Julie R. Neidlinger: Lone Prairie Art Works

You can follow the summer's blog posts here.
You can read my experiences trying to learn to fly, which is here.

No habla.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 2 comments link this post

Tomorrow evening I shall be sitting on a blanket at the capitol, enjoying the work of the bard.

I am hoping no one comes up and tries to talk to me, since I am socially retarded and won't have more than an "um" and "uh" to respond to them.

Once in a while, I have a breakthrough. As you may have read in my journals from my June trip to Nicaragua, I actually talked to a random stranger sitting next to me on the airplane.

I'm not sure how it happened, really, though I suspect foul play on a cosmic level. After all, seating me next to and expecting me to intelligently converse with a fellow who was a mechanic for NASCAR driver and on his way to some massive country music festival...I don't even have the same language. I don't know anything.

"No, I'm sorry. I don't recognize the name of the NASCAR team and driver you mentioned."

"Really?!!"

"I'm not really into NASCAR."

"But women love him! They all go nuts over him!"

"Hmm. Well, I've never heard of him. I'm sure he's very nice-looking. I just don't know."

It was a difficult segue into talking about classical music, and a short-lived conversation at that, but I managed it.

That made him quiet down.

I'm no dummy.

Labels: humor, my life

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

Things you can yell during traffic that won't affect the equation.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 6 comments link this post

1. You idiot!

2. I know changing lanes in an intersection is against the rules but since YOU ARE ALL BUT AT A STANDSTILL AND THE GREEN IS GOING TO YELLOW you force me to do it. Idiot.

3. Thank you, Bismarck street department, for putting down fresh oil and enough gravel to rival the Appalachian mountains, since it seems that CITY DRIVERS DON'T KNOW ENOUGH TO SLOW DOWN AND NOT CHIP EVERYONE ELSE'S WINDSHIELD!

4. It doesn't get any greener!

5. Do you need some kind of instruction manual on how to use your turn signal? IT'S SO COMPLICATED.

And this was all just in the short drive from the airport back to where I live.

I am tightly wound. There's a line from the movie Ferris Bueller's Day Off that comes to mind...

Labels: humor, my life, rant

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

On Target.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 5 comments link this post

I stopped by Target tonight, after my flying lesson. I needed some Kleenex, floss, and industrial air freshener. The genius of Chrysler has struck again, and it always happens in the hottest month of the year.

When I got out to my car this afternoon, the smell of something rotten was overwhelming. I thought it might be the mostly empty Dairy Queen cup in the cup holder, the leftover milk bits turning sour.

But no. I tossed it and the problem was still there. I knew, then, that I had a dead mouse.

Again.

Another rotting rodent all thanks to Chrysler Corporation's decision to design their vehicles with easy access for rodents. I'm willing to bet, somewhere towards the front right side is a handicap accessible entrance for all those rodents who've dreamed of getting inside a Ford or Chevy but just never had the chance.

Regardless, I found the dead critter under one of my folded down seats. He'd probably only been there for two days, but he was bloated and looked like a furry balloon, his mouth puckered in consternation. I imagine getting smashed in a trap was consternating. I picked the trap up and dropped the mouse on the pavement under my car. I returned the trap to my vehicle for the next round, which I know is inevitable.

Despite the removal of the rotting carcass, the car still reeked. Hence, the air freshener. As in, seriously industrial strength.

While walking about Target, a rather large man in a wheelchair rolled down the aisle opposite of the one I was in. His wheel chair must not have been working correctly; it made odd clicking noises that I immediately thought of as a Geiger counter. He was in the sanitary supplies aisle.

Several amusing thoughts came to mind at that point, none of which are fit to share here and now, and none of which have anything to do with my previously gripping tale of the dead mouse.

Labels: humor, my life, summer 2008

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

In troubled times.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 4 comments link this post

In Troubled Times
Another fabulous poem
provided for you
by my life of ease and middle-class comfort
by Julie R. Neidlinger

Times are troubled.
I say
To myself
as I down
another bottle
of Perrier.

