Wednesday, October 19, 2011
31 Days of Adventure: Day 8
So, there are no pictures for this day of adventure, but it did involve epic garage sale-ing which resulted in a beach lounge chair for $2.00 and not a penny more! And then there was a righteous 2 hour nap followed by chips and salsa and fish tacos. I'd say Day 8 = Heck yes.
31 Days of Adventure: Day 7
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| My mom busts rhymes about tacos. What does your mom do? |
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| How to save a garden. |
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| Yeah, I know. We're cute. |
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| Oh, the confusion of it all! |
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| Glamour Shots. Keepin' it real. |
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
31 Days of Adventure: Day 5
Looks like Adventure got over that little shy spell from yesterday because he was all up in my face all day today. Must be feeling more comfortable now that we are getting to know each other better.
Today included a long lunch break due to Customer Service Week (!!), which allowed me enough time to go home for a bit and do some laundry and some puppy hugging. I had a mucho productiv day at work, then afterwards, I speed erranded to get myself ready for a trip to Texas tomorrow. I tell you it is not easy to get packing and cleaning and laundry and preparing done when your dog insists on doing this...
Today included a long lunch break due to Customer Service Week (!!), which allowed me enough time to go home for a bit and do some laundry and some puppy hugging. I had a mucho productiv day at work, then afterwards, I speed erranded to get myself ready for a trip to Texas tomorrow. I tell you it is not easy to get packing and cleaning and laundry and preparing done when your dog insists on doing this...
You know that tummy is just begging to be scratched.
Today was a win in adventureness! Tomorrow starts 5 days of adventure in the Lonestar State.
Standby for awesome...
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
31 Days of Adventure: Day 4
This whole adventure thing is turning out to be quite an interesting adventure in itself. Today's adventure was feeling a bit shy for most of the day. No matter how closely I looked and stopped to ponder, it just refused to show it's bashful little face. There were events and happenings, sure, but adventures? Psssh. Not even.
And you wouldn't even believe where that little sneaker turned up today. On Twitter. Right?! Who would think to look on Twitter for an adventure? But there it was all bright and beautiful staring back at me from the Blackberry while I waited in line at the grocery store.
Care to see it?
I have no words for the feelings I get when I look at this picture. One of my very bestest is playing this adventure game with me this month, and these are her beautiful kids. She posted this as her adventure today, and I realized how much I look forward to seeing what the day brought her. I was on Twitter for the sole purpose of seeing if she posted anything. I honestly felt excitement when I saw she did, and that's when I realized someone else's adventure was my own. Not because I was physically there, but because my heart was invested in it, fully present and experiencing this moment. Seeing this picture fills me with joy in ways that probably can't fully explained. In it, I see her dreams realized in a son and daughter and know that they have the greatest Mom and Dad that God could have ever picked for them. And because she is my soulfriend, her adventure is mine.
And you wouldn't even believe where that little sneaker turned up today. On Twitter. Right?! Who would think to look on Twitter for an adventure? But there it was all bright and beautiful staring back at me from the Blackberry while I waited in line at the grocery store.
Care to see it?
Monday, October 3, 2011
31 Days of Adventure: Day 3
Well, no pictures because no camera AND no phone on the same day. But, I can tell you with my word pictures that the adventure of today began with a fat, rainbow-colored hot air balloon floating right above my office building. It was like going to work at Oz or something. You know, like, if Oz had hot air balloons or something. I didnt' really think that all the way through, but you know what I'm saying. So, hot air balloon!
Then, after getting my FREE breakfast for FREE breakfast day due to Customer Service Week(!), I found the tiniest grape ever in my FREE fruit. Tiny! Grape! Adventure!
Onward!
Then, after getting my FREE breakfast for FREE breakfast day due to Customer Service Week(!), I found the tiniest grape ever in my FREE fruit. Tiny! Grape! Adventure!
Onward!
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Saturday, October 1, 2011
31 Days of Adventure: Day 1
I woke up this morning to Autumn flashing her brilliant blue sky my way and letting loose those cooler temps that she's so famous for. She obviously put a lot of thought into her appearance today, and it would be rude of me not to show her some admiration. To the lake!
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Say Cheese...
Can we please talk about Taco Bell? And how sometimes I wish I was a taco just so I could marry a taco and have little tacos running around the yard to ensure that the taco legacy will live on forever? Okay, I admit that sounds much weirder when committed to the written word than it did when twisting and turning through my brain on the Thought Coaster, but do you see what I’m saying? And perhaps tacos and roller coaster analogies should never belong in the same sentence. Because all of a sudden, I am intensely nauseous, and also, I seem to have lost all sense of where I was going with this.
Reboot.
Okay, so, tacos. There is a new Taco Bell commercial that is killing me, y’all. I was going to go try to find it on YouTube and link and embed and all that, but really, I don’t think you care that much, so use your imagination muscles. It’s basically something about cheese, I think, and I don’t even know any more than that, except that there is nacho cheese pouring or something and then there are nachos and then more cheese pouring, and then I black out, and, when I come to, I am sitting at the coffee table with my face in a plate of everything Taco Bell. How does this happen is what I need to know? It’s like kryptonite, that commercial. It’s not even so much that I love Taco Bell, but more that I am mad, deep love with Taco Bell’s nacho cheese.
Which brings me to this past Saturday. The day my life was Changed.
