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Archive for the ‘really? REALLY?’ Category

that one time I was psychic

Wednesday, November 1st, 2017

I had this fella when I was in college and for a couple of years afterwards. (I believe I potentially referred to him as Jumpsuit here previously, but let’s just go ahead and pretend this is a new grown-up woman’s blog (one where the blogger doesn’t give men she planned on marrying stupid ass nicknames – we’ll call him M-, like the mature adults we now are, right, guys?)). His name was M-, and I loved him and invested in him like WOAH.

Like, we lived in a house his parents owned, and my little brother and one of my best friends were our roommates. I managed at a liquor store his brother owned while I was waiting for pastry school to start. I had my car, and our dog was pretty definitively mine (luv u 4ever Clo), but if I’d walked away that’s basically all I would have had.

This ^ is unnecessary backstory, because at my most psychic moment, M- and I were doing super duper and my reliance on him and his family were very far from my mind.

It was Friday evening at the liquor store. We had these random busy times, and I hired my mom and dad to come in for a few hours and help me out to avoid having to do big real part time hires. Also because when it goes unchecked, nepotism is real and thriving. My mom had come at 4 and was supposed to leave at 6 when M- arrived from his full time engineering job, and then he and I would work the Friday night close together. At about 5:15, I started getting … twitchy? Nervous? Panicked? I tried to call him a couple of times, because for whatever reason it felt like he was very late.

Not late, guys. Wasn’t even supposed to be on the road yet when I made these calls.

Didn’t answer, didn’t answer, didn’t answer.

Cop answered.

M- had been in a car accident a few miles from the store. He’d left his other job early.

He was fine, but I drove my ass to where he was and to this day am pretty sure I was actually aware that something bad was happening to him.

On the morning of the eclipse, this year, I had the same feeling. Twitchy. Nervous. Panicky. Like someone was very late for something. I called my mom, my brother, texted my dad, I had eyes on Crockett – everyone was fine. No one later revealed that the morning had been a disaster in some way.

So, like. How reliable do psychic powers have to be? Is 50% good enough, like baseball, or do we have to write the first off as a fluke?

Also, I know you don’t believe me and that’s fine. I love you anyway. Welcome to NaBloPoMo.

as cool as I am

Tuesday, October 31st, 2017

Tomorrow is the first day of National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo, say it, it’s fun!), and National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo, also very pleasing when enunciated). (I’m not actually sure NaBloPoMo is still a thing because potentially blogging isn’t still a thing, but we gotta leave that for now because I’m writing a blog post every day for the next month either way and I need SOMETHING to talk about.)

I’m doing both. I need to get the fuck off Instagram, if nothing else.

Brace yourself (she says to herself, when facing the prospect of an average of 2000+ words a day for the next 30 days).


Thursday, July 6th, 2017

Oh hai I got a new tattoo.

So did my mom – same thing, opposite arm.

Our reasons were manyfold (not a real word probably? But didn’t get spellchecked plus language is a constantly evolving medium and anything’s a word if you get enough children to clap while you say it.)

First, I wanted a tattoo. I was just feeling that itch. I wanted something major, and I also wanted something simple. I’m a big fan of words and I was ready to commit to ‘patience’ along my collarbone, but … things went a different direction. Obviously.

Second, my mom is going to be 70 in four years, and she’s going to be fully covered in tattoos by the time that happens (citation needed).

Third, she and I had actually discussed this after my grandfather passed away eight years ago, and then again after we lost my grandma, and somehow it just seemed like time. We had only two blurry pictures of what we wanted, but we took it to an artist I’ve used before and he squinted out his best interpretation.

Image-1 (2)

Here’s the deal as I understand it. (Grandma and Grandpa, if you’re fact checking from the afterlife then … I’m sorry but probably you should have told me the story yourselves instead of trusting the telephone game that is your twelve children to tell it for you.)

