get done and I will most definitely be doing those things before an hour elapses. Right? An hour before I need to leave my laptop alone. That's it. I can do that.

An hour later, I'm reading a blog about giant metal chickens, with another tab open up to YouTube because I'm simultaneously not-really-watching vlogs. And then another tab open to Facebook because, again, I may miss an important update if I don't check it constantly. And I can't forget the tab open to Target because I want new pretty things and I can only afford new pretty things from Target.

And Windows update, that sneaky little bastard, has learned to give me the update notice in the background when I'm so distracted that I don't notice the little flashy symbol on my taskbar and instead continue happily on my interneting spree.

So inevitably, it happens. Windows decides that it's now or never and closes all my browser tabs after a whole afternoon of finding the perfect tab combination.

For at least 30 seconds, I get scared, thinking that my laptop is possessed by that black widow I killed last week and I start to wonder how I'm going to find an appropriate exorcist if I can't get on the internet.

Until I realize that it's been an hour since Windows update last bothered me. I shake my fist in anger as my laptop shuts down and decide to take the forced break from the internet to finally brush my teeth and get dressed.

And now you know how I spent my Friday. I'm happy, but not quite proud, that I'm back on the internet so I can continue reading blogs and checking Facebook and deciding what I'm going to buy at Target. It's important stuff. Somebody has to make sure the internet is still working. And hey, at least I brushed my teeth. 

What I Did on My Summer Vacation (Featuring Justin Bieber!)

For some reason, around this time of the year, I always feel like I'm not doing something that I should be doing. And then I figured it out: I'm not writing my yearly What I Did on Summer Vacation essay!

I know ya'll had to do this as kids, too. Don't lie. And, if you're like me, yours were probably pretty lame and boring. And, of course, I was so obsessed with this essay that during the summer, I'd catalog the things I did and write them out in my head. Yeah. Now you know why I have a blog. Because I was a freak child that wrote stories about talking turkeys named JTT. True story. See, I love you so much that I embarrass myself for your entertainment.

So here it is, the essay we've all been waiting for: What I Did on My Summer Vacation.

My summer vacation is no longer like a vacation. Because I have a big people's job and no more school. So my whole life is kind of like a summer vacation! Except I have to work. Which kind of makes it one of those summer vacations where your parents make you get a job, even though you had planned to spend the entire summer at the lake with your friends. Because we all live near a lake where we hang out with our friends, right? And there's a rope swing there, too, of course.

So my summer began in Los Angeles, where we went to check out the tar pits. Actually, that was last summer, but let's just imagine that it was this summer for the sake of storytelling. Okay? Okay.

So there we were at the La Brea Tar Pits, looking down on all that hot, sticky tar. It was kinda like looking at a pit of hot, bubbling fudge, but more smelly. I decided to find out if it tasted anything like hot fudge, so I climbed over the fence of the biggest pit (you know, the one with the mammoth forever slipping into the tar). As I climbed over, my foot slipped and I fell into the pit, much like Alice fell down the rabbit hole, except this was a hot stinky mess  and I was sure to suffer the fate of that stupid mammoth.

What they don't tell you about the tar pits is that it's actually not tar. No. It looks like it, it smells like it, but it's really just a facade covering up one of the biggest conspiracies known to man.

How's that for a hook?

So I slipped under the tar and landed butt-first on a bouncy castle. I bounced high into the air, doing a backflip before landing on my feet in front of the castle. It was pretty sweet.

Looking around, I quickly discovered what was going on. Computer screens covered the walls, each with a man sitting in front of it, swiveling their chairs back in forth in unison. On each screen was Carson Daly, dotingly looking into the camera. I jumped as the guy to the left of me yelled out. "Aaand...now! Wink wink! Head bob!" A couple of the other guys typed away furiously on their keyboards. "Good job, boys!" This was Bieber Command Central.

"I knew Justin Bieber was a robot! His hair was just too perfect!" I shouted, causing everyone to turn around in their chairs. Blank stares surrounded me as I whipped out my camera to finally get the proof I was seeking.

Too late. The guy nearest to me jumped me, pinning my arms to my sides as we toppled to the ground.
"No one can know!" He shouted.

"Look! Justin Bieber is malfunctioning!" I looked at the screens in mock horror. All chairs turned back the computer as the guy released me and ran to his station. I ran to the nearest exit. I knew it was an exit because the sign above the door said "Exit."

"BIEBER BOT, GO! Get her!!!" The guy yelled as I opened the door. I needed to find a way out before Justin Bieber found me! I heard a loud roar and Carson Daly yell out, "What the--are you okay? Justin?! OMG, he IS a robot!" as the door shut loudly behind me.

After running for what seemed like forever (I knew I should have exercised more), I found a way out of the corridors. I climbed out, only to discover myself in the middle of Disneyland.

"Bieber minions, get her!" A voice shouted. Wait--was that I girl? I looked around to see Justin Bieber pointing at me as millions of prepubescent girls began screaming horrible, ear-piercing screeches as they charged me, fanning themselves with signed pictures of the Bieber Bot himself.

I started running toward the exit, but stopped short. This was Disneyland, ya'll! I wasn't just going to leave. No. I had to beat the Bieber. All I had to do was destroy his hair. That's where all his power lies.

Don't ask me how I know this. I just do. Because I'm magic. Or something.

