Adventures in Kijiji: Man Chair

Yeeaup...

Adventures in Kijiji: Free Snow

It's highly doubtful it's all still there as advertised, but I'm still giving the guy props...

Hidden Messages

The captchas are speaking to me again. And (not to be political, but) I think they speak the truth...

This Captcha is mumbling. It meant to say evil. Clearly.

Cats For Sale

If you've been hanging around here long enough, you'll know I have a love-hate relationship with Kijiji.

This ad is one of the more positive reasons I keep browsing on the classified site, and couldn't help but snag a screenshot. I hope these two have found a loving home, hopefully with someone who shares the ad poster's sense of humour...

Capturing a Moment

I like Scrabble.

To Mr Lannis' dismay, I don't play it much with him (no, seriously--he's bugging me all the time), but not because I don't like the game.

I'm a lazy points tallier. The really truly actual board game requires math.

Math and I? We don't play well together (heh).

Besides, I like to do fancy pants moves on the board and make three words at once just to screw with my opponent (right, Tricia? ::smirk::).

No, we haul out our Scrabble board once or twice a year if it's lucky, despite it being one of our favourite games.

I do, however, play Scrabble online--or rather, currently its counterpart Words With Friends on Facebook.

The math, she happens automatically. It's lovely.

And I'm a believer that this game is part vocabulary, part strategy, part mental altertness, and part luck of the draw--shitty letters are shitty letters. No matter what's on the board, sometimes your tiles just blow and there's nothing you can do about it.

Today's board selection made me giggle. I'm sharing, natch.

Sometimes, despite your best efforts, your tiles are booshit. Heh.

Couch Surfing: not what you first think.

This is why I love Kijiji... sometimes it's really good for a laugh... or a free couch...

(Click to embiggen.)

Model Behaviour

[Note: This post was originally published on The Mrs on May 12th, 2012. I have since created this board on Pinterest, and—thanks to the help of a friend (hi, Scott!)—discovered Caleb's real name is Aaron O'Connell. But I still call him Caleb...]

Confession: I have a problem.

And no, I’m not talking about this board for those Pinterest followers keeping score at home.

[Note: I have no other explanation for that phenomenon other that what’s on the board description, so... don’t hold your breath waiting for one... unless you’re into that. Heh.]

But no, not that. I’m actually talking about this, uh, I mean him —

You might be wondering who this is. If you know me on Facebook, perhaps not. Mr Lannis certainly knows.

Allow me to introduce you to Caleb.

No, that’s not his real name. I made it up. I tend to do that, occasionally, name things — kidlets, characters, fabricated identities of random Marks Work Wearhouse flyer models... all of the above, really. Heh.

And Caleb, well, he caught my eye one day in the aforementioned flyer, because he looked exactly like someone I know. In my head.

Yeah, if that didn’t sound strange, stick around, because I’m sure we’ll hit that mark shortly. I’m about to expound upon one of the many idiosyncrasies of my marriage. [Insert shameless snort here.]

Ready... set... weird!

In our house I we have a little tradition. Every Thursday the local paper arrives with the sales flyers for the week. Mr Lannis is the one who goes through said flyers.

And hides one in particular. The one from Marks Work Wearhouse.

For this reason:

(Click to embiggen.)

Note: this particular status update had an interesting and incriminating conversation beneath it, but in the interests of privacy we’re going to nix that part of the screenshot. Let’s just say a friend of mine declared that Caleb must be an excellent kisser due to his scrumptious almost-dimples, interested parties went running for their recycling bins, and for the benefit of those outside of the geographical range of this particular advertisement, I ended up uploading a pic of the flyer page in question...

That’d be this one:

You see, I lick like this particular model. A lot. And he’s caused a bit of a stir on my Facebook profile recently, so I’m sharing more... because I’m filterless gross friendly like that.

He was in the most recent flyer, too:

WHO WANTS TO GO ON A SHOPPING SPREE WITH ME?!

I mean, LOOK at him...

The first person to imply he’s wearing a less-than-politically-correct undershirt wins a screwdriver stabbed in their ear canal! Aaaaaand go!

