Tag Archives: animals

New Year, new round of FYIs

It’s been awhile since I’ve done FYIs, so I thought the new year would be a good excuse to scrounge up another round. They’re not really seasonal in nature, but whenever I write something serious I doubt posting, I always feel like I have to hurry up and write something else right away.

So without further ado, FYI:

While they say a watched pot never boils, the second you turn your back and start doing something else, it will completely spill over.

You have to let down your guard to let someone in.

It’s easier to just buy new mini-blinds than it is to try and clean them. (The same goes for shower curtain liners, but to a lesser extent.)

No one should own a pair of Pajama Jeans.


If you find yourself saying “but I was only trying to help” a lot, you’re not helping (especially if helping involves gifting a pair of Pajama Jeans.)

Be better, not bitter.

Sundays are for washing floors and clothes, not for washing hair.

When you don’t have money to buy something, you will find a bunch of things you want to buy. As soon as you are given gift cards, you will be unable to find anything at all.

“Anonymous” is blog speak for “Chicken Shit.”

You can’t be in a bad mood if you’re dancing.

When you get a flat tire, you fix it. You don’t slash the other three. My point? Even if you take a step back with resolutions, you can always take the next step forward.

We always hear about the “good old days.” If that’s the case, then 10 years from now we’ll look back at these times as the “good old days,” so enjoy each day right now.

Then again, I much preferred Gilad’s “Bodies In Motion,” Denise Austin and Jack La Lanne to Jillian and Jackie Warner, so maybe I’m full of crap.


Don’t fill silence with assumptions.

In life, it seems the group of people who are easily offended and the group of people who are easily confused tend to be the same group.

Since Joel McHale still hasn’t called, I’m moving on to Daniel Tosh (but Joel still had a standing invitation.)


Say what you mean, mean what you say. Never say sorry for feeling that way.

There are two kinds of people—those that eat the skin on baked potatoes and those that don’t. The cool people eat the skin. (This logic does not apply to bananas.)

You can—and will—always be humbled by something or someone. This is a good thing.

People with the least amount of responsibility will continually complain about being too busy.

Adding Brussel sprouts to a Whopper does not negate the fact that it’s still a freaking Whopper.


Contestants on cooking shows—Iron Chef or not—sweat entirely too much for any of the food to look appetizing.

Every minute of the day is not an emergency or something to urgently be filled with something, anything. Busyness does not equate with productivity, so breathe, prioritize and make time for yourself.

I constantly have a “writer’s voice” running dialogue through my head—observations, poems, ideas—and it’s exhausting.

Because of this, I would love to give my brain a break and read your FYIs. (OK, the two are completely unrelated, but I love your FYI comments.)

So, if one of your resolutions was to comment more on random rambling blogs, I am presenting you the chance to succeed. Why wait until tomorrow?

Bird Brain

I’m tired of trip talk, so I figured I would compose some deep philosophical collection of insights or talk about birds. I flipped a coin…

I have had two birds in my life. Skeeter was a manic Lovebird that died an early death due to falling from the top of his cage. It was very traumatic for both of us.

Gonzo was a cockatiel and lived to be 15 years old, choosing to pass away while I was on my first business trip ever (New York) around three years ago. My mom had to keep him in the freezer until I could come home and we could have a proper burial. It was very traumatic for all three of us (especially Gonzo.)

Pretty bird, indeed.

Gonzo could say one thing, “Pretty bird,” but chose to whistle quite an array of notes. Most popular on his play list was a wolf-whistle and the “da-da-da-DA-da-da!” thing that comes before “charge!” (He never said “charge,” but we just went with it.) At night we would cover his cage with a Peanuts bedsheet and he would cuddle with his pacifier/girlfriend toy hanging from his cage, closing his little bird eyes and rubbing the top of his head on the strings.

Minus the occasional feathered freak-out, he was a gem.

The guy I dated for entirely too long had a Quaker parrot that was like this little sharp-beaked person. He could say a lot of things that actually made sense: “Bad birds go to jail” when he was being put back in his cage for biting someone (usually me. He was a jealous bastard); “Trigger want a bath” when they put him in the sink; “Bless you,” “I love you” and “Good night, sleep tight” at appropriate times. This was more than 10 years ago, so his go-to conversation starter was singing “Mr. Big Stuff” from the Burger King commercials.

He loved mashed potatoes and my flesh.

It was cute the first 1,000 times. After that, “Loud birds shut their mouths” was introduced into the vocabulary, but never quite caught on. But the funniest thing about this bird was that he had an array of seemingly innocent plastic toy rings hanging from the top of his cage.

These are kind of what I'm talking about.

One day we were in the other room and heard the strangest sound, almost like a panting with a couple little squeaks thrown in. We walked into the bird’s room and it stopped, so we went back out. A couple minutes later it started back up again, so we quietly crept back around the corner to see what he was doing.

