I bought eraser making clay today. ERASER. MAKING. CLAY. Clay intended for the use of making erasers. Can you imagine? These are exciting times we're living in.
So I brought home the clay under the guise of getting it for the kids and we got it all set up and went to work making our erasers. The kids mostly made blob aliens and I came up with this little James Bond quality million dollar invention:
Moustache/Eraser.
It's a Moustache....
It's an eraser.
And I made it.
Now, I know exactly what your thinking right now, readers. My lips do look kind of sphinctery when I wear my homemade dual purpose eraser/moustache. I can't help that, it's genetics. This is the danger one faces when they don't have thin lips. You thin lipped people complain about your lips, then head on out for collagen as soon as you can scrape up the money for those really kissable movie star lips. Then you come home and pucker up for your sweetheart and they're all, "Ummmmm"....
So you say, "Honey, don't you like my new lips?" *pucker pucker*
Then your honey says, "I liked them fine before; I like natural beauty. I hope the collagen hasn't wrecked 'em."
"Did you say rectum?"
*awkward silence*
*reality sinking in*
"care for a mint?"
So be happy about your inconspicuously thin lips, people. You don't know what I go through when I have to take puckery types of photos... And can you imagine what happens when Melanie Griffith puckers up? Preparation H is all I'm saying.
That's also why I'm throwing the eraser/moustache directly in the garbage right now.
There had better be a person called, "Milestone" who owns this restaurant, because every time I drive past it, the Grammar Stickler/Super Nerd inside of me goes completely berserk. One day I am going to stomp right in and demand to meet Milestone, owner of Milestone's and if they can't produce such a person, I am going to return under the cloak of darkness and sharpie out that offensive apostrophe.
Eddie Cullen. Forks prom night, 1977. Who says you can't makeover hospital gowns into evening attire? Vampires have many varied skill sets.
So. I watched a Twilight movie. I know, you guys- but I needed to know what the fuss was about for people over the age of 25. I still need to know, because as far as I can tell, it's just a cacophony of depressed teenagers being extremely serious & deep (as teenagers are world renowned for) while running around in the forest, getting into predicaments and making out and then deciding NOT to make out at the last second because it's too dangerous. Seriously, it's like Stephanie Meyer found the deep, dark, black velvet-lined, thesaurus-ravaged poetry anthology that I wrote when I was fifteen and just filled it in here and there with sparkles. I hadn't thought of mixing my mom-making-me-do-my-chores induced depression with sparkly magic boyfriends or I would be filthy rich today. Plus none of my boyfriends were very sparkly OR magic , except the ones who have had braces (Sorry ex boyfriends who are no doubt pouring over this blog every day with their regrets for letting this gem get away. We can still be friends, some of you.)- but that is entirely beside the point.
There is a glaring piece of history in this novel that needs to be filled in *fingertap x3*: What was Edward Cullen doing between the years of 1901 and 2003? I'm sure he didn't just sit around twiddling his thumbs and draining cats. He seems like a stylish feller. I mean, sure, Bella Swan came along and blew him off his feet with her great attitude, because in allll those years, those DECADES AND DECADES, there was nobody more interesting than a pissy little 17 year old whiner with zero sense of humor and a ton of baggage. Uh huh. Not to mention, she smells like BBQ to him.What we learn here is that the way to a man's heart is solely through his stomach, which means that smelling like meat 24/7 = win for everyone!
In fact, since seeing it, every morning I dab a little bit of Dorito cheese powder behind my ears to drive Neil wild with lust. Then he's all, "I would kiss you right now, but I don't want to hurt you..." and I'm like, "DAMMIT, I overdid it when I switched to the cool ranch Dorito cheese powder." Then Neil is all, "I am leaving and never coming back. To protect you." So then I say, "Then I'm making friends with the neighbor's Pomeranian and when it turns into a real boy, I'm getting it to fix the minivan and then I'm jumping in front of a bus and you'll HAVE to come back. To save me." Then he's like, "Damn. You are clever. Let's get married" So then I say, " SHa. Right. I'd have to get divorced from my OTHER husband for that to happen, speaking of undead." Then we laugh and gaze at each other, then look away in pain. Then we almost makeout, but I have to run out of the room in my flowing dress. We're just like Edward & Bella, only like 30 years later or something- and with a mortgage and no time to sit in our bedrooms and pout from the months of October until March. Plus he's even older than me. What a dirty old perv, eh? Yeah totally.
AAaanyhoo, what this pedophile, Edward, has going for him though- is his dazzlingly great looks! Just like Luke Perry, he can still pass for 17 at the age of 38, 76 and finally 102! I'm sure there are more than a few priests out there who would give their eye teeth (if they have any left- ho ho ha ha hee, *sigh* funny funny stuff, Self.) to be immortalized as a sparkling 13 year old.. Nobody would eEEeeEEver suspect what kinds of shenanigans they were up to in their forever-disguises as adolescents. Not even the Pope. Anyhow, enough digressing about vampire *pedophiliac church deacons. I am actually here to discuss the metamorphosis of Mista Cullen:
Ed on his way to his first Werewolf war. AwwWWww!
