I recently had a friend ask me for help. She had to pay off a vet bill because her cat needed emergency surgery after eating a sock. My friend couldn’t make any deals with the vet because the bill wasn’t high enough to be eligible for payment plans, so she spent pretty much everything she had to save her cat. A week later, she lost her job. I’ve known this girl for a while, so she contacted me and asked if I could help her out. Her mother was willing to pay for food and other important groceries but wouldn’t give a dime to help with rent, which my friend had no money for and couldn’t strike a deal with her landlord, because she’s bounced checks in the past so she’s simply not trustworthy as a tenant. I don’t really have any money either, but I was willing to try and get help from my friends, so I asked her how much money she needs for rent and I start to make preparations to request help from people I know. The next day, I emailed my friend to ask if she has Paypal so I could set her up with a ChipIn account instead of attaching it to my own Paypal. My friend proceeded to dig herself a hole by telling me, “Actually, it would be easiest if you could snail mail me the amount in cash, and I’ll give it to [the landlord].” She also asked if I could send $200 more than she’d originally asked for, because of course she’ll also need to refuel her car while she goes job hunting. She said this as if she were asking me to send her a pack of gum, there was no gratitude in her voice as she requested even more money.

I politely yet bluntly told her to forget it, and to sell the car to get the money she needs, which will eliminate the need for gas money. I don’t mind helping friends when they actually need help, especially when they’re threatened with becoming homeless. But when they suddenly become greedy and make ridiculous requests, such as asking me to send over a thousand dollars in cash through the postal service, my sympathy and generosity go out the window.

If you’re going to try and take advantage of someone, don’t be so obvious about it. This girl is fooling herself if she thinks she can ever ask for my help again, and our friendship is now tarnished because of this incident. I won’t be surprised if it turns out she had money for rent all along and just wanted to weasel her way into some retail therapy by claiming she was flat broke and would lose her home.

The holidays are always the same for kids: You see a huge box and hope it’s for you. One of the worst feelings is finding out the biggest box is actually a crockpot for your mom or something, you can’t help but pout, especially if you got some really lame presents that year (like the year I asked my grandmother for nothing except a Slinky, and she got me the cheap kind from a dollar store, it wouldn’t even go down the dang stairs). One year, there was a seriously huge box under my grandparents’ Christmas tree (I’m Jewish but grew up celebrating both holidays) and it turned out to be for me! It was this playset. It’s like Polly Pocket but was created by Matchbox. I absolutely loved this playset, the treehouse was my favorite part because there’s a trapdoor under the picnic table inside, and I always pretended one of the kids had to jump down it when someone was sitting at the table, so I’d flip the table back and the person would go flying or just hang there and yell about being stuck in the table.

I don’t even know what happened to the set. My parents were constantly sick of stepping on the little pieces because I was a typical child who rarely cleaned up my toys or always forgot a piece hidden in the carpet, and they step on it in their bare feet. I’m just assuming my dad basically tossed everything in a trashbag and put it in the crammed garage, it ended up spilling over one day and he got rid of it. I remember finding the little yellow house sitting on the floor of the garage, horribly sun-bleached and none of the people or accessories could be found. I’m sure that’s long gone now too. As much as my father will say things like “You should see if that’s worth anything on ebay,” he never gave a shit about my toys, I can name a few other things he threw out without even asking me if I still wanted it. I’ll avoid airing that dirty laundry mostly because it’s making me bitter as hell to think about, I don’t throw things out if they’re not mine.

It took me a long time but I finally remembered the name. All I could remember was it was called “Oh [girl's name ending with a Y]!” I thought maybe it was the first Polly Pocket, so I kept trying “Oh Polly!” with no success. Then I tried “Oh Penny!” and had slight success because apparently this was based off a cartoon in the UK, their version was called “Oh Penny!” But I was looking at the people and knew that wasn’t what I’d owned. I finally tried “Oh Jenny!” and holy crap, success!! That was the US version of the playset, I guess. I managed to find an open auction on ebay for a VERY cheap amount, most of the playset seems to be there (it says it’s missing a few minor pieces like part of the fence) and it’s not in horrid condition.

I sat here for a good ten minutes staring at the picture thinking of how much fun I had with it as a kid and how much I’d love to own it again, but I also sat here thinking it’s not like I’d play with it everyday, I don’t have a place to keep it, that’s money I don’t have because I’m unemployed, and of course, it’s not something I need. I really really want it, but I don’t need it, it’s just not practical. So I’m sitting here typing a long blog entry about it, pouting, and hating the fact that growing up seriously stinks sometimes.

In case you’re another person who’s been looking for this and your inner adult hasn’t convinced you not to buy it, or hell, if you want to spite my inner adult and bid on it for me, the auction is here.

I don’t reply to friends as much as I’d like on Facebook because I hate getting emails for the rest of the day saying “Someone you don’t know has replied to that status you commented on or liked, even though they’re not commenting to YOU so there’s no reason for you to read this email. We just felt like clogging your inbox.”

Those emails might as well say that because I don’t open them anyways. I have seriously unliked certain posts just so I’d stop getting those emails, I don’t want to remove that notification because sometimes they ARE replying to what I said.

Facebook is ridiculously annoying sometimes, and I swear they do it on purpose. But what choice do I have, Facebook has brought me closer to a few family members and it’s how I keep in touch with them, along with keeping in touch with old friends who moved far away after high school. It could be worse, at least I don’t have to deal with annoying sounds when I log in.