My grief and
depression
and personal failures
slide on down
with the tickling
fizzy fun
of the over-priced water
in the green bottle.

Tomorrow
I'll be abusing
Airborne
(which tastes like
the poor man's pop
except it's kind of expensive)
and getting all the healthier
for it.

Labels: humor, poetry

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

Spam Sunday.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

Evidently Sunday is the chosen day for Nigerian Scam Spam.

My inbox has suddenly filled with fresh waves of it.

I like my scammers to honor the Lord's day, so there's absolutely no way I'm going to send any money. No checks go out until Monday.

So there, Majamouaa al Watania. I appreciate your plight. But not on Sunday.

Labels: humor, internet

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

Journals: Efficiency.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

06.09.08
Green Journal

I looked at an efficiency apartment today.

About the only thing I think it would be efficient at is aiding the propagation of several generations of cockroaches. The fellow who showed it was nice, though one of those nervous fast-talkers that speak in machine-gun parlance five steps ahead of their ears. Numerous times, after I'd plainly responded to a question, he'd rattle off on some bizarre stream of unintelligible sounds and end with the question I just answered.

But, bless him, he was efficient at showing the apartment, and even helped me find it. I can't really fault him.

Labels: humor, journals, my life, summer 2008

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

Portable home.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 3 comments link this post

Home can be found in the strangest ways.

Today was a bummer, but I'm not going to delve into it. It'll pass.

Anyway, as I was sitting here writing it all out in my journal, I could feel myself relaxing, as if I were home. I've spent enough time writing in journals at home or other non-stressful places that, it seems, I associate the act of writing in a journal with the feeling I get there.

Essentially, by just writing in my journal, I have a portable home.

As I wrote in my journal: "...the familiarity of pen on paper is just enough to evoke a "you're home, you're safe" feeling.

Oddly, I get that same feeling in...(prepare yourself, for it's terrible)...Target. I've gone to the Target store in Grand Forks with my parents so much that I have an association with it. My mom calls it her "favorite store" and there are other associations and memories with trips to Grand Forks that get capped off grocery shopping in Target that when I found myself walking through Target today I felt that similar feeling.

I'm more proud of my journal association than my Big Box Store association, but there you have it. Feelings of home can be portable, as long as the roots were made deep long before you called them up for use.

I think writing is going to be very, very useful for me. Target, less so, since I don't have any money and I'm afraid the security would be weirded out if I just wandered around the store every day. Plus, there's so much red there, and all the little targets. It upsets me after a while.

Labels: family, humor, my life, summer 2008, writing

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

I caricature myself out of envy.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 6 comments link this post

This graphic makes me giggle*. It leads to a blog called Milo's Turf Tips. Milo is one of the anchors of WDAZ, the "local" news (which is out of Grand Forks and really, all things considered, not so local).

The Quest for the Perfect Lawn is the sub name of the blog (which makes me want a sub name for my own blog).

There have been other quests throughout history, real and fictional. This includes the Holy Grail. Aeneas. Gilgamesh. Odysseus. Dorothy. Frodo.

But Milo is going for the perfect lawn.

This is a quest only a few select people have. It seems like a MacGuffin, serving little purpose than taking up some time on the nightly news and getting a few sponsors to put low-res graphics on the blog. I admire the panache, though. Why settle for bringing down Mordor when you can have the perfect lawn?

The perfect lawn, in my book, involves grass that does not grow. All else is irrelevant. It does not matter what it looks like otherwise, and requires no further work. Yet, I envy Milo's graphic, the professionalism of it, the "we're big league now" effect it lends to the WDAZ web site. The fact that sans serif font was used is also a plus for me.

I must have one of my own.

And, as you see, I do.

*And, admittedly, the blog itself.

Labels: cartoons, humor, local

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

Consti-bear.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

Oh, the glorious hi-jinx at work.