I was cruising on down to the outlet mall to take advantage of a particularly substantial Gap Outlet coupon, when I remember there is a Taco Bell a couple blocks down from the mall. Woop! Now I know you’re all thinking “Girl, I know you are not going to eat Taco Bell before you go try on pants,” and while this is exactly the same thing I would think if the situation were reversed, my response to you is “Heck yes I am!”
Side note: I would like to take a minute right here to discuss with you the logistics of a Taco Bell drive-thru. Have y’all noticed that those things are like taco lockdown once you get in line? Like, there are usually curbs or a fence or some other obstacle on either side of the single lane, requiring some serious border commitment, because once you are in, you’re in. I guess the higher-ups know the reality of Taco Bell remorse and had to get serious to keep people from bailing after ordering when they realize what they’ve just done. I know you are relating to this.
The order I placed was (1) cheesy fiesta potatoes, (1) Mexican pizza, and (1) order of regular nachos with an extra side of cheese, please. The order I received was (1) cheesy fiest potatoes, (1) Mexican pizza, (3) regular tacos, (0) nacho chips, and (2) nacho cheeses. (Question: Does anybody else ever feel like they are playing taco roulette with Taco Bell drive thru? For real, the only constants in life are death, taxes, and Taco Bell will get your order wrong. I mean, right? And I know this could be resolved by double checking before I drive away, but really, where is the fun in that? This way you never know if you’ll have 12 regular tacos or one of those chalupa/gordita/burrito steak fiesta hybrid things. I mean, this is excitement, people!)
So I’m sitting here with all of this nacho cheese and no chips. Sadness ensues! But please, do not despair for me, because you know I’m about to eat that stuff straight out of the little container. I would use the spork, but it’s not like they gave me one, so just do not even get me started on that. While eating free taco numero uno (respect that espanol, homies!), I stare at the cheese. The cheese stares at me. And I swear, like heavenly divination, an idea descends upon me!
What if…
I dipped the taco…
INTO THE CHEESE?!
Right?! 30 years and it had never once occurred to me to pursue this! OF COURSE THE CHEESE SHOULD MARRY THE TACO!!! It’s so obvious! I have to say I kind of feel like my parents failed me here. (Mom, I will need you to meet me at therapy. K, thanks.) Do you SEE what happens when you do not check your Taco Bell order?! This is deep on so many levels.
So, pretty much, the point is that nacho cheese is like the color black, in that it goes with everything.
And, also, you should never eat Taco Bell before trying on clothes, especially if it is anything even remotely form-fitting.
The end.
Reboot.
Okay, so, tacos. There is a new Taco Bell commercial that is killing me, y’all. I was going to go try to find it on YouTube and link and embed and all that, but really, I don’t think you care that much, so use your imagination muscles. It’s basically something about cheese, I think, and I don’t even know any more than that, except that there is nacho cheese pouring or something and then there are nachos and then more cheese pouring, and then I black out, and, when I come to, I am sitting at the coffee table with my face in a plate of everything Taco Bell. How does this happen is what I need to know? It’s like kryptonite, that commercial. It’s not even so much that I love Taco Bell, but more that I am mad, deep love with Taco Bell’s nacho cheese.
Which brings me to this past Saturday. The day my life was Changed.
I was cruising on down to the outlet mall to take advantage of a particularly substantial Gap Outlet coupon, when I remember there is a Taco Bell a couple blocks down from the mall. Woop! Now I know you’re all thinking “Girl, I know you are not going to eat Taco Bell before you go try on pants,” and while this is exactly the same thing I would think if the situation were reversed, my response to you is “Heck yes I am!”
Side note: I would like to take a minute right here to discuss with you the logistics of a Taco Bell drive-thru. Have y’all noticed that those things are like taco lockdown once you get in line? Like, there are usually curbs or a fence or some other obstacle on either side of the single lane, requiring some serious border commitment, because once you are in, you’re in. I guess the higher-ups know the reality of Taco Bell remorse and had to get serious to keep people from bailing after ordering when they realize what they’ve just done. I know you are relating to this.
The order I placed was (1) cheesy fiesta potatoes, (1) Mexican pizza, and (1) order of regular nachos with an extra side of cheese, please. The order I received was (1) cheesy fiest potatoes, (1) Mexican pizza, (3) regular tacos, (0) nacho chips, and (2) nacho cheeses. (Question: Does anybody else ever feel like they are playing taco roulette with Taco Bell drive thru? For real, the only constants in life are death, taxes, and Taco Bell will get your order wrong. I mean, right? And I know this could be resolved by double checking before I drive away, but really, where is the fun in that? This way you never know if you’ll have 12 regular tacos or one of those chalupa/gordita/burrito steak fiesta hybrid things. I mean, this is excitement, people!)
So I’m sitting here with all of this nacho cheese and no chips. Sadness ensues! But please, do not despair for me, because you know I’m about to eat that stuff straight out of the little container. I would use the spork, but it’s not like they gave me one, so just do not even get me started on that. While eating free taco numero uno (respect that espanol, homies!), I stare at the cheese. The cheese stares at me. And I swear, like heavenly divination, an idea descends upon me!
What if…
I dipped the taco…
INTO THE CHEESE?!
Right?! 30 years and it had never once occurred to me to pursue this! OF COURSE THE CHEESE SHOULD MARRY THE TACO!!! It’s so obvious! I have to say I kind of feel like my parents failed me here. (Mom, I will need you to meet me at therapy. K, thanks.) Do you SEE what happens when you do not check your Taco Bell order?! This is deep on so many levels.
