I Never Claimed My Charms Were Typical

Do you ever have those weeks where you spend half your free time making stop-motion animation with donuts holes, and then you spend the rest of your free time feeling insecure about it?  Yeah, me too.

The stop-motion thing has been interesting because while most everyone agrees it’s impressive from a “Wow, I can’t believe you figured that out” perspective, I have also gotten a lot of darty eyed “Oh my God, Kate has finally lost it” reactions.   Sometimes I feel as if I am drifting off into some sort of crazy-single-lady-never-never-land, but then other times I feel like, screw it, at least I’m being creative.  I have no idea why I tend to connect my penchant for whimsical obsessions with some sort of invisible undateability, but I do, which is really a shame, because honestly, I want to believe that we live in a world where spending hours alone taking pictures of a donut hole with eyes somehow makes me more attractive.

Scared of Ladies

Sid, while being highly successful and attractive, is deathly afraid of women.  He clams up every time he meets a pretty girl, and Crunchy is always there to witness his humiliation.

This video is super frustrating because the leading lady’s head got cut off in the frames when I downloaded the pictures into imovie.  I didn’t have the heart to retake all of the photos, so this clip is being released in spite of its obvious technical shortcomings.

Poor Fella

Even though this video was edited with subtle deference to the hilarity of the situation, I think this story is actually real.  Poor cow.  Hee.

Cow rescued from pool

Sid and Crunchy

Sid and Crunchy meet.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

I made this.  It only took me twelve million hours. 

It’s Non-Controversial Links Day!

1. Hey look at this! An artist named Tim Knowles made art by attaching pens to the branches of trees. I love the pictures of the trees holding onto their pens in front of their easels. They look so sweet!

I love these.

2. Will someone please tell me why I think this is so damn funny. (click on the video to see the funny bit)

3. And finally, in an obvious effort to reestablish myself in the good graces of my beloved Cousin Mary, I offer this flickr set entitled “Atrocious Apostrophe’s”.

Eff This

Fuck. fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck FUCK! Fuuuuuuuck Frickity fuck fuck.

Aaaaah.

I have a confession to make.  When I started Oh For Fun, I made a conscious decision not to use the word "fuck".  Now, this is a slightly odd line to draw because although I try not to swear in front of babies and old people, in real life I don’t really censor myself in the potty mouth department.  When a situation calls for a hearty, "FUCK THAT", I am not shy about getting the job done.  I feel that swearing, while not attractive or good per se, is also not the worst thing in the world.  But still, I saw no reason to use the F-word on my blog, and I knew I had a few people reading who might not be aware of all of my heathen ways, so I decided to take the ladylike route and refrain from dropping the F-bomb in a blog for all the world to see.

When I first started Oh For Fun, I found the word "Eff", (particularly when spelled out e-f-f) to be sufficiently amusing to replace "fuck".  For awhile, I actually preferred "eff" to its more colorful counterpart, but time has been rough on my once beloved "eff".  I’m sick of eff.  It’s no longer amusing.  Everytime I use the word "eff" I feel stifled and I think to myself, "Fuck, eff."

So, today I cast aside the shackles of eff.  Hence forth (and from now on), "Fuck" is fair game here at Oh For Fun.  I can no longer live a lie.

Thing I Find Irrationally Annoying, Part 904

Why in the name of Sweet Baby Jesus are all capers sold in tiny narrow jars? No one has a spoon that narrow! It’s impossible to get the capers out without dumping out all of the caper brine, thus leaving the unused capers to dry out in the fridge. I think this is a travesty.

I enjoy capers very much, but in all of the recipes I have ever made that include capers, I have never used more than a few tablespoons at a time. Capers are a delicacy to be used in moderation, which is why it is annoying that they are only available in a container that is unsuitable for preserving leftovers.

Caper jars are stupid.

I Love the Interwebs

A Ridiculous Day
by Kate Holzemer

10:30: wake-up
10:30: make coffee.  shower.  put on reasonable outfit.  look at the interwebs and comment repeatedly on IPB.  Read hilarious things. 
12:45: spill coffee on laptop!  Laptops sputters and shuts down.  My baby is drowning!  Freak out and run to public library because without the use of a computer I don’t know how to get in contact with Apple Support.  (it never even occurs to me to use the telephone.)
1:00: wind up looking at the interwebs at the public library.  completely fail to solve coffee/laptop problem.  fail to reach anyone at Apple.  decide Apple customer support is maybe not as effing fabulous as they want me to believe.  have perfectly enjoyable time looking at interwebs at the public library.
2:30: leave library and purchase sandwich at Globe market.  this is the first bite of food I eat all day.
2:45: arrive back home and eat sandwich, sadly eye laptop. 
3:00: laptop is cured!  miraculous recovery!  vow never to eat or drink near laptop again.
3:01: enjoy a diet coke and a Fudgesicle while looking at the interwebs.
4:00: practice viola.
5:00: look at interwebs.
5:30: practice viola
5:37: give up on having anything resembling a respectable day.  Put on sweatpants and a t-shirt with a hole in the armpit.  look at interwebs
7:00: Begin cooking current favorite meal, Chick-Pea Delight.  Realize that I only have twenty grains of rice left.  Cook twenty last remaining grains of rice. 
7:30: Eat Chick-pea Delight served over a "bed" of twenty grains of rice.  It’s delightful as usual, even without a reasonable amount of rice.
8:00: look at interwebs
9:00: decide that after such a strenuous day I would like to get some early shut-eye. take two Tylenol PMs.
9:15: think to self, "I should feel guilty for having such a ridiculous day." 
9:16: think to self, "I don’t feel guilty.  I feel as though I kick ass." 
9:17: smile smugly.

The End

Ducks

I was looking at pictures from Anaheim’s Stanley Cup celebration this morning and I had a moment of ugly bitterness. If Buffalo were to have that parade, were they to march the cup down Delaware Avenue, every man, woman, and child in Buffalo would be there to see it happen. Everything in town would halt, and we would burn the city to the ground in joyous celebration.

Stupid, Ducks.

Our parade would have been much, much more primal.