After receiving several scathing verbal blows over my recent cat scat post, my hurt and wounded mind slipped into permanent junior-high-boy level. So, when Anna innocently asked my opinion on a design project geared toward a young girl, I moved in for the kill.

"Try some teddy bears. Going to the bathroom. Because that's all I can come up with, apparently."

This led to a few moments of hilarity.

First, Anna came up with a teddy bear design and asked me to come over and see if I thought it would be appropriate. I thought it was perfect, and wanted an item with the design on it for myself. (See the design here.)

Then, she began flipping through the teddy bear clip art, trying to find one that would work. As I looked over her shoulder, my de-evolving mind infecting hers, we both started giggling at otherwise innocent bear clip art.

Me: Ha ha. That one look like it's...

Anna: No, wait, look at this one!

Me: Ha. That one would be perfect if you added an alien bursting from its stomach.*

Anna: You're disgusting.

She flips to the next image, which is actually a cartoon-y bear with its teeth bared, as if it was merely growling, but in our current mindset, it looked constipated. We both burst out laughing.

I went back to my desk to resume working. It wasn't long before Anna jokingly suggested I draw her some teddy bear clip art since she couldn't find any good ones. This was a foolish request since it was obvious I wasn't going to come up with anything usable.

As you can see.

* Alien, Aliens, and Alien 3 were on the Fox Movie Channel recently and I recorded them on the Tivo (and will leave them on there for future enjoyment). I haven't seen them in years, and I've worked my way through the first two and am obsessed with aliens and facehuggers. I saw the alien creature used in Aliens. It's in the SciFi museum in Seattle. In person, it's a lot less terrifying. Looks like dried up foam and paper. In the film, however...well, see for yourself (warning: linked video is not at all child safe). Ripley is awesome. I love monster movies.

Labels: cartoons, friends, humor, work

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

The inopportune cat.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 4 comments link this post

Violin practice ran late and long, and so I found myself riding with Alice home in the dark. I'd carpooled with Alice, the piano player for the violin group, and her daughter, who is also in the group. Since it was so late, she decided to drop her daughter off at home first so she could get a head start on getting to bed, and then go the seven miles further to drop me off. I sure appreciated the ride; carpooling is very necessary when gas is $3.68 a gallon.

As the car swung around the corner up their long driveway, headlights splaying out in front and piercing the dark trees that lined the road, I saw it.

An inopportune cat.

I'm sure, at any other time, it's just a nice tabby cat, a jolly farm pet. At this moment, however, it was inopportune. It looked peculiar in the position it had assumed, at least as far as the distance we were at would allow us to see.

The car drove further up the driveway, getting closer.

As the car slowly rolled by the cat, I commented. "It looks like that cat is going to the bathroom by the road."

"It does, indeed, look like it is," Alice said.

I snickered. I'm pretty grade-school, when it comes right down to it.

The cat was all squatted and hunched, right on the edge of the dirt driveway, its eyes huge, staring at us, no doubt greatly chagrined at the invasion of privacy. Unmoving. Caught in the throes of.... well, anyway.

"That must be very embarrassing," said Alice.

I actually think it probably was. Cats are animals that do seem to get embarrassed. The cat appeared unsettled, no doubt planning to have his evening constitutional in the safety of the dark only to be mortified by double spotlights and spectators to take it all in.

Maybe next time the cat will think twice before relieving itself right next to the driveway. If cats think.

Labels: cartoons, humor, my life, pets

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

Earth day.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 4 comments link this post

For Earth Day, I burned a bunch of garbage in a smoking mass, and dad walked out of the house and drove down the road and left the TV on.

No one tells the Neidlingers what to do.

Labels: current events, family, humor

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

Dating out of fear of ending up with no teeth.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 4 comments link this post

Nothing sells like desperation and fear. And nothing moves a dating service into high gear like using a photo of a very old woman (man?) from...India? ...missing a considerable amount of teeth.

This is an ad I saw on Facebook today.

"Hurry! You become old and alone much faster than you think."