So I charged through the Bieber maniacs, bouncing between them like a pinball, making my way toward their girly-sounding king as they furiously clawed at me.

I finally made it through. We stood face to face as his minions circled us like a bunch of sharks circling a guy trying to snowboard in the ocean. They knew I was going to drown soon.

"Call them off, Bieber!" I cried.

He laughed a most sinister, robot laugh. I'm sure you know what that sounds like, so I don't need to explain it. "Fine. I'll defeat you by myself! Beliebers, you are released!" All the girls screamed as they broke out of their trance. They looked at Justin Bieber. He winked at them and cocked his head. They all fainted.

"Your tyranny ends now, Bieber!" I yelled, wielding the electric razor that, of course, had been in my pocket all along. He charged at me, jaws opened wider than any human jaws could. I could see all the lights inside his mouth grow larger as he drew nearer. All the pretty lights. There were red, green, orange, blue, and some kind of purple-y yellow that was my favorite. All of a sudden, all I wanted to do was reach inside that mouth and touch those pretty blinky lights....prettttttyy.

I reached out. He was almost close enough to touch. Touch the lights. Be with the lights. Maybe living in Justin Bieber's robot stomach wouldn't be that bad...as long as I had those lights.

"Lisa!" I heard someone yell out. I snapped out of my trance, looking around. Luna was hovering about Bieber's head. And no, I did not find this odd at all. "Use the force!" I nodded and quickly jumped as Bieber charged me, grabbing a bite of my shoe. He looked around confused as I landed behind him.

He turned around, hearing the whirr of the electric razor as I turned it on.

"It ends now, Bieber Bot!" I took a leap into the air toward him, the razor in my outstretched hand. I shaved off the top of his hair. He reached up and touched his new bald spot, looking down at the hair on the ground frantically.

"NOOOO! My power!" He yelled as he fell to the ground, weakened. I took the opportunity to charge him, quickly shaving off the rest of his perfect locks.

"You won't be causing any more prepubescent girls to swoon," I said, shaving the last of his hair off.
I collected the hair and gave it to all the fangirls, but they didn't care anymore because they had already forgot who Justin Bieber was.

Infiltrating VidCon...Just for You!

So all you good followers are probably anxiously awaiting this magnificent blog post I promised you. To that I say, don't you have a life?

Nevertheless, here it is, the reason why we went to LA in the first place. Sure, we went to have fun and explore, but there was a reason that started it all. We just don't pack up and head to LA for no reason.

Look! It's a Tesla Coil! But that's not the point. You see, our trip centered around a visit to VidCon. Yes. VidCon. A blogger went to a YouTube conference. Do you feel betrayed? Because it would be totally awesome if you did.

So why did I, a super-awesome blogger, decide to spend my weekend keeping company with those low-down vloggers?

I honestly don't know. It was Pat's idea, really. I just went along for the ride. I mean, who would willingly spend so much time with nerds like that?

I mean, look at them, with their cameras in the air. Filming. Really?! Filming? Don't they all know that blogging is the wave of the future? Don't they know that only the uber nerds use their cameras to make videos? It's all about the pictures and the words, ya'll.

Why do I keep saying ya'll? Maybe I caught something from one of those YouTubers. Note to self: schedule doctor's appointment to get that checked out.

I really was the life of the party. Everybody wanted to get a picture with the world-famous blogger of Awesome Wordage. Like this famous (if you can call YouTube celebrity fame. Psssh.) girl that got her start from the 'Tubes.

I know you don't recognize her, but that right there is Jessica Rose from LonelyGirl15 "fame." I'm sure you can tell by this picture that I'm all like, "'sup. I'm wearing brown shorts because I'm awesome." And she's all like, "OMG, it's totally that chick that made that blog post about towels!!!!!!1" Because that's exactly what happened. And check the Rockstar product placement, too.  Yeah, I'm totally (not) sponsored.

And then this guy practically attacked me with what is obviously extreme excitement from meeting his favorite person in the world. You know it.

Seriously folks, this place was just a giant nerd fest. I will never understand why people would want to share things about themselves on the internet. Weirdos.

Excuses and Other Fun Things

Why hello, Land of Blog. It's nice to finally see you again. I've been...around. Sorry I haven't called. I lost your number in a freak...boating...accident.....

Ohhhkay. Moving on. I feel like I need to explain why I haven't been posting much lately. And yes, Luna's blogs count because, if you didn't know already, I'm the one who really writes those.

...What? Stop looking at me like I've just told you that Santa Claus doesn't exis--oooh. Oops. I just...well, you looked smar--I mean...I...thought you knew.

Well. This is going well, isn't it?

Okay...I guess the best way to tell you this is to just blurt it out. I....wentonvacationanddidn'ttellyou! I'm so sorry! I was thinking about you the whole time, I swear!

You see, we were getting ready to leave for Los Angeles, and I told Pat, "I should probably let my blog know where we're going so it doesn't worry." You know, because my whole 7 followers would frantically check their blogger dashboard every minute while sobbing uncontrollably because I haven't posted anything new in two weeks. I mean, how dare I abandon you like that, right?