What do you mean you didn't notice??
Edward purchases his first automobile, 1920ish. What a wild day when he took it 4x4ing. Luckily he had the guns mounted on the roof loaded with silver bullets to ward off snickering werewolves when they could walk faster than he could drive and then later when he was cranking up the engine. He can't wait for trans-ams to be invented.
Ed sporting his stylin' new zoot suit. What a riot!
Just hangin' out with his satin, brocade dinner jacket, 1963. Chillin' out. Just Chillaxin' and being a vampire. He wasn't going to be any dirty 60s hippy; no, he was gonna be cruisin' the laydays...
Edward adopts his 'animals only' vegetarian-vampire diet. Silly Edward confused monkeys with monkees.
Edward "Sazzle" Cullen briefly performs with the band, Queen. He could even go out in the sun for a while and people just thought his sparkles were sequins. This is when he was also experimenting with supertight perms.
Edday Cull-an. Fashioning hisself after the (almost?) late Leif Garret. Is that guy dead? I dunno. I'm not looking it up. WEET WOO! Old Ed has been a hearthrob through ALL the decades. (Oh me, Oh my, OH NO! That vampire has a camel toe!)
Edward attends a gladiator pool party in 1982, sadly he has to sit in the shadows and just watch even though he KNOWS he could beat those guys.. Poor Edward.
Edward Cullen did some extra work for the popular family sitcom, ALF in the late 80s. Again, he had to be extra careful not to be caught under the show's lighting equipment so nobody would see his telltale vampire sparklies.
Ed moves onto the 80s fashion scene nice. and. smooth-like. Here he is in his 76th 11th grade photo.
Seriously? I'm the only one who noticed?
So, there we have a sneak peek into the history of Edward Cullen. I am going to go now and continue trying to figure out why grown people are excited about this. Don't we have enough on our plates dealing with REAL teenager mood swings? Why subject ourselves? I mean IIIII have a good reason. I need blog material. The rest of you. *tsk tsk* I am fascinated by this phenomenon. It's like adults buzzing about parent-trap or beach blanket bingo. I will never ever ever understand.
Alright, this was supposed to just be my project 365 photo, but it kind of turned into a good blog entry... so I'm pasting it over here with bonus information; I generally like to keep 365 succinct- except this once. Not all of you follow my 365 (BASTARDS! I mean, hey- that's okay, you have a lot of blogs to visit. I totally understand. *teeth grind*), so I thought I'd talk about it here. Plus here, I can post the ridiculous photo I took of Henry Rollins because it's not against my weird personal 365 rules that are forever changing and making me paranoid.
Breakfast! Also, you will notice a stamp on my lovely manhand (probably, there won't be offers of hand modeling gigs pouring in after this) from the Henry Rollins spoken word tour, a show that I went to yesterday thanks to friends, Janet & Steffan! (Who I now owe a sock beast) It was fantastic. Ironically, Ann Coulter was speaking at another event in town. OH to have those two in a room together! It's the only way I'd pay to see Ann Coulter, the she-devil (unless is was a mean spirited roast or public head-shaving, I'd totally go to that). Anyhow, I got a message to be AT the venue immediately if I wanted to go, and I did my best to materialize on the spot with zero speeding tickets. HENRY ROLLINS? ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME??!?!
The show was 3 hours, spoken word. Kind of like a motivational sermon from an Icon of Punk. And he was really great, very interesting, outspoken and dammit, he was right about things. I was particularly impressed with his story about the time he walked directly up to Than Shwe's Limo and flipped him the bird, 5 inches from his face for being a conniving and cruel despot. It was so brilliantly American and reminiscent about why we like having our neighbors to the south. Props, Americans!
The message: Feed your own mind, question what you're told and don't be a jerk to people, mixed in with some colorful anecdotes and opinions. It was an eclectic potpourri of his ideas that ranged from football/people watching parties at William Shatner's house to human rights and filesharing music with remote teenaged Sri Lankans, self education and why it's okay for him to teach your children to shove beans into their sinuses, the internal struggle that stemmed from his guest judging RuPaul's drag race and the fact that every nation is full of the same humanity & vulnerability and we don't have to be afraid of badguys all the time- but don't take his word for it, go see for yourself. A well rounded show, is what I'm saying.
I took one super crappy picture that made Mr Rollins look like one of those Halloween-Leaf-Bag people doing the robot... from which you could argue that it was a setup and that I didn't see Mr Rollins at ALL because clearly I went to see a bag of leaves with a tape recorder in it.. or that I am just crazy, so I opted for a hand-stamp photo instead for my photo of the day. We can't have anyone questioning my sanity now, can we? No questions about it; it's questionable. >:D That's how I like to keep it... But I still like the hand stamp picture better.
The stamp reads, "Spectra Sonic". I kind of wish it was a tattoo.
Weekends are slow, what with all of you having such exciting things to do... so why not lazy out with a twitter summary?