So, pretty much, the point is that nacho cheese is like the color black, in that it goes with everything.
And, also, you should never eat Taco Bell before trying on clothes, especially if it is anything even remotely form-fitting.
The end.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Thoughts While Thinking**....
So sometimes my mind wanders. I know this revelation is shocking unto you, but it is truth. And so because of all the wandering, I decided to take some notes so you could join me on this wanderation. I know, I know, you're welcome.
Behold:
*Isn’t it amazing how fast your favorite shirt can become your most annoying shirt? Because for real, I am about ready to take this thing off and set it on fire.
*Why are they called crocodile tears? Do crocodiles seriously cry that much? Or is it like because of how big you’re gonna cry when you see a crocodile coming at you?
*Don't you think that the true mark of being an adult is when you can finally tell the difference between the opening music to Wild Thing and Funky Cold Medina?
*Funky Comadina, anybody? Where were YOU when you realized that comadina is not a word? Did it just rock your whole belief system or what?
*I saw a lady mopping her house today. Not mopping the floor of her house. Mopping her actual house. Like the outside of it. I don't really have anything to say about that, but I just figured it's probably not something a girl should keep to herself. So, yeah.
*Why the heck do tape measures disappear the second you put them down? I measured my dresser, set the tape measure down, and I swear it took me a good 20 minutes to find it. I found it on the shelf in the hallway. When did I go in the hallway?!
And just for general informational purposes, I did not mean that list to turn out so Seinfeld-y, as in "what is the DEAL with crocodile tears?" But you know, things happen, so I think it's best we all just move one from it. Even though I don't think he's funny one bit, and CLEARLY, I am hilarious. So. Yeah.
**Let us all take a moment to recognize that my aunt is awesome because that's where Thoughts While Thinking came from. From her mind. Because she's awesome.**
Behold:
*Isn’t it amazing how fast your favorite shirt can become your most annoying shirt? Because for real, I am about ready to take this thing off and set it on fire.
*Why are they called crocodile tears? Do crocodiles seriously cry that much? Or is it like because of how big you’re gonna cry when you see a crocodile coming at you?
*Don't you think that the true mark of being an adult is when you can finally tell the difference between the opening music to Wild Thing and Funky Cold Medina?
*Funky Comadina, anybody? Where were YOU when you realized that comadina is not a word? Did it just rock your whole belief system or what?
*I saw a lady mopping her house today. Not mopping the floor of her house. Mopping her actual house. Like the outside of it. I don't really have anything to say about that, but I just figured it's probably not something a girl should keep to herself. So, yeah.
*Why the heck do tape measures disappear the second you put them down? I measured my dresser, set the tape measure down, and I swear it took me a good 20 minutes to find it. I found it on the shelf in the hallway. When did I go in the hallway?!
And just for general informational purposes, I did not mean that list to turn out so Seinfeld-y, as in "what is the DEAL with crocodile tears?" But you know, things happen, so I think it's best we all just move one from it. Even though I don't think he's funny one bit, and CLEARLY, I am hilarious. So. Yeah.
**Let us all take a moment to recognize that my aunt is awesome because that's where Thoughts While Thinking came from. From her mind. Because she's awesome.**
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Bugging Out...
What do you call it when your worst fear comes true and you rise above it and save the world?
Because that totally happened to me tonight.
You know how grasshoppers are, like, totally the most freaky little things ever and sometimes they are huge and sometimes they FLY, like a demon from hell, and sometimes they call you really terrible things that hurt your feelings?
Yes, well, here begins our story.
I grew up in southeast Louisiana. The swamps, as some would call it. And while there are many, many, MANY wonderful things about Louisiana, there are also bugs. And people, let me just make this clear to you now: NO. Bugs are the bane of my existence (not counting girl-friendly ones such as lady and/or butter, obviously, because omg, so pretty!), and I cannot tell you how many times a roach (barf!) ran up my leg or flew across the room or made me speak in tongues. But I can tell you exactly how I reacted each time I laid eyes on one: DAAAAAAAAAAAAADDDDDDDD!!!!!! And because my parents are upstanding people, they only rolled their eyes and sighed heavily some of the time before they saved my life.
So, a year ago, when I loaded up my car and moved back home to Louisiana to live On My Own, I was facing one of my biggest fears: living without anybody to kill the bugs! It's Louisiana! Of course there are bugs! My dad-my hero, my knight in shining Raid- is 400 miles away! WHO WILL KILL THE BUGS?! Well, praise the Lord, the homeowner's association of this townhouse complex I'm in has THE most rockin' pest control ever to walk this Earth because in a year of living here? Not a single bug. (And yes, I am aware that because I typed that sentence, a roach will crawl across my face tonight while I sleep. Pray for me.)
\
A couple of days ago, I noticed, right outside my front door, a green grasshopper (uuuggghhhaccckk!). Surprisingly, it was very polite and did not verbally abuse me nor did it attempt to end my life. Southern hospitality, indeed! I quietly went inside so as not to disturb this newcomer, and I certainly didn't want it to mistake any sudden moves as an act of war. Because if there is one thing I know, it is DO NOT POKE THE LION!
