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PB & Torture

I have this very vivid memory of a cartoon character eating a peanut butter sandwich and another character with a glass of milk.

This other character refuses to give the first character the glass of milk unless the first character answers a question? Or does something for him? I can’t remember the details.


I REMEMBER this scene sooooo vividly, but I can’t find it!

This also reminded me of the old Got Milk? commercial with the guy enjoying his sandwich and then getting a phone call to win money with the correct answer to a question. But the caller can’t understand him because of the peanut butter sandwich in his mouth and he’s OUT OF MILK!!!*

* I did find this commercial and the guy was an Alexander Hamilton historian? Fan? Something, but the question was who shot Alexander Hamilton. The answer of course being Aaron Burr. (There’s a great remake of the commercial with Leslie Odom, Jr. who played Aaron Burr in the musical Hamilton. You should check it out)

Anybut, I bring this up A) because I’m sitting here eating peanut butter and B) those kinds of things always upset me as a kid. I always hated a character (whether good or even bad) making that pathetic sound. You know the awww sound that’s the pitch of a mewling kitten or whining puppy.

P.S. – If anyone knows what that cartoon scene is from…PLEASE RELEASE ME FROM THIS NIGHTMARE!



I don’t have a fun name for this mind vomit.

Insomnia runs in my family…I think…or it does starting with my mother and me…sure. Anybut, here I am at 1:28 am writing a nonsensical observation on insomnia.

It got me thinking about that article that came out some time ago (when, I have no idea, I didn’t really pay that much attention when said article came out). The article was about how people in olden times (this phrase was standing in for the actual time period the article mentioned, but as I wrote it I realized I won’t be doing research to find this article…so there) how people in olden times used to sleep for like fours hours, wake up in the middle of the night, do some chores or something else productive, and then go back to sleep until they woke up for the day.

What does this have to do with my insomnia? Nothing really, but I always think about that article. I wonder if my insomnia is due to my past life as an olden time person bleeding into my now life. Like the olden times person inside of me is wanting to only sleep four hours then do productive work, but unfortunately the present me would rather watch stupid videos on YouTube or binge watch the same shows over and over on Hulu or Netflix.

The opposing forces fighting inside making it impossible for me to sleep. Causing my insomnia.

…Or maybe it’s my anxiety. Yeah, that sounds more correct.


I got a recipe box for Christmas with brand new recipe cards and I took some time during a rainy day to start filling it/copy down the recipes in my grandmother’s old recipe box.

Before I continue I need to make one thing very clear…I’m not a cook. I’m not a baker. I’ve only made food three times for my friends total…and that was mostly because of guilt for always bringing cheese plates or fruit trays to parties. I’ve helped my friends cook, but I need them to walk me through every step. I didn’t even know how to properly cut up a bell pepper (apparently there’s a specific way to do it?!).

Now, continuing the story:

While I was working on my…30th card the word coconut had been coming up a lot. Now some of these cards I was copying from are OLD. I mean 40+ years old. Anyways, I noticed coconut occasionally was spelled cocoAnut.

This got my stupid brain thinking, a dangerous thing to happen. I called my mom and asked her, “Do they call coconuts, coconuts because when they discovered them, people thought they were like cocoa beans, but clearly a nut so they called them cocoanuts?”

She paused. Sighed, you know the sigh. It’s the Am I really having this conversation right now? sigh. Then she answered, not very enthusiastically I might add, “I don’t know. I wasn’t there when they decided that.”

Fair. But then why do people constantly misspell it cocoanut?

And before any of you get smart with me and try to explain the linguistics mumbo-jumbo, realize it won’t work. I’ve created this version of history in my head where the first explorers or whoever found a palm tree and thought “Wow! Look at the size of that cocoa bean! We could make sooooo much chocolate out of that sucker!” Then when they cracked it open to see the white coconut flesh inside and got soaked from the coconut milk they deflated and were really disappointed and sad. I mean could you imagine a cocoa bean the size of a coconut? That would be the best chocolate ever…

Shame Dragon

There’s a dragon in our downstairs bathroom that watches you while you pee. Their (it’s a pink dragon but I choose not to assume gender because there are perfectly handsome pink dragons who are boys and besides the dragon in our bathroom won’t answer if I ask) judgmental eyes are both a deterrent to anyone clogging the pipes as well as a guilt trip to ensure one washes his or her hands.

