because I really can't get enough of myself

My sketchbook was abondoned.  Sad sketchbook.  And my lame-o art skills are depressing.  Sad unskilled me.  So I've decided to actually put forth an effort to sketch again.  With like a REAL pencil (because I've gotten so used to a stylus I keep thinking, "UNDO UNDO" every time I mess something up in real life). Therefore.... drum roll, please.... For your viewing pleasure, I give you a Halloweeniscious cartoon.....about me (see the ponytails?  Me.  Plus, see how one of my pupils is bigger than the other one?  I told you - going blind  - yes, they really are like that, and yeah, that's just messed up): (You should be able to click on the strips to see everything bigger - 'cause you know you want to.) And because mummy-butt-biting is about as morbid as I can get without having to spew forth something nauseatingly cute, I also drew this: My fingers seem to be more comfortable with cute than with morbid. ...

I have the number forty-two stuck in my head.  I don't know why.  And what normal person has a number stuck in their head for no good reason?!  Honestly. Yet, here I am, thinking, "Forty-two, forty-two,  forty-two,  forty-two,   forty-two ..." It could be the crazy pills. I paired them with caffeine tonight. It's like a party in my brains.  (I typo-ed the 's' on 'brain', then fixed it, then decided that it looked better in the plural sense, even though, technically speaking, it's wrong, or I just have more than one brain, I'm not really sure these days, to tell you the truth.) You know what else? I have a thing for gumballs. The thing is, I really like them.  Not enough that I force Husband on evening runs to the corner grocery store just for some (like I do with m&m's).  But when I see a gumball, all I can think is, "Gumball, gumball, gumball, gumball, gumball, gumball , gumball ..."  until I pop it in my mou...

I haven't mentioned it yet, but I'm going blind.  Oh, that's right - I mention it all the time. For the past month-ish my eye Dr and I have been doing this little dance.  It goes: I wait to get into his busy busy office.  Sometimes I pirouette while I wait. The Dr finally comes in, he does some amazingly uncoordinated leaps and says, "Oh wow," and writes down bad stuff on his chart.  Then he suggest trying something obnoxious and tells me to come back next week. Then it's my turn.  I clog a little and say, "Yeah, but then what?" The Dr prances towards the door and says, "We'll probably have to rush you into surgery."  And then he continues on.  To the billion old people he tap dances for on a daily basis. For a week at a time I try obnoxious plan A, B, or C (C stands for Crazy). But everytime we dance in his office it's always the same thing. Until last thursday.  Last thursday's dance had a par...

(These are not pet peeves, because it's not like I feed them or take them for walks, and therefore they do not earn the title of "pet".) Plain Milk: I like chocolate milk, and strawberry milk, and milk shakes, and Milky Ways and I like to cook with milk.  But drinking plain old milk all by itself?  BLECK.  Yes, I do realize this makes me look juvenile.  No, I don't mind looking juvenile.  And if you're going to make me gag down a glass of milk, you better make it skim so it's not all thick and grody.  And also, you should include lots of cookies, because that would probably help. Lady Cramps: Honestly, there's no need to embelish on this topic. Loud Jets That Fly Over My House Really Low Just to Freak Me Out: Why do they have to do that?  Why so low?  You know what my brain automatically thinks of when I hear them?  Air Raids.  Like how in Englad they had all those bombings and so everyone had to send their kids away to live in ...

The other day I taught my kids how to play "slug bug" in the car.  Although I'm pretty sure everyone on the planet is required to know what this game is, there might be someone somewhere who doesn't know, so here are the rules: 1- See a Volkswagon Beetle of any year 2- Punch your nearest neighbor and say "Slug Bug Yellow!"  (or whatever the color of the Volkswagon Beetle you see.) 3- You have to punch your neighbor before they punch you (hence the "slug" part of the game). 4- I can't remember why you have to do it first.  You just do.  So punch first, ok? When Two Bits got confused and asked why anyone would ever want to play "Slug Bug" I very expertly told her, "Because it's fun to punch people."  And that was the end of the questions. I also taught them what a "perdiddle" was.  I don't even know how to spell "perdiddle".  And since my spell check is going all highlighty (like it do...

