The Year of The Lobster

Guys, I can see into my future. And it is decidedly lobster-less.

no-lobster

See, around the time my mom was my age (28 5/6ths), she discovered she could no longer eat lobster. Every time she tried, it made her sick. After a few more go-rounds, she was forced to give up eating the delicious crustacean for good, and hasn’t had a bite since.

(It wasn’t until 15 years later, when she had an allergic reaction during a blood draw, that she identified the culprit: iodine.)

Though I’ve inherited many traits from my mother, I’d hoped I could escape this one. When I later learned that her mother also discovered the same tragic affliction in her late 20s and has lived the rest of her 85 years in a lobster-less void, I knew I was doomed.

For me, it’s not really a matter of if  the Curse of the Lobster will strike. It’s simply a matter of when. I can only imagine the horrors that await me once I cross the threshold into lobster-less oblivion.

I have come to terms with my fate, but I’m not going to let lobster get the better of me while I can still help it. I’m going eat every possible bite I can, damn it.

So, in anticipation of the curse’s arrival, I have dubbed 2014 The Year of The Lobster. Every time I have the chance to eat it, I do. Lobster bisque. Lobster mac and cheese. Steamed lobster. Lobster rolls. If lobster’s on the menu, or on sale at the store, its seafoody goodness is headed for my tummy.

Sometimes, we go out to dinner and accidentally order too much lobster and have to make lobster omelets the next day. Like with this guy here, whose deliciousness was only exceeded by its hefty price tag (which we paid for with the winnings from Zach’s March Madness bracket championship.) (He really, really wanted me to mention that.)

Lobster

Note: No one needs a whole pound of lobster. It’s a trick because restaurants workers enjoy seeing your eyes bug out of your head when you find out what the market price really is.

 

It’s never the most frugal option on the menu, but I have no choice. I must enjoy each succulent morsel of lobster while I can. Because I know one day, probably not too long from now, one of those morsels will be my last.

(EDITOR’S NOTE: Congratulations. This is, quite possibly, the whitest white person problem ever.)

We had some visitors and now our bunny might be Mormon

So this conversation happened today:

 

Mormons 1

Mormons 2

 

So, yeah. Pancake might be Mormon now. It’s hard to tell. Because she’s a bunny. And I decided when we first got her that she is Jewish. But whatever, her religion is her choice, not mine.

(In case people get the sensies about this: I mean no offense to Mormons in general or the particular Mormons who stopped by, who were perfect gentlemen and at least pretended to be interested as I rambled on about my pet rabbit even though I’d just told them I had no desire to learn more about their faith. I know a lot of Mormons and though I don’t agree with many of their beliefs, they’re all genuinely nice people. Their particular religion just isn’t my “jam,” as the kids would say.)

(As I wrote that, I realized it sounds a lot like when racist people say they can’t be racist because they have a black friend. Oh well, I stand by it. ‘Merica.)

Hey jerk, that’s my credit card, not yours

I woke up Saturday morning to an unpleasant email alerting me to “fraudulent activity” regarding my credit card.

Sure enough, some punk got a hold of my info and tried to buy about $500 worth of merchandise from NewEgg.com, which appears to be a tech/gaming site I’ve never heard of because I’m a devout member of the Apple Cult.

The second purchase, which totaled $10, simply appeared on my statement as “Roman Catholic Church.”

Now, I’ve never tried to purchase anything with a stolen credit card, so I’m not familiar with the logic used when one attempts to do such a thing. But it appears the perpetrator figured dropping $500 in someone else’s money on sweet games, like Plants vs. Zombies: Garden Warfare, wouldn’t look quite as suspicious if he also made a donation in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.

Or perhaps the guilt of stealing someone else’s credit card kicked in right away, so he did what he thought Jesus would do, but he confused Jesus with some douche who takes other people’s stuff without asking and then gives a tiny bit of it to someone who already has a shit-ton of stuff.

Pretty sure Jesus would think stealing someone else's credit card info is a real dick move.

I’m no scripture expert, but I’m pretty sure Jesus would consider stealing someone else’s credit card a real dick move.

asdf

Whatever his reasoning, the jig was up before it really even started, since the company caught him in the act and canceled my card. Sorry, dude, but you won’t be pitting the undead against Venus fly traps or buying your way into heaven on my dime.

asf

It's good to know the plants will be on our side when the Zombie Apocalypse commences.

