I’ve Been a Little Bit of a Procrastinator…

Or: Holy Smokes, Guys. Has It Really Been This Long?


"Site Closed" is like "Caution" tape, but for the internet

Seriously. It’s been like, two years. TWO.




Uh oh.


Easiest. Doodle. Ever.

This can’t be good.


This bit right here. Just this bit. You can have the rest.*

*If you promise to be very, very responsible with it.

Well, it can’t be good for you.


But it might be!

But it’s definitely good for me.

Mostly because I really need to get all these colorful post-its off my desk and on to the Internet. It’s the only safe place for them.


Technology Is Starting to Ruin My Understanding of…Technology

Or: Why Using the Thing on the Computer that Fixes the other Things on the Computer Is Probably Making Me Dumber

Technology and I have a rocky, one-sided relationship. I need it (for controlling the air conditioner, which saves me from The South, and knowing all of the things Google can tell me. Plus, I used to use it for dating), but it can’t stand me.

Give technology the love it deserves

What? Don’t you hug your laptop?

When I went to college, I started my studies as a Computer Science major. By my logic, there was no way I could go wrong with something that has “computer” and “science” right in the title. It’ll be amazing*, I thought. It’ll be fun!
Double wrong.

Ok, not really, but it's fun to think so, right?

This provides an illustrated guide to my pre-college Computer Science understanding.

What it actually was was a whole lot of math. And calculus.***
***Pure evil, masquerading as advanced math.

Unicorns have no place in math

I had very strong opinions regarding the idea of “imaginary numbers.” If they’;re imaginary, then I can imagine them any way I want.

So I went on to major in English.

English majors love books.

I express my feelings by hugging inanimate objects. You may have noticed.

The inner workings of computers became a growing world of continuous, easily breakable mystery.

#%$! blue screen

It’s only the Blue Screen of Misery because “Blue Screen of horrible data failure, swear words, disappointment and tears” didn’t fit.

Thankfully, there is a magic tool designed for people like me, who think computers crash out of spite. It pops up, runs diagnostics, and sometimes fixes the problem entirely – while I do nothing.

It makes me feel like a wizard.

And they were classy

Today’s brief history lesson: Prior to Harry Potter, y’all, costume wizard robes were traditionally covered in stars and moons, and involved pointy hats.

It is possibly the second-most amazing thing that my computer can do.****
****Besides Internet, obviously.

But it has also destroyed my scientific view of technology.

And pockets. Wizard-me is missing out on pockets

Science-me requires glasses to look smart.
Wizard-me clearly does not care about the importance of appearing intellectual.

That is why I will probably not be any help with Applooglesoft takes over the world.

It’s ok, though. I already have a plan for that.

I’m Not Prone To Hyperbole*, but in Any Other Era, I Would Probably be Dead

Or: Why the Wand Thingie in the Shower is the Greatest Invention in the World

*Yes, yes I am. Don’t let me lie to you like that.

It occurs to me on a remarkably regular basis that if I was living in another era (say, for example, Victorian times, when “pants” was a dirty word and people wore clothes with eighteen billion heavy layers), I would not survive, much less thrive. I’m a product of The Future, and I love it here.**

**Even though I’m still mysteriously lacking my flying car. I’m waiting, Google.

Don’t worry. I have a helpful example to share with you to demonstrate my very limited technological-survival time range.

We’ve previously discussed that I am not a morning person. I love sleeping with a deep, abiding passion, and I view the morning sun as my arch nemesis. Things are even worse when I have to get up before the sun has started to peek over the horizon.

Curtains are the best invention

For the purposes of this demonstration, let’s pretend that I don’t have blackout curtains that deny the sun the ability to enter my bedroom. Let’s pretend together.

If I have to get up before the sun, I’m forced to acknowledge that morning is not the sun’s fault, and that really ruins my arch-nemesis-hating.

On the other hand, we all know who the true enemy is in the morning:

The alarm clock is evil

Yes. Early O’clock is a legitimate time. My alarm clock declares it to be so every morning.

You’re not fooling anyone by pretending to be helpful, Alarm Clock.