Ah, I see you’re all distracted by the charming tilt of his jaw and the alpha-male confidence radiating off those biceps.

Me too. And those lips:

::sigh:: Please excuse me as I wipe away the drool...

I read somewhere [::cough cough:: Pinterest ::cough::] that infatuation only lasts a few months, so clearly I am in love with Caleb, because we’ve now been involved for over a year.

And last fall this happened:

This is the note I left Mr Lannis one evening when he was working late... it reads, “He wants me to run away with him. I said yes.”

The next morning I was greeted with Mr Lannis’ reply on the facing page. He charmingly called me a couple of dirty inapproriate CREATIVE pet names, and claimed that he told Caleb about my body pillow.

Yes, my body pillow.

The one I have snuggled and twined myself with every night since pregnancy made my hips ache? For years Mr Lannis has called it my boyfriend, and in the last year or so my body pillow boyfriend has had a new name — you guessed it — also Caleb.

Caleb’s fictional apparent response was to be sickened. This I doubt. Clearly he’s into me. Just look at the way he stares dreamily out of the page. At me.

But back to my bizarre marriage... Mr Lannis is a wonderful man, and he tends to be rather... quiet.

People frequently call him normal.

(Pfft... like that word really has any true definition?)

More than once I’ve heard (I’m outing you, Mrs... haha!) that Mr Lannis is not who people “expect” me to be with — possibly because he’s, well, sane.

The point is, he balances my... uh... deranged personality wackiness. He likes to humour me.

The truth is... he gets me.

And that morning when I woke up and found his angular scrawl all over a flyer’s boxer brief advertisement (yes, he scribbled the word “SL*T” on a random photo of some stranger’s junk — IT. WAS. AWESOME!), I felt more warm, lovable fuzzies toward my hubby because he was playing along with my threat of running away with a fictional heartthrob than I would have if he’d simply written “I love you.”

It may seem dysfunctional, but it’s not. It’s our marriage. I don’t claim to understand it, I just love it — and him — to pieces.

Uh, Mr Lannis, that is. Not Caleb...

Okay, Caleb too.

Hm. Polyamory doesn’t sound too shabby right about now... something-something-don’t-knock-it... am I right? Heh.


PS: If you’ve been able to follow this post, like, AT ALL, please feel free to use your Google-fu for the good of all and find out what Caleb’s real name is. I’m sure he’d love to hear from me. I vote we start a fan club.

Pssst: I wager he tastes way better in person... ::snort::

Oh Google, never change...

In my spare time I grow planets. And beards—but faster than you do.

Tee hee...

Kijiji: Single Dad Seeking...

Perusing Kijiji and I saw this. Too good to not share... sure it's missing a few spaces between commas and words, and has questionable capitalization that (probably) has nothing to do with comic intention.

I'm unsure what I like more... that it's almost worded like a M4W classified ad, or the fact that the poster posed the Dad's arms in the air, like he's given up on finding his missing family members, or even contemplating why they (along with that errant furniture) chose to abandon him and the single baby girl...

Mesmerizing

So last night (and already this morning, since I woke up to discover that apparently it's not over...) I've been kind of mesmerized...

By this:

It's Book Depository's 100 Books - 25 Hours sale, where they offer different titles for steep discounts for 15 minutes at a time... once it's gone, it's gone. And you have no heads up as to what the next book will be... so you keep the tab open on your laptop and keep checking...

Okay, I keep checking, but whatever.

I bought a Lego activity book including Lego figures and shipping for $3.75 CAD.

I bought another Lego book for $4.20 CAD. Both titles were 60% off. And yes, if you're keeping score, that's one book for each kidlet.

And then I preordered Maggie Stiefvater's The Dream Thieves, um... less because it was a part of the promotion and more because I have a problem...

Whatever. I'll own it. I'm addicted to books.

And then, I got sucked into the widget on the right...

Yeah, that's the one... the one where you can watch what people buy. Live.

 

Fat Quarter Quickies. ::snort::

Seriously, I could watch this for hours... um, or at least until it loops back and resets...

Google Salad

So. Back at The Mrs, Sandi once did a funny, hilarious, snort-tea-out-your-nose post about the phrases that were turning up for Google keyword searches when she looked at the back end of the blog.