I .have. a. typewriter. in. my. possession. HAPPY DAY!
So I burned an actual hole in the ceramic top of my stove. It doesn't mean I can't cook.
Dear Cadbury Mini Eggs, Get in my belly.
Saw 2 accidents, a woman laying in the middle of the street, gave away a typewriter and paid for a stranger's parking. Weird day.
Why don't convenience stores deliver? Hm? Sounds like inconvenience stores to me.
My son is pretending he's a big ball of armpit hair.
I found a raspberry seed in my hair. This after a lice notice from the school. Nothing is scarier than the idea of having lice. *jeebity*
I dreamed that I fell into the ocean and nearly drowned because I wouldn't let go of my iron & it pulled me down. IRON? Do I even own one?
Also, I took a huge risk today and waxed my own eyebrows. Both remain intact! Success.
I've rolled up 4 rims and not won a thing. WHY DO YOU MOCK ME, TIM HORTON'S????
Whatsherface in the blue bikini looks like a 3 day old mozzarella cheese stick. #survivor
Toddlers are not very good at taking care of laptops.
Saw STOMP. Was pretty awesome. I want to break my garbage cans.
Wait... I DID break my garbage cans already. With my car. Stomp never did THAT. I rule
Apparently we're going to be watching, "Manswers."
Why do I want to see hot tub time machine so badly?
I'm pretty confident that Kevin James will be getting that Oscar for his inspiring portrayal of Paul Blart, Mall Cop..
I don't understand what makes a grown person start a twitter account for their cat... and then pretend to BE the cat.. and they are serious.
It enrages me. The End.
If my cat ever starts a blog, it'll be about being a total whore.
ZOIKS. See? Every time I rant about something, 22 people come out of the closet of their own weirdness.
I would be getting a tattoo right now but the shop is closed???
**Also, Readers, Kirstie Alley talked to me because I told her that she was funny because nothing she says makes sense 96% of the time. Then she tried to explain something she had said. I dunno what she was getting at, but that makes me pretty much the best supporting actress in "Look Who's Talking". Not to mention that yesterday, we looked over into the car next to us in traffic and there was Don Cherry. For real. He was even wearing the cartoon tuxedo that he always wears to games. Now I can say that celebrities swarm me all the time. Back off, celebrities. I need my space. Concentrate on your jobs.
So today at Chapters, I was sort of minding my own business, perusing the advanced literary genius books when I heard some audible warbling... Someone was reading out loud. Fine. Someone must have just been reading an interesting passage to their shopping partner, right? WRONG. SO WRONG. This grown person was reading a magazine OUT LOUD in the store; all by them self. Just sitting there on the leather ottoman reading away an article in a magazine for the world to hear without even flinching. WELL. This is unacceptable behavior. Completely unacceptable.
So I got a little closer to have a listen, perhaps this person had found some kind of important article about the world's impending doom that must be given attention. Nope. It was an article about 'TWILIGHT' *shudder*. EwWWwwwwww. I was overcome with self righteousness and had to stare at her back from my little nest of books in the genius section. I stared DAGGERS at her. DAGGERS, you guys.
The imaginary conversation I had with her is as follows and is hence forth to be acted out by lego men in the medium of photographic storyboarding. She being Lego Yoda (in her ugly orange sweater) and me, The Lego Princess Leia (in her limited vestments). Here is how it all happened in my sophisticated mental faculties:
YODA: ...blah blah... release for NEW MoOn will be less than a MONTH away... *more muttering about Rob Pattinson* something something, collector's edition...
ME AS LEGO PRINCESS LEIA: HEY YOU! You are supposed to twitter with your Macintosh Apple Iphone, Jackass! *snicker snicker* Not OUT LOUD to strangers. And guess what? There appears to be nothing wrong with you apart from the fact that you're reading People magazine OUT LOUD to nobody. *snicker* So what's up with you, FOUR EYES? Get it? It's funny because you have glasses. Well you would if it was the real you acting this out and not Lego Yoda, who does not wear glasses, nor can I make any as I am out of pipe cleaners AND twist ties. *cough*
YODA: Huh? I can't afford an apple iphone.
ME AS BEAUTIFUL, SLIM LEIA: "Waaah... I don't have an apple IPHONE"... OH kvetch kvetch kvetch. That just makes you inferior and laughable (however somewhat lovable). Don't you even watch the apple advertisements? We "Mac" geniuses are cool and all down to earth and calm and helpful about every single thing on earth and wear practical, yet stylish blue sweaters all the time and you "non apple supporting people" are frantic, out-of-touch-with-couture twits. Hello?? Are you listening to me? It's even been recorded by the media? Besides, if you look at what I'm possibly going to be purchasing, you'll be embarrassed at yourself to see that it's an interesting glance at the common misuses of English grammar *chuckle*. Hilarious stuff. And you? Cultureless CELEBRITY RAG? Your so simple. Must be nice.
