Otter…is holding…ANOTHER OTTER.


Here are some rubbish theme ideas I’ve had.  Read them, and tell me which ones you think are the least rubbish, and maybe that’s what I’ll write about soon because right now I have no theme.

  • Do You Want to Hear What I Ate Today? Week in which I, like a girl on a diet except I am clearly not on a diet, share all the foods I ate that day with you.  Then you, like any rational person, are appalled at the number of burritos and ice cream sandwiches that turn up throughout the week.  For example, for the last 3 days it would have been 3 and 6, respectively.
  • On a related note, I was thinking Burrito Week or Ice Cream Sandwich Week
  • Tahmoh Penniket Week would be characterized by a lot of omg omg sigh sigh sigh swoon swooning and not much intelligent discourse.  He plays Helo on Battlestar Galactica and Agent Paul Ballard on Dollhouse and he is very much on my mind these days seeing as how he is the only man I will ever truly love.  FACT.
  • Maybe I ought to try something abstracter, like The Wind Week and try to come up with something to say about The Wind.
  • Cute Baby Animals Week – because we all love cute baby animals, you know?  Sloths and Otters will feature prominently.


  • I have been meaning to do a Nora Roberts Week because I love her books, and I recently acquired some jewel-toned throw pillows.  During the proposed Nora Roberts Week, you would naturally learn why the throw-pillow thing is relevant.  This would be good for summer time, because I have no doubt that Nora Roberts will inspire me to write long, detailed posts, one of which will almost certainly need to involve Photoshop.
  • Mermaid Week or Unicorn Week or Some Other Mythological Creature Week – I don’t know what I would say about these things.  Just they probably deserve a week or something, right?

Hipster Ariel would never admit it, but she thinks Mermaid Week is a great idea.

P.S. Hipster Disney Princesses is MY FAVORITE THING

  • Olympics Week, I am just realizing, would have been very appropriate for this week.  I usually get really into the summer Olympics but this year…not so much.  I blame my television, for not having any channels on it any more.
  • How Can I Get the Drawers in the Dresser I Bought at the Salvation Army To Not Smell? Week Seriously – I cleaned them, sprayed them with bleach, let them sit in the sun for ages, and put sachets I made out of baking soda wrapped in knee highs in the drawers and still, there is a reek.  How can I get the drawers in the dresser I bought at the Salvation Army to not smell?

I dunno why but I really believed these would work.

If I don’t pick a theme soon, I’m this close to just changing the name of this blog to Otter Babies and Ice Cream Sandwiches, and everyday I will post a picture of an otter baby and eat an ice cream sandwich, the latter of which you will not really get to experience through the blog but you will know it is happening.


Holding. Another. Otter.


In which I crush the dreams of my 17-year-old self…


Another long and self-indulgent conversation with my imaginary 17-year-old self:

17-year-old Me: I have some more non-fast-food questions for you.  Do you have a cool job?

Me: Yes.

17-year-old Me:  Well?

Me: What?

17-year-old Me: What is it, then?  Actress?  Romance novelist?  College professor?

Me: Nope.

17-year-old Me:  Well, what is it then?

Me: Elementary school librarian.

17-year-old Me: Excuse me?

Me: I am an elementary school librarian and technology teacher.  I have primarily Kindergarten and 1st grade students in library, and I teach 2nd through 5th graders how to use computers.

17-year-old Me: That sounds….awful.  Seriously…just…awful.  ELEMENTARY SCHOOL?  Didn’t you go to COLLEGE?!?!?

Me: Excuse me, I went to an Ivy League college and I have a Master’s Degree.

17-year-old Me:  You need a Master’s Degree to follow around snotty-nosed five-year-olds and read picture books?

Me: Yes, yes, you do.  And anyway, you LIKE kids, you know.

17-year-old Me: Very doubtful.  I don’t like kids at all.  In fact I have been frequent and vocal about just how much I do NOT like kids.

Me [taunting]: Yeah.  Well, Kindergartners are your favorite.  Children are the part of your job you enjoy the most. You genuinely LOVE kids!

17-year-old Me [skeptical]: Do I?

Me: Yes, you do.  You…I…we are very happy with our career choice, okay?  Very happy, very good at it, very pleased with the summers off.

17-year-old Me: Summers off sounds okay, I guess.

Me: That’s very generous of you.

17-year-old Me:  Well, at least you must live somewhere cool, right?

Me: Yup.

17-year-old Me: So tell me more….

Me: Well, you live in a cool city.

17-year-old Me: Awesome!  That sounds more like what I had in mind!  Where?

Me: Pardon me?

17-year-old Me: Where do you live?

Me [mumbling]: prvdns

17-year-old Me: Sorry, didn’t catch that.

Me: What?

17-year-old Me: Where do you live?!?

Me: Providence.

17-year-old Me:  Tell me there is a Providence, France.

Me [shakes head]

17-year-old Me:  Providence, Australia?  Providence, England?  Providence, California?

Me: Providence, Rhode Island.

17-year-old Me: You have got to be SHITTING ME!

Me: Calm down – you LIKE IT HERE you know!

17-year-old Me [skeptical]: Do I?

Me: You do. I know you don’t believe me, but it’s not like I live in Johnston or anything!  You’d never forgive me for that, I know.  But Providence – well, Providence is hip and lovely and has a vibrant art and food and stuff scene and really good coffee shops and I like it here!

17-year-old Me:  At least tell me you left for awhile.