...Heh. You can put the pitchfork and microwave down now. I promise I'll be good from now on. It's all Pat's fault, really, because do you know what he said to that? "Screw 'em! They're just a bunch of no-good dirty nerds anyway! I hate nerds more than I hate people who look like Barbara Walters!" And let me tell y'all, he really despises people who look like Barbara Walters (but he loves Barbara Walters more than ice cream loves fudge, which is a lot. Obviously). It's like some strange form of racism--like BabaWawaism. Or something.

So this is just an update to tell you that there's another, better update coming soon. One with pictures and a real honest-to-God point. I know you're so excited that you might pee your pants, but you're going to have to strap on your Depends because I don't know when this new-and-improved post is coming.

...Don't look at me like that! I'm busy, yo!

Camping!!!!!!!!!!!! By Luna the golden retriever

Hi. Is Luna again. Mom busy with big project for new writing thing, so she make me write about camping. She said I get Kong filled with cookies and peanut butter if I do good job.

Camping fun. Camping mean you go out to the woods and watch mom and dad put together this cloth house with long metal sticks. They call it 'tent.' Then you go play all day and sleep by a big metal round thing with fire while mom and dad drink and talk to friends and be loud and annoy neighbors. Neighbors got mad and told friends the next day that they need be quiet. It was funny. Mom and dad yell at me be quiet all the time.

Me in front of big metal fire thing...or am I fire breathing dog?

And then you sleep in tent and are a little cold, but mom let me sleep under the covers until dad went to bed and kicked me out. Not fair. I was there first. I did all work of warming up the spot.

And then you know what happens? When you wake up, you do it all over again!

Mom and dad got mad at me for getting loose the first day and going swimming without them. They said they thought I was going to swim across the whole lake and never return, but I think they just mad because I got to go swimming without them. I was just getting the stick they left out there because the other dog didn't want to get it! Did they want to just leave it there? No way!

Mom put me on long leash so I not swim across whole lake and let me fetch sticks the next day. It was fun. I never swim in waves before. They fun. Hard to jump over, but fun.

But the day after that, mom and dad took long metal poles out of tent and rolled it up! I did not swim that day, but friends got to. Not fair! Why I no swim? I good at swimming. Is fun. Mom said she didn't want her car smell like wet dog and they already packed away my towel. But I can shake off. I go swimming? I no smell like wet dog.

Swimming without Lucy is fun. Lucy steals balls and hides them. Lucy doesn't like it when I jump in pool. She thinks all balls are hers. Lucy still fun. I like Lucy.

But maybe now I like camping more? I dunno. Camping fun. Lucy fun. Swimming fun. I like fun. I go camping again? Swimming?

I do good job? I get Kong now?

Guess what?! You can now watch video of me swimming. Thanks dad!

I have my laptop back!

That's right, after over two weeks of updating my blog from my lunch break or on my fiance's computer while he sleeps, I have my own little piece of computing back. The keyboard feels right (I just can't seem to get the hang of those weird-o big desktop keyboards. I mean, seriously, what's up with those huge ass things?) and I loves my laptop so. It had this little hinge problem and it was all loose-goosey and like, "I'm going to fall apart on you" so--

Wait. What--are you snoring? You didn't even know that my laptop was broken, did you? You selfish jerk!

You know, that's just like you. You just blab on and on about your day and how that one bitch at work stubbed her toe so you had to baby her because heaven forbid she actually works, but you never ask me about my day, do you? Never. You know, just once you can take an interest in my life. You could maybe notice that, after all these years, there's no longer a laptop warming my legs while I do the LA Times crossword puzzle online. You probably didn't even know I did the LA Times crossword puzzle online, did you?

I thought so. You know what? It's over. Just...over. I'm sick of your selfishness.

...Just stop. You can't talk me out of this. You never listen to me, you never respond to me. It's like I'm talking to a wall made out of indifferent cats. Just go. I have my laptop to keep me company...oh, and my dog. Yeah. I have a dog. Didn't know that either, did you?

You sicken me.

Author's note: A big hearty thanks goes out to my good super-awesome pal Sam for making my laptop not angry and fall apart-y. No, not this Sam, although he is super awesome and he's offering free food to peeps on July 13 and if you're in Sacramento and you haven't checked it out then you better make like a tree and RSVP because he needs to know by Monday if you consider yourself cool enough for free food and do you know when Monday is? That's right. It's on Monday.

But back to my laptop, you selfish indifferent cat-wall. When I saw this picture...

...coupled with the caption of "Ummmm. How do I get it back together?" I peed my pants. Turns out, it was a bladder control issue. I'm wearing Depends now and taking some pills for it and it should be under control in a few weeks. Thankfully, since I have an appointment with the milk judge at the end of the month. Wish me luck! Oh, that's right, you won't, because you're a wall of indifferent cats.

...Jerk.

(Thanks again to both Sams for fixing laptops and holding insurance things with free food. You guys are awesome-r than a puppy in spandex!)

A terrible tragedy has struck

You better be sitting for this one.

I just don't know how it happened. When. Why. It's terrible, reprehensible. Who could do this to me?

I have to keep busy to stop myself from breaking down and crying.

I mean, it's just so vile. I've lost all faith in humanity.

You've probably guessed what's happened by now, so I'll just say it outright.

Sir Baron Bouncy Biggles Barnum Baxter Francis III. Is...

Missing!

...I need a moment here.

Just breathe. Breaaathe....

...I promised myself I wouldn't cry.

