Random shit
Eve's home from school again, barfy-but-not-quite-barfing. It's okay - obviously I wasn't going to be allowed to step foot out of the house today, because my hair is AWESOME. And the number of people I see in a day is inversely proportional to how bad my hair will be, and my hair mysteriously knows AHEAD OF TIME. My hair is an asshole.
I spent hours in an Etsy wormhole last night favouriting hand-made ecologically-sound non-toxic wooden toys between which to choose for my nephew, while at the same time wondering exactly to what degree my brother-in-law and his wife would shun me if I sent him a gigantic Nerf machine gun.
I just finished reading this book, which should be easily dismissable as the foul product of a horrifyingly diseased mind, but somehow isn't. Somehow there's enough compassion, melancholy, intelligence and social commentary shaded into the loving descriptions of bodily disease and decay to rescue it - although I have a few qualms about it being labeled teen fiction, and I have no idea who I'd recommend it to.
That commercial about banana-scented shaving lotion for carrots? It's fucking weird.
I don't like artichokes.
I spent hours in an Etsy wormhole last night favouriting hand-made ecologically-sound non-toxic wooden toys between which to choose for my nephew, while at the same time wondering exactly to what degree my brother-in-law and his wife would shun me if I sent him a gigantic Nerf machine gun.
I just finished reading this book, which should be easily dismissable as the foul product of a horrifyingly diseased mind, but somehow isn't. Somehow there's enough compassion, melancholy, intelligence and social commentary shaded into the loving descriptions of bodily disease and decay to rescue it - although I have a few qualms about it being labeled teen fiction, and I have no idea who I'd recommend it to.
That commercial about banana-scented shaving lotion for carrots? It's fucking weird.
I don't like artichokes.
Comments
My greatest gift to my son was to tell people who asked what to get him for his third birthday that I only bought hand-made ecologically-sound non-toxic feminist-friendly toys for him and that he deperately needed boy crap, so they should let their 3-year old pick out something I would hate.
He was a little perplexed though opening his gifts. "Why are all these toys so scary?"
I don't understand this world.
And etsy: oh god , etsy.
And now pinterest. Tell me you've done pinterest.
No wonder peeps can't comment anymore: we're all on PINTEReST!!