Me: I did!  I lived in Miami for a year!

17-year-old Me: Miami sounds cool.  Totally cool.  What happened to that?

Me: Blech – Miami was stupid.  Much less cool than Providence.

17-year-old Me: But doesn’t Miami have beautiful beaches?

Me: Yes.

17-year-old Me: Gorgeous weather.

Me: Sure.

17-year-old Me:  Interesting tourist attractions?  Delicious food?  An all around more famous and exciting reputation as a city?

Me: You are really focusing on the wrong stuff, missy.  I like it here.

17-year-old Me: I don’t believe you.  About the job either.

Me: I am happy.  Why just tonight I ate a burrito in my new apartment and watched a movie starring an actor you have never heard of but will love very much in ten years time and it was a very nice night.

17-year-old Me: Do I even like burritos?  I don’t think I’ve ever had one.

Me: You love burritos, so much more than anything else ever.  You love the melted cheese, the delicate interplay between the heat of the salsa and the coolness of the sour cream, the softness of the wrap contrasted against the crisp tortilla chips…

17-year-old Me: Well, at last something you are saying finally sounds believable. So….we have a new apartment?  Is it nice?

Me: Quite.  Do you know what I have?

17-year-old Me:  What’s that?

Me: Claw foot tub.

17-year-old Me:  Seriously?

Me: Yes.

17-year-old Me:  You should have lead with that!  I might not have gotten so bent out of shape about how you failed to achieve every dream I ever had and settled for a life so dull I cannot even comprehend how you got from here to there.

Me: I told you, I am happy.  Claw foot tub!!!

17-year-old Me:  Okay, happiness is one of my goals.  You really love kids?

Me: I really love kids.

17-year-old Me: And PROVIDENCE?

Me: And Providence.

17-year-old Me:  Fine.  I guess it’s okay…I believe you that it’s good.  Now tell me…are you still single?

Me: What?

aaaaand scene.


New Apartment Week


FACT: Moving is a terrible thing.

Truly truly terrible.

First you have to organize your stuff, and decide what stuff to keep and what to not keep, and then get rid of stuff you decide to not keep.  They you have to pack the stuff you want to keep, but make sure it’s not so heavy as to be unliftable; I’m talking to you, Books.

You have to find generous souls to help you move your couch and other large scale furniture down the twisty turns of the three-flight staircase and also borrow a van from your family farm that will likely smell vaguely of chicken crap but is well big enough to hold your furniture.

You also have to walk your other stuff DOWN three flights of stairs, load it into your Corolla and drive it two minutes away and then walk it UP three flights of stairs.  You have to do this in 90 degree heat, and when you return from just one carload’s worth you will wake up fully an hour later sandwiched between a box fan and an oscillating fan, having stripped off all your clothes and possessing very little memory of how you got there.

Those last bits may have been referencing specifically my move rather than the general practice of moving.  But moving is hard, is what I am saying.

What is also hard is leaving a place you have loved.  I have been happy in my current apartment.  I started fauxspectacles here and filmed the Raptor Twins and became good at my job while I lived here and honed the fine art of microwave burrito-making in this kitchen and had lots of night terrors in this bedroom and Just Dance 3ed for more hours that I can count in this living room and just all around liked my life while I was here.

Not everyone likes their life and while I feel pretty certain that I will continue to like my life in my new apartment – I mean, it has literally double the number of windows as my current – it is nonetheless hard not to feel sad and a little nervous.

And mostly very annoyed.  And also hot.  Like super hot. Like so hot that you go to the grocery store for microwave burrito ingredients and end up wandering the aisles for half an hour just to remember what it is like to feel cool again.

I would say that my next lease will start in November, except that I am never moving ever ever again if I can help it.

filaments, filaments, filaments


OMG guys, I was watching a rerun of New Girl tonight and Jess put some sexy lace underwear on her head and said, “I hope Mr. Darcy likes my new bonnet” in a poshy British accent.  How appropriate for Pride and Prejudice week, am I right?

Besides that, I don’t really feel like writing about P&P today.

Instead I am going to make an off-topic bullet list of all the ideas I very nearly posted to Twitter today, but then didn’t:

  • If I could meet a guy I like half as much as I like microwave burritos, I’d marry him tomorrow.
  • Tried on one of every single type of exercise bottom they have at Target today. Like literally.
  • Russian Model on New Girl made my day. MICK MOUSE!?!?  Classic.
  • Why do they put seams right down the front of jogging pants?  It’s like they want me to have a camel toe.
  • End of the year fifth graders.  Am I right?
  • You know when you’re boiling a chicken and you completely forget about it?  The WORST!
  • My new deodorant smells like the deodorant I used in Ireland.  Please excuse me while I sniff my armpits and get carried away by the olfactory nostalgia.
  • I overuse the phrase, “am I right,”, am I right??
  • Coworker asked if he had indeed seen me singing and dancing by myself in the copy room, and I answered, “I was just talking to the printer.”  Which was true, but no less weird.

I bet you are thinking “I’d for certain like to follow this person on Twitter to keep myself up-to-the-minute with her zany, mad-cap adventures.  What is her Twitter ID thingy?”

It’s Fauxspectacles, in case you are feeling enticed.

OH!  And I almost forgot:

I am late to this game but Ze Frank is amazing.  I watched this video and also all his other ones and I’m all, “MAN, he’s brilliant” the whole time, because MAN, he is.  His face alone makes him worth subscribing to.