tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50321037096889921152024-03-05T23:25:25.383-08:00IntellectualMy almost-hobby.Smilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15366738692011898734noreply@blogger.comBlogger73125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032103709688992115.post-1227597736423431592014-04-18T12:55:00.002-07:002014-04-18T12:55:36.581-07:00Crock Pot AdventuresI want to try to take this in a different direction for the time being; since I'm either not creative enough or my life isn't interesting enough to write about day-to-day thing, I'm going to try keeping track of my journey to fitness here instead. Perhaps it will cause me to get a little more serious about getting in shape, because nothing else really seems to be working.<br />
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However, I couldn't start right away, as I have just moved (again) and didn't have a computer or internet for over a week. I know that doesn't sound like a very long time, but I probably would have gone crazy if I hadn't had my smart phone. I wouldn't have known where to get my car washed or where to go shopping or how to make dinner or what the number was for the cable company or the electric company or Best Buy or when I had to be at work or how to get there.<br />
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But now I have a computer, and wifi, and some groceries, and a plan.<br />
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First, quickly, some back-story: for the entirety of 2013 I was living in the Cleveland area working in food service as a manager. It was difficult, stressful, thankless, and generally just a massive headache. I met some great people, but the environment was unproductive and the atmosphere was mostly negative. By the end of the year, I was done, and some of the administration was done with me as well. So I quit my job, broke my lease, and moved back home (again). A couple months later, a job opportunity came up with the same company, in the same area, doing kind of the same thing in a totally different department: IT instead of managing front-line employees. They offered me a sign-on bonus, a raise, and a different work group. How could I refuse? This time, though, when I went apartment shopping, I exclusively looked for places that were within cycling distance from my new office. The place I chose is 3.2 miles away, and that's not all: it has a walking path, a gym, an indoor pool, two outdoor pools, and tennis courts, and it's close to a couple big parks. Perfect for the aspiring exerciser.<br />
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More key back-story: I have a crock pot. It was kind of an accident: I was re-packing and re-scouring the kitchen for anything I thought I couldn't live without when my mother mentioned that she had a cookbook that was comprised of only slow-cooker recipes -- perfect for someone with a busy schedule living on their own. Throw the food in, turn it on, go do stuff, and in a few hours you have meals for the rest of the week. What could go wrong? So I dug out our ancient crock pot, full of nostalgia and beginning to rust on the outside, and scoured our bookshelves for the <a href="http://www.ebay.com/itm/like/360821533714?lpid=82" target="_blank">slow-cooker book</a>.<br />
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My plan involves using all of the above to my advantage: biking to work, eating better, maybe menu planning. Self-motivation (which is always a struggle).<br />
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I want to catch up with where I am so far, my challenges and successes, and where I want to go from here. There's not too much to tell; I've only been in my new place for two weeks. I can't imagine that it's gone so quickly and I'm not sure what I've done for the past couple weeks, but it seems like most of it has been work and a lot of it has been unpacking and going to Wal-Mart. For the record, I despise the convenience of Wal-Mart. Why should I be able to pick up office supplies, bath towels, a new dress for work, a dish drain, and groceries all at the same place? And then, because I <i>can</i> buy groceries there, I do, forgetting entirely that their fresh produce is cringe-worthy and inedible.<br />
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But the first week was good. Busy. I made myself walk around my little lake a few times; it's .4 miles around, so not very convenient for nice round numbers, but it's a beautiful walk. I spent lots of money on things like a rice cooker and furniture and sticky non-damaging wall hooks, and spent lots of time driving back and forth to a site where we did a go-live in the middle of last week. On the up-side, my apartment looks beautiful!<br />
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I love flowers.<br />
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So I moved in, walked around the lake, went shopping. Decided to try my hand at one of the crock pot recipes! I made the chicken and dumplings because I buy/eat a lot of chicken, and wanted something quick and easy that had some vegetables in it. Worked like a charm.<br />
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It doesn't look as delicious as it tasted, and I managed to make it last -- eating it for 70% of my lunches and dinners -- for nearly a week. I also made baked apples with peaches, stuffed with raisins and cranberries, with a bit of a banana bread-y kind of bottom.<br />
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I'm still working through that one; it's good but I think I made too much, and I often have a sweet tooth for things other than fruit.<br />
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I'm trying to be better with food, but I still get horrible cravings that completely defeat what little self-control I possess. Like the night I made angel food cupcakes with chocolate frosting and ate the whole pan. Or the day I ate nothing but pierogies and buttered toast. But most days are ok; this week I tried out Refrigerator Oatmeal; there's a lot about it floating around on the net right now, but I used <a href="http://www.theyummylife.com/Refrigerator_Oatmeal" target="_blank">this website</a> and it's working out fairly well. Better than expected, actually; I'm not usually a fan of what chia seeds do to the texture of my food, but I don't seem to mind it with the oats. The Apple Cinnamon and Mango Almond flavours are my favourite so far (Peanut Butter Banana is yummy too!).<br />