Who knew that the rubber band that I added to Sir Bouncy on Wednesday would be his last. I don't know what's worse, the fact that he's missing or the fact that I don't know if he's happy or safe. Is he cold or hungry? Did one of those slimy interns take him or (gasp!) throw him away? I knew their annoyingly helpful attitude was just a front for their fiendish plans. Is he being violated, tortured by having his rubber bands removed slowly, one by one? Is he being taken care of? He needs more rubber bands to survive!

I think I just need to go home early and rest. It's been a trying day and I just can't look at that empty spot in my paper clip holder anymore. It's too much to take!

It's just...we've been together so long. I remember when I first made him. It was when I first started working here. I started with his heart, a small balled up piece of scrap paper. I took every single rubber band I could find on my desk and shaped him into the young man he became before he was so suddenly taken from me. I've watched him grow from a tiny little oval-shaped thing into a beautiful round ball who would bounce for me whenever I got bored. He was growing so big and had such a bright future. I was so proud of his accomplishments.

I just don't think I can ever feel safe at work again if people can just kidnap other people's rubber band balls without even leaving a ransom note. What kind of atrociously abhorrent astihophobic world world do we live in? I'm afraid to even think about beginning another--it could never fill the hole in my heart that Sir Bouncy made when he disappeared and I couldn't bear the trauma of losing another of my precious creations. 


So boys and girls, the lesson to this story is this: Hold your office supply creations tight, for you never know when they might bounce away from you forever. 

Guest blogger: Luna!

How you turn this thing on?

Hi. Is Luna. Today Take Your Dog to Work Day. Mom don't work at away job today, so she sit me down here and she said, "Luna, you're going to learn how to blog." She said I get cookie for every paragraph I write. Then she explain what paragraph means.

Is paragraph. Is cookie time now?

Paragraph again. More cookie?

Mom just yelled at me, said I get no more cookies if I don't write paragraphs right. I is dog, what she expect? I wish mom work for Kong. Kong make toys that mom and dad put noms in. I like noms. Speaking of noms, is cookie time yet?

I bet if mom work for Kong, I get more cookies. And squeaky balls. I like squeaky balls. They not make me write blog post. They let me pick out toy to destroy. I be product tester. But mom no work for Kong. Instead, mom make me blog. Is hard to blog. Is hard to type with paws. Too big for small keyboard. I press other keys and have to backspace to delete them, but when I press backspace, I press more keys. So I type with nose, but nose too big for keyboard too. Kong, why you no hire mom? She good writer. And cookie-giver. She stuff Kong good, with peanut butter and cookie.

Cookie?

Stupid blog and stupid small keyboard. Human paws too small. They can't even walk on front ones! Humans strange. Mom and dad strange. They keep talking about thing called "camping." I not know what camping means, but they happy about it. Not wagging tails, but I know they happy. Last time I heard camping word, I stayed at grandma's house. I like grandma's house. She has pool and bones and tennis balls and Lucy. Lucy steals balls from me in pool and hides them. I still like her.

I guess camping word means I go to grandma's house and go swimming with Lucy, who steals balls, but now they ask me if I want go. I don't know what camping mean, so I don't know if I want go. Please tell me what camping mean. Camping has cookies? Bones? Tennis balls? Kennies I can chase? I like barking at kennies, they stupid. I bet they don't write blogs. They can't work keyboard, they just lay on it. Stupid kennies.

Mom said I get play with squeaky ball now for writing blog. She said I is good dog. I like being good dog. I get cookies when I good dog. I get no cookies when I bad dog. Usually get yelled at and told to lay down when I bad dog. Don't know why.

Mom said I need to tell about my Facebook. I has one. You need to like me because everybody like Luna. Luna fun. Luna jump on you when you come over, but that is okay. I know you like it.

And here is video of me jumping in pool for tennis ball. Before Lucy stole it. Is fun. I famous dog now.

And now, a word from our foul-mouthed sponsors.

I try to keep this blog as family-friendly as possible, but the occasional curse word sometimes slips out, especially in my older posts when I didn't think about those mysterious things people like to call "readers." So in an effort to rid myself of random f-bombs, I thought I'd get it all out of my system in one post.

Cover your ears, children.

...

Jimmy, don't think I can't see you back there. Cover your ears!

That's better. Ready, folks?

$@$%*& @%$ @^$%! &$%(^ ###### @#$ on a !~#%$ *(^$#%# @$#*# !!! #%^ +=$% you smelly pile of $^@($( @#$%*& I hate your @&^$@_  guts ~~~ #$^$ %& (&@(*&$@ you make me want to &^* all over the(@#^&*$ ( * (&%^^&%^ pacifist yoga-pants wearing %#&@ polar bears! Fgdfgs wtweruoiturvs awiort frtowz!!!!

Ah. Much better.

Seriously, though, what's going too far when it comes to cursing? I think it's international knowledge what the mother of all curse words is, but what's acceptable to say? I know that it's okay to say ass on television, but is that even taking it too far? And what about that entire episode of South Park that revolved around how many times they could say shit?

And don't you tell me that you've never cursed before. At least once in your life, some obscenity has crossed your lips. Just admit it. Even if you're a saint and you don't curse in your waking hours, how do you know that you don't swear like a crazy cracked out camel who can't figure out how to put the coaxial cables back in his closed-circuit television in your sleep? You don't, that's how. And yes, I may have gotten a bit carried away with that analogy. This is my blog, deal with it.