We originally bought this dragon as a Valentine’s Day gift for my mother and she chose to hide it around the house. Whoever found it would then have to hide it and so on. We did this for around two months before the dragon found its home in the bathroom.

It’s still there.

I don’t think many people notice it or if they do, they choose not to say anything.


But when I use it, those big ol’ eyes stare me down until I almost can’t do my business. It’s moments like this that make me wonder, why do we get so embarrassed in public restrooms? (A leap in logic, but hang with me)

I can only speak on behalf of the female perspective, but I assume some men go through a similar feeling…? Maybe differently…no definitely differently since you guys have that whole stall versus urinal thing. So you know when a man uses the stall it’s more than likely cause he’s releasing the stinky kraken…that’s totally a saying, right?

I mean, everyone knows people pee and poo, but for some reason we become embarrassed when in those solitary stalls. You can’t tell me you haven’t once in your life sat there waiting for the other person to start their business before you do yours. Or you do the required cough or loud sniff or loud sigh to cover the sounds of your business.

This of course doesn’t count close friends or family, or when you’re so sick you literally couldn’t give a fart knuckle if the person next to you hears your intestines being forcefully exploded from your butthole…TMI?

I understand there are those few who give no thought when they use the public restroom, but for the many who awkwardly hope to keep the (purely misplaced) lie that humans don’t excrimentate (this is totally a word, btw) it’s oddly infuriating.

One of my closest friend’s significant other didn’t even believe women pooped or farted for the longest time. (I mean he did believe it, but did that whole man thing where they ignore that fact to keep women on this strange pedestal of…I don’t know…cleanliness I guess?) It took a loooooooong time for them to become comfortable with her pooping. No issue about him pooping, which I wonder if that’s like a sexist thing or a, I don’t know, double standard that oddly everyone just kind of accepts?

Anyways, I went off on a tangent, as one does. This was supposed to be a funny story about the pink shame dragon in my bathroom and it turned gross.

I apologize…but the shame dragon knows the truth and will continue to judge you.


Okay, here is my obligatory cat mom moment.

I have two cats. Lele and Midna. I made them an Instagram account (lele_midna if you were curious 6_6).

Those little punks have more followers than me (not like a lot a lot, but enough that it still hurts my pride). I mean, I’m not really into the whole social media scene as evident by the fact my regular, normal Instagram is barely updated/posted on.

And true, I have invested more effort into keeping their account posting at least one picture every day (when possible).

And TRUE! My cats are a lot more adorable than me and people seem to enjoy creeping on other people’s pets.

AND TRUE! A lot of the accounts that follow them are probably bot accounts or spam accounts that post the same posts…BUT STILL!

I’m a little offended that two creatures who don’t even know what Instagram is or why I stick my phone in their faces when they’re trying to sleep are more popular than me. Not that I like attention anyways.

I just think someone who actually puts a small amount of effort to be a weirdo online should get more attention than two lazy bone cats.



For those sad souls curious……deep breath…….my Instagram account is luddiewig.

Octopus Nightmare

I’ve been having some weird dreams lately. Maybe it’s because I’ve actually been getting some good sleep, you know the deep sleep.

Real life blending with…well, not real life. Anyways, it’s been reminding me of this one nightmare I had back when I was maybe eleven or twelve. I think it was the first real nightmare that terrified me while I was experiencing it. I’ve had nightmares before and since that’ve given me the cold sweat wake ups, but this one is still as clear as the night I had it.

