Marketable Skills. (updated)
So at this point you’re probably thinking to yourself “Hey, Chayday, if I was married to you, what sort of text messages could I expect to interrupt my otherwise highly productive day?”
Well, gentle reader, I shall tell you.
Sometimes I like my text messages to be:
a) multi-part, and
b) themed.
Take, for instance, my recent decision to make up and send HORRIBLE jokes to my husband.
These are especially excellent if you know that before The Husband, I was not huge on bodily function humour. (Which explains his response to Joke the First.)
Ahem.
Yesterday, 3:50pm:
Me: “Why did the chicken cross the road?”
Him: “I dunno.”
Me: “Because he farted. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
Him: “What have you done with my wife?”
Yesterday, 5:05pm.
Me: “Knock knock.”
(Weirdly, he didn’t reply to this, so I had to save it for today.)
Today, 2:51pm.
Me: “Knock knock.”
Him: “Who goes there?”
Me: “The chicken. He went outside to fart and forgot his keys.”
Me: “Can you believe I JUST came up with that?!”
Him: “Pure comedy gold.”
Agreed.
ETA:
Wednesday, 5:03pm.
Me: “Why did the chicken light a match?”
(long delay)
Me: “I ASKED YOU A QUESTION.”
Him: “Why?”
Me: “Because the power went out and he couldn’t see his Sudoku.”
Tuh-wist!!
Little Tikes: No dreams are too small to squash
From How To: Prepare Your Child For A Life Of Servitude To The Man, the Little Tikes “Young Explorer“:
See also Chuck & Bean’s My First Cubicle:
“A Consumer”
As described by your pal and mine, William Gibson. Quoted in “Why I won’t buy an iPad” (which, btw, is also f’ing brilliant).
A Consumer
“[S]omething the size of a baby hippo, the color of a week-old boiled potato, that lives by itself, in the dark, in a double-wide on the outskirts of Topeka. It’s covered with eyes and it sweats constantly. The sweat runs into those eyes and makes them sting. It has no mouth… no genitals, and can only express its mute extremes of murderous rage and infantile desire by changing the channels on a universal remote.”
That, or Kermit & Big Bird’s illegitimate offspring
The husband and I were bone tired by 9pm tonight. But, unwilling to just veg out, and unable to do anything that involved synapses firing, we settled on…
…
colouring.
It was my suggestion, and I stand proudly behind it.
I dug out a (decidedly musty) Muppets colouring book. Purchased a number of summers ago for cottaging purposes. I believe the same cottage trip whose supplies also included embroidery floss, henna, and green nail polish.
This was my contribution. A space/retro pig in floods with a ‘burbs dye-job. Feel free to notice the creative license wherein I added orange tread to her shoes. I know. I’m a star.
This… was his:
God I love that man.
Email, according to Eddie Izzard
In an interview with Mike Birbiglia, Eddie Izzard summed up the exact social dynamics of my inbox:
When I get messages from people I want to get back to, I think “shit, I’ve got to get back to them in a decent way, not just go ‘guhwuhtha'”. You know those emails? “guhwuhtha Okay.” So I think “I’ll hold that email or I’ll hold that message and I’ll store it. And so people I don’t get back to are people I really don’t care about at all, or people I really care about. And so everyone’s in the same fucking bracket.
“Unless you’re gonna commit, grab a hoodie.”
Fluffiness >= Rage
Sometimes the net tosses up something stupid that just kills me.
This is one of those things. I have been laughing at it for days.
I think maybe I am this kitten. Which means I’m laughing at myself. I’m cool with that.
Pigtail-toting coffee making miniature robot girl*.
This video makes me bizarrely, deeply happy.
*with a tail too.
One of the best worst things I’ve ever seen
Favourite bits:
* When he f’ing steals his kid’s laptop
* The strategically placed stickers on his kid’s laptop
* “It’s from Microsoft? So it’s pretty easy to use?”