The Ongoing Saga of Atticus Finch...who may or may not be a zombie

...No, not the character from the book. I'm fairly certain he's not a zombie. Atticus Finch is a bird. Betcha can't guess what kind of bird!

...What? You say a finch?...Oh. You're right. How'd you know?!

So the day before we're supposed to leave for two weeks at work, this bird who somebody said was dead, but obviously wasn't unless he's a zombie bird, flew into the library.

...Actually, maybe he is a zombie bird. Question: Do zombie birds eat human brains or bird brains? I'm hoping bird brains, but then we'd actually have to find and kill birds for him to eat and I wouldn't really like that.

This shit is getting confusing.

Okay. Back to the story. Bird flies into library where I work. I try my best to chase him out of the open door, but he doesn't want to leave because it's warm in there and apparently he likes law books. I forgot to mention that it's a law library. So there you go. It's a law library. I won't tell you which one because I don't want to reveal my true, not-super-hero identity because obviously having an awesome blog is a total super power.

I spent most of the day trying to get poor little Atticus outside. Because I didn't have anything better to do with my time. Or I did and I just didn't want to do it. Not relevant to the story, people!

All of my 55 followers on Twitter followed the saga intensely. Or not. Really, I think most of them ignored it.

So that means, I'm going to post the Tweets right here!...So more people can ignore them! (Yes, my life is sad.)

@AwesomeWordage

Jeez, even the birds need help today!

@AwesomeWordage

Birdy is hiding who-knows-where. Pretty sure it's not dead.

@AwesomeWordage

It could possibly be dead. Or dancing the cha-cha. It's hard to tell at this point.

@AwesomeWordage

Found the bird. Chased it around the library in the hopes that it would fly out the door.

@AwesomeWordage

He's now hiding under a bookcase. He's a finch and his name is Atticus. Can we keep him?

At one point, somebody managed to catch him, but when he went to show us the bird, Atticus flew away and back into the depths of the library. If I was really good at remembering quotes, this is where I would add a relevant touching quote from To Kill a Mockingbird. But I'm not, so fill in the blanks yourself.

By the way, I'm just assuming you get the reference to the book. His name is Atticus, he's a finch and apparently he wants to spend the rest of his days in a law library. If you don't get the reference, look it up on SparkNotes.

So anyway. The day ends, Atticus is still in the library and we try feeding him nuts, raisins, and bread. He doesn't eat. I get pretty terrified about finding a dead, smelly bird when I return to work. In two weeks. The boss came back the next day and left him bird seed and called somebody out to try to capture him, but he couldn't be found.

He still can't be found. There's little traces of Atticus everywhere. A little poop, some scattered bird seed and random sounds that really make me wonder if he is a zombie bird and he wants to eat my brain. And then I think I see something flying out of the corner of my eye and this bird is possibly toying with my mind and trying to drive me crazy. Before he eats my brains. That's like playing with your food. Not cool, dude.

I wonder what would happen if he does eat my brains. Do I become a human zombie or a bird zombie? How does that work? I need to find out more about the logistics of zombie-ism. Specifically the section about birds.

Really, what is Twitter for if it's not to harass celebrities without any threat of a restraining order?

Conversation I had with Pat while I was peeing...

Pat: Dude, I just thought of something.

Me: ...what? (When Pat says that, you have to be kind of scared.)

Pat: Instead of writing letters to Santa, we should write letters to Tim Allen.

Me: Why would we-- oh...Does he have a Twitter?!

Because, you know, Tim Allen was Santa in that one movie. And the sequel. But I think there was only one sequel because there is such a thing as too many movies starring Tim Allen as Santa.

I know you're wondering and, no, Pat and I don't write letters to Santa. But his dad has a plastic light up Santa on his front lawn every year, and I'm pretty sure that counts. Except for when Santa got stolen and Christmas was ruined. I can't be sure, but I'm pretty sure it was the Grinch. Because that's the kind shit that asshole would totally do.

But really, so many adults would write letters to Santa if he was really Tim Allen. Because we all remember Home Improvement and that was an awesome show. And plus, we could all Tweet him with our Christmas wish lists and that involves way less effort than writing a letter and mailing it. Because who has stamps anymore?

So there you go. An obviously rock-solid logical argument for why you should Tweet @ofctimallen immediately to let him know what you want. And if you actually get it, then we'll know for sure. Tim Allen is magic. And instead of having a sleigh with reindeer, he probably rides a narwhal that will totally stab your ass if you tried to sneak a peek of Santa Allen. 