Nothing gets the adrenaline going in the morning quite like the sound of my alarm clock. It probably also doubles as an impending nuclear war alert.

The morning is a confusing time for me, which probably just highlights the fact that in the days of cavemen and super-predators, I would have been a delicious morning meal.

Confused in the morning

I also sound like a zombie when I walk. And look like one. I really don’t know what happens to my hair when I sleep.

My general level of morning awareness hovers right between “completely oblivious” and “just awake enough to not walk into things.”


This is an accurate depiction of my morning in-the-shower pose.

Which is incidentally low enough on the awareness scale to be completely confused when the shower does not automagically turn on. I mean, this is The Future, right?

The shower does not know you want to be clean

Ok, we should probably invent me-sensing showers before we invent flying cars. Get on it, Google.

Eventually, though, I successfully manage to both turn the shower on and hurl soap at myself.

Drawing soapy hair is hard.

This is as close as the Internet will ever get to seeing me in the shower. You’re all welcome.

On this one fateful day that we’re discussing, however, I discovered that my lack of awareness in the morning had delivered me into the grasp of a horrifying nightmare.

Dun dun. Dun dun. Dun dun dun dun dun...

This is how you end up with soap in your eyes at 5:30 in the morning.

The most terrifying, horrifying thing that can happen to a girl in the shower outside of a Hitchcock film:



In any other time period, this would have been the end of me***. This enthusiastic insect was sharing the tiny box of a shower with me. And guys. GUYS. He’d been there the. Whole. Time.

***Seriously. No hyperbole or exaggeration at all. At. All.

And my boyfriend says it makes me look very pretty.

This is my grown-up tough-girl face.

Since my first survival technique is “close your eyes tightly and pretend you are still sleeping, and then it will be a dream,” this could have been a very dangerous situation. Then, however, something occurred to me. Something important. Something life-saving.

Down the drain!

You’re feeling bad for the bug, aren’t you?
Don’t let him trick you. You can’t trust anything with more than four legs, and he had like, 80.

It occurred to me that the inventors of my modern shower had already thought through this situation. They’d invented the perfect bug-removal device.****

****DO NOT GOOGLE “Uses for shower wand.” THE INTERNET IS WRONG. It is for killing bugs.

Otherwise I'd be dead

The future has all the best murdery devices

So, you see, without the tools of the future, I’d be food for all SORTS of horrible creatures.*****

*****Like itty bitty insects. Which are the most dangerous kind.

(P.S. – Hi Internet. I missed you. Please still read my blog. <3)

You Probably Should Not Give Me Things in Tupperware

Confession time, guys.

This is my serious confession face

This is my serious confession face

You should know: I am never going to give you back your Tupperware.

Tupperware is harder to draw than cars. Apparently I think it looks like a tissue box. It's Tupperware, people.

Tupperware is harder to draw than cars. Apparently I think it looks like a tissue box. It’s Tupperware, people.

It’s not that I want it. Left to my own devices, I don’t even USE Tupperware.*
*Ziploc bags and glass dishes 4 life, yo.

What, do you not recycle via vat?

What, do you not recycle via vat?

But I am never, ever going to give it back to you.

I'm just being honest here, people. Because I care. And because you all seem to care a LOT about Tupperware.

I’m just being honest here, people. Because I care. And because you all seem to care a LOT about Tupperware.

I am going to forget it in my sink.

I have places to be because I am busy and important, but mostly because I forget to do dishes a lot.

I have places to be because I am busy and important, but mostly because I forget to do dishes a lot.

I am going to forget it on my counter.

I run a lot of places. And also can hover off the ground.

I run a lot of places. And also can hover off the ground.

I am going to forget it in my car.

I'm not getting any better at drawing cars.

I’m not getting any better at drawing cars.

It will clutter my life throughout my slow-motion, forgetful quest to return it to you.

So instead, I am just going to tell you now: If you give me Tupperware**, I am never going to give it back.
**Gladware, Ruppermaid, Ziploc Boxes…I’m not brand biased.



I am going to wash it out.

