There's certain movies I know not to watch before I do, because it's gauranteed I'll be curled up in a ball on my couch, blanket over me, a box of tissues in hand, sobbing into them. I'm one of those old people kids made fun of, including myself, that cry hysterically over movies. And even though I know I shouldn't watch them, I do it anyway.
Tonight's example: The Hallmark Hall of Fame Movie - The Lost Valentine.
In my defense, I didn't realize going into this how hard this movie was going to be for me to watch. As soon as Betty White's character was shown as a grandmother and not just a cute little old lady, I started balling. I still really miss my grandma. I imagine I always will. Until now, I've avoided movies specifically about grandmas and close relationships with grandmas because of this. I was done about three minutes into this movie. I trooped on, however, because the movie featured two of my favorite actresses, Betty White and Jennifer Love Hewitt. It could have only been better if Jane Lynch was there, too, but I digress.
It would have been very generic of me to say a movie made me cry because the main character was a grandma, I realize. So let me back up to the first two minutes of the movie where it's revealed that her husband, her lost valentine, was in the Air Force. Yep, I lost it there first, officially. My grandfather, my best friend in the entire world, was in the Air Force. His Air Force picture still hangs in our hallway so we pass it every single day. I miss him, too, more than words can say. I felt like it was all the things that hit too close to home all in one movie.
I won't get into the whole thing and ruin the plot for those of you who haven't seen it. There were several scenes that made me ball like a baby, especially the one toward the end with Betty White and the casket. But it was the end scene that did me in. If you haven't seen the movie and still want to, I'm warning you not to read past here.
At the end of the movie, Jennifer Love Hewitt's character and Betty White's movie grandson are in the yard when the sprinklers come on, flashing back to and earlier scene in the movie when Betty and her movie husband had just moved into that very same house and the same thing happened to them. As that happened, Betty was in the back yard watering her flowers. This was post her deceased husband's arrival in the casket after sixty-six years, in the very same train station she saw him off on on Valentine's day those sixty-six years ago. After she said to the man who worked at the station and greeted her every year when she went back to wait for him on that same day, "My husband is coming home today." And he did, in a casket, but he was home.
As she was standing outside of her house with the hose, she noticed that the rose bush her husband had planted when they first moved in and that had been dead for years was blooming. Just as she went to water it, the song she and her husband used to dance to came on the radio just inside of the window. Then they showed him in his Air Force uniform. He had come to take her. And while her movie grandson and J.Love's character repeated their love story in the front yard, she went with her husband, who was finally home.
I had no shiz left to lose at this point. I was full out leaving it all over the couch and the tissues I had run out of. When my grandma passed away, she came to say goodbye. With her was my grandfather...dressed in his Air Force uniform. That uniform hangs in my closet, a reminder of my grandfather's greatest feat. And as it is in life, a person's greatest, most important job, is the one they will do in death.
Showing posts with label A Movie Minute. Show all posts
Showing posts with label A Movie Minute. Show all posts
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Drunken Stupor Stupid Sober (Say That Ten Times Fast)
I’ve often mentioned that I get stupid when I’m tired. I’m not talking your normal thirty point IQ drop of shits and oblivious giggles. I’m talking like drunken stupor stupid. I don’t drink. I laugh at people who get drunken stupor stupid. But it is, in fact, what happens to me when I become a certain amount of tired. And the kicker? I'm totally sober. I'm always totally sober.
Of course, I never go to bed when I’m drunken stupor stupid. There’s two reasons for that. One, when I’m drunken stupor stupid, it’s a fake tired where my body is just defying me because it can. And two, when I’m actually I-can-get-some-sleep tired, I just fall asleep and skip drunken stupor stupid. So really, drunken stupor stupid is just a lie, a facade making me think I'm tired when I'm really just stupid, because I’m not actually tired. I’m just in a drunken stupor minus the drinking. No, that doesn’t make sense to me either.
One of my favorite things about being this kind of tired is that I end up writing some of my best material. I have an off color sense of humor to begin with, but it just comes pouring out in youthful abandonment until I end up in a pile of giggles on the floor, with Greta fleeing the room because she thinks I’ve permanently misplaces my marbles. She's probably right.
The reason I like to call this kind of tired a drunken stupor stupid is because I just lose all sense of what I should and should not say. I’m like Sophia from The Golden Girls, only I get way less sex, and by way less, I mean none ever. Ever. My inhibitions just shut down and I say whatever I want. It’s a good thing I’m not out in public when this happens or I’d end up beat up by some hick at Walmart that was looking at “dem there dern purty petunias.” More about this later.
For some reason, around the same time of day that I get like this, my Australian friend finds herself online and we start talking about really ridiculous shit. The conversation always starts out with things such as, “how was your day?” or “what are you up to?” By the middle, lines like “I would become a hooker to come up with the money to see that shit,” are being thrown around like this is totally normal. By the end, we’re usually making fun of someone, and by someone, I totally mean ourselves. Having friends who understand your penchant for ridiculousness is priceless.
Somewhere in our conversation, we usually end up talking about Criminal Minds in one way or another. I don’t know how this happens, but I don’t think it’s ever not happened. Usually the conversation revolves around MGG in some way, then how sad and pathetic we are that we spend our nights discussing our favorite television show, which is probably how we get to the end of the conversation where we make fun of ourselves.
Today’s conversation, however, was extra special. Normally I laugh at our conversations and go on with my life, but tonight, while we were having the conversation, I immediately knew it was getting its own blog post. So many ridiculous things were said, mostly by me, while my friend stood by and wondered who she should call about getting me medicated, that I knew this was the material blogs were made of. Well, at least my blog. Normal people would probably keep this as far away from their blog as possible.
As I am going through the conversation to properly map out how the ridiculous things that were said came about, I happened to back up too far in the conversation and find Matthew Gray Gubler “singing” The Golden Girls theme song. Look, how the conversation got to that, I don’t even know. There’s never an excuse for that. Ever. And there’s totally a reason I put quotation marks around singing. But hey, if the guy who voices Kermit the Frog ever retires, Matthew is a shoe in.
First let me start with the lines in the conversation that I found only by going up too far, and now I don’t want to read the whole conversation to figure out what or who I was talking about.
* I really have no life. He’s adorable and I have no life.
This very true statement could go to so many things that it’s not worth even trying to decipher. I’ll let you all go ahead and make the most inane reference to this that you possibly can and encourage you to stick with it. It’s probably right.
* Oh God, yes, a date. I need. Now.
Let’s forget about how that whole piece was a sham of the English language. Let’s just land on how true it is. Obviously.
* That whole “I'm waiting” thing sounded pushy. I don’t mean to be a pushy bitch.
If you have to apologize for it...
* I think that would be adorable, but you have to deal with how they found him, because he basically disappeared.
This was a round about reference to Former SSA Jason Gideon on Criminal Minds, but you kind of wish I wouldn’t have clarified that, don’t you?
* Btw, this has nothing to do with anything, but I'm watching Sugarland videos and YouTube suggested Rihanna for me from that. How does that happen?
I’m sure it was totally necessary for me to explain to her that me talking about Sugarland and Rihanna in the middle of discussing her story line had nothing to do with anything. I don’t know who fails worse here, me or YouTube.
* I am here to bounce opinions and ideas off of :)!
This seems like such an empty promise. Things don’t bounce in desolate, hollow space like my mind.
* And not the good kind of hard, the bad kind of hard.
Thank you, Brendon Urie, for the reference that will not die. There will forever be a good and bad kind of everything inappropriate sounding, whether it makes sense or not. Actually, only when it doesn’t make sense.
* I would offer to fly out there, but I think by the time I did, we’d be dangerously close to starvation.
There is Australia. This came about because I was hungry and she was hungry and somehow we thought it would be fun to go to lunch together. With me in Pa and her in Australia. Yeah, I know, guys. I know.
* And then, let's not forget that we'd have to find somewhere to eat. That's two hours of indecisiveness in itself. I mean, we are girls.
If there is that random guy reader out there who refuses to speak now and forever hold his peace, he’s going, “ah, they do know they do that.”
I’d also like Becky 1, who I am now going to call Original Becky, but should probably tell her that first so she knows I’m referring to her when I say that, that I casually use her word “anywhomaburger” all the time. It’s like the new black, which is now the new pink, which will probably be the new brown in the next week, and then the new orange two weeks later. I can’t keep up with these fashion trends.
Now, let’s get on to the good stuff that made me realize it had to become a blog in the first place. This conversation started innocently by talking about Mandy Patinkin. Even if you don’t think you know who he is, you do. He was the famed Inigo Montoya in The Princess Bride. More notably, at least to me, who has no concept of what notably actually means to anything outside of shit I like, he was the aforementioned Former SSA Jason Gideon in Criminal Minds.
I really can not remember what made me Google Mandy Patinkin. It had nothing to do with our conversation, but something to do with something that I can’t remember a mere three hours later. It must have been important. However, when I did Google him, the following occurred. This was easily the most hysterical twenty minutes of my day.
* Also, I am completely loling. Did you know Mandy Patinkin has an, and I quote, "official concert site." I mean, what in the hell does that even mean, anyway? Official concert site my persqueeter.
I am also sorry to my little cousins, if you are reading this, that I used the word persqueeter twice. Please don’t Google that. Your dad will fly up here and kill me. I wouldn’t blame him, however, Roger would no longer be my favorite funny uncle anymore. He’d be the murderous uncle, and no one wants that. Plus, I don't think Aunt Lois could take her only normal son going to prison. Oh wait, Rawn is the normal one. Never mind. We're good.
After I sent the link to his site to my friend and we discussed it and her ridiculous dreams, she informed me of something I’m pretty sure my laughter gene has waited its whole life to hear.
* Oh and I just remembered that Mandy Patinkin is a tenor - he did some singing in the Elmo movie.
How do you just remember that? How do you forget that? This is Mandy Patinkin singing and hanging with Elmo, you guys. This is unforgettable, which I think I properly expressed in my response.
* Hold on...I have to process this.
Mandy Patinkin sang.in.the.ELMO.movie.
Why? How? Why?
I love Mandy.
I was still processing this when she sent me the video to it. Yes, there’s a video. Hark! Someone is loving me right now. There.Is.A.Video. God, I hate when people type like that.
Her answer to me asking, "Why? How? Why?," by the way?
* Cause he did.
Glad she knows how to handle me by now. She should get paid for this, really.
After I watched the video, and then giggled, and then watched it again, and then giggled some more, I found that I am still trying to process this right now. And giggling. And processing. I’ll probably be processing this and giggling next week. If I start acting like I’m on crack, rest assured that I have not done drugs once in my life and never will. I’m just watching Mandy Patinkin hang out with Elmo.
