Category Archives: Humor

DIY Ways to be Beautiful

1.)For more youthful-looking skin, exfoliate with road spikes.

2.) Gather enough kittens to match your body weight. Cover yourself in them.

3.)Tie a red string around the trunk of a willow tree during a full moon and walk around it three times while calling out to Astarte, the ancient goddess of beauty and warfare.

4.)Peel your skin from your bones and evolve beyond this paltry jumble of flesh and bone that anchors you to your mortal state.

5.)Defeat a model in combat. Paint your face with her blood. Absorb her essence.

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Oh, Canada!

So earlier this month I went to Canada with my great, graceful, gorgeous friend Sarah. We stayed for a week at a lovely cabin with a private stretch of beach on the shores of “Lake” (that motherfucker is a SEA, thank you) Huron, and it was a magnificent escape from the everyday world. Not that I need to escape from my everyday world, as mine consists of mostly cats and beer, but still – Wide open lavender skies and shimmering waters are a change from cats and beer.

I mean LOOK AT THIS. Have you ever seen a sunset that was so pretty it made you ANGRY? Because I have. This sunset is ridiculous, all "ohh look at me I'm a sunset on a lake I'm going to look like I jumped out of a thrift store painting oooh" Fuck you, sunset.

I mean LOOK AT THIS. Have you ever seen a sunset that was so pretty it made you ANGRY? Because I have. This sunset is ridiculous, all “ohh look at me I’m a sunset on a lake I’m going to look like I jumped out of a thrift store painting oooh” Fuck you, sunset.

We’ve been to this same cabin before a few years previously, but only for a short weekend (still fell in love with the place the first time I stepped foot on the property and realized I could hear waves inside the house, though.)

Even when the sky isn't some ridiculous shade of fuschia, it's still beautiful. I felt like I was one hobbit away from running into elves preparing to sail into the West or something.

Even when the sky isn’t some ridiculous shade of fuschia, it’s still beautiful. I felt like I was one hobbit away from running into elves preparing to sail into the West or something.

Sarah and I have extremely varied interests, but one thing we can agree on is that food is the bee’s knees, so we cooked a lot. I did all the stove cooking, and Sarah did all the grilling. I don’t grill. Every time I even think about grilling, something or someone outside catches on fire. Sarah, however, is some sort of crazy . . . meat sorceress. I marinated lamb chops in garlic, lemon, olive oil, wine and oregano, and she grilled them to perfection.

Sarah doesn't actually drink, but if you're going to be at a grill, you're going to be holding a beer. It just magically appears in your hand.

Sarah doesn’t actually drink, but if you’re going to be at a grill, you’re going to be holding a beer. It just magically appears in your hand.

It was a good time. We did nothing but cook, lay out on the beach all day, read and write and listen to the waves crash against the shore. Why can’t life be like that all the time?

This was the path to the beach. Again, what is with everything here being so ridiculously beautiful? (Not me - the path. I'm sunburned, dumpy thirtysomething wearing a Legend of Zelda t-shirt. I have no illusions about myself.)

This was the path to the beach. Again, what is with everything here being so ridiculously beautiful? (Not me – the path. I’m sunburned, dumpy thirtysomething wearing a Legend of Zelda t-shirt. I have no illusions about myself.)

And this was the trip I learned that you could get a hideous, cancer-causing sunburn on a cloudy day in Canada!

And this was the trip I learned that you could get a hideous, cancer-causing sunburn on a cloudy day in Canada!

The most Canadian picture ever at the duty-free store. We are surrounded by maple products.

The most Canadian picture ever at the duty-free store. We are surrounded by maple products.

Me in my natural state.

Me in my natural state.

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Femme Fatality

I always thought I’d be a vixen in my thirties. I’d be past my wide-eyed girlish gawkiness and into the self-assured, easy sensuality of a woman who knows what she wants, what she deserves and how to get it.

(I also thought that I would be 5’7 and living in an ancient English manor, married to minor nobility. I practiced signing “Lady Casey” in fancy cursive a lot.)

Instead, I am a dynamic combination of love handles, vitriol and crippling social anxiety. I am short, cranky, drinky and fighty. Hence I don’t get a lot of exposure to the outside world (and rightfully so.)

