Naturally, I come bearing the important news of the world and know how to keep you up to date with current events. Yeah, okay, I'm kidding, but I do have some fun things to share with the great world wide web. And by great world wide web, I mean my whole five readers, and that may be being generous, but I love all of you and am totally okay with that.
As a girl, I would like to start out by talking about age. Is age really just a number? I think it is, personally. Just because you are a certain age does not mean there's anything backing the fact that this is as such. Sometimes a twenty something acts more like a sixteen year old, while others act ninety. Let me give you all an example.
The other day I was at the doctor. I know you're all shocked by this because I am usually the pillar of health. I mean, just read anywhere on this blog and you'll see that I never have to go to the doctor because I don't at all have an autoimmune disease and a heart problem.
I am such a bad liar. Keep stock in knowing I could never even lie to you, folks. Not even over the internet. That's how bad of a liar I am.
Anywhomaburger, back to the subject at hand. While I was at the doctor we were discussing my blood disorder, dizzy spells and an ongoing issue I've had with my back for the last six months, one in which no one has seemed to be able to resolve. To make a long story short, I can now say I am the proud wearer of support hose for my blood condition, and a donut for my back. So as I type, I am rocking my support hose and sitting on my donut. At twenty four, I'm not sure how it gets much cooler than that.
I'm lying again, of course, but I'm totally okay with being a little old lady. I think it's hysterical, to be honest. I am just not your average girl. No, I am now twenty four going on ninety. So really, where does age come in? If you read this blog and didn't know my age, but knew I was sitting on a donut while wearing support hose, how old would you think I was? What's that, you say? Ninety. Okay, since we're settled on the age of ninety, let me bring something else up.
I am in love with the new Taylor Swift line of greeting cards. As we all know, I love cute things and this is precisely why I love Taylor in the first place. She is cute, her songs are cute and I love all things cute. Then, there's her lyrics. She has learned more in her short life than I have in my also short, but little bit longer one. She writes the lyrics of someone who has seen worlds that don't belong and come out on the other side of paradise. In other words, the woman knows what she's talking about and could otherwise be thought of as well into her twenties if her real age wasn't known. I, on the other hand, am instantly sixteen for loving her cards as much as I do. And there may or may not have been an incident of loud excitement and a little bit of jumping in the middle of Rite Aid upon realizing she actually had a card line, because I am so cool that I totally read it on the internet first.
This is another lie. I didn't know she had a line of cards until I saw them right there in the middle of the store. For those of you who also have not seen her card line, you can get a little taste here. If that's not enough, let me just say her cards represent her style, her lyrics and her new video for Fifteen.
Now let's go back to age. As mentioned earlier, I am ninety, but let's factor in how I am now sixteen for liking Taylor's cards so much. I just want to know how old this now makes me. How do you round off that age and figure it all out in the wash, so to speak? Because, damn it, I just want to know how old really am.
On a better note, my joke for years has been that I will get married when I'm ninety and in a nursing home, so if I am really old what with my donut and support hose, this means I am that much closer to getting married. I guess I should start scoping out nursing homes to make sure I find the "cool" one. This begs the question, are there any cool nursing homes?
I would also like to tell you all that the real win in sitting on a donut, however, is that I suddenly fill like Hugh Normous from the Wizards of Waverly Place. Let me explain for those of you who aren't familiar with a children's show. Hugh was adopted and grew up with a family of giants, but he, however, is not a giant. He is but a normal sized person, and this bums Hugh out, because he wants to be a giant. To combat this, his giant parents buy everything super small for him, that way he feels large. His glasses are too small, his pencils, his backpack; you name it, it's too small.
I, on the other hand, buy things that fit me just right. I have a Goldilocks complex. Then I sat on a donut and my world fell down around me. I always use my laptop while sitting on the couch because I don't have a desk dedicated to laptop time. I simply spread out with my laptop on the coffee table. This normally works great, except now the donut has lifted me up about four inches above where I normally sit, and I end up hunched over my computer in a little ball while trying to type with it on the coffee table. I feel like Hugh Normous. I think this is plausibly acceptable.
For those of you who don't know, I have a very fat cat. She is healthy, but fat. Fat may be an understatement. Her name is also Pie, which just happens to fit her so perfectly. She was named when she was but a skinny little kitten. It's like we knew. Anyway, that's not the point. The point is we have a cat door that goes into the cat room, which is also our second bathroom. We keep the door shut so the dogs don't eat the cat's food, and up until now no one has had an issue getting in and out of the cat door. Not even Pie. That was until a few days ago. Now Pie can not get in and out of the cat door, and we're really not nice enough to not bust out laughing every time she stands there and paws and screams at the door because she wants us to let her out or in. She's not even our biggest cat, just the fattest. We have other cats that are not fat, but larger than her and they get in and out just fine. Pie needs to go on a diet.
My friend's brother has gone on vacation and left him alone for a week in a house that is owned by his brother, but he also shares with him. On his first full day alone things were going amazingly well. That was until his brother's friend texted him and asked if she could come over and pick something up that she had left there. My friend said sure, they arranged a time and he went to take a nap. He set his alarm, woke up and started getting ready to go out with his very own friend and get ice cream, while waiting for his brother's friend to come pick up whatever she wanted. Only she didn't come. So he contacted her and asked her what was up since he needed to leave. Turns out she had already come, got in the house, got what she wanted and left...all while he was asleep. This freaked him out, and naturally it should. In fact, he even texted her and asked her if what she came to take was his sense of security. I think this is accurate. I mean, that's creepy; someone sneaking into your house while you're asleep and you having no idea how they got in and out, far more how they did it while you slept. He is now concerned his underthings will go missing one night and he'll never know who did it or when.
On a better note, despite being bored and now scared to be alone in that house, he decided it would be in his best interest to move so that his brother's crazy friends don't come in and take things while he's asleep. He's surmised that living alone would be better than being alone in someone else's house. When I inquired about this he expressed that he's bored alone but he doesn't miss his brother. I think this sums up all the reasons I adore him in a nutshell.
I have Sprint cell service. I love Sprint and had a good run with their people in customer service. Every time I called I got someone foreign who spoke better English than most people I knew and didn't sound like they were reading from a script. They gave exceptional service and were friendly. Then I called the other day and got an American guy. I repeated my user name and password to him four times, which really was my name and birth date; info he already had. After the fourth time he put me on hold and went and got a supervisor. Five minutes later he came back and repeated my user name and password, claiming he couldn't get in. He still had it wrong. He then expressed that if I cared to repeat my information one time, he would type it while I said it this time to assure he got it right. I was embarrassed because I thought that had been what he was doing, but suddenly didn't wonder so much why he kept incorrectly putting my information in. He did get it right after he typed as I spoke, or I assumed so because he said, "that time it worked." This was followed immediately by, "oh, oh no, let me put you on hold again." I hung up because I didn't have all day to continue to repeat things to this guy, which was no offense to him, but quite frankly I missed the foreign people.
Kids here are apparently awesome. Some little girl on the news just said "I know you're going to be jealous, but I got to swim with sea turtles." Touche, little girl, touche. I am jealous. You are right.
On a final note, I changed my layout before hell froze over. I hope you like it!
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