Honestly, though, I don't think curse words are really all that bad. Once you strip them down of their taboo-ooooh-you-just-said-a-bad-word stuff, you're just left with words. And I like words. I'll tell you a story: When I was a kid, I loved reading. Like seriously loved it. And every once in a while, I'd pick up one of my mom's books and look through it, searching for certain words. And when I found the desired words, I'd put it down and tell her that her book had dirty words in it. I don't know how I learned to read them or why, but I knew. My mom was reading dirty words.

My point is this: Children won't grow up to be big, slimy horrible cursing hag fish if they hear or read a cuss word every once in a while. I could read curse words as a child, and I turned out alrig...

...Oh. Nevermind.

Battle of Los Angeles is a battle with your brain cells.

So Pat and I watched Battle of Los Angeles last night. And apparently spell check doesn't recognize Los Angeles. Weird. Read the movie title carefully because we didn't and thought it was Battle: Los Angeles. Which it wasn't. This was just a SyFy (that doesn't spell SciFi, BTW. It spells Cee-Fee.) knock-off. I'm hoping that the real Battle: Los Angeles is much better than this steaming pile of crap that somebody puked on because people actually payed to see that one.

If you've never seen this movie, then I must warn you that this post will contain spoilers. But that's okay because you do not want to see this movie. Ever. Just trust me on this one. I went through the pain so you don't have to.

So the movie starts out right away with this big alien spaceship and these fake-looking airplanes trying to shoot missiles at it. We should have known the movie was going to be bad right then. And not just entertainingly bad, like most SciFi movies, but just bad. Like too much Taco Bell bad. One, because there was no back story, no explanation whatsoever about how the aliens got there or when or what the hell they were doing over this city that you have to assume is Los Angeles because it's in the title of the movie, even though it looks nothing like LA. And second, because they were trying to blow up a huge spaceship with missiles. Everyone knows you can't blow up aliens with missiles. I mean, come on, haven't they seen Independence Day? Can you guess what happens to the missiles? That's right, the aliens reprogram them to attack the pilots instead. Duh! I tried to warn you, silly pilots!

It''s like that big fat bully on the playground. And this little scrawny kid is trying to beat him up because the bully stole his glasses, but the bully just holds the glasses up high with one hand and holds the scrawny kid back by his forehead with the other and laughs and says, "how cute, he's trying to beat me." And this goes on for a while until the scrawny kid gets tired and sits down and cries. Except in the movie, the scrawny kids gets blown up.

So a couple of planes explode and this one chick pilot tells them what's happening and to not send more planes because they're just going to get blown up like the little scrawny kid. But they're all like, "oh, well, we're sending more planes anyway because you're obviously not right there seeing this shit happen and because we really don't care. We like big fake explosions." So she tries to destroy the missiles coming towards the aliens and then ejects herself from her plane, but forget about her because you'll never see her again.

Then they cut to this scene where pilots are getting into their planes to attack the aliens, even though we know that it's useless and that they'll probably die. Kel is there. Yes, Kel. From Kenan and Ken. "Welcome to Goodburger, home of the Goodburger, can I take your order?" Now, that's a good movie.

Anyway, these pilots are about to take off, but the first guy is too scared to move. He's the only smart one in the movie and, sadly, he gets blown up in some big fake explosion because the aliens come down with their smaller spaceships and and shoot at them and they try to shoot back which is stupid because it's obviously not working. But it's okay because apparently they have an unlimited supply of ammo.

Blah, blah, blah, shooting, shooting, shooting. And then this guy comes out of nowhere in some old ass plane that I'm sure Pat could identify, but I never asked because I really didn't care. So this guy goes up to the random army dudes (we have no idea what their names are) and basically says, "Hi, I'm a pilot from 1942 and I was sent on a mission to see what that thing is (Duh! It's a spaceship!) and I'm just getting back now. BTW, what year is it?" And they just accept that like time-traveling pilots are perfectly normal.

Really, guys?! Really?! I mean, the guy hasn't changed one bit in over 60 years and you're just going to accept that? Never mind the fact that they somehow know that this guy hasn't changed in over 60 years. They ask no questions about where he's been and why he hasn't aged. Stupid Army dudes.

And while we're on the subject of the 90 year-old pilot that looks like he's 20...have they really been fighting the aliens for that long? Like, for real? Wouldn't you just give up at some point during the 60 years because you're obviously not getting anywhere?

So they take the time-traveling pilot to some super secret underground base and he tells them that the aliens aren't going to stop killing people until they release the one they have captive. By this point, most everybody is dead except for these army dudes and we have no clue how they survived or where they've been hiding for 60 plus years. I mean, when did the entire population get killed off? Where were they? Were their parents Army peeps too and they were born in the super secret underground base and just grew up as Army peeps too? These are important questions, people!

Anyway, so the general dude is like, "I don't know what you're talking about," even though he knows the pilot dude knows what's up because, hello, he was an alien captive (I guess) for over 60 years and he hasn't aged one bit. So they take him to see the captive alien and he screams some kind of weird alien scream and it breaks the glass and he jumps in there with the alien and attacks it and this one ninja chick (I forgot to mention that there was a ninja chick that appeared out of nowhere and started slicing alien ships in half with her sword. So bullets don't work, but swords do.) jumps in there and slices the time-traveling pilot's head off and you can see all the wires coming out of his neck because apparently he was just a robot and this weird little alien orb thing comes out of his head and they start shooting at it because all of a sudden they have guns even though they had to turn them in when they came into the super secret underground base thingy.