STUPID LEGO YODA: HA HA HA. You just said, "your", instead of, "you're" which was completely grammatically inappropriate.... And you fancy yourself a Grammar Stickler...*chortle*
LEIA THE TANTALIZING: What? No.... I didn't. I couldn't have.
YODA THE YODELING YAKHERDER: Yes you did.
LEIA THE SMART AND BRAVE: What are you even talking about, outloud-reader-to-nobody person? Your not making cent's.
YODA THE HUGE BULLY: You're doing it again. Your grammar is atrocious.
LEIA (the melancholy): STOP IT! STOP IT! LEAVE ME ALONE!!!
CHAPTERS FLOOR MANAGER: AW hell. YOU AGAIN?! I'm going to have to ask you to leave again, MICHELLE. Hand over the Starbucks cups.
LEIA: Um, I think you're confused. My name is Lego Princess Leia.
Floor Manager: Look, Freak- we've already contacted the police. I don't know how you slipped past security, anyway. Must be the clever disguise.
The REAL Princess Leia: You won't get away with this. You're wrong. You're ALL WRONG!!! YOU'LL SEE!!! AHAahahHHAhahahahahHHHAA!!
Then I swing away into the city on the spideywebs which I can shoot out of my wrists, pursuing the trail of Yoda (the lone outloud reader), who has slipped away unnoticed, of course.
I basically live in crippling fear of being featured on the People of Walmart blog. I loathe Walmart as it is, but sometimes I have no choice. Like if twilight posters or glue on googly eyes are on sale or something, and I'm making googly eyed twilight crafts that day- I have to go. I'm chained by price rollbacks like a pet alligator on a leash. "Sure I'm here. I'm going to bite your knees off in a minute th....OOoOoh! Are those Mr Clean Magic Erasers really only 99 cents??? Oh, I'd better get loads!". Then live in self loathing for the rest of the day, with the magic erasers spread around me like ill begotten blood money. "WHAT HAVE I DOOOOOOOONE???? I said I'd never do this again! I'm sorry family and loved ones. I am sorry", as I scrub and scrub and scrub away the dirty feeling.
But what if one day, I realize that I have to go there at like 11 pm and I'm already in my purple velvet mini skirt and "Git r Done, America" sleeveless denim print work shirt tied at the midriff and the only shoes I can find are my white, thigh high, vinyl, six inch, high heeled boots with extra zippers and my pink feathered shabby cowgirl hat that I bought out of a trans-am on the side of the highway one day when I was driving to the country fever beaver festival with my internet cousin, Starla_Dawn58 and what if our beat up old truck broke down with nary another traveller in sight? Then what if we spotted the man with the black t-top trans am selling his wares, thinning & worn out sandy mullet blowing in the wind, wrangler jeans, the crater in his shirtless pigeon chest collecting morning dew as he lay on the hood of his spectacular hot rod?.... Then the punishing decision... should I buy the rose/kitten print, beadazzled, artfully shredded and beaded t shirt.. or feathered cowboy sunhat...? Or should I just cut the legs off of my white nylons and wear the gusset on my head? What if that happened?
And then what if I have to hurry because Walmart is closing and I'm never going to make it on time so I just throw on a Lucky Charms Members only jacket and head on over. And then what if someone takes a photo of me and decides that it should go on the Walmartian website? I will be soooo mortified, you guys. I wouldn't even have time to mace them.
But for real. What if I pass out from Sprawlmart/McDonalds fumes one day and fall into one of their clothes racks, get tangled up, come to and stand up only to realize that a pimp did my make up while I was passed out and I'm all surrounded by fizzy mouthed Walmart paparazzi and BINGODAMMIT- a picture of me tangled up in tube tops and green checkered jeans ends up the internetz.
This morning, while slurping away at my coffee and reading my new book about people suddenly turning immortal (no, it's not the bible OR twilight), I found myself humming a tune. Later this morning, while replenishing the coffee maker, I found that I was doing a little boogying with the humming. However, the final straw was when I began brushing my teeth and blurted out a line to a song that I know everyone has now heard, spewing toothpaste suds, eyes shut, toothbrush held in front of me like a microphone. I'm such a twit (an awesome twit). I was downright trippin' the light fantastic.
But then, I opened my eyes and saw standing there, dripping spitty greenish toothpaste froth into the sink, wearing mens pajama pants with Las Vegas print on them, my hair still snarled and mashed to one side of my head and staring at me was my very own reflection. I clutched my toothbrush and I realized what had happened. Miley Cyrus. Miley Cyrus. Oh. My. God. I've been corrupted by Miley Cyrus's new pop song. I do not approve of this.... The horror ran my bones as cold as the first time I looked into a dark bathroom mirror as a child, took a breath and said aloud, "Bloody Mary Bloody Mary Bloody....... Miley?"
You see? This is what happens when you raise your ear from ground. You get pulled in by the music you hear on TV commercials for new cellular ring tones. You start to like it. Apparently I haven't turned on my stereo in a really long time. It's because people need music and when you're starved, any old thing tastes great. Even Miley Cyrus.