And while we're here, we also have to use our Twitter power to elect Tom Hanks as president. Because I'm pretty sure that's how presidents are elected and,  really, who wouldn't want Tom Hanks as their president? Satanists, that's who. And maybe a few guys that were forced to see You've Got Mail with their girlfriends and for some reason, they're holding a grudge against Tom Hanks. But really, it's not his fault you have a shitty girlfriend, bro.

So, recap: Tweet your Christmas list to @ofctimallen and elect #TomHanks2012 and I'm pretty sure that will fix the entire world. Do some good this Christmas, folks. 

A response to Lemons. Not the actual fruit, though...stop nitpicking and just read it.

My friend Sam of Sacto Food and Insurance recently posted about a strange tradition his family has involving lemons. Not strange as in we-use-lemon-zest-for-our-human-sacrifices, but more like we're-a-family-of-dorks-that-come-up-with-weird-games-because-we-can-and-because-it's-better-than-zesting-each-other-and-arguing-over-who's-turn-it-is-to-kill-Uncle-Bill.

So, you know. Not strange at all.

And I was going to post a comment about my favorite thing about lemons, but I thought it was blog-worthy because, honestly, I spend too much time reading other people's blogs instead of updating mine and so I should probably just isolate myself from the rest of the world because maybe then I'll actually get something done. Except I'm pretty sure that isolation would mean that I wouldn't even be able to update my blog because the Internet is the world and unless my telepathic blogging powers improve, I still need a laptop and Internet.

Call now to find out about free shipping. But wait, there's more! Call now and we'll throw in a free Crazy Critter!

Sorry. I just got my telepathic blogging confused with the television commercial that I didn't even know I was paying attention to. Wait--does that mean the advertisers are communicating telepathically to me so I can write telepathically to you about Crazy Critters? Touche, dog vacuum cleaner people.

I just had to re-read the beginning of this post because I forgot what I was talking about. Lemons. I was talking about lemons. And human sacrifices. Which pleases the gods way more if they involves lemon zest. I know these things because I watch National Geographic.

In order to understand the awesomeness of lemons, you'll need a hyperactive dog and a lemon. Give said lemon to dog to play with. Watch dog and laugh when her teeth break through the peel and she suddenly realizes that what you gave to her was not a ball, but some sour-tasting ball impostor. Like an alien ball or something. And then laugh some more when she stares at you while licking her lips with that bitter beer look on her face.

But don't leave the room just yet, because soon enough, the dog will smell the lemon. She'll think, maybe it wasn't what created that weird taste. Maybe it was aliens. It's always aliens to your dog if you train it right. And so happy puppy forgets about her first taste of lemon, picks it up, tastes it again, and immediately drops it. And then stares at you with contempt. It's absolutely hilarious to watch, especially if your dog is a little slow and tries to play with the lemon again and again. I'm pretty sure this is like an official dog IQ test.

And if you smell lemons during the middle of the night while you're sleeping, you might want to wake your sleeping ass up and run because your dog is probably very pissed off and may be trying to kill you. But at least her breath smells nice. It's a win for everyone.

Side note: I found this talking cat thing and made it say "If I were you, I wouldn't fall asleep tonight. Just sayin'. I may be a zombie. Or I may just want to eat you because I've always wondered what human flesh tastes like. Either way, I'm feeling a little bite-y today." Except it says it in the Nigel voice and every time I play it, I giggle a lot and I want to show it to Pat, but he's taking a nap right now and I can't send it to him without signing up for a free trial and I'm pretty sure free trials are just made up by companies so they can steal your soul. But the joke's on them because by the end of your life, you've already signed up for a million free trials to get pudding and send murderous talking cats to people, so they really only get a small portion of your soul. And there's nothing you can do with 0.000000005% of a soul, except maybe mash it together with the other small soul pieces you have. And I'm pretty sure that's how monsters are made. So, really, I'm saving us all from monsters by having this talking cat waiting to do his shit on another tab for the past hour (Pat takes long naps), even if it's slowing my computer down. That's sacrifice, y'all. The martyr kind, not the kind with lemon zest.

Side note 2: I just showed the homicidal talking cat to Pat and he just laughed. Not even a lot. But when I told him that waiting for him to get up so I could show it to him, he said "really?!" like I had said that I wanted to season him with lemon zest. But really, I'm saving his life from mashed-up-soul monsters.