I was on a tour bus, like the one at Universal Studios, except instead of touring a studio it was touring our neighborhood. Only it wasn’t really our neighborhood, there were no trees or hills and the houses were spaced out more like the neighborhood from Edward Scissorhands.

The bus driver stopped and pointed behind us like in an old B-movie horror kind of way. You know, the point with open mouth and scream instead of running or saying anything useful.

Everyone on the bus turns and a tidal wave is rushing towards the bus, but then a giant octopus exploded from the water. A giant purply-brown octopus (yes, I remember the color…it had silver eyes).

I feel I need to explain something before continuing. When I was in elementary and middle school I had an irrational fear of octopi. I choose to believe this was due to how the Indianapolis Zoo chose to present an octopus. In the darkest room ever. The tank was so dark you could barely see anything. It reminded my young, innocent child self of that seen in Jaws 3D (yes, that Jaws 3D) where the girl is looking out the window and the half eaten diver appears sending everyone into a panic (needless to say that scene scared the piss out of me as a child…the only thing in that movie really). So I expected the hiding octopus to slam into the glass if I stood too close.

Follow-up: the octopus never did, it barely ever moved from under a very comfortable looking rock…if you ever saw it at all.


So I’m already suffering from said irrational fear of octopi when a gigantic, enormous octopus explodes from the tidal wave rushing at the tour bus I’m on. I, being an intelligent human, run off the bus and into my house which the bus conveniently parked in front of before the tentacled attack.

I lock the doors, but I can see the octopus outside the windows, its creepy eye peering in at me. The front door is knockedf off its hinges and a large tentacle chases me up the stairs.

I run into my parents bedroom because as in typical horror movie fashion I think the bathroom will be safe and my parents had a very nice bathroom in Indiana. A tentacle wraps around my ankle and starts pulling me back. I grab the bed posts of my parents’ bed and hang on for dear life.

And here is where the nightmare entered into the forever remembered halls of my brain. I did the trick. You know, the trick you’re supposed to do to prove your in a dream.

I pinched myself. I DID! I hung onto the bed post as a tentacle pulled my leg nearly out of socket and pinched my arm. To be fair, it didn’t hurt so I knew I was dreaming. But it didn’t really make me feel better because I was still terrified.

Then I woke up. Cold sweat, breathing quickly, heart pounding a mile a minute…but not being attacked by an octopus.

Fun fact: I’m no longer afraid of octopi. I think they’re fascinating and probably could take over the world if they chose. I AM deeply terrified of sting/manta rays though…but that’s a story for another day.

6-Foot Bullshit

BEFORE I EVEN START: I know not all people over 6 ft do this. This rant is about those who do. If you don’t, congratulations this ISN’T about YOU!

This is a rant about 6-foot Bullshit. What is 6-foot Bullshit? It’s those select few who tower above the rest of us and try to intimidate shorter folk with their sheer size.

I’m here to tell you…IT DON’T WORK ON ME!

Now I’m not short short (I’m a nice average 5’5”) so I can only speak from my perspective. BUT it happens often enough I need to say something about it.

I’ve had multiple occasions where people have tried to shove their way past me (whether in a line or not) and when I don’t allow it, they physically lean over me and try to intimidate me into allowing them to do whatever they want. Sorry, buddy, that doesn’t scare me. I’m the runt in my family so I’ve had my whole life to learn how to handle you tall people.

And what I’ve learned…it works. Standing up to them or showing you aren’t one to be steamrolled…they tend to back off. It’s simple, people get away with things because others let them. But most times (there are ALWAYS exceptions) once someone pushes back, they stop.

For those few cases who continue even when faced with someone who won’t take the 6-foot Bullshit…you are a 6-foot Asshole.

Don’t be a 6-foot Asshole.

Post Birthday Update

Welp, my final birthday gift was a fantabulous 104.6° fever. Thank you, Florida and plane traveling and being surrounded by thousands of children.