One of today’s referral phrases to my site is “my retarded dog won’t fetch,” and I wanted to write a quick blog about that.

Some dogs simply don’t play fetch. It doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with them and it doesn’t mean they don’t like you, some simply don’t. It’s not much different than how some people play a sport and some don’t, it’s simply an interest. Personally, I don’t like playing Catch. Same thing, except humans don’t use their mouth to catch the ball. Well, not usually.

Now, if the dog won’t play with you at all, you might want to take it to a vet to make sure nothing’s wrong with it, especially if the dog did used to play with you. A lot of people don’t realize even the simplest change can mean something. It’s like how many of us learn to deal with a small bodily pain instead of talking to a doctor about it.

I love to buy things to write in/on. Notebooks, journals, legal pads, pretty much anything with lines. I just can’t stop myself from buying one if I found something I like. I have a rather large collection of them, I recently found some I’d forgotten I even had. But I love having them, and I know that someday they’ll all have a purpose.

I also collect foreign coins. I don’t have a purpose for this other than I think all non-American coins look really awesome. I don’t collect them hoping to sell them someday, and I doubt I even have any that are valuable. But it’s my collection and I love it, I even bought this really neat little chest to keep them in.

I collect ticket stubs from movies and events I’ve been to. It started a few years ago when I found tickets from the late 90’s, and just couldn’t bring myself to throw them out. How many people can say they have a ticket stub from the movie Good Burger? And how many people would actually admit that? *raises hand*

I technically also collect pens, because of course I need a plethora of pens to choose from for the day I start writing in an empty journal/notebook/notepad, but pens have shelf lives so I honestly don’t have all that many.

What do you collect? If you don’t collect anything, what would you like to collect, even if you aren’t able to? I’d love to collect strange pets like axolotls and millipedes, but I’d have no place to put them and everyone I know would freak out.

Every now and then, my mom or dad will get bored and Google my name to see what comes up. Today dad sat me down and asked “When did you get that tattoo on your arm? And who’s ‘Fuck you Heatherface’ because I know that can’t be you.” The tattoo he meant was one I’ve had for years, but people rarely see it because it’s on my… what’s the upper arm called, is that the bicep? Well, that’s where the tattoo is, and it’s high enough that all my shirts end up hiding it. Dad’s seen it, but obviously completely forgot about it, which amuses me. He came across it after finding my MySpace, which I’ve actually stopped using but decided against getting rid of. As for the other half of his question, he meant this website, which he didn’t realize was heatherface.com, he only saw the title. I figure if he Googles my name again, he’ll eventually come across this photo and have a good laugh. Or he never will and this was pointless, but the conversation was still worth blogging about in case anyone was wondering if my parents knew about my nickname.

I’m still getting a lot of hits from referral search words having to do with my photo blog. If you’re someone who found me searching for a particular zoo animal or a museum in Los Angeles, or pretty much any search that was trying to lead you to my photo blog, you can find all those pictures on my Flickr.

(I’m not kidding, people have found this site by searching for “kangaroo balls” and “monkey nipples.”)

A few days ago, I got a box of Wheat Thins from the market. I haven’t had them in years, probably not since I was a child. I love snack foods, anything that takes a while to eat because you’re eating one at a time while watching tv or something. I also eat dry cereal this way, Cheerios are perfect for that. But I haven’t eaten Wheat Thins in years, no other reason than my mom and I simply stopped buying them. I saw them on the shelf and decided to get them just because. I just had one, and was extremely amused at how they taste exactly the same as I remembered. It’s nice to know that with all the changes companies make to their products to try and stay interesting, some companies don’t make any changes so they can be something you’re able to reminisce about instead of trying to get used to a new flavor.

I’m knock kneed. I was born this way, I got it from my mother’s side of the family. She’s knock kneed too. It’s not a deformity, it’s just how some people are born. Out of everything I’ve dealt with in my life in terms of my body, my knees are the only thing I’ve ever truly been self conscious about because it’s the only thing I can’t change easily. Sure, I’ve dealt with body issues because of my weight, but I can’t fix my knees by exercising. I don’t hate my knees, but they make me feel awkward because they’re different, and it’s not the kind of difference I can feel proud of like having freckles. It took me a long time to learn I shouldn’t be ashamed of my knees either, it took me years to learn what it was called so of course I just thought I was a freak. Today I discovered I could get surgery to correct them, I didn’t think that was possible as an adult but apparently it’s encouraged because crooked legs just leads to bad arthritis. The procedure costs around $10,000 and I’d have to be in a wheelchair for about a month afterward. I’m thinking I’d rather just take pain killers for the impending arthritis and tough it out instead of spending $10,000 to potentially lose my ability to walk.

These were both purchased from Erika Moen, the artist of one of my favorite webcomics (which has ended, *sob*) and a fellow fan of things with tentacles. I love octopi, so when I found her Flickr and noticed her collection of these little hand-sculpted guys, I immediately contacted her on Twitter and said I hope she plans on selling them. Just my luck, she occasionally does, and I snatched one up within seconds of her Tweeting about it. A couple weeks later, she put more up for sale including itty bitty ones, and I immediately snatched up one of those too. At this rate, I’ll need to build a shelf just to keep her sculptures on! She just had yet another sale which included heart-shaped tentacles, but unfortunately, I didn’t get one. Maybe next time! If you think these are as adorable as I do, add her on Twitter (@erikamoen) so you’ll know when her next sale is! You can also use this information to buy me one if you don’t actually want one for yourself. :D