#LoveQuest2016

Hi BeanBags,

I’ve been single for almost 5 years now and for the past year  I’ve been dipping my furry little toes into the dating pool. I’ve been wondering around long enough now to enlist someone to watch  and do the commentary for me. Also, I use the word “dating” very loosely here, as it’s more like me falling in love with a stranger who happened to catch eyes with me because I was blocking the exit of the Starbuck we were in. WHATEVER, BRAD. ENJOY YOUR FRICKEN LATTE.  #LoveQuest2016

I tried OKCupid and it was a fun experiment to see if this ol’ girl could still turn up the charm. However, the crippling fear that my picture was better looking  than the real life version of me had me too scared to meet anyone because I can tell myself I’m ugly. I don’t need BingBong from Dorchester telling me I should get a nose job and veneers.

According to The Secret, I should start making room in my life if I want a buddy to hang out with and smooch me and tell me my hair smells like lavender. I like living in clean spaces and, that being said, my room is a rathole. Everything is fresh and delightful and I have fun trinkets you can play with but storage is not on the top of the selling points for the apartment. Everything doubles as a shelf. Bed, desk, windowsill. All shelves. When one is in use, you just have the rotate which one is going to be the main shelf, then disperse the rest accordingly. I’ve been cleaning up and making room on my shelves so my beau, which I’ve conjured with the law of attraction, can sit down and watch me brush my hair for 45 minutes and talk about how small cotton balls are getting.

To add to the atmosphere, I have lovely beeswax and coconut oil candles. However, the faint scent of farm fresh potting soil from the flower bed outside never ceases to waft in at just the right time. No, Brad. Maybe YOU shit your pants. #LoveQuest2016

I’ve been going out to events and social gatherings more than usual, because unless he drives the pizza delivery car, then I’m most likely not going to meet anyone inside my house. I’m one step away from walking around Boston asking “Are you my mother?” but only replace “mother” with “boyfriend,” “soulmate,” or “twin flame.” There are a lot of people, someone is bound to respond favorably.

I’ll report  back if any of my rituals calls forth a worthy mate for my hair brushing ceremony. How’d you guys meet your partners? Tell me. Is it close by? I’ll be right over.

xosmooch143bye

 

 

I WENT TO CANADA

This weekend I went to CANADA!

I saw Niagara Falls, ate a Tim Horton’s donut, and bought checkered long johns with a workable buttflap.

If you’re afraid of heights and/or horrible naturally-occurring deathtraps, then I don’t advise going to the falls. I also REALLY don’t advise going to tourist attraction, “Journey Behind the Falls.”

In Journey Behind the Falls you pay $20 to stand in a 98 degree holding cell underground for an hour and then get smooshed into an elevator with 10 other people and plunge 70ft below the earth. Then you step out of the elevator (in your sweaty plastic bright yellow poncho) and into the warm inviting stench of diarrhea. You’re supposed to wander around underground tunnels, literally behind and under the falls. It’s dark and the sound is deafening like in the Titanic when the whole joint was blowing up and water was busting out everywhere.  We lasted about 3 minutes until we ran to the equally as horrifying elevator. I’m sure there’s a nice tourist somewhere admiring their family vacation photos and spotting a young girl in the background ralfing into the water right behind Nana.

To ease the pain and redeem our marshmallow girl status, we returned back to the surface and as I mentioned, bought buttflap pajamas. Everything was right again.

It was a great experience to see how quickly mother nature could crunch you into oblivion. I ended up researching morbid things like “deaths at Niagara Falls” and “why does it smell like diarrhea at Niagara Falls.” To be continued.

In another surprising discovery about the world, I found out that you can turn your roaming features off on your phone without turning off your data. You’ll know you’ve done it right when an hour later you receive a courtesy text from AT&T stating that you’ve have exceeded the $100 mark in international rate charges. I’m guessing my bill is anywhere from $101 to $6,000. And to think I had OKCupid open the whole time and I didn’t even talk to any hunks.

Alright kittens, don’t go meandering off the sides of any monstrous water attractions.

I love you, sleep tight, kiss your Nana(s) and your Gigapets goodnight.

In Which I Have Visions

Hey quackmonkeys,

It’s a little known fact, aside from close friends knowing, that I’m pretty intuitive. I get weird/accurate gut feelings about situations, I manifest people and items quickly, and I’m pretty good at those flash cards Venkman tests those kids with at the beginning of Ghostbusters.

But last night was extra woo-woo. I had a dream that my aunt slipped while out in the snow and had to go to the emergency room. She had to be hooked up to breathing machines, have X-rays, etc.

Pretty simple dream. Short and weird. I woke up, rolled over, and went back to sleep and dreamt that I was a French duck-lawyer, trying to solve my case.

I forgot about the dream and went to work. It wasn’t until later this afternoon, when my mom texted me to say that my aunt  (same accident-prone dream aunt) was in the emergency room, that I remembered it. She had to get her lungs checked out and do breathing tests for an injury she got while out in the snow.

WEIRD, HUH?

What’s also weird is that I curled my hair and now I smell like burnt fur. I can’t wait to charm all the boys.

Anyways, peace-love-and duck-lawyers!

