SimpliPatti

There are certain things you hear in life that make you pause — not because they’re profound, but because they vibrate at a frequency only detectable by bad decisions. Like when a guy named Merle , who smells faintly of lighter fluid and Busch Light, looks you dead in the eye and says: “If you hold a firecracker tight enough between your fingers, it won’t hurt.” And in that moment, you realize two things: Merle is very confident. Merle is not using all ten fingers. Let’s Break This Down 🔥 The Theory: Supposedly, if you hold the firecracker tight, the explosion has “nowhere to go,” so it doesn’t do damage. 🧠 The Reality: The explosion absolutely has somewhere to go — into your fingers, your medical bills, and your lifelong nickname, “Stumpy.” This is the same science used by people who once said, “I bet I can jump that creek,” and are now part-metal thanks to reconstructive surgery. Classic Red Flags of Bad Summer Advice: Begins with: “Trust me, I’ve done this ...

Once upon a time, before oat milk, before BPA-plastic warnings, before adults ruined everything by reading ingredient labels — there existed a sacred ritual passed down among children of a certain era: Step 1: Pour milk. Step 2: Insert straw. Step 3: Blow with the intensity of a thousand tornados until a frothy foam mountain rose, overflowed, and annoyed the nearest adults. It wasn’t about hydration. It was about domination --  and craft. Could you get it to the edge without spilling? Could you create a volcano of dairy delight? Could you do it so many times that your mom would yell, “ For the love of all that is good STOP BLOWING BUBBLES IN YOUR MILK ”? If yes, you were doing it right.  At least INHO. Let’s Talk About the Cup Not just any cup. I’m talking about the thick plastic beast with the built-in straw that was always chewed on slightly. It weighed a full half-pound, empty. It came in primary colors. It made your drink taste vaguely like dish soap if not pr...

There was a time in this great land when children would scratch a small circle on a sheet of paper and be rewarded with the sweet scent of synthetic strawberries or unsettlingly accurate pizza. That time, dear reader, was the 1980s.  After that… they vanished. No press release. No funeral. Just… gone! One day we were proudly sniffing grape-scented stars for turning in our homework. The next, we were left with glitter stickers that did nothing but reflect shame. Let’s Examine the Evidence: They were everywhere! Teachers handed them out like controlled substances. Book fairs sold entire sticker books dedicated to them. I personally sniffed a watermelon-scented sticker so many times I’m fairly certain I rewired certain parts of my brain. Then they disappeared... Slowly, quietly, like an ex who still owes you money. One year they were in every pencil box; the next year? Just… stickers. Regular, boring, emotionless stickers. Like hugs from your aunt’s new boyfriend with ...

So, I live in a super-small space with three cats, one mismatched coffee table set, and a growing suspicion that I am no longer in charge here.  Like any adult whose Pinterest boards are probably better organized than my actual life, I decided to "declutter." I imagined a sleek, tranquil space with clean lines, neutral tones, and no shame. I now sit atop a pile of half-sorted Goodwill bags, sipping coffee from a novelty mug that says “I Paused My Show for This.” Let’s discuss: Step 1: Mentally Prepare to Let Go of the Clutter — and Your Dignity Decluttering, in theory, is supposed to bring peace. In practice? It's a passive-aggressive negotiation with your past self. “Do I need six half-burned candles?” “What if I suddenly become the kind of person who hosts dinner parties and needs twelve fine water glasses?” “This broken garlic press has been with me since college. That means something, right?” At one point, I asked my cat BoBean if she thought I should ...

Four years ago, he was living under a bush behind a Waffle House, dodging raccoons and licking discarded hot dog wrappers for sustenance. Today? He lounges on a patio chair like a retired tech billionaire, staring into the distance like he’s about to drop a TED Talk titled “How I Outsmarted the System — and My Humans”. Meet Maurice. Former alley cat. Current real estate tycoon of cardboard boxes, investor in emotional manipulation, and lifestyle influencer to other neighborhood pets who still simply eat kibble like peasants. He now enjoys: Two passive incomes (aka two humans who feed him on different schedules and don’t talk to each other), His own house — well, actually, their house — but he lets them stay, and rent-free! And a personal chef who thinks she’s just “opening cans,” but let’s be real — that’s meal prep! Maurice didn’t claw his way to the top (he was declawed at the shelter, thank you very much). He purred his way there. He found a woman with a soft heart and poor b...

I Tried to Teach My Cat About Cryptocurrency — Here's What Happened Spoiler: she walked across the keyboard and may now own part of a meme coin. Like any good millennial with more anxiety than savings, I recently decided to dip my toe further into the murky digital waters of cryptocurrency. But rather than suffer alone, I thought: why not share the knowledge with someone in my house who has even less financial literacy than I do? Enter: Mittens , my cat. She has no job, no bills, and spends most of her time licking her own butt. In other words, she’s the perfect crypto investor. Lesson 1: What is Cryptocurrency? I began by sitting Mittens down and explaining the basics: "Crypto is decentralized digital money that uses blockchain technology to secure transactions." She responded by biting a power cord. Which, honestly, is probably what most people should do when they hear about blockchain for the first time. Lesson 2: The Blockchain I showed her a diagram ...