Gosh, could you imagine what would happen if I did drink or do drugs? It would probably go something like this:
- Three arrests
- Two jail stints
- One trip to a rehab center
- Becoming best friends with Lindsay Lohan
- An intervention ala A&E TV
- Four trips to a mental health center
- Officials finally realizing that I’m doing better drunk and drugged up than I do sober
- A state appointed execution so they can study what went wrong with my mind, and the people who have had to deal with me finally getting peace away from me.
- Attempted execution
- My refusal to die
- The people who have had to deal with me killing themselves instead
After I watched the Elmo / Mandy video, I readily admitted to my friend the extent of love I had for it, and for her for sending it.
* OMG! I love you for this. In fact, I may even be in love with you for this, and I'm not even a lesbian. This puppy is going all over my blog. I have no life.
Guys, I’m classy. I don’t go faux-love lesbian for just anyone. Only for videos of Mandy Patinkin in an Elmo movie.
This is the part where you’re thinking this blog can’t take a more bizarre turn. This is also the part where I laugh at you because you’re a reader of this blog, you know I’m full of all kinds of strange fun and humor, and are still wrong. Apparently, I had a crowning moment left in me. This moment was so crowning, in fact, that I didn’t even realize what I had wrote until I had sent it, and by then I was glad it was too late, because it was kind of funny and made for a good blog. And the conversation went exactly like this, so I knew that there are people out there that are the same kind of crazy fun that I am.
Oh, and close your eyes, little cousins. Just close your eyes. This part doesn't exist.
Me: I would pay money I don't have to see Mandy and Matthew sing together. Mandy's so good and Matthew is so...not good. I would become a hooker to come up with the money to see that shit.
Her: I am with you there.
Me: *High five* Everyone else would have thought I was nuts and walked away mumbling about how I must have gone off of some medication by now. Also, correct me if I'm wrong on this, but I thought Matthew played the guitar, which is what led me to think he was a good singer. Which he isn't. So I'm probably wrong about the guitar thing, too.
Her: lol. I have no idea if he does.
Me: I don't either. But now I'm scared, because he has no musicality. He just...he's not...it's bad. And if he plays a guitar, I'm concerned it will be equally out of key. On a good note, if the guy who voices Kermit the Frog dies, he could totally take over for the singing parts.
Her: lol. oh dear me. what will we do with ourselves.
Me: I don't know. I think we need dates
Her: Quite possibly.
Me: This year I'm dedicated to figuring out how I go about getting one, because I hate to say it, but I really don't know.
Her: don't worry i don't know either
Me: This bums me out a little. We can't live our whole lives single, can we?
Her: sure we can.
God bless her. And now I finally see how all of our conversations end in us making fun of ourselves. If we didn’t make fun of ourselves in jest, we’d cry. But good news, boys, we are single. You can have all this crazy for the price of a decent dinner and some conversation that we can talk / blog about so we can at least say we tried to date and have a life. We know you’ll be lining up...at someone else’s door, far, far away from us.
And we’d also like to apologize to Matthew. None of us will ever meet him, he will never see this blog, and this will never matter less than it does now, but you can’t sing, dude. We’re sorry we picked on you, though. You may not have musicality, but you’re cute. In our world, that counts for everything. In fact, our excuse for everything is, “but we’re cute.” It holds no weight, but you learn to live with it.
To round out our conversation, we steered away from laughing at Mandy and decided to leave poor Matthew alone, and somehow this came up. I’m not going to bother to explain it. It’s way less fun if I explain it. I’ll just let it speak for itself.
Her: Who knows. They'd be robots!
Me: They would. Robots who pooped money.
If you’re keeping track, there’s also no reason ever to say that. Ever.
Then, as with all good, self loathing, no-life conversations, I, of course, brought up the only quip I have left; crazy Craigslist lady. After presenting the facts, my gave me this response exactly.
* I have no idea how to respond to that.
Good, it’s not just me. Thank you and goodnight!
Craigslist lady turned into this.
Me: It seems like Craigslist is the only thing that works, but those people are crazy. Or, as we would say here in PA, "them damn peoples is crazy." No, seriously, that's how people talk around here.
Me: Some kid thought I was Lady Gaga one time at WalMart. This is the kind of special you deal with here.
Me Again: Wait, I take that back, it was his dad that thought I was Lady Gaga. It was the kid who clarified that I couldn't be, but it was for a really ridiculous reason. I have a blog post about this. Now I must find it.
Her (After I finally let her talk.): Do they not know what Lady Gaga looks like?
Me: Here? In Pa? We live amongst some very special people. I'm sure I just offended the word special. If you ever see the movie Run Ronnie Run, I'm pretty sure it was written by, and starring Pennsylvanians and is a true story about Pennsylvanians.
Guys, I’d like to leave you with some very, very important words. If ever traveling to Pennsylvania, just remember, it’s not a vacation, it’s an “adventure.” You can take the quotes in adventure to mean whatever you want, but when someone comes up to you with two teeth and starts telling you that “Yur vury purty. Do you like them there tractors and that cuntry musak,” don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Of course, I never go to bed when I’m drunken stupor stupid. There’s two reasons for that. One, when I’m drunken stupor stupid, it’s a fake tired where my body is just defying me because it can. And two, when I’m actually I-can-get-some-sleep tired, I just fall asleep and skip drunken stupor stupid. So really, drunken stupor stupid is just a lie, a facade making me think I'm tired when I'm really just stupid, because I’m not actually tired. I’m just in a drunken stupor minus the drinking. No, that doesn’t make sense to me either.
One of my favorite things about being this kind of tired is that I end up writing some of my best material. I have an off color sense of humor to begin with, but it just comes pouring out in youthful abandonment until I end up in a pile of giggles on the floor, with Greta fleeing the room because she thinks I’ve permanently misplaces my marbles. She's probably right.
The reason I like to call this kind of tired a drunken stupor stupid is because I just lose all sense of what I should and should not say. I’m like Sophia from The Golden Girls, only I get way less sex, and by way less, I mean none ever. Ever. My inhibitions just shut down and I say whatever I want. It’s a good thing I’m not out in public when this happens or I’d end up beat up by some hick at Walmart that was looking at “dem there dern purty petunias.” More about this later.
For some reason, around the same time of day that I get like this, my Australian friend finds herself online and we start talking about really ridiculous shit. The conversation always starts out with things such as, “how was your day?” or “what are you up to?” By the middle, lines like “I would become a hooker to come up with the money to see that shit,” are being thrown around like this is totally normal. By the end, we’re usually making fun of someone, and by someone, I totally mean ourselves. Having friends who understand your penchant for ridiculousness is priceless.
Somewhere in our conversation, we usually end up talking about Criminal Minds in one way or another. I don’t know how this happens, but I don’t think it’s ever not happened. Usually the conversation revolves around MGG in some way, then how sad and pathetic we are that we spend our nights discussing our favorite television show, which is probably how we get to the end of the conversation where we make fun of ourselves.
Today’s conversation, however, was extra special. Normally I laugh at our conversations and go on with my life, but tonight, while we were having the conversation, I immediately knew it was getting its own blog post. So many ridiculous things were said, mostly by me, while my friend stood by and wondered who she should call about getting me medicated, that I knew this was the material blogs were made of. Well, at least my blog. Normal people would probably keep this as far away from their blog as possible.
As I am going through the conversation to properly map out how the ridiculous things that were said came about, I happened to back up too far in the conversation and find Matthew Gray Gubler “singing” The Golden Girls theme song. Look, how the conversation got to that, I don’t even know. There’s never an excuse for that. Ever. And there’s totally a reason I put quotation marks around singing. But hey, if the guy who voices Kermit the Frog ever retires, Matthew is a shoe in.
First let me start with the lines in the conversation that I found only by going up too far, and now I don’t want to read the whole conversation to figure out what or who I was talking about.
* I really have no life. He’s adorable and I have no life.
This very true statement could go to so many things that it’s not worth even trying to decipher. I’ll let you all go ahead and make the most inane reference to this that you possibly can and encourage you to stick with it. It’s probably right.
* Oh God, yes, a date. I need. Now.
Let’s forget about how that whole piece was a sham of the English language. Let’s just land on how true it is. Obviously.
* That whole “I'm waiting” thing sounded pushy. I don’t mean to be a pushy bitch.
If you have to apologize for it...
* I think that would be adorable, but you have to deal with how they found him, because he basically disappeared.
This was a round about reference to Former SSA Jason Gideon on Criminal Minds, but you kind of wish I wouldn’t have clarified that, don’t you?
* Btw, this has nothing to do with anything, but I'm watching Sugarland videos and YouTube suggested Rihanna for me from that. How does that happen?
I’m sure it was totally necessary for me to explain to her that me talking about Sugarland and Rihanna in the middle of discussing her story line had nothing to do with anything. I don’t know who fails worse here, me or YouTube.
* I am here to bounce opinions and ideas off of :)!
This seems like such an empty promise. Things don’t bounce in desolate, hollow space like my mind.
* And not the good kind of hard, the bad kind of hard.
Thank you, Brendon Urie, for the reference that will not die. There will forever be a good and bad kind of everything inappropriate sounding, whether it makes sense or not. Actually, only when it doesn’t make sense.
* I would offer to fly out there, but I think by the time I did, we’d be dangerously close to starvation.
There is Australia. This came about because I was hungry and she was hungry and somehow we thought it would be fun to go to lunch together. With me in Pa and her in Australia. Yeah, I know, guys. I know.
* And then, let's not forget that we'd have to find somewhere to eat. That's two hours of indecisiveness in itself. I mean, we are girls.
If there is that random guy reader out there who refuses to speak now and forever hold his peace, he’s going, “ah, they do know they do that.”
I’d also like Becky 1, who I am now going to call Original Becky, but should probably tell her that first so she knows I’m referring to her when I say that, that I casually use her word “anywhomaburger” all the time. It’s like the new black, which is now the new pink, which will probably be the new brown in the next week, and then the new orange two weeks later. I can’t keep up with these fashion trends.
Now, let’s get on to the good stuff that made me realize it had to become a blog in the first place. This conversation started innocently by talking about Mandy Patinkin. Even if you don’t think you know who he is, you do. He was the famed Inigo Montoya in The Princess Bride. More notably, at least to me, who has no concept of what notably actually means to anything outside of shit I like, he was the aforementioned Former SSA Jason Gideon in Criminal Minds.
I really can not remember what made me Google Mandy Patinkin. It had nothing to do with our conversation, but something to do with something that I can’t remember a mere three hours later. It must have been important. However, when I did Google him, the following occurred. This was easily the most hysterical twenty minutes of my day.