But what to do? I feel for the kid. The ultra rich, gorgeous, grinning kid. Poor thing. She was born with real talent that was immediately commandeered and shaped by the despotism of The Disney, like those people who grow cubed watermelons in a plexi box. Cubed watermelons look cool, but did they want to be cubed? Nobody will ever know. And you gotta get 'em when they're still little. All I know is that they just naturally look less appetizing and too stackable. Much like all of the Disney Pop Stars before they were chewed and spat out into the sharks by Disney, used up. Never eased into adulthood with grace, each one has had to 'shake off' her childish image by behaving like a rhinestone crusted superskank for the cameras so that they might shock the world into realizing they are not a Mickey Mousekateer anymore. When thrown in prison, act crazy to keep the masses from raping you. Same survival tactic.
She didn't even have a chance. She really didn't, with her Dad being Billy Ray Cyrus, the one hit sellout country mullet God. He ran out of chances to sell himself out, so he sold his daughter to Disney in a blonde wig, telling himself and everyone why it is perfectly okay and it's different than when other people do it etc etc... Because afterall- she got an allowance juuuuust like a normal, well adjusted teenager. And it has paid off for him in a very big way. She's a bigger star than he could have ever hoped to be himself. However, the price being that all of her natural talent has been squeezed into a Pop Princess, do-it-for-the-tweens, let's do a fashion line, real popstars don't act like regular teenagers, hot pink, made to order, squeaky clean, plexi cube. What's that? An original thought? We have pills for that, Lardass. And they are now superduper rich. Whatever it takes, I guess. I do feel bad for her, because her life was snatched up and unless she performs a miracle, she will be the next gal to be shoved onto the train wreck with Britney Spears and Christina Whatsherface. Hopefully she'll salvage some of her talent and be taken seriously at one point in her life.
Way to crank 'em out there, Disney.
So, I can't help it if a teen focus group wrote a catchy song for her and I've caught the pop princess one hit plague. What can I do? I can't get it out of my head. My mind has betrayed me. I want to shake myself and then give myself a good slap and yell, "Pull yourself together for the love of God!!!" I am doing what I can to quarantine myself and get it out of my system. I'm going to have to give my mind a good washing out. A Joey Ramone Mind Enema (patent pending). That's what. (Tell me that there are support groups. I'm falling apart here.)
In the mean time, I have to go put my hands up, it seems that there is some sort of party in the USA that must be attended to. Or maybe I should just walk into traffic. Or dance. Yeah... I'll dance into traffic. WOoOooOHhooOOOo!
Right, so the junk mail has improved. Today is the second day in a row that I have received cookie samples on my doorknob. (Eat cookies that you've found on your doorstep, Michelle? Sounds like a great idea.) I kind of wish it was my job to sneak around the neighborhood leaving samples of cookies for total strangers like a friendly little elf/nutjob- frolicking from house to house with my grocery bag full of cookie samples. I wonder if homemade cookies would be as well received... Hmm... Guess I'll add it to the bucket list.
Anyhow, these are not just your run of the mill, left on your doorknob cookie samples, folks. Upon first look, I thought they were condoms. I. DID. I'd thought that Fluffy Sparkles might have given up her personal directive of breaking a world record for the largest pile of dead mice on a door mat in the morning in favour of promoting safer sex.... But Fluffy Sparkles has been fixed, you see. I am not sure she puts much thought into such racy things these days. She's kind of a prude.
There was good reason to believe that someone planted birth control on my doorknob though, Dorkherd. If you have a look, you'll notice that there are two parties featured on the front of the box looking very interested in each other, one being a shirtless, spit polished, somewhat radioactive looking cowboy for added intrigue and the other being the once pure blossoming virgin with new and confusing thoughts about the new farm hand. The package DOES say, 'Lifestyle' so give me a break. It totally looks like some kind of Condom door hanger. I was pretty sure that if I flipped over the box, it would conveniently read, "Do Not Disturb" in case the finder of the samples got into a total frenzy upon finding this racy sample box hanging from their door knob and needed a sign to warn potential droppers by about why they should return maybe later.
However, upon finding that the packaging actually read "Peek Freans", it all clicked. Peek Freans, EH?? Oh I see what's happening here. They've made their cookies sexier and more appealing to adult tastes... Mood cookies, one could call them. Well I'm no fool. I opened the package and there was definitely no prophylactics in there with the cookies. NONE. Did they think I'd get so wrapped up in the moment and FORGET? Not a chance. You know what else I know? Peek Freans make baby cookies. You reading me here? PEEK FREANS are trying to get me pregnant so I'll ALSO buy the baby cookies. I'd have to buy more baby cookies if I got pregnant. Well it's a good thing I'm wise to this dastardly pyramid marketing ploy. Dodged a bullet there. I already have a hoard of baby cookies, thankyouverymuch.
Yep. See? It's just cookies in a little airline-ish package. Less impressive in your wallets... or are they?