There was more shooting and then they go upstairs and the little alien orb thing flies right through this guy's stomach and he dies. They finally go back to the alien dude and apparently the ninja chick speaks alien (I feel so ridiculous typing this, by the way. It's like this movie was written by a bunch of five year-olds who broke into their parent's liquor cabinet and then decided to make a big pile of shit by combining the shit from a horse, 10 great danes, 5 pit bulls, a goat, 3 pigeons and 5 cows to see what would happen. This movie happened.). So the alien tells her that it wants Kel to fly it's spacecraft. Why? I don't know, they didn't ask. They just accepted it. Like they totally forgot about the time-traveling pilot that was actually an alien robot and they might have figured that out a lot sooner if they thought to ask any questions.

This is about the point where I fell asleep. I could watch the ending over so I could tell you what happened, but I'm not that dedicated to you. Sorry. I asked Pat what happened and I wish he would've just lied to me and made up some story that would've been better than the actual ending, but he didn't. He said that Kel flew the traitor alien's (I don't know how he became a traitor since it seems like the aliens wanted him back) into the heart of the giant spaceship, kinda like Will Smith did in Independence Day, though I'm sure he didn't have any cool one-liners like Will Smith. And he exploded something and left and it ended because their budget ran out and they're just relying on the fact that you've already seen Independence Day, so you know what's going to happen.

So there you go. Who knew that a movie with aliens, hot ninja chicks and time-traveling robot pilots would be so bad. I think if they threw some zombies in there, it would've been a lot better. I mean, how could they have not thought to put an alien zombie or two in there?

But hey, now you don't have to watch that movie because you already know what's going to happen.You're welcome.

On being excited over non-exciting things.

I meant to write this days ago. Really, I did. And you can't prove otherwise, so nyah!

Anyway, last week I went to a conference in San Francisco for a few days. I won't tell you which conference because I don't want to involve my work life into my fun blogging life. And because I don't want to be stalked by some creepazoid that has a shrine to me and my awesome blogs in his closet and lights candles every night while staring at my picture and saying, "oh yes, you will be mine. Someday, you will be mine. Beetle gully!" So you can take your stalking hats off now (what would a stalking hat look like? I'm imagining a sort of safari-type deal. Anyone have a different stalking hat? Maybe a baseball cap with various pieces of candy attached to it or something?).

Anytime you have the word conference and you don't put an awesome word or phrase, like bouncy or cheese doodle, in front of it, you're pretty much guaranteeing that you'll have a boring conference on your hands. Sure, it was interesting. I learned. I didn't fall asleep or get so bored that I started thinking about how cool it would be if a bunch of unicorns just barged in and handed out free ice cream (but, you gotta admit, that would be pretty cool). I am not bad-mouthing the conference, I'm just saying that generally the word "conference" is yawn-inducing.

Besides the icky knowledge-getting and the fact that my boss actually thought me good enough to take to the conference, there were a few cool highlights, some with pictures, but most without.

First, we took the train. I have never been on a train before. Sure, I had to get up at 5:30 in the morning. I never want to know what 5:30 in the morning looks like. Ever. Again. Unless it's because I've been partying all night with platypuses (platypi?) and we're all so drunk by that time that we think it's a good idea to climb on the roof to see the sun rise, and by the way, have you seen a platypus try to climb onto a roof? It can't be easy.

Most, if not all, of the riders were obviously people who have ridden the train before. You could tell by the way they were applying their makeup or writing deep intricate thoughts in their notebooks, only giving uninterested passing glances out the window (and that was only to see their reflection in the window to make sure their hair didn't get messed up). But not me. No, I was a dork on the train with my camera, taking pictures of things outside the window for your enjoyment (you're welcome). And people probably thought I was crazy because OMG, who hasn't ridden on a train before?!

Here's a great bay side property.

Anyone in need of a chair?

I went to school here!

I'm on a bridge!

The bay bridge. 

Yeah. I'm an awesome train photographer.

Then we took a bus. I didn't take any pictures on the bus because buses aren't as exciting as trains, and while it's okay to look like an inexperienced train rider, it's not okay to look like an inexperienced bus rider. Just trust me on this one.

And then we got off the bus and went to the conference. And yada, yada, yada. Guess what happened then?!

I got my own hotel room!

(Imagine a picture of a hotel room here.)

I've never had a hotel room all to my lonesome. Unless you count that half-night that I got stuck in Atlanta and slept for maybe four hours. But I don't. Four hours is not a full night, people!

And I got a free drink ticket and had a drink at the hotel bar all by myself and met a cute older couple from Germany and I just wanted to pack them up and take them home with me.

Other highlights: I stole a beer from a reception at the conference, my TV didn't work so I watched Hulu instead, my shoes made the metal detector go off in the conference's building, I learned some stuff that was actually pretty cool, I ate at Bubba Gump's with my momma (who so graciously came to pick me up and hang out in SF on my last day there), I bought a cool new Beatles hat and a cool new purse and other cool things, and I saw a flying port-a-potty.

Being Sick is Not Awesome.

Let's talk about being sick. Why? Because I'm sick right now.