* Also, I am completely loling. Did you know Mandy Patinkin has an, and I quote, "official concert site." I mean, what in the hell does that even mean, anyway? Official concert site my persqueeter.
I am also sorry to my little cousins, if you are reading this, that I used the word persqueeter twice. Please don’t Google that. Your dad will fly up here and kill me. I wouldn’t blame him, however, Roger would no longer be my favorite funny uncle anymore. He’d be the murderous uncle, and no one wants that. Plus, I don't think Aunt Lois could take her only normal son going to prison. Oh wait, Rawn is the normal one. Never mind. We're good.
After I sent the link to his site to my friend and we discussed it and her ridiculous dreams, she informed me of something I’m pretty sure my laughter gene has waited its whole life to hear.
* Oh and I just remembered that Mandy Patinkin is a tenor - he did some singing in the Elmo movie.
How do you just remember that? How do you forget that? This is Mandy Patinkin singing and hanging with Elmo, you guys. This is unforgettable, which I think I properly expressed in my response.
* Hold on...I have to process this.
Mandy Patinkin sang.in.the.ELMO.movie.
Why? How? Why?
I love Mandy.
I was still processing this when she sent me the video to it. Yes, there’s a video. Hark! Someone is loving me right now. There.Is.A.Video. God, I hate when people type like that.
Her answer to me asking, "Why? How? Why?," by the way?
* Cause he did.
Glad she knows how to handle me by now. She should get paid for this, really.
After I watched the video, and then giggled, and then watched it again, and then giggled some more, I found that I am still trying to process this right now. And giggling. And processing. I’ll probably be processing this and giggling next week. If I start acting like I’m on crack, rest assured that I have not done drugs once in my life and never will. I’m just watching Mandy Patinkin hang out with Elmo.
Gosh, could you imagine what would happen if I did drink or do drugs? It would probably go something like this:
- Three arrests
- Two jail stints
- One trip to a rehab center
- Becoming best friends with Lindsay Lohan
- An intervention ala A&E TV
- Four trips to a mental health center
- Officials finally realizing that I’m doing better drunk and drugged up than I do sober
- A state appointed execution so they can study what went wrong with my mind, and the people who have had to deal with me finally getting peace away from me.
- Attempted execution
- My refusal to die
- The people who have had to deal with me killing themselves instead
After I watched the Elmo / Mandy video, I readily admitted to my friend the extent of love I had for it, and for her for sending it.
* OMG! I love you for this. In fact, I may even be in love with you for this, and I'm not even a lesbian. This puppy is going all over my blog. I have no life.
Guys, I’m classy. I don’t go faux-love lesbian for just anyone. Only for videos of Mandy Patinkin in an Elmo movie.
This is the part where you’re thinking this blog can’t take a more bizarre turn. This is also the part where I laugh at you because you’re a reader of this blog, you know I’m full of all kinds of strange fun and humor, and are still wrong. Apparently, I had a crowning moment left in me. This moment was so crowning, in fact, that I didn’t even realize what I had wrote until I had sent it, and by then I was glad it was too late, because it was kind of funny and made for a good blog. And the conversation went exactly like this, so I knew that there are people out there that are the same kind of crazy fun that I am.
Oh, and close your eyes, little cousins. Just close your eyes. This part doesn't exist.
Me: I would pay money I don't have to see Mandy and Matthew sing together. Mandy's so good and Matthew is so...not good. I would become a hooker to come up with the money to see that shit.
Her: I am with you there.
Me: *High five* Everyone else would have thought I was nuts and walked away mumbling about how I must have gone off of some medication by now. Also, correct me if I'm wrong on this, but I thought Matthew played the guitar, which is what led me to think he was a good singer. Which he isn't. So I'm probably wrong about the guitar thing, too.
Her: lol. I have no idea if he does.
Me: I don't either. But now I'm scared, because he has no musicality. He just...he's not...it's bad. And if he plays a guitar, I'm concerned it will be equally out of key. On a good note, if the guy who voices Kermit the Frog dies, he could totally take over for the singing parts.
Her: lol. oh dear me. what will we do with ourselves.
Me: I don't know. I think we need dates
Her: Quite possibly.
Me: This year I'm dedicated to figuring out how I go about getting one, because I hate to say it, but I really don't know.
Her: don't worry i don't know either
Me: This bums me out a little. We can't live our whole lives single, can we?
Her: sure we can.
God bless her. And now I finally see how all of our conversations end in us making fun of ourselves. If we didn’t make fun of ourselves in jest, we’d cry. But good news, boys, we are single. You can have all this crazy for the price of a decent dinner and some conversation that we can talk / blog about so we can at least say we tried to date and have a life. We know you’ll be lining up...at someone else’s door, far, far away from us.
And we’d also like to apologize to Matthew. None of us will ever meet him, he will never see this blog, and this will never matter less than it does now, but you can’t sing, dude. We’re sorry we picked on you, though. You may not have musicality, but you’re cute. In our world, that counts for everything. In fact, our excuse for everything is, “but we’re cute.” It holds no weight, but you learn to live with it.
To round out our conversation, we steered away from laughing at Mandy and decided to leave poor Matthew alone, and somehow this came up. I’m not going to bother to explain it. It’s way less fun if I explain it. I’ll just let it speak for itself.
Her: Who knows. They'd be robots!
Me: They would. Robots who pooped money.
If you’re keeping track, there’s also no reason ever to say that. Ever.
Then, as with all good, self loathing, no-life conversations, I, of course, brought up the only quip I have left; crazy Craigslist lady. After presenting the facts, my gave me this response exactly.
* I have no idea how to respond to that.
Good, it’s not just me. Thank you and goodnight!
Craigslist lady turned into this.
Me: It seems like Craigslist is the only thing that works, but those people are crazy. Or, as we would say here in PA, "them damn peoples is crazy." No, seriously, that's how people talk around here.
Me: Some kid thought I was Lady Gaga one time at WalMart. This is the kind of special you deal with here.
Me Again: Wait, I take that back, it was his dad that thought I was Lady Gaga. It was the kid who clarified that I couldn't be, but it was for a really ridiculous reason. I have a blog post about this. Now I must find it.
Her (After I finally let her talk.): Do they not know what Lady Gaga looks like?
Me: Here? In Pa? We live amongst some very special people. I'm sure I just offended the word special. If you ever see the movie Run Ronnie Run, I'm pretty sure it was written by, and starring Pennsylvanians and is a true story about Pennsylvanians.
Guys, I’d like to leave you with some very, very important words. If ever traveling to Pennsylvania, just remember, it’s not a vacation, it’s an “adventure.” You can take the quotes in adventure to mean whatever you want, but when someone comes up to you with two teeth and starts telling you that “Yur vury purty. Do you like them there tractors and that cuntry musak,” don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Welcome to Good Burger, Home of the Good Burger, May I Take Your Order
Oh, Girls, we have so much to talk about. At least I assume we're all girls here since I've not heard otherwise. If you're a boy, speak up or forever hold your peace. And I do mean forever. We girls will talk right over you.
For today, I have a bunch of random stuff to talk about that doesn't really go together, so bear with me. The lucky penny that defied all odds, I got it. A mentally incorrect Craigslist buyer, I got that, too. Good Burger, we're so going there. Are you ready?
I've never picked up a penny off the ground and had good luck before. However, I continued to pick up pennies over and over again just because I liked the thought of having a lucky penny more than I believed in its power. A few days ago, while walking in to Target, one of those pennies proved me wrong. The funny thing about this is, as soon as I bent down to pick it up, I made the comment about how they never work and I always waste my thirty seconds bending down, and then trying to get back up again. Hey, with my health issues, getting back up is hard. I may as well be a ninety year old lady. My gram and I, we had a lot in common.
While at Target, I was shopping for a lamp. I recently got a bed that moves so I can sit up and sleep, instead of sleeping on the couch for three more years. One thing I learned very quickly is that, when you're completely clumsy and could hurt yourself in a padded room with nothing else in it, it's important to have a light close to your bed when your light switch is five feet away. Unless you want to die. Then I would suggest not getting a light. I didn't want to die, though.
I also didn't want to have to spend an arm, leg and kidney for a lamp, as I had other things I needed, too, so I was taking my time looking through them. There were all these larger lamps for sale, just the lamps. The shelf above contained the lampshades. They were not put together and they were super expensive and out of my price range. Then, I found this adorable little lamp of my dreams.
There were several lamps in a row, all of them with the lampshades already on them, and they were decently priced, so I picked one out and took it to the register. When the guy scanned them, I learned that the lamp and the shade were not together. They were sold separately, even though there was nothing indicating that at the display. I was a little sad. This was the perfect lamp. Not only did it do all the things that lamps should, like, you know, light up, but it was cute, too.
Target made it a point to put the shades on all of these little lamps, and then turn them around so the sku was facing backwards, and there was no separate price on them. There was a price for the lamp, but the shades only had a sku you couldn't see with no price tag for it anywhere, leaving you to believe they were together. Especially because all the other lamps were separate from the lampshades. These were not, and the price tag to just the lamp was in full view, where there wasn't one anywhere for the lampshades.
The guy at the register admitted this was done on purpose and this happens all the time with these lamps because of that. I told him that was okay, that it was my fault that I didn't read the price tag better / turn it around and see if there was a sku on the lamp, and that I just couldn't afford it for that price. He then said, "let me do something and see if I can make it all right with you." This was Target, not a yard sale, so I told him that it was really okay, it was my own fault and I wasn't going to yell at him about it. He just worked there and couldn't control Target trickery. He followed with, "that's why I'm doing this, because you're being so nice about it." He then told my mom that she did a good job with me. I ended up getting that sucker for pretty much the same price I thought it was because of this awesome guy.
He is my new favorite person in the whole wide world, I would shop there again and again because of him, and I also would like to thank that penny for actually being lucky. If I've learned anything, it's that you may pick up a thousand pennies in your life, and if you're lucky one out of those thousand will bring you luck, but it's a no lose because you'll still be a thousand pennies richer. The moral of the story: Always pick up a penny. That penny, however, will most likely not protect you from people on Craigslist. It will not make them smarter, any less crazy, or any more polite. This is disappointing.
In my last post, I mentioned that I had gotten an email from, and I quote, " a girl who is genuinely interested in my furniture and wants to come see it tomorrow." I also went on to say, and again I quote, "I liked her because she knew how to use punctuation, form a sentence, and spell." I had high hopes for her.
People, I was seriously wrong about her. And no, she didn't show up, but we're getting to that. First, I would like to start by sharing that email that made me gloat about this woman, and we'll go from there. I realize I was way too nice about her sentence forming and what not, but it made sense, which is more than most peoples' emails do. Her name and phone number have been edited out to protect the...uh, I do it because I just don't feel right about putting someone's name and phone number out there. I wouldn't want someone doing it to me, even if I was an odd little jerk.