It's hysterical. No, really. Go read it. I'll wait.

This here post? Sorry to disappoint, but she's not so funny. But I had to revisit Sandi's because, well, it makes me happy and I like to spread the love, what can I say?

No, most of the search terms in the screenshot below are pretty standard, and I'd actually expect my blog to show up in results. No surprises there, except for one...

This post is more to underline the confusion I have about that one particular Google search... and not because I expect the person who punched this term into Google and found themselves magically at Chez Lannis will come forward with a raised hand and tell me what the hell they were looking for, whether my little blog managed to answer the question, and whether that answer was intentional, positive, or whether I am considered a lesson from which to learn... (?)

(How's that for a run on sentence, eh?)

No... really? Really I post this because, well...  

DON'T LET ANYONE WITH BAD EYEBROWS WHAT, EXACTLY?!

The end is obliterated by ellipses, and the not knowing is excruciating!

Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

Suggested?!

And then this showed up in my news feed...

There are several things wrong with this ad...

1. Facebook seems to think I'm fat (eff you, Facebook!).

2. The improper use of the possessive pronoun of "its" instead of the contraction of "it has" makes my inner Grammar Nazi foam at the mouth.

3. The creator of this ad has clearly appropriated a photo of Shania Twain, and as a Canadian, this makes me snarl impolite words. (She's ours, yo.)

4. That Facebook's algorithms have deemed me the proper audience of this atrocity is insulting, period.

Dick move, Facebook. Dick. Move.

Calling a bluff...

Four hours after my Lessons from JordanCon post went live, I noticed this:

Seriously?! (Click to embiggen.)

Blogger, I'm no dummy. I call moo poo on this one...

Those Things...

I'm trying to slip back into blogging mode after JordanCon. I'm not going to lie, everything posted since that trip—with the exception of the Con recap—was scheduled way ahead of time because I knew this would happen.

It's part exhaustion, part mentally remaining in a moment that's passed, and all Con Depression.

(But it's oh so good!)

It got me thinking, though, that every year in the aftermath of JordanCon weekend, within the flurry of photos posted to Facebook and Flickr, amidst the oohs and aahs of costume pics, souvenirs, and anecdotal brushes with author and artist celebrity, there's always someone saying they wished they'd attended, too...

Hey, that person used to be me. Three years ago was my first JordanCon, and I knew immediately it wouldn't be my last.

So here's our lesson from Pinterest:

 

Is it a trip? An art class? Bungee-jumping? An afternoon of pampering yourself that never seems to happen?

Do it.

Fuck everyone else, and do what you want to do. 

Because guess what? It's cliché but true: life is short.

If you're dying to step out of yourself for a day, do it. 

Because one day you'll reach a point where for whatever reason you truly can't, and you'll regret that you didn't take the chance when it was available.

And that's the thing: you need to make the chance available. 

I save my pennies all year to make the trek to Atlanta without tossing it on credit card, and damn, is it worth it. JordanCon has enriched my life. I have made amazing friends, discovered unknown ability, and simply stepped out of the everyday routine—something that is oh so important to my psyche.

Yes, stepping out of the everyday and satisfying your seems-unreachable-goals is good for mental health.

Recently I had a messaged conversation with an old friend via Facebook (hi, James!), and he said something that rang deeply with me... he considers "dull" to be one of the worst-offending sins out there.

It didn't take a lot of thought before I agreed.

When we're kids we (generally) all want to be older so we can have the freedom to do whatever we want. So if that's the case, why are we living for work? Why are we slaves to money?

There's so much to do in life, how can you fall into the eat-sleep-work routine? Go out and LIVE!

And do things for yourself, because you've always wanted to do them, not because it's "cool" to do those things...

Sure, my thing is JordanCon (and costuming, and let's face it: all things Wheel of Time), but yours doesn't have to be.

You may have heard this before (and my cheeseball alarm is blaring in my head), but...

Follow. Your. Dreams.

I'd bet there's something you're itching to do. Do it. Push yourself out of your comfort zone and be surprised at your courage. 