Yes, because the time/space continuum speeds up when you're not married.

Apparently, being over 30 and single means you're on track to toothless joy in a third-world country. 29? You're safe. Over 30? You look like Keith Richards via Bombay.

Usually, such ads feature hot, sexy, airbrushed people, but someone is trying a new concept: blatant fear. Or something.

I don't know.

It might work.

Labels: facebook, humor, internet, relationships

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

Numbers 32:23.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 5 comments link this post

I heard the Schwan man pull up in the yard. His truck has a distinctive sound.

Schwan's food is good. It's expensive. It's mostly not on the South Beach Diet. There are some items, though, that we can eat. But the thing is, we don't eat it up every two weeks, which is when he comes, and so I find myself hiding from him.

Like today.

I pretended I was not home. I figured he'd never know and it wouldn't be any big deal.

Obviously, mature adults would come to the door and say something like "so sorry, we just don't need anything at this time."

I prefer to just hide around the corner of the entryway.

I forced the nice fellow to leave a "sorry I missed you" sticker and catalog on the door, wasted his time, and stole from his commission. But we just don't have any more room in the freezer and we're still working our way through the last order.

Later, I drove into town to mail some letters. There, parked in front of the post office, was the Schwan's truck; he was delivering an order to the postmaster.

Great. Guilt. Be sure your sin will find you out.

I stopped in the grocery store and bought a carton of milk to kill time and perhaps avoid running into the guy, even though we didn't really need milk, either.

"I'm hiding from the Schwan man," I told the woman in the grocery store.

People in town know I'm weird, so they let such things slide.

The Schwan man, however, was still at the post office.

Drat.

Like any confident, shame-free adult, I marched into the post office (with my head lowered and avoiding any gaze), mailed my letters, and left.

Being me is very difficult. I can only imagine what being around me is like.

Labels: humor, local, my life

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

Massage recovery.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 1 comments link this post

It started with a battle.

The last week and a half, my back muscles have been going to war. Some of you politicos might be curious as to which side was winning -- the right or the left -- but I won't reveal.

Regardless, the true loser here, despite earlier claims, was me.

Holy cow. Playing the piano at church last Sunday was a finely synchronized feat of playing steadily between twitching back muscles that caused my hands to splay across the keys. Neither lying nor standing nor sleeping nor waking could separate me from the pain in my back, which is from causes uncertain (a rough paraphrase of Romans 8:38-39, applied personally, which is probably heretical).

I decided to schedule a massage.

I don't make massages a regular part of my life. Too expensive, and, inevitably, I end up having to talk to the masseuse during the massage (as annoying as having to talk when I get my hair cut) when all I really want to do is have the massage in silence, pay the bill, and leave.

But, the Great Back War was too great.

I flipped through the Yellow Pages and made an appointment. Everything seemed in order, and the woman was skilled, experienced, and very professional. In the past I've always selected, when asked if I liked "light, medium, or heavy pressure", heavy. Evidently the masseuse I've had in the past didn't have strong hands.

I swear to you, I am a walking bruise. Even if you can't see it, I am.

About halfway through the massage I remember thinking "I'm paying for this torture?!" Oh. My. Goodness.

"Julie, you could have said something," you might be thinking. My response would be that that would be acknowledging weakness. Periodically, U.S. Army slogans flit through my mind such as the one that says pain is the sign of weakness leaving. And also, I don't like to admit I made the wrong choice, which, in this case, was selecting "heavy" pressure.

I should be really strong.

Just touching my forearm is almost unbearable. I feel like I was repeatedly smacked by a meat tenderizer. I think my shoulder bones and back ribs were turned to gel.

Oddly, my back, by the time of the scheduled massage came around, had settled down into a kind of truce. The massage, however, has incited violence again in more guerrilla-like battles and I now have a painful back but in a different way.

I was talking to one of the participants in the medical study where I spent the weekend, explaining my sort of slouched, constantly-moving position in my chair.