Giving Thanks...brought to you by the letter "B"

It's Thanskgiving Day, and while I'm sifting through the insane amounts of "Happy Thanksgiving" posts on Facebook, I thought I'd share in the odd festivities (think about it: today is the day we're supposed to give thanks, but not many do that now because they just want to eat. So instead, we stuff ourselves silly on a meal that took hours and hours and hours to cook and then lay on the couch in a food coma while our bodies digest enough food to make room for dessert. Best. Holiday. Ever). So I present to you: the things I am thankful for...


Friends, family and all that junk. Let's just be honest here. If I didn't put this first, I'd start getting calls from family members because they don't understand how I could possibly be more thankful for farts than them. And then I'd probably end up disowned or something. So let's just get it out of the way.


Cats with extra toes. It's evolution in the making.

The Internet. Because without it, where would we go to learn things? And get our porn?

Farts. Because they're funny and useful for many things--clearing some space in your stomach, ruining touching moments, giving your fiance a dutch oven (hi honey! I love you!) and clearing out a room for some much-needed alone time.

Burps. They're like farts, but from your mouth.

Dogs that fart and burp. One of the best laughs I've ever had was when Luna burped while licking her...um...private area. Just thinking about it makes me feel all giggly.

Rubber band balls. Did I ever tell you that Sir Baron Bouncy Biggles Barnum Baxter Francis III came back? Well, he did. And he's been an asshole ever since, but as long as I can bounce him around on my desk, I'll deal.

Bed. Because it's super awesome and warm.

Turkey basters WITHOUT holes in them. When I was a kid, I was burned by a leaky turkey baster. In the place that would've been my boob if I had any then. Ever since then, I've had a very delicate relationship with basters. As long as they don't have holes in them where they can horribly burn me with hot turkey jizz, I'll give them credit for making turkeys juicy and delicious--that is what they do, right?

Being a college graduate. Thanksgiving sucks when you have midterms or finals to worry about.

Bacon. The 8th-10th wonder of the world. Yeah, that's right. Bacon is so awesome that it's more than one wonder. I mean, is there anything that can't be made better with bacon? No. Even bacon tastes better with bacon.

Smartphones. Recently, Pat and I joined the world of smartphone ownership. So now, not only can we check our twitter on the go, but we have more ways to avoid talking to someone in an awkward situation. Maybe I'm getting an important text message, or maybe I'm just playing Words With Friends. Either way, I'm not paying attention to you.

Beer. For making life more fun.

Boobies. I have them, you want them.

Breakfast served all day. Pat and I never wake up in time for breakfast, but we don't want to miss out on the most important meal of the day. So it's nice when places will give us breakfast, even after all the normal people have already had theirs. No thanks to you, McDonald's.

I don't know if you've noticed, but a lot of awesome things start with "B." So not only is this post like a cornucopia of awesome things that we should all be thankful for, it's like Sesame Street over here now. I'm teaching your children about B and all the fun things it bring. Kids: B is the awesomest letter in the entire alphabet. It'll kick G's ass! Unless it's your grade, and in that case, it's not good enough and you're a disappointment to mommy and daddy.

You Win Again, Windows Update!

I hate Windows update. And you best believe that I'm going to tell you why.

So here I am on my day off, getting into my daily habit of avoiding doing things with the internet. And Windows update, which has been happily downloading in the background while I make sure I'm not missing any super-important updates on Facebook, pops up to tell me I need to restart my laptop to install said updates.


So I delay the update, telling them to remind me in four hours because, surely in four hours, I'll actually be doing something useful instead of looking at bikes I want to buy on the internet.

Well, of course I'm doing something else in four hours. I'm watching a video about Pee-Wee Herman and Footloose. On the internet. And the little reminder pops up again to tell me what a loser I am for spending the past four hours straight getting distracted by random things online while still in my PJs.

I delay it for another hour, knowing that there's things I need to get done and I will most definitely be doing those things before an hour elapses. Right? An hour before I need to leave my laptop alone. That's it. I can do that.

An hour later, I'm reading a blog about giant metal chickens, with another tab open up to YouTube because I'm simultaneously not-really-watching vlogs. And then another tab open to Facebook because, again, I may miss an important update if I don't check it constantly. And I can't forget the tab open to Target because I want new pretty things and I can only afford new pretty things from Target.

And Windows update, that sneaky little bastard, has learned to give me the update notice in the background when I'm so distracted that I don't notice the little flashy symbol on my taskbar and instead continue happily on my interneting spree.