They got married when my Irish grandma was a mere babe (in more ways than one *wink* (ew)) and my grandpa was in the Air Force (or the US Army Air Forces, at the time, because there wasn’t an Air Force yet). He’d been stationed in Egypt and she went back with him after the wedding, and he bought her the necklace you see above from a dealer in Egypt named Maguid Sameda. I know this because I’ve got a terrible photo of the paperwork Sameda gave my grandfather on purchase. Here’s what it says, medium (it’s an old school form so some is printed and some is handwritten in a brutal script, I’ve transcribed it as well as possible):

I the undersigned, Maguid Sameda, guarantee that the necklace with the cat of goddess Isis sold by me to Mr L W P- (ed: L Wildman!) on 11 (September?) 1943 is Genuine.

The object is of the 16th Dynasty BC 1600.

Found at the (?) of the (?, ?) of queen (?), 1943, and was added to my collection of antiquities on 1943.

Interpretation of art or heliographic inscription

The cat represents Goddess Isis Goddess of love who is worshipped by the greeks as venus There is a great resemblance in Cat and a woman for that they made the Cat her sacred animal

This guarantee is given to ensure that the above described object can be examined at any of the world Museums.

No 1 Fouad Street, Maguid Sameda, Egyptian Museum License No 108

So, my original understanding of the story was that at some point our family had been like ‘heeeeeyyyy is this a real thing from 3600 years ago orrr…..?’ and shown it to someone, but I think we actually have just been trusting this paperwork. Which is not unreasonable, because it turns out that a huge amount of Egyptian antiquities that are currently totally legit have passed through Maguid Sameda’s hands. (Ex: this wacky statue and this codex, among many others.)

Crucially, also, this relief from the tomb of Akhtihotep.


So, the first word that I couldn’t identify above looked sort of like nelly. Or … belly. Rally? Then there was something about a table, maybe? Here:

the words

The first word starts with a … n? W? Does anyone see something I don’t? It’s DEFINITELY NOT TOMB, though, right?

I mean, here’s the thing.

If this came from the tomb of some queen …. probably I shouldn’t have tattooed it into my skin. I don’t believe in curses, per se, but also I 100% believe in curses. My family’s been ok, so far (although, gruesomely, husbands of daughters actually  don’t have the best survival rate now that I think of it?) but what if there’s something about ink that really kicks it into high gear?

Seriously, what’s that first word.

Also, I don’t know where the necklace is so please don’t report me to the Egyptian museum. If I ever inherit it, I’ll send it over immediately for a promise of a curse free existence. Promise.


twenty minutes

Tuesday, November 22nd, 2016

I’m still thinking about David Blaine. I have a theory.

So, his wacky physical stuff can be explained by him being disciplined and willing to push his body farther than any normal person ever would. Like, he trained himself to hold his breath for seventeen minutes or some equally ridiculous shit. On the Netflix special, Crockett and I saw him teach himself to drink gallons of water, then kerosene, then spit them in reverse order onto an open flame.

Basically, physically he makes very poor choices but some of them look neat.

The other thing he does all the time, though, I am stymied! Or was, until I came up with my foolproof theory. The thing I’m talking about is the audience participation thing. He’ll have someone sign a card, then that same card will turn up in that person’s inner pocket. He’ll have someone think a name, and then that name will appear on the inside of the window of the store they’re standing in front of.

There’s only one solution.

He can see, like, twenty minutes or so into the future.

Think about it. It’s not really far enough to do much useful, and he doesn’t quite seem like the selfless type anyway. I mean, COULD he sit in the ICU and tell doctors when someone is pre-crash? Sure, but how would that bring in the ladies? Could he travel with SWAT teams and tell them when a situation is going to go south based on their current course of action? Totally, but SWAT members make, what, like high five figures? That ain’t Vegas money.

Short of googling how those tricks are done (which I have no interest in doing because it’s likely to be either technically complicated or prosaic and I’m not into that), this is the only explanation.


*Pats self on back*


Tuesday, November 15th, 2016

I’m sore.

Very sore.


The fact that I’m so surprised says one of two things about me. A) I’ve been dramatically underestimating yoga-ites and the workout they get for quite some time, or B) I’m a gigantic baby with spaghetti for muscles and a minimal pain tolerance.

I’m going again tomorrow night, because either way, it’s a much better workout than I expected.

Yoga clothes are cute, right?