Other than that, I had a fun birthday. Got to do a lot of fun things with my best friends at Disney World (which I hadn’t been to in 20 years!), ate some good food (when I could eat), and made some great memories. A few of which I shall share with you now:

We stayed at the Coronado Resort, which was gorgeous (and the cheaper option). Our first night we did some light shopping at Disney Springs, which wasn’t called that the last time I was in Florida. It was called Downtown Disney (much like in California), but had distinct areas. There was the Marketplace, Pleasure Island, and other places I can’t remember cause I was only 10 years old and didn’t care about it cause there weren’t any rides there (obvi). Well, it’s nothing like that now. I mean some things were the same, but mostly everything got overhauled.

Day 2 was Epcot. Epcot was exactly how I remembered it, minus some rides that were completely gone or tweaked into less than stellar updated versions (Frozen and Adventures Through Imagination I’m looking at you…how could you do that to Figment?!). Though I definitely enjoyed Dame Judi Dench (or Dame Dudy Jench as I kept accidentally calling her because her name is itself a frustratingly frustrating tongue twister) narrating Spaceship Earth. I DID NOT however enjoy the ride breaking down right at the end and being evacuated off. But it made for some fun pictures and I got to catch a lot of pokemon while sitting for 20 minutes.

Day 3 I woke up half dead. The night before I woke up with a fever and chills. But I fought through the death and we headed off to the Magic Kingdom. We didn’t plan to stay there long since a lot of rides we have here in California.  But we did go on Haunted Mansion, Space Mountain (TWICE! Thank you Sjonnie [pronounced “shaw-nee”]), and the People Mover. Then we bussed over to Hollywood Studios. Of course we did Hollywood Tower of Terror and Rock ‘n’ Rollercoaster. We also walked through the new Toy Story Land but didn’t go on anything. Then we had a delicious dinner at the Brown Derby before I crashed and we went back to the hotel. I passed out at 9:30 or maybe 10 and slept until….

Say 4 MY BIRTHDAY! We went to Animal Kingdom since some of the best rides were there. Plus the last time I’d been to Florida was when the park was still kind of new and under construction. They hadn’t quite figured everything out yet. Animal Kingdom actually had trees that blocked your view and more than three or four rides in operation. It was basically unrecognizable to me except for very oddly specific things. The Dinosaur ride (which was called Countdown to Extinction when I went on it as a kid), the Tree of Life, the 4-way cross in Africa where they have tumblers, singers, and dancers every five minutes (though I remember a parade with wild costumes and lion king characters). A lot of things (of the few things that were there) are gone. The riverboats are gone, there was a Tarzan show that I only remember catching a brief glance of (now replaced by Finding Nemo the Musical). Anyways, the first thing we did was go on Everest which was amazing. HIGHLY recommend it. Then we went on the aforementioned Dinosaur. Then we went to Pandora, land of Avatar. We rode Flight of Passage twice (AWESOME!) and the River Journey (eh). We watched the Finding Nemo musical which was cute, but as my good friend described it: “Finding Nemo on crack!”

After we finished in Animal Kingdom we hopped on the busses to go to my birthday dinner at the Hoop De Doo. A kitschy western show that’s been running at Disney for 20 years. It’s an all-you-can-eat barbecue dinner with fried chicken, ribs, beans, corn, mashed taters, and salad. It was fun, if a little out of date, but I felt so bad I couldn’t eat more since my illness was starting to really get going.

We headed back to the hotel to sleep for TWO hours before waking up at 3am to catch the bus to the airport.

Made it home fine. Ate some food okay. Took a nap great. Woke up with a 104.6° fever…hooray. And here I’ve been. Taking medication, drowning the fever with so many liquids, force-feeding myself, and sleeping so many hours I’m slowly losing track of when and where I am.

But my birthday weekend was fun so there’s that. It was all worth it.


It’s My 30th Birthday

Today is my birthday.

Actually not the day I’m writing this, because I needed to write this post in advance since I will be celebrating my birthday at DisneyWorld and I won’t have time to write this, soooo hello future world!