So inevitably, it happens. Windows decides that it's now or never and closes all my browser tabs after a whole afternoon of finding the perfect tab combination.

For at least 30 seconds, I get scared, thinking that my laptop is possessed by that black widow I killed last week and I start to wonder how I'm going to find an appropriate exorcist if I can't get on the internet.

Until I realize that it's been an hour since Windows update last bothered me. I shake my fist in anger as my laptop shuts down and decide to take the forced break from the internet to finally brush my teeth and get dressed.

And now you know how I spent my Friday. I'm happy, but not quite proud, that I'm back on the internet so I can continue reading blogs and checking Facebook and deciding what I'm going to buy at Target. It's important stuff. Somebody has to make sure the internet is still working. And hey, at least I brushed my teeth. 

What I Did on My Summer Vacation (Featuring Justin Bieber!)

For some reason, around this time of the year, I always feel like I'm not doing something that I should be doing. And then I figured it out: I'm not writing my yearly What I Did on Summer Vacation essay!

I know ya'll had to do this as kids, too. Don't lie. And, if you're like me, yours were probably pretty lame and boring. And, of course, I was so obsessed with this essay that during the summer, I'd catalog the things I did and write them out in my head. Yeah. Now you know why I have a blog. Because I was a freak child that wrote stories about talking turkeys named JTT. True story. See, I love you so much that I embarrass myself for your entertainment.

So here it is, the essay we've all been waiting for: What I Did on My Summer Vacation.

My summer vacation is no longer like a vacation. Because I have a big people's job and no more school. So my whole life is kind of like a summer vacation! Except I have to work. Which kind of makes it one of those summer vacations where your parents make you get a job, even though you had planned to spend the entire summer at the lake with your friends. Because we all live near a lake where we hang out with our friends, right? And there's a rope swing there, too, of course.

So my summer began in Los Angeles, where we went to check out the tar pits. Actually, that was last summer, but let's just imagine that it was this summer for the sake of storytelling. Okay? Okay.

So there we were at the La Brea Tar Pits, looking down on all that hot, sticky tar. It was kinda like looking at a pit of hot, bubbling fudge, but more smelly. I decided to find out if it tasted anything like hot fudge, so I climbed over the fence of the biggest pit (you know, the one with the mammoth forever slipping into the tar). As I climbed over, my foot slipped and I fell into the pit, much like Alice fell down the rabbit hole, except this was a hot stinky mess  and I was sure to suffer the fate of that stupid mammoth.

What they don't tell you about the tar pits is that it's actually not tar. No. It looks like it, it smells like it, but it's really just a facade covering up one of the biggest conspiracies known to man.

How's that for a hook?

So I slipped under the tar and landed butt-first on a bouncy castle. I bounced high into the air, doing a backflip before landing on my feet in front of the castle. It was pretty sweet.

Looking around, I quickly discovered what was going on. Computer screens covered the walls, each with a man sitting in front of it, swiveling their chairs back in forth in unison. On each screen was Carson Daly, dotingly looking into the camera. I jumped as the guy to the left of me yelled out. "Aaand...now! Wink wink! Head bob!" A couple of the other guys typed away furiously on their keyboards. "Good job, boys!" This was Bieber Command Central.

"I knew Justin Bieber was a robot! His hair was just too perfect!" I shouted, causing everyone to turn around in their chairs. Blank stares surrounded me as I whipped out my camera to finally get the proof I was seeking.

Too late. The guy nearest to me jumped me, pinning my arms to my sides as we toppled to the ground.
"No one can know!" He shouted.

"Look! Justin Bieber is malfunctioning!" I looked at the screens in mock horror. All chairs turned back the computer as the guy released me and ran to his station. I ran to the nearest exit. I knew it was an exit because the sign above the door said "Exit."

"BIEBER BOT, GO! Get her!!!" The guy yelled as I opened the door. I needed to find a way out before Justin Bieber found me! I heard a loud roar and Carson Daly yell out, "What the--are you okay? Justin?! OMG, he IS a robot!" as the door shut loudly behind me.

After running for what seemed like forever (I knew I should have exercised more), I found a way out of the corridors. I climbed out, only to discover myself in the middle of Disneyland.

"Bieber minions, get her!" A voice shouted. Wait--was that I girl? I looked around to see Justin Bieber pointing at me as millions of prepubescent girls began screaming horrible, ear-piercing screeches as they charged me, fanning themselves with signed pictures of the Bieber Bot himself.