Lolo von Quackenthecases.

I Can Feel My Face

Hey crapshoots!

One year ago this month I got my wisdom teeth pulled out! All five of them! (I’m proof my family is devolving. But we already knew that.)

It just so happened that when the surgeon attempted to take out the fifth, he hit a nerve, leaving the left side of my mouth numb. Brushing my teeth on that side didn’t feel like anything, my chin on that side was always on pins and needles, and I couldn’t fully feel my mouth smooching my box of Lucky Charms when I got home from work.

BUT the past few days, upon shoveling graham crackers into my mouth, I noticed I could feel CRUMBS on my face. FREAKIN’ CRUMBS. *sets off fireworks spelling out CRUMBS in the air*

Sometimes that’s all we need in life to feel joy. Sweet, delicious, crumbs on your face.

Don’t make that a sexual innuendo.

I’m serious.

kloveyoukaboom

I’m an Asshole

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SHOWCASE! And Other Emotions.

Hey kittens!

I’m pretty sure it’s only been two days but it’s felt like an eternity since we last looked longingly into our computer screens at one another’s words and stuff.

Fitting, as George Michael’s “Kissing a Fool” is playing in the background. *kisses screen* Is this weird? Shh, I don’t care. Turn down that backlight while I slip into something more comfortable. *sets up gel wrist cushions to prevent tendonitis*.

Anyways, I’ve been really sick the past few days. There’s a Steve Martin quote from his book “Born Standing Up” that talks about how before preforming an important show the nerves you get as a performer can fight off weight gain and illness, yet 24 hours after you’ve finished the show, you succumb to complete exhaustion and flu-like symptoms.

I’m flu-like symptoms. Hold me. Brush my hair. Tell me I look fine with braces.

But look, I kept my promise! I attached a picture of my gems and footwear that I wore at my showcase.

Why yes, those are RingPop shoes with a a bejeweled RingPop necklace.

Apparently the gummy bear knuckle ring was sparkling so brightly that 3 people in the audience were blinded. There might be a class action suit against me but I don’t really know because I make things up.

Being in the green room was fun. Although I sounded like a clydesdale hoofing it up and down the stairs in the RingPop shoes. There was a lot of excited and nervous energy, but I started getting distracted and I could tell the order of my jokes was running away  down the street to the restaurant I knew I’d be eating at after. I had to stand in a corner and face the wall and shout my jokes at the water heater to make sure they didn’t order a salad over the French onion soup. I ended up getting both later, but that’s besides the point.

The theme of my set was babies. Terrible, terrible babies. I felt a little cliche being a ladygirl and talking about all those darn babies that ruin her life. I have better premises, but there are some that I want to spend more time on because they are like my children (not babies though, gross) and I want to nurture them with PopTarts and watch them grow.

But I did well! Minus blanking when I got up on stage! But that’s okay, because my dress had pockets that I nervously shoved my set list in, along with some granola bar crumbs and a straw wrapper.

I changed a lot of my jokes last minute because I wasn’t feeling 100% behind my material (Even though I had 2 months to prepare. I get a sick pleasure out of torturing myself by doing things last minute. And by last minute I mean changing jokes while I’m pacing in the hall waiting to go on.)

I also didn’t tighten the mic stand because I have marshmallow arms. It started to slowly get lower and lower, so I looked like a troglodyte hunching over the big noise boom stick.

But yay!

This was something I always wanted to do, and the only thing I’ve really cared about consistently. I can play about one and a half songs on every instrument known to creation. I’m decent at roller derby. I can brush my cat really well so she doesn’t get hair balls. But stand-up is my favorite thing and has been since elementary school. In my head I have a reputation of being the crazy girl who shows up to everybody’s comedy shows (famous or local) and has a big goofy smile and eyeballs popping out of her face. I’m not crazy just so excited it that it looks crazy. “My Heart Will Go On” just came on the radio. I think that’s a sign that shows my intentions are as pure as a sweaty palm print in a Renault Type CB Coupe de Ville.

Yoouuuu’re heerrre…therreee’s NOOOOTHIN’ I FEEAAR.

Oh shit, my favorite song (“Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’) came on after that. This the best day ever. Dance children, DANCE.

Alright, maybe there is a tinge of whacka-doo, but those are great songs and you know it.

Have a great night, and until next time my little PopSharts!

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My Best Physical Feature, BY: Me *kisses mirror*

Day 10 of the Blog Challenge!

I have to pick my BEST physical feature.

How do you expect me to do that when all my physical features are THE BEST.

You know, because my self esteem to shooting across the sky like rockets filled with Mentos, Diet Coke, and Pop Rocks.

I don’t think anyone can name their best physical feature with out it looking like a “humblebrag.”

BUT if you’re going to tie my hands behind me back (which I know you are totes doing that virtually), I guess I would have to say….

MY EYELASHES. *bat bat bat*

I’m sure wherever you are sitting you felt like your computer turned on a Beyonce-force fan.

I bet your eyebrows have nearly blown clean off your face.

That whole butterfly effect mumbo jumbo?

I’m totally effecting your world and how you live in it just by how frequently I blink these eyeball hair fans.

 

So there you have it.

Until next time, my little dinette sets.