The little feathered freak had one bird leg straddled over the rings and was humping away like a parrot porn star.

From that point on, any time we heard the rings rattling and the panting coming from that area of the house, we just gave him his space and let him do his thing.

But there was the time when the boyfriend and me were on vacation and his mom — who was bird sitting— called us frantic one night because something was “tragically wrong with Trigger.” She said he was having seizures on his rings and was taking shallow breaths and moaning.

It was at that point that the little dude won my heart over once again, as anything that could be done to rattle that old bat’s cage and distract her from commenting on my “wild” hair colors or choice of clothing was a much welcomed break.

Anyway, I don’t have a bird now, and quite honestly, I probably never will again. But it was fun while it lasted and as long as someone else owns it, I still think they’re pretty neat—especially when they go grocery shopping.

Don’t ask me why, but I love this. A bird after my own food-loving heart–and not my flesh.

Furry Babies

After reading the comments on my last post, I just want to clarify. Sarcasm is my first language; keep that in mind with each and every post. I have nothing against couples or love. In fact,  I have loved and been loved. I have hurt and been hurt. If the right situation comes along, I will do it again (lord help the next male prey.)

Until then, I am a happy camper as a party of one. And if I find someone to take along for the ride, it will stop at a party of two—unless the extra passengers are furry, of course.

See, I like puppies. I like kittens.

I like baby hamsters that delight in broccoli just about as much as I do (around a minute in he does this cute little leg flail thing.)

In other words, I don’t have anything against babies. But just because I don’t have anything against babies and children does not mean that I want them for myself.

Considering that I question my motivation for many of the decisions that I make, I have to say that this is one thing that I confidently know to the depths of my soul. I am not mommy material. My yearning to nurture things starts and ends at keeping a garden alive for three months. I can’t commit to a hair color for more than six months, much less keep a mini-me around for 18 years.

I will not be having children, at least in the traditional sense.

I plan on having hairy children in the form of four-legged friends.

m_4f4a45a5e5b45bf99c2dce9f05b6a806[1](That’s Chauncey, in case you haven’t met him before.)

Just like some people have a hard time believing that I choose to be single, (since I’m waiting for my prince to come sweep me off my feet—or just sweep my floors,) some people just can’t believe that I don’t want children. They tell me I’ll change my mind, that having one of my own makes it different and that it’s a little selfish to think only of myself for the rest of my life.

Like most things, I shrug it off.

In my opinion, too many people have kids that shouldn’t be parents. They liked the idea but neglected to consider the fact that it’s a lifelong commitment—not only of time, energy and emotional support but also financially. I actually think it’s a little selfish of people to think only of themselves when they have kids.

At any rate, I know that I don’t want the responsibility emotionally, physically and financially. I don’t want to transfer any of my issues onto a young impressionable mind that I can’t return back to its parents after a two hour trip to the zoo. I don’t like not being in control of my own body, so carrying around a little human for nine months suffocates me with anxiety.

But just because I don’t want kids doesn’t mean that I don’t think (most) of them are amazing; their innocence alone is inspiring. There are people out there that were made to be parents, and that dedication is reflected in their children and the people they grow up to be.

These kids are cool. These parents are cool. I like to visit and then go home before they get needy or leak something out of a hole in their body, but that’s just me.

And if there’s one thing that I confidently know to the depths of my soul, it’s that my children will be furry—and may possibly eat broccoli.

FYIs, part 3

Sneezing when you’re driving is kind of scary.

I love a good book, but hate when it’s finished. For that reason I will always leave the last few pages and kind of ration them out over a couple days, unless I have another book waiting to be read. Then I just finish the first one and move on.

Larabar is retiring the Cocoa Mole flavor, so stock up if you like it.

lara (It was never my favorite flavor, but maybe I should still send a card joking about all the extra time it will have to go golfing now?)

Two people can experience the exact same thing in entirely different ways.

When you are running behind, the following things are bound to happen on your drive: you will realize your gas tank is on “E” and debate the merits of stopping or chancing it and waiting until later; you will hit every red light; you will get stuck behind a farm implement with no room to pass (still obsessively checking the gas gauge every five seconds) before passing a cop and silently thanking said farm implement for forcing you to go under the speed limit even though you’re late.

OK. Maybe that just happened to me.

I love The Onion and this one is so, so true. Person With Almost No Responsibility Always Stressed Out.

I can feel much more insecure than I thought, and this royally pisses me off.

Baking salmon, steaming broccoli and boiling eggs at the same time can make your kitchen smell…interesting.

Amy’s Four Cheese Pizza is in fact a bit more delicious than just the cheese version.