A scene from Plants vs. Zombies: Garden Warfare. It’s good to know the plants will be on our side when the Zombie Apocalypse commences. That was keeping me up at night.

Some people just don’t want squirrels to succeed

Perhaps you’ve seen this video of a badass squirrel hi-jacking a model airplane and performing some death-defying stunts. It’s delightful.

br

br

Some people, like whoever wrote this article, will try to tell you it’s a hoax. These people are total downers who don’t want you to believe that squirrels are capable of such spectacular accomplishments. Don’t buy into it. This is pure, unadulterated Squirrel Magic, kids. Believe it.

‘Be an encourager, not a critic’ (You *probably* won’t end up in prison for it)

I came across this quote on Pinterest yesterday that really resonated with me:

Encourager

I’m an editor at a local newspaper, which has no shortage of critics. Mocking the town rag is a cherished pastime in many places. In fact, if you’ve ever come across someone who has only glowing reviews for their local paper, I’d like to meet them, so I can thank them for not making me feel like a stupid, worthless idiot who should just quit now and join a traveling clown brigade … because I made a typo.

Anyone who goes into journalism quickly learns that this comes with the territory and grows the thick skin required to deflect the gratuitous naysaying, which also prevents us from curling into a ball in the shower every morning and blubber-crying before we have to go back into the office and do it all again.

But, as I’m sure is the case in any industry, sometimes it can be hard not to get sucked down into the hole of negativity yourself. And a lot of the time, we are our own worst critics.

This quote was a good reminder that though I can’t control what others do or say, I can choose to rise above the criticism and offer encouraging words instead. (Of course, there’s always the time and place for honest, constructive criticism, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be thoughtfully delivered.)

In fact, I liked this so much, I wrote it on the bathroom wall at my salon yesterday.

OK, that sounds weird. Let me explain! The bathroom walls are covered with that chalkboard paint, and they provide chalk to encourage people to write inspiring things. At least, I hope that’s what it was all about. They’d recently erased older quotes that I swear were there before, so mine was the only quote, and the salon wasn’t very busy yesterday, so if I wasn’t supposed to do that, they are totally going to know it was me, and I could be under arrest for graffiti crimes at any moment.

So, that’s my little spiel for the weekend (and your heads up that I might soon be blogging from jail, which I imagine involves inscribing posts into the wall with a shiv, inevitably delaying publication.)

Happy Sunday!

QUIZ: Are you hungry?

Hungry hippo

Guys, since Buzzfeed has proven that we all need the Internet to make even our most basic life decisions, I created an awesome quiz for you that will help answer this always-pressing question. But since I either can’t figure out how to embed it in this post, or have not been deemed worthy of such privileges by the almighty WordPress gods, you’ll have to click here to take it. Report back with your result!

If you invite me to your wedding, there’s a .009 percent chance I’ll ruin it with my face

One of my bestest friends got married a few weeks ago, and she graciously asked me to be in her wedding. The ceremony and reception were beautiful, and we had a blast taking fun photos before the celebration began.

I haven’t seen the official photos yet, but I really hope they turn out better than the ones I took in the photo booth with my husband and other bestie:

New photo booth with text

Sadly, because I’m not drinking right now, I truly have nothing to blame but my own face for this. And possibly my apparent confusion as to how photo booths operate. Yeah, let’s go with that.

I mean, I can take a decent photo when I need to, but I’m not going to claim to be the most photogenic person around. I’ve definitely taken my fair share of unflattering photos. But man, this … this should be deleted from the files immediately. (EDITOR’S NOTE: Then why are you putting it on the Internet?)

Or …

break

Or …

break

BLOWN UP AND SIZED TO FIT THE COVER OF THE OFFICIAL WEDDING ALBUM!

Ben and Lindsey: I can finish this up and have it shipped overnight in no time. You're welcome. So, so welcome.

Ben and LD: I’m finishing this up and will have it shipped overnight.
You’re welcome. So, so welcome.

If that doesn’t say “cherished keepsake documenting the happiest day of our lives,” I don’t know what does.

And since wedding season is coming up, I’ll give the engaged folks out there fair warning: If you invite me to yours, there’s at least a .009 percent chance that I’ll make this face again and ruin the whole thing.

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