Day VII: Lazy

WAKE UP, DAMMIT!

Have you ever tried typing when your right hand is asleep? It is surprisingly difficult. I mean, I could just wait the extra 90 seconds for my fingers to get back into shape or for my palm to stop feeling like thousands of tiny spears are attempting to get to the surface through the last layer of my skin. But if I had waited, then I couldn't possibly explain to you how trying it has been to write these few sentences. This picture probably does a much better job --->

Today has been a very lazy Sunday. Sibley's been recovering with Chipotle, Kyle's been playing Final Fantasy, and I've been reading Ernest Cline's Ready Player One. Oh, and we've all been watching Drag Race. Obviously. We're not neanderthals, for god's sake.

But a lazy day is, sometimes, very nice.

It's the type of day where the best sound in the world is ice cubes clanking in your water glass or the occasional soft sigh or laugh from a memorable cut-scene or powerful paragraph.

Day VI: Ni No Kuni

143 hours later...

This calls for celebration! 

Does anyone else even know what that icon is? Or what it stands for?!

That, my friends, is a platinum trophy. Such trophies are awarded for fully completing every objective set by publishers for any given video game. When you have completed each set objective, you are awarded the game's platinum trophy. And, at the risk of tooting my own horn (gross expression, by the way), such trophies are only awarded after immense patience, skill, and ability.

Today, I have accomplished this feat. I have obtained Platinum status for my favorite game of 2013, Ni No Kuni: Wrath of the White Witch. So, yeah, praise me.

The Wizard Wars 

Not everyone who reads this blog is likely aware of my love for video games. I find them to be exceptionally relaxing. They're rewarding and exciting, too. Plus, some make me cry. And ANYONE who knows Josh Plattner knows he loves a good sob fest. And while some games only contain some aspects of the things I love in a great game, I found this one to be particularly powerful.

Ni No Kuni chronicles the adventures of Oliver, a young boy who loses his mother after a frightening accident stops her heart. Led to another world by a powerful little creature named Mr. Drippy--ish, I know--Oliver finds himself in a hot bed of political unrest and on the losing side of the battle between good and evil. As the story progresses, Oliver learns to tame familiars, or powerful little creatures to help him in battle. He also meets three troubled allies in his quest to rescue the strange new world and bring his mother back to life.

Developed by Studio Ghibli, Ni No Kuni is one of those adventures that's just as much fun to play as it is to observe. The animation and visual direction are unparalleled. It's completely charming and devastatingly heartfelt. There wasn't a sliver of time that I felt I could be doing something better with my life. And, girl, 143 hours isn't a small chunk, okay?

Toward the end of my journey for 100% completion, Kyle asked what I was up to while playing. In full honesty, I responded, "I am searching for bubble pipes that you can only steal from Fuddy-Duddies just south of Jack Frost Island. I keep running into these goddamn Baatenders and Potties though."

Seriously. Those are all real parts of the game.

Japan is weird.

Day V: Bernard

#snapcat

When Sibley, Kyle, or I stay home for work, we snap each other pictures of the cats throughout the day. I think it's because Bernard and Archie are our favorite roommates. Well, Archie is their favorite and Bernard is mine. It's not that I don't LOVE Sibley and Kyle, but...

I mean...

How could you deny that face! Those ears! That charming button nose and cherub grin? The crossed paws and clever eyes! (Okay, maybe not clever eyes. Bernard is seriously one of the dumbest animals I've ever met. Loves cabinets, though. Stares at 'em lots.) Bernard is the gift that keeps on giving: he's so cuddly and cute and precious.

And as much as I positively adore him, he has his fair share of irritating habits. He's a little mischievous--as most cats are--and has a meow that mimics the sound of a dying stork while every individual feather is plucked from it's body by a small child with poor upper-body strength. So there's that. But, by far, the most frustrating of his traits is his incessant need to cuddle with the human face.

Legs? No thanks. Arms? Nah, not for him. The small of your back or into your bossom? LOLNICETRY. Bernard only finds cuddling suitable when he can be as embedded in your cheeks as possible. And while it's not necessarily uncomfortable that he demands to eskimo kiss throughout the night, it's his front claws that make him so unbearable. When he's nice and relaxed, finally found a great spot to smother you with his belly, he flexes his claws in and out, tenderizing your face for his eventual violent departure. The poor thing doesn't mean to. But because he sleeps with his four little scythes plunged into your face skin, he inadvertently takes strips of human countenance with every loud noise or sudden waking.

Halo and wings cropped out.

Ah, the joys of a silly little kitty. It's just so hard to stay mad when he sends you things like this from your roommate's phone.


Awwwwwww

Day IV: Fatal

"Get a grip, get a life, and get over it."

#Nailography #HouseOfEdwardsFish

I know it's only been four days, but I haven't included nearly enough pictures of drag queens in this blog. Well don't you worry, folks, this will all be changing soon. I cannot wait to do my review of the RuPaul's Drag Race Season 6 Cast before the premiere on the 24th.

(Speaking of which, you're all invited to our humble abode every Tuesday during the season to experience the wonder and drama and light and perfection that is RuPaul's Drag Race. You will not regret it. So get into it.)

But enough about the upcoming season. I really just had a quick thought on Alyssa Edwards for the day because I found myself making one of her signature faces earlier this morning:

Back rolls?!

<--- This one.