This is an entire post involving things I cannot draw. Sponges. Sinks. Tupperware. Cars....

This is an entire post involving things I cannot draw. Sponges. Sinks. Tupperware. Cars….

And use it to build a plastic fortress. For protection. In case of zombies. Or rebellious leftovers. Lots of things are thwarted by fortresses, guys.

This is my focused fortress-building face.

This is my focused fortress-building face.

So you have been warned.

Tupperware fortresses need windows or the plastic will suffocate you. Duh.

Tupperware fortresses need windows or the plastic will suffocate you. Duh.

Potato Chips Really Take the Anxiety Out of Dating

Or: Today’s Title is Remarkably Deceptive

This is The Midnight Lion.


But since we’re all friends here, we’ll simply be calling him “Midnight Lion” from this point forward. Notice his glorious mane.

He has known me for over half my life. He is perhaps my most very best friend,* and has been since we met.
*See how I used vocabulary to keep my favoritism mysterious? This is a life skill.

Don't hug lions. They are dangerous

With our powers combined, we cannot summon Captain Planet, any Power Rangers, or the Wonder Twins’ stupefying powers. But we CAN summon quite a lot of scathing sarcasm.

As my dearest, oldest friend, he is tasked with one quintessential quest: Help make sure I am a functional, mostly-only-pleasantly-crazy human being.

In fairness, he is also crazy

This is an accurate representation of many of our conversations.

He is pretty good at it.**
**I’m mostly functional. Ish.

He has also been one of my most valued advisors. He has a lot of great advice*** to share.
***Highly morally questionable and probably dangerous.

Today I am sharing with you some very sage dating advice from The Midnight Lion. You’re welcome.

I’m supposed to be getting ready for a date, but I’m scared of boys and I need a nap.

Midnight Lion:
But think of all the free food that can happen to your face. You like food. There might be ice cream.

But what if he thinks I’m ugly or dumb or he’s mean or something. Napping is never mean.

Midnight Lion:
Is he capable of providing you with free food?


Midnight Lion:
Well, there you go. Nothing about tonight can be bad, because free food. 

I dunno. Well, yes. Maybe. My brain has to work out if I can accept free food without longterm commitment. Food is pretty serious.

Midnight Lion:
Let me help. Free food and dates feel good. And are delicious. Like potato chips. 

…Gawd. I do love potato chips

Midnight Lion:
So, like, you eat the potato chips, because you want them. Then if you don’t want them anymore, you don’t have to eat them.

You can go get cheese doodles instead.

Wait. Who is giving me potato chips? 

Midnight Lion:
Your date is the potato chips. 

I thought the free food was the potato-chippy-prize for going on the date. 

Midnight Lion:
No. Your date is the potato chips. You’re committing to the potato chips for a snack. The snack in this metaphor is the date-activity.

But sometimes you just don’t want potato chips anymore. Like, you might be halfway through the bag and you’re like “Ugh. No more. This is a terrible snack.” So then you put them down or even throw them out, and never think about them again.

I think about potato chips a lot. 

Midnight Lion:
We aren’t talking about real chips. This is a metaphor. 

Oh. Right. But, what if my potato chip snack doesn’t go so well, but I still really, really want potato chips? 

Midnight Lion:
Go get more potato chips. You can even get a different bag. The bag might have changed, but they are still delicious. 

And, what if by eating the potato chips too early, instead of waiting to eat them with dinner, then I’m like, out of potato chips? 

Midnight Lion:
Who cares? They are just potato chips. 

Is this still a metaphor, or do I really get potato chips? 

Midnight Lion:
This obviously continues to be a metaphor. 

Oh, well in that case…It’s hard for me not to take every snack seriously, because I want to find the potato chips I want to eat for the rest of my life.

Midnight Lion:
Ew. Cannibal. 

So, I’m confused. When do I get chips?

Midnight Lion:

In case you were wondering, I was not even slightly late for my date.

Also, this has happened more than once:


Real friendship is all about knowing how to get your friend to get out of bed in the morning.

And now you have met my closest friend. It’s like we’re closer friends now, too.