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So, Refrigerator Oatmeal for breakfast, a lot of chicken for lunch and dinner, and a walk or bike ride if it's not raining. I'm taking monthly pictures of myself to gauge my progress because I don't own a scale and don't put a lot of stock in numbers anyway. My first ones weren't too impressive:<br />
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Actually quite embarrassing (I kind of look like an elephant on two legs) -- but this was before I started anything; you can see I wasn't even completely unpacked yet. The next monthly picture isn't for over two weeks from now, so I have plenty of time to hopefully make even an iota of visible progress.<br />
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Also I'm painting my nails more. It's not really relevant to my "get fit" plan, but it's just nice to be able to do something that was against the dress code for 18 months.<br />
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Happy Easter!<br />
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<br />Smilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15366738692011898734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032103709688992115.post-45680523647067688872013-02-27T07:21:00.001-08:002013-02-27T07:22:11.442-08:00Post-Valentine's Day<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit; font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;">I had a dream about your mum last night.... I don't know where we all were, or where you were, but there was a group of people, and I was upstairs in a room with her helping get something together; it was a party or some event, that's what it felt like. At one point we were both next to each other on the bed, leaning back against the pillows, and I turned my head towards her and started to say, "Rosie I have a problem. I love your son." I called her Rosie in my dream... I started to say that, but we were talking about something else. And then we were talking about something else, then something else. And then we had to get up and do something or talk to someone or deal with something, and the whole time I just kept thinking, "Rosie I have a problem; Rosie, I have a problem; Rosie... your son..." but I never said it out loud.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 17px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 17px;">This morning I was drinking my orange juice and staring at my white roses; they're all dead and brown and droopy now, the leaves are </span></span><span style="line-height: 17px;">shriveled</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 17px;">, the water is low and no longer clear. But I stared right through them and back overseas, and thought of Rosie. And when I took a deep breath to see if my favorite smell still lingered, my cinnamon waffle popped and that was all I could smell, and it brought me back to now.</span></span></span>Smilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15366738692011898734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032103709688992115.post-80374666788762428042012-05-22T12:40:00.002-07:002012-05-22T12:40:48.376-07:00Things the British Hate-- Electricity. There are no convenient sockets. This goes for the Dutch too, apparently.<br />
-- Hot water. I mean, clearly they love it for tea, but it takes a while for the water from the tap to get warm. Although, once it does, it is HOT. So maybe scratch that one.<br />
-- Comfortable showers. Most are hardly big enough to turn around in, let alone shave your legs.<br />
-- Normal toilets that flush all the paper down in one go and display your poos properly. Actually...just normal bathrooms in general. What is so hard about putting the toilet and the sink in the same room??<br />
-- Chaos when they can politely queue instead. If nothing else, the Brits sure as hell know how to queue.<br />
-- The letter Z. Not only do they call it by a different name, but they don't use it in half the words we do (realise, organise, etc.).<br />
-- Top sheets. Self explanatory.<br />
-- Screens in the windows and doors. They claim there aren't enough flies here to justify the screens.<br />
-- Scotland.Smilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15366738692011898734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032103709688992115.post-6140511226835309702012-05-07T12:06:00.001-07:002012-05-09T11:32:20.876-07:00Not Sure I Like This New Blogger LookCheers from sunny (it's actually pretty overcast and rainy here most of the time) London. That's right, London, UK. I've been here for eight days and just over 20 hours. I'm staying in a beautiful little flat that's not really that small -- not when it's just little old me living here -- facing the river Thames, and Greenwich (yes, THAT Greenwich, that of the Prime Meridian and Greenwich Mean Time) right across the river. Greenwich is a lovely place, and if I look out my southeastern most window I can just see the square where the foot tunnel comes out and the touristy downtown starts. It's gorgeous when the sun sets and reflects orange from the sky and the water onto what I think is the Old Royal Naval College but actually have no idea as of yet. Pictures to follow someday, I hope.<br />
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There are fun things here, like wee little cars and a store called ASDA that's owed by WalMart (and you can tell just as soon as you step through the doors) and people who -- amusingly, at least to me -- only dress in black or grey or brown or tan paired with muted pastels, the only color in their wardrobes showing in the form of a handful of red jackets. I must stick out with my yellow and orange and green skirts and bright blue rain jacket that I wear every day because you never know when (not if) the skies will open up for a little sprinkle. There are red double decker buses and red phone boxes and red over- and under-ground trains and lush, spilling gardens wherever people can find the space; I've seen residents of some places with two or three square feet of green space on their property squeeze in half a dozen different flowers and plants, just because they can.<br />
