I love working at a library. Really, really love it. Libraries are grand places, full of these things called books, with pages, and with words, made up of letters. I love them the most. The books.

Also? I am a horrible person:

(Ok, I cheated a bit on that one.)

Slightly suggestive and funny haha, right? Nothing too bad? Just me and my dirty, dirty mind?

OR SO YOU THOUGHT:

I mean, ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? No, really. You are, aren't you? Or am I imagining it? I MUST BE.

But no. I am not:

You cannot blame this one on me, people.

Clearly, I work way too hard. Good thing I have a shitload of time off coming up soon. So I can relax at home and read.

Cheers!

My Christmas present (which, much like the gifts I will be giving out this year, I played no part in constructing because I cannot craft for shit and really, don't we all just want serious blingy shit? Don't lie.) to all of you: Fuck You, Penguin.

The entire site is pure awesome, but I'm especially in love with: Llamas Will Break Your Heart Without so Much as a "My Bad" (here), Platypus: The Ultimate Buzz-kill (here), and OF COURSE, Red "Panda" Trying to Steal Panda Thunder (here).

Enjoy (the fruits of someone else's labor).

I have to go to traffic school.

And really...it's about damned time. Despite getting pulled over at least a dozen times in my life, I just recently got my first ticket. In fact, this ticket marks the most 'legal' trouble I have ever been in, in my entire life. How has this happened? I HAVE NO IDEA. (A killer lawyer? Possibly!)

So no, I'm not at all pissed about the ticket, for speeding, which I so, so earned. Which I've been earning since I was 16, pretty much. But the part that I am pissed about? Traffic School. The thought of doing anything for 8 hours (or, 6 hours and 4 minutes) fills me with absolute dread. I would like traffic school to be as painless as possible, meaning, I would like an instructor who would happily exchange money for a certificate of completion (why do you think I'm aiming to go right before the holidays, eh?), but since I doubt that will happen (and I was totally, kidding, by the way. Maybe.) I've been looking into the different schools in my area:

1. Kevin Dunn's Traffic School: I highly, highly doubt that this is Kevin Dunn, author of The Necromancer. But how cool would that be? Endless zombie/corpse/bad driving tie-ins? Awesome.

2. Gay Community Traffic School: I hate to stereotype gay people as being more fun than straight people...but uh, they are.

3. Safetripp Traffic School: I am not taking instruction from a school that cannot spell. Thanks.

4. Pizza For You Comedians 2 & Pizza 4U Great Comedians - Ok, now we're on to something...

Clearly, I am at a crossroads, people. So please, if you have any experience with this (and if I know my readers, YOU DO) send suggestions my way.

Life at the new apartment is going swell. Though I had initially had some reservations, and the situation is still pretty new...I totally fucking love living with my roomie. (Midnight beer runs, now more fun/less sad!) I'm in love with the neighborhood, have been walking (I KNOW) everywhere, and am so, so happy to finally be back downtown(ish) where fun shit happens on a regular basis.

And, most importantly of course, the roomie's kitty has gotten over her aversion to me and has apparently come to the decision that I am simply delicious:

Here, using her vice-like grip to secure my hand and prevent escape:

...and here, attempting to detach a finger by using leverage. Smart!

Oh, haha, bite-y kitty...so cute! So cute I might have to wrap up with a snuggly little kitty coat this winter just so she can always be next to me! With the cuteness! Ha!

(Roomie, I kid. Your cat is a delight. A DELIGHT.)

And yes, a break from animal pictures and the like is coming, I promise. It's the holidays, which means parties, which means being social, which means drinking, which means fuck, I hope I don't ruin Christmas this year, too. Also, thanks to a lovely little thing scheduled to happen this weekend, it's pretty much a sure thing that all hell will break loose, and soon. So uh, Happy Holidays!

I know the subject matter of this video may be a hard sell to some all of you, but Just. Give. It. A. Chance:

I was having a bad day today before it even really started. My dreams were shit, basically a collective of everything I've fucked up in the past few years, the kind of stuff that still weighs on me heavily enough (apparently; so much for suppression) to saturate my subconscious. So, dreams? Fuck you guys. Thanks for making me glad to wake up at 8am, assholes.

