Women Are Not Bears

I wrote something for Cracked.com today.

I originally intended it to be an advice piece about relationships and communication because that topic has mass appeal and I want to be famous, but no. My article turned out to be mostly about bears.

I wrote about bears because, as I was writing about relationships, I made a bear-related analogy and then it spiraled and the whole thing kind of became bear-themed and before I knew it, I was writing almost entirely about bears.

I'm probably not going to get famous by writing about why women are not like bears, but you never know. I like to think of it as niche-writing.

Anyway, if you want to read my article about why knowing how to tell the differences between women and bears could save your life, then go 

It's kind of about relationships, but it is mostly about bears.

If you suspect that you may have been exposed to a bear, please go to the hospital.


EMERGENCY UPDATE: A few of you conveniently pointed out some common but often lethal misconceptions about bears:

 from infinitely funny blog
I'm Not Benny said: "Rosie O Donnell is kind of like a bear. I'm not saying she IS a bear, I'm just saying that there is something called electrolysis in the world and it's not beyond the realm of reason that she might actually be made out of bear. 

You know, originally.

So that's why I always ask women if they've had electrolysis. If they say yes I immediately start banging cooking pots together and screaming SHOO BEAR, SHOO!

Bears hate that shit.

Tim, you make a good point because Rosie O'Donell IS the most dangerous halfling shapeshifter there is, but I feel compelled to point out one fatal flaw in your logic: If you were able to successfully shoo the creature away by banging pots and pans, it most likely actually was Rosie O'Donell and NOT a bear. Unless it brutally maimed you and deflowered your skull before it left. Then it was probably a bear. But it could also have been Rosie O'Donell still. It's a fucked up world, Tim.

from If Carlston Made Blogs (and let me tell you, if Carlston made blogs, they would probably be a lot like this one) said: "I always wondered why my dates kept eating entire tubes of toothpaste until I hid them up trees. Thanks for the insight, Allie"

Again, I feel the need to clarify. Carlston, your dates were most likely WOLVES and not bears. Bears don't give a fuck about toothpaste - they want your blood and there is nothing that can distract them from that ultimate goal.

It can be very difficult to tell what is truly a bear and what is merely a dangerous but not 100% fatal animal. It is very important to understand that if it is not actively destroying you, it is probably not a bear. Even if you think you are safe because you are on top of a mountain and you can see the bear lumbering around in the valley - that's not a bear. If it was a real bear, it would instantly teleport to your pathetic mountaintop and slaughter you without remorse. In fact, most modern-day images of bears are actually of Rosie O'Donell. She is much less aggressive and easier to photograph. It is difficult to say whether anyone has been able to successfully capture a bear on film, but my instincts say it is doubtful. The lack of photo evidence with which to identify bears makes them even more of a threat to your safety.

Twitter is Dead to Me. So I Gave it twAIDS.

I normally wouldn't post something like this because I'm classier than that and I have dignity, but sometimes I just post stuff because I can and today is one of those days.  Also I don't feel like I have accumulated enough comments on Friday's post so usually what I would do is not post anything and hope that I can trick you guys into thinking that the post on the top of the page is new and therefore worthy of your attention and commentary.  But not today.  Today, I am posting irresponsibly.  Like if I usually didn't do drugs and then one day, I decided to do drugs and get pregnant and drink moonshine and drive to Texas to meet up with some dude named mikehunt69 whom I met on Craigslist.   That would be irresponsible.  And so is this. 

Maybe you should just read what I wrote yesterday again.  And watch the video because the end is awesome and there is a picture of a cat-shark in it.  And also Bear Grylls.     

Anyway, if you have exhausted all other options, read on...  

I've noticed that Twitter likes to come up with cute little word combinations that make ordinary words or phrases more Twitter-related.  For example:

Twaffic: "Twitter traffic."  

Tweetheart: "Twitter sweetheart" which, in my opinion, is a step down from "Craigslist whore-friend" and is probably not something that should exist, but apparently it does exist and I'm patenting the phrase "twivorce" right now before it's too late and I've missed my opportunity to profit off of the misery of others. 

Twittastic:  "Fanstasic, but not just regular fantastic:  fantastic on Twitter

Twitterrhea:  "Twitter diarrhea" which can mean "too many loose, watery tweets" or "tweeting while pooping violently" which is probably something that has actually happened and that makes me die inside.  

Twitterholic: "Twitter alcoholic" or "Twitterer who is like an alcoholic, only instead of alcohol, they are addicted to tweeting" which is is not a real disorder and actually undermines the legitimacy of alcoholism by mere association.  It's like saying "Haha, I'm a twitterbetic and I need to tweet regularly or else I'll have a tweizure!"  You sound like an asshole.    

Twitter posts a random sample from these cute little abominations - "twifinitions," if you will -in their sidebar so that all the Tweeters out there can stay current on the hottest new "twingo" and "twargon."  But today, Twitter finally took this cute little game too far:

Twi-Haiku?  You didn't think of maybe trying Twaiku first?  Or is this some cruel joke on the entire twittosphere where you point out how stupid we are by sabotaging your already scant credibility?  Are you even trying anymore?  

Twuit it Twitter.  I've twad tweenough of your twinanigans.  I will twack you down and twangle you until you twi-die.  Then I will twisembowel you with a twamurai tword.  Then I will twesurrect you.  Then I will twill you again.  With my twuck.  Then I will set you on twi-fire and twape you in the eye with a twap-on.  Because I'm a twiropyronecrophiliac.  And I have twAIDS.  And you will get them!  Haha!