Because this would totally impress a date, if the person were worth dating thatis. Seeing how your date reacts to something like this is pretty much a fool proof method of finding out if they're the one.
Vanilla Bean Latte Harlequin Cookies. They make me feel dirty. No- like really dirty. Because I ate them off the porch.
Alright, Nerdsquad. It's 12:33 am and I have been pretty much transferring files (long overdue) from my old crapattack, dell, missing-the-letter-k laptop to my glorious, new-ish (November=new, right? it totes does. That's right I said totes because I am delirious) macbook FOREVER. If you're on my twitter or FB, you've been skipping over my complain-y updates for hours. and. hours.
I've found that the most effective way to avoid the bajillion glitches in my dell is to use bluetooth to move files. OMG slow. So here is some rambly crap for you to read and enjoy while I watch the progress bar until I am hypnotized and strangle something inanimate. Like that cat over there.
1. Teenagers speak aloud to each other in text. IN TEXT. They SAY "smiley face" and they SAY, "Awww Frowny". Just when I thought emo pants were the most obnoxious things ever, this surfaces. The fact that I say, "Oh Em Gee" occasionally, weighs very lightly on this, though Geeks. For rlz. I stole it from another adult who happens to be totally awesome. Totes. This is what is happening to our youth. We're pretty much screwed when we get really old, eh?
2. The farmer in my Dell
The farmer in my Dell
High Ho Ontario
The farmer in my Dell has been sucking the life out of me all day and I need to step away, but if I do, I might never take the files off of it and I hate the people at the Net Nanny place because they make my life that much more difficult and they lie to me and say it will be easy to format the computer so that it is safe for a pre teen to use it without accidentally exposing his eyes to the unsavory internets- but it's not easy at allllllll, it's a pain in the arse and I need to sleeeeeeeeeep but I'm stupid and promised I'd do thiiiiIIIIiiiiiissssssssss killlll meeeeeeeeee.... (but don't really kill me, internet weirdos, spare me because look how dedicated to stuff I am. You don't find that every day.)
3. So on my old computer were all the old lame-o youtube vidlogs I used to do. That was a stroll down memory lane/back into cabin fever. Wild. Maybe I'll post a montage of them set to some peppy and then very sad early 90s pop music. Maybe I won't.
4. Maybe instead I'll have an oreo straw. I thought plain old oreos and beer were glorious but now you can drink your beer THROUGH an oreo. A straw made of oreos for beer. Think about that awesomeness. I mean really sit down and think about it.
5. I have to stop. This blog is whacktarded.
6. I wish I was at the waterslides right this second.
Holy crap you guys... I just saw my neighbor out of doors in his back yard. It's like a wildlife miracle. I would be less shocked to see the famed chupacabra christmas velociraptor. Even now, I am peering through the venetian blinds with my opera binoculars. He's looking at things. Shhhhhhhh..... let's not frighten him. Perhaps he's mapping out a new underground bunker to keep his people-pets in. I was under the impression that if he left his basement, all of the people he's kidnapped and is keeping down there might somehow alert the world to their presence.... or his grow op might become exposed. Someone might angle themselves just so and see in one of the dented blinds while his milk white head reflects the sun into their eyes, rendering them blind FOREVER. He didn't seem to be sparkling or anything, so I don't think he's a vampire. He has shiny spots, but no direct.. y'know... vampire sparkles. I feel as though I've seen the semi-hairless, caucasian cave Samsquanch.
(real book)
This is an exciting day for rare neighbor watching enthusiasts everywhere.
So the other day we went to the beach. It was a very nice day. Very nice weather. The same day that I ran up the hill, actually. Anyhow, we'd decided to all stumble around in the sand. The kids were finding shells and dismembered crab claws and garbage etc to stick in their pockets for me to find later and throw up.
Not too far from us, was a nice little family building a sand castle. Oh how delightful it was- until we wandered closer to them and found that the Father was like, the angry, jaded foreman of sandcastle building and his 3ish and 5ish year old crew members were just not making the cut. I'd say borderline ass on the line, almost fired if they didn't watch it.
Never in my life have I seen someone more frustrated at sandcastles being built unevenly by preschoolers:
"No no no, it's NOT STRAIGHT. We have to remake it", and he mashes down the new tower.
"No, it's not symmetrically lining up" Mash Mash
"That will never work!, COME ON! Line it up!"
"I SAID don't put the tower there!"
Among other confidence building statements.
Like, take a step back and a big breath of fresh air, guy. Mebbe count to 12 or something or picture baby chickens and rainbow unicorns for a minute or two. Was he worried that clients were watching? Was he worried that the Mike Holmes of sandcastle critique would pop out of a bush and criticize their shoddy workmanship and he'd never work in this town again? "Gee whiz there Buddy, if that's any indication of how you would build a real castle, you and your crew here are just not going to be able to work for our massive, global sand-home building enterprise. Better luck next time. It's a shame because you stood to make gajillions of dollars. We're also going to be filming a shameful exposé about the substandard work we see here today".