I am turning 30 today. 3-0. I no longer qualify for Forbers’ 30 under 30. And you know what? That’s okay.

NOTE: I never had any interest on being on the Forbes 30 Under 30, but I highly respect those who are invited to be apart of it. It’s awe-inspiring to see people my age or younger do such amazing things or make such world-changing impacts on the world. Don’t let my attempt at being coy change your opinion about the list.

I don’t need to be successful at 30. At least, successful as determined by a magazine. I have a roof over my head, food in my stomach, and I’m still alive. If that’s not success…than maybe people need to take a moment.

There was a time, actually a few times, I thought I wouldn’t make it to 30. There were times I didn’t want to make it to 30.

But now that I’m here…it’s not so bad. Do I wish I’d done things differently in my life? Of course! But anyone who doesn’t have even 1 thing they regret or wish to change is a liar or in deep denial.

I have amazing friends who I’ll never completely understand why they put up with me and my long periods of no communication. I’m thankful they encourage me to go on adventures, do things that terrify me, and don’t ask too many questions when I just need to be in a room with people who know can take care of me.

Do I have any uplifting life lessons? No, cause I’m still living life. I can only offer experiences and maybe those could lead to lessons for you. But I won’t pretend I know what the hell’s going on.

But if you absolutely need something…just be a good person. Whatever that means to you.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to celebrate surviving until 30.

Wake Up Call

I don’t go to bed at normal hours…like, ever, but the last thing I want when I finally tuck myself in for bed at 2 or 3 in the morning is to be woken up at 4 in the morning to a loud voice.

But that’s what happened one fabulous morning.

I heard the loud voice but couldn’t really make it out so I (like any other intelligent human running on less than two hours of sleep) assumed it was just some jackass (possibly drunk jackass) going out to his car or walking down the road. Sometimes a gentleman or lady of unfortunate circumstances walks by and makes sure everyone knows it.

Anyways, I (again, having been rudely woken up) went to the bathroom. Now the window in my bathroom is probably made from the thinnest glass possible because I could hear the loud voice more clearly as I sat on my porcelain throne. And that’s when I realized this was not just a random person yelling angrily into the morning air.

My first clue it wasn’t a random person were the first words I clearly heard: “Exit the vehicle one by one!” (or something to that effect, it was a while ago and my memory can be a little shit). That was also when I noticed the flashing lights.

Now, if curiosity was a deadly sin, I’d be the poster child for it. When I heard these words and realized there were red and blue lights flashing outside the window, I finished my business and then ran to my bedroom window. I, also not being stupid, moved the blinds only enough so I could peek out but (hopefully) not enough that anyone from the street would notice.

7, and this is absolutely NOT me exaggerating, 7 police cars of varying sizes were parked in front of my house. Parked in the driveway across the street with spotlights on it was a silver sedan (?)…okay, I don’t remember what the actual car was, but come on, that’s not the ting to focus on here.

Not only were there 7 police cars, but there were about a dozen or more police officers standing behind their car doors with their guns drawn.

There are many things to think at a moment like this, but the number one thought in my mind (besides the excitement of having juicy gossip to pretend to tell co-workers at my fantasy work) was how the hell did all these cop cars get here without their sirens? Like, you’d think those would’ve woken me long before the one officer yelling. I’m sure all you experts in police chases are probably yelling: Well, since it was so early in the morning, police don’t turn on their sirens so as not to disturb or draw attention blah blah blah…and I would make a stupid face at you and admit you’re probably right, but when you’re woken up at 4 am, logic isn’t usually there.

Back to the police. So, now that I’m no longer at the paper-thin bathroom window, I can’t really hear what the police are yelling to the car blocked from ever leaving the neighborhood. But I do decide to move into my office for a more comfortable view (i.e. a chair).