Consider that a tweat.   

Tweace out, bitch.   

Don't Ever Fall Asleep Watching "Land of The Lost"

I think that I might finally have Swine Flu.

I'm all achy and pokey.  Most doctors don't understand what I mean when I say I'm feeling "pokey," but "pokey" is what you feel like when the mere act of existing with other molecules results in an uncomfortable poking sensation on your skin.  I can almost feel the particles pinging off of my face.

My stomach feels... crawl-y.  If stomachs could crawl sneakily, that's what mine would be doing.   I'll be lying on the couch debating whether an empty stomach or a full stomach would be more detrimental to my health and suddenly I feel this little rippling inside of me.  I say "Stomach! What the fuck are you doing?" And my stomach makes a little shivering motion and gurgles and I interpret that to mean "Oh nothing... just go back to doing what you were doing.  I'm fine.  Really.  I'm totally fine and not at all trying to sneak away to find another body that doesn't eat things like 'cheese pancakes'"

Cheese pancakes are when you put cheese in a frying pan and then as it's melting, you try to make it into a pancake shape with the spatula.

Anyway, I fell asleep watching "Land of The Lost" yesterday.  "Land of The Lost" is not a movie that you should watch if you have a fever and there is any chance whatsoever that you could fall asleep while the movie is still playing.  

If you fall asleep while watching "Land of The Lost" (especially if you are already semi-delirious from fever) you will awaken in a hell of confusion and fear.  A hell in which Will Ferrell is running away from a dinosaur and you have no idea why he's doing that and then he's running away from a giant crab and then he's running away from Sleestak which are the creepiest fucking shit ever and then there's flashing lights and a monkey-person peering out from behind a rock and all the while danger music is playing and you are almost positive that you are not going to survive. 

Now imagine that you were having a dream in which your hands are giant and your body is tiny and you've just figured out that nouns are a conspiracy but every time you try to tell someone about the noun conspiracy they turn into a land-capable shark and then you wake up and you are only several feet away from the television because you fell asleep on the floor and this is what you see/hear:

One second you are asleep dreaming about land-capable sharks and the next you wake up and you're all "Oh no! Giant crabs! What's Will Ferrell doing there? DINOSAUR!! Watch out Will Ferrell! Why do my hands feel so tiny??  NOW THEY'RE HUGE!!! MY HEAD IS TINY!!!!!  HOLY CRAP HOLY CRAP HOLY CRAP I'M ALMOST POSITIVE THAT I AM IN SERIOUS DANGER!!!!!"

And then you get up and crawl onto the couch because the couch is safer than the floor and you curl into a ball and just wait it out because there is nothing else you can do and you are too terrified to take action.  

And that is why you should never fall asleep watching "Land of the Lost."  

How to be Happy, Reclaim Your Youth and Also Vanquish a Centaur. *Hint*: Bacon is Involved

In the world, there are things.  Some of them suck, some of them are awesome and some of them are just okay.  Some of them smell/taste like bacon.  Those things are usually - but not always - in the awesome category.  For example, bacon beer.  I would drink bacon beer.  In fact, I am willing to bet that the advent of bacon beer would mark the end of productivity for our society.  Bacon-flavored condoms?  That would probably be the best blow-job-getting strategy ever because they taste like bacon but they have no calories.  Everyone wins in that situation.  I might be wrong, but I'm pretty sure that bacon-flavored condoms would also lead to complete stasis in whatever place they originate first.  I'm guessing either Germany or Japan.

But bacon can't just be mixed all willy-nilly with everything.  Baconnaise should never have happened.

However there are certain things that exist in the world that every person enjoys.  Some people don't know that they enjoy these things.  Some people won't admit that they enjoy these things, but I'm pretty sure almost everyone, aside from Vladimir Putin and John Wayne Gacy, enjoy them.

1.) Chicken Skin  

One of the most sacred moments in anyone's life is one in which there is anticipation and/or ingestion of chicken skin.  When you are holding that paper-thin flap of greasy yet crispy integument, nothing else matters.  Chicken skin could stop war.  Well, it could at least delay war by about 15 seconds.   Once everyone got to the part where they actually had to eat a skinless drumstick, they'd go right back to bombing and pillaging.

2.) Bouncing 

Who hasn't looked at a trampoline in someone's backyard and thought "I would give a blow job to just about anyone if it meant that I could have one of those... and the condom wouldn't even need to be bacon-flavored..."

And how sad were you the day you found out that you weighed too much to go into the giant, inflatable bouncy castle?  That's how Anorexia starts.  One moment you're bouncing away your worries inside the inflatable castle in the parking lot across from Walgreen's and the next you're on a glucose drip and you've lost your hair and you almost don't have enough energy to be enthusiastic about the idea of bouncy castles anymore.

The first person who makes a bouncy castle that is built to withstand the rigors of being repeatedly bludgeoned by overly enthusiastic obese people will be a millionaire billionaire.

In the meantime, next time you are feeling down, go jump on your bed.  I'm totally serious.  Go jump on your bed and see if you still feel bad.  If nothing else the idea of jumping on a bed while crying irrationally should at least make you laugh.  Either way, jumping on the bed will make you feel better.

Ceiling too low?  Jump on your knees or on all-fours.

Worried about aversely affecting the life-span of your mattress?  That's what's wrong with you - do something about it.