They claim the crust is thinner, but I didn’t think so (I love the crust on this one.) And as we know, thin food can cause controversy.

Post block syndrome—similar to writer’s block in that one feels unable to come up with any post-worthy content.

"People can’t conceive of a virtue in someone else that they can’t conceive in themselves. Instead of believing you’re stronger, it’s so much easier to imagine you’re weaker." — Chuck Palahniuk

If an old lady calls you “sweetie,” it’s sweet. If a woman your own age calls you “sweetie,” it’s completely condescending.

Speaking of sweet, here is your cute animal video for the week.

Finding a band-aid anywhere is just really gross.

There will be people that don’t like you. There will be people you don’t like. Shrug it off.

I’m learning it takes trust and vulnerability to really be a friend.  See, a true friend is one that has seen your vulnerabilities, couldn’t care less and reminds you that this too shall pass.

On that note, it’s “couldn’t care less” and not “could care less.” Sorry. Pet peeve.

All my magazine subscriptions arrive on about the same day and I feel overwhelmed and like I have to hurry up and read them all. However, two weeks later half of them will still be sitting on my “throw it there” table, unread. Sigh…

I always doubt myself the second I hit publish on certain posts, but it helps to remember that:

"We can never judge the lives of others, because each person knows only their own pain and renunciation. It’s one thing to feel that you are on the right path, but it’s another to think that yours is the only path" ~ coehlo

Nuns riding bikes will not always yield to pedestrians. Trust me on this one.

Just like the last two times, share your FYIs!

FYIs, part 2

Kashi  Heart to Heart Whole Grain Crackers are not nearly as good as Triscuits “With a Hint of Salt.”


In fact, they taste fruity and rather unpleasant in comparison.

It’s entirely possible to feel closer to someone you’ve never met in person than people you see every day.

Things you don’t want to hear the neighbor kids say, “Either eat it or let’s bury it. Mom just can’t find out.”

Things you don’t want to hear your boss say, “Mandatory team building event.”

theofficeThis is code for “bull shit.” 

You can be beat without being defeated.

There is too much “blogligation” out there. It’s a blog, and in most cases, it’s not your life. Make no apologies.

I still fully intend on including “spatulate” into my vocabulary.

When going for a walk, do not get stuck behind a garbage truck on garbage day—a garbage day that’s 85 degrees, in particular.

Sometimes you have to do something even if you don’t want to. It doesn’t matter why you do it, only that you do.

You don’t always have to be deep, but avoid being shallow.

Trust me, there are ugly babies.

However, there are no ugly baby animals.

Jealousy and regret are useless emotions. This doesn’t mean I don’t still feel them, but just that I acknowledge that they’re useless.

Once in awhile, a change of blog scenery can be kind of fun (even if you scare people off.)

There are often more personalities than there is logic.

For 99 people that don’t understand, there is always that one left that does. Look for that one. If you can’t find them, be that one yourself.

Trust me.

This is worth your five minutes to watch.

Just like last time, do you have any FYIs to share?

My Weekend FYIs

It takes infinitely longer to fold and put away laundry than it takes to actually wash the stuff. (Cut out the middle man and don’t fold. You’ll add hours to your life.)

While I occasionally wear Clinique “Happy” or “Happy Heart,” lately my fragrance of choice has been garlic or a great new fragrance called “Deet.”

There are only small joys in life. The big ones are to complicated to be joys when you get all through with them. Once you realize this, it takes the pressure off.

If I don’t know the author, I do judge a book by its cover—and by its title. While I don’t generally do this with people, when looking for a new “used” book at the store, I have to admit that the cover and the title will grab me. (This doesn’t surprise me, considering I’m distracted by colors and  shiny things.)

Brown basmati rice is more expensive that “regular” brown rice, but worth every penny for the swap.

Of all the reasons to get married, love and pissing off your family are both pretty strong.

article-1294682-0A70C01F000005DC-38_468x628Don’t always believe everything you think. It can be nice to trust someone other than yourself.

It’s quite possible that this is the cutest video ever. If it doesn’t make you smile, you have no soul.

I think I love him.

Sometimes you have to remove self-judgment and look objectively at your own situation. You’re not that bad. It’s not that bad. Cut yourself some slack.

Most of the people that tell you to “relax” are almost always the source of your anxiety.

Inspiration Deficit Disorder isn’t a real thing, but it should be (hell, we give every other thing a “scientific” name.)

There is no baseline for normal. Once you realize this, it takes the pressure off.

The only thing I know about “The Hills is from what I’ve seen on “The Soup,” and that was entirely too much. That was really a show? (But I would be enthralled watching Joel read the phone book, so I can’t complain.) 

soup-logo I think I love him.

You can stop without quitting, take a break when you want to. Once you realize this, it takes the pressure off.

Any FYI’s to share?