OMGOMG, I Swear I'm Not a Pothead!!

So I just googled “Purple Cheese” for the first time yesterday (mostly to stroke my own ego), thinking “maybe my blog will show up! And I’ll be so proud of my blogginess, and happy that I can share silliness with the world, yay sunshine daisies!” Unfortunately, not only did I not see my blog right away, I saw a lot of worrisome possibilities with which people miiiiiiight just think my blog is associated. So of course I want to get a head start and set things straight.

I think I should start off by explaining the inspiration behind the name of my blog. When I was very young, my two older brothers and I (this was before more siblings from my father’s previous marriages came into my life—I’m really the youngest of seven) used to LOVE going over to our neighbors’ house across the street. There was no one our age who lived there, but rather older kids who would often babysit us. No, better. High school kids who used to babysit us! At this point, I must have been about five at the oldest. We loved going over there to play Legos and soccer, and to learn how to pet cats. Once, Older Brother ended up married to a girl who used to play there too. The ceremony was performed by the youngest of the high school neighbors. She then turned to Younger Older Brother and said he had to marry someone too. He chose the bin of Legos. It was a beautiful ceremony. (I was the flower girl.)

At the same time as all of this, my obsession with dairy products started to show its beautiful face. Whenever we went to Sarah’s house, I always wanted some of their delicious cheddar cheese. I’m pretty sure it was the same exact stuff we had, but for some reason it seemed to taste better than our cheese which stood in a refrigerator a mere two hundred feet away—it was magical. Perhaps it was because Sarah always corrected me when I asked for “orange cheese.”

Then she would go on to explain that when we went over to her house, everything that was orange became purple, and vice versa. The same was true of red and green, blue and yellow, black and white. The more nuanced colors took discussion and negotiation, but the basic principles always remained. And the purple cheese was my favorite part.

Those days of going over to the neighbors’ house have long past now. For a while I completely forgot about purple cheese. Every once in a while a trip to the grocery store dairy section would remind me of the fun days of my youth. But it wasn’t until I started living with Sister, Brother-in-Law, and Nephews (and now Niece!) that purple cheese once again became a part of my daily life. Only this time, I’m the crazy aunt convincing the little ones that the sky is really yellow, that broccoli is red, and that the whole world is really a wacky place.

So snap back to the present, and I’m googling the words “purple” and “cheese.”

What do I find?

BAM.

It’s also a variation of cannabis. As in weed. As in marijuana. I also found a picture of purple-tinted cheese, but that was minor compared to the sheer amount of information on marijuana that bombarded my browser.

Holy crap!! So this means that anyone who knows about this probably thinks I’m a pothead!! And I definitely just told my dad to google “Purple Cheese” to find my blog if he had a hard time remembering purplecheese1.blogspot.com!! I know HE knows I’m not a pothead, but still, the association is awkward, and he might feel awkward about it, and then maybe start to wonder… I can’t have this!! So I started panicking. Because I can assure you, I’m pretty much as legal as you can get. I may drink five times the normal amount of coffee, but caffeine and alcohol really are my only two drugs of choice.

Well, crap, now people that do smoke might feel alienated from my blog. Damnit! I’m sorry hypothetical pothead readers, you’re still more than welcome to read my blog. I’m not judging you for smoking, because that’s not up to me to do. I’m just asserting that I don’t. In fact, potheads, you might even be my best readers! Because I’m not denying the possibility that my blog might be way funnier if read while under the influence.

Oh God, now people might think I’m advocating the use of illegal drugs for purposes of humor. For anyone reading this, I’m definitely NOT advocating illegal drug use for any purpose (though still not judging you, potheads, especially since you tend to be very nice, especially when under the influence!).

Ahhh, seeeeee?? Do you see what distress this has caused me?? Whyyy did that strain of cannabis have to be called Purple Cheese?? I may have just started my blog recently, but I swear that Purple Cheese (the idea, not the drug!) has been very much a part of my life since my early youth. And now you’ve tainted it, marijuana namers! You’ve tainted my whole childhood! At the beginning of this post I was just worried, but now I’m straight-up angry! It’s like you took my childhood and stabbed it in the eye, permanently maiming it. And it’s too late to change the name of my blog now, it’s totally stuck! Not to mention, it was perfect before I googled the words. Damn pride. I wanted to see how “awesome” I was, and all I got was a maimed childhood. Well, that’s irony for you, I suppose.

But that’s ok. Because hopefully after I’ve posted enough on my blog there will eventually be a new (or really, as in my case, old) association with Purple Cheese—silliness, wacky humor, and an ability to look at the world through childlike eyes. Because in my opinion, the world could use a little more craziness. Otherwise we might all just go insane.

Oh, and thank you for reading.

P.S. Look! I decided to add an extra drawing for you that has absolutely nothing to do with what I wrote. It’s like getting free dessert!! You know, the kind that you don’t have to pay for, and then you later find out has barely any calories? Surprise Millennium Falcons are like that. You’re welcome!