I started running toward the exit, but stopped short. This was Disneyland, ya'll! I wasn't just going to leave. No. I had to beat the Bieber. All I had to do was destroy his hair. That's where all his power lies.

Don't ask me how I know this. I just do. Because I'm magic. Or something.

So I charged through the Bieber maniacs, bouncing between them like a pinball, making my way toward their girly-sounding king as they furiously clawed at me.

I finally made it through. We stood face to face as his minions circled us like a bunch of sharks circling a guy trying to snowboard in the ocean. They knew I was going to drown soon.

"Call them off, Bieber!" I cried.

He laughed a most sinister, robot laugh. I'm sure you know what that sounds like, so I don't need to explain it. "Fine. I'll defeat you by myself! Beliebers, you are released!" All the girls screamed as they broke out of their trance. They looked at Justin Bieber. He winked at them and cocked his head. They all fainted.

"Your tyranny ends now, Bieber!" I yelled, wielding the electric razor that, of course, had been in my pocket all along. He charged at me, jaws opened wider than any human jaws could. I could see all the lights inside his mouth grow larger as he drew nearer. All the pretty lights. There were red, green, orange, blue, and some kind of purple-y yellow that was my favorite. All of a sudden, all I wanted to do was reach inside that mouth and touch those pretty blinky lights....prettttttyy.

I reached out. He was almost close enough to touch. Touch the lights. Be with the lights. Maybe living in Justin Bieber's robot stomach wouldn't be that bad...as long as I had those lights.

"Lisa!" I heard someone yell out. I snapped out of my trance, looking around. Luna was hovering about Bieber's head. And no, I did not find this odd at all. "Use the force!" I nodded and quickly jumped as Bieber charged me, grabbing a bite of my shoe. He looked around confused as I landed behind him.

He turned around, hearing the whirr of the electric razor as I turned it on.

"It ends now, Bieber Bot!" I took a leap into the air toward him, the razor in my outstretched hand. I shaved off the top of his hair. He reached up and touched his new bald spot, looking down at the hair on the ground frantically.

"NOOOO! My power!" He yelled as he fell to the ground, weakened. I took the opportunity to charge him, quickly shaving off the rest of his perfect locks.

"You won't be causing any more prepubescent girls to swoon," I said, shaving the last of his hair off.
I collected the hair and gave it to all the fangirls, but they didn't care anymore because they had already forgot who Justin Bieber was.

Infiltrating VidCon...Just for You!

So all you good followers are probably anxiously awaiting this magnificent blog post I promised you. To that I say, don't you have a life?

Nevertheless, here it is, the reason why we went to LA in the first place. Sure, we went to have fun and explore, but there was a reason that started it all. We just don't pack up and head to LA for no reason.

Look! It's a Tesla Coil! But that's not the point. You see, our trip centered around a visit to VidCon. Yes. VidCon. A blogger went to a YouTube conference. Do you feel betrayed? Because it would be totally awesome if you did.

So why did I, a super-awesome blogger, decide to spend my weekend keeping company with those low-down vloggers?

I honestly don't know. It was Pat's idea, really. I just went along for the ride. I mean, who would willingly spend so much time with nerds like that?

I mean, look at them, with their cameras in the air. Filming. Really?! Filming? Don't they all know that blogging is the wave of the future? Don't they know that only the uber nerds use their cameras to make videos? It's all about the pictures and the words, ya'll.

Why do I keep saying ya'll? Maybe I caught something from one of those YouTubers. Note to self: schedule doctor's appointment to get that checked out.

I really was the life of the party. Everybody wanted to get a picture with the world-famous blogger of Awesome Wordage. Like this famous (if you can call YouTube celebrity fame. Psssh.) girl that got her start from the 'Tubes.

I know you don't recognize her, but that right there is Jessica Rose from LonelyGirl15 "fame." I'm sure you can tell by this picture that I'm all like, "'sup. I'm wearing brown shorts because I'm awesome." And she's all like, "OMG, it's totally that chick that made that blog post about towels!!!!!!1" Because that's exactly what happened. And check the Rockstar product placement, too.  Yeah, I'm totally (not) sponsored.

And then this guy practically attacked me with what is obviously extreme excitement from meeting his favorite person in the world. You know it.

Seriously folks, this place was just a giant nerd fest. I will never understand why people would want to share things about themselves on the internet. Weirdos.