The back door of the silver car opened and a guy in a hoodie and jeans (soooooo original) came out with his hands raised above his head. The police had him back towards them and raise his shirt to show he had no weapon. Then he walked backwards to the police cars until one officer could grab him and handcuff him, search him, give a stern talking to, and then stuff him in the backseat of one police car. The next guy got out of the car from the same door and did the exact same thing, ending up in a separate police car. Then a third, exactly the same. Then a fourth guy came out. The car shook a little bit and a fifth guy came out, following the officer’s instructions to the T.

And I’m thinking, Wow, must’ve been a tight fit. Then a SIXTH guy got out of the car. I have to emphasize one thing…all six of these guys had to exit the car through the same door. Including the guy in the passenger seat and the driver. The two in the front had to climb into the back of the car and exit through the same door as the other 4. Again, some of you police chase experts are probably pushing your glasses (or invisible glasses?) up the bridge of your nose as you stare down at us peons who know nothing saying: That’s proper protocol for blah bLAH BLAH!

By the time the sixth guy was being put into a sixth police car, an eighth police car (a sheriff car) pulled up and the sun was rising. People were going to be waking up and heading out to work soon. The officers approached the car and thoroughly searched it, including the trunk. Once they were sure there were no other guys hiding somewhere, the officers put their guns away and became more relaxed.

Some went to each of the guys to either get their statements or inform them of their rights or whatever. The sheriff got out of his car and spoke with a number of the officers, glancing into the windows to see the guys. Others began digging through the trunk of the car.

Fun Anecdote: While the police were going through the car, the guy who delivers newspapers tried to turn down the street, but clearly didn’t see the 7-8 police cars. He did a U-turn instead and parked on the street. He spoke with an officer and they let him deliver our paper. So…kudos to the police for not stopping my flow of information.

Back to the trunk search. Even with the sun coming up, I couldn’t clearly see what they found beyond some obvious items such as dry cleaning. Yep, these guys took a car with the clothes they picked up from the dry cleaner in the trunk.

Oh, but how do you know they didn’t steal the car? Well, I don’t, but I assume they wouldn’t be stupid enough to steal a car for 6 people and not get something bugger than a sedan. Plus, if they stole the car then the items the officers found in the trunk wouldn’t make sense.

See besides the dry cleaning (which I might add, the police held up and laughed about so pretty sure even they thought it was funny how the guys remembered to pick up their dry cleaning before heading out to commit crimes [also the officers were very polite and hung the dry cleaning from the top of the open trunk to prevent wrinkles…double kudos]) the officers pulled out two or three things and placed them on the curb next to the car.

Reminder, I couldn’t really see (and yes, by this point I had grabbed binoculars to go full rear window on this situation) but there was a bag with maybe drugs or money or something in it but nothing too big. But the other thing they pulled out looked like a (possible) gun wrapped in cloth. I’ll never know because this never ended up on the news or in the paper, but the police did photograph these items on the curb and took everything with them.

Police cars started leaving one by one and those left behind closed up the car (including the dry cleaning). One officer was left alone to wait for a tow truck to arrive. When the tow truck finally arrived, the world was waking up.

Traffic was starting to get heavy on the main road and once the tow truck took the car away the last of the police drove off. Our street returned to its usual quiet.

And that’s the story of the 7 police cars and the dry-cleaning bandits. Who knows what they were charged with, but it’s still a fun story.


The image of my cat is because in the wee, early morning hours I didn’t even think to grab my phone to take any pictures of the police outside my house. Priorities.

I don’t know who the 6 guys were or what they looked like. I wear -10.5 lenses (i.e. blind as a fucking bat) and even with my glasses I still can’t see details in the distance.

I won’t deny perhaps I’m forgetting specific details, but numbers are accurate. There were indeed 7 police cars on my street and 6 dudes in a four-door sedan-like vehicle.

Also, I can’t speak as to whether any of the neighbors witnessed this either, it was 4 in the morning and truthfully, I was surprised nobody tried to come out and talk to the officers. Where I live, people can be very nosy. But I guess seeing about a dozen officers with guns in their hands really discourages that.