The Good Word

If you’re reading this right now, you have been chosen by Fate (or me—we’re obviously the same thing) to propel this blog further into the Universe. Because, let’s face it. Being a total weirdo is fun and all, but way more fun when you have other creepsters with which to be weird. (ß Did you see that?? Grammatical Correctness Score!!) Now I’m not one to sit and deny the merits of being antisocial, but I could really use some readers here.

Let me put it this way. It’s kind of like when you trip on your own foot, but then catch yourself, but only after you’ve made a noticeable shift in gait that catches the attention of anyone and everyone nearby, forcing you to laugh at yourself awkwardly in case anyone’s watching your oh-so-graceful moment. It’s not the worst thing in the world to endure on your own, but if you have someone with you, it’s at least 10 billion times more enjoyable because you have someone to laugh with/at you.

Also, my ego just wants to be fed with comments. I’m just putting it out there. Straightforward.

So here’s what you need to do:

1. Click “Follow” for my blog (you need a gmail account).
2. Comment on my posts.
3. Tell EVERYONE YOU KNOW about this blog! Bullhorns work wonders. Especially when you put them on “alien voice” mode. That should catch the ear. (But also Facebook!)
4. Make the people in #3 repeat steps 1 through 3. I’m not “necessarily saying” you should resort to hanging them by their toes or making them watch repeat footage of Robert Pattinson and Kristen Stewart interacting in public, but do whatever you have to do!

If I can have this blog reach the demoted Pluto by the summer, that’d be perfect. Now that he’s no longer a planet (but clearly masculine?) as of old news ago (yeah, I know no one cares anymore), I’m sure he could use some loving too. Sound good?? Kthanks!!

PS When I originally drew this, little Nephew walked by and was disappointed that Pluto was sad. So he made me draw more planets that were happy to be part of the Planetz Klub. It started with Earth:

Then he wanted Neptune to be happy, too:

And then Saturn, which he so loved that he wanted it to be drawn twice:

And then he wanted me to draw a happy star--happy because he's in the club. He didn't quite understand the difference between stars and planets. I also didn't want to burst his precious little happy bubble. So I simply abliged:

S.A.D.

It’s that time of year again: you know it, the most expensively romantic day of the year—and oh so organic!

Valentine’s Day.

It seems like everyone has an opinion of Valentine’s Day, which tends to be very vocal either way. Let me just say that this holiday did start, in fact, with a real purpose. For a long time, like many of the holidays we celebrate, it started as a Catholic feast day. Although this subject has gotten me into many an argument with friends, I totally concede the fact that the Valentine’s Day we know and love/hate is, in fact, largely a product of Hallmark. It’s unfortunate, yet true.

However, less unfortunate is the fact that I love holidays enough that I’ll celebrate just about anything! This includes the holiday observed by what seems like 75% of the people I know: Singles Awareness Day!! Other than dousing my taste buds in ChocoVine and the chocolatiest chocolate ice cream I can find, this is probably what I’ll be doing this year. Yay!

            1. Go to the movies in a snuggie.

Why a snuggie?? Because they’re freaking comfortable, that’s why!!

Let me remind you, Singles Awareness Day is NOT the day to ball up at home and spiral into a cycle of self-pity and loathing. No, sir-ee, be PROUD of the fact that you’re single and ready to mingle, and do the most anti-social public activity possible—sit in a dark movie theatre in silence, eating popcorn. It doesn’t matter that there’s no one with you, because you shouldn’t be talking anyway when you’ve just paid $10 to not talk. The experience is even better if it’s a shitty movie, so you can be that angry chick who sits in the back corner and laughs/yells at the screen. But don’t throw your popcorn! That shit’s expensive.

            2. Don’t buy flowers

Have you SEEN the price for flowers around the middle of February?? They’re ridiculous, and there’s no way that flowers ACTUALLY cost that much. Instead, go to the store, buy some broccoli florets, tie a ribbon around them, and carry them around as a bouquet all day in commemoration of S.A.D. Not only is it the “official” plant of S.A.D. but it’s also at least 80% cheaper than your typical run-of-the-mill wilted roses. (Btw, as you’re carrying your broccoli bouquet, feel free to look down on the lesser saps that fell for the V-Day trap and settled for expensive yet sad-looking flowers.) Because nothing says “I love you” more than super food nutrients + fiber. Especially when you’re actually saying “I love me!”

           3. Buy a cake—heart-shaped!

I’ll admit, on a day when you’re reminded of your singlehood, sometimes you just have to eat your feelings. And sometimes those feelings involve the need to devour metaphorical soul. (Just be sure not to share ANY of it—you can ask Voldemort what it’s like to divide a soul into several pieces.) Rather, eat the whole thing yourself while watching Jersey Shore. Because if there’s anything that can make you feel better about singlehood (other than eating soul), it’s knowing that you’re waaaay smarter than any of those ridiculously lucky fools.

      4. Group dinner

Gather any and all single friends and go out to dinner at a nice restaurant—and be “that” obnoxious group. You know, the group that decides to loudly toast every time the annoyingly love-dovey couple in the middle of the room decides to act out said lovey-doveyness? It doesn’t matter that this is technically “their” holiday. They’re still going to see your group finish off dinner with a competition over who has the best running giraffe gait. And it’ll be EPIC.