I dunno, Maybe that WAS the case. There were quite a few strangers there after all. Mike Holmes is pretty much everywhere. Him and Christopher Lloyd. Anyhow, the point is that I've finished publicly judging him and it was very cathartic for me.
It's almost time for boot camp again, y'all. I never say y'all. Why did I type that? Oh well. No going back now. So I get to go back to the gym 3 times a week for 6:00am sharp starting on Monday to be brutalized with a pilates ball & kettle bells by Dale. Well his name's Andrew, but I prefer to degrade him by calling him Dale. Think of how tough I am, y'all. Not really, although I do have some power in my gams. You just can't tell unless I'm kicking you in the throat.
So ya. I'm pretty stoked about that.
Anyhow, here is the deal. I didn't start running, okay? Instead, I wrote lots of blogs and learned how to use twitter. I was supposed to really get down to business with becoming a runner last week but I crapped out bigtime. TV was pretty mediocre, so I watched a lot of that. Even though survivor wasn't on... or was it? Who can tell anymore? I spent my month off of boot camp reading running magazines & websites, internet shoe shopping, deciding if I should buy some lululemon pants so that I can at least FOOL everyone into thinking that I've been running. Y'know... throw on some blush and strategically spray water at the back of my shirt & arm pits, then pant and buy vitamin water while pretending not to hear anyone because my ipod is turned up pretty loud. "WHAT? THAT'S AN AWFUL LOT OF MONEY FOR STUPID VITAMIN WATER THAT ISN'T EVEN GOOD FOR YOU ACCORDING TO SEVERAL REPUTABLE STUDIES. SCREW THAT, I'LL QUENCH MYSELF WITH SWEAT BECAUSE I'M PRETTY HARDCORE AS YOU MAY BE ABLE TO SEE.."is what I'd say over my motivational running music, then throw the bottle at Bill who works around the corner at the Quikee Mart. But the joke is on them because I'd only have Neil's ipod headphones and no ipod at ALL. (Because I don't even have an ipod.. poor me, eh?) Then I'd say something like, "Gotta JET" and then bound around the corner to my car and go to Chapters for a pumpkin latte and some cookies. So I didn't get the pants.
The other option is to get some pants at Costco and tell everyone they're lululemon. As if they'd even know. I'm a pretty crafty person.
Did I even tell you guys how I KNOW about lululemon? WELL. I was on this airplane once, and strangers tend to feel like they should drop their entire sordid pasts on me during flights. I have that trustworthy face or something... or I always get stuck with the senile, talkative folks... or it could be all the torturing supplies that I bring with me on flights. Anyhow, I was sitting next to this 80something year old woman who told me her entire life history, including how she took a bus to Tijuana with some of her girlfriends when she was younger. Anyhow, they stayed drunk pretty much the whole time and she ran away with the bus driver who was her best friend's boyfriend. SO I told her how I kinda like Abba and that I was wearing men's underpants. Then she told me that I would LOVE Lululemon and I was all... "Hmmm..... she sounds like she knows what she's talking about". But I never did check it out or go in the store. I just noticed that other people are all about this stuff and kinda feel a little inadequate sometimes for not having any lululemon of my very own. But then my anarchist side kicks in and says, "FIGHT THE POWER" and I wouldn't be seen dead in it.
I'm going to write luluLIME on my Costco pants with a bleach pen now. I'm so punk, man.
Why is it just so damned hilarious when it's your own stupid cat in a shirt? Is it because she is just walking around like everything is normal in a shirt? Is it because the shirt is now riding up and she's crooked walking and cats are too stupid to know anything is going on? Is it because I am now too lazy to take the shirt off of her? Is it because my mother used to put our pajamas on us upside down when we were toddlers because she didn't have enough channels and thought it was funny? Is it because I've resorted to blogging about my cat wearing a shirt? Is it all the wine I drank? Nobody will ever know.
I think I'll make the cat wear a damned shirt all the time from now on. I'm in charge around here. Mind your own business. If I can put shirts on all of my guitars and then take pictures of them, then I can put a shirt on my damned cat. I know what's best for her.
So there. Besides, that whole guitar-shirt shenanigan was like, AGES ago. I was under a lot of stress. Oh SURE. Nobody thinks it's weird when people name their guitars, but put one little article of clothing on them and automatically you're CRAZY. "OH she's crazy. She put shirts on her guitars" they all whisper audibly. Not ALL the time, people. Back off.
So I went and had my hair done the other day. That was pretty much a nightmare. I really hate trying to find a new stylist. It has been 7 months since I moved away from the best Jennifer who bossed me around with my hair and made all of my dreams come true(except the reocurring one where my sister's father in law is a rampant serial killer and I have to stop him with only dental floss... still haven't resolved that one- if I were ever willing to apply myself the way those women in the movies do when they have dreams like that, I might blow open the biggest case of serial murder that Northern Alberta has ever seen... except that he's not actually a serial murderer at all. He's just a guy who brought my brother in law into the world so I'd better not put him behind bars for good. It would make Christmases pretty awkward. Elephant in the room, so to speak). So I've been putting off getting my hair done at all costs, which is basically a train wreck since I insist on being an unholy shade of blonde- and that is a commitment unto itself.
