I don’t know what to say about this one

I know that this will be useful to maybe three other people in the whole world, but I so desperately want those three other people to do this, that I thought I would help them out.

This is a dog wig tutorial.

It’s really easy, and reasonably functional, so long as your dog doesn’t mind wearing a wig. And honestly, if your dog does mind, please do me a favor and just skip this one. It’s not worth freaking out a poor animal for your amusement. Maybe test the waters with a tissue on their head or something.

Anyway, luckily for me, I happen to have my beardy, doggy sidekick that loves whatever I give her, and pranced around happily with hers.

What you will need is:

a piece of felt which is the approximate color of the dog in question

scissors

either yarn or wool or whatever you want the hair to be made of. Yarn is easiest.

tape

a book that is about the length you want the hair to be on each side

either a sewing machine or glue of some kind (you could sew by hand also)

velcro or elastic. I use velcro because I am afraid the elastic would be too tight and uncomfortable.

1. You need to determine how big of a head your dog has. Measure between their ears.

2. Find something circular that has the same circumference as what you just measured. Alternately, if you are a pro at drawing circles, just draw a circle on your felt with this circumference.

3. Trace and cut out your circle onto your felt. Get as close to the edge of the square as possible, to prevent waste and to save enough felt for the chin strap.

4. Take the book and your yarn and tape the yarn to the book.

 

5. Wrap the yarn around the book tightly. There needs to not be space between the strands. Wrap until you have enough yarn to cover your circle of felt.

6. Cut your yarn somewhere, anywhere, all the way across. Try to cut as straight as you can, but don’t stress about getting it perfect. This is for a dog, remember.

7. You’ll be left with strands that are about twice as long as the length you want on either side.

8. Arrange your yarn on the circle of felt. You can pin it, or not, it just depends on how precise you want things to be.

9. Sew or glue the yarn in place. I sew right down the middle, so that it looks like a center part, but you can do this however you want, just as long as things are secure. You’ll end up with something like this:

10.  Now, measure around the dog’s head, in front of their ears. Cut two strips from the felt that are half that measurement, plus about half an inch. If you are using elastic, add an inch to your measurement, and then sew/glue it on to both sides of the circle.

11. Sew or glue the strips onto either side of the circle. Where you place them on the circle depends on how the dog’s head is shaped, but it should be somewhat near the middle.

12. Cut velcro if you are using felt, and sew it on. Otherwise, you can just tie the felt.

BAM.

DOG WIG.

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Just When I Thought I Was Done…

I ran across this wee gem:

I don’t even…

I thought I had made all the points I wanted to about this kind of thing, but I was wrong because WHAT THE HELL?

This thinking right here? is almost certainly a product of rape culture. It’s the exact same logic that leads people to say “That woman was dressed like a skank, she shouldn’t have dressed like that if she didn’t want to get raped.” I honestly do not give a shit if a woman is walking around in pasties and a G-string, it’s not an open invitation for someone to put it in her.

This whole mindset, and of course, the comments themselves, is some sexist bullshit. I’ve never once seen a guy fret over the length of his shorts, for fear that he might get tackled by a group of women that just couldn’t control their urges.

I wasn’t aware that a girl was incapable of having both bangin’ cleavage that she likes to show off, and a rad personality. It’s like somehow, when a woman puts on a short skirt, she is no longer a person with a personality and a right to consent, but is instead a collection of body parts that need to be judged. Eff that noise.

It’s been said before, but I will say it again. How about instead of teaching our women that they need to cover up or else terrible things will happen to them, we start teaching people not to rape, and to treat people with some god damned respect?

Honestly. Some people’s children.

“Money is the best deodorant”

Elizabeth Taylor said that. She’s wrong though, that shit stinks. You can smell my hands after I roll a bunch of change if you don’t believe me. At my job, I encounter a ton of money. I mean, obviously, I work in a cash office. There’s not a lot to get excited about there, so recently, I’ve been noticing that a ton of people write on money. I’ve collected some photos of things I’ve seen at work, for your viewing pleasure.

The main thing I encounter is random numbers written on the bills. I don’t understand writing on money in general, and I often waste away the hours thinking about possible scenarios for all of this.

Another common thing I get is the “Where’s George” bills. I guess it’s useful if you want to  know if your bill is covered in cocaine or if it was recently in a G string.

According to wheresgeorge.com, this bill started in Colorado. It was used to buy a lottery ticket and also was spent at a casino. High G string probability.