Happy S.A.D., everyone!!

Baby Watch 2011

Sister’s supposed to be having a baby very soon. My soon-to-be niece isn’t due until mid-February, but with the way things are shaping up, little bean is probably going to be arriving early. Sister had one of her first signs of this the other day, and as a result, our house saw a sudden flurry of activity as we scrambled to make sure all of the i’s were dotted, and the t’s were crossed. Also that we had enough diapers to build a small fortress.

I also alerted my coworkers, reminding my boss that I was going to need a few days off immediately after the birth so I could make sure everything still ran smoothly at home, specifically in Nephews’ lives. So now I have a problem. I’m all hyped up for Baby Watch 2011, after what became one of those “hurry up and wait” scenarios that are soooo much fun. It’s like waiting for law school decisions on my applications (hey, wait a minute, I’m doing that too!).

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m fully aware that my life is about to get a kazillion times crazier when Niece is born, but I’m kind of feeling like a cougar on crack, ready to pounce into action at any moment. I want to go to the gym, but I just know that the moment I set foot in a cardio class (and hence have a rare hour of total disconnection from my phone) will be the minute I get a text informing me that I need to swoop in and take care of Nephews while Sister and Brother-in-Law go to the hospital. But how can I possibly sit on my hands??

So instead, I’m entertaining the ways to make it happen on my own so we can get this show on the road already.

            1. Spicy Food

Duh. Everyone’s heard of that one. I had to start you off with a familiar one so you didn’t just write this off as insanity, like the way you probably should. But what if instead of spicy food, you made her eat FIRE?? I’m pretty sure that would work about a million times faster. Therefore, skip the chili peppers and feed her straight-up torch.

            2. Blast Really Bad Music

Preferably something like Sean Kingston. I’m sorry if you like Sean Kingston (actually not really), but I’m pretty sure babies don’t like things that sound like screeching hawks trying to rhyme (that’s really what Sean Kingston sounds like, in case you didn’t notice).

By putting Baby under this kind of stress, you’ll trigger an innate fight-or-flight response which will trigger sudden movement that can’t be contained in a very tight space like that. Therefore, Baby will be trying to claw his/her way out in no time.

3. Blast Really Good Music

This is perfect if you do it right after the really bad music. Pick something that screams pure awesomeness, like The Final Countdown. Not only are you then literally serenading baby (and with an irresistibly strong beat!), reminding him/her that he/she doesn’t have much time left, you’re almost definitely pumping him/her up for it. Also, Baby will want to move towards the good music, especially after enduring the bad, and, still responding to the stress from the bad music, will probably do it quickly.

Really, this was pretty much just an excuse to draw Europe in concert.

4. Scare Tactic

This can be done in many ways. Start by hiding around corners, and when she is sure to be walking by, jump in front of her and shout really loudly. This works especially well if the lights in the house are off. Especially if you’re wearing a mask. Especially if you’re holding something like a club.

Although I can see how this plan can backfire.. By scaring her, you’ll send a sudden spike in adrenaline, which will pass quickly through her whole body, eventually getting to Baby. This means that there are actually TWO people in fight-or-flight mode, which explains why this can trigger labor, but also explains why preggos develop hulk-like strength in stressful situations. Just a note, you might want to be careful with this one. I’m just saying.

5. Pantomime

This is SCIENTIFICALLY PROVEN to work! (No it’s not.) Because every baby has Spidey-Senses that immediately disappear once they’re born, they can tell you’re making movements near them as if you’re stuck in a glass box, and your silent imaginary panic/claustrophobia will inevitably affect Baby, who will then sympathetically panic from being in such an enclosed area, and try to fight to get out asap. If you think about it, it’s a lot like #4, except way less stressful for Preggo, which is good. However, Preggo might even judge you a little for making her watch you pretend to be silently encased.

6. Obstacle Course

This is when you pull out all the stops. Imagine this: in order to get to the hospital, she has to jump through FIVE RINGS of fire to the crocodile that’s chained up in the backyard, steal a scale from its neck (how?? I don’t know, that’s up to Preggo to figure out in a matter of seconds), run around the side of the house while dodging arrows shooting in every direction, jump over the neighbor’s fence, past their dogs that NEVER STOP BARKING, where, out of nowhere, the Smoke Monster comes charging out (how did it get off The Island?? I don’t know!!), then low-crawl through the rose-bushes, come back and try to high-five Yao Ming. Who’s raising his hands. Think about it. Oh yeah, and The Final Countdown is blasting from inside the house. Ideally, this should all trigger a volcano of stress/adrenaline, which would make things happen in basically about two minutes. Trust me. It’s science. (No it’s not.)

By the end of the course, Baby would be so confused and pumped up on adrenaline and awesomeness that he/she would have no choice but to be born already. It’s also the scientifically proven (no it’s not) way to make sure Baby is born a natural BADASS. I’m like 99% sure this is the way George Washington’s mom went into labor.

*Note: Obviously, I love Sister very, very much and would never DREAM of putting her through any of this. Just clarifying.. Even though you probably think I’m criminally insane right about now.