Get It, Girl

So Amanda Bynes has been fulfilling her former child star destiny by totally losing. her. shit.

She used to look like this:

Source

But now she looks like this:

Source

And she's been posting crap like this online:

And last week she was arrested for smoking pot in the lobby of her apartment building and throwing a bong out of a window. (Luckily, she's probably got a lawyer on retainer after last year's DUI arrest.)

And now all I can think about is how badly I want to hang out with her.

Yes, I Do Smell As Sweet

So, as I mentioned last week, my appearance into the world came as total a surprise to everyone and left my parents scrambling to procure all the crap they'd need to raise an additional baby. Including a name. They had only picked out one boy's name and one girl's name, and didn't have anything on deck for a second girl. So, for the first couple of days, it was Amy and Baby.

My dad was actually out of town for work the day my sister and I were born. After my grandpa called to tell him all about his new daughters, he went to the little town's bar to celebrate. He sat down next to one of the locals (who was wearing an eye-patch, naturally) and shared his exciting news. He then explained how he needed to come up with a name for the extra baby. The man thought he could help and suggested Marie after his mother.

So yeah, I was named by a one-eyed stranger whom my dad found in a bar. Keeping it classy since day one.

Surprise, Bitches!

Today is my birthday, which means it was exactly 29 years ago that my mom had what was probably the weirdest day of her life.

It was a little past noon and she had just given birth to my sister. She told her doctor and nurses that she felt like she was still in labor, but they assured her that was normal and nothing to worry about. See, I come from a really small town where, apparently even as late as 1984, ultrasounds were a new-fangled devil technology that was mostly unheard of, so none of them knew that my mother was actually pregnant with twins and was indeed still in labor.

And so, for approximately an hour and a half, the hospital staff continued to shush my mom as she kept insisting that she felt like she was having another baby. Until they finally decided to take a look to appease her and were all, "Oh, yeah, you're totally having another baby."

And that is how I threw a sort of backwards surprise birthday party for my family.

Mom has since told me that while she loves me dearly and wouldn't change a thing, that moment was the scariest thing that had ever happened to her. Which is totally fair. Two babies when you were only expecting one would leave you feeling pretty ill-prepared. They actually had to take two trips home from the hospital because they only had one car seat. I probably would have given up right then.

Or It Could Just Be a Guy's Name

This sign is outside a little corner market in my neighborhood. To me, it seems awfully close to a heavily-accented mispronunciation of Lunds (a grocery store chain we also have in the area).

It seemed pretty funny to me. Like the thought of an Asian guy choosing the name of his store based entirely on a self-deprecating joke. I laughed. I hope that doesn't make me racist.

Honey Traps

You know the vicious pack of raccoons I met as a child? Well, when I went to Mexico this year, I met the Dr. Jekyls to those horrific Mr. Hydes.

These little guys were everywhere. And, like the raccoons I told you about, they were relentless beggars. 

But, unlike the raccoons I had met, these guys were entirely nonviolent. They mostly acted like they wanted to be your very best friend. 

And almost everyone obligingly gave them a little snack for being so sweet.

Take note, raccoons. Take note. This is how it's done.

Raccoon Ambush

Raccoons are tricky animals. They look kind of adorable but it turns out they're actually blood thirsty monsters. I know that last bit to be true because I experienced their vicious blood lust first hand as a child.

When I was about twelve, my family went camping with my mom's brother and his family. When the fire was out and it was time to go to bed, the parents slept in one tent and the kids slept in another one. We sat in our tent and played cards instead of going to sleep, and after a while we went out to the picnic table to eat some potato chips. And then we were all scarred for life.

We were only out there for a minute or two before we saw the first pair of glowing eyes peering out from the brush. Then we saw another. And another. Then a pack of raccoons crept toward us through the dark. They did not look like ordinary raccoons. Those things were obviously well fed from the crampground scraps and I swear some of them were the size of full grown collies. They kept inching closer, growling and hissing as they tried to edge in front of each other. They were frighteningly aggressive and they had us surrounded.

We realized they were after our potato chips, and my cousin, Jimmy, threw a handful off to the side, hoping it'd distract the raccoons and open up a route for escape. It kind of worked; some of them started fighting over the crumbs, but four or five more came out of nowhere and took their spots. So then we tried throwing the whole bag. But the same thing happened and those godless killers thought we still had more.

Trapped on the tabletop, the four of us huddled together pretty much accepting our fate as a scary campfire story to tell future generations. Finally, my dad poked his head out of the tent to investigate all the commotion. He was actually kind of surprised by the number and size of the raccoons, too. He came out with a pillow and shooed them away while we practically dove into our tent in unison.

I swear to God, the next day we found raccoon blood around the campsite from when those monsters were fighting each other. Obviously, we barely escaped with out lives.

Sorry, Mom. I love you!

Mothers are the amazing. Seriously. They're like god damn saints when you think about it. Think of all the shit you put your mom through (especially when you were in high school), and she still loves the crap out of you. Right? Amazing.