I bet you'll learn a bit about yourself, build remarkable memories and meet incredible people, and live those dull everyday moments a bit happier for it.

So try it. You'll thank yourself later.

The infiltration has begun...

This was my captcha not long ago (yes, I deliberately waited until my brain was fried in the aftermath of JordanCon to post it).

As you can see, it virtually screamed for a screen shot. You're all welcome.

Kijiji Trolls

Yep, you got it. It's another screenshot of stupidity thanks to Kijiji.

I love playing with trolls.

Okay, not really, because anyone who's been on Internet forums for more than three minutes knows the cardinal rule: do not feed the trolls.

In layman's terms this means do not interact with them.

Because then they win. Naturally.

When trolls fish, they throw out ridiculously obvious bait, and generally one of two things happen; they mock the polite responder into carrying on a conversation, or they bait them into a flame war.

All they want is a response. Whether it be someone kindly attempting to correct their contrived and ridiculous misconceptions, or someone reaming them out and burning them to the ground for baiting in a public forum, all a troll wants is the chance to giggle at a stranger's reaction safely from the other side of their screen.

And we can't have either of these things happening, because that would mean anonymous douchebags everywhere are eroding civility out of our society. Any direct response is highly entertaining to the troll, because the Internet troll has no sense of respect for others.

See? Not good.

Hence the rule: do not feed the trolls.

So what do you do, when faced with a troll? Well, my personal favourite is what I'm about to do here. And that's take a screenshot in order to mock said troll in another forum where s/he doesn't know about it.

Oh! Lookie! I have my own blog! That's a great place to roast an idiot...

(If you don't have a blog I highly suggest posting a screenshot to Facebook, or Instagram—whatever your poison—and allowing your friends to have a go... mocking trolls—it's fun!)

So. Let's see what we have here. It's from Bob.

Click to embiggen.

Bob, here, is responding to an ad giving away old Terry Goodkind books (because, let's face it, that's all you can do with them—ooh, little burn for the Goodkind fans... heh) by asking if I have any Sex for Dummies books.

Um, no.

And Bob would know this, if he took the time to click to see the poster's other ads (the poster being me), because while I do have other books for sale (so it would have been logical to check the other titles), I hate to break it to you, Bob, that no, tragically none of those are Sex for Dummies.

If Bob had clicked through to see my other ads, he'd also know it was unlikely I had Sex for Dummies because clearly I have no need of such a book, as I already know how to have sex, since I'm selling some items my kids have outgrown.

Common things being common, I'm not posting ads on behalf of my neighbours, I'm posting ads because these unwanted items belong to me (and my children), so if I'm selling used size 11 children's rain boots it's likely I have a child and have had sex at some point in my life.

Here's a secret, but don't tell Bob: I've had sex more than once! (gasp!)

I also know different sexual positions, too. (double gasp!)

And never once did I need to check Sex for Dummies, either. Not that there's anything wrong with a little research...

And it seems to me there's only one Sex for Dummies book—if it even exists. I mean, there could be more, but seeing how the series generally covers one topic at a time, it's probably only one book not books like Bob, here, is searching for.

But like I said, I kinda didn't need the Sex for Dummies book(s) when the time came, so I don't really have a frame of reference for that.

But I know where to find the answer...  /singsong

Oh, Book Depository says there are two! Look at that! A regular edition and a miniature edition (pocket edition? Though if you're wearing pockets while having sex there's a high likelihood you're doing it wrong—though not always, heh.)

Hm. Took me all of three seconds to find that out, too, via Book Depository's search engine. Poor Bob here is still waiting for me to get back to him and it's been days.

That said, perhaps our misguided Bob is looking for Sex for Dummies (in all the wrong places, might I add) because he's never had sex before.

Poor chap.

Well, if his hobbies included, I don't know, maybe getting out of the house instead of trolling Kijiji book ad posters, maybe he'd actually have the opportunity to meet a nice person and have some sex of his own... (bizarre logic, am I right?)

Though I don't know if "trolling on the Internet" is considered an acclaimed attribute on anyone's list of desirable traits in a prospective partner. Maybe that's Bob's problem—he starts discussing his Internet trolling conquests and turns prospective sexual partners off, and he hasn't had the chance as yet to seal the deal, hence he's not too certain about the mechanics of sex and is left with searching for answers in Sex for Dummies...

