memes.

I had never heard of a ‘meme’ until The Oatmeal posted its ‘My Daily Lie‘ comic. The Oatmeal (Matthew Inman) had a contest to see who could make their own ‘daily lie’ using a template he provided. This one came in second place:

the_oatmeal_daily_lieI didn’t get it. I had no idea what a meme was. To be honest, after doing more research into the meme explosion (bad luck brian! socially awkward penguin! chemistry cat!), I still don’t get what this particular one means.

But hey – memes are hectic right now, and I wanted to join in, so …

fancy_beaver_memeBAM.

katie

(Is this even a meme? Did I do it right?)

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emperor beaver.

Please hum the Star Wars theme song to yourself while viewing this photo.

dun dun dun DUN dun dundundundundunDUN

Are you humming?

Okay, good.

beaver wishes you all a happy thursday. may the forest be with you.

happy thanksgiving!

It’s Thanksgiving and beaver is hungry.

cartoon_turkeycartoon_beavercartoon_beaver_turkeyHappy Thanksgiving, everybody! We hope your turkey is easier to prepare than beaver’s.

ps. this is an overly dramatic cartoon. beaver doesn’t hurt other creatures.

beaver goes to the optometrist.

We recently took beaver to the optometrist, as we’d noticed one of his eyes tends to bulge out slightly, and we thought his vision might be a bit strained. We wanted to get him checked out, as we (of course) want beaver to be as healthy as possible. Unfortunately, beaver did not view it in the same light.

The car ride to the optometrist was difficult, to say the least. Beaver does not enjoy being in the car. In order to coax him in, I wave sticks near the car door, Dani scoops him up while he’s distracted, and together we strap him, howling, into the backseat. He doesn’t get carsick, but instead pretends to be violently ill and pantomimes throwing up in the backseat while making retching noises, which is unpleasant. He also has a tendency to fling himself back and forth while screeching and trying to shift gears when we are not looking. It’s impossible to say how many times we’ve caught him with his teeth around the shift knob, trying desperately to shift the car into neutral.

As soon as we made it to the optometrist’s office, beaver suddenly became docile and sat nicely while waiting for his appointment. We were suspicious.

Beaver was called back into the examination room. We walked him in, got him settled on the chair, and stationed ourselves on either side of him. We warned the doctor that beaver could get feisty, but she assured us she could handle him and that she’d rather us wait outside. We shrugged and headed back into the waiting room, leaving beaver eyeballing the equipment suspiciously.

We’d been sitting quietly in the waiting room for about 10 minutes, when all of a sudden we heard large crashing noises coming from the doctors office.

We got up and ran to the end of the hallway and there, to our horror, we spotted beaver triumphantly marching down the corridor towards us, the doctor unconscious on the floor behind him amidst a sea of instruments. Beaver had a spring in his step and a smirk on his whiskers as he strode towards us, his one arm pumping at his side and the other – the other clutching a stick that held a brand new, shiny monocle. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, our beaver is now the proud owner of a monocle, one which magnifies his already slightly bulging eye into a formidable eyeball of terror.

After hastily paying for damages and beaver’s visit fee, we bundled him into the car, where he spent the entire car ride home peering at us through his monocle. It was slightly unnerving to check the rear view mirror and see a giant eyeball looking back at you, but I must say, it was a vast improvement over beaver pretending to be sick in the backseat.

Beaver has since taken to striding about the backyard, waving jauntily at passing birds and giving Lucy, the dachshund next door, the hairy eyeball through his monocle. We shudder to think what he will do with it next. The neighbors today, and tomorrow – tomorrow the whole of Baltimore.

beaver never sleeps.

Imagine it.

A crisp night, wonderful sleeping weather. A breeze coming through your window and drifting across your face. The moon out and full, shining lightly into a corner of the room. Everything silent, and calm, and peaceful. You are wrapped in the coziest down comforter, on gorgeously soft sheets, fast asleep.

When –

From somewhere in the distance, a sound reaches into your deep, dreaming mind, and you stir.

rustle rustle

Your half-dreaming brain ignores the sound, and you sleepily roll over, drifting back to sleep, when –

rustle rustle

Suddenly, you’re awake. You peer anxiously over the side of the bed, but all is inky black, the moon illuminating only a tiny corner of your now suspiciously dark bedroom.

rustle rustle

You freeze, ears and eyes straining to see something, hear something, coming towards you in the darkness of your room. You see nothing. Hear nothing.

silence

After long, silent minutes, your body begins to relax. It was just a loose plastic bag, perhaps, or the dog next door shuffling about.

silence

You close your eyes and allow yourself to slowly drift back to sleep, when –

A ferocious, feral cry splits the night, and you tear your eyes open to see a small, dark body plummeting through the air towards your face, waving its arms and shrieking – oh, the ungodly shrieking – teeth bared, yellow eyes burning with rage.

