HIPPO BRIGADE

I Have to Write a Book First

I want to go on a book tour. 

I guess I’d have to write a book first. 

But what would I write about?

I can’t give advice, I haven’t been through enough to warrant myself as an authority. 

I don’t have anything meaningful and inspirational to talk about. 

I think the most appealing thing about writing a book is the fancy book tour. 

I’d stay in Four Seasons all over the country, be jet-lagged, wear dark sunglasses, and order eggs benedict from room service. But  chances are, when I get to the book store there would probably only be two people in line, and they’d be all, I heard there might be free slushies. 

Crap.

My book sucks, and I haven’t even written it yet.

I’m Too Young and Adorable To Die

I’m pretty sure my insides are revolting against me and are trying to get out, because the other day I could have sworn I felt a hernia. 

There I was standing over a Pottery Barn catalog, when I decided to smooth out my shirt (or grope my stomach, I don’t know which), and I felt IT! It was right over my belly button: a protrusion of skin, and if I listened close enough I could hear the tiny cries of my small intestine pleading with my skin to let it out. It felt tender and just as I was about to storm out of the house and head straight to the E.R. I realized I should check with wikipedia and my husband for second and third opinions, I have some sense, you know. 

My husband confirmed he felt something, and then I went straight to the computer and began deliriously reading wikipedia about DEATH regarding hernias. OH SHIT, I’M GOING TO DIE! My small intestine is really pissed off, it’s leaving, and it’s taking my life with it! This was a lot to swallow, so I poured myself a glass of wine and decided to mourn. In my wallowing I made a list of all the things I want to do before I die:

• get “pug life” tattooed on my knuckles in honor of Zoey
• flash my boobs off the caboose of a train
• hang glide
• learn to levitate like David Blane
• compete in some sort of eating contest

That’s all I came up with when I began to fondle my hernia again. It made me shudder each time I touched it, but I knew if my life was on the line I had to make sure that what I had was indeed my innards trying to break free. Upon closer inspection, I realized that maybe it wasn’t a hernia after all. But instead, just my formerly pierced belly button skin.

It seems that I have grown a small lump at the piercing site and combined with the tenderness,  (because of the ka-jillion sit ups I did the day before, because of all the peanut butter eggs I ate the day before that) I concluded that it was not a hernia, just a dirty and semi-stinky belly button.

PHEW! I was so relieved. That was a close one. Having a hernia would have really sucked, and I’m pretty sure you guys wouldn’t even visit me in the hospital and bring me mylar balloons.

Q/A With Hippo Brigade 2

It’s time for another edition of Q/A with Hippo Brigade, where I find out the crazy crap you’re googling and try to answer your question or help you with what you’re looking for.

can a dog pass a dryer sheet?  Let’s first address why your dog ate a dryer sheet in the first place. I mean, who the frick does that? My dog just looks at dryer sheets, gives them an obligatory sniff, and then moves on. So, why is your dog eating dryer sheets? Did you run out of doggie snacks? Stop feeding her all together? That’s messed up. Of corse she’s relegated to eating dryer sheets, she’s STARVING!  For frick’s sake, feed your dog some food! 

do hippos feel wet when you touch it? That depends on if they are wet or not. My instinct says, if the hippo is laying in a pool of water, he’s going to feel wet, if he’s laying on the ground, working on his sexy suntan, he probably feels dry, albeit a little moist from all the sweating. 

why perms stink when you sweat? When was in fourth grade I was young and impressionable, and I acquired a perm. I’ll admit, the first few hours were semi-stinky ones. But after my head and hair learned to coexist, the stink dissipated and my curls were luxurious and adorable. Then after two days I could wash my head freely, so my advice is this: don’t get into sweaty situations for the first two days of perming your hair, after that, you can sweat all you’d like, but please take a shower afterwards. 

hippo butt cookies- There’s really no question here, just an awesome dessert idea for my next party

yellow flats and how to wear-Buy them and then place them on your feet. Avoid wearing red too, lest you enjoy looking like Ronald Mc Donald. 

nurses wipe shit? -Yup, that’s why when you find yourself in a hospital, you should try really hard not to shit yourself, because those nurses need a break. But if you can’t help it and you find yourself sitting in a heap of your own feces, you should quickly make your nurse a card, or a crocheted scarf to show her your appreciation for cleaning up your shit. 

This Post Was Supposed to Be About April Fools’, But It Sorta Turned into a Post About How Sucky St. Patrick’s Day Is.

I’m not really into April Fools’ Day. It’s like one of those non-holidays like St. Patrick’s Day. Saint Patrick’s Day is the worst. Especially when I was in elementary school. I remember scurrying around for something green. But because I was a budding fashionista, I learned early that green was not my color, so I never owned any green clothing. Which meant I had two options: I could either go to school wearing my brother’s green work-out shorts, or risk getting pinched. I would always choose the latter, and  by the end of the day I’d be surly and a little inflamed because of all the pinching. Oh, and one St. Patrick’s Day I was in kindergarden or first grade, and my dad packed my lunch, which meant I wasn’t so surprised when I got a handful of non-dairy creamer cups, 3 ketchup packets, and a tupperware container filled with applesauce with green food coloring. When I pulled out the applesauce I was horrified. Because applesauce isn’t supposed to be green! Gross! I tried to hide it from my friends, but they all saw it and made fun of me for the rest of the day for having green applesauce.  

And now I’m all upset right now because I just rehashed all of those sucky St. Patrick’s Day memories. So in an effort to not be surly and inflamed all day I’m not going to play into this whole April Fools’ Day madness and make up a fake post about how I found out that my husband was really my second cousin and our dog has been chosen to fly to the moon as the first pug astronaut. Because that’s just silly.  Plus, you guys are so smart, you’d never believe that my pug would  be the first- space-astronaut-dog. She’s already “big-boned” and wouldn’t be caught dead in a fluffy, puffy, pack-on-20-extra-pounds-astronaut suit. Geez.