An Open Letter to the Internet Regarding the Olympics

Hi Internet.

It’s me. Your old pal and annual Valentine.

Look, I know things between us are better than normal. I know we’re spending a lot of time together lately and it’s really paying off. But I have to talk to you about something pretty serious. Something pretty close to my heart. Something with a longer-standing history than the affair between us.

The Olympics.

The lyrics to this song are really hard to spell

Duuuunn dun dun dun duuuunnnn dun. Dunnn dah-dah-dah duuuunnnn…

I know we talked about the Olympics for months before they happened. Together, we made flippant remarks about Russia and Sochi’s un-Olympically warm weather. We joked about how Vladimir Putin was going to use this international event to further his plans for world domination.

We bonded over it.

But honestly, you’re kind of destroying this miracle of worldwide gathering and athletic competition.


Way to go, Internet.

When I was but a small person-in-progress, the cruelest part of the Olympics were the commentators. They mercilessly pointed out flaws and errors I never would have notices. They informed me about traumatic and private backstories. They seemed to jinx every athlete and doom them to embarrassment and failure.

I was sure, when I was small, that figure skaters could hear all the comments being made about them.

SHHHHH Commentators!

In this hypothetical doodle world, she just did three triple toe loops. Can’t we talk about how cool that was?

These days. Though, things are a thousand times worse. Graceful figure skaters who have trained for years and dedicated their lives to their sports are reduced to the most ridiculous faces they make while performing.

He is the picture of grace

I would never have noticed this face without your help, Internet. And I would have been fine with that.
Click for source.

Because that won’t give them a complex or anything.

Instead of focusing on how skillfully the opening ceremonies told a (truthfully romanticized) history of Russia, the entire Internet focused on the failed ring unfurling. It’s become an iconic gag.

I'm cool letting Russia Forget about this

That someone over in Russia is mortally depressed over, I’m sure.
Click for source

Darling Internet, light of my life, you have entire pages and social accounts dedicated purely to Olympic crashes and fails. The running gags of “Sochi Problems” has convinced half of America (who don’t get that the vast majority of these are photoshopped creations for humor) that Russia is even more backwards than before.

So please. Ease up on the country-and-athlete-bashing. For the next Olympics, at least. Let’s get back to being wildly impressed at what people are capable of achieving in this competition of fitness and skill.

Because it was way more fun to dream about being a figure skater when I was a little girl…when I didn’t think that I’d find myself obsessing about being plastered all over the Internet with this face.

Awkward for everyone involved, I know

In fairness, this is what I look like while figure skating, and I can’t even spin.

Kisses and candy,

Your Devoted and Adoring Bloggerette


We’re still cool, right?

(I know linking to all these things is probably just furthering the problem, but I feel like credit should always be given where credit is due. Also, I laughed at Sochi Problems until I fell out of my chair, until I talked to someone who really thought all Russians were dumb.)

Yet More Confessions of an Otherwise (Sort of) Dedicated Blogger

Oh, man.

Two days this week and no blog posts? This is a capital offense, I know. But please, please, don’t be mad. I have a really good reason for it.

Ok, not that good a reason....

See? A _really_ good reason.

I want to make it up to you, though. I really mean it.

So I’d like to present to you the most badass man in the history of time:
The 80-year old guy who fought a bear, fell of a cliff, and is still alive.

Is that not enough of an apology? Ok, ok. How about fair warning that bugs are going to get way, way worse in the future?
Remote controlled cyborg cockroaches are a thing, and if PETA doesn’t stop them, NOTHING EVER WILL.

Ok, fine. Fine, Internet. I’ll pull out the big guns.
The cats behind cat memes, because I know you love cats, Internet. I pay attention to things you like because I care.

And here is a picture of a tiny happy rodent:

I do this for you

Click for source.

(I am clearly behind on blogging this week, and my little creativity-hiatus on Monday and Tuesday has me chomping at the bit to write. Thanks for being patient with me, guys-who-bother-to-read-this-blog. <3)

Happy Valentines Day, Internet

It’s February 14. That means it’s Valentines Day.* A holiday both adored and reviled by the young and old alike. Some people loathe it, other people ignore it, and some people embrace it.
*I spell it this way on purpose, guys. It’s not Saint Valentine’s Day anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time. It’s a day to celebrate Valentines. Ergo, Valentines Day.  


I clearly put lots of effort into making my Valentine for you. You are _welcome._

I’m one of the embracers, guys. And I’m not ashamed of it. But I don’t embrace it because I think I’m somehow owed flowers and tokens of love today because I just so happen to be female.** I think people lose their minds around this time of year – the same way people lose their minds on Black Friday and spend a whole day trampling each other in stores instead of spending a post-feast day relaxing with their families.
**How is that fair, anyway? How did Valentines Day turn into some affection-test for guys? Who was in charge of that nonsense? Can’t we just relax, people? Why does this aside involve so many questions?

I like to present a front that I have no time for love anymore in my life. I’m an independent woman, after all, single and in my 20s. TV tells me I should be a champion of everything.

'cause the face is busy being bitter...

I’m also a child who grew up in the 90s. I’m super good at “talk to the hand.”