If you still can't bring yourself to jeopardize the integrity of your all-important mattress, go to the thrift store and buy a cheap mattress that you won't feel bad about destroying during your moments of unrestrained glee.  Keep it in your garage or basement.  I promise that your life will be better.

If you have a memory foam mattress, give up.  Life is pointless now.  You should have thought of that before you sold your life down the river by buying a mattress without springs.  You could try buying a bouncy mattress from the thrift store and keeping it in your basement or garage, but I doubt you'll get any enjoyment out of it.

3.) Popping a Zit

Getting a zit is such a turbulent experience, emotionally.  On one hand, you are upset because your face has been ruined.  On the other hand, you get all giddy and start thinking "I can't wait until I can squeeze this thing!  I hope it's the kind that squirts all over the mirror!"

If I was a spiritual leader of some sort, I would say "Think not about the blemish on your face, but about the mass of sebum and bacteria on your mirror."

I would say other things too, though.  I wouldn't want my principles branded as "Zit Zen."  But I think that is pretty much unavoidable now.

4.) Right-Clicking

This one is very subtle, but I am convinced that it happens to nearly everyone

Next time you are using a mouse with a designated right-click button, notice the way you feel just before you get to right-click something.  There is an almost imperceptible little celebration that happens.

5.) The Last Bite of a Waffle

You know the bite I am talking about.  The one that is approximately three squares by two squares and it's stuffed like a turkey with butter and syrup.  Not only that, but the waffle has been marinating in syrup for the duration of breakfast and some of the syrup will surely have soaked up into the interior of this glorious bite.

People say that there is no way to explain love and that makes me sad because obviously these people have never eaten a waffle or at least not a waffle with real butter and syrup and that is a tragedy.  Either that or they have never experienced love, which is almost as sad.  Almost.

6.) Toys

There is a distinct feeling I get every time I pass the toy aisle at Wal-Mart.  It's like if you were engaged to marry the man or woman of your dreams then suddenly decided that you needed to take a plane to Pittsburgh and the plane crashed and everyone died except for you and you walked away from the incident as a double above-the-knee amputee and that was the meanest joke ever but I still said it because I didn't even realize what I was saying until it was too late and by the time I noticed, it was already too funny so I just left it in there because it somehow lightens the mood when you find out that after the plane crash, the person you had loved is prejudiced against disabled people and he/she leaves you for a centaur and you somehow end up attending the same PTA meetings and all you can do is look across the room at your ex-fiance and the centaur and think "I used to be so happy..."

That's how the toy aisle at Wal-Mart makes me feel.

Sometimes I buy a toy and then I get a feeling like I walked across the room to the centaur and I said "bitch, I'm going to rape him because he is rightfully mine!"  And then I realized that I had legs the whole time and I was never a double amputee and I don't actually have to rape my ex-fiance because he still loves me and we tame the centaur and keep it as a pet and it isn't even mad at me because I give it bacon beer all the time and centaurs love bacon beer.

I think this may be the best thing I have ever written.

P.S.  I talked about blow jobs twice in one post.  I get fifteen points.

COMPLETELY UNRELATED UPDATE:  I'm totally going to start taking screenshots of my followers widget so that when someone un-follows me, I can find out who's missing and track them down and become all emotional on their blog.  Then they'll log in one day and find this:


If you guessed that the phrase "fucking cunt bastard" was a trap, you would be right.  Just try to leave me now, Asshole.  I'm super creepy and totally capable of finding you.


This is Sasha:

Sasha had surgery today. She had to get a tumor removed. I am quite attached to Sasha and her surgery was a little risky because she's getting to be an old girl, so I was a nervous wreck until the vet called to tell us that everything was fine.

When I picked up Sasha from the vet, she was all dopey and looked almost dead.  I picked her up and held her to my chest to keep her warm and she stared up at me with her big, confused eyes because I'm sure she had no idea what was happening but she was glad I was there.  It was like watching a small child trip on acid.  Not that I have ever done that or would ever do that, but I can certainly imagine that it would at least somewhat resemble what a rat on Isoflurane and opiate pain relievers looks like.

My point is that it was heartbreaking.

My sympathy has faded a little since I brought her home.  She's obviously fine and I'm pretty sure she has figured out how to guilt me into giving her treats.  She started trying to chew out her stitches, so I gave her a banana.  She ate the banana and then left the stitches alone for a little while.  The next time she started chewing at her incision, I gave her another piece of banana to distract her.  She soon figured out that chewing on stitches = banana.  Now, she goes to chew on her stitches and I give her a piece of banana and she sets the fucking banana down, looks straight at me and starts nibbling her stitches again like "Oh, I'm sorry... did you want me to stop doing this?  You don't want me to make myself bleed all over the place?  Well, then I would suggest that you give me more bananas..."

Operant conditioning is a bitch sometimes.

Anyway, that's why I wasn't around today.

P.S.  I'm sorry about the clown train.

P.P.S.  You know what?  Fuck John Wayne Gacy too.  I didn't know who John Wayne Gacy was, so I googled that shit and now I'm never going to sleep again ever.  I got sucked into reading every detail of his life and couldn't stop even though I desperately wanted to and Boyfriend saw what I was reading and he was like "Oh no!  What are you doing?????  Stop it!" because Boyfriend can see the future and he knew that I was going to make him put another deadbolt on our door.  And guess what?  He was right.

Nevermind... I Found It

But I'm still drunk.

Drunk. Need Chap STick

I am drunk.

I need some fucking chapstick.  That is all.

