So. Here’s a link for the Red Cross so you can help. If you don’t  want to click on the link, you can text “REDCROSS” to 90999 to send $10 via your phone bill. As more information becomes available for “localler” efforts at rebuilding, I’ll post those as well.

I was going to embed a cat gif here in lieu of posting a real blog post but I don’t actually know how to do that so you’ll just have to accept the thought of wanting to make you all smile with a super cute cat .gif instead.

Or, you know, do a Google search.

This never stops confusing me.

You want to make a thing and you want to make it better than you could make it if you had to make it for free or you want to be able to devote real time to it instead of having to fit it in around four other jobs or whatever your reasons might be.  Then other people look at what you’re trying to make and what you’re prepared to offer and say “heck yeah, I’ll give you some money to do that so that I can get that thing!”

I don’t understand why this causes so much angst and hoopla.

It isn’t like you have to sign up for a Kickstarter paid membership and then have no control over how that membership money gets distributed. You have complete and total control over who gets your money and how much of it they get…or not. It’s voluntary. There’s no rule that says that, just because a Kickstarter exists, you must back it.

And just because someone can make something more cheaply (or for free) doesn’t mean that they should automatically have to go that route–especially if there are people out there who are happy to pay them to make it better or more quickly or whatever.

So please. Explain it to me: What the frak is the big deal?

It didn’t really work, but I’m fairly sure I was more comfortable in the shorts than I’d have been if I had forced myself to stay in jeans.

As I lay there I realized that I had another PRO for the “Studio” column in new place searching:  Bert.

For those of you who are new, Bert is my air conditioner. He’s one of those portable models and generally does a good job of keeping a room livable during the hotter parts of summer. If I get a studio, I won’t have to close myself in a bedroom/sleep in a living room to stay comfortable come summer proper. It’ll all be one space. Granted, Bert will have to work a little harder than usual to cool off a larger space but most studios aren’t that much larger than the bedroom I had at my old apartment (which really puts space issues into perspective now that I think about it) so it shouldn’t be too hard on him.

The search begins in earnest really soon!

Yep.

Now! A reminder about THE RULES:

1. Go outside!

2. Have fun!

3. NEVER EVER TELL ME WHAT YOU DO OUT THERE.

4. NO REALLY. I MEAN IT.

It takes a while for that stuff to build up so it isn’t anywhere near full but the city doesn’t empty these bins very often and…there are flies.

Oh lord, the flies.

The flies, they are BAD. They started out innocently enough–a couple of itty bitty things hovering up and out when I’d open up the bin to toss in whatevers. But the flies…they’ve grown. And multiplied. A LOT. Like you’d have to pay out a bunch of money for CGI effects to recreate the experience for a movie A LOT. This has made composting something of an adventure. But! I’ve found a way to do it and get away relatively…unflied by the local riffraff. Here’s how you do it:

Gather up the compotable stuff into a small (easily hold ontoable) bowl. Find broom. Take both outside. (If there isn’t a lot of stuff to compost and you can fit it all into your palm, do that.)

Warily approach the compost bin. Listen carefully for sounds of buzzing. Hum the theme to Mission Impossible for added entertainment value.

Hold the bowl very tightly in one hand. I like to grab it by the side so that the mouth of the bowl points away from me.

Hold the broom by the bristle base in the other hand. Get a really good grip. (It helps to use your dominant hand for this.)

Aim the tip of the broom handle at the lip of the compost bin lid. DO NOT LIFT THE LID YET.

Square your shoulders. Plant your feet. Take as deep a breath as you can and hold it.

As quickly as possible use the broom handle to lift the lid of the compost bin and fling the contents of the bowl toward the open maw and hope for the best.

Drop the lid, flip the broom up so that now you’re holding the handle and the bristles are in the air and then run back to your apartment as fast as you can while whipping the broom around your head (kind of like a ninja sword) (or a weird lasso).

If you can make it back to your door before you run out of air, go ahead and scream. But don’t use just an open air scream or the flies will dive right into your open mouth. Instead shout things like “NONONONONONONONONO!”

If you think you’ll have to take a breath, DON’T SCREAM. The inhalation has a vacuum like effect. You might accidentally inhale one of those little buggers. Trust me.

Repeat as needed.

You’re welcome.

Should but don’t want to wind down.

Tomorrow: Again!

I’ve already written (briefly) about some of my food issues here but tonight I was listening to the latest Roderick on the Line and realized that I haven’t ever told you guys about the frosting.

I don’t like frosting.

I know! It calls into question whether or not I am actually a human. Everybody likes frosting. How can I not like frosting? It’s not normal!

But I don’t.

I can eat it in small doses now that I’m all grown up and mature and stuff (shut up) but frosting…just isn’t my favorite. Yes, even yours. Yes I know it’s amazing and tasty and I probably will enjoy the flavor but no. I highly doubt I will enjoy eating your frosting and if I trust you and we know each other well (or I think I won’t get caught), I will probably revert back to this thing that I used to do when I was…okay fine. This thing that I’ve always done because frosting is gross.

I will take the piece of cake or the cupcake and flip that thing over onto my plate (or into its wrapper) and eat it, bottom down until I hit frosting and then stop. Then, if the frosting is on a cupcake wrapper or a napkin, I will very very neatly fold up that wrapper so that nobody can see the frosting hiding inside.

I don’t remember discovering this solution to my frosting aversion. It is a habit I developed before I decided to start remembering stuff (which, yes, actually was a conscious decision that I do remember making. I was watching a sal bug roll around in a hubcap that I had busted off my tricycle at the time).

My Mom is the person who discovered that I had found a way to get around that whole “having to eat frosting” thing. She discovered it one day when I was probably about three when she pulled a book off of a low bookshelf in our living room and a folded up cupcake wrapper stuck together with frosting came out with it. Curious, she started pulling more books out of the bookcase and over and over again the same thing would happen: after every few books a cupcake wrapper or napkin would appear—folded neatly in half, the halves held together by (in some cases crusted over because apparently I had been doing this for a while) frosting.

She called me over to her and asked me about my stash.

“I don’t like frosting.” I told her, hanging my head.

“It’s okay that you don’t like frosting, but why not just tell me or someone? Why hide it?”

I hung my head even lower, and looked at her over the top of my glasses.

“I didn’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings.” I said.

It turned out that I had been sneaking the frosting out of birthday parties, family gatherings, daycare or sometimes just away from the kitchen after being given a treat and hiding it because I didn’t want the person who had made it to see that I didn’t like it and think that I didn’t like them.

This was not a system that stopped once it was found out. Nope. Instead, I just got better at it. The way my Mom tells it, even when she’d watch me like a hawk there would inevitably be a moment when she’d have to glance away (“just for a second! LESS than a second!”) and when she’d look back, I’d be in the exact same spot looking like I hadn’t moved a muscle…except the napkin or cupcake wrapper would be gone and then, after everyone had gone home she’d check the bookcase and yep. Smushed frosting.

I don’t think I went as far as to hide frosting in bookcases at anybody else’s house (or if I did, I haven’t been told that part of the story) but at home I was a toddler ninja.

These days I simply hold on to my frosting fouled whatever until I have a moment to slip away and scrape it off or toss it out…but the urge to ninja dash is still strong.

Because I don’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings…. Except….I think my Mom might still be bitter about her books.

Why yes I have been happy dancing all day, how did you know?