What’s a Santa Without a Beard?

It’s hard to have a relative be in the hospital. I found out that last night my grandpa had an abdominal aortic aneurysm (try saying that ten times fast), and had to have emergency surgery to fix it.

I didn’t hear about any of this until it had happened and he was out of surgery, which probably saved me a lot of worry, but also made me a bit angry. Angry is better than sad, though, and knowing that he was fine kept me from being sad. That is, until my dad sent me a picture of my grandpa out of surgery.

My grandpa, for as long as I can remember, has looked like Santa Claus. In fact, that was a side job of his for at least the last 20 years. I remember being at most six years old, and seeing my grandpa come out of the bathroom in his red suit (yes, he owns his own) with bleach on his beard to whiten it and rouge on his cheeks. Lately, he hasn’t need to whiten his beard, but the rest of the outfit has been the same. I don’t think my grandpa has had clean cheeks for at least 25 years, which is why this picture was such a shock.

Grandpa Claus and the Mrs.

Grandpa Claus and the Mrs.

They had to cut his beard for the surgery (I don’t know the exact reason – I’m no doctor), and he looks completely different. I started tearing up when I saw him like this, because he looks so much different from how I have always known him.

Anyway, he should be doing fine now, so there’s no need for teary eyes at work. If you have a minute, though, please spare a thought for the Santa without a beard.

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Beware of Dolphins

So, my job entails a lot of social media posting/tweeting/trolling, and occasionally I get mind-trapped by strange articles with odd headlines (read this blog entry about an article on blue balls, if you think this is a weird tendency).

While searching for relevant things to post, I came across an article about a couple that flew to Hawaii to give birth with dolphins. Seriously, this is the new way for rich people to spend their money. Now, I’ve heard of the benefits of having a water birth, but something is seriously wrong with trying to justify giving birth among dolphins. That is not what dolphins are for.

And all throughout the article, I couldn’t help but think about this episode of the Simpsons:

 

killer dolphins

Yes, that screen says “Killer Dolphins.” Don’t believe me?

And this happened:

KILLER DOLPHINS, motherfucker.

KILLER DOLPHINS, motherfucker.

 

No, I do not believe that I will be having a dolphin-assisted birth  any time soon.

Joss Whedon: Anti-God

Not in the I’m-against-God kind of way, but in the I-don’t-want-to-be-referred-to-as-a-God. We’ll get to that later.

I recently had the following facebook conversation with a friend of mine who claims to be a Whedon fan, but had only just now watched Buffy.

He may not like it, but Joss Whedon creates universes like a god, and will be treated as such.

He may not like it, but Joss Whedon creates universes like a god, and will be treated as such.

I thought we were funny, so I tweeted this picture to Joss Whedon, in the vain hope that he would find it funny and retweet it (I still have yet to be retweeted by a celebrity, and I’m sorry if that was a spoiler to the rest of the story).

And then this happened:

Come on, Whedon, at least call me out by name!

Come on, Whedon, at least call me out by name!

I still love Whedon, but come on, if you’re going to call me out, at least use my name! Even a “thanks, but no thanks” response would have made me unbearably giddy.

Oh well. Back to tweeting.

Eerily Human

I find it eerily human,
the way a motionless squirrel
lies in the road:
Hips splayed,
arm thrown out,
fingers reaching for the haven of a branch.

No, I'm not going to have a picture of a dead squirrel. Here's a picture of a road in Niagara Falls. You can still see the falls a bit in the background, even though it was frozen.

No, I’m not going to have a picture of a dead squirrel – I’m not heartless. Here’s a picture of a road in Niagara Falls.

Updated: Just after I posted this poem, I had the following conversation with my man-friend:

Sometimes, he's ridiculous.

Sometimes, he’s ridiculous.

Your Wedding Should Not Look Like It Was Planned When You Were Eight

I’m not sure why this is happening, but my life has recently been bombarded by strange weddings. Not strange in a this-article-just-popped-up-in-my-facebook-stalker-feed, but strange in an I-actually-know-people-involved-in-these-weddings kind of way.

Some have been awesome, like planning an elopement to Vegas, but some have been downright awful, like a Disney princess wedding where the bridesmaids were literally dressed up as different Disney characters (this is not the actual wedding, which included bridesmaids that didn’t look like the princesses that they were portraying, and wearing dresses that were only vaguely similar).

Disney pincess

“I don’t really need a groom, right?” (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Why would anyone do that?

Clearly, they hate their friends, and just wanted an excuse to play dress up as an adult.

I can understand the benefits of saving yourself and your family a ton of money by eloping, but I simply can’t wrap my brain around the idea of forcing your friends to buy Disney princess costumes, which I’m sure are not cheap, and which they will only really use once, maybe twice if they go as a princess for Halloween.

And yes, I understand the bridesmaids dresses in traditional weddings are generally only used once as well, but at least they don’t make you feel ridiculous when you take the pictures (just when you look at them twenty years later, as it should be).

I honestly couldn’t tell you why anyone would think this is a good idea. In my opinion, if you are seriously considering a Disney princess-themed wedding, you are not mature enough to get married.

The Obscured Human

The obscured human,
Fearing my God, will benefit –
That interested trust.

George

Death is a Biker, and He is Pissed

While driving down the road the other day, enjoying the sunshine and beautifulness that was hiding for the past six months (or so it feels like), I happened to look in my rearview mirror and see THIS:

Death follows me wherever I go, because I am apparently Emily Dickinson.

Death follows me wherever I go, because I am apparently Emily Dickinson.

Yes, it’s a little hard to see, and my hand is less steady when I’m taking pictures while driving (don’t judge me), but this is definitely a SKELETON RIDING A MOTORCYCLE. Not in a Ghostrider-cool-guy-skull-helmet kind of way, but in a my-entire-outfit-is-a-skeleton-and-I-will-rip-you-apart-with-biker-fury kind of way.

 

Not only that, but this guy followed me for SEVERAL MILES. I was convinced that he was following me home.

 

He didn’t, of course. That would be silly. I still breathed a sigh of relief when he turned away from me, though.