It's not about the meat anymore.

Technology is a bad idea. So are pixie haircuts

Gray built a fire pit on Friday, and because we're both dying to go camping but cannot make it work with our schedules, we've decided to Pretend Camp.

Pretend Camping is exactly like real camping except for the whole "camping" part.

Scary hates it - HATES! - it, probably because the fire makes popping sounds that sound suspiciously like clapping and snapping sounds, both of which (according to Scary) are the devil himself and were sent there to give her a coronary. Lily doesn't seem to give a shit what we're doing as long as she can lick herself and eat some hamburger buns when we aren't watching.

Gray suggested we add something that reminds us of camping every time we have a bonfire, so tonight, we're going to simultaneously grill AND have a fire.

I know, right? We're absofrigginlutely wild.

He suggested smores, but I hate them. I'll assemble everything and then watch him eat them, if he wants, but I would rather eat a hot coal than a smore. BLECH. Slimey and sweet and blech. No thank you.

In the future, we plan to add guitar karaoke, scary stories, drinking card games, and tornado warnings to our Pretend Camping experience. Maybe even a tent one day. I mean...the neighbors already know we're nuts, so what's a little tent sex going to do to our rep?

So Friday, we braved the rain (Gray held an umbrella over the fire for about ten minutes and I just...sat there, getting wet and laughing at him) an burned our first bunch of logs in our new fire pit. We drank Heineken and talked about how awesome it is to poke fires with a stick. I read a huge stack of old essays and papers that I dug out for inspiration.

Then we ran around town looking for nacho cheese, but that was kind of unrelated.

Because 830mgs of Sodium Per Serving HAS To Be Good For Your Budget

Happy Mummiversary & Other Tuesday Bullshit

I use Keeley for my own selfish ends and then I discard her without a second glance. You're welcome.

But also, I'm sorry, because I am so totally off my writing game that I cannot even pretend I've *got it* right now. WHAT THE FUCK, ME? This wedding is sucking on my creativity like a whore on overtime, what with all the decisions about linen colors and WHAT SIZE THE CHEESE SLICES SHOULD BE. I am not even kidding. That is an actual question my caterer asked me. CHEESE SIZE. What the hell options do I have? Round cracker sized? Square cracker sized? Toothpick sized? ARE THERE VITAL CHEESE SIZES I AM UNAWARE OF?

Imagine how many brain cells I must have popped just thinking about thinking about something so mundane. And don't even get me started on the poker tables (the green felt does not match the apple green of our "accent table" linens, thus creating a major dilemma for my design guy at the linen rental shop, who ironically seemed totally unconcerned by the color of my face when he gave me the quote for his services).

Also, I am hooked on Etsy.com and I cannot stop buying handmade wedding crafts. CANNOT. The good news is that I single-handedly funded an in-ground pool for the backyard of some lady in Belfast who is hand-stitching my silk and organza flowers. By hand. With her hands. Oh, and if anyone tries to get you to pay an exorbitant amount of money for shipping overseas, you tell them that if Belfast can do it for $6 then so can motherfucking they.

I wrote this post over one year ago on February 11th, and to this day it remains the most-visited page of all time. In fact, my post is #10 when you google "I want 18." Now, if you're wondering why anyone would google "I want 18," just think about it for a second. Roll your mind right off your shoulders and into the filthy gutter. Think.........YES! PORN! Ok, so I get dozens of hits on this post every month and that makes me ever so proud because it means that I completely disappoint every single one of those googlers who are searching for barely-legal porn, probably to the point when they give up masturbating entirely and just have a sandwich instead. I am curing the world of perverts. And also boosting the deli meats industry. Christ, I'm a hero.

(WAIT! I just checked my google analytics and found that my Onion Breath post about Kate Gosselin's custody battle with her hair has exceeded the "I want 18" post by more than 40 hits since AUGUST, which means that the Gosselins are even more powerful than PORNOGRAPHY, people. I am not sure that's the kind of world I want to live in.)

((I just googled "kate gosselin's hair" and got over 6.7 MILLION results. *slits throat*))

Well, today is my very first Mummiversary. Many of you may be scratching your heads and wondering what the hell I'm talking about. I just want to tell you that it makes you look like apes when you do that. I confess that I would have totally forgotten about the anniversary of the de-tombing of Mummy Hand had a co-worker not reminded me, and by "reminded me," I mean that she walked into work and the first thing out of her mouth was, "I thought of you this weekend with all the melting snow and figured it was about a year ago that you broke your arm. Dumb ass." I may have inserted the dumb ass, but I know she was thinking it. Would you like to know how many people have cracked a bike-riding joke at my expense this year? I stopped counting, that's how many.

In addition to the ribbing, I also get many earnest reminders to be careful when riding my bike and to always wear a helmet and to never go out when it's icy. To those people, I say thanks. And suck it. But mostly thanks. And now I must confess that I have NEVER gotten back on the bike since my accident. Not once, not for a second. I promised my dad that I wouldn't ride without a helmet, so that has been my excuse for not riding the bike when really I'm not riding the bike because of the negative fucking association, if you don't mind. But in one way I'm grateful for the experience, and that is because it allowed me to make a bunch of useless shit like this video:

...and it's videos like these that prove useful when I have nothing substantive to write here on this blog and I resort to words like "substantive" simply because they are long and take up more space on the page, which can also be said of some of my other favorite words which are "exsanguinate" and "crustacean" and "compunction" and "conflagrate" and "antidisestablishmentarianism." And "motherfucker."

Gray Pissed All Over Me. Metaphorically, If Anyone Asks.

So, yesterday.

First we drove north on PCH until we found a public beach that we wanted to check out. Right away we saw at least 6 fins swimming south along the shore which sparked a rather embarrassing debate over which water type animal said fins belong to, a conversation in which we both sound like Midwestern po-dunk morons because DUH of course they're dolphin fins since a) they're all traveling together in a pod or a mixed family or whatever it is you call groups on dolphins these days, and also because THEY CLEARLY WERE NOT SHARKS. The whole conversation was recorded as we tried, and failed wonderfully, to get clear footage of the sharks/and/or/dolphins. We actually ended up with a west coast version of the Blair Witch Project.

Then we walked down the nearly-deserted beach to Point Dume (from the Big Lebowski ashes scene) and climbed up a trail overlooking the beach, but only a little ways up for fear I would drop dead again like I did after our Sunday hike, and plus I was wearing wedge heels and carrying a purse because...well...see the paragraph above for proof of idiocy.

Anyway, this was the view from our perch:

This is us on Point Dume:

Don't we look happy? That's because we are happy, at least so far as our tiny, retarded brains can register happiness without confusing that particular warm fuzzy with the special feeling we get when we hump our pillows. That's because he asked, and I said yes.

I'm going to be Mrs. Gray! Or She-Nurd, whichever you prefer.

Grand Marnier: Breakfasts of Freaks

Please. Don't even ask. There are no words.

Midget? No. Quitter? Oh Yeah.

I know I'm totally ruining the "illusion" for many of you, but it's time I put myself out there. I'm a person just like you, at least until the lights go out, and we're all in this together.

I don't really know what that means, so here - watch this: