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You Get What You Pay For

August 08, 2011

A few weeks ago, we did the great chip-tasting-thing, and I think I came up with a name for it at the time (chip off? Chip Off of the old something? I forget that particular cleverness, possibly forever), and I've been working on an entry to describe all of the many...uh, "emotions" we experienced while tasting such flavors as "Roast Chicken" (emotions resembled most of the stages of grief, including anger, denial, bargaining, etc.), but I keep on getting hung up on stupid things while I'm writing. Like, what I'm going to name all of the participants. I asked everyone to give me fake names (see: Cookie), and some of them have, but then I forgot the fake names. So then I threatened to go on the random name generator and give them fake names, and when I tried that I ended up with one person named Urentha, which sounds like a body part, and nobody wants that. So, short story is that once I figure out what to CALL these people whom I see...oh, pretty much every day, I will finish up that entry. Brace yourselves.

But, in the meantime, I've been busy as all get-out over here. I had a huge project for work, which I literally (LITERALLY) just finished about 20 minutes ago, and sent off. Said project had pretty much occupied every second of my working life for the last few weeks, so finally completing it on this fine Monday has made me just giddy with joy! And it has also made me feel compelled to share some random updates with you! These updates have nothing to really do with each other, except that they all occurred in the last few weeks! Oh, and will probably result in me being sent to hell. Journaling!

Shit My Mom Bought

If you've been over on the Facebook fan page at all, then you know that, a few Wednesday mornings ago, I was just working away, being all legal, when my mom called from an estate sale and asked, point blank, if I wanted her to buy me a tombstone. A five foot tall marble tombstone from 1851, with the name "Julia Ann Benedict" carved on it, which was evidently just hanging out for eternity in someone's garage in Dunwoody, Georgia, and the whole thing was actually sort of perplexing and so I got quiet, and she said, "Are you there?" and I said, "I have no idea," and then I said I would need to call her back, because...huh. So she said she'd try to figure out how to take some pictures with her iPhone, but that I'd better hurry and make up my mind, because tombstones apparently sell like hotcakes at estate sales, and I was pretty sure she was making all of that up.

So, I couldn't decide if this would be a good idea. I mean, things on the good side of the equation included (a) OMG, our own tombstone, and that is awesome (b) It is ART, people; and (c) who the hell else would have a tombstone? And, we got MARRIED in a cemetery; who should own their own tombstone, if not us? BUY!

Still, on the negative side, considerations included (a) so, is someone...uh, "missing something?" Somewhere? Specifically, a DEAD SOMEONE?; (b) Brian's potential reaction, which I figured would be in the realm of "oh, HELL no," based on his shuddering, horrified response to my totally reasonable suggestion to turn an antique autopsy table into a wet bar; and (c) the fact that putting a tombstone in your dining room pretty much guarantees a full scale haunting. Like, I am pretty sure there is no loophole on that one. So: for the love of God, DON'T BUY.

Clearly, I was torn, and likely overthinking things, as I tend to do, so I went to the FB page and asked y'all what should happen, and the overwhelming response was WHAT IN THE FUCK IS THE MATTER WITH YOU. BUY IT. BUY IT NOW OR WE WILL BURN DOWN YOUR HOUSE. Thank you for your helpy-ness!

So I called my mother back and shrilled at her to HURRY BUY THE TOMBSTONE, DO IT NOW OR WE ALL DIE. So she bought the tombstone. It lives in the dining room now. Hello.

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The presence of a tombstone in the dining room should not be taken as commentary on my cooking skills, THANK YOU.

Then I posted pictures, and that began the most awesome thread in Facebook history, in which various smart people actually tracked down Julia Ann, found out all about her family, and basically none of us got a damn thing done all afternoon, and that was big fun. And somewhere in there, I told Brian, and while his initial response (as chronicled in said thread) was not exactly enthusiastic, he's warmed up to the thing since then! And the reason why is because, like I said, it IS awesome, but also because it has become such a source of entertainment in our household. Entertainment which comes in the form of me, finding myself hilarious by drinking wine and doing such things as this:

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Must...make...burning...

But entertainment also comes in the form of Kitteh, who -- on the night the tombstone was delivered -- was immediately fascinated by it. Usually, Kitteh goes on great bug hunting adventures during the night, and proudly brings the carcasses to our bedside so we discover them in the morning. Usually by stepping on them and then me screaming, because I kind of have an AVERSION to fucking bugs and their intestines, but once the tombstone showed up, Kitteh stopped leaving us bugs entirely -- we no longer deserve bugs. We are not bug-worthy, and I would not normally mind, except now Kitteh leaves her killings directly in front of the tombstone, offering-like. Plus, she gazes at the thing for hours, which, I am pretty sure, means that Julia Ann is giving her specific instructions. Instructions like, "Kill the female first." I think she means me.

So, possibly we bought our own ghost. And then, to round things out, I also bought Brian an electric toilet seat, because if you buy yourself a tombstone and also an ethereal presence for the dining room, the least you can do is get your husband some butt-based technology. That is called compromise. I am awesome at being married.


The Other Thing That Is Going To Send Me To Hell

Which I cannot even believe I am sharing with you, but in my post-project giddiness, I evidently am. This is one of the many reasons I no longer receive emails through this website (the contact form lies; that email account has been dead for ages), so whomever has a conniption about this can just rub their mad spot and not get me all involved. And if you leave me hateful comments, I may be inclined to go in and change them to things like, "Miss Doxie, it just LOOKS like you smell good." I am not above any of this. See below.

ANYWAY, so. I have many friends who have children, and some of us were drinking and giggling over the necessary "good touch, bad touch" instructions that you pretty much have to give a kid, because...you know, bad touches are unquestionably bad, WAY worse than buying a tombstone-bad, and obviously, the concept of appropriate physical contact is an important one for kids to grasp. What is LESS obvious is why so many people recommend that this concept be introduced via the "Good Touch/Bad Touch" COLORING BOOK.

Various parent-type friends told me that this book existed, but I did not believe them and their lying ways, so I went googling. And it turns out: Well, hell -- it totally exists. And it looks like this:

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I DON'T LIKE SECRETS LIKE THAT, EITHER!
Alternate caption: "Those lesbians are adorable." -- Unnamed BFF from the chip fiasco business. Name generator says we should call her SKYE!

And I found where you buy these books. And I found that, if you buy more than 100 books, you can get your own personalized message printed on the front cover. For only pennies more. Only...pennies. And, do you know what is usually very expensive? Personalized Christmas cards. You guys, do you see where this is going?

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I'm sure Brian will be totally fine with this. I mean, it's not like I'm turning an autopsy table into a wet bar; just sending some family-friendly holiday greetings, with an important message! AND ACTIVITIES! Maybe I will even include crayons! I swear, I have the BEST ideas. Happy birthday, Jesus! Good touches for everybody!

Anyway, y'all take care, and watch out for rogue ghosts, electric toilets, and bad touches; I'll be back soon!

***UPDATE***

Kitteh, Scary doll Cassandra, and odd metal dachshund all brought Julia Ann a pear. Only 2/3 of this disaster is my doing.

Y'all. We are DEFINITELY going to die.

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Sleep tight! FOREVER

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