"I just wanted you all to know that I had an epiphany while I was in the bathroom urinating..."

Okay. Thanks.

Dollar4Life

Okay, so I'm broke. Well, not broke. But I'm not rich, which is the opposite of broke and the in-between, under the current administration, is really "trying not to go broke." But I feel this unending need to give money away. Too much of it makes me feel bad. So, okay, a lot of that goes to Target, where I buy most of my possessions. But some of it goes to charity. The problem is that I feel weird donating $1 if I'm not putting it directly into a red bucket outside the Wal-mart. The one with the rusty red earrings. But at the Dollar4Life page, I can give as little as $1 if I have to. Although I prefer to give more.

The Dollar4Life campaign is about mobilizing a large community through small donations. Every person who donates will help to save a life. Every person who sends someone else to this site will help us to raise awareness. Everyone can make a difference. Even if they have no ears left. Thanks, Wal-mart.

"So I bought these red hoops because I thought I might wear them with that dress and, you know, red hoops: so versatile!"

"Yeah, in 1983."

"Okay, so the next time I wear my Jody Watley costume I'll break them out. Anyway, I couldn't get them in right and I took them out and looked at them and the posts were all rusty!"

"Ugh! God!"

"I know. So if you see my ears blow up and fall off, you'll know to blame Wal-mart's jewelry department."

"And you. For buying red hoops."

"Fine!"

About the funniest frickin' song I've ever heard. You should check it out. It's not an unreasonable request. It's not like I'm going to eat your brain.

I make my own stuff at Neighborhoodies.

So the baby woke up twice last night. That's not a new event. She's been complaining of "Big Bird atta weendow." That would scare me, too.

But on top of that, the dog lost his mind at 3 a.m. He woke me up, howling, and running in circles. He scrabbled at the front door, then scrabbled at the back door... man, I thought there was a werewolf outside. It was freaky. Then he went and hid under a c chair, trembling. Knowing him, it was probably a squirrel. But it still freaked me out.

Through it all, my husband snored. Loudly. I wanted to kick him. How can he complain about my snoring and then sleep through that kind of chaos? I stomped into the bedroom to... do something. I don't know what. Yell at him, probably.

But then I realized: I am the presence of sleep greatness. Waking him? That's like drawing a mustache on the Mona Lisa. So I let him sleep.

And plotted my revenge.

Finally! A reason to praise the Internet's existence. You know. Besides porn. Gotta fill up the gas tank? And don't we all? Check this site before you go. It shows the gas prices in the areas around you. Power to the people. Poorly paid workers of the world unite.

"Hats is over. Do you want to cut it?" A.W. asks.
"You can cut it however you want, but the last one." T.G. says.
"What if I cut the J.K. Rowling? Or will that break A.C.'s heart?" A.C. asks.
"Noooooo!" A.C. moans.
"What, is it the Dumbledore is gay information?" I ask.
"Yeah." A.C. says.
"Dumbledore is gay?" T.G. asks.
"Yeah."
"A gay teacher?" T.G. asks.
"A gay headmaster." I answer.
"Well, that goes without saying." T.G. says.
(silence)
"Ba-dum-bum!" T.G. grins.
(groan)

I walk in this morning and a co-worker (whom I shall not name) stops me.
"Hey, literary chick!" She holds out a gift bag left over from the Metro's Best party. "Do you know where...?"
I look at the name tag. Edward Cashin.
"The man is dead, [name withheld]!" I laugh.
"Then why did we make him something?!"
"I don't know. I'll get it to his wife," I reach for it and she snatches it back.
"What?"
"Someone stole Todd Schafer's," she says.
"So?"
"So, he's an actual advertiser."
"Uh! ASU's an advertiser!"
"ASU's not going to stop running ads with us because the dead guy didn't get something," she says.
"Oh, my god. His wife will appreciate it very much."
She hands it back to me. I peruse the remaining bags, trying to think of someone we can steal from to replace Todd Schafer's missing bag.
"Look, here..." I reach for a bag.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm helping try to figure out someone who doesn't need a bag."
She holds her hands out, stop-the-violence style.
"We're good. We got it."

Yeah, tell that to Ed Cashin. He only died right in the middle of voting and all, you goofballs.

Oops.

For most 20-something couples in New York City, it's tough enough to afford the things they need, let alone the little excess pleasures in life. That's why this pair of artists is looking for a bit of extra help. They're selling paintings of things they want. Some, like "Sleep" and "To Hear a Good Joke" are free.

Sounds odd, I know, but the idea is so fresh and original, and their style is graphic and sometimes cartoonish. It's a fun, affordable and definitely hip commentary on consumerism, capitalism and the power of the newly flattened earth.

Each of their paintings represents an item they want and costs the price of the real item. Whether it's a slice of pepperoni pizza ($3), Frozen Margaritas ($30) or an iPhone ($432.42), they're going to use the money they make to buy that Want. They're even open to trade, so if you've got a Wii, you've got a painting.

Browse through their gallery, get in touch with your id, and see if there's anything you want.

"I four!" Emmie runs up holding up five fingers.
"What, sweetheart?" I ask.
"I four," she grins and shows me her hand.
"Actually, you're two," I explain gently, and hold up two fingers in a peace sign.
Her face brightens.
"I two?!" she exclaims, and stares at her fingers. I don't know exactly what we're actually communicating about, but she was wrong either way. Five fingers does not equal four, and she's actually just two years old. So while I'm sure she wasn't trying to express the concept of age, I feel okay about correcting her.
"That's right," I coo.
She frowns at her hands, wiggling her fingers.
"I can't mate a two!" she shrieks, and hold up five fingers again. "I four!"
I laugh so hard I think I'm going to wet my pants. Child development specialists talk about setting appropriate goals for children, with an appropriate level of difficulty matched with an appropriate end goal. I wonder what Piaget would make of this situation.
"Honey, look," I show her my fingers, and move hers into the same position. They pop back out.
"I can't!" she cries. "I not two!"
"Yes, you can," I say. "Try it again, sweetie."
She furrows her brow in concentration, and I can see the gears moving in her head. She is willing her fingers to bend to her command. Slowly she manipulates her fingers until they settle into place.
"Loot! I two!" she shriek-laughs. Yes, she is. Two for an endless summer. She's managed to make the hang-ten sign.
"That's perfect!" I laugh. "See? One, two!"
"Yeah! Hi-fi!" she holds her palm up and we slap our hands together.
Merrily, she runs across the room, back to her paints.
How smart she is, I think. How great.
"Loot! I two!" she says.
I turn to praise her.

She's showing the dog.

So this site lets you earn Points for doing what you already do online; shopping, reading emails, playing games, searching the web, taking surveys, and more. I've been a member for five years, and I've redeemed my points for hotel stays, retail gift certificates and gas cards.

Check out these handpicked highlights:

Visit MyPoints.com, Inc.

What is this light in our office, and why is it blinking?



I have never noticed it before and it is freaking me out.