It's a theory, anyway.

Let's look at that screenshot again, okay?

Oh, I see part of Bob's problem... If he's googling "how to have sex for dummies" maybe he's not getting helpful results!

Rookie mistake, you see—clogging up a search field with superfluous words. Google's fickle that way.

But wait—it would seem using Bob's terms does garner the Sex for Dummies text in the first page of results. See? First page, fourth item:

Hm... it would seem Google has accounted for Bob's poor Google-fu, which means Bob clearly didn't bother...

Poor Bob.

That lack of effort is probably why he hasn't found someone interested in having sex with him—you kind of have to stretch out of your comfort zone, and if he's not willing to even risk Googling the book title (or what he thinks is the book title), well, he's not going to reap the rewards he's looking for, is he? Tsk, tsk.

Back to that original screen shot, though. What else can we learn about Bob?

Well, as illustrated by my need to redact Bob's email, I can assume that Bob doesn't understand the basics of Kijiji—that it acts as an agent between buyers and sellers, but connects them via email... which means I now have his email address.

Though it is a Hotmail account, so there's a decent chance Bob has created a shenanigans account (and has poor taste in freebie email providers).

And I must say, it was extremely tempting to not redact his address. Wouldn't it be fun for us to all send him random porn links so he could learn all about what's inside the covers of Sex for Dummies, but via video?

Surprise, Bob! You're about to learn all about a Dirty Sanchez!

(It occurs to me my blog's Google keyword hits are about to get more interesting... heh.)

Oh... oh no.... I have more pity for Bob now, because clearly he can't even google "free porn."

Man, he seriously must live a sad, sad life... even I can google "free porn"... I'm a liberated female, unafraid of my own sexuality... no problem with that—or admitting it (I'm a classy gal after all).

Oh, shit... a thought... we're in all trouble if Internet trolls can't google "free porn" (how many times can I use that phrase? tee hee)... 

Because you know what happens when a particular demographic of the population is too inhibited and can no longer google "free porn"? (And I'm looking at you, sexually-frustrated-and-Twilight-addled ladies—you know who you are!)

It's tragic, horrible, the intellectual equivalent of a machete splitting braincells...

When the ability to google "free porn" breaks down for a certain demographic of the population, we're all subjected to literary garbage like Fifty Shades of Grey...

Horrifying, right?

::shudder::

Thanks, Bob. You're like the first second sign of the apocalypse for publishing...

::headdesk::

Strength

In my endless travels of cyberspace, I’ve met up with some pretty great people over the years, and one of the more recent would be the courageous and honest Kelly, over at The High Flying Adventures of Captain Grief. She’s lost her spouse, and her blog is where she and her alter ego (Captain Grief) share the pitfalls, trials, and humour that comes with the territory—a place where she can vent, and celebrate, and heal. She’s funny, and sincere, and real, and doesn’t sugar-coat life.

In short: she’s awesome.

Having been forced to eat a couple of life’s shit sandwiches, I have a good understanding of where she’s coming from. Our journeys are very different, but the territory that is grief and coping are the same.

It’s why I’m a terminal realist, after all.

And she’s reminded me of one of my favourite quotes I first discovered on Pinterest.

Guess what? Sometimes the universe shits on you for no reason. It just does. Shocker, right?

Not everything that happens to you in life is by choice, and yet how you view those events certainly is.

Do you want to be that person who is pitied by everyone because you’re perpetually dwelling on how horrible things are? Or do you want to admit life never goes as planned, be honest with yourself and retain your ability to laugh?

And screw other people and their projected opinions—ask yourself what you want to model for yourself... for your children.

None of us choose the nasty trenches we must wade through, but we can choose to be survivors.

Life is messy, and it’s never perfect. Anyone who says otherwise is lying.

It’s okay to find humour in unexpected places.

It’s okay to rationalize and realize that there are others who are worse off than you, even though it’s difficult to imagine at times.

It’s okay to grow stronger, and know that you will be okay no matter what.