You panic, flailing wildly, grabbing something – anything! – with which to defend yourself, shouting and sobbing and praying, when –

beaver settles himself nicely onto your chest, grinning ferociously, showing his teeth.

Welcome to life with beaver. Something you should know:

beaver
never
sleeps.

He just waits. And bides his time.

quinoa à la senoritas

Beaver doesn’t like quinoa.

As we settled down for dinner last night, a big bowl of quinoa nestled nearby for seconds, beaver was lurking in the corner of the room, suspicious. He was not in a particularly good mood, having seized a box of graham crackers the night before and eaten them all, mistaking them for wood chips. After moaning piteously and making an enormous scene in which he demanded special attention and extra chopsticks for comfort, beaver had disappeared into his blanket and refused to come out for the rest of the night.

So there we were: the two of us, the bowl of quinoa, and beaver. To allow beaver his privacy, we switched on new girl and watched him from the corners of our eyes. He crept closer and closer, until finally he leapt, throwing himself on the bowl of quinoa and, after stuffing his cheeks like an oversized chipmunk, scuttled back to a corner to eat his treat and gloat, no doubt, about his victorious food snatching.

We were watching him carefully at this point, to see his reaction, as beaver had never eaten quinoa before. A look of disgust spread over beaver’s face as he chewed, and he started spitting the quinoa onto the floor. “Beaver, no!” we shouted as we rushed towards him. “Not on the floor!” Instead of listening, beaver flung himself towards the bathroom, leaving a trail of half-chewed quinoa in his wake, his little legs moving doubletime to escape our outstretched hands as we ran after him. We finally cornered him, squeezed behind the toilet, eyes wide and a triumphant smirk on his whiskers. He was filthy, covered in quinoa bits, so we gave him a bath and settled him into bed with his blanket and a wooden coaster.

Beavers are not easy pets.

And finally, our quinoa recipe – not fit for beavers, but tasty for humans!

You will need:*

  • 1 tablespoon of butter
  • 1 small onion, chopped finely
  • 1 cup of pre-rinshed quinoa, uncooked
  • 2 cups vegetable broth (we like vegan vegetable bouillion by rapunzel)
  • 3 cloves of fresh garlic, chopped
  • 2 tablespoons fresh (or dried) parsley
  • 1/2 tablespoon fresh (or dried) thyme
  • 1/4 teaspoon salt
  • 1/2 fresh lemon
  1. Melt the butter in a saucepan over medium heat. When the butter is melted, add in the quinoa and onion. Cook together for 10-15 minutes, until both quinoa and onion are browned.
  2. Stir in the vegetable broth, and bring to a boil. Cover and simmer for approximately 15 minutes, until the liquid is absorbed.
  3. Toss the quinoa and onion mixture with the garlic, salt, thyme, parsley, and fresh lemon juice.
  4. Enjoy!

Prep time: 20-25 minutes. Serves 3-4 (or two if you are hearty eaters).

Happy eating!

the senoritas

*recipe adapted from this one.

The Cookie Witch and its tiny Broom of Doom

Katie and I were at our favorite bar, Annabel Lee, when we spotted it on the specials menu – the Chipwich Sandwich. Two large, warm chocolate chip cookies stuffed with vanilla ice cream and smothered in whipped cream, chocolate sauce, and mini chocolate chips. We were powerless to resist. We ordered and eagerly awaited this marvelous confection, peering into the kitchen every ten seconds, waiting for the waiter to appear. When he finally reappeared, toting a large plate (oh! glorious day!), and set it down in front of us, we had our spoons in hand, transformed into gluttonous hogs.

To our surprise,  however, instead of a Chipwich Sandwich, we’d been served:

The Cookie Witch and its tiny Broom of Doom.

We looked at each other for a minute, shrugged, and ate the Cookie Witch. We brought the Broom of Doom home and placed it on top of the wardrobe upstairs.

how much is that beaver in the window?

(the one with the fat little taaaaaaail)