Drunken Email/Drunken Video

Tonight, I received the following email:

"I'm drunk and I think it would be a wonderfull idea to see how many words I can construe using only the letters of your name. A L L I E. Go. 


It was ALL A LIE if you can't get LEI'D. SHIT, THAT'S NOT REALLY A POEM IS IT?

Oh well, that's what you get. You're welcome.



Ps. I am not a parapalegic.

This is why I love you guys.  I have such a random-email-filled, wonderful life.  

Nikole's drunken email also reminded me that I promised to post a video from that one time  when I got impulse-drunk off of a bottle of cheap wine from Safeway and then went on an adventure on the bike path and wrote an angry letter to the Crap Blog Detective in which I called him a "douche bad."  If you want, I can post more footage of that night, but I think this short clip sums it up pretty well. 

P.S.  I'm totally going to get drunk with Nikole someday.  

Lieutenant Horatio Cane from CSI: Miami Hates My Boobies

I stayed up until 4:00 AM last night for no reason.  I was doing so well with going to bed early, but then I just couldn’t control myself last night.  It’s like I binged on being awake and now I’m all hung-over and I just realized that my left breast is bigger than my right breast, so that’s weird. 

I came to that realization because I had to take off my clothes to take a shower this morning and I needed something to do while the hot water got going, so I looked at my boobies in the mirror. 

Remember when I said that I don’t like showering?  That’s because showering forces me to acknowledge my body and all of its flaws and also because my shower is in the upstairs bathroom which is one of the “non-heated rooms” in my house because remember how Boyfriend and I have blankets over all of our doorways because we can’t afford real heat?  This means that our living room is almost always nice and toasty but our bedroom and bathroom are cut off from the heat by the blankets so they just kind of settle to a temperature that is only marginally warmer than the temperature outside which might not be a bad thing if I lived in Hawaii, but I don’t live in Hawaii.  I live in Montana.

So basically, this is me taking a shower: 

I wait until my disgustingness outweighs my aversion to showering, then I walk upstairs and turn on the hot water.  Then I go do something else while the hot water gets going – like read or take a walk or look at my boobies in the mirror. 

If I make the unfortunate mistake of taking my clothes off before I turn on the water, I will have to wrap a towel around myself and sit on the toilet lid shivering violently because I don’t want to go retrieve my clothes from the hallway where I left them because that would mean that I’d have to move the box I put in front of the door to act as a barricade in the event of an attack by the killer from the movie Psycho and also I don't want to let the killer from Psycho in if he's already out there.

I continue to sit on the toilet and shiver and hate the hot water for taking so damn long and hate Boyfriend for never getting around to putting locks on the bathroom door because he doesn’t take my shower paranoia seriously and he thinks I can just get over it but he hasn’t seen Psycho and he doesn’t understand.

You know what?  I haven’t even seen Psycho either.  I just saw the previews on some ad for a late-night horror movie marathon and then made up the rest. 

Anyway, once the hot water gets going, I always feel like I am very near to actually being able to get in the shower, but I’m wrong.  I have to fiddle with the shower knobs until I get water that is not scalding but not prohibitively freezing to come out of the shower head.  This is nearly impossible. 

What usually ends up happening is that I spend five minutes hovering over the tub darting my hand through the stream of lava water to tap the cold water knob ever so gently and at first I think I’ve hit the sweet spot because the water-temperature becomes bearable for approximately three seconds before plunging into what can only be described as liquid ice.  Which should technically be just “water” but I assure you it is not.  My shower reinvented chemistry.  And when the water gets cold, I realize that I have tapped the cold water knob too far – which is depressing because I don’t think I am capable of the motor control necessary to tap it any more gently. 

So most of the time I just end up settling on whatever temperature would kill me the slowest.   I step into the ancient claw-foot tub, which is way too tall for someone of my stature and then I try to close the shower curtain because no matter how cold the water is, the ambient air temperature is always colder.   The only problem is that the shower curtain does not close very easily.  It wraps almost all the way around the tub, but comes up about three inches short.  The only way I can get it to close is to pull it inward and overlap it on itself which leaves me about four-square feet of space to move around in and if I go outside of my boundaries, I will be enveloped by the clammy, germ-infested shower curtain.  It kind of reminds me of the game “Operation.”  Do you remember that game?  It was the one that made you think you’d die if a surgeon ever touched the edge of your incision?  The one that made you think your organs were just random pink blobs floating around in your body, waiting to be removed through any one of several gaping holes that magically appeared on your body for no reason?  And somehow, you were lead to believe that if you successfully removed the heart, the spleen, the large intestine and the knee-cap, you win and the patient gets better even though in real life you’d probably be sued for malpractice and go to jail for manslaughter?  That game.  But instead of getting buzzed at when I fail to stay within the boundaries I am provided, I get slimed by the nasty shower curtain. 

Then I actually have to wash my hair.  Remember when I told you guys that the pesticides I accidentally drank that one time tasted like Sauve “Ocean Breeze” shampoo?  I know what Suave “Ocean Breeze” shampoo tastes like because I almost always get some of it in my mouth and/or eyes.  I try to close my mouth and eyes very tightly throughout the entire shampooing process, but invariably I am startled by something which I automatically assume is the killer from Psycho but which is probably just the shower curtain and I gasp and open my eyes and the shampoo goes in my eyes and mouth, blinding me against my potential attacker. 