Day 2 morning rolls around and on my way out the front door to walk Gracie girl, it seems The Newcomer had made its way in between my front door and the storm door. Uuuuugggghhhhhh! Nooooo! Too much, too fast, sir! I wanted to shoo it, but then there was the chance that it would jump (uggghack!) in my direction and this was just an entirely unaccpetable option unto me. So I just closed the door again slooowly praying to high heavens that it didn't get smashed because holy pepto, if that doesn't make a girl's stomach turn, I don't know what will.
Here we are at Day 2 evening, out strolling with my little fur baby in the beautiful springtime air. My mind starts to wander to the awesome bowl of strawberries I'm about to make with just a bit of sugar on top, when I pull open the storm door, and that little FREAK SHOW is just chilling on the threshold between storm door and real door. Waiting for me. Uuuuuggghhhack! BAAAARF! What do you want from me?!
Gracie is almost through the door when that little sucker jumped (I blacked out.), and Gracie, who is SO not a lady, goes after it with canine teeth flying. Huuggghhhhaaack! I tried to rush her through the door because omg it's outside it's outside it's outside let's go in! That thing apparently becomes possessed with everything that is evil and unholy and FLIES INTO MY HOUSE!!!
DAAAAAAAAAADDDDDDDDDD!!!!!
Well, my sweet little baby loves her Mama so much that she launches forward into the living room after it, and throws herself right on that live grenade. I yelled "Get it!" Chomp! (BARF!) My mind starts racing at how this is now going to play out. "Let her eat it! No, gross, you're going to have hopper parts everywhere!" As it turns out, Gracie does not know the difference between "Get it!" and "Kill it and then take it outside!" because of COURSE she let it go and I had to watch it try to figure out what the heck just happened. And omgomgomgomgomgomg if there is a leg on my floor... (BAAAAARFFFFUUGGGHACCCK!)
It is at this very moment when clarity sets in. The Felon (breaking and entering = felony) is sitting in stunned stillness. Gracie is staring at it, daring it to move. I've got to the get this thing out. It getting eaten is just...well, that's a dark place that my mind cannot go to. Dreams die there. I grabbed Gracie's leash and steered her away from her prey, then put her in the bathroom to stay out of the way. (Also, she did not bark even once while in that bathroom, which, anybody who has ever met that animal will tell you, is a miracle in itself. It's as if she knew she were witnessing something intense.) I ran to the kitchen to assemble my [secret but awesome name redacted so that you can't steal it] kit.
I put a glass over him then slowly slid a piece of mail or something underneath the cup so he was all up in there. And y'all, homeboy just walked right up into the cup and was all on the side of it and I could see it through the glass and then I aged 10 years and will now never know what my 30's would've been like. After a good bit of dry heaving and omgomgomgomg-ing, I made it out the front door. Well, dude liked the glass so much he wouldn't GET OUT OF IT, so I had to shake it and his creepy exoskeleton clanked against the inside of the glass (THUNK!) on his way out and then I died and came back as an angel to tell the story and probably haunt you some, too. because that would be funny.
Because that totally happened to me tonight.
You know how grasshoppers are, like, totally the most freaky little things ever and sometimes they are huge and sometimes they FLY, like a demon from hell, and sometimes they call you really terrible things that hurt your feelings?
Yes, well, here begins our story.
I grew up in southeast Louisiana. The swamps, as some would call it. And while there are many, many, MANY wonderful things about Louisiana, there are also bugs. And people, let me just make this clear to you now: NO. Bugs are the bane of my existence (not counting girl-friendly ones such as lady and/or butter, obviously, because omg, so pretty!), and I cannot tell you how many times a roach (barf!) ran up my leg or flew across the room or made me speak in tongues. But I can tell you exactly how I reacted each time I laid eyes on one: DAAAAAAAAAAAAADDDDDDDD!!!!!! And because my parents are upstanding people, they only rolled their eyes and sighed heavily some of the time before they saved my life.
So, a year ago, when I loaded up my car and moved back home to Louisiana to live On My Own, I was facing one of my biggest fears: living without anybody to kill the bugs! It's Louisiana! Of course there are bugs! My dad-my hero, my knight in shining Raid- is 400 miles away! WHO WILL KILL THE BUGS?! Well, praise the Lord, the homeowner's association of this townhouse complex I'm in has THE most rockin' pest control ever to walk this Earth because in a year of living here? Not a single bug. (And yes, I am aware that because I typed that sentence, a roach will crawl across my face tonight while I sleep. Pray for me.)
\
A couple of days ago, I noticed, right outside my front door, a green grasshopper (uuuggghhhaccckk!). Surprisingly, it was very polite and did not verbally abuse me nor did it attempt to end my life. Southern hospitality, indeed! I quietly went inside so as not to disturb this newcomer, and I certainly didn't want it to mistake any sudden moves as an act of war. Because if there is one thing I know, it is DO NOT POKE THE LION!
Day 2 morning rolls around and on my way out the front door to walk Gracie girl, it seems The Newcomer had made its way in between my front door and the storm door. Uuuuugggghhhhhh! Nooooo! Too much, too fast, sir! I wanted to shoo it, but then there was the chance that it would jump (uggghack!) in my direction and this was just an entirely unaccpetable option unto me. So I just closed the door again slooowly praying to high heavens that it didn't get smashed because holy pepto, if that doesn't make a girl's stomach turn, I don't know what will.
Here we are at Day 2 evening, out strolling with my little fur baby in the beautiful springtime air. My mind starts to wander to the awesome bowl of strawberries I'm about to make with just a bit of sugar on top, when I pull open the storm door, and that little FREAK SHOW is just chilling on the threshold between storm door and real door. Waiting for me. Uuuuuggghhhack! BAAAARF! What do you want from me?!
