Steve was bitten by a zombie. Chelsea is coming down with cholera.

Me: I can't say I regretted going to Awakening, though.
Fiancè: I can. I wasn't even there, but I can regret it for the both of us. I'm Regretta Garbo.



Me: Wait, "The Girl From Ipanema" has words?
Male Coworker: Yes.
Other Coworker: Yes. Wait, why are you talking about "The Girl from Ipanema?"
Male Coworker: You're missing the point here. We both knew something that she didn't.



Me: So I was playing Organ Trail and live Facebooking it.  Like, my station wagon kept catching on fire---
Fiancè: Wait, you had fires in your station wagon?
Me: Yeah. Well, that would happen in Oregon Trail too, remember? But anyway, I blame that bitch Rolanda, who keeps getting typhoid and shit. And Larry got measles so I killed him. That shit's infectious.
Fiancè: Rolanda?
Me: Yeah. I was like "Rolanda, stop lighting up in here." And Larry got measles so I killed him. That shit's infectious.
Fiancè: What is wrong with you?

 

Bryan: and then you reach a point where you say "fuck this shit" and flip your goat. But you have to reach that point on your own. Nobody can teach it to you.



Fiancè: All right, but remember to share your flan
Me: After all, if you've got it, flan-t it!
Fiancè: .....it is so hard not to stab you right now.

Your tongue is your ambassador

Fiancé: Your head has too many angles, like a thirty sided die.
Me: So what, I can play that French racing game?
Fiancé:Wow, good on you for coming up for a place the d30 is actually used. I have a keeper.




Bryan: I assume it's so high fantasy that you can't breathe the air up there.



Coworker: We were watching the beginning of the walking dead, and [my Fiancé] felt bad about the horse.
Me: Well that was totally Rick's fault. He was too much of a pussy to go into that house with the dead people.
Coworker: After all he's seen.....
Me: No. It's the zombie apocalypse. You go big or go home.
Coworker: YOLO.




Me: Look, it's the Bremen Town Musicians!
Fiancé: Does anybody ever know what the fuck you're talking about?



Bryan: I loved the fuck out of Sailor Moon at the time. Look at their faces. And it's stupid. Tuxedo Mask. Dumb as shit.



Fiancé: It's a fourth wall breaking knife YOU'RE IN A VIDEO GAME.



Me laughing
Fiancé: What are you doing?
Housemate: I just told her that I didn't know where we should put curtains.
Fiancé: They go on windows.


My fortune cookie: Your tongue is your ambassador
(I laughed until I cried. For five to ten minutes. While the rest of the table kind of awkwardly finished their meal.)



Me: So the AKC is following me on Twitter now.
Fiancé: They should. You're a crime against dogmanity.
Me:  .....what?

Library Quotes

Small child in the picture book room: Where's *insert the children's librarian's name here* Hey!
Coworker: Should we tell her *children's librarian* went home?
Me: Nah, she'll figure it out. It's the Suzuki method.
Coworker: Tell me again why you're not going to grad school.

A patron: well, my eyes are going, but I only need to see hot men and large print books. 


Coworker: So, you read about serial killers and things. Do you have, like, a favorite serial killer?
Me: Not really
Coworker is visibly relieved. 
Coworker: Well,  is there one you read about more than the others?
Me: What, for pointers? No.

Coworker: Do you have any gum?
Me:  Yeah, it's on my shelf under the Titanic.
Coworker: Because where else would it be.
Me: It's Dentyne Ice, isn't it?



Me: Hey, if you Google Maps "Sedan Crater" you can see the nuclear bomb craters at the Nevada Test Site!
Coworker: What is wrong with you?

View Larger Map

 Male Coworker: I'm surprised you haven't killed like, fourteen people by now.
Me: What, me personally, or the two of us?
Male Coworker: You personally.

Coworker to me: I'm surprised you don't know how to hotwire a car.

A Conversation About What is "Real"

My fiancé and I were in the car, heading out to a day-after-Valentine's-Day lunch when we passed a NYSEG truck. The pair of cones the truck carried in its front...grille? Cone rack? Whatever. The cones in the front thing were racked point down, and I exclaimed "Vampire NYSEG truck, why??"  My fiancé gave me the side eye and said "Uh, what?"
"The cones in the front of the truck, they were point down so they looked like fangs."
He nodded, still looking at me kind of like that. "Oh."

Then, on our way home from our day-after-Valentine's-Day lunch, we passed another NYSEG truck, this one with the cones point up. "Look!" I exclaimed. "Orc NYSEG!"

My fiancé sighed and reached over to pat me on the head. "Honey," he said in a gentle, understanding voice. "That's a Boar NYSEG truck. Orcs aren't real like boars and vampires."

Train of Thought

Occasionally, people react to my thoughts and habits in a way that surprises me, but also really makes me laugh. Not too long ago, I already posted one conversation along those lines. I've had a few others since, with varying people.

One day at work:

I turned to a coworker and said "Did you know that if you Google Maps search the Nevada Test Site, you can look at the bomb craters?" I think this is very cool, by the way, in a chilling sort of way. A testament to an era of nuclear testing that was probably not the best of plans.

My coworker looked at me, glanced at the screen, and said "What is wrong with you?"

The other day when friends were over:

Friend: You know, most people have light bathroom reading. You have On Killing: The Psychological Cost of Learning to Kill in War. And oh yeah, the book that the movie Shooter was based on.

Me: There are some National Geographics in there as well.

Other friend: Bathroom reading is proportionate to IQ.

Upon receipt of an order of Chinese food:

Me: You know, take out bags don't seem nearly as happy anymore. I mean, look at that smiley face. It's really just kind of meh.

My fiancé : The shit you come up with. Takeout bags not happy anymore.

Me: *laughing*


Another day at work:

Coworker, scanning books to see what people they go to: Jen, you might be taking your character things too far.

The book? Never Suck a Dead Man's Hand.