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There are hard things here as well: living alone is the biggest one so far. I work at least 10 hour days and sometimes have dinner or drinks after work, I spend the large majority of my day surrounded by at least a handful of people; at times I've been around 20 at once. I have exactly five contacts in my little not-phone I use for the time being, and I can contact and talk to any of those five people whenever I want. I can also call back to the States whenever I want -- free on my end, probably not so much Stateside. None of that, however, changes the fact that when I do finally come back to my flat at the end of the day, I come back alone, and change my clothes and brush my teeth alone, and -- ultimately -- crawl into bed alone. I can surround myself with other people for 16 or even 20 hours out of my day, but when I come back home to sleep, as I must eventually, I come back by myself. And that, so far, is the worst and hardest part.<br />
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Of course there are the daily reminders of what I left behind: the bicyclists, the cars, the machinery at different construction sites, people walking their dogs, men in work boots and yellow vests, any man over 6ft tall, and of course -- of course -- my daily challenge: Her lookalike. Could be Her twin, I suppose, were they not born 4,000 miles (6,400 kilometers, may it do ya) apart. And what did I do, what did I <i>really</i> do that I haven't paid for already, to have to sit across from her every day for 10 hours?<br />
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So those are the hard things. And the fun things. All a part of making this life feel <i>alive</i>. Because what is life without its ups and downs?<br />
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Here is a fun fact that I didn't know before moving here: The Thames, at least parts of it, has a tide. I happen to live on one of those sections. Took me two full days to notice, but notice I eventually did, and there you go, the more you know. It doesn't look wide enough to have a tide, not really, but maybe that doesn't matter. What do I know about tides, after all?Smilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15366738692011898734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032103709688992115.post-51049236994492808362012-03-13T16:18:00.003-07:002012-03-19T13:23:26.525-07:00Borrowed TimeNow I've forgotten all the Funny Stories I wanted to tell in the first place. Today was that we took the pups to the ski hill again. Yesterday was something about the new Jeep. But now that it comes down to telling someone other than you, they've all flown out of my mind.<div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">I wanted to tell her today that she ruined my lunch, but I was afraid she would come back with, "You ruined my life." It seems like something she would say, and I guess if I were in her situation I would have thought of something similar.</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">It's not like I try to drive by your house and stalk you; it just happens to be on the way to a lot of places I go. But every time I drive past it (especially when her car is sitting there, as it so often is), I'm reminded of all the negative qualities about your personality. You'll never know how much I hate that: to be reminded everyday of the bad things about you. To have to exert effort, no matter how little, to remind myself of the good things, the things about you that I love.</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Love. Loved? Right now I want to get over you so badly. Is that...wrong?</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-style: normal; ">Now, a couple days later, I have more Funny Stories. Some I've told to you, some I've forgotten. But last night I was so excited to talk to you (when am I not?), to tell you what I learned about felt and how they make Stetson hats and all the cool things I saw on Frozen Planet. I wanted to talk about the lawn chairs in the driveway of the house on the corner, how there are still two there even though the husband died and I could have sworn I saw one of those chairs out with the garbage last week.</div><div style="font-style: normal; "><br /></div><div>Why can't I just be your friend for a month? What about me (or you) is making that so impossible? I've never had a problem with this before; I've always been ok with pretending when I had to. Maybe because up until now I've been so unflinchingly honest with you; it was a hallmark of our relationship: we were always honest with <i>each other</i>. At least...I was always honest with you, and you were more honest with me than anyone else. I'm starting to wonder if you ever tell the complete truth to anyone.</div><div><br /></div><div>Do something awful so that I can move on, please.</div>Smilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15366738692011898734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032103709688992115.post-87722041057326278272012-02-06T19:31:00.000-08:002012-02-06T19:58:00.814-08:00PupsWhat to write about? I'm clearly in a dead spot; but a lot of that has to do with the fact that I can't talk about the biggest thing that's happening in my life right now. I think I'll try something new; telling funny stories that happen to me throughout the day. Although I'm not sure how funny they'll be to the outside observer...<div><br /><div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTeZxSrZRApxITW2-k7Ycibus5NixUCNKe4uTviSu9sDQreZe27n9YwRH-NBfaljglsmhY9xAT5Jt1k7xuHfWXjC1TcvGn0VWqpM2wKRIMgcsBMFKNxHUrcp5qtErXmbKUw_Bj57qOgrk/s320/pups.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706236475554648530" />For example. Today I took my two pups to a ski hill near my house that's no longer in use (even if they still used it, we don't have any snow this year...so I still would probably take my dogs there) so they could run around, stretch their legs, and expend all that energy that causes them to eat miscellaneous items in my house (Tupperware containers, mail, stuffed animals, etc.). They ran around in circles trying to decide what to do, so I went to run up the hill to get them to follow me. Just as I took off, Brown Dog decided he wanted to run in a path that took him directly through my legs, and I tripped over him and face-planted. See, it was funny at the time, but I'm not so sure how it translates in the retelling. Maybe I should just post videos of my pups, since they're always adorable and ridiculous.</div></div>Smilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15366738692011898734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032103709688992115.post-77092520565012450552012-02-02T16:33:00.000-08:002012-02-02T16:58:27.790-08:00Since I Have No One Else To Tell......I'll tell my non-existent readers.