Gracie is almost through the door when that little sucker jumped (I blacked out.), and Gracie, who is SO not a lady, goes after it with canine teeth flying. Huuggghhhhaaack! I tried to rush her through the door because omg it's outside it's outside it's outside let's go in! That thing apparently becomes possessed with everything that is evil and unholy and FLIES INTO MY HOUSE!!!
DAAAAAAAAAADDDDDDDDDD!!!!!
Well, my sweet little baby loves her Mama so much that she launches forward into the living room after it, and throws herself right on that live grenade. I yelled "Get it!" Chomp! (BARF!) My mind starts racing at how this is now going to play out. "Let her eat it! No, gross, you're going to have hopper parts everywhere!" As it turns out, Gracie does not know the difference between "Get it!" and "Kill it and then take it outside!" because of COURSE she let it go and I had to watch it try to figure out what the heck just happened. And omgomgomgomgomgomg if there is a leg on my floor... (BAAAAARFFFFUUGGGHACCCK!)
It is at this very moment when clarity sets in. The Felon (breaking and entering = felony) is sitting in stunned stillness. Gracie is staring at it, daring it to move. I've got to the get this thing out. It getting eaten is just...well, that's a dark place that my mind cannot go to. Dreams die there. I grabbed Gracie's leash and steered her away from her prey, then put her in the bathroom to stay out of the way. (Also, she did not bark even once while in that bathroom, which, anybody who has ever met that animal will tell you, is a miracle in itself. It's as if she knew she were witnessing something intense.) I ran to the kitchen to assemble my [secret but awesome name redacted so that you can't steal it] kit.
I put a glass over him then slowly slid a piece of mail or something underneath the cup so he was all up in there. And y'all, homeboy just walked right up into the cup and was all on the side of it and I could see it through the glass and then I aged 10 years and will now never know what my 30's would've been like. After a good bit of dry heaving and omgomgomgomg-ing, I made it out the front door. Well, dude liked the glass so much he wouldn't GET OUT OF IT, so I had to shake it and his creepy exoskeleton clanked against the inside of the glass (THUNK!) on his way out and then I died and came back as an angel to tell the story and probably haunt you some, too. because that would be funny.
Monday, April 11, 2011
All Aboard the Brain Train!...
First stop...RandomTown!
Geez.
That opening sentence annoys me in ways that I'm not sure I could actually explain; however, this week has been H-E-Doublehockeysticks, and I really just don't care to think of anything better. Let me know if you come up with anything. I won't change it because of all the not caring, but I do promise to admire your cleverness in my mind. So.
Moving on.
Let's do bullets, yeah? Yeah!
*ahem*
Are we having fun here or what? The Brain Train is clearly a speeding bullet train that offers no warnings of upcoming stops and/or starts so really it's best to just stay seated and buckled in. I guess this is somewhat like the Thought Coaster, but really, have you had enough of my analogies yet?
Just one last thing before I let you go: I kind of hate it when there are toast crumbs in the tub of butter. It totally weirds me out.
The end.
Geez.
That opening sentence annoys me in ways that I'm not sure I could actually explain; however, this week has been H-E-Doublehockeysticks, and I really just don't care to think of anything better. Let me know if you come up with anything. I won't change it because of all the not caring, but I do promise to admire your cleverness in my mind. So.
Moving on.
Let's do bullets, yeah? Yeah!
- How exactly is "yeah" supposed to be spelled anyway? When used in "yes" context, I mean, and pronounced "yahyuh" minus the Lil' Jon. (HUH?! WHAAT?! You know what I'm saying.) Anyway, is it "yeah" with an h, or "yea" without an h, which I would pronounce "yay!" as in "Yay!" Help me, internet.
- Why isn't blogger letting me line space between my bullets?! This is making me claustrophobic. Hold please, while I work on this technical issue....
- Be the bullet.
- Arrggh. Fine. Single space. Whatever.
- I can't decide which makes me happier: when my dog stands in the corner and throws up on the curtains, or when she takes her fresh-out-of-the-bath-wet-dogness and lays right on top of my latest load of clean laundry. Can you see why this would cause inner conflict?
- Oh dear betsy, now it's not line spacing between numbers. HTML, you are ON MY LIST!
*ahem*
Are we having fun here or what? The Brain Train is clearly a speeding bullet train that offers no warnings of upcoming stops and/or starts so really it's best to just stay seated and buckled in. I guess this is somewhat like the Thought Coaster, but really, have you had enough of my analogies yet?
Just one last thing before I let you go: I kind of hate it when there are toast crumbs in the tub of butter. It totally weirds me out.
The end.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Insomnia and Some Other Such Somethings. Or Whatever.
So.
Insomnia.
I mean, so what if the alarm is going off in 3 hours and 9 minutes? Who needs to sleep? All I know is I've been laying waiting for Tired to show up like 7 years now, and still, nothing doing. And then I thought "Stretching!" because stretching helps a whole heck of a lot when you're feeling all cranky and creaky and insomniac-y. So I stretched. And while I had my left ankle on my right knee stretching out those glutes, I glance at my ankle and thought "Cankle!" And then I had a panic attack or 7 because hello, wouldn't you? Turns out it's not really a cankle situation, so much as it is a swollen ankle situation. Which is still kind of alarming considering there is no logical reason for it to be swollen. Well, that thought train turned into an extensive search for the bug bite that I most certainly had because hello, look at it!