Hello-
I am interested in coming to look at the Beautiful Bedroom suit you have. Can you e-mail me Pictures of the Vanity and does it have a Bench /Chair with it?
I am sorry to be e-mailing you late but i just saw your ad. I am free tomorrow if someone will be avail. to shoe it. If I Buy it I will not be taking it with me until an evening or over the weekend as I have a friend with a truck that will pick it up for me.
Please call me to set up a Day/Time if tomorrow does not suit you.
Thank You,
I emailed her back immediately, within ten minutes of her emailing me, with the pictures she requested. I never heard back from her. This is where I'd like to point out two different places in this email. One is that she asked me to email her pictures. Two was that I was to call her if tomorrow didn't work for me. Since it did and she wanted pictures emailed to her, I only emailed her. I didn't call her. I didn't see a reason to. I thought if I called her and I emailed her, because, again, I had to email her the pictures anyway, that she would be one of those people that I've unfortunately dealt with before who get mad and feel like you're not listening to their email and bugging them by both emailing and calling. Maybe I read too much into this. Either way, three days went by of me not hearing from her, which isn't unusual on Craigslist. I just figured she moved on and changed her mind. Then, yesterday at 4:49am, when I was fast asleep, this came in.
You waited for me to call? I waited for you to email me! And show up! OR SOMETHING!
Let me just start by saying how much I love that she starts out by passively aggressively blaming me for not calling her. Bitch, I waited all day for you to contact me. I am not your babysitter. I am not supposed to email and call you just to see if you're coming out to see my furniture. Again, maybe I should have just called her, but when she asked me to email her pictures and to call if I couldn't do it tomorrow, it was logical of me to think she would check her email to see if I got back to her, or see her pictures. Besides, why am I sending her pictures if she's not going to check her email to see them and just come out and see the furniture, meaning she wouldn't have needed the pictures anyway? That would be a stupid waste of time. But I digress. It gets better.
Second, she has an appointment at the mall. What mall? As you all know, malls are littered everywhere here in America. This cleared up nothing for me. I assumed she was going to the mall closest to where I live, however, there's not a dentist there. There's one near there, but not actually in the same complex, or in the same parking lot, or on the same side of the road, or anything like that, at that mall. So I really didn't know. I just assumed. However, this probably isn't important to anything. I was just annoyed and nitpicking.
This is the second time this lady has contacted me at the last minute and wanted to come see the furniture right away, which is a little annoying, but fine. I understand people are people and they're going to do that when you're selling an item. And you have to deal with it if you want to sell that item. I obviously didn't get the email and call her at 4:50am, but as soon as I got it I called her. I got her voice mail and figured she was just in the dentist chair, so I left a message with my number telling her to give me a call when she was ready and come on over. I'd give her directions then. I was afraid if I just gave her directions, she'd just show up and I didn't want that. I thought that was reasonable.
This will be important now, after you realize she told me to call, but that she wouldn't be able to talk. Does that make zero sense to anyone but me? She didn't know where I lived. I had to give her directions. What if she got lost? How was I supposed to hear her confusion through the silence? And how were we supposed to talk furniture if she couldn't talk? This is probably useless to express, but she hasn't called me back yet, and that was yesterday. And I was pissed, because this is the second time I've gotten back to her as soon as I got her email and she didn't get back to me. I'm going to wait a few days and see if this somehow becomes my fault again. This time she'll probably tell me I should have emailed her, even though at the bottom of the email she said if I do she wouldn't get it until she was already home, and by that time it was basically too late, because she didn't know when she'd be coming this way again.
And let's talk about that little tidbit of info, shall we. I know where she's from due to the exchange on her home phone number. She lives twenty minutes from here. I mean, it's obvious that she didn't live that far for two reasons. One is that she wouldn't drive a long way to go to the dentist. She would just find a closer dentist if he was really that far away. There's dentists everywhere. It wouldn't be that hard to do. And she wouldn't be willing to come here, look at the furniture, and then come back down with someone if she lived that far away, via her suggestion in the first email. She would just wait and come down with someone who could haul it the first time, just in case she decided to take it, so she wouldn't have to make that long, grueling trip again.
I also love that she got a new cell phone number. The number she gave me in her last email was her cell phone number. How did she know I didn't try to call her and she had her number changed so I couldn't get a hold of her? In her defense, she did give me her home number, too, but I just thought that was extra special.
People honestly just baffle me. They baffle me. They leave me cranky and speechless when the crank wears off. This lady now has me wondering if I should email her, too. I half expect if I don't, she'll call me back and say she's been waiting for my email. *Heads desk* I'm waiting for it. I thought about also emailing her, but we have the theory that, if I do that she's going to think I'm getting desperate about the furniture and is possibly acting this way to try to get me desperate to sell so that I will give it to her cheaper. It's happened before. The thing is, when you start this crap, I just become totally unwilling to haggle with you.
I kind of regret giving her my phone number, which is something I don't do unless I already have an appointment with someone, just in case they get lost. I have a rule about that, because I've learned my lesson from having other things on Craiglist. This was a total bitch thing of me to do, and I know it was, but I made sure to put all her numbers in my phone as "Crazy Craigslist Bitch." Wrong, I know, but I couldn't resist. I'd never be rude to her, so this is my silent little way of keeping myself from losing my shit on her for wasting two days waiting for her. And the thing is, if she contacts me again, do I even bother to try with her, or do I just ignore her knowing her past indicates she's never going to show up and the joke is probably on me? I feel like I'm playing Devil's Advocate with some lady just to sell my furniture. Trust me, if I didn't need the money from the furniture sell to buy new furniture, I'd give it to someone who needed it and go on my merry way.
I'm done complaining about Craigslist people for this post, I promise. Let's talk about Good Burger. Some of you may have no idea what Good Burger is, because it was really more of a my generation kind of thing. Back in the day, there was a show on Nickelodeon called All That. I'm not talking about the newer version, but the original one with Kenan, Kel and Amanda Bynes. At my age, that show was all that. It was the show everyone watched and talked about in school. It was the bomb. From All That spawned a show with two of the show's stars called Kenan and Kel. It starred Kenan and Kel. Could you have guessed? From that show came Good Burger, also starring Kenan and Kel. Intriguing, I know.
In Good Burger, Kel played Ed, the dim cashier at Good Burger who understood nothing and couldn't even get an order correct. Kenan played Dexter, the completely intelligent kid who accidentally hit his teacher's car and, in order to pay back the damage, had to get a job and ended up at Good Burger. The basic plot is that a new burger joint is moving in across the street and attempting to shut Good Burger down. Kenan and Kel find out that this burger joint is actually using all these illegal hormones in their burgers to make them bigger, so they set up a plan to take the place down.
Not to give away too much of the ending, but Ed saves the day. That's right, I said Ed, not Dexter. And with Ed doing scenes like this and spitting out lines like this (you have to wait for him to come up at end scene), it's amazing. But the golden part of this movie, the one that makes the whole thing worth watching, and one big, ironic pile of fun at the end, is that, when Dexter finds out Ed saved the day, he says to him, "you figured that out all by yourself?" Ed looks at him and very seriously says, "Yeah, I'm not stupid." And that, my friends, is the one line that makes the entire movie.
For today, I have a bunch of random stuff to talk about that doesn't really go together, so bear with me. The lucky penny that defied all odds, I got it. A mentally incorrect Craigslist buyer, I got that, too. Good Burger, we're so going there. Are you ready?
I've never picked up a penny off the ground and had good luck before. However, I continued to pick up pennies over and over again just because I liked the thought of having a lucky penny more than I believed in its power. A few days ago, while walking in to Target, one of those pennies proved me wrong. The funny thing about this is, as soon as I bent down to pick it up, I made the comment about how they never work and I always waste my thirty seconds bending down, and then trying to get back up again. Hey, with my health issues, getting back up is hard. I may as well be a ninety year old lady. My gram and I, we had a lot in common.
While at Target, I was shopping for a lamp. I recently got a bed that moves so I can sit up and sleep, instead of sleeping on the couch for three more years. One thing I learned very quickly is that, when you're completely clumsy and could hurt yourself in a padded room with nothing else in it, it's important to have a light close to your bed when your light switch is five feet away. Unless you want to die. Then I would suggest not getting a light. I didn't want to die, though.
I also didn't want to have to spend an arm, leg and kidney for a lamp, as I had other things I needed, too, so I was taking my time looking through them. There were all these larger lamps for sale, just the lamps. The shelf above contained the lampshades. They were not put together and they were super expensive and out of my price range. Then, I found this adorable little lamp of my dreams.
There were several lamps in a row, all of them with the lampshades already on them, and they were decently priced, so I picked one out and took it to the register. When the guy scanned them, I learned that the lamp and the shade were not together. They were sold separately, even though there was nothing indicating that at the display. I was a little sad. This was the perfect lamp. Not only did it do all the things that lamps should, like, you know, light up, but it was cute, too.
Target made it a point to put the shades on all of these little lamps, and then turn them around so the sku was facing backwards, and there was no separate price on them. There was a price for the lamp, but the shades only had a sku you couldn't see with no price tag for it anywhere, leaving you to believe they were together. Especially because all the other lamps were separate from the lampshades. These were not, and the price tag to just the lamp was in full view, where there wasn't one anywhere for the lampshades.
The guy at the register admitted this was done on purpose and this happens all the time with these lamps because of that. I told him that was okay, that it was my fault that I didn't read the price tag better / turn it around and see if there was a sku on the lamp, and that I just couldn't afford it for that price. He then said, "let me do something and see if I can make it all right with you." This was Target, not a yard sale, so I told him that it was really okay, it was my own fault and I wasn't going to yell at him about it. He just worked there and couldn't control Target trickery. He followed with, "that's why I'm doing this, because you're being so nice about it." He then told my mom that she did a good job with me. I ended up getting that sucker for pretty much the same price I thought it was because of this awesome guy.
He is my new favorite person in the whole wide world, I would shop there again and again because of him, and I also would like to thank that penny for actually being lucky. If I've learned anything, it's that you may pick up a thousand pennies in your life, and if you're lucky one out of those thousand will bring you luck, but it's a no lose because you'll still be a thousand pennies richer. The moral of the story: Always pick up a penny. That penny, however, will most likely not protect you from people on Craigslist. It will not make them smarter, any less crazy, or any more polite. This is disappointing.
In my last post, I mentioned that I had gotten an email from, and I quote, " a girl who is genuinely interested in my furniture and wants to come see it tomorrow." I also went on to say, and again I quote, "I liked her because she knew how to use punctuation, form a sentence, and spell." I had high hopes for her.