<div><br /></div><div>I think I have discovered why I have trouble being alone. Not alone as in single, but alone as in not around other people for extended periods of time. It's not that I can't ever have alone time or spend some moments by myself, but generally speaking, I'd much rather be spending my time with other people....or, one other person, specifically. </div><div><br /></div><div>It is my belief that life is meant to be shared with others. I could delve into why I feel this way, but it would be long and drawn-out, convoluted and most likely uninteresting to the general population. It's not something I've really even completely figured out for myself. But I feel it deep down, and I have to trust that I believe it to be true. Life is meant to be shared with others. Moments that you spend alone feel wasted to me, unless you're being extremely productive or creative. There are exceptions to every rule. </div><div><br /></div><div>Why do I have this philosophy? I have no idea. Furthermore, if I really feel this way, why don't I spend more time with friends? I don't have many, but there are a few out there. Maybe I'm just making up this world-view to justify my need to spend every waking moment with...you know. That boy. That boy I like a lot.</div><div><br /></div><div>That's not the only reason though. I'm not a completely dependent person, but I do have much more fun when I'm with other people. Other people like myself; let's be clear. My latest job consisted of me pouring alcohol down the throats of already far too intoxicated individuals while they danced around and stuffed their faces with cheese stix and pizza. Now there was a job where I spent a lot of time around other people. But waitressing at a bar isn't really my thing, and partying with crazy drunks isn't quite up my alley either. But spending time with people I have a lot in common with seems to make living life that much better. Experiences are better shared. Maybe it's the memories you look back on later. Maybe it's that deep-down satisfaction of connecting with another individual that validates your beliefs and points of view. Maybe it's just nice to have a friend.</div><div><br /></div><div>Either way, this is why I'm NOT a miserable and depressing company-whore; I'm just an awesome chick who likes to share, live, and love life.</div>Smilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15366738692011898734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032103709688992115.post-40604265002662196652012-01-09T08:58:00.001-08:002012-01-09T08:58:37.599-08:00inconsistentGood thing I'm not doing this for a living or anything.Smilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15366738692011898734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032103709688992115.post-63311866982993985842011-09-18T10:24:00.000-07:002011-09-18T10:40:38.438-07:00memories, part oneI remember when you first took my hand; it was our first Adventure, wasn't it? You were helping me over a hill of dirt, or down a pile of rocks; a mound of shale, or was it the water in the tunnel? No, I think the first time it was the dirt, or the rocky path. Did you know I was falling for you then, so early in the summer? No...how could you have known? I don't think I ever let on... Did you know at all, before I told you? Did you even have a clue before that night, that first late night? We were sitting under the stars, the light from inside spilling out over our feet and legs, and we started telling each other those things we shouldn't have said. We've said so many things we shouldn't have... But you couldn't have known before then; you wouldn't have even thought to look for it, your mind on Her and the Project that brought us together in the first place. Oh yes, Her...but She was hardly a problem in the beginning, was She? In the beginning, when it was just the Project and the Adventures....did you even have an inkling, then, of how it would all turn out...?Smilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15366738692011898734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032103709688992115.post-65316913673232950742011-07-30T19:22:00.000-07:002011-07-30T19:24:10.795-07:00Summertime...I promise that someday when it's cold and/or rainy and/or generally miserable, I will start cataloging everything that has happened this summer and post it up on here. I've had the most active, amazing, unexpected summer of my life. It needs to be written down somewhere, and this site needs words. Seems like the perfect solution.<div><br /></div><div>In the meantime.... it's almost August! Holy crap.</div>Smilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15366738692011898734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032103709688992115.post-50698148447230983542011-07-01T18:47:00.001-07:002011-07-01T19:22:22.873-07:00Happy JulyIt's pretty interesting to think about things that certain people will never know about you. You wonder if it's worth trying to rebuild the bridge to tell them, or if it's just time to let go and move on with your respective lives. You wonder how people live not being able to read others' minds or be completely honest with each other. You think about how many problems would be solved in this world if everyone was just a bit more straight up with each other. But then again...is honesty really always the best policy?<br /><br />Someone wrote a song for me. I don't think he had a particularly sweet or positive reason for writing it, but write it he did, and I bungled up thanking him for it. It's interesting to think that he'll go through his life thinking I'm soulless and unappreciative, that those summers meant nothing to me, that I haven't played that song so many times I could sing it from memory by now.<br /><br />He's married now, and well into his new life, if I had to make my guess. There are a lot of things I think he'd benefit from knowing, but aren't really worth telling him; what would be the point of dredging up the past again? Moving on is never easy, especially for me; I hold onto the past like the universe would implode in on itself if I were to accept that something was over. But every once in a while, don't you have to wonder if it's not better to just forget it already?