"Man, it sounds like it was brutal," he said.

"I think a need a massage to recover from my massage," I replied.

From here on out, I'm going to be selecting "light" pressure.

Labels: health, humor, my life

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

Ergonomic office equipment.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

For more Red Green, visit here.

Labels: humor, television, video

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

Big news.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 7 comments link this post

A couple of items of interest for those...interested.

1. I got fired from my job today.
2. I got engaged to a nice fellow (I have some difficulty spelling his last name, which is wreaking havoc on my homemade-invitation plans.)
3. My cat died this morning. (He'd cashed in his remaining eight lives last week for a chance to be the new Tidy Cat spokescat, to no avail.)
4. I won some money from Powerball. (Which will probably go towards paying for the damage I did to my co-worker's car when I keyed it in a fit of rage during my morning break.)

It's been quite a day.

It's also April 1.

Labels: humor

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

Missing blog posts.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 3 comments link this post

I wrote a little while I was on blogging vacation.

I'm the jerk who would sit on the beach with a laptop and finish work reports while on vacation.

The four articles (I'm loathe to call them "posts" since that feels more beach-laptop and less writer-working) are entitled:

Easter egg dilemma
The neediness of winter
Don't you want it
Caution before digging

Exciting stuff!!

If you want to read the few "lost blog posts" that I wrote, well, you're in luck. Click here.

Labels: blogging, humor, my life, personal, television

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

Woman as explained by an engineer.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 2 comments link this post

A friend sent me an email with images that made me laugh out loud. I quickly forwarded them to my brother (an engineer) and few other friends.

First, check out the rest of the images:

1. Doing the math.
2. Hazardous materials data sheet.
3. Charting the chances of a man winning an argument.
4. Man and woman on the same mission.

I've already gotten an email back from one of my friends regarding the last image. He had this to say: "The problem with this is no real man goes to The Gap to buy jeans. He goes to Mills Fleet Farm*."

--------------------------------

*Store name has been changed from original quote in order to protect the geographic location and anonymity of the contributor. The essence of the quote is the same.

Labels: friends, humor, internet, relationships, women

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

My co-workers hate me, part 2.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 6 comments link this post

::Previous post here. And no, there is no real hate at my place of work. 'Tis in jest.::

I had my relatively new co-worker get out green tape and mark the floor where I determined my department area began.

I'm big into boundaries.

"Boundaries begat freedom!" I might say in a moment of Biblical bliss.

Bless her, she began standing right behind the line, toes up to the edge. "This is just like in darts!"

Oh, the barbed verbal darts we threw.

"I'm working here!" I said during one spell of conversation. The tape line did not come with sound barriers.

"I'd use the word 'work' lightly," she replied. I snickered.

"Well, who's standing at the edge of the tape line talking, and who's moving the mouse and doing various job-related activities?"

"Ha. A monkey could do that."

"And I think a monkey probably is involved, somewhere inside my computer, rubbing sticks and rocks together to generate power for this ancient computer system." I gave it a "gentle" pat.

"Don't hit it!" she said.

"Trust me, it won't negatively affect its peformance..."

I have a 11 x 5 floor-tile sized department. We call it the "old department" what with the old computer and all. The area of my department -- 55 tiles -- is one less than her 8 X 7 section of floor.

Obviously, we are both petty.

"I count 56," I said.

"Can't be." I pointed it via my excellent math and geometry skills, reiterating the difference between 55 and 56.

"Well, I have newer equipment and need more space," she said, laughing.

"It is I who needs a larger department," I said, in response to suggestions that my deparment floor size was bigger despite the tile calculations. "I have an ENIAC computer here."

Actually, it's probably top-of-the-line Windows 3.1.

No.

All this, while music from KC and the Sunshine Band played.

"Is this KC and the Sunshine Band?" I grumbled under my breath. Yesterday I'd suffered through country music.

"Wow, that's showing your age."

"This may be the 'old department'," I said, "but which of us is older?"