So there I am, crouched in my battle stance, completely entangled in my nasty shower curtain, pawing at my eyes and drooling out soap suds, terrified that some fictional movie character from a movie that I haven’t even seen is going to stab me and I realize that I am just going to have to go through all of this again in a few days and suddenly life seems pointless and I don’t even know who I am anymore. 

And that’s not even counting the part where I have to get out of the shower. 

Getting out of the shower is also terrifying because one of these days I am going to slip when I’m stepping out of my awkwardly tall bathtub and hit my head on the towel rod and then I’ll be found naked in a pool of my own blood and Lieutenant Horatio Cane from CSI: Miami will be like “her left breast is larger than her right breast… what a freak!”  and then he’ll realize that he’s in Montana and technically that’s out of his jurisdiction so he’ll go back to Florida but not before he judges me for being misshapen.

If I manage to exit the shower without accidentally ending my life in a pool of blood and embarrassment, I have to put on lotion.  That might not sound so bad until you consider that my economy-sized bottle of Suave Cocoa Butter lotion has been sitting in a room where the air temperature is only marginally warmer than the air temperature outdoors, which, at this time of year, is usually about nine degrees Fahrenheit.  But I’m vain, so I’d rather coat my entire body in a layer of semi-solid lotion ice than risk looking scaly.

I don’t know what this particular lotion is made out of, but whatever it is, it is insoluble on skin.  Try as I might, I cannot rub it in.   Also, I think it’s magical and infinite.   I’ve been trying to use up this lotion for two and a half years now.  I made the mistake of buying it in the summer of 2007 and it has outlasted my best attempts at getting rid of it so that I can justify spending money on new lotion.  I use the lotion at every chance I get.  Door squeaking?  Coat the hinge with lotion.  Out of dish soap?  Maybe the lotion will work.   Probably not, but maybe.  I even set it out next to the bowl Halloween candy this year, hoping that some teenage hooligans would take it and use it to vandalize something.  Sadly, that never happened. 

Once I have covered myself with way too much lotion because maybe that will use it up faster but probably it won’t, I have to wash the lotion off my hands so that I don’t get it in my hair.

My sink has two faucets:  one of them makes lava water and the other one makes ice water.  They are not willing to compromise.  If I want to wash my hands, I have to turn both the faucets on and move my hands back and forth between them really fast before my nerves can pick up the sensation of burning or freezing.  To make it worse, the lotion is even less soluble in water than it is on skin.  I usually just end up getting the lotion all wet and then using huge amounts of toilet paper to wipe it off.

Then I can finally put my clothes on, but remember how I left them out in the hall?  I have to push the heavy box out from in front of the door and then run really fast past the window in the hallway to avoid exposing myself to my neighbor’s two young children.

Running really fast on a wood floor past a flight of stairs when your body is coated in super-lotion is probably not the smartest life-decision, but then again, neither is leaving your clothes out in the hallway when you go into the bathroom to take a shower.  But that’s what happens when you are impulsive and incapable of thinking things through before acting. 

How I am not dead yet is beyond me.  I guess it’s probably because the killer from Psycho can’t get past the moderately heavy box that I use to barricade my bathroom door.

Billy Joel Almost Killed Me

I just realized that I should probably post something today... then I was like, “well,what should I post?”
 I thought about posting Part 2 of my roommate saga, but I need to ration my high-quality posts because I like to save them for when you guys are starting to doubt my abilities –  then I'm like “oh, you think I am selling-out and writing only about boring, inane things now?  Well, suck on this post!”

Basically I don’t feel like my blog has sucked enough lately to justify using up one of my “lifeline posts.”  So instead, you guys get to read about this.  Which is basically nothing.  I’m sorry.  I'll probably be forced to use one of my lifelines soon enough.

I think my original point in writing this was that I was going to talk about scars, but I don't remember how I was planning on arriving on that subject… oh yeah! I was going to tell you that I was looking around for things to write about and I got distracted by reminiscing about my badass life-wounds.  I say “life-wounds” because I wanted tosay “war-wounds” but I haven’t been in any wars.  I still wanted to make myself sound awesome, though - and "life-wounds" sounds pretty awesome – like I was attacked by life.   Do you want to see my life-wounds and hear the stories behind them?  I sure hope so because that is what's going to happen...

1.) Scar on Face:  

Mom thinks I'm ready to walk.  Takes out of walker and places on ground.  Not ready to walk.  Sense freedom, run away.  Take three glorious, freedom-filled steps - fall face-down in gravel.

I don’t know why my mother chose to teach me how to walk on a gravel driveway, but she did.  And now I have a sweet scar on my face.

2.) Scar on Head (Approximate Location):

I am 4.  Dad makes a big mistake - he plays “Running on Ice” by Billy Joel.  I really like that song.  Logically, I start sprinting around the house, flailing my arms.  When sprinting and flailing both fail to give proper expression to how much I truly love “Running on Ice” by Billy Joel, I start spinning in circles as fast as I can.  I get dizzy.  I run into the wall with my head.  I am bleeding. A lot.  Mom calls 911.  I go to the hospital.  The doctor (Doctor Crane – Iwill never forget that) says “she needs stitches.”  Dr. fucking Crane is holding a needle.  I see the needle.  Dr. Crane approaches me.  I begin flailing and kicking ferociously.  I am restrained in a rolled-up blanket.  Like a cat.  I am yelling “I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!” and bleeding all over the place.  I manage to wriggle free of the blanket.  I kick Dr. Crane in the chest.  He must have been feeling diplomatic because he offers me a lollipop. My insatiable appetite for sugar distracts me long enough so that I can be restrained in the blanket again.  Damn that Dr. Crane and his trickery!