<br /><br />There are several other things I take this mindset with; at least the part about what others will never know. My parents, for instance, will never know how important they are to me or how guilty I feel just for being their daughter. It's not something you can really talk about. My best friend from my freshman year of high school will never know how much I think about her now, or how often I wonder how she's doing or what she's up to. My current crush will never know how much I think about him, or how frequently I try to figure out what about this is real and what is just leftover rebounding and the need to care about <em>someone</em>...anyone. And I doubt anyone in my life will ever know about that; about the fact that I <em>need</em> to love someone, that I <em>need</em> to shower someone with affection and laughter and little gestures that make them smile. It's an unfortunate circumstance that I've concluded is the reason that I can't <em>not</em> be involved with some guy at all times. I've tried over and over to take a break and take time for myself, and I've found it's impossible, because if I took time out just for me, who would I care about? I don't know how to shower myself with affection.<br /><br />In other news, I wonder where my family is. I think some of them headed out to Ohio, but that doesn't explain the absence of every person from my house.Smilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15366738692011898734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032103709688992115.post-33003387153205641212011-06-27T16:38:00.001-07:002011-06-27T16:56:17.465-07:00Things I Would Discuss If I Had Someone To Talk To-- The song You're So Vain: Doesn't it defeat itself? It's like a spiraling paradox box of nonsense. Which I suppose is the point.<div><br /></div><div>-- The song Straight Up by Paula: I get "hit and run" now; like..."hit it and quit it"?</div><div><br /></div><div>-- Why eggs are so delicious: Why <i>are</i> they so good?</div><div><br /></div><div>-- Why the radio only plays love songs: Especially late at night....wtf, man?</div><div><br /></div><div>-- How I don't like to burn bridges, but when it happens, I burn the <i>hell</i> out of them.</div><div><br /></div><div>-- How every time I fall in love, I think it's for real...but have I ever really felt like <i>that</i>?</div><div><br /></div><div>-- Andy Grammer: "You gotta keep your head up (oh oh), and you can let your hair down (oh oh?). You'll turn out fine."</div>Smilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15366738692011898734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032103709688992115.post-38952145748415445652011-06-20T20:03:00.000-07:002011-06-20T20:27:04.396-07:00I Have the House to Myself!...now, what to do with it?<div><br /></div><div>To-Do List for Being Home Alone:</div><div><br /></div><div>-- Clean house in my underwear</div><div><br /></div><div>-- Play the piano (for the first time in <i>months</i>)</div><div><br /></div><div>-- Eat dinner. Dinner = chicken salad and a bunless cheeseburger.</div><div><br /></div><div>-- Take a long walk with my dogs</div><div><br /></div><div>-- Watch Sesame Street's <i>Sing Yourself Silly</i> and Veggie Tales' <i>Larryboy</i> on VHS</div><div><br /></div><div>Accomplished? <i>All of it.</i></div>Smilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15366738692011898734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032103709688992115.post-27685178973333728902011-06-19T00:10:00.000-07:002011-06-19T00:13:04.802-07:003:10 AM, Father's DayI tend to forget that normal people aren't awake at three in the morning; and they're usually neither willing nor able to have a conversation at that time.<div><br /></div><div>In other news, Happy Father's Day, Chef. I love you -- even though we don't talk about it much. I had fun golfing with you today.</div>Smilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15366738692011898734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032103709688992115.post-61912873732163076772011-06-11T18:55:00.000-07:002011-06-11T20:14:10.778-07:00Places I've Cleaned at Work (in chronological order)<div>I work in an optometrist's office owned by a family friend and neighbor. The owner, my eye doctor and now my boss as well, is only slightly crazy if you're a patient, but once you start working for him he's a real nut job. Every day is an adventure for me at work, and my life would be so boring if I didn't have this job.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've been working at this place for nearly three months now, and so far these are some of the more interesting cleaning jobs I've had to do:</div><div><br /></div><div>1. The corners of the exam room, which is carpeted, with wet paper towels. The Doc thought I needed to do something "productive" and degrading, since I'm the new girl.</div><div><br /></div><div>2. The employee's bathroom, after I let a patient use it because I didn't know not to. I was told that syphilis is spread that way and if I had to clean it I'd never do it again.</div><div><br /></div><div>3. The front floor, right in front of the counter (also carpeted), after a kid and his dad spilled red Slushy everywhere then threatened to sue when Doc kicked them out.</div>Smilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15366738692011898734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032103709688992115.post-38451175408291781142011-06-09T22:30:00.000-07:002011-06-09T22:35:43.811-07:00purgeeeeeeeesleeper boxen murmur yumpy <div><i>youstoppedblowingmekissesanditmademewanttocry </i></div><div><i></i>bdubs irrelephant phantastsic phantasy etc comphy<div><div><br /></div><div>Sorry, I just had to get that out. I actually had a wonderful, wonderful day. I'll probably write all about it tomorrow, if I have time. Living well is the best revenge, and what better time to live well than a summer like this one? Hopefully I'll have some pictures up soon too, and the next installment (or maybe all of them, starting from the beginning) of my car saga. </div></div><div><br /></div><div>Happy Thursday.