People, I was seriously wrong about her. And no, she didn't show up, but we're getting to that. First, I would like to start by sharing that email that made me gloat about this woman, and we'll go from there. I realize I was way too nice about her sentence forming and what not, but it made sense, which is more than most peoples' emails do. Her name and phone number have been edited out to protect the...uh, I do it because I just don't feel right about putting someone's name and phone number out there. I wouldn't want someone doing it to me, even if I was an odd little jerk.
Hello-
I am interested in coming to look at the Beautiful Bedroom suit you have. Can you e-mail me Pictures of the Vanity and does it have a Bench /Chair with it?
I am sorry to be e-mailing you late but i just saw your ad. I am free tomorrow if someone will be avail. to shoe it. If I Buy it I will not be taking it with me until an evening or over the weekend as I have a friend with a truck that will pick it up for me.
Please call me to set up a Day/Time if tomorrow does not suit you.
Thank You,
I emailed her back immediately, within ten minutes of her emailing me, with the pictures she requested. I never heard back from her. This is where I'd like to point out two different places in this email. One is that she asked me to email her pictures. Two was that I was to call her if tomorrow didn't work for me. Since it did and she wanted pictures emailed to her, I only emailed her. I didn't call her. I didn't see a reason to. I thought if I called her and I emailed her, because, again, I had to email her the pictures anyway, that she would be one of those people that I've unfortunately dealt with before who get mad and feel like you're not listening to their email and bugging them by both emailing and calling. Maybe I read too much into this. Either way, three days went by of me not hearing from her, which isn't unusual on Craigslist. I just figured she moved on and changed her mind. Then, yesterday at 4:49am, when I was fast asleep, this came in.
I e-mailed you the other day and waited for you to call. I didn't realize you had e-mailed me. I am sorry. I have a Dentist appt. at the Mall at noon today. I would like to see the furniture if I could. Probably after I am done. I won't be able to talk because I will still be numb, as I had 3 teeth done last evening. So they have to do the rest today. Please let me know if I will be able to come or if that doesn't work for you. I am giving you my New Cell # to call me on. I will be leaving around 8:30am so I won't get any of my e-mails until I get home.After today I am not sure when I will be coming to Greensburg next.
You waited for me to call? I waited for you to email me! And show up! OR SOMETHING!
Let me just start by saying how much I love that she starts out by passively aggressively blaming me for not calling her. Bitch, I waited all day for you to contact me. I am not your babysitter. I am not supposed to email and call you just to see if you're coming out to see my furniture. Again, maybe I should have just called her, but when she asked me to email her pictures and to call if I couldn't do it tomorrow, it was logical of me to think she would check her email to see if I got back to her, or see her pictures. Besides, why am I sending her pictures if she's not going to check her email to see them and just come out and see the furniture, meaning she wouldn't have needed the pictures anyway? That would be a stupid waste of time. But I digress. It gets better.
Second, she has an appointment at the mall. What mall? As you all know, malls are littered everywhere here in America. This cleared up nothing for me. I assumed she was going to the mall closest to where I live, however, there's not a dentist there. There's one near there, but not actually in the same complex, or in the same parking lot, or on the same side of the road, or anything like that, at that mall. So I really didn't know. I just assumed. However, this probably isn't important to anything. I was just annoyed and nitpicking.
This is the second time this lady has contacted me at the last minute and wanted to come see the furniture right away, which is a little annoying, but fine. I understand people are people and they're going to do that when you're selling an item. And you have to deal with it if you want to sell that item. I obviously didn't get the email and call her at 4:50am, but as soon as I got it I called her. I got her voice mail and figured she was just in the dentist chair, so I left a message with my number telling her to give me a call when she was ready and come on over. I'd give her directions then. I was afraid if I just gave her directions, she'd just show up and I didn't want that. I thought that was reasonable.
This will be important now, after you realize she told me to call, but that she wouldn't be able to talk. Does that make zero sense to anyone but me? She didn't know where I lived. I had to give her directions. What if she got lost? How was I supposed to hear her confusion through the silence? And how were we supposed to talk furniture if she couldn't talk? This is probably useless to express, but she hasn't called me back yet, and that was yesterday. And I was pissed, because this is the second time I've gotten back to her as soon as I got her email and she didn't get back to me. I'm going to wait a few days and see if this somehow becomes my fault again. This time she'll probably tell me I should have emailed her, even though at the bottom of the email she said if I do she wouldn't get it until she was already home, and by that time it was basically too late, because she didn't know when she'd be coming this way again.
And let's talk about that little tidbit of info, shall we. I know where she's from due to the exchange on her home phone number. She lives twenty minutes from here. I mean, it's obvious that she didn't live that far for two reasons. One is that she wouldn't drive a long way to go to the dentist. She would just find a closer dentist if he was really that far away. There's dentists everywhere. It wouldn't be that hard to do. And she wouldn't be willing to come here, look at the furniture, and then come back down with someone if she lived that far away, via her suggestion in the first email. She would just wait and come down with someone who could haul it the first time, just in case she decided to take it, so she wouldn't have to make that long, grueling trip again.
I also love that she got a new cell phone number. The number she gave me in her last email was her cell phone number. How did she know I didn't try to call her and she had her number changed so I couldn't get a hold of her? In her defense, she did give me her home number, too, but I just thought that was extra special.
People honestly just baffle me. They baffle me. They leave me cranky and speechless when the crank wears off. This lady now has me wondering if I should email her, too. I half expect if I don't, she'll call me back and say she's been waiting for my email. *Heads desk* I'm waiting for it. I thought about also emailing her, but we have the theory that, if I do that she's going to think I'm getting desperate about the furniture and is possibly acting this way to try to get me desperate to sell so that I will give it to her cheaper. It's happened before. The thing is, when you start this crap, I just become totally unwilling to haggle with you.
I kind of regret giving her my phone number, which is something I don't do unless I already have an appointment with someone, just in case they get lost. I have a rule about that, because I've learned my lesson from having other things on Craiglist. This was a total bitch thing of me to do, and I know it was, but I made sure to put all her numbers in my phone as "Crazy Craigslist Bitch." Wrong, I know, but I couldn't resist. I'd never be rude to her, so this is my silent little way of keeping myself from losing my shit on her for wasting two days waiting for her. And the thing is, if she contacts me again, do I even bother to try with her, or do I just ignore her knowing her past indicates she's never going to show up and the joke is probably on me? I feel like I'm playing Devil's Advocate with some lady just to sell my furniture. Trust me, if I didn't need the money from the furniture sell to buy new furniture, I'd give it to someone who needed it and go on my merry way.
I'm done complaining about Craigslist people for this post, I promise. Let's talk about Good Burger. Some of you may have no idea what Good Burger is, because it was really more of a my generation kind of thing. Back in the day, there was a show on Nickelodeon called All That. I'm not talking about the newer version, but the original one with Kenan, Kel and Amanda Bynes. At my age, that show was all that. It was the show everyone watched and talked about in school. It was the bomb. From All That spawned a show with two of the show's stars called Kenan and Kel. It starred Kenan and Kel. Could you have guessed? From that show came Good Burger, also starring Kenan and Kel. Intriguing, I know.
In Good Burger, Kel played Ed, the dim cashier at Good Burger who understood nothing and couldn't even get an order correct. Kenan played Dexter, the completely intelligent kid who accidentally hit his teacher's car and, in order to pay back the damage, had to get a job and ended up at Good Burger. The basic plot is that a new burger joint is moving in across the street and attempting to shut Good Burger down. Kenan and Kel find out that this burger joint is actually using all these illegal hormones in their burgers to make them bigger, so they set up a plan to take the place down.
Not to give away too much of the ending, but Ed saves the day. That's right, I said Ed, not Dexter. And with Ed doing scenes like this and spitting out lines like this (you have to wait for him to come up at end scene), it's amazing. But the golden part of this movie, the one that makes the whole thing worth watching, and one big, ironic pile of fun at the end, is that, when Dexter finds out Ed saved the day, he says to him, "you figured that out all by yourself?" Ed looks at him and very seriously says, "Yeah, I'm not stupid." And that, my friends, is the one line that makes the entire movie.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
The Parking Score Conundrum
Holy, you guys, I know I've been pretty MIA. I do have a lot to say, just no time to say it; or type it, as the case may be. To keep this blog alive with minimal life support, I am going to tell you all just a quick story for the day. You can thank Aunt Bev for this one because she says I have the weirdest things happen to me and the most awesome stories, so I should post this one.
Yesterday I was at Wal-Mart with my mom. We parked near Lawn and Garden and got out of the car only for me to turn around and look slightly to my left. There was a little red car taking up two precious parking spaces in the conundrum that is a Wal-Mart parking lot.
For those of you who don't know, this is why I keep sticky notes in my purse. I always want to write "parking fail" or "parking score: minus ten" on one and then slap it on the car, but never have. As I was standing there wondering why I carry the sticky notes but never use them, and pondering if I should do it this time, I got my answer.
As I was looking to my left, my mom was looking to the right and noticed our cousin Randy and my Great-Aunt Sarah, Randy's mom, coming down the parking lot. My eyes merged my mom's way as hers merged mine. Yep, you guessed it, they were the two-for offenders. If you knew Randy, the driver, this would explain a lot and you would not at all be shocked by this.
Just a quick story about Randy. Randy is an interesting in the odd way person, but a nice person. However, he is so interesting that Aunt Sarah calls him Ranny. He's in his late fifties and never left home, nor has he ever paid bills or rent, but he does work. He even dropped Aunt Sarah off at my grandma's funeral, but he left. His dad was my grandpap's brother, so they knew each other fairly well. He just didn't feel like hanging out with dead people, I guess. We still like him anyway. That's just simply Ranny.
Anyway, as my mom and I are trying not to laugh considering I had loudly explained how I was debating sticky noting the parking fail car, I decided to bite the bullet and run over to Aunt Sarah to say hi. Honestly, I hadn't seen her since my grandma's funeral, and had called her to go out to eat with us, but she didn't call back. She's in her late eighties and a lot of times she either listens to messages on her machine and doesn't write down what they were and forgets, or, my favorite, she just never bothers to listen to them or deal with them. Period. I love her.
A few things you have to understand about Aunt Sarah are that she is one of the kindest, sweetest people in the world. She has nothing bad to say about anyone or anything ever. I've never heard her say anything mean or sarcastic. I once spent three full days with this woman when we took her on a weekend trip and nothing. Literally the meanest thing she has ever said was regarding a guy who didn't treat me right. Her comment was "you just say hello and goodbye to those people." Yep, that's really as mean as she gets.