3.) Scar on Knee:

 Playing tag.  Tried to jump barbed-wire fence gracefully- like a deer.  Failed.  Tetanus shots soon followed.  Probably also rabies.  Idaho fences are known for their rabidity.  Holy shit... "rabidity" is a word!  I don't think it means what I think it means though... whatever.

Okay, I just Google it and apparently, "rabidity" means "excessive enthusiasm."

Basically, I just told you that the fences in Idaho are known for their excessive enthusiasm.

4.) Chipped Tooth

A couple years ago, I impulse-bought a Happy Meal toy from a thrift store.  It was a tiny, stuffed armadillo.  It had a tag on it.  I didn't want the tag to be there.  I tried to rip it off with my hands, but I was not strong enough.  I used my teeth. To my horror, a chunk of my left front tooth was torn asunder from my face.  The tag was still firmly attached to the armadillo's ass.  And there it remains.

If that is not the weirdest way anyone has ever chipped a tooth, I don't know what is.  

Sometimes I am Overwhelmed by How Awesome You Guys Are...

Sometimes I read through my comments and I almost feel guilty because some of them are so unbelievably funny that I feel bad for having them buried within my comments section.  I mean, many of you have your own blogs that you could be writing that awesomely funny stuff for... but instead you choose to leave me a paragraph or six that straight knocks me on my ass with laughter.  

I appreciate this more than you will ever know.  Sometimes my comments are funnier than I am.  Actually quite often.  Here is just a sample of what I mean (most names are links even though they may not look like it):

Noelle (who doesn't have a blog but probably should): "...Christmas tree shopping is an emotionally devastating experience for me."

-"On the other hand, scissors with a corkscrew in the handle sound really fucking dangerous. And you don't drink. I however, enjoy drinking while I cut things. You should bring them to my house."

-"Me and Ben got drunk at James Bar the other night, and I spent an inappropriate amount of time telling him how badly Brett Farve makes me want to buy levis. You and Duncan need to come back and make games/wine nights less awkward."

-"...So, for breakfast, naturally I would eat a plate of butter. My mom told me this was gross and so I comprimised by hollowing out the insides of bread and filling it with butter. I called it "eskimo bread". I would love to eat this now, but I am a grown-up."

-"...too bad you have to wait until christmas for your giftbasket of fancy tampons and cosmopolitan."

Sarah P: "I was reading a true crime forum today, and everyone was getting all confused between two Kyles because they are both registered sex offenders.  Now, this.  *Shakes head at state of the world*"

-"I always worry one item on a shelf is lonely or that, in an odd number of items, a bunch of them will pair off and shun the singleton. Even numbers are best for dinner parties and knickknacks."

-"...one day, he unrolled the fresh toilet paper roll about halfway, and wrote on one square, "God hates you.""

-"I will never understand why they make a person with ADD call the doctor every month for a refill prescription, go pick up the written prescription and hand-deliver it to the pharmacy. It's like they're just fucking with ADDers."

Becky: "I'm so sleepy right now that when you wrote about your statcounter, it reminded me about my statcounter account, and I wanted to check it out but I never go straight from anyone's blog to statcounter because I'm afraid one day someone will see in their statcounter account that that's where I went after reading their blog, and then they'll think I'm vain and county of readers. I usually go to google for no reason, then to statcounter."

Dan: Please be aware that sand is a stone killer, and I don't even mean that in the erosion-turns-rocks-into-sand way, though that's also kind of worth keeping in mind. But SAND! KILLS!!!! I think that more people are killed by cave-ins of sand-holes each year than by lightning, bad taste, and chewbacca together. ("Sand-hole" sounds like something people would call me in jr high. You know the type.) Not to mention the chafing. Please, do not mention the chafing. Just don't mess around with sand. Somebody will get hurt. Possibly Spiderman, if I recall the movie properly. 

Also, that deer told me he thinks you're cute, but not when you're "sexy lion," which translates in deer to "rutting carnivore." You know how sensitive those sandholes can be.

Tony: "Cancer research < having fun with drunk Allie in my book. I'll tell you why. Cancer's still going to be there tomorrow, but drunk Allie? Well, that wears off after a couple of hours."

-"I'm sorry about the paper cut. It's amazing how something so frail can cause so much pain."

mysterg: "...I don't plan on having any babies so you would just end up having to eat my sperm with someone else's unfertilised eggs. Which could mix inside of you and make you pregnant and then you would sue me for child maintenance. Thank heavens I recognised your dastardly plan before it was too late!"

-"Maybe Kyle just saw your bald picture and thought that bald = cancer = ugly? Although I might screw a bald chick if she was dying from cancer and it was her last request from the make a wish foundation. Because I'm a charitable guy."

Organic Meatbag: I'm not drunk! I'm just belligerent!! Tonight I shall soak in a hot tub filled with grief and Kahlua, and maybe some of you will be invited, and maybe some of you will be INVITED!!!
Nope...not drunk...

Nooter:  "That was nuts!  You're like a cinnamon jelly bean thats been soaking in lemon juice and dipped into a bag of crack then used as a suppository."

Amber"I googled Crap Blog Detective to get a picture for the pic I am making for you, and YOU ARE TOTALLY NUMBER ONE ON GOOGLE BEFORE HIM!! ALLIE, YOU WIN!!!!!!!"

Lacey: "as a child, i tried to swallow a large percentage of my food whole, so that it would not experience the trauma of being chewed."