That’s not really the real me, though. I come from a home that has always been full of love. My parents loved me and my brother endlessly, and never skimped on affection. They also love each other – a fact that I’ve never had to question, ever. They’re loving and affectionate and sometimes they even flirt. Frequently, there is cuddling.***
***All of this is, of course, accompanied by obligatory “ew, you made me, stop that, gross, parents” faces from me.****
****You’re welcome, Mom and Dad.

So despite pretending to be a cold-hearted monster without concern for love, what I really am in someone who wants to find the perfect partner. I want, in the longterm, the kind of relationship I see in my parents. Ew-faces aside, I’m a pretty lucky girl to have grown up in a household like that.

This is what REALLY causes heart attacks

Which coincidentally resulted in me actually being a lot more like this.

This has led to some issues along the way. I’m not exactly talented when it comes to picking romantic partners. This tendency has further fostered my posturing as a coldhearted, aloof girl, destined for a future full of cats.

But the point remains: I firmly believe in love. And I believe in Valentines Day. Not because it’s a test of someone’s love for you – and how well they can show it on demand – but because it’s a great time to do something that makes you happy.

Frequently, I am single on Valentines Day. That tendency is actually what drove me to embrace it.

Last year, with the help of a fellow single friend – who we shall call The Hero of the South (THotS, which is pronounced “Thhhhh-oates” as of this very moment) – Valentines Day was celebrated with style. We dressed up. We high-fived. We got drinks.

I am so giving today

Hi THotS. You know who you are. And you know you were never going to get a vote in your blog-name. _You’re welcome._

Most importantly, we went out for ribs.

Ribs. RIBS. Delicious ribs.

That lady is a waitress. I think she was scared of us.

Most people can’t bring themselves to go out for ribs on a romantic holiday, because…well…it is not attractive to eat ribs. They were delicious.

Other single Valentines Days have been celebrated with fellow single friends and movie nights – not in self-pity because we’re single, but because we’re at the same stage of life. Sometimes it’s refreshing to be surrounded by people who are sharing your current life goals, problems and, well, lack of couple-related responsibilities.

Before my pride was so barren of single friends

There is always popcorn. It is a rule.

This year, I have a date. I’m celebrating Valentines Day romantically, it’s true.


Guess what we’re doing? Go on. Guess.

But no matter what, it’s still kind of an awesome holiday, if you let it be. Couples get to be coupley. Single people can throw parties. Married people can set aside some time to go out on a real date.

If we all just stop being bitter and thinking this holiday is all about showing off.

So, Happy Valentines Day, Internet. I’m really glad we’re in each other’s lives.

Totally true

Because ours is a truly true love.

I Am Trying to Write a Blog Post While Working from Home*

Or: My Cat Doesn’t Want You to Read This

*While taking a totally legitimate work break. Smokers have smoke breaks. Bloggers have blog breaks. It’s an addiction, which is a disease, so it’s not my fault and I’m super entitled to it. Shut up.

Guys, this week, I really wanted to share a whole bunch of hilariously awful stories of the tragedies that are my romantic history. I have a lot of them, and they’re great fodder for doodles.

But this week, the Snowpocalypse has come to visit the Queen City.

That means I’m working from home.

Crap. It's weird, isn't it?

My cat wanders around purr-hum-meowing. That’s normal, right?

With my cat.

Like a tiny fuzzy ninja

She is an expert at sneaking into laps from under blankets.

Who is very clingy.

We suit each other so well

She’s also kind of shove-y and personal-space-invade-y.

And does not share attention well.


This is why my current project reads “wretcidnpwvnrub79843” in the middle of a sentence.

I have no idea how she got this way.

And the laptop says "i4e80t208wh"

Purr. Purr. Purr.

No clue at all.

I guess life is full of little mysteries like that.

Cold Medicine Is a Tricksy Mistress

Or: I Was Going to Write about More Tragic Tales of Failed Romance, but then THIS Happened

It’s no secret – I’m sick this week. I got laid low by what I like to call “horrible death cold” somewhere around Saturday night, and now, by Wednesday, I like to think I’m all better.



But I’m not.

Uh oh


It’s a lie. It’s cold medicine.

Yup. Not really better at all

Oh Dammit.

I woke up this morning feeling spectacular.


It feels really spectacular to breathe after four days of being unable to breathe.

I almost acted like a morning person. I showered and brushed my teeth and flitted around without even the help of coffee. Because I had AIR. Air was my new best friend. It gave me super powers. It made me feel like I was fueled on sunshine and happiness.*
*Which isn’t really helpful today, since the Queen City is preparing for a snowpocalypse today. There’s no sunshine to be had.

Wuv. Twue wuv.

It’s a true love. And unbreakable love. A love that lasts until death.

In my bliss, I completely forgot exactly how much cold medicine I’d layered on myself last night. Specifically, I forgot the sweet blessing of 12-hour Afrin.** Which I used last night, specifically because I was completely unable to breathe at all, and without breathing, there would be no sleep.
**Which is the divine gift to sick people.

Product placement!

Can you hear the angels singing? It’s really evil malicious laughter.

I know this, because now that I am at work, officially far away from life-saving congestion-fighters and medicine of any kind, I cannot breathe at all and am once again convinced I am so sick I may die.

Wheeze wheeze wheeze


Not funny, medicine. Not funny at all.


Side note: The product placement in this post didn’t benefit me in any way at all. I’m just being honest about the medicine that conned me into thinking I was well just long enough for me to go to work.