Y'all, let me just tell you this: The human body is kind of rad. Because apparently when one's 30 year old body is confronted with the choice of sitting up to look for a bug bite on one's swollen cankle ankle at 3 am or remaining in a horizontal position and looking for a bug bite on one's cankle ankle, I'll be danged if one won't be able to stretch that cankle ankle all the way up to one's face to give it a looksie! Tired + cranky + possible epidermal violation = mad bending skillz, yo. Math is math, people.
Anyway, so somewhere in that whole cankle/not cankle time of my life, my thought sparkles sparked "Blog!" Because there is nothing more that people love to read than incoherent thoughts of a bendy insomniac, amiright? I know I'M clicking on that link, so, you know, there's that. Oh, but what happened was Brain said " Blog!" and then I had a rapid fire idea fest where I came up with all kinds of witty things to tell you. And clearly you can tell how that movie ended. I do know it had something to do with my laptop not working correctly, and how I can only open it to approximately a 45 degree angle before the screen goes black. Which means I can only use my laptop when I'm lying down, which, in turn, means it's hyper annoying to try to type numbers of any sorts because of that whole "lacking a 10-key" thing and then I have to crane my neck up all awkward-like to use those number keys at the top that nobody ever uses or remembers are there. So I guess whatever I thought about to tell you required numbers? Weird, right? Especially considering I did some mind-blowing numberless math not one paragraph ago.
Good gravy, people, are you even still around listening to this? What am I even going on about? This is like the Seinfeld of posts. It's a blog about NOTHING! (Please tell me you get that reference. Because otherwise a certain younger brother of mine will not rest until you get it. So.)
Note to self: When you are insomniating, you get hungry at about 3:15 a.m. And you know what else you get at 3:15 a.m.? Tired! I know, right?! Win!
Oh, and while we're on the subject, can we all please please please agree to stop saying "Just sayin'"? Because really, most of you aren't using it in proper context anyway, so it's really just kind of annoying. Especially when it's used after every single thing you "just said." We know you're "just sayin'" because you JUST SAID IT. I don't know. It just seems to me that the whole eventual breakdown of society is hinging on this phrase. Well, that phrase and rompers. And taking pictures with kissy lips and peace signs. Because really? Are we still doing that? The answer is no.
Alright dudes, I think the ride on this thought coaster is over. Disappointing, I know. There were some thrills in there with some loops you weren't expecting, and in the end, you probably feel a little nauseous, but deep down, you know you'd ride it again. Until next time, your homework assignment is to come up with a really cool name for the Thought Coaster. Make it really amusement parky!
You know you love me.
xoxo,
Gossip Girl
And P to the S:
Insomnia.
I mean, so what if the alarm is going off in 3 hours and 9 minutes? Who needs to sleep? All I know is I've been laying waiting for Tired to show up like 7 years now, and still, nothing doing. And then I thought "Stretching!" because stretching helps a whole heck of a lot when you're feeling all cranky and creaky and insomniac-y. So I stretched. And while I had my left ankle on my right knee stretching out those glutes, I glance at my ankle and thought "Cankle!" And then I had a panic attack or 7 because hello, wouldn't you? Turns out it's not really a cankle situation, so much as it is a swollen ankle situation. Which is still kind of alarming considering there is no logical reason for it to be swollen. Well, that thought train turned into an extensive search for the bug bite that I most certainly had because hello, look at it!
Y'all, let me just tell you this: The human body is kind of rad. Because apparently when one's 30 year old body is confronted with the choice of sitting up to look for a bug bite on one's swollen cankle ankle at 3 am or remaining in a horizontal position and looking for a bug bite on one's cankle ankle, I'll be danged if one won't be able to stretch that cankle ankle all the way up to one's face to give it a looksie! Tired + cranky + possible epidermal violation = mad bending skillz, yo. Math is math, people.
Anyway, so somewhere in that whole cankle/not cankle time of my life, my thought sparkles sparked "Blog!" Because there is nothing more that people love to read than incoherent thoughts of a bendy insomniac, amiright? I know I'M clicking on that link, so, you know, there's that. Oh, but what happened was Brain said " Blog!" and then I had a rapid fire idea fest where I came up with all kinds of witty things to tell you. And clearly you can tell how that movie ended. I do know it had something to do with my laptop not working correctly, and how I can only open it to approximately a 45 degree angle before the screen goes black. Which means I can only use my laptop when I'm lying down, which, in turn, means it's hyper annoying to try to type numbers of any sorts because of that whole "lacking a 10-key" thing and then I have to crane my neck up all awkward-like to use those number keys at the top that nobody ever uses or remembers are there. So I guess whatever I thought about to tell you required numbers? Weird, right? Especially considering I did some mind-blowing numberless math not one paragraph ago.
Good gravy, people, are you even still around listening to this? What am I even going on about? This is like the Seinfeld of posts. It's a blog about NOTHING! (Please tell me you get that reference. Because otherwise a certain younger brother of mine will not rest until you get it. So.)
Note to self: When you are insomniating, you get hungry at about 3:15 a.m. And you know what else you get at 3:15 a.m.? Tired! I know, right?! Win!
