Weird Shit I Found In My Childhood Room: Jazz Wolf

When I found this item in my childhood room, I collapsed on the floor in a fit of laughter.

B immediately pointed out that "you don't even like jazz." I told him that if that was the strangest thing he could see about this CD then I must have married the right man.

I have a very vague recollection of purchasing this through some sort of multi-CD deal, which I believe went something like "Buy Two Whale Songs CDs and an Enya CD and Complete Your Ticket to Lifelong Celibacy by Purchasing Jazz Wolf for only $2!" How in the world could 13-year-old Casey turn that down? This is probably during the same period when I would hole up in my room with the Timothy Zahn Star Wars books and my collage of planets and blast Enya's Watermark via my sweet 3-CD/2-Cassette stereo. (This stereo came in very handy later when I discovered I could record CDs onto cassettes to play in the tape deck of my sweet 1987 Ford Ranger with hidden rifle rack. Sadly, I did not figure this out until after I had purchased Eminem's Marshall Mathers LP on cassette.)

One wonders just how I could be so awesome and so entirely lame at the same time.

Weird Shit I Found In My Childhood Room: Queen Adele of Romania

As I mentioned previously, I spent part of my recent vacation cleaning out my childhood room. Now, most of my actual childhood stuff had been previously packed up and put in a trunk for safekeeping, so for the most part I was sorting through random stuff I acquired between 1996 and 2004.

Apparently there was an ongoing clearance sale during that time at the Store for Weird Shit because I sure found a lot of it.

This is Queen Adele of Romania. Her head is made of a dried apple, her arms are made of baby blue pipe cleaners, and her body is made from an empty Henry Weinhard's Private Reserve bottle. Note also that her castle is made of old clothing and shoe boxes, lovingly painted white and blue, and that the curtains are both red velvet and ill-made.

To be fair, this was a sixth grade project. I'm not really sure what we were supposed to learn from this. Creativity, maybe? It clearly wasn't meant to help us learn history as there was no Queen Adele of Romania (Google it), and I certainly didn't learn how to sew properly. This project made only slightly less sense than the time we were forced to trace a Canadian province (which was clearly an intelligence test that I failed because I picked Northwest Territories while everyone else picked Saskatchewan).

Anyway, I sure was entertained by this discovery, although when I first opened up the shoebox containing Queen Adele I was terrified and thought I had come across the corpse of a rat in a dress (not an unfounded fear in my world).

Squirrels In the News: Squirrel Flashdance

I just returned from vacation on the West Coast, and actually have things to post about now, but due to the red-eye flight we took last night from Seattle to New York I'm not exactly in fine form for blogging. I've provided you with this comic in the meantime.

You're welcome.

More embarrassment on the subway...

...because I'm carrying around this ridiculous book cover.

Oh, and for those of you keeping track, it turns out that last book I was reading actually was robot porn, and the robot was indeed wearing cargo pants. Both of these points were covered in later chapters.

As if I didn't have enough to be embarrassed about...

There was a time in my life when I was too embarrassed to admit that I liked science fiction. I'm not sure of the exact dates of this era, but I'm pretty sure it was during the second half of Star Trek: Voyager and all of Star Trek: Enterprise. And the last two TNG movies, definitely, not that I was missing much.

At some point in college, I heard a friend of mine express her love for Star Trek: The Next Generation. I warily eyed the other friends in the room, wondering how this silly person hadn't gotten the memo that Star Trek was so desperately uncool. I worried that she would be kicked out of college and that I would never see her again. But then a magical thing happened. Another friend spoke up and said that she had a crush on Brent Spiner, and then another jumped in to start a conversation about Ender's Game.

It was magical.

Ever since then, I have embraced my love for science fiction, and have even endeavored to increase my knowledge of the genre. As part of this venture, I'm beginning to acknowledge an aspect of science fiction of which I will always be embarrassed.

The cover art.

I should be proud to get on the subway with my nose buried in something by Asimov, right? People should look at me and think "Wow, look at that intelligent girl on the N train reading one of Asimov's great novels. I am unworthy to stand in the light of her knowledge of The Three Laws of Robotics." But instead I'm pretty sure they're thinking "Wow, that girl on the N train is reading robot porn. And why is the robot wearing cargo pants? This is both disgusting and unclear."

Seriously, somebody should start a blog dedicated to ridiculous cover artwork. I would do it, but I already have big plans to turn this blog into a source of comprehensive reviews of the many tantalizing documentaries that I watch on Netflix Watch Instantly. I've been planning this for months now, but somehow getting a star rank on 150cc Mario Kart Wii has been more of a priority in the past six weeks. Sorry.