The bad day trudged towards a bad afternoon, and by 2pm I was counting the hours (7 and a half!) until I could go home and face plant in my covers. Because even though I'm a bit of a jerk, I would never dream of inflicting my blue moods on anyone. (Mostly just because they're lame.)

But then I saw this:

(more info at themurdercitydevils.com)

And now? It's pretty much The! Best! Day! Ever! (Next to this one, that is. And this one.)

CHEERS!

I went to a house party last night. Begrudgingly. Because I'm not 18. Sifting through a plastic bin full of ice and grimy hand water for a can of Bud Light ain't really my idea of a good time, now that I can buy my own drinks. But a good friend was in town, and since I pretty much stood him up at a wedding earlier this week by showing up hours late (partly his fault, though! I'm only half asshole!), I dutifully made the trek. The fucking hour-long trek.

And HOLY SHIT, was it worth it. In lieu of a bargain beer bucket, there was an actual, fully stocked bar. And a bartender (!!!). Oh, and vintage arcade games.

Even though it was a cool night, much of the party was outside, likely for two reasons: a makeout cabin (yeah...just in case the house wasn't enough!) and the beer vending machine. Wait, let's try that again: A BEER VENDING MACHINE. I know, I know, it's just a soda machine with beer cans, but you gotta admit, that's a pretty awesome thing to have in your backyard. My friends would make me a fucking millionaire.

And not that anything could really trump the beer vending machine, but there was also a ridiculous sized pool and a cabana-covered hot tub (methinks the homeowner gets like, superlaid) with a view of this:

I probably would have had to be carried out kicking and screaming ("Vending machine! I'll come back for youuuuuu.....!!!" )...if we hadn't run outta Jack.

Which, by that time? Probably a good thing. And I NEVER say that...so you know it was a good night.

Cheers.

Oh, hey, hi guys!

Yeah...soooooo...that whole 'posting for 30 days' thing? Ha! Fucked that shit right up, didn't I? I made it precisely to the halfway mark, and then, on the eve of Day 15, was out and about and realized I would have to leave the bar and go home to post. And I think you guys know that my decision? A firm, firm STAY AT THE BAR. FOR A REALLY LONG TIME.

It was a good call.

And then, out of respect for all of the other NaBloPoMo bloggers, I decided to not post for the duration of the month. Ok, maybe not so much 'decided' as just 'was lazy and didn't update'.

But hey, I've been busy. I moved. ON TOP OF A BAR. Yeah...it was nice knowing you, too.

I got the ok to paint my room, which excited me way more than it probably should have. After debating deep jade greens (Herbal, and Grass) and pale blues (Ice Cube...nope, I didn't make these up) I finally settled on I Look Way Better on the Swatch Than I do on Walls Haha You Stupid Sucker Maybe You'll Use Primer Next Time:

I got this far:

...before I got bored.

Luckily, there was a kitty (my roomie's) to keep me entertained.

Look how cute and stupid she is, playing with her litter box! Her litter box right by all of the paint! SO CUTE. I should not be concerned by this at all! I should totally stop what I'm doing and take a picture to document this cuteness!

And about 30 seconds later, the scene looked something like this:

The rivers of blood were from the gaping neck and chest wounds (or, a scratch) I suffered when I attempted to wrangle the cat out of the paint tray. And then chased it around the room. And grabbed her and -THE HORROR- attempted to wash her paws off. DON'T EVER DO THAT, PEOPLE. Just enjoy your blue cat.

Anways, once the blood started to clot, I resumed painting, and everything worked out just peachy, and by now I'm all moved in. And while the cat won't still let me pet it lest I attempt to touch it with that horrible water substance, I have twice found partially dismembered toy mice on my bed. That's pretty much a peace offering, right? I'm not gonna worry until I find a horse head tucked under my covers. And even then I wouldn't really worry, cause that would just be impressive as shit. In summartion: bring it, kitty.

Cheers!