Roaring silence.

But I see, in her stack of rental movies to return after work, is the DVD "He Was A Quiet Man." Perhaps I'd best back off...

Labels: friends, humor, series, work

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

The treachery of the extended cab.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 4 comments link this post

This is the day of the Lake Region Roundup, an agricultural "conference" here in Devils Lake which is held mainly to give the farmers who are driving their wives crazy something to do in the winter.

The town is filled with pick-up trucks, 92.8 percent of which are extended cab. The streets are barely passable with these large vehicles jutting out into the driving lanes.

Many of these large vehicles are driven by elderly gents who don't really farm as much as they climb into tractors and combines out of refusal to retire, generally causing their middle-aged sons a great deal of stress. They are typically identified by hands that clutch high on the steering wheel while their eyes peer just a smidgen above the dash.

They also don't seem to require rules such as "look before backing out" and "a stop sign means to stop" and "one parking spot per vehicle."

I dread Lake Region Roundup day. There's barely enough vehicle insurance in the world to cover it. Not too mention the rarity of parking availablity near the store.

Labels: humor, local, north dakota

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

The sad story of Baron Von Hanta.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 3 comments link this post

The respectable Baron Von Hanta.

The Baron was meant for better things, of this he was certain.

Some Barons were hawking pizza, true, but Baron Von Hanta had intended for his life to reach beyond processed foodstuffs.

How he now found himself both as a kind of food as well as closely related to stuff(ing) was beyond his control.

He'd been born into a life of privilege, made of only the finest polyester and faux fur available on the cat toy market. His carefully embroidered nose and eyes, along with his solidly stitched-cleaved feet, ensured that he would be desirable for those looking for such a creature as he. His delicate pink ears and tail were of the finest low-grade, paper-thin suede.

No toy could compare!

How he could now find himself from the safety of a plastic package to being tossed to and fro about the floor, fully at the whims of a brutish cat, was beyond him.

And now, the insult had reached a fever pitch; he was splitting his seams. He was revealing his inmost secrets.

Like some cheap and tacky alien autopsy, his innards were beginning to leak out.

Was there no dignity left for him anywhere?!

Hours of delight he'd provided, his realistic rodent appearance causing more than one house guest to mildly start and then laugh. "That toy looks real!" they'd proclaim, his own inner shame at being considered a mere toy hidden beneath his stoic interior.

Had anyone any idea what it was liked to be pummeled, thrown, whipped, squashed, and repeatedly mauled by sharp little teeth every day? His only consolation, sometimes, was that he wasn't filled with catnip. He'd heard stories of such things...horrifying details of torn limbs and being drawn and quartered.

The latest indignity visited upon his ever-weakening will to live was being thrown willy-nilly into the plate glass window, where the cat, intently focused on the birds feeding just on the other side, would leap in a nervous state at the sound of his impact. Angry that the birds were not coming through the glass, the beast would pounce on him and nearly devour him.

"I am delicately stitched!" the Baron wanted to cry out. But he couldn't cry. He had no moisture inside. Just stuffing.

And he was starting to lose that. The rich inner life he had treasured for so long was seeping away...

SECTIONS

About

Contact

Breaking News!

Events

Press

Sales & Specials

TODAYS HEADLINES

BLOGROLL

No habla.

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

Things you can yell during traffic that won't affect the equation.

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

On Target.

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

In troubled times.

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

Spam Sunday.

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

Journals: Efficiency.

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

Portable home.

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

I caricature myself out of envy.

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

Consti-bear.

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

The inopportune cat.

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

Earth day.

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

Dating out of fear of ending up with no teeth.

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

Numbers 32:23.

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

Massage recovery.

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

Ergonomic office equipment.

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

Big news.

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

Missing blog posts.

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

Woman as explained by an engineer.

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

My co-workers hate me, part 2.

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

The treachery of the extended cab.

Like this post? Subscribe to the feed. Click here to help support this site.

The sad story of Baron Von Hanta.