</div></div>Smilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15366738692011898734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032103709688992115.post-43083284828463091542011-06-08T20:34:00.000-07:002011-06-08T20:40:55.657-07:00Dear JerkDear Jerk,<div>All I wanted to do, at the beginning and at the end, was make you feel better and help your problems go away. Now it seems that I've caused you more problems and potentially made you feel worse. </div><div>I'm sorry that I can't just be angry like I should be. </div><div>All you really needed was a friend, and I failed. </div><div>But fuck you anyway, kind of. </div><div>Love, </div><div>(always)</div><div>Your Mur</div>Smilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15366738692011898734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032103709688992115.post-45163636649468891422011-06-07T06:51:00.001-07:002011-06-09T22:36:44.631-07:00Red BullMy boss loves Red Bull. He drinks it like water almost the entire time he's at the office. He keeps four-packs in the mini fridge in our lab and frequently offers a can to patients as they're leaving. It's kind of...his "thing." <div>My boss also has a rule about taking food and drink out of the lab to the front of the office, where we deal with patients, ring up sales, adjust glasses, etc. He thinks it doesn't look professional, munching or slurping while dealing with patients, and there's always a risk that we could spill something on the computer or someone's file. The rule would make sense -- if he followed it. </div><div>Yesterday I was standing up front preparing files for today's patients, completely minding my own business, when my boss ambled past me with a Red Bull in hand. At the end of the day on his way out, he usually stops by the register to print out a report and see how much he made that day. As this was an ordinary occurrence, I didn't pay him much mind until I heard, "Uhhm uh-oh." I peeked over my shoulder and saw him standing there, Red Bull in one hand, staring at the cash register, which was covered in liquid. I quickly looked back to my work and pretended to not hear him. He tried to wipe up the mess, but I don't think he realized how much he spilled, because he missed the splashes on the counter behind him, the bit that was on the phone, and only noticed the puddle on the floor after he stepped in it a couple times. </div><div>After swiping the area with some paper towels a couple times, he went back to trying to print out the day's report. He pushed a couple buttons, which didn't do anything, then pushed one of the number keys. The register made its error sound, a high-pitched "eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee" noise. He pushed a couple more buttons then shut the register off. He did this several more times while I pretended to bury my head in work then finally went in the back so he wouldn't see me laughing.</div><div>After several minutes of pushing buttons, turning the register on and off, and trying to stop the error message with no avail, he picked up the phone to call one of the other ladies that works there. "Maybe Laura will know something about this," I heard him mutter. </div><div>"Hi Laura. I have a problem. The register is...acting up." He explained the situation about the beeping and buttons not working and asked if she knew anything about trying to fix it. Finally I heard him explain, "Well...here's the thing. I might have dribbled a little Red Bull on the register, and I think it might have gone under the New Balance key." Please note that the drink had actually puddled on most of the front of the register, and the New Balance key wasn't the problem at all.</div><div>After a lot of hemming and hawing and deciding the problem was unfixable for the time being and he would just leave it for Laura to deal with in the morning, boss man made to leave. "Doc!" I called, just as he was walking out the door. "What....um...what do you want me to do about running the report and everything tonight?" He stared at me. "That....is a question." Long pause. "Laura will do it in the morning," and out he walked.</div><div>Later on I was making reminder calls to patients to confirm their appointments for today, and as I was talking on the phone I noticed that the speaker part was dripping Red Bull. As I looked around I noticed a lot of splatters that we missed before, and a stain on the carpet that the doc didn't quite manage to make go away when he was scrubbing at it. The entire front section of the office smelled like Red Bull, and the carpet was a little sticky. I avoided that area for the rest of the night and kept myself busy filing things away until it was time to close.</div><div>We'll see if he follows his own rules from now on (but somehow I doubt it).</div><div><br /></div><div>Edit: tl;dr? My boss spilled Red Bull on our cash register and f***ed it up. It was real funny.</div>Smilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15366738692011898734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032103709688992115.post-35770992069063900982011-06-05T16:42:00.000-07:002011-06-05T16:49:38.535-07:00I Want a PuppyThe other day while I was at work, I heard a woman outside in the mall hallway talking on the phone with who I'm assuming was her husband. This woman wasn't that young, and she had a small child with her who appeared to be her son. Her conversation with the hubby went along these lines:<div><br /><div>*dials phone*</div><div>"I want a puppy."</div><div>"Pleeeeease?"</div><div>"No, it's so cute, it's a Pomeranian-Something mix."</div><div>"I'm in love with a dog! Can we please get it? I'll take care of it!"</div><div>"No, it only costs $400, and I have over a thousand in my account right now!"</div><div>"Have I told you how much I love you today?"</div><div>"Well, I just think that Alex [son?] needs a playmate. He can help take care of it."</div><div>"It's so adorable! It's a Pomeranian mix!"</div><div>"I'm going over to Wal-Mart <i>right now</i> to get a bed and toys and stuff."</div><div>"I love you so much."<br />"Ok, ok, I'm going to go now. I love you! It's so cute!"</div><div><br /></div><div>At this point, her son was sitting on the other end of bench with his chin sitting on a fisted hand. When the lady hung up, she didn't even look at him. I expected at least a celebratory high-five or something, but she just said "come on" without even glancing his way and took off towards the pet store.</div></div>Smilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15366738692011898734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032103709688992115.post-1317194768331319802011-06-02T21:10:00.000-07:002011-06-02T21:11:56.317-07:00Bob<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 10px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; line-height: 1.6; ">“You may not be her first, her last, or her only. She loved before; she may love again. But if she loves you now, what else matters? She’s not perfect - you aren’t either, and the two of you may never be perfect together, but if she can make you laugh, cause you to think twice and admit to being human and making mistakes, hold onto her and give her the most you can. She may not be thinking about you every second of the day, but she will give you a part of her that she knows you can break - her heart. So don’t hurt her, don’t change her, don’t analyze and don’t expect more than she can give. Smile when she makes you happy, let her know when she makes you mad, and miss her when she’s not there.”