That kid is snarky

Aye aye aye. Kayden. It's really hard to get after him about being snarky when I'm too busy laughing behind my hand.

So, we were all in the car last night, on our way to take Kayden to his dad's house. Maia was eating (fast food, since we were en route).

Several times, I heard Kayden telling her to close her mouth while she eats (she is quite a loud eater). She continued to eat with her mouth open.

Finally, Keene said something like, "Well, Kayden, you have to give her a break if she occasionally opens her mouth to breathe or something..."

Without missing a beat, he said, "Isn't that what a nose is for?"

Hello? Is it me you're looking for?

Last night, I was watching a movie on my computer while crocheting. In the living room, Keene was typing away on his computer.

Suddenly, I get a call. I look at the ID and it's Keene. I look up and he's still typing. I hold up my phone and say, "Are you calling me?"

He pulls his phone from his pocket, looks at it, and says, "Oh, I guess I was."

I reply, "Apparently, something in your pocket really wants to talk to me."

In my mind, I imagine this to be the conversation:

Kelli: Hello?
Keene's pocket: ::heavy breathing::

Toilets, Gizmo, Fly-Glue, and Auto-Tune: Why, This Must be a Mish-Mash!

I really love decals. I wish I had the money and permanent space to buy a bunch. This is my current favorite at the Etsy shop, Flush Please:


I love these ones too, but unfortunately, it seems the seller has since closed her (I don't know why I assume everyone on Etsy is a girl) shop:



____________________________________________________________

While visiting my sister once, she remarked that Kayden looked like Gizmo from the movie, Gremlins. "He looks like a little Gizmo doll with his big brown eyes!" Kayden pretended to be offended (and still does, since I occasional call out, "Mogwai!" when he's around), but I think secretly he likes it. Because, let's face it: Gizmo is pretty damn cute.



Except for those shudderingly creepy fingernails.
____________________________________________________________

Keene found an article at Tasteless Photography about urban explorers who rappelled down into a bell-mouth spillway. Meep! As it turns out, it is as scary as I imagined. Check out the link for even more pictures.



_______________________________________________________________

Looking for something to pass the time at work?

Tone Matrix
_______________________________________________________________

Awhile back, Keene and I had this conversation as he walked through the front door:

Kelli: Something happened with Maia.

Keene: (joking) Did she poop in her pants?

Kelli: No.

Keene: Did she go crazy and attack Kayden?

Kelli: No, it's worse.

Keene: (starts walking towards Maia's room, getting worried) Is she okay?

Kelli: No. She's...she's listening to autotuned pop music. On the radio.

Keene: (pauses) How did she find it?

Kelli: (despairing) I don't know!

Keene: Did you say anything to her yet?

Kelli: No, I thought you should talk to her yourself. I was about to text you to break it to you gently, but then you came home. I...I didn't want you to find out this way.
________________________________________________________________

Speaking of auto-tune, here are a couple older videos which deserve to be refreshed in your mind. The first is one of the OGs of my girl-crushes: the red-headed, Irish dancing chick.



This one is just supa-impressive. I don't think I could spell a whole word on my stumpy fingers, let alone remember which word was written where.



__________________________________________________________________

And finally, another blast-from-the-past conversation (which Keene probably doesn't even remember anymore).

I showed him this link: Work Well Together


Keene: Have you ever tried it before.

Kelli: Only with kids...but they didn't fly.

Keene: (jokingly) You worked in daycare?

Kelli: No, tour guide for the Grand Canyon.

Keene: You have a disturbing sense of humor.

Thongs for Men, Or My Battle with Google

There comes a time in every young blog's life when it becomes a curiosity as to how viewers find it. And what that blogger discovers often leads to a post about these findings. So I went to my fancy Webmaster tools area and perused the list of search terms. And found these:

"thongs for men"

I had to see this for myself. Would my blog really pop up when a viewer googled "thongs for men"? I sifted through pages and pages of ads for man-thongs, instructions on how to wear them comfortably, why they may be harmful to scrotums, offended posters tentatively asking why they are considered taboo, and even links to pictures of male "whale tails." Around page 35, I started to worry about coworkers coming into my office unexpectedly or a virus suddenly freezing my computer screen right when I had scrolled over the link for "Topless Men in Thongs!" Maybe this was a post best left for when I get home...? But by then, I was determined. I had to figure out why my blog would be linked to this particular search query.