I’m not saying you can’t have bad days. Definitely have bad days. Own them. Wallow in them from the depths of your soul to the edge of your fingertips.

For sure, immerse yourself in them when you need to—it’s an integral part of coping—throw yourself into self-pity and craptastic ugly, get it out of your system, then remove yourself from it with the same force, because you know: this will not last.

Dabble in self-pity, then choose to discard it. Renounce it for your own health.

Be strong. You have the ability to surprise yourself. Trust.

Best. Bot. Ever.

So a while back I had a grammatical error in a Tweet, and Stealth Mountain came to my rescue... 

Stealth Mountain...? Sneaky, sneaky, peaky...

::snort::

Taxes Schmaxes

I have learned there are many things in this world that give me a headache...

One is waste.

Another is other people's waste that ends up costing me.

So when I see the display of TurboTax kits at the grocery store, or Walmart, or Costco, I want to bash my head against the shopping cart. I don't... but I do grumble, heartily disgruntled.

You see, you can get the exact same tax software without the waste of physical product (taking up physical space) online.

Yep.

And it's freaking easy peasy lemon squeezy, too.

Stupidly easy, and you don't have to pay until after you're done your taxes and are ready to file (which you can do online... again: easy peasy lemon squeezey.)

But is this advertised at the stores? No. Of course not—they're gaining a cut if they sell the physical product—why would they tell people to go Google TurboTax and follow the linky dink trails...?

(I suppose you could argue the physical product would be for people who have no internet access at home. Do these people even exist?!*)

So why does this make me crazy? Because I use the online software (have for the last couple of years, thanks to Sandi over at Spring Personal Finance—she's a genius, by the way. Also? Hilarious. And she makes cute babies, too).

So when I see the in-store-displays all I can think of is how the manufacturing, shipping, and displaying of said physical product IS JACKING UP MY GODDAMN ONLINE TAX PREP FEES!

Not to mention the landfill waste of software good for tax purposes for that year only...

::headdesk::

Seriously.

Also? My taxes are done... and aside from wincing every time I see someone toss one of those blue and silver boxes into their cart, I'm also done thinking about them.

Until that refund arrives, that is... then I dance.

(Possibly naked. If you're my neighbour, this is your official warning. If you end up blind, that's your problem. Good luck.)






*Clearly I know they do. I have elderly relatives. And infant relatives. And pets.

(Shut up. Pets are totally people—just ones without opposable thumbs... Oh my god, just think of how much of an asshole Hamster would have been with opposable thumbs. A goddamn unstoppable fuzzy jerk. ::shudder::)

Secrets of Pinterest

I'm going to share a secret, ready?

I have no idea where people come from on Pinterest.

Seriously. It's like they trickle out of nowhere and suddenly I have a flood of people following my boards. I'm on Pinterest, like, twice a week. Maybe. And usually just to pin PostSecret postcards, because I plan to use them as creative writing fodder.

See, the secret with PostSecret is that it changes every week—but if you pin the image on Pinterest, you get to see it weeks after it's been lost to the rest of the Interwebs. Nice, eh?

Anyhow. Overall I've been too busy lately to actually peruse the Pinterest marketplace or even just check out what the people I follow are pinning... it's been that busy around here.

But people keep following me... and I have posted some odd shit in the past (still do, to be honest). At one point I was pinning stuff from a Tumblr blog (it's since shut down) with a highly inappropriate name just to see if anyone noticed...

Stuff like this (I'll let industrious individuals go on the hunt for the site name if they choose... ha!):

 

Inappropriate site names or not (or more likely: unobservant people, ha!) I only gained more followers.

(Well, I can hardly blame them. Tie + light saber + kissable lips does equal win...)

These followers have taught me something, though. I haven't censored myself on my Pinterest boards. I've been as weird as I want to be; my boards are as obnoxious or as idiosyncratic as I choose...

Something something be yourself... ? (Nah, that's not quite right...)

Something something the energy you put out into the world returns...? (Hm... closer...)

Something something like attracts like...? (Yeah, that sounds more fitting.)

It's rather reassuring to know there's a lot of weirdos out there... heh.