Two, she's hysterical without trying to be. I think this goes with the first part, because she's nice when she shouldn't be and tries to be oblivious. To compare her to a character you all may be familiar with, she is the Jamie Sullivan from A Walk to Remember of real life. There is not one thing to not like about Aunt Sarah. We knew when she didn't call us back that it wasn't because she hated us so much as she just did something silly. We knew we were going to get a chuckle out of her when we heard the story. We did.
Three, she is going a little senile, I think. But for goodness sake, she is in her late eighties and allowed. For as long as I can remember, Aunt Sarah has worn pantsuits. And as Betty White's character, Elka, would say on Hot In Cleveland, "when you're in your eighties you dress for the bathroom." I can appreciate it and have no issues whatsoever with the pantsuit aspect of her day wear. It's the senile part that concerns me.
You see, Aunt Sarah thinks she has matching pantsuits. She does not. Not a one. And if, by chance, she does, I have never seen one. The ones she does have are really close to matching, so close that it hurts, but yet they don't match, which ends up being so much funnier than if they just didn't match in the least. For instance, she had on a dark blue pair of pants with white flowers on them, and then a dark blue top on that was about two shades lighter than the pants, and had white hearts on it. The hearts and flowers were the same size and the colors were similar, but no dice.
I think the saddest thing about this is that Ranny never tells her this before she leaves the house. He never once says she doesn't match, because if he did, she would surely change. She is a well respected woman and it's in her nature. But we don't help matters any, because we always tend to see her after she's left the house and already at an adjoining event. By that time, we don't have the heart to tell her she doesn't match because then that's all she'll think about it and it will bother her and ruin her day. So basically what I'm saying is maybe her not matching is all our fault, and by our I mean everyone in her life, but not at all her fault. It's something to think about.
I'm afraid of what she will wear years down the road when she sadly passes and Ranny is in charge of attempting to make a match out of everything that doesn't match. Will he try to get something close? Will he figure he'll look dumber if he hits it close but not quite, so he'll just miss totally so that it looks intentional?
Aunt Bev also pointed out that last year on QVC, her favorite channel, they started selling pantsuits that didn't match claiming it was the new style. Aunt Bev changed the channel immediately, which is new for her because she's pretty up on the new fashions, but she knew this was a bunch of crap. She said about a week later they were selling them at clearance prices and then they seized selling them. She can't imagine why and she absolutely means that sarcastically.
Yesterday I was at Wal-Mart with my mom. We parked near Lawn and Garden and got out of the car only for me to turn around and look slightly to my left. There was a little red car taking up two precious parking spaces in the conundrum that is a Wal-Mart parking lot.
For those of you who don't know, this is why I keep sticky notes in my purse. I always want to write "parking fail" or "parking score: minus ten" on one and then slap it on the car, but never have. As I was standing there wondering why I carry the sticky notes but never use them, and pondering if I should do it this time, I got my answer.
As I was looking to my left, my mom was looking to the right and noticed our cousin Randy and my Great-Aunt Sarah, Randy's mom, coming down the parking lot. My eyes merged my mom's way as hers merged mine. Yep, you guessed it, they were the two-for offenders. If you knew Randy, the driver, this would explain a lot and you would not at all be shocked by this.
Just a quick story about Randy. Randy is an interesting in the odd way person, but a nice person. However, he is so interesting that Aunt Sarah calls him Ranny. He's in his late fifties and never left home, nor has he ever paid bills or rent, but he does work. He even dropped Aunt Sarah off at my grandma's funeral, but he left. His dad was my grandpap's brother, so they knew each other fairly well. He just didn't feel like hanging out with dead people, I guess. We still like him anyway. That's just simply Ranny.
Anyway, as my mom and I are trying not to laugh considering I had loudly explained how I was debating sticky noting the parking fail car, I decided to bite the bullet and run over to Aunt Sarah to say hi. Honestly, I hadn't seen her since my grandma's funeral, and had called her to go out to eat with us, but she didn't call back. She's in her late eighties and a lot of times she either listens to messages on her machine and doesn't write down what they were and forgets, or, my favorite, she just never bothers to listen to them or deal with them. Period. I love her.
A few things you have to understand about Aunt Sarah are that she is one of the kindest, sweetest people in the world. She has nothing bad to say about anyone or anything ever. I've never heard her say anything mean or sarcastic. I once spent three full days with this woman when we took her on a weekend trip and nothing. Literally the meanest thing she has ever said was regarding a guy who didn't treat me right. Her comment was "you just say hello and goodbye to those people." Yep, that's really as mean as she gets.
Two, she's hysterical without trying to be. I think this goes with the first part, because she's nice when she shouldn't be and tries to be oblivious. To compare her to a character you all may be familiar with, she is the Jamie Sullivan from A Walk to Remember of real life. There is not one thing to not like about Aunt Sarah. We knew when she didn't call us back that it wasn't because she hated us so much as she just did something silly. We knew we were going to get a chuckle out of her when we heard the story. We did.
Three, she is going a little senile, I think. But for goodness sake, she is in her late eighties and allowed. For as long as I can remember, Aunt Sarah has worn pantsuits. And as Betty White's character, Elka, would say on Hot In Cleveland, "when you're in your eighties you dress for the bathroom." I can appreciate it and have no issues whatsoever with the pantsuit aspect of her day wear. It's the senile part that concerns me.
You see, Aunt Sarah thinks she has matching pantsuits. She does not. Not a one. And if, by chance, she does, I have never seen one. The ones she does have are really close to matching, so close that it hurts, but yet they don't match, which ends up being so much funnier than if they just didn't match in the least. For instance, she had on a dark blue pair of pants with white flowers on them, and then a dark blue top on that was about two shades lighter than the pants, and had white hearts on it. The hearts and flowers were the same size and the colors were similar, but no dice.
I think the saddest thing about this is that Ranny never tells her this before she leaves the house. He never once says she doesn't match, because if he did, she would surely change. She is a well respected woman and it's in her nature. But we don't help matters any, because we always tend to see her after she's left the house and already at an adjoining event. By that time, we don't have the heart to tell her she doesn't match because then that's all she'll think about it and it will bother her and ruin her day. So basically what I'm saying is maybe her not matching is all our fault, and by our I mean everyone in her life, but not at all her fault. It's something to think about.
I'm afraid of what she will wear years down the road when she sadly passes and Ranny is in charge of attempting to make a match out of everything that doesn't match. Will he try to get something close? Will he figure he'll look dumber if he hits it close but not quite, so he'll just miss totally so that it looks intentional?
Aunt Bev also pointed out that last year on QVC, her favorite channel, they started selling pantsuits that didn't match claiming it was the new style. Aunt Bev changed the channel immediately, which is new for her because she's pretty up on the new fashions, but she knew this was a bunch of crap. She said about a week later they were selling them at clearance prices and then they seized selling them. She can't imagine why and she absolutely means that sarcastically.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Come On, You Have Time For A Saga
With summer almost here, and spring in full swing, that could only mean one thing. My mom and Aunt Bev are back to their typical antics again. I know how much you all have missed their little adventures, so, much to Aunt Bev’s fear and chagrin of what I’m going to write, I shall tell you their story, while telling a whole other story. Man, I feel like a maverick multi-tasker right about now. I also feel like the beginning of the Ghost Whisperer, what with the whole, "in order to tell you my story, I have to tell your theirs," thing.
I will get to the main event in a minute, but first I'm going to Kanye (skip to 0:44) myself with some other news. By the way, why hasn't anyone made an app where you can Kanye yourself? Am I the only one seriously disappointed by this?
First, I would like to tell you all that I got a FormSpring, so check me out and ask question. This is either really great, or really nerdy, but you can ask me anything. If you ask me about ducks, I will probably have a great answer. If you ask me serious questions, I probably will not, so, in other words, I want any and all questions you can come up with. If they're heart to heart questions, they can go into the Dear Cassadee pile, with your permission, of course. No question will go unanswered.
Second, I am working on a new segment for the blog called Greta Hayley Says. It will be awesome, as long as you like cute puppy dogs. And who doesn't?
And now on to one of the longest posts to date, but I promise hilarity, insanity, and most of all, Mom and Aunt Bev stories. What's not to love?
This week we all set out on the most impossible mission that should have been mission easily possible. It was Mission: Find the Septic Tank In Our Yard. It took three days, ten people, two shovels, a metal detector, a hammer, three metal rods, and nine holes in our yard to do so. I know you’re all sitting there wondering if I’m serious, and if so, how this is even possible. Allow me to regal you with an epic tale of idiocy and intrigue.
This mission started out so innocent. All we were going to do was find the septic tank and have it cleaned out. We pulled the deed, only to find that the location of the septic tank was MIA on the deed, meaning we had not an inkling of a clue as to where the septic tank was. We’ve lived here for thirteen years but had no reason to know until now. No problem. We would simply call the people we bought our house off of. This is where the trouble arose.
The first thing I did was call Becky, naturally. Because that makes sense. Actually, it does, because I thought her mom was friends with the people who we bought the house off of it. I explained the situation to Becky and asked her if there was a way I could contact her mom for the old owners’ phone number. This is the response I got, and I quote:
“You’ve lived there for how long and you don’t know where the septic tank is?”
This was about to come right back around and bite her in the ass in a huge way. Which makes me giggle, of course. I wasn’t asking for a phone number of someone in WitSec or anything.
After some round about insanity, we ended up tracking down the old owners of the house on our own and gave them a call. They weren’t home so we left a message. This is the part of the story where my mom politely ducks out to go and help Aunt Bev pick up her car from the mechanic, which is a whole other story, and just as the sun is going down, two people pull up to the house in a black ruck. This is also, coincidentally, where it gets weird.
The reason I knew that people were even here was because the dogs started barking, not because I heard them pull up, or could see them from my living room. Now, normal people who weren’t at all creepy motherduckers would come to the house, knock on the door and introduce themselves. These people, however, found it more fitting to sit in their car and turn their lights on, shining them into the house. I found no reason to go outside while home alone, and try to find out who these people were, because that was just creepy. Then it got more creepy.
They proceeded to get out of their car and wander all around our yard, never coming up and knocking on the door, or trying. Because this was so weird, I didn’t want to go outside unless I was on the phone with someone, because I automatically assume people who don’t come to the door of someone else’s house and instead randomly run around their property are ax murderers. It turns out I was close; they were the old owners of our house.
No, really, they’re nice people, they just handled things a little odd. I hung up the phone and started talking to them, only to find out they weren't sure where the septic tank was either. They had an idea, but they weren’t totally sure, because it was never on their deed when they bought the house off of the original owners. They were going to inquire with the original owners about the location of it after they got settled in, only the original owners happened to go to the big pie in the sky, so they were unable to do so.