By the time I'd itemized my list of demands to the quivering woman prior to her butchery, I could see her actual mind blowing. That really should have been the first red flag indicating that I should have bolted out of there faster than an epileptic speed freak(offensive? doesn't even make sense? huh?)... but I stayed. I decided not to be judgemental against her for juuust long enough for her to ruin my life. STUPID. ALWAYS go with being judgemental.
I'd show you the end product, but someone might google search it and think I'd done it on purpose. It was somewhere between circa 1996 A&W team member and captain of the scrap booking soccer mom club (or SS). It wasn't punkish, saucy, feminine, respectable or ahead of the trends AT ALL. So I pushed her down, told her that her kids were ugly and left.
Anyhow, luckily, my hair is naturally curly and I can easily hide all the haircut flaws by letting it go into it's organic state of depraved steel brillo pad.
Today I managed to escape for an hour of shopping alone. BLISS. So I called my dearest from Costco to ask him some kind of life or death question, he answered and I put the phone into my cart and carried on perusing the fine wares at Costco (read: fine wares=jumbo baby butt wipes and free dried mango samples..yummo).
WELL. I learned later on that I'd left the phone on and Mr Stalky Stalkerson LISTENEDto the rest of my trip to Costco while I was totally unaware. SO I think I have earned a whole extra shopping trip alone since he surveiled me this time via his fancy spacephone. HE thinks he's SOOO funny and clever.
"I heard you talking to the check out people." *snicker snicker* "You bought goldfish crackers" *snicker snicker*
HMPH.
I even bought him Costco pants and everything.
Neil says, "Tell your Geeksquad to come upstairs and look at the closet I organized." He'd better watch out, I might. Then you'll ALL judge him for organizing the socks alphabetically instead of chromatically and I'll have my revenge. OH how I'll LAUGH then!
So what if I got lost THREE times today trying to get to and from the airport which I've driven to 29387402983742341234 times without a previous problem? So what if getting to the airport only requires me to make 6 right turns in total? Huh? So what?
So what if I am sign and map-lexic? Everyone got where they were going, so shut up, guy who I almost sideswiped because I was listening intently to copperhead road. I am all kinds of cool.
So I'm reading 'Watchmen' by Alan Moore & Dave Gibbons. It's the first graphic novel/comic book type anything I've ever read. I took it with me to Sull's swimming lesson. While there, I sat in the middle of a gaggle of mothers, trying to conceal my giant comic book. Because like.. it's a comic, right? How silly.
Then I noticed that about 4/5 of them are reading 'Twilight' or a derivative thereof. I cannot stress enough how baffled I am by people's obsession with this series. I read the first one, trying to figure out the hype around it and I. do. not. get. it. I tried to read the second but no dice. I just don't see the draw. Ah well, at least people are reading. Maybe I am biased toward truly twisted novels... but a teenager in love with a 300 year old vampire just didn't do it for me. I did read her other novel, The Host and it's not too bad. But the Twilight series. Meh. I get it if you're a teenager, I really do. I just don't care to read about a mopey, boy crazy teenager any more than I want to watch Mean Girls or Teenwolf. (Alright, that's a lie. I totally want to watch Teenwolf) . I would have liked it when I was 15, I'm sure... maybe. No.. I liked weird, twisted books. I hear the Sookie Stackhouse series is a more grown up version of similar events. Maybe that'll be more my bag of kittens.
So anyway- At that point, I felt better about my comic. Maybe even smug. *gasp*
It's pretty good so far, though. It's laced with actual chapters and it's different. I recommend it if you're up for swaying from whatever your usual genre is... that is unless you've read it. Then you can just forget I said anything. Or read my blog. Do that. Comment lots.
Also on the list is Obama's book, 'Something Something my father something.' Looks like it'll be good. If I could remember the title- but I can't and I don't feel like looking for it, so tough. You know the one I'm talking about, it was plastered all over the place for a while there.
Sooo. That's my book blog. Now you know what I'm doing.
Speaking of reading... my 10 year old has developed an excellent new vice. Sneaking and reading novels all hours of the night. I have to pretend that I disapprove.
Moustache/Eraser.
It's a Moustache....
It's an eraser.
YODA: ...blah blah... release for NEW MoOn will be less than a MONTH away... *more muttering about Rob Pattinson* something something, collector's edition...
LEIA THE TANTALIZING: What? No.... I didn't. I couldn't have.
CHAPTERS FLOOR MANAGER: AW hell. YOU AGAIN?! I'm going to have to ask you to leave again, MICHELLE. Hand over the Starbucks cups.
LEIA: Um, I think you're confused. My name is Lego Princess Leia.
The REAL Princess Leia: You won't get away with this. You're wrong. You're ALL WRONG!!! YOU'LL SEE!!! AHAahahHHAhahahahahHHHAA!!