Oh, and while we're on the subject, can we all please please please agree to stop saying "Just sayin'"? Because really, most of you aren't using it in proper context anyway, so it's really just kind of annoying. Especially when it's used after every single thing you "just said." We know you're "just sayin'" because you JUST SAID IT. I don't know. It just seems to me that the whole eventual breakdown of society is hinging on this phrase. Well, that phrase and rompers. And taking pictures with kissy lips and peace signs. Because really? Are we still doing that? The answer is no.
Alright dudes, I think the ride on this thought coaster is over. Disappointing, I know. There were some thrills in there with some loops you weren't expecting, and in the end, you probably feel a little nauseous, but deep down, you know you'd ride it again. Until next time, your homework assignment is to come up with a really cool name for the Thought Coaster. Make it really amusement parky!
You know you love me.
xoxo,
Gossip Girl
And P to the S:
Hollerrrrr!
Monday, January 17, 2011
All the Rage...
This post is about underwear.
And garage sales.
And cold.
But mostly, it's about underwear.
Last Saturday, I hauled boxes of mycrap stuff over to my friend Annie's house for The Great Purge Garage Sale of 2010. It was 39 degrees outside. And I know all you northern folks totally just rolled your eyes because really? 39 degrees? But, yes, 39 degrees. I am from the South, and 39 degrees is considered COLD especially during that first cold snap when our humidity sensors haven't acclimated yet. It was cold, and also, it was pretty early. I don't get nice until at least 9 am, so I was still making my grumpy faces when I pulled into Annie's driveway. And now that I've typed all that, I really don't know why that has any relevance at all except that I probably just wanted you to feel sorry for me, in my tired, cold state. Or something.
During the Belongings Exfoliation of 2010, I realize I had this whole big box of underwear that I no longer wear but that was still in really good shape (I had a shopping problem once. Darn you Victoria's Secret and your Semi-Annual Sale!)(Also, it's totally weird to say your underwear is in good shape, yes?) Now, I myself am not a secondhand underwear buyer. The thought of it FREAKS. ME. OUT. But hey, some people don't have a problem with it, and also Goodwill sells underwear so it must be ok, right? I texted Annie:
Me: Do people buy underwear at garage sales?
Annie: Idk, worth a shot if you ask me.
Settled.
One of our first few customers was a rugged looking dude, who, when I first saw him, I assumed was looking for tools. Or broken lawnmowers. Or socks. Because that's what the rugged dudes come to garage sales for, you know. He picks up a few things to buy, then spots the box 'o' underwears.
"I don't mean this to be embarrassing," he says. "But what size is the underwear?"
Me thinking: Cha-Ching!
I told him what sizes most of them were, and after a short discussion about what size jeans his lady friend wears, I told him I didn't think they'd fit her. He said ok, paid for the other stuff, and went on his way.
Important note to the fellas: Do NOT buy your lady person underwear at a garage sale. She can buy it herself at a garage sale if she chooses, but do not, under any circumstances, bring it home to her. The only exception is if you have detailed instructions where she specifically states, "If you see underwear at a garage sale, please buy it for me." This is NOT the same as "I need new underwear." PLEASE make note of this. You will thank me.
A lady showed up and sat down next to the box and looked at every single pair, like she was shopping that Semi-Annual Sale. She walked away with 11 pair by the time she was done. Another lady snagged one pair and several more asked about sizes. People, underwear sells at garage sales! I mean, can you get over this?
After we've been out there about 3 hours, Rugged Dude from earlier comes back. I see him walking up the driveway like he's on a Rugged Dude Mission. "He's coming back for the underwear," I said to Annie, laughing. He glanced over everything on the driveway that he already looked at 3 hours earlier and says, "I was on my way home and thought I'd see if y'all put anything else out."
Me: (thinking) Liar. You want panties.
About the same time, there was a lady browsing who was sorting through the boxes of clothes, which were directly next to the underwear box. Rugged Dude is all randomly picking up items and pretending he's so very interested, but his eyes keep darting to the side, waiting for the lady to step away from the unmentionables. She then starts looking through the underwear, talking about how she is going to get some for her granddaughters. (Grandmothers: The secondhand-underwear-buying-for-others rule applies to you too. As in: Don't.) Rugged Dude's face gets tense and, trying to be all nonchalant, he says, "Oh yeah, that's what I was coming back for, too."
Me: (thinking) Mmm-hmm. Told you.
We all sort of chuckled because, oh well, you can't slack when it comes to garage sale bargains, homeboy. Everybody knows that. Underwear-Buying-Lady (UBL) dumps the whole box on the table and says, "I'll just take them all." Rugged Dude gets all antsy and asks if she's sure she's buying them all, to which she replies that she is. He stomps off down the driveway, jumps in his car, and PEELS OUT while speeding off! Seriously! Reckless underwear deprivation driving in full effect y'all.
The three of us looked at each other.
Me: Uhhh....
Annie: That wasn't normal right?
UBL: Uh, no. That wasn't normal.
About 5 minutes later, as we stood chatting and I bagged the stuff she bought, RUGGED DUDE CAME BACK! He pulled his beater up in front of the house and barrels up the driveway with a wad of cash in hand.
Rugged Dude: Ma'am. Are you sure you're going to buy all of them?
UBL: (slightly dumbfounded) Yes, I am.
There is a slight air of What The Heck now floating about. Rugged Dude looks at me. I look at Rugged Dude.
RD: And that's all you have?
Me: Yes, that was it.
RD: I'll give you $10 for the whole box!
Dude. I can't make this stuff up.