Amy: "...it's like he thought "I have these tags, what do I do with them? I can't hold them while I run on the treadmill. I need to put the sneakers on. I can't do that while I hold them. I'll put them here. Hands empty, mission complete. On with the shoes, off to the treadmill."

Woman in the Midst: Raw:  YOU are a winner with a capital "w" - capitilization of the "w" purposely omitted so that you would notice and again declare yourself a WINNER! - =)

ASSHOLE BOYFRIEND: "I hate hearing someone behind me say; "Are you going to pay for that dildo under your shirt? or do you want us to call the Police?" Bothers me every time."

timoteo: "...I left one such note on my fellow interns sandwich, with a caption reading "Please don't eat me, my family will miss me""

-"I'm not sure what the appropriate response is to this situation. I'm gonna cop out by slow clapping."

writteninthemargins: "P.S. I like your blog.  P.P.S. I'm not really that crazy. Well, my boyfriend says I am, but you can't trust him. He's British."

Cinema Obsessed: "...It's like "Well don't dress up like you work at Wal-Mart before you leave the house. It almost obligates you to show me where things are.""

miss. chief: "Dear Allie, 

Hi. How are you? I am fine. Do you like cats? What about porcupines?

The end."

My Mom (yes, my real, live mother who felt the need to make an empty profile so she could comment): "Hello darling, this is your mother. If I have stumbled on to how to actually comment on this new-fangled blog-thing, it will be a miracle. I mean, I’m still figuring out my cell phone. After reading your little site (every word) I am caught between thinking, “That’s my baby girl right there!” and “My God, does she have a life outside of blogging?!” 

Seriously though, it’s not too late to become a comedy writer, after all, look what it did for Dave Barry! You can just leave the microscopes and molecules to someone else to mess with. At least I can understand this stuff—I hate to admit it but your college papers left me behind in the first sentence. (For those of you just tuning in, my daughter is brilliant and talented and I’m sure she will find a cure for something if she doesn’t become a famous comedienne).

Carry on, love. Duncan.....you’re a good man!

P.S. How is your toe and have you made an appointment with the dentist?"

Sarah: "Can I just say how amused I am that after all that your mom completely breezed past the part of the story where you poisoned yourself to compliment you on the fact that you are a gifted humorist and writer?"

Shaky Jake: "I'm high on nougat right now, and that doesn't even require a prescription."

Anonymous: "I'd like to tell you a short story. Almost two years ago, I (a girl who grew up with 15 pet dogs and was certainly not a cat person) took in a cat that had grown up in the wild from a kitten. He was at least 3 years old at the time, and I had slowly gotten him used to me (and only me) and fed him and cared for him outside and all. Then one morning I woke up to find him on the front doorstep, hardly able to breathe. I (miracle of miracles) somehow managed to get him to the vet, and he was made all better. Now at that point, it was the middle of winter. He couldn't stay outside with breathing problems. So he became an inside cat. (Side note: he can't meow. The most he can muster is a whispery "meh". It's precious.) So he's been an inside cat for two years now, and you can't even tell he was ever outside, he's so spoiled. He weighs like 15 pounds, I swear. Anyway, I was never able to think of a good name for him. Nothing I tried fit him at ALL. So for two years, he's answered to Kitty. This is embarrassing when relating funny stories, to admit that my cat is called Kitty. I tried to pretend that I named him after Sully in Monsters, Inc. because Boo called him Kitty, but I think we can all agree that was a pretty thin cover, and everyone thinks I'm just a retard who can't think of what to name her cat.

My point here, Allie, is that after two long years, YOUR AD BLOG NAMED MY CAT! Seriously. I clicked on an ad to help you out, and found a "good cat names" quiz and I answered all the questions truthfully and it told me to name him Charlemagne, which is a horrible name, so I took it again with less truthful & honest answers, and it said Sebastian! Which normally is not a great name. But it TOTALLY fits him. So thank you, Allie, for making an ad blog and naming my cat!

The end."

angryredhead: "I think we should ban the French language entirely, as it obviously makes no sense at all."

Jamie: "I am less offended by your post than I am by the fact I have to tell people my daughter has assburgers. That dude should have changed his name to something french."

-"How very selfish of you to go have experiences and leave us here without new posts..."

Caitlin: "glad you didn't die."

-"...then someone says "WHY ARE YOU YELLING" and then the other person say "I DON'T KNOW" -or- "I'M NOT YELLING" and then person one says "YES YOU ARE!" and then person two says "WELL I'M SORRY, I CAN'T HELP IT" ......and then that continues on for like another five minutes..."

Canoncowgirl: "The whole time I've been reading your blog (all a couple weeks or so) i've been confusing "hyperbole" and "perabola" which is dumb because if anything I should be confusing hyperbole and hyperbola but I was totally imagining a single arch (and a half) none of that top and bottom mirror arch crap. so apparently I'm not only confused regaurding the english language but also on geometry terms."

Tia: "Repulser.

Rhymes with "ulcer."

You know, like as in "his job was to be the repulser so no one would bother the lions."

Ok maybe it's not a word.

Kaitlyn:  "Way to wreck a productive afternoon and give me arachnoiditis."

Rikki:  "Fuck jeans.  Sorry I said fuck. I am totally following your bad example, but, to *everyone's* relief, I don't hate you."

OhSweetSara: "So I'm going to go ahead and freak out the 4 people who follow me on twitter to help you with your cause. 