The other day, I was looking through the historical fiction aisle of my local used book store and as always, some asshole sidled up to the very same section after I got to browse for a whole three nanoseconds. I hunched my shoulders up Gollum-style and prepared to let out a warning hiss, but — oh ho ho, what have we here? There is a cutie browsing beside me, he’s wearing a Valve t-shirt, and he smells faintly of a sparkling Norwegian spring! As curiosity overrode my irritation, I side-eyed what book he flipped through and saw it was Alaska by James Michener.

I love James Michener.

I love Valve games.

love guys who have blonde hair and neatly-trimmed beards and smell like sparkling Norwegian springs.

I looked down at the books in my basket and decided then and there to put them up because I was obviously going to need to save up for my extravagant seaside wedding to Valve-Shirt-Blond-Beard Guy.

At that point (I had been staring blankly at him for roughly seventeen minutes by then) he looked over at me and smiled, blue eyes crinkling like people’s eyes crinkle when they smile in the movies. Nobody really looks like that when they smile, right? Wrong! BLUE EYES OH MY GOD BLUE EYES, BLOND HAIR, BEARD. I JUST FOUND MY FANTASY NERD VIKING YES THANK YOU LITTLE SWEET BABY JESUS OR KRISHNA OR JEHOVAH OR WHOEVER DID THIS.

He, of course, was praising whatever supernatural being brought us together too. (Or more likely, just staring at the bead of drool that had formed in the corner of my mouth and wondering if I had lost my handler but let me have my dream dammit)

Okay, like I said – and actually, it probably didn’t need to be said, but just in case you don’t pick up on context clues very well – I am extremely socially awkward. Especially around guys. ALWAYS around guys. It’s just that they’re so cute and scary and listen I just haven’t had a whole lot of male influence in my life so I am basically a twelve year old when it comes to men, alright? Anyway: I am Rainman-level socially awkward, but I knew this was probably the part where I was supposed to say something.

So what did I do? I didn’t say “Oh, I see you are also a fan of James Michener and his sweeping historical epics. I, being an astute and well-read woman, find his novels quite enjoyable and would like to discuss them over craft beer and/or sex with you.” I didn’t say “Brains and beauty? Sign me up, hottie!” I didn’t even say “hi.”

My inner monologue went thusly: Compliment him on his shirt compliment him on his shirt say something don’t just stare like some weirdo compliment him on his shirt you like Valve but oh god what if he’s wearing that shirt ironically and hates video games and video game culture then he’s just going to think you’re a dumbass okay so compliment him on his hair instead wait no that’s really fucking creepy just compliment him on his shirt and hope for the best and okay wait no ask him if he’s read James Michener before! Talk about how you love what great condition the books are in here! SMILE for chrissake oh god but not that wide you’re showing more gum than tooth he’s going to think you’re some sort of hill person!

“Buh,” is what finally came out. I don’t want to say that’s what I said, because saying implies that there were words, when this was really more of a guttural, cornered-animal whimper.

Buh. Christ.

Now listen, I have won awards for my writing. I can pull $10 words out of the air and string them up on a page and make it look like art. You make me speak though, and I come up with real gems like buh.

Fucking buh. Really? Use your words, Casey.

“I’m sorry?” he said, smile fading a little, eyes darting around the room. Oh yeah. Totally scanning the room for my handler.

“I, um–your shirt. It’s cool,” I squeaked out, immediately becoming fascinated with the tiled floor below my feet. I had made the transformation from 32-year-old woman to 14-year-old boy almost effortlessly. I’m basically Harry Potter. Give me my god damn wand, thank you.

“Oh,” he said after a minute, looking down at his shirt. “Thanks.”

“Haha yeah, no problem! Bye!”

I didn’t even look back as I fled the scene.

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So if you were accosted by a woman in a used book store this weekend, I’m sorry. I really did like your shirt and your choice of books, and I don’t really need a handler.

Standard Action: Episode One – The Barbarian.

This is fantastic. Maybe I’m just biased because my D&D character is a powerful barbarian lady, I don’t know. But whatever the case, this is hilarious. Many thanks to Andrea for sharing this.

(My barbarian lady would never do this much talking, though. She would throw her Cloak of Many Squirrels aside and just punch the outhouse into a smoking ruin.)