This is stupid. It's the beginning of June and I've got a freaking cold. I never get colds in the beginning of June because there's never a reason to get a cold in the beginning of June. I mean, seriously, weather? I don't know if anybody told you, but this is California, not the Midwest. We don't get thunderstorms and tornado warnings in June in California. People should be complaining about how hot it is now because even though it gets super hot every year, they seem to forget that fact by the time winter's over. It's like everybody doesn't realize that they live in California and it's going to get crazy melt-your-eyeballs-out hot.

Usually in June, I'm freaking out because I'm frantically studying for finals while trying to finish that one paper that my sadistic professor decided to have due on the day of the final. Seriously, who does that? And I'm all worried that I didn't study enough and that I'll fail whatever final it is and ultimately fail the class, which I have never done so it's kind of an unfounded worry, but I do it anyway.

Back to being sick. I went to work yesterday. Meaning, I got my sick and delirious ass up at 8 a.m., somehow got ready and drove 26.6 miles to work, where I was barraged with questions from my boss about why I was there and how I got there. After I confirmed that, yes, I did drive myself, the conversation ended with "you don't look good."

Great. So not only did I feel like a puddle of brain mush and snot, I looked like it too. It didn't help that I just got new glasses a few days ago and my eyes are still trying to adjust to being able to see so clearly when they were just fine with the slightly blurry vision that my old glasses provided me. So I had this kind of eyes-not-focusing-and-getting-slightly-dizzy shit going on and I couldn't tell if it was the cold or the glasses.

So I tried to work. And I'm sure I made many mistakes and I'm surprised that I didn't manage to somehow blow the whole building up even though I didn't have access to anything that would cause anything to blow up. And then I went home early because I wanted to leave before the big storm hit (and apparently, before all those tornado warnings...yes, tornado warnings. Thanks, weather.) and because I didn't want to blow everything up and I probably scared all of our patrons because nobody wants to see a big puddle of brain mush and snot when they come into a library.

So I may be turning into a zombie. It's not yet confirmed, but I'm starting to smell a bit like dead flesh and I can't help but drool when I pet Luna's head, like I can just smell her delicious brains, and that's never happened before so I'm sure it's not a good sign. So if you have to shoot my brains out because I'm trying to eat yours, then I forgive you in advance.

Do you know where your towel is? (Now with more Jambi!)

In honor of Douglas Adams and his most genius of genius books, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (if you haven't read it, you're just not that awesome), today is Towel Day!

And in honor of Towel Day and Douglas Adams and his most genius of genius books, here is a post about towels. But not just any post about towels. I've compiled a list of 10.9789 (which is exactly 26.140238095238093 percent of 42, in case you were wondering. And I know you were.) things you can do with your towel (besides the obvious reasons, and the reasons listed in the Guide and on the online version of the Guide, H2G2 (sorry, is my nerd showing?)) which you should have with you always because you never know when you may need a towel and because you're not some lame strag that doesn't know the real worth of a towel. No, you're a frood who knows where his towel is.

1. Lunchbox/all-purpose carrier. Why carry a lunch box and a purse or briefcase, when a towel can do it all? It'll even protect your credit cards from fraud and identity theft!*

It'll hold your lunch, wallet and important-looking books!

*Using a towel will not protect your credit cards from identity theft or fraud. In fact, it guarantees the opposite if you use the wrong towel.

2. Vomit bag for when you've had one too many Pan-Galactic Gargle Blasters. And, really, one Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster is one too many.

Oh no, here it comes...

If anybody needs a good fake puker, Pat's your man!

3. High-tech rapture survival tool. Since the end of the world has been re-scheduled to October 21st, it's important to have a towel handy for all of your doomsday needs! Just put it over your head, cower under the nearest table and wait to be raptured. Guaranteed to get you into heaven in the case of an apocalypse!*

*Using a towel will not guarantee your admission into heaven in the case of an apocalypse. In fact, it guarantees the opposite if you use the wrong towel.

Alternatively, if you're afraid that October 21st might be The Day of the Raptors, you can use your trusty towel to fend off raptor attacks.

Take that, you evil raptor!

4. Stand-in for work. Now you can take longer lunch breaks without anyone even noticing you're gone!

Working hard, and so soft! I smell a promotion coming!

5. Parachute. For when you find yourself jumping from space ships without a parachute. Or for when you're jumping from the arm of your couch.

Not recommended for actually parachuting.

6. Dog bib. You'd think they'd learn some manners. I swear, she acts like an animal sometimes.

Can I eat yet?

6.5589. Crazed dude-who-really-loves,-and-I-mean-looooooves,-bacon-maybe-a-bit-too-much drooling man bib. I know you're sick of those drool stains all over your fine velvet couch whenever you cook bacon. Just wrap a towel around your man and you won't have to worry about turning the cushions over when you have company!

You drool, I drool, we all drool for bacon!

7. Driving companion. Because sometimes you'll talk to anything when you're driving.

You da towel!

..."And you said what?! HAHAHAHA, you're crazy!"

Not recommended for use in the carpool lane.

8. Babysitter. It'll even read bedtime stories! Additional story-time charges may apply.

Tonight's selection: Look Out for Pirates!