Looky looky, I'll customize this Halloweeniscious blog header JUST FOR YOU.  (For the phenomenally low fee of $4.)  Because a customized Halloween blog header is WAAAAAAAY better than a regular generic Halloween blog header any day. Email me if you want one:  melissabastow AT hotmail.com

I had a dream last night that I was roommates with Betty Suarez (from the show Ugly Betty).  Except she didn't work for Mode or anything.  We were just in college.  In fact, I think she worked in the book store.  But I think we still lived in New York. Betty had this guy who was totally hot for her, so he kept following us around in the dream.  And then he started bringing his friends along.  And every situation we were in was sitcom-like insanity where things are always over the top and in real life you sit there and watch it thinking, "like THAT would ever happen." I don't remember all of it, but it went on for pretty much EVER.  At one point, we were hosting a party, but we didn't really know any of the guests besides the guy who liked Betty.  But then one of the guy's friends found out I was an artist and was like, "Oh yeah?  Me too."  And then he almost started coming onto me. Except that's when the instantaneous flood from no...

Do you think anyone has ever really worn a coconut bra in seriousness?  Like they had nothing else to cover their boobs, so they were like, "Hey look, coconuts!"  Because I seriously doubt it. Just like I really highly doubt mermaids slap starfish to their chests and call it an ensemble.  Or use coordinating seashells.  Because seashells would be just as uncomfortable as coconuts.  And I think the starfish would probably just try to eat mermaid boobs if they were the bra of choice. So that leaves one to wondering.... If you were trapped on an island filled with coconuts, but no bras, would you try it?  Or would you reach into the ocean and look for some seashells/boob-eating-starfish? Because I'm thinking, in that type of situation, I would just do what the women in remote parts of Africa do.  Just let it all hang out.  Let them sag and swing.  And, if need be, stretch them to feed hungry babies in opposite directions from two fee...

I call this: smiling through a migraine. The next piece in this series will probably be focused on something like PMS or hang nails.

I don't understand why they never make horror movies about sabre tooth tigers living in your garage.  I think a movie like that would be terrifying.  Because the threat is so incredibly real. Just picture it: You have to get into your minivan in the middle of the night.  Rummaging through the front seat for that important scrap of paper you wrote on, and then forgot about, and then lost.  The best rummaging involves legs halfway sticking out of the open door, and lots of distracted leaning.  As you dig and lean, the sabre tooth tiger silently stalks around the boxes of old baby clothes and Christmas decorations.  And then suddenly: CHOMP. Your dead. Totally real threat.   And even if you make it back into the house mostly unscathed, you're going to hear the sabre tooth tiger bumping around in the garage, probably punching walls in hungry frustration. It's better just to wait until daylight to go rummaging through the minivan in the ...

I'm all in Christmas mode today.  Not sure why, since, you know, it's October 1st.  All I know is that I've been thinking all day of awesome things Santa could bring my kids this year. I know that the Santa gifts have to be stellar this year, because we're instituting the "1 gift to wear, 1 gift to read, 1 gift to play with" thing at our house.  I'm pretty sure the concept will kill me dead.  I have a major tendency to go overboard at Christmas.  And by overboard, I mean, TOTALLY INSANE.  My kids get spoiled and our bank calls and asks if our credit cards have been stolen due to all the purchases. Last year, when we were super horrendously broke, I ended up making a gazillion gifts.  Making gifts is ok for a few things.  But a gazillion home made gifts just turned me into a sleep-deprived, over-stressed, Scrooge-like maniac.  And that was NO FUN.  Hence the vow to do the simple, everyone gets 3 gifts thing. Except that the Santa gi...