Finally, I found it. A link to my Pushy Books and Moratoriums post last month. Wha? I didn't remember writing about thongs, let alone thongs for men. I re-read the post to be sure. Then I realized what was happening: Google was mocking Keene.

I had written about how he makes jewelry, and how he "also crochets, knits, and sews." I couldn't believe it. Google was making fun of him, implying that because he has some traditionally feminine hobbies, he should be wearing a thong.

"Oh!" Google was saying, "Look at ze girly man!" Yeah, I get it. But I'm not happy about it. Not happy at all. Way to push negative stereotypes, Google. I would have expected this from MSN, but not from such a forward-thinking company as yourself. Frankly, I'm disappointed.

Which is why I did this:

Oh! What's that I see, Google?! Are those...thongs you're wearing? And a bra? Only girls wear bras, Google. And is your G playing with a Fun in the Sun Barbie? Oh my, that's not very manly at all, now is it?

See? How do you like it? Bet that doesn't feel too good. Please think twice before making fun of my boyfriend next time, mmkay?

"bad eyebrows"

This search term led to my DIY Hairdo post. Yeah, I get it. It's time for an eyebrow wax. I'm about to change my home page back to Yahoo, FYI. Yahoo may be ditzy and way too excited about its daily horoscopes, but at least it never made fun of my eyebrows.

"wet shorts"

Strangely, this search term also leads to the DIY Hairdo post.

(In fact, most of the search terms for my blog led to this post. "Short bangs," "razor bangs," "dreadlocks with bangs," "boho hair"...)

So I have decided Google redeemed itself at least a little bit. I kind of think it is just sucking up at this point, if not a tad crudely. But I'll accept the apology, anyways.

"короткие стрижки"

I was impressed to see a search term in Russian. I assumed at first that this meant my fluency in the language has become so fantastic that I was now seeing in English words in Cyrillic letters. But apparently, the part of my brain that is randomly turning English words into Russian is more advanced that the part necessary for translating it back.

So I Googled.

"Short hairstyles."

Apparently, the blog has gone and made a niche for itself on a global scale without even consulting me. Didn't you stop to think how I would feel, blog? Do you think I want to be known as the girl with the hair blog?

"scorpions life is too short"

When I read this sad query, I thought, "I agree. Scorpions' lives are too short! Poor, little guys..." But then I wondered exactly how short their lifespans were to warrant such internet curiosity. According to Wikipedia, the scorpion lives for between 4-25 years. Wha? Twenty-five years? Dogs don't even live that long! That seems like plenty of time on Earth for some little creepy-crawlies!

Feeling more betrayed than sad now, I googled the full phrase and got this:

Scorpions - "Life is Too Short"

I'm pretty sure I just failed the "Child of the '80s" test. I will promptly turn in my leg warmers and Corey Hart button.

"time for drunken horses"

Yep, that's what I always say.

"What time is it, Kelli?"

"Why, it's time for drunken horses, right? High-five!"

I wasn't able to find a picture of a drunk horse to accompany this portion of the post. So instead, here is my brother, feeling up his horse.

Yeah, Jeremy! Hit that!

A side note about my brother. I went to a high school in Wyoming five years after he left. Five years. He didn't even live in the area anymore. Nevertheless, on my first day as the new kid, I was immediately bombarded by girls, from Freshmen to Seniors, giddily asking, "You're Jeremy's sister, aren't you? How is he?!" They tittered and giggled and blushed and tried to hint at how they knew him. "Lalalala" my brain would shout, as I figuratively stuck my fingers in my ears. "Well," each girl continued, just like the last, "Tell him Sunny/Jennifer/Summer/Jennifer/April/Jennifer/Autumn said hi!"

For two full months at that school, I was known as "Jeremy's little sister," and only when I made a name for myself (i.e. "bitchy new girl") did the horde of girls finally leave me alone.

Notes from the Future: I found a drunk horse! Thank you, Google!