</p><p class="last" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; line-height: 1.6; ">- Bob Marley</p></span></span>Smilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15366738692011898734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032103709688992115.post-46697924192857782202011-06-02T14:01:00.000-07:002011-06-02T14:08:36.967-07:00Happy Thursday<div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdcy3MyD8L35eco5aZnztzp-nH86eyRfIbWrCqUgAvfagziRK_5JEX9YhHpkRSLag4shgew-kzna15tXazn1WmAQR8OxTf-hCE1IW-4rp9BERhd9m1tWC2ckobbNTtGDmwOTKMk8IK4sI/s1600/modelT5.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdcy3MyD8L35eco5aZnztzp-nH86eyRfIbWrCqUgAvfagziRK_5JEX9YhHpkRSLag4shgew-kzna15tXazn1WmAQR8OxTf-hCE1IW-4rp9BERhd9m1tWC2ckobbNTtGDmwOTKMk8IK4sI/s400/modelT5.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5613732124850796018" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFJQQ7KzTggWESrxC7bSsv4ULTUVm7aDZ8RnwfOoAWpaFCH_6KaQoE55mLFPv5_GjEaQSk28pV2Ha36Lu0GWshlLokeET9v7TxhJgpzzTS1-_5Vu2tzN9F_rxv-CrauK_rDE8RDz7OTEQ/s1600/modelT4.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFJQQ7KzTggWESrxC7bSsv4ULTUVm7aDZ8RnwfOoAWpaFCH_6KaQoE55mLFPv5_GjEaQSk28pV2Ha36Lu0GWshlLokeET9v7TxhJgpzzTS1-_5Vu2tzN9F_rxv-CrauK_rDE8RDz7OTEQ/s400/modelT4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5613732121522418114" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeyxe6WSZRVZ6xCyVAyheEoyFnP7C_eFM7zhrr-6EhzYtHM1M6TbLizB3S5KPgaFhFM31ljeY5n5QHb0gZnbnn9bQBMlOwJH97WpqcDqtJS_xWDasIGGNkZx3i9YgrAdOmYXNN0o5ijDI/s1600/modelT3.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeyxe6WSZRVZ6xCyVAyheEoyFnP7C_eFM7zhrr-6EhzYtHM1M6TbLizB3S5KPgaFhFM31ljeY5n5QHb0gZnbnn9bQBMlOwJH97WpqcDqtJS_xWDasIGGNkZx3i9YgrAdOmYXNN0o5ijDI/s400/modelT3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5613732119476772690" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNXZjfx2NPNiXyrjqPUpM-OmoAKwTElewnlhzoLPKO4aKf-ndvzw9Ngymrx7erkHEpPkx1KML6rwSwng6TTDMGdcUCgKuKAtVOjw6uQi1NKA-p3nIvQA10MBzux2jF4CD2j7UBcLoQkMA/s1600/modelT2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNXZjfx2NPNiXyrjqPUpM-OmoAKwTElewnlhzoLPKO4aKf-ndvzw9Ngymrx7erkHEpPkx1KML6rwSwng6TTDMGdcUCgKuKAtVOjw6uQi1NKA-p3nIvQA10MBzux2jF4CD2j7UBcLoQkMA/s400/modelT2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5613732113844999698" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmRwpJrE0jNcSijBoV2ze92L0FF6tS-4mHoOcGuJONlIaUqkDLqODDHHCXHbF6vcCsqqpWMQh-uDZwqkZ0-S_wulLZ3LAV-tC30zlzkQJBtS_XsbAvsMiqdb7t-c4CwdyZyVM7QKw_8Gw/s1600/modelT1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmRwpJrE0jNcSijBoV2ze92L0FF6tS-4mHoOcGuJONlIaUqkDLqODDHHCXHbF6vcCsqqpWMQh-uDZwqkZ0-S_wulLZ3LAV-tC30zlzkQJBtS_XsbAvsMiqdb7t-c4CwdyZyVM7QKw_8Gw/s400/modelT1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5613732108333545794" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div>This is what I did today.</div>Smilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15366738692011898734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032103709688992115.post-25345312470794493062011-06-01T21:08:00.000-07:002011-06-01T21:28:31.000-07:00Wacky Wednesday<div style="text-align: left;">I spent an hour today in our new hammock with my iPod and sketchpad, trying to reclaim my inspiration and creativity. Then I ate a chicken and cheese wrap and went to work.</div><div><br /></div><div>My boss likes to make fun of me because I'm an English major; today he told a really funny joke. He said, "I read a funny joke in a magazine the other day. It went, 'The scientist asks, "Why does it work?" The engineer asks, "How does it work?" The English major asks, "Would you like fries with that?"' hahah!" He thinks he's really clever. Because we were in front of a patient I tried to laugh it off. "That's real funny, Doc," I said, smiling and trying to look busy. He went on to say that I was doing work there, though, and how I must be using <i>some</i> sort of analytical skill at my job, so it's not all bad. In essence, my degree isn't useless because I'm really good at alphabetizing files at work.</div><div><br /></div><div>After work my sister and I went to karaoke at a restaurant/bar by my house to watch the locals get drunk and make fools of themselves. Luckily for them, we plan on doing the same next week; we just need some time to practice and work up our courage. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR_s270C6cJMka8_yZay9AJ9oUYBb_9yoXhyphenhyphenmx8zEQEajWO-1excsuwZ4BDRdtcMIxJGtrxSLot_4ZbfVmGfnKwrlNHiwI5EQJ0nguuqZ0jtrc9RTRjjasEO4vfeuEeHb6limh-DHBHnk/s400/hammock.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5613474358306914386" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div>Smilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15366738692011898734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032103709688992115.post-89570597504021687652011-06-01T05:23:00.000-07:002011-06-01T06:36:55.175-07:00Everything is Never as it SeemsI had to pick up Susan again. I was supposed to once before, but it didn't work out. I think she found another ride. <div>I was parallel parked along a curb by a bus stop, and as I got in my car and started to drive away, I noticed that my windshield was cracked. Not like a normal hairline crack, either, but a crack like what the earth looks like when the plates are shifting or lava is about to burst out of the ground. The glass was puckered inward and cracked into huge chunks that, instead of falling, kept sliding around within the frame of the windshield.<div>But I had to pick up Susan again. Last time I thought she was at the school, but now I realized that it was a school that was also a hospital that was also an apartment complex that was in the same general place as Juniata Elementary is here. I ran into the building, down hallways and around corners, trying to get to the far side of the school/hospital/apartments. Why didn't I just drive around to where I was supposed to pick her up? I don't know. But somehow I had a slip of paper that said I wasn't supposed to pick her up there, I was supposed to pick her up on West Adam Street, in town, at her new place of employment. But I realized....