“My pancake has tusks.” (wakes up a little) “That’s not right, is it.”

He: That’s why I want the big one…

Me: What in the…?

He: (covers eyes, shakes head) You won’t believe me.

Me: Give it a shot.

He: That’s why I want the big… intern. To carry me upstairs to bed.

Oh, and then there was just general hilarity because of COURSE that’s what he meant.


According to an allegedly stunning but actually sort of “well, duh!” statement from the Catholic Church, gay people have value.

The twelve-page report also suggested that divorced people, unmarried parents, and the children of such non-traditional weirdnesses might also have some scrap of humanity.

Not all of the synod’s 41 bishops agreed with the radical shift from the Church’s traditional “go to hell, do not pass ‘Go’, do not collect $200” stance on homosexuality, which dates back to the same list of sins that singles out disobedient slaves, people who wear pantyhose, and blatant lobster-eaters as particularly hell-worthy.

Opponents of the doctrinal shift made clear that the document was a work in progress, adding “Oh, we are so not done ripping this thing apart. We won’t be happy until Neil Patrick Harris takes the veil.”

Archbishop Bruno Forte, the synod’s special secretary, said in a news conference afterward that while the church does not condone gay unions or gay marriage, it must “respect the dignity of every person.”*

Noted Unitarian-Universalist philosopher Deborah Bancroft responded “Dude, UUs have been respecting inherent worth and dignity since 1961! Actually, the origins of Unitarianism are pre-Nicean, emerging in the Apostolic Age as Socinianism and Arianism; these were later classified as heresy but continued…”

At which point we stopped listening because man. That chick just never shuts up, amirite?

*This paragraph is an actual excerpt from an actual news article in the actual New York Times: http://nyti.ms/1u00K3V

The rest is, you know, whatever.

He didn’t wake himself up this time — it’s early and he’s actually asleep, not just dozing. Which is better, really.

“I’m going to shut this place down, then I’m going to have a charcoal sandwich.”

Secret agent? (Charcoal is an antidote for… something, right?) Bouncer? Rock star? Mobster? Cop? The possibilities are endless — it’s interesting in there.

Can anyone tell me why, apparently, the only shoe styles available to retail buyers are “frump” or “slut”? Or are the buyers purposely stocking shelves with shoes that fit only these categories in a massive multi-player game of Cahootery designed to make me look like an idiot?

Can anyone tell me why, apparently, the only shoe styles available to retail buyers are “frump” or “slut”? Or are the buyers purposely stocking shelves with shoes that fit only these categories in a massive multi-player game of Cahootery designed to make me look like an idiot?

“RIGHT now I’m in scampi…”

OK, so, I have to give you a little context for this “Crazy Crap” GEM. We’re strewn across the couch in a comfy heap, watching TV, I’m knitting, Chris is scrolling through Facebook. I will later find out that someone on Facebook has posted a picture of dinner, a behavior my husband finds mystifying. Apparently this evening’s Crazy Crap is a sliver of a wonderfully satisfying snark fit on this topic, the final, devastatingly clever declamation of which was — you got it — “RIGHT now I’m in scampi.”

Chris: Morning, sweetie!
Possum: Mmrlph
Chris: What do you want for breakfast?

(Stupid question, really — we
keep thinking that this is the cue for her to say “Hmm, let’s see, then!” and make with the grub rustling. Ridiculous. We steel ourselves for, really, the only possible answer…)

Possum: What do we have?

(Usually our response is “Well, go look!” but I’m married to Chris, so sometimes…)

Chris: Lobster Thermidor with roasted truffles and skewered oysters on rosemary spriglets.

(Possum gives us her patented “There is something seriously wrong with my parents” look)

Possum: What the heck is a “spriglet”?

(I looked it up. Nothing is a “spriglet”. It’s not a word. At least, not until this morning. Take that, English!)

Chris is reading to Possum from a book called “Mixed-Up Pups” (about different dog breed mixes). As I walk past, I hear: “This adorable Puggle is half Pug and half eagle. This happy guy is a Goldendoodle, a cross between a Golden Retriever and a cheese doodle. And what could be cuter than this Maltipom, a cross between a pomegranate and…”

And I realize: I have been doing this all, all, all wrong.

Those of you who get migraines have no doubt heard the (same, stupid) advice (over and over) that the best thing to do for a migraine is to lie down in a dark, quiet room.

I want to make sure that those of you who do NOT have migraines understand that the dark, quiet room is not a treatment for migraine. It is, at best, an accommodation. The dark, quiet room does minimize sensory input such as noise, light, and small children. But aside from limiting harm, it does exactly zero. Once you’re in the dark, quiet room, you realize, “OK — I’m now lying down in a dark, quiet room… in excruciating, dehumanizing pain. Isn’t something else supposed to happen?”


And there you lie. Aaaaaaaaall freakIn’ day. If you’re lucky, you may be able to sleep a bit, but that could backfire if the headache doesn’t go away by bedtime, because then you will be lying awake in your dark, quiet room in excruciating, dehumanizing pain aaaaaaaaaall night now, too.

In short, telling a migraineur/euse to lie down in a dark, quiet room is about equivalent to telling someone with a broken leg to sit down.