9. Interpretive dance prop. For those artsy-fartsy types.

9.42. Dance partner. For the not-so-artsy-fartsy types. When you want to go dancing but you don't have anyone to dance with and you're afraid of going alone because what if nobody wants to dance with you and then nobody will ever want to dance with you because you're not a hot commodity like that one girl Heather, but she's a bitch anyway, grab your trusty friend towel!

Let's just leave these two lovebirds alone...

10. Video game companion. You know when you play video games and you're playing so intensely...

that your hands get all sweaty and muck up the controller?

Towel to the rescue! And when you're exhausted from your afternoon of hardcore gaming,

Ta-da! Instant nap-time companion!

Thanks to Pat and Luna for showing us all how to properly use a towel. And now, for your pleasure, a picture of our friend Jambi!

"Mekka-lekka-hi, mekka-hiney-ho!"

Day of the Drunks, or West Coast Brew Fest 2011

On Saturday, Pat, Luna and I got drunk in the middle of the afternoon. At a park.

No, we weren’t like those boozehounds that keep their 40s in a paper sack because for some reason that makes it okay to drink a Mickey’s before 2 p.m. This was an officially sanctioned drinking event.

That’s right folks, it was the something-th annual West Coast Brew Fest! This was the first year that we got to go because we weren’t depressingly broke or committed to the insane asylum do other things.

We arrived about an hour and half beforehand to wait in line to get in. Because we’re just that committed to drinking. I don’t have any pictures of us waiting in line because, honestly, when has waiting in line ever been fun or exciting? Except for that one time when we were waiting in line at Disneyland for the Indiana Jones ride and these aliens landed right in front of us and started performing circus acts. But we told them to go to the back of the line because if they thought we were going to let them cut in line just because they were wearing those big red squeaky clown noses, then they were poorly mistaken.

Then we were let in and, for a second, I thought we might have been raptured. Was this beer heaven? Tons and tons of breweries under tents waiting to give us a little taste of their delicious craft brew goodness.

It wasn't exactly heaven. You know why? We couldn’t drink straight from the tap. We had to use these little plastic cups. 

Fill me, please!

But that’s okay. It was all-you-can-drink and, I assure you, we were determined to get our $30 worth of beer.

Do you know what we did as soon as we got in? We went to the nearest tent and stood in a short line (surprisingly, unlike SactoMoFo (the mobile food fest in Sacramento), the lines were super short and easy to get through. I think that tells you that Sacramento values their food more than their beer.) and then we drank….

A limited edition Spring cider from Two Rivers...nom!

And drank…

A delicious stout from some brewery that I can't remember the name of.

And drank….

Another cider. From Crispin Cider.

We went to about three tents in a row. Tipsy-ness was already starting to set in. So we ate….

My lovely fiance knows that jalapeños are the key to my heart.

And then you know what we did? No, we didn’t finish off our lunch by eating pretzel necklaces off some strange dudes.

Good planning, dudes!

We drank!

And another stout! From...

Bison Brewing! I only know that because I took this picture. Planning ahead, people!

And drank….

Scottish ale from Lockdown Brewing...I think

And Luna got love…

I don't have any pictures of Luna getting attention, so...you get this.

And she drank…

Wait a second...that's mine! Give it back, you boozehound!

And…I think you get the idea, but I have a few more pictures and I took the time out of my drinking to take them so, goddammit, you’re going to see them!

At this point, I stopped keeping track of what I was drinking...

...all I know is that it was beer and it was tasty. (Dig the artsy shot!)

I got this one from some guy that looked like Santa. When I came up to his booth, he yelled out "I like redheads!" I didn't have the heart to tell him I'm not a natural redhead. 

Luna had a bit too much, and started to get silly.

Go Ags! 

So we gave her a peanut-butter filled Kong and told her she needed to sober up because she was starting to embarrass us and she was our designated driver, anyway.

Nom nom nom!

Sadly, there wasn’t much drunk-watching to do. Everybody was fairly well-behaved, except for a couple of dogs who were mean drunks. And then there was this guy,

The dude to the left of the cop is the dude in question. 

Who slipped in this mud puddle near our base camp,

I was too lazy to get up and take a better picture.

And crashed into Luna’s water dish and my beer, spilling the contents of both on me.

I gave him a stern “Dude!”, he apologized profusely, the police gave him a talking-to, and he went on his merry way to drink some more.

If you’re reading this, dude-who-slipped-in-the-mud-and-spilled-dog-water-and-beer-on-me, I hope the po-pos didn’t scare all of the drunk out of you.

A couple of people puked, too, but I didn’t take pictures of those because I thought I’d be nice to you and not make you upchuck while you’re eating or pooping or doing whatever you do when you read this blog. But I will tell you this—one guy sitting on a bench near us spewed and there was beer-snot running out of his nose and mouth. Like touching the ground all slimey-like and I’m pretty sure Luna would’ve helped him clean himself up if we let her, but we only let her do that when one of us spews. We don’t know where that guy’s puke had been.

And, of course, Luna was too drunk to drive us home (that dog doesn't know when to stop…I think we may have to have an intervention soon), but we had a Plan B and Pat’s dad came to drive our drunk asses home. It felt like we were a couple of kids being picked up from the carnival or something because we were both talking at once about how much we drank and what this one guy did and what that other guy did and OMGitwassoawesome!

Cheers!

To see a video version of our awesome fun, click on the picture of Pat and his camera! 

Whoa, am I going to be in the vlog?!