</div><div>At some point I realized that this was <i>his</i> new apartment complex, that he lived here now. When I got to the end of the building I ran up flight of stairs, intending to turn at the top of the stairs, just to run past his place, go down that hallway and go down the flight of stairs at the other end, which would bring me to the doors where I was supposed to pick up Susan. But I got to the top and there he was, his face hidden by one of the double doors that encloses the wide stairways in schools. He was doing push-ups with his head to the door. It makes sense, because he always did try to do some push-ups every now and again; why shouldn't he do them out in the hall right before he goes to work? I ran back downstairs and around in circles for a while -- or so it seemed -- before heading back to the hallway directly under his, on the first floor. There he was again, walking towards the door at the other end. I knew the back of his head perfectly, his hair, the curve of his shoulders and the step of his stride, his hands in his coat pockets and that little bounce in his step that has nothing to do with joy and everything to do with a self-conscious, practiced carelessness. I had a brief flash of running down the hallway parallel to that one and "bumping into" him by the doors at the other end, but what if he got there before I did? I called out his name. He must have recognized my voice, because he paused a second before he turned; turned in that slow way of his. We stared at each other, and I couldn't tell whether or not he was surprised to see me. I wanted to explain, to tell him that I wasn't stalking him, that I was here to pick up Susan. But we just stared at each other. Finally he said, "What?" but I had taken my phone out to dial the number on the piece of paper where Susan worked now. He said "What" again, and as I turned away, he laughed. </div><div>Then I was gone, running down the hallway to the door when I was supposed to pick up Susan -- I don't recall moving in any way other than a run the entire time. I put the phone up to my ear as it rang once and got an automated system to an abortion clinic. "Ah!" I thought. "<i>That's</i> where she works now." I thought this to myself with the same air that someone might smile and nod when told what ice cubes are for: "Ah! You put them in your drink. Very nice." Smile. Nod. Turn and talk to the person next to you. But I was frustrated, because I couldn't get a hold of <i>her</i>, and how was I supposed to pick up Susan if I couldn't find her?</div><div>I burst through the doors and weaved between the students waiting for buses or cars to pick them up and take them home. To the left, in the part of the lawn where they were doing construction, I saw Coach Jim, talking to another man. I ran up to him, panting, "Which part of town has the street names that are guys' names?" Jim laughed, told me to calm down. I said, "I know the trees are over there," and pointed behind the school. He nodded and pointed down another street. "And those are all butterflies!" he said, a little proudly. I asked again where the boys' names were, asked if they were downtown. He nodded and I asked where Adam Street was. Maybe I only asked it in my mind, because I don't remember getting an answer. </div><div>I don't remember much of anything after that, actually. I must not have gotten Susan, again. When I got the call to pick her up, I was excited, because I hadn't seen her in so long, and I really wanted to talk to her. I wanted to tell her that I've been hanging out with Danny, that we're friends again now, and tell her what we talk about. I wanted to ask her about her life and her boyfriend and if she still reads her books. Then we could talk about books, and maybe have a campfire, like before. But I didn't get to her in time -- again. </div><div>Maybe next time.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>*most names are changed, for some reason</div>Smilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15366738692011898734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032103709688992115.post-79675142988449645862011-05-19T15:45:00.000-07:002011-05-19T20:08:17.191-07:00The Single LifeAs it turns out, the world does still turn when you become single. It's amazing; I'm convinced that no one on this earth thinks that they can go on once they've been dumped. But once you stop and look around, you realize that the sun is still shining, the flowers are still blooming, everyone is still breathing. It's possible to still enjoy, all by yourself, the feel of the spring sun on your back, the smell of freshly cut grass, the magic of dandelion fluff blowing past your face in the late afternoon. It's absolutely possible to still enjoy a good book or a good movie; food tastes just as good, and so does wine (and other drinks).<div><br /></div><div>True, there's no one to throw that painful Frisbee with, and the neighbor's basketball hoop is decidedly less-used. There's much less conversation in the evenings, and nights are a little colder. But contrary to popular belief, loneliness doesn't make colors more dull or music less melodious (more poignant, though? Perhaps). It could be that I'm not feeling the effects enough; they say that when you go through a trauma of the heart food tastes like ash and drink tastes like ash and grass is brown and life just sucks. It's quite possible that my persistent optimism and self-delusion is preventing me from being devastated. It's hurts; it sucks, it really does. But astoundingly -- and against all odds -- life goes on.</div><div><br /></div><div>Post Scriptum: The stars, however, are much colder (but still as beautiful, in a way) than they ever were before.</div><div><i>howimissyoukissingmegoodnight</i></div>Smilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15366738692011898734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032103709688992115.post-35628922866491253712011-05-17T11:30:00.000-07:002011-05-17T08:39:37.080-07:00Collegiate Nostalgia<div>Some quotes to tide you over while I get my writing life together:</div><div><br /></div>"Well, I'm going to go watch Pretty Woman in ten-minute increments on YouTube until people are ready to go."<div><br /><div>"Why don't you talk to my Mr. 'I'm giving an exam on the Thursday night before Halloween cuz I'm a stupid jerk and sometimes in class the middle button of my shirt comes unbuttoned...'"</div></div><div><br /></div><div>"Someone wrote into the paper saying that banning Four Loko is un-American."<br />"What?! It's un-retarded! Wait...does that...does that come out right? It's not smart to not ban.... Um. Four Loko is bad!"</div><div><br /></div><div>"That kid is gayer than a guy at a Lady Gaga concert wearing skinny jeans, rainbow suspenders, and Hold Me Closer Tiny Dancer as his ringtone."</div><div><br /></div><div>"My favorite word is cattywampus. But just the wampus part."</div>Smilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15366738692011898734noreply@blogger.com0