If this makes them stop following me it will be totally worth it because I only started following them because they were following me and I felt obligated, but I'm too nice to un-follow them because twitter is a dick-head and tells people when someone stops following them, and I don’t want to be that person. But their tweets are really annoying and about cat food coupons and I don't even have a cat so I don't care, but if they stop following me because I tweeted '#mandatorysexparty' then that would be awesome, and I would totally want to give you a prize."

Ellie: "You ate ALL the cookies? Now I want cookies. I have cookie dough in the freezer, but that would mean defrosting is necessary. The complexity of life is overwhelming".

Lizard. dot lizard.: "OK this is off-topic in that it doesn't relate to your eventual point, but, the bird thing? Is there something weird going on with the birds? Last week about four different sparrows committed Kamikaze on the windows at work - and they're not even clear! And today there was a dead finch by the window, and then later THWACK! a QUAIL. We don't even have quail around where I work. Some quail flew however many miles, just to fling himself against the window and die!  I have pictures to prove it. 

So what's up with the birds? Is this an attack, or a desperate sort of warning in which they're sacrificing their little birdie lives to tell us HEY! HEY! YOU IN THERE! WATCH OUT!  Watch out for what?" 

Stephanie: "If it were me? I would have let people think I had cancer and then milked the "sympathy boyfriend" situation for all it was worth. Apparently my adolescent self was not too proud for pity dating".

Sherri: "...AND you got to visit a meth lab. NO FAIR."

Nicole: "Thank you for your letter to Cosmo. If one more issue tells me to use ice cubs on my partner, I am going to...eh I have no real repercussions."

That Chick: "...my best friend would come up to me and say, "dear, you're awful angry. Is your uterus leaking?"" 

Josh Gard"As a regular guy who can appreciate a cute though slightly odd girl, I can say that Allie pulls off the sexy lion much better than a lot of girls could!" 

Alice: "...I was asleep on an apple green vintage couch on a busy street, inexplicably wearing fairy wings. True story. Moving sucks.

Kaloo: "But this makes no sense. Everyone knows that Scissors stab Eyes. And without Eyes Rock is going to miss horribly..."

Duncan (AKA Boyfriend): "At least we can all agree paper sucks in any situation."

Nikole: "Are you people kidding? Have you never been cut by paper? It is the most excruciating ordeals one could possibly experience. I assume even moreso than natural childbirth..."

-"My brother's girlfriend once told me that my mom was sandy. Confused, I yelled, "No, her name is Jeanne!" in the middle of Baskin Robbins. Apparently she meant that my mom had a sandy vagina (figuratively speaking) because who wouldn't be irritable with sand in the vag? Seriously, think about the mechanics of chaffing. Basically, she was calling my mom a bitch but how was I to know sandy could be used as that kind of a descriptor?"

-"My cousin/roommate loves milk an unnatural amount."

Erin: "Can we be best friends?  If not, I'd settle for some coupons..." 

Don-Guitar: "...I'm very plebeian when it comes to coffee. I like Folgers artificially flavored hazelnut, brewed (not too strong) in my dollar store drip coffee maker. I don't adulterate it with plant extracts (like cane sugar), artificial sweeteners, dairy products or synthetic dairy products and I dislike all other brands and varieties of coffee."

Matthew: "Will you marry me?"  (I drew up a marriage license for matthew and I and emailed it to him, but he hasn't sent it back yet.  I'm giving him three more days and then I'm going to post it on my blog for everyone else to fill out too...) 

Hope: "...I don't think my boyfriend is an alien, but he is waterproof. Seriously."

Schmorley: "I find it disturbing that Gerber makes baby food and really badass knives and hatchets. I mean really, baby food and knives? I was wondering if you also found this to be disturbing." 

Laurel Kornfield (I cannot tell if she is being serious or if she's just the funniest person ever): "Pluto is still a planet. Only four percent of the IAU voted on the controversial demotion, and most are not planetary scientists. Their decision was immediately opposed in a formal petition by hundreds of professional astronomers led by Dr. Alan Stern, Principal Investigator of NASA’s New Horizons mission to Pluto. One reason the IAU definition makes no sense is it says dwarf planets are not planets at all! That is like saying a grizzly bear is not a bear, and it is inconsistent with the use of the term “dwarf” in astronomy, where dwarf stars are still stars, and dwarf galaxies are still galaxies. Also, the IAU definition classifies objects solely by where they are while ignoring what they are. If Earth were in Pluto’s orbit, according to the IAU definition, it would not be a planet either. A definition that takes the same object and makes it a planet in one location and not a planet in another is essentially useless. Pluto is a planet because it is spherical, meaning it is large enough to be pulled into a round shape by its own gravity--a state known as hydrostatic equilibrium and characteristic of planets, not of shapeless asteroids held together by chemical bonds. These reasons are why many astronomers, lay people, and educators are either ignoring the demotion entirely or working to get it overturned."

Sy: "...It's like a cat. Yeah you can dress it up and parade it down the street, but if you...the power giver... doesn't feed it, it is just a worthless lump. Fine, you have to bury the cat, or at least make a nice stew out of it, but regardless...the effort to feed it once in a while makes you awesome and the appliance weak."

Thank you for making me laugh so hard every day.  

P.S.  My "no-internet debacle" is no excuse for the fact that I have been terribly tardy with the "prizes" that I owe some of you... if I owe you, please email me with the password, and your request (contact button at top of sidebar.  Alternatively, ickybana5@hotmail.com).  I may even surprise you with something extra. Don't count on it, but maybe.