This one started out in South Dakota. It went on a vacation with someone in Minnesota. G string risk low, coke risk moderate.

This one started in Nebraska, and includes a cutesy note about “breaking George out of the bank.” Either this bill is totally safe, or it was part of a bank heist. It could go either way.

This one is from California. It was cash for the “Office football pool.” I don’t know what that phrase means, so I am going to assume drugs, and also G strings, by virtue of being from California.

People also tend to write their names on money.

Some miscellaneous things:

BEER! And on a 20 no less!

And my personal favorites:

I was really tempted to keep this one, as I love gnomes. Unfortunately, that’s not allowed.

I really love that someone made a stamp for this. I sort of wish I had some stamps, so that I can join in the fun too.

Anyway, these are basically the highlights of my day, because my life is dull.

I don’t think any strength will grow out of these weaknesses…

It occurred to me this week after watching this video, that I am bad at a lot of simple things. So, here we go.

1. Washing my hair. I can never ever seem to rinse all the shampoo out of the front two inches of my hair. I suspect that I don’t tilt my head back far enough because I am afraid of getting water in my eyes. When I was a kid, I used to hold a wash cloth over my face when my mom washed my hair, because I hate water in my face so much. As a result, I always seem to wrap my hair in a towel, and then notice that there is still soap all up in my hair line, and I have to do some kind of bathroom yoga to bend back over the sink and get all the shampoo out of my bangs.

2. Making friends. I don’t think I have made friends with someone face to face since I was in middle school. Of course, I first meet people in person, but then all the bonding happens through technology, until we get to a point where I don’t feel like hiding any time they invite me somewhere. I always feel like there was a day at school where everyone was taught how to act like people, and I must have been sick that day. The same thing happened to me with fractions, so I know there is precedent.

3. Judging how big/small things are. I am the worst at packing. I always think I can take more than I really can, and my bags always end up overstuffed. I also get stuck in places, or bump into things really frequently, because I seem to think my butt is smaller than it is when I am looking at a space I need to walk through.  This was the worst in high school when I would try to walk past someone’s desk, and end up sliding my butt across the top instead, usually knocking off pencils and things in the process.

4. Not losing things inside of my house. Today, I lost the only bottle of lotion I own. I have no recollection of moving it, or really, the last time I saw it. I know it is in the house somewhere though. Last week, I couldn’t find any of my Playstation games, and then discovered them under a pile of CD cases a few days later. Once again, I have no memory of moving, them or of putting the CD cases there. As a kid, I was always misplacing my hairbrush. I would usually find it inside a toy box.

5. Not spilling things in my fiance’s bed. The poor guy is constantly ending up with water and coke and milk in his bed. Fortunately, it’s usually on my side, except for the one time I plopped half a cake in to a bowl of milk and got it all over his pillow. In my bed, I’m perfectly tidy. I think it must have something with being upside down where he is or something.

6. Identifying Nipples. I always think that girls are having wardrobe malfunctions when they are not. I have even gone so far as to take a screen cap of a youtube video where I thought I saw a nipple. It was pointed out that I must not really understand where nipples go, because apparently, what I saw was way too low. Here is the photo in question:

Decide for yourself.

 

You guys totally see it, don’t you?

 

Fear is the thought of… everything

Last night, as I was going to sleep, I noticed that one of my feet was slightly uncovered. In a panic, I quickly pulled my foot back under the comforter. I am terrified of having any of my limbs uncovered while I am trying to sleep. It struck me how silly that fear is, so here’s a list of some of my fears that are illogical.

1. Uncovered limbs while sleeping. I believe this stems from a scary story about an escaped serial killer hiding in a girls house, and licking her fingers when she puts her hand down off the bed. She thinks that it is her dog licking her fingers. When she wakes up, she finds her dead dog in the freezer.

2. Getting stung by a bee that has landed inside my soda can. I always look inside the can just in case.

3. Getting bitten by a spider that has decided my shoes are a lovely place for her creepy web. I always squish the toes of the shoes before putting them on.

4. Mirrors and windows at night. Some girls made me do the “Bloody Mary” thing in elementary school, and I’ve never been the same.

5. Glitter getting in my eye. My second grade teacher told me glitter was like tiny shards of glass, eager to cut open your cornea.

6. I’m 20 years old and afraid of the dark.

7. I also can’t fall asleep if all I can hear is silence. My ears start ringing, and I once read that ringing ears is ghosts talking to you.