This face is typically the result of something strange or shocking. Something unexpected and odd. Like when you see someone begging for change in a three piece suit or when a dog smiles and looks like a little old man with an icky little beard. Or when someone tells you you look like a sausage stuffed in to a two piece and that you had back rolls. (Yes, that's what happened to Alyssa.)

So I am at the post office picking up a package from my delightful brother and his fiance--who cares when Christmas gifts come, they're always welcome!--when I noticed something puzzling behind the postman assisting me. Back on the rack of packages, there was one box that stood out. Not because it wasn't boring and brown and semi-rectangular, but because of its label.

In giant black letters, sprawled across the out-facing side, was the word: FATAL.

And I was like, Se7en much?

Remember when Brad Pitt screams "What's in the Box?!" and it's his wife's head? 

Yeah, I think I'll stick to Christmas gifts.

Day III: Tarot

Is it a universal law that when you're the most financially strained, you are suddenly deemed capable of paying for everything on your own? Or is growing up just the worst?

I've been paying almost every bill of mine on my own for the last three years, but I managed to eek my phone out of my dad until today when my new bill arrived. And by 'eek' I most certainly mean: "Oh, sure, I'll send you a check every month, just tell me how much it is, and remind me, too, or I'll probably just forget." Believe me, I didn't forget the bill came. I just never, ahem, remembered to send a check along! I can be so silly like that. Alas, I finally arrived at that disgusting and sad stage of life where I can finally say I am financially independent. You would think that would be a glorious feeling.

It's not. It's rotten.

The upside is that sometimes I can't afford to eat so I am looking sickening. (It's sarcasm, Mother, I can afford food. It's meant to be a humorous poke at how poor I am.)

Back of my scary-ass Tarot deck

What I really wanted to talk about this afternoon, though, is this: even though you shouldn't be jealous of the monetary plight of your 24-year-old friends, you should be exceedingly envious of a certain weekly email thread I contribute to. Every week, Vaughn, Kelly, Annie, and I email each other our tarot readings and journal about them. We take the psychic's interpretation of the drawn card and then offer our own feelings about what we've been dealt. It's amazing. I suggest you do the same.

While you'll not find my most private entries up for the world to see, I did want to share my reading for today because it's just as spooky and magicky as you might expect tarot to be.

"The nine of pentacles symbolizes that you are no longer in a position to be dependent on others for your own financial or emotional security."

I actually said: OH SHIT when I read that opening line from the psychic. 

Cue the Twilight Zone music, I need to make that money.

The lesson of the night: "The nine of pentacles is urging you forward. It's time to embrace and rely on your own independence."

Day II: Vacation

Doesn't a vacation sound so nice?

My roommate, Kyle "Jenny Chrysanthemum" Jensen,  just returned to the United States after a week-long stay in Costa Rica. To say I was envious would be an understatement. A comical one. A massive one. He stayed at this beautiful, all-inclusive resort with endless mimosas and pools with bars. Like bars in the pool. IN THE POOL, YOU GUYS. I am sure there were turtles that swam up with plates of cheeses and crackers. Or maybe dolphins that transported you to different pools. Don't worry, I am sure there were seashell-lined pathways for those not comfortable riding one of the most playful--and sexually active!--animals on earth.

Ah, yes, it must have been rough.

I can only assume I would commit terrible, horrific acts to spend a week somewhere like that. If you value your life or your home or your family or your sanity, I'd rather not hear about your glorious trip to Guatemala or how stunning Sao Paulo is in the spring. Scout's Honor: I will steal that trip, your identity, and your soon-to-be-tanned skin just to experience a break from this frozen landscape. Gary Paulsen, eat your heart out.

Then I realized: you don't need to travel abroad or hop on a cruise to take a vacation. In fact, at any minute, even this very passing second, anyone can take a break from the monotony of computer screens and swiveling desk chairs. And it's all thanks to this guy:

Day I: Budger

I’m fortunate to have a job where I am afforded a little bit of time in the afternoon to recharge my batteries. Whether it’s a walk through a far-too-crowded skyway, a lazy jaunt to Caribou—the one with the cute staff, obviously, not that other shit show upstairs—or the anxious-cum-rewarding hunt for your stomach’s most private desires, the 1:00 timeslot is the single most relaxing portion of the workday. Yes, lunch is one of those sacred times: a rare moment when everything is right in the world.

And sometimes there's that one person who just has to ruin it for you.

Not pictured: crying children waiting in line

Hey, lady, yes you. I am talking to you. You in the lavender jacket and felted cap. You in your unassuming UGG knockoffs. You with the purse and the fake cold and just so much change jangling in your coat pockets!

You guys: this shady bitch.

So it's probably pretty frowned upon to make so much out of such a small event. But my lunch was irrevocably ruined by this little thing who thought age--and a little delirium--gave her the right to just barge on up to the counter. Listen, I undertand that she didn't really understand the concept of the massive queue patiently waiting their respective turns. But which part of Minneapolis are you usually in that you can just walk up to the bank counter at LUNCHTIME and expect to be the first one helped? 

I must have made quite the face behind this little lilac. The teller--didn't catch her name, but she's always so sharply dressed and bubbly--caught my glance, and her eyes sparked to life. She must have seen the rage coursing over my pupils because she assisted that little old toad as quickly as possible and ushered me forward with a nervous, "Sorry about that, what a little budger!"

'Budger!' 

Now there's a word I haven't heard since high school, standing in line for seconds on "Ham Patty on a Bun Day." 

Does anyone else miss hot lunch?!