dungeon master

Quickie spelunk into why statcounter has gone kinda deadish and ran into this, this, and this, just putting those there in case I wanna come back later, still pretty sure it's a combo of me setting up and then deleting that across-all-projects 'ignore this cookie' code on my phone several weeks ago (totally screwing with the individual IP cookie ignores set up on my laptop), and the fact that most of my blogger traffic is now looking like it's reading along through tags, which is fine, just means that my return reader number is higher right now than unique newbies and therefore my bounce rate is lower, which, honestly, is excellent. I'm still too lazy to spend another 5 minutes delving deeper.

Watching @boneado walking around feeling sick with an epic old guy brain fail facepalm over not being able to find all his hunting clothes where they're usually packed up and then me piping up, "Hope you didn't take them to the recycling center..." I'm so cruel. Seriously doubt he did that, but after losing a camera for a week, a video camera for several months, and various other big ticket items disappearing and reappearing later throughout the last year, it's hard not to blurt stuff that turns his face grey and darkens his world while he keeps looking. The snickering part isn't as fun as it used to be. I'm sure they're around some place, he just got super OCD one day and moved them or something, and his way of stashing and stacking is illogical and usually makes life way too interesting later.

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Ok, I just went down there and went straight to them. He was so relieved. I bet we could have a basement sale and make gobs of money. It looks like a store down there. Yes, I took pix just for you guys. It's vital to note that his latest dive into rearranging #ALLTHETHINGS seems to have started with a compulsion to get all his Hot Wheels together into one tub... Yes, that is Jack Sparrow back there overseeing things and glaring at us. We used to keep him upstairs but it got so disturbing running into him day or night anywhere we put him that he wound up in the basement. I'm sure anyone breaking in will die of a heart attack. That is the creepiest cutout I've ever seen, his eyes follow you. Anyway, here you go, a picture tour of what it's like living with an OCD hoarder who pulls stuff back out of the trash behind my back and organizes it to save for yard sales that never happen. If we use the basement for cover during a tornado, I'm sure we'll be killed by and buried under all the stuff down there.

Spoiled deer. And chipmunks and crows and everyone else out there who steals it.

I used to listen to classical and baroque and stuff all the time.

I'm not allowed to touch this. Sometimes I move some old nails around.

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Now it's about the Vikes. Got my purple on. No pix.