8. Peter sleeps almost entirely motionless. Sometimes, I check to see of he’s died. I don’t check too vigorously because…

9. I’m afraid that Peter might be possessed, and that if I try to see if he is alive, his eyes will snap open and he will demon attack me.

10. Bugs. I know this is a common one, but I can’t even kill bugs. I can detect a spider the size of a quark, from a room away. If I ever see a bug and no one is around to handle it for me, I either spray it with hairspray until it can’t move, OR trap it under some kind of container until someone can come take care of it.

11. I’m not sure if this can be considered a ridiculous fear, but I’m afraid of strangers, in general. Crowds give me what I assume is a panic attack. I don’t like people touching me or trapping me and I don’t like hearing too many conversations at once.

12. The laughter of children. Something about it reminds me of a horror film.

13. Peeing with the door ajar. It reminds of that scene from The Sixth Sense, with the mom.

14. Looking up. It’s like some kind of reverse fear of heights. I feel like, if I look straight up, I will fall down.

I must look like this a lot of the time:

I would be crap at protecting Muriel

Does anyone else have something irrational that freaks them out?

This is why no one likes teenagers

The past couple of weekends, my mom has been cleaning things out of the front room of our house. (Giant kudos to her for that, because getting rid of things is hard for her.) Today, I decided to do the same to my own room. I found a story which I wrote in high school, while I was going through “a phase.” You know the one. The one where you think your deep and introspective teenage thoughts are the most brilliant thing ever? This is a product of that.

“It is a fact of my life that no matter how prepared I think I am, something always comes up and rearranges my plans. Every event in my life, major or minor, has encountered some sort of obstacle. So really, I shouldn’t have been surprised when I ended up, on the so-called happiest day of my life, on a rooftop, trying to catch my breath. I didn’t have much time, and so I walked across the tightrope, slowly, one foot carefully following the other, marveling that this particular skill had come in handy. I looked down into the alleyway, dark and filled with garbage, except that near the end, underneath a dim flickering light, was a bright red door marked “ESCAPE.” It seemed like a strange place to house such a cheery color, and the juxtaposition startled me, and distracted me for a moment. My world tumbled out of focus; I was falling through the air, my wedding gown whipping around me. It took me a moment to realize what had happened. I was falling, and would certainly die. I felt no fear. I was merely annoyed that after everything, I would still be late.

After resigning myself to this fact, and realizing that if I died, I would keep my guests waiting for who knows how long, I patiently anticipated the crushing impact. I shut my eyes tightly, and started to scream, as I imagined most people that fall from a seven story building would. How did this happen? I planned every detail so meticulously. The location was perfect. All my favorite people managed to fly in for the event. The flowers, the food, the music… everything was perfect. Even my dress was perfect, as evidenced by the fact that I had scaled a building in it, and it still looked fabulous. My fiance was nearly perfect. But they say that the perfect man doesn’t exist, right? We all have to settle down eventually. I can learn to love his flaws. The way he interrupts me every time I open my mouth will become endearing. I might even start to view it as a sign of his excitement to talk to me. And the way the constantly makes snide remarks about anything my family says? Surely I will come to find him witty and brilliant. I just have to try harder. After dating someone for seven years, what other choice is there, but to get married? I’m quickly approaching thirty. I’m not getting any younger. If I want to have any children, I’ll have to get started soon. He has a great career, he’d be able to support a family. I wouldn’t even have to work. There’s no logical reason not to marry him. His family tells me it will make me happy. I want to be happy, don’t I? Right now, I don’t have time to consider all this. I have to get to my wedding. This was the event I always waited for, the one that would signal that my life was about to start.

I didn’t have the chance to finish these thoughts. In that instant, I hit the ground. I hear, before I feel, my bones snap. I hear my self scream. I feel blood pooling around me, and feel a twinge of regret that my beautiful white dress will be ruined. There is a dull ache on the left side of my face, and it occurs to me that no matter how much hairspray is in my hair, it will no longer look perfect.  My breathing is becoming ragged, my heart is beating frantically, as though it is trying to make up for the lifetime of work it would now miss. The light above the “ESCAPE” door stops flickering. My sight is getting blurry, but I focus on the door. My field of vision closes until I can barely see the word on the door. Escape. If only it could have been that easy. I will never get to my wedding now. I will never start my life.”

I only got a 15 out of 20 for that story, mainly because I didn’t include a title.

I seem to have scrawled “I’m Getting Married in the Morning” as my “revision” to try and make up the points. I got a nasty comment saying “The title was a requirement so it can’t count as a revision.”

This is why I don’t write fiction.