After that conversation, and one about how they really didn’t have to come over; they could have just called, they got in their car and left. I thought it was quite nice they came over, and it just confirmed my initial thought of them from thirteen years ago; they are strange, strange people, but nice. It’s the nice that counts.
And speaking of counting, there are now five people involved in the septic tank debacle. My mom, myself, Becky, and the two previous owners of the house. Five more to go.
Since it was dark after my mom got home, we packed it in and called it a day. Then the next day happened and Aunt Bev got involved. Do you see where I’m going with this, folks? Yes, this is totally going to turn into the greatest show on earth. Forget the circus, you should be here.
By the time I awoke, both Aunt Bev and my mom had a plethora of holes in the yard. So many, in fact, that I sang the song from the major motion picture, Holes, to myself several times. And you know what, it fit. Our yard completely looked like the desert in holes.
By the time I ate, went out on the porch, and decided to really inspect things, there were two other people in our yard; our older neighbors. I’m not sure what happened, but I looked out in time to see my mom and Aunt Bev coming back into the yard with these two, so at best guess they went and got them and asked them if they knew where our septic tank was since they were the oldest people in the neighborhood and had been here before time even started. Okay, so I hope they didn’t word it like that, but in all fairness they’ve lived here forever and knew the original owners, so it was worth a shot.
They hemmed and hawed around and decided they thought the septic tank was in a totally different place than the people we bought the house off of thought it was, so then my mom and Aunt Bev made more holes. Then they gave up, because no matter what they did, they were not finding the septic tank.
Ah, but I forgot the best part. You know the original owners of our house that are dead? Well, they’re not dead at all. In fact, they’re alive and well and live but twenty five minutes from here. The older than time neighbors told us so, therefore, after giving up, we decided to do some research and find the original owners and call them. This is how we got up to nine people being involved.
Upon calling and talking to one of the original owners, we found out that they never recorded where the septic tank was on the deed after they installed it, so no one but them actually knows where the septic tank is, so eat that, Becky. They gave us approximate measurements from the house as to where the septic tank would be. We dug there. They were wrong. Eat that again, Becky. The original owners didn’t even know where the septic tank was and they installed it, so HA!
I know, that was so mature of me. I want to be sorry, but I’m giggling like a child, and I suck at lying. And in a very childlike manner, I would also like to announce that she started it.
Anywhomaburger, while my mom and Aunt Bev were digging a hole in the particular spot where the original owners thought it would be, this happened. My mom was in charge of digging, and Aunt Bev was in charge of using a hammer to pound metal rods into the ground to see if she would run into something solid. I guess my mom was worried about Aunt Bev using a hammer, because she proceeded to say the following.
“Use the side. (of the hammer)” Aunt Bev does this and starts pounding away merrily. My mom’s next response?
“Watch your face!” Folks, I felt like I needed to take away anything sharp, pointy, or metal, and replace them with tiny tools Ala Lorelai Gilmore. Come to think of it, that probably would not have been anywhere near the worst idea in the world.
And on a similar note, I wonder what my mom would have said had Aunt Bev been using power tools. The world may never know, but in case this does happen, I will be sure to report it, therefore, the world will know.
Aunt Bev came out unscathed and the snark just kept on coming. After all this went down, I sat on my Spongebob chair and mentioned how everything looked like the movie Holes, what with eight holes now in a small area of our yard. This is when my mom pointed out that she once had a dream where she was married to Shia Lebouef and he was a great, amazing man and husband.
Let’s stop here to recap. Shia is in his early 20s and my mom is in her 50s. Apparently they were the same age in a dream. I don’t ask questions about such things. That would be stupid.
Anyway, with my sarcasm and whit toward marriage and dating, I asked my mom how having a dream about being married was actually a dream. Aunt Bev replied with, “dating someone your own age is always a nightmare (at our age). Dating someone thirty years younger is the dream.” Touche, Aunt Bev, touche.
From here, I made a smart ass comment about dating people thirty years younger than you, and how odd that is. Aunt Bev came right back with, “That’s the dream; it’s better not to date anybody.” I love you, Aunt Bev, especially when, directly after this, you pointed out that you shouldn’t talk like that because you’re going to mess up my dating life. But it’s okay, because I already know a lot of men are jerks and don’t have a dating life by choice because, well, boys are jerks, so it’s so not your fault. Feel free to say more funny things.
After digging so far and seeing that obviously there was now another motion picture worthy hole and still no septic tank, my mom and Aunt Bev threw in the towel for the day. As we went into the house, my mom commented that, once we find this septic tank, we better mark the area and mark it well so we never lose it again. Among the suggestions of things we could mark it with presented by yours truly, were:
- A garden flag
- Dancing munchkins in technicolor outfits, holding umbrellas and pom-poms
- A brightly colored sign with an arrow that shouts "I AM HERE!"
Wait, let’s go back to that second one. Dancing munchkins in technicolor outfits, holding umbrellas and pom-poms. Apparently I wanted to make our yard OZ, minus the yellow brick road. I’ll have you know this is still my favorite idea, because cute, dancing munchkins is so up my alley, but it was vetoed. This makes me sad.
Day three rolled around and I figured things couldn’t get weirder, and no more people could possibly get involved in this. Then I woke up.
My mom and Aunt Bev had been out dealing with her car again, and when they returned, they decided to re-collaborate and figure out how they were going to find this septic tank. The idea had come up the day before that they go rent a metal detector since we were told by the original owners who put the tank in that the lid was metal. It was a 50/50 on if we should believe anyone when it came to anything about our septic tank, because we had five wrong people so far, and then the three of us had no luck on our own, but we decided we’d take what we could get at this point.
After asking our neighbor, therefore getting another person involved, we found out that the older than time neighbors who had tried helping us the day before, and who were also the parent-in-laws of said new person involved, had one. Said new helpful neighbor went and got it and came over to try and help find the septic tank. Now we have ten people involved. In case you lost count, I will chronicle everyone for you in no particular order.
Mom
Myself
Aunt Bev
Becky
2 people we bought the house from
2 older than time neighbors
1 original owner of the house
Neighbor who is the son-in-law of the older than time neighbors
While my mom was rounding up the new helpful neighbor, Aunt Bev was sitting inside with me while I was eating. She happened to look down and notice my ultra-hip old people support hose. I have no idea how she noticed them. It’s not like they were obvious when I was wearing shorts, socks over them, monkey slippers, and they didn’t match my skin color, but alas, she noticed.
She commented on how hot I looked in them. I told her I knew how hot I was, and I know I’ve had a bad run with finding nice guys to date, but I was confident that this new fashion trend was going to pick me up the right guy. She pointed out that it would pick me up someone alright; a old guy who thinks a woman with her own support hose is hot stuff. I told her that I was just trying to be the next Anna Nicole Smith, and that old guys were the only nice guys left because they couldn’t try to force me into sex. Hey, I may be on to something.
For the record, I am so far from hot in those things. Here’s hot way over here, and here I am three galaxies away, waving, but you can’t see me waving because I am too far away. I do try to make them work by working them, though.
After a few minutes, Aunt Bev went outside to join in the fun of using a metal detector without adult supervision. Oh wait, I guess the neighbor guy, although the youngest of the three, counted as the adult. Anyway, I finished up my food and was just getting ready to go out and join when I looked outside. Neighbor guy was holding the metal detector above his head, pointing it towards the sky, with a puzzled look on his face. I didn’t ask.
With a little bit of effort, ten people and three days down, the septic tank was found. You would think this was the end of the story, but you would be incorrect. My mom and Aunt Bev still had to dig down to find the tank. They were told the tank was about four feet into the ground. So dig they did, and when they finally found the tank, it was only about two feet in.
This wouldn’t be all that funny, except the old owner of the house made it a point to tell my mom that he had to have someone hold on to him when he tried to get into the septic tank, so that he didn’t fall in. I know what you’re thinking...why was he trying to get into the septic tank? I’m thinking it too, and the truth is, I was too scarred by the idea of it that I couldn’t even bring myself to ask. I suck at getting information for all of you, guys! I’m sorry.
Also, when you think of a guy having to be held to get down into a hole, do you imagine him with some rope tied to his belt loop as leans forward and falls slowly in the hole while someone else holds on to that rope? That’s just me, isn’t it?
While they tried to figure out exactly how large the lid to the septic tank was, ergo, how far over they had to dig, I sat down on the ground away from the hole, only to have my mom hit the septic tank with the shovel and have it vibrate under me. Obviously, the septic tank was large. I made a mention of this, only to be told by Aunt Bev that I was to enjoy my cheap thrill. Then, she started talking about couples having sex on the washing machine during the spin cycle. I love you, Aunt Bev.
This is the part of the blog where Aunt Bev would like me to tell you, and I took this verbatim and made a note, that, and I quote, she is a “wonderful, slightly older, but doesn’t look it, woman, who is looking for a rich man with one foot in the grave and another on a banana peel.” So if any rich, old guys are looking for a hot, single woman, they are to comment on the blog so that I can tell her it’s a match made in...I can’t even finish this sentence.
In between digging and after digging, we all sat down on the steps and had a heart to heart. By this I mean we talked about marriage, gay guys, fish bullies and Evan Lysacek, in that order. Obviously, all these things go together. Didn’t you know? It’s okay, neither did I.
Somehow, and with us it’s hard to pin down exactly one of the three billion reasons this could have gotten started, Aunt Bev brought up where my mom and her went wrong when it came to men. This had something to do with what we were talking about, which I believe was along the lines of how some people get men who financially take care of them and love and adore them. However, that’s not how I took it, which ended quite awkwardly like this.
Aunt Bev: “Where did we go wrong?”
Me: “You got married in the first place.”
See, Aunt Bev, you’re not teaching me this stuff. I think I’ll point it out to you. Oh, this can’t be good. Twenty four and already making marriage cracks. I promise I will find a way to make you feel better about this at the end of the blog. Somehow.
After I brought the conversation wayward with a downer, I decided to throw in an upper. This, of course, would be gay guys. Who doesn’t love a gay guy? They’re pretty much the most awesome thing ever, which brought me to say that I would marry one in a heartbeat, and he could do whatever he wanted. I just wanted the companionship. My mom and Aunt Bev wholeheartedly agreed.
This is where I would like everyone to know that if you’re gay and you need to keep up appearances for a job, for your family, etc, I am here to marry you. You can date guys and you don’t have to kiss or sleep with me at all. I’ll just be a super awesome companion.
I think I’m okay with just how dating ad sleazy that came out.