Squirrel Stuff I Own: Vintage Squirrel

I adore vintage squirrel items, and so was very pleased when this little rodent showed up, care of my mother, from a family friend back home.

He is adorable, and is currently acting as a table centerpiece (he may be small, but he's got the attitude to take up the whole table!) while I contemplate where he belongs amongst my other squirrel items.

I spend a lot of time on the Internet looking at vintage squirrel items. Luckily, I have buckets of self control, and have managed to keep myself from bidding on the sweet taxidermy banjo-playing squirrel I keep coveting. But self control can only last so long. Someday I'll snap and get that job in Antarctica I've been wanting, and I'll have that banjo-playing squirrel shipped to me way down at Amundsen-Scott, where I will be "the weird kitchen worker with the dead squirrel in her room."

Which is not too much worse than my current status as "the weird database manager who wrote that children's book about calling in payroll."

Squirrel Stuff I Own: Tiny Office Squirrels

As I alluded to in my previous post post, I do, in fact, have a real job that requires me to wear pants, sit up straight, and not be drunk. I also brush my hair most days.

Normally having to wear real pants would be a big downer for me, but luckily I've got some great coworkers at my job and they work hard to encourage me. ("Wow, pants two days in a row, Casey? You are doing awesome! Keep it up!")

They also tend to buy squirrel stuff for me now, which is really great. In fact just last week my coworker G left these little guys on my desk.

It was funny, though, because she waited for me to leave for a few moments, gleefully placed them on my keyboard, and then waited in her office for my reaction, which I think was pretty perfect.

"GUYS, THERE ARE TINY SQUIRRELS ON MY DESK. Guys! GUYS! Does anyone else see this? Oh no, am I hallucinating again? Seriously, does anyone else see these tiny squirrels?!"

And that's not an exaggeration; I actually said those things.

Anyway, I quickly discovered that the squirrels were more than just tiny desk decorations of love. They could be my little helpers as well!

They help me load paper into the printer when we run out.

They help me with my database updates and gift entry tasks.

They answer the phone when people dial the wrong number and then insist that they dialed the correct number even though I know there is nobody named Candylicious who works here.

And most importantly, they help all of us with the filing.

Most people with regular jobs have to leave their crazy at home, but I'm lucky I get to bring my crazy with me to work. And when my coworkers walk in on me at 8:55 AM taking pictures of a squirrel in the filing cabinet, it doesn't even occur to them to look for psychiatrists in the area who take our insurance. No, they have other more pressing concerns on their minds.

"Wow, it's Friday and you're still wearing pants, Casey! This is a banner week for you!"

Wait, what kind of royal wedding?

Sometimes I forget that I have a blog. I'll post twice in a week and then completely forget about the poor thing. I won't even check in on Blogger.com because I'm too busy looking at squirrel taxidermy options on eBay and sending ridiculous Easter ecards to my friends around the nation.

It's like I have a regular job or life or something. Probably the first one.

But it's days like this when I gleefully recall that I do have a blog and this blog potentially has readers and those readers want to know about a fantastic half birthday gift that I received the other day. (And yes, for those of you keeping score, it's still a little early for my half birthday, but my friend M is so efficient that he traveled back in time from my half birthday in order to give this to me. Thanks, M!)

Yeah, that's right, bitches, I'm going to knit myself a royal wedding, complete with Camilla, vicar, and a herd of corgis. No, there is nothing weird about this, why do you ask? Which knitter among us isn't knitting a herd of corgis in preparation for this special occasion?

Now if you'll excuse me the Queen's hair is giving me some trouble, and it looks like B is trying to research divorce lawyers again, silly husband. Corgis, attack!!!

Found Squirrels: Squirrel Lamp

I love it when people send me pictures of squirrels and squirrel stuff! No matter how many times they've sent me squirrel things before, my heart always manages to skip a beat when I see a new squirrel item land in my mailbox.

This stunning little albino squirrel lamp was sent to me by, of all people, my new boss at my job! Normally I try to keep my rodent obsession secret, at least for a few months, so that people don't judge me too harshly immediately. My usual slow introduction was thwarted by my coworkers, who informed our new boss about "Casey's squirrel thing" within the first week.

Thanks, guys.

Luckily, she seems to think it's charming (let's hope that continues), and even played along by sending me this squirrel lamp she found in Brooklyn. Awesome!

Den of the Devil

We headed up to Connecticut on Saturday to visit a friend and get some exposure to nature.

I don't know when it happened but I have apparently turned into a city kid. My shoe choice for this excursion was both completely inappropriate and dangerous, the lack of garbage freaked me out, and at one point I thought the sound made by my corduroy jacket was actually the calls of a beaver following me.

It's all very wrong. I used to be so comfortable in wild places. Now I'm confused if I don't have concrete under my feet.