Me: ......
Annie: ......
UBL: ......
Me thinking: ......
Me: I'm sorry, but I already sold them to her.
*Tension*
He wheels around and storms back down the driveway in an underwear fueld rage, and again, peels out. Now help me understand this: Does the peeling out help you cope in some way? Because it's not like I'm about to chase you down the street and change my mind because you were clearly upset enough to PEEL OUT AT A GARAGE SALE!
And y'all, it's not even over! He drove by TWO MORE TIMES glaring at us. Freak me out, why don't ya? The second time he drove by, the Underwear Buying Lady was gone, and since I'm pretty sure that's who he was looking for, that was the end of it.
Moral of the story: Let Goodwill take care of the underwear selling.
And garage sales.
And cold.
But mostly, it's about underwear.
Last Saturday, I hauled boxes of my
During the Belongings Exfoliation of 2010, I realize I had this whole big box of underwear that I no longer wear but that was still in really good shape (I had a shopping problem once. Darn you Victoria's Secret and your Semi-Annual Sale!)(Also, it's totally weird to say your underwear is in good shape, yes?) Now, I myself am not a secondhand underwear buyer. The thought of it FREAKS. ME. OUT. But hey, some people don't have a problem with it, and also Goodwill sells underwear so it must be ok, right? I texted Annie:
Me: Do people buy underwear at garage sales?
Annie: Idk, worth a shot if you ask me.
Settled.
One of our first few customers was a rugged looking dude, who, when I first saw him, I assumed was looking for tools. Or broken lawnmowers. Or socks. Because that's what the rugged dudes come to garage sales for, you know. He picks up a few things to buy, then spots the box 'o' underwears.
"I don't mean this to be embarrassing," he says. "But what size is the underwear?"
Me thinking: Cha-Ching!
I told him what sizes most of them were, and after a short discussion about what size jeans his lady friend wears, I told him I didn't think they'd fit her. He said ok, paid for the other stuff, and went on his way.
Important note to the fellas: Do NOT buy your lady person underwear at a garage sale. She can buy it herself at a garage sale if she chooses, but do not, under any circumstances, bring it home to her. The only exception is if you have detailed instructions where she specifically states, "If you see underwear at a garage sale, please buy it for me." This is NOT the same as "I need new underwear." PLEASE make note of this. You will thank me.
A lady showed up and sat down next to the box and looked at every single pair, like she was shopping that Semi-Annual Sale. She walked away with 11 pair by the time she was done. Another lady snagged one pair and several more asked about sizes. People, underwear sells at garage sales! I mean, can you get over this?
After we've been out there about 3 hours, Rugged Dude from earlier comes back. I see him walking up the driveway like he's on a Rugged Dude Mission. "He's coming back for the underwear," I said to Annie, laughing. He glanced over everything on the driveway that he already looked at 3 hours earlier and says, "I was on my way home and thought I'd see if y'all put anything else out."
Me: (thinking) Liar. You want panties.
About the same time, there was a lady browsing who was sorting through the boxes of clothes, which were directly next to the underwear box. Rugged Dude is all randomly picking up items and pretending he's so very interested, but his eyes keep darting to the side, waiting for the lady to step away from the unmentionables. She then starts looking through the underwear, talking about how she is going to get some for her granddaughters. (Grandmothers: The secondhand-underwear-buying-for-others rule applies to you too. As in: Don't.) Rugged Dude's face gets tense and, trying to be all nonchalant, he says, "Oh yeah, that's what I was coming back for, too."
Me: (thinking) Mmm-hmm. Told you.
We all sort of chuckled because, oh well, you can't slack when it comes to garage sale bargains, homeboy. Everybody knows that. Underwear-Buying-Lady (UBL) dumps the whole box on the table and says, "I'll just take them all." Rugged Dude gets all antsy and asks if she's sure she's buying them all, to which she replies that she is. He stomps off down the driveway, jumps in his car, and PEELS OUT while speeding off! Seriously! Reckless underwear deprivation driving in full effect y'all.
The three of us looked at each other.
Me: Uhhh....
Annie: That wasn't normal right?
UBL: Uh, no. That wasn't normal.
About 5 minutes later, as we stood chatting and I bagged the stuff she bought, RUGGED DUDE CAME BACK! He pulled his beater up in front of the house and barrels up the driveway with a wad of cash in hand.
Rugged Dude: Ma'am. Are you sure you're going to buy all of them?
UBL: (slightly dumbfounded) Yes, I am.
There is a slight air of What The Heck now floating about. Rugged Dude looks at me. I look at Rugged Dude.
RD: And that's all you have?
Me: Yes, that was it.
RD: I'll give you $10 for the whole box!
Dude. I can't make this stuff up.
Me: ......
Annie: ......
UBL: ......
Me thinking: ......
Me: I'm sorry, but I already sold them to her.
*Tension*
He wheels around and storms back down the driveway in an underwear fueld rage, and again, peels out. Now help me understand this: Does the peeling out help you cope in some way? Because it's not like I'm about to chase you down the street and change my mind because you were clearly upset enough to PEEL OUT AT A GARAGE SALE!
And y'all, it's not even over! He drove by TWO MORE TIMES glaring at us. Freak me out, why don't ya? The second time he drove by, the Underwear Buying Lady was gone, and since I'm pretty sure that's who he was looking for, that was the end of it.
Moral of the story: Let Goodwill take care of the underwear selling.
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