As we were sitting there, I was looking for Teddy the Terrific Toad. TTT is a toad that has his summer home behind our hose. I had just seen him the other day and wanted to be neighborly and say hey. I couldn’t find him, however, and shared my chagrin with the girls. Aunt Bev then told me that her super huge frog that lived in her pond and would kill her Koi fish wasn’t there any longer. She suspects that the two Koi that survived the frog's attacks decided to become bullies just to get revenge on the frog, and then chased him away. I like this theory. A lot. Therefore, I shall share my new motto.
Fish bullies; they make a bad day for frogs.
As the day wore on, we all sat there throwing banter around, until my mom decided to bring up the septic tank again. When she did, she pointed out how excited she was to find it, only she sounded like she was so bored she could cry. I compared her to Evan Lysacek. I think it was warranted. Look, I love, love, love Evan Lysacek, but he’s the least excited, excited person ever. If you don’t believe me, Dancing With the Stars even did a segment where the pieced together every time he said he was excited about something, and by the end of it, the judges were fake sleeping. It was awesome. I can't find it to share on here, but it was still awesome.
This also completes the awesome, with the moral of the story being, if you put in a septic tank, please mark it on your land deed. Unless you want three days of debauchery and a ten person circus, then by all means, don’t. Just remember to alert the new owners of your house that, when they decide to mess with the septic tank, to let you know so you can forget where it is and then come over and watch the shenanigans unfold.
Oh, and Aunt Bev, because I promised I would make you feel better about me and dating, I am going to try, and probably fail here. As for the rest of you, if you like pretty, pretty wedding gowns, then please stick around.
As I’m typing this, the show Girl Meets Gown is on. The one girl was taking a long time picking her color dress, which made me want pick it for her by yelling at the television my choice of color. I didn’t, because obviously this would be dumb, even though I do it all the time during every other show known to man. However, as soon as I realized how dumb this was, I also realized there’s about a zillion different color whites, and I am totally going to be the girl who stands there for three hours just picking a color for my dress. I also realized someone should slap me for this.
This should already start to make you feel better, because my first thought wasn’t, “if I ever get married I’m going to take three hours to pick a dress color.” It was “when I get married.” My second thought was “when I get married, and am 90 in an old people’s home.” My third thought was, “If I get married.” Anyway, telling you all of that is just getting counterproductive.
Because I couldn’t imagine how many different color whites there could possibly be, I decided to go online and start looking at wedding dresses to find out just for the hell of it. I had to know. Then the worst thing possible happened.
I fell in love with a dress. In absolute, complete love. This is great, because I totally have had a boyfriend in the past three years and am so close to get married. Not. I just couldn’t help myself though, I loved it. Then, to top it off, it has lace. I hate lace. If lace went down in a burning ring of fire, I would have been the one to start it, and then I would sit around it with marshmallows singing campfire songs until there was no more lace left in the universe. I wouldn’t even get up to go to the bathroom or anything. There would be no time for that. I’d be too busy killing lace.
Anyway, I decided since you’re my Aunt Bev, and you’ll never believe I found a pretty, lacy, girlie wedding dress, that I would share it with you. I’m positive that, not only won’t they still make this dress when I do get married, but it wouldn’t have been in style for at least five years, but a girl can dream, right? Contrary to popular belief, I would love to get married one day. I just love making fun of the idea of it more.
Before I show you the dress, I shall take you through a saga of all the dresses that I love, until we get to the dress. Come on, you have time for a saga. Grab some food and a drink, sit down, gather round, and enjoy the pretty dresses.
I came across this one and automatically loved it. Then I looked at it a couple times and thought, I can’t wear this. It’s everything I hate all in one. It’s bling, it’s tulle that sticks out below the dress line, it’s foofy and bunching and it shows off the ladies...but it’s oh so pretty and so different. I sighed. (Perla D’)
Next, I came across this one, and although I started out just looking at colors, I thought this one could also be a contender. What lost it for me is that it looked a little like a maternity dress, what with not being fitted. I could have even lived with that, but then I noticed the weird lacy thing going on at the bottom. However, I don’t know what kind of wedding I’m going t o have, and if it was a beach wedding, or an outdoor, easy-breezy casual wedding, this would be the perfect dress, and the lace would add a beauty and a touch of elegance to my comfortable, casual, special day.
I realize this is a blog and not written in real time, but I feel the need to, "say excuse me for a moment while I go figure out what the heck I just saw run across the floor." I thought it was a bug, but it was at least five inches long, and I’m not sure I want to know what it is, but I must. If I don’t come back...well, you’d never know because this blog would never get finished.
Please enjoy the music while I am away.
Okay, I’m back and I have no clue what it was because now I can’t find it. It ran so fast and it was so large that I’m now afraid to put my feet on the floor and seriously wondering if I want to sleep out here. I don’t even know if it was a bug. Now I’m gicked out. Oh well, back to the wedding dress saga.
Third, I found this one. It was simple and a little oddly shaped, maybe a little too much for me, but I thought the belt just made it perfect. Then, I saw that the belt was discontinued. I sighed. Then I realized that there’s a million other bridal belts on the market and I could pick any one that I wanted. The dress was still a contender.
I came across this one next and thought I really liked it. At second and third look, I think I just like the belt and the bunching. Other than that, it’s kind of plain and not as elegant as I would like, and I just don’t know if I would be happy in a dress this plain. I put it in the maybe pile.
I came across this one, and I loved the color instantly. I never saw myself in anything but a pure white dress, but I don’t think this dress would be very pretty in white. It’s the color that makes it so very special. I know what you’re thinking, this dress is more plain than the other one, but the material is different so it doesn’t just look like a big, plain bunch of material. It looks elegant and flowing, and I just love it. Especially the flower. It makes my world go round.
This one is about in the same league as the last one, although I think the last one grew on me a little more. This one has the same ruching around the waist as the last one, and a flower, but it has a belt too. I just don’t care for the material as much. It’s that not-as-elegant material.
When I had first started looking, there was a very specific dress I was looking for. Mostly because it was one of the dresses the girl was hemming and hawing over the color of, and I wanted to see how many colors it actually came in. While looking for it, I found this one instead. It’s very similar, just not quite as intense. I don’t think I’d care for it without the belt, but the belt makes it gorgeous.
I later found the dress I was actually looking for. What’s sad is that I don’t love the dress in the picture as much as I did on the girl on television. The way it moved when she walked was so gorgeous and flirty. I really thought I could see myself in it. The girl on the show was also wearing a sage belt with a big bow on the right side, and I found I liked that better as well. Still, though, I love the dress. It’s in my top three.
When I found this dress, I instantly thought it was possible that it would be my dress. It had the same flowing, fun and flirty bottom as the last one, but it was more unique. It was technically strapless because the straps didn’t hold up the dress, but they’re still there sitting elegantly and uniquely on your arms. It’s so carefree, especially with the ruching and the little bit of bling. Correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t this dress just scream Alexis, from my novel? It’s so her, and maybe that’s why I liked it, because I'm so attached to her as my character.
Then there’s the gown I fell in love with. When you see this, you’re going to wonder if my brain passed out when I found this dress, or drunkenly stumbled across it, because it looks nothing like any of my other dresses. There’s no big, flowing skirts. There’s no ruching. It’s not as wedding dress like as the other ones as far as being big, solid and over the top. The material is light and feathery and it has my hated lace. But oh, something about this dress stops my heart and I can’t help but be in love with it, even though I can't explain, for the life of me, why I am. Ah, life’s little mysteries.
Saga finished.
So see, Aunt Bev, you have not ruined me from wanting to get married and find love from the things you say. In fact, what started out as just wanting to see how many colors of white there were, turned into me not only falling in love with several dresses, but choosing the one I’d want for my wedding and chronicling why I liked each and every dress.
Oh, and if I never mentioned it, I want to be a wedding planner for a day job, and moonlight as a writer. So I still believe in love out there somewhere, because you can’t plan weddings and write stories without love.
I will get to the main event in a minute, but first I'm going to Kanye (skip to 0:44) myself with some other news. By the way, why hasn't anyone made an app where you can Kanye yourself? Am I the only one seriously disappointed by this?
First, I would like to tell you all that I got a FormSpring, so check me out and ask question. This is either really great, or really nerdy, but you can ask me anything. If you ask me about ducks, I will probably have a great answer. If you ask me serious questions, I probably will not, so, in other words, I want any and all questions you can come up with. If they're heart to heart questions, they can go into the Dear Cassadee pile, with your permission, of course. No question will go unanswered.
Second, I am working on a new segment for the blog called Greta Hayley Says. It will be awesome, as long as you like cute puppy dogs. And who doesn't?
And now on to one of the longest posts to date, but I promise hilarity, insanity, and most of all, Mom and Aunt Bev stories. What's not to love?
This week we all set out on the most impossible mission that should have been mission easily possible. It was Mission: Find the Septic Tank In Our Yard. It took three days, ten people, two shovels, a metal detector, a hammer, three metal rods, and nine holes in our yard to do so. I know you’re all sitting there wondering if I’m serious, and if so, how this is even possible. Allow me to regal you with an epic tale of idiocy and intrigue.
This mission started out so innocent. All we were going to do was find the septic tank and have it cleaned out. We pulled the deed, only to find that the location of the septic tank was MIA on the deed, meaning we had not an inkling of a clue as to where the septic tank was. We’ve lived here for thirteen years but had no reason to know until now. No problem. We would simply call the people we bought our house off of. This is where the trouble arose.
The first thing I did was call Becky, naturally. Because that makes sense. Actually, it does, because I thought her mom was friends with the people who we bought the house off of it. I explained the situation to Becky and asked her if there was a way I could contact her mom for the old owners’ phone number. This is the response I got, and I quote:
“You’ve lived there for how long and you don’t know where the septic tank is?”
This was about to come right back around and bite her in the ass in a huge way. Which makes me giggle, of course. I wasn’t asking for a phone number of someone in WitSec or anything.
After some round about insanity, we ended up tracking down the old owners of the house on our own and gave them a call. They weren’t home so we left a message. This is the part of the story where my mom politely ducks out to go and help Aunt Bev pick up her car from the mechanic, which is a whole other story, and just as the sun is going down, two people pull up to the house in a black ruck. This is also, coincidentally, where it gets weird.
The reason I knew that people were even here was because the dogs started barking, not because I heard them pull up, or could see them from my living room. Now, normal people who weren’t at all creepy motherduckers would come to the house, knock on the door and introduce themselves. These people, however, found it more fitting to sit in their car and turn their lights on, shining them into the house. I found no reason to go outside while home alone, and try to find out who these people were, because that was just creepy. Then it got more creepy.
They proceeded to get out of their car and wander all around our yard, never coming up and knocking on the door, or trying. Because this was so weird, I didn’t want to go outside unless I was on the phone with someone, because I automatically assume people who don’t come to the door of someone else’s house and instead randomly run around