I'd like to use this as an opportunity to apologize to my mom for some the shit I put her through.

Mama and me

-- Sorry about the red nail polish that got spilled one week after getting new carpet in my room.

-- Sorry about the time you found a bottle of vodka in my closet. (I suppose I should mention the birth control and the cigarettes while I'm at it.)

-- Sorry for running away from you at the county fair when I was four.

-- Sorry about the time Amy and I smoked cigarettes in my bedroom. (You might not actually know about that one.)

-- Sorry for leaving those crayons in front of the vent, and the super vibrant rainbow stains in the carpet that resulted.

-- Sorry about begging you to let me paint a "really awesome design" on my wall and then only finishing about a sixth of it.



Yeah, Mom, I can't believe you didn't just give me away a long time ago. But thanks for not doing that. You're the best.

Purple Monkey Dishwasher

Want a fun activity? Go back and read some of your old text messages, but take them completely out of context. You and your friends will sound like crazy people. Here are some of the gems from my phone:


-- Great. Now the atheists are getting preachy.

-- Also, a woman with one of those sticks blind people use just stopped to look at something. Today is confusing.

-- She's a mouthy little bitch for a three year old!

-- Just so you know, that was technically a haiku.

-- Old timey french porn!

-- Oh. Congratulations. On the anniversary, not the funeral. Unless you were trying to kill that person. Then congratulations indeed.

-- Gordy got stung by a bee in the mouth.

-- Cook me dinner. Just throw it away when you are done, but text me a picture first.

-- Swordfish live less than ten years.

Updated: West Wing Boyz

Updated: My dad pointed out that I forgot Herbert Hoover. So, shit. It probably would have been something about a vacuum. I don't know. The inspiration just isn't there today.

I had trouble falling asleep the other night. That doesn't happen to me very often, so I'm not really sure how you're supposed to deal with it.

Word on the street is that you're supposed to count sheep, but that ended up getting me all flustered. Are you supposed to count them as a big herd in a pen? Or are you supposed to count them as they walk by one by one? I tried the latter, but then I got distracted by the ones that had already walked by and gathered off to the side. I wanted to know what they were up to.

So I finally said fuck it. Instead I came up with frat house nicknames for all of the U.S. Presidents. They are terrible. And I am going to share them with you. You're welcome.

George Washington  -  G Dubs

John Adams  -  Number Two

Thomas Jefferson  -  TJ

James Madison  -  Mad Man

James Monroe  -  Five Spot

John Quincy Adams  -  Q Tip

Andrew Jackson  -  Ajax

Martin Van Buren  -  Eight Ball

William Henry Harrison  -  Scary Harry

John Tyler  -  JT

James K. Polk  -  Poker Face

Zachary Taylor  -  Zack Attack

Millard Fillmore  -  Milli Vanilli

Franklin Pierce  -  Frankie P

James Buchanan  -  Bucky

Abraham Lincoln  -  Abelicious

Andrew Johnson  -  AJ

Ulysses S. Grant  -  U Boat

Rutherford B. Hayes  -  Ruthie

James Garfield  -  Slim

Chester A. Arthur  -  Chestnuts

Grover Cleavland  -  Ohio

Benjamin Harrison  -  Big Ben

William McKinley  -  Mack

Theodore Roosevelt  -  Papa Bear

William Taft  -  T Train

Woodrow Wilson  -  Woodie

Warren G. Harding  -  G Unit

Calvin Coolidge  -  Cool Cal

Franklin Roosevelt  -  Rosie

Harry Truman  -  H Bomb

Dwight D. Eisenhower  -  Double Ds

John F. Kennedy  -  Fritz

Lyndon B. Johnson  -  BJ

Richard Nixon  -  Slick Dick

Gerald Ford - Model T

Jimmy Carter  -  JC

Ronald Reagan  -  Four-O

George Bush  -  Bushwacker

Bill Clinton  -  Spanky

George W. Bush  -  Junior

Barack Obama  -  Beezy

Welcome Home

I lived with my good friend, Kayla, for a couple of years after college. One day, after I brought home a decorative gun for our living room, she predicted that I would have "the weirdest house someday." She turned out to be very, very accurate.

I love my house, but if I try to look at it objectively I guess I do have some weird shit.

The gun that started it all.

It took forever to get the boyfriend to agree to this.

It was also hard to explain why we needed this for over the desk.

Just a dog and his gramophone.

I don't know what my deal is with weird animals.

My dog's paw prints. These were the best two out of eleven tries.

These statues really pull the room together.

I Mean, Even the Clash Couldn't Decide

I used to believe that abortion should be legal until age five. But as I've grown and matured, I see that view may be a little extreme and have softened on the point a little. Now I just think that an easy out clause should accompany every birth, so that either party can opt out of the relationship at any time.

I'm just not that into you.

Like, the baby could just decide, "This really isn't working out for me. I know you're both trying, and I appreciate that, but the chemistry just isn't there. No, please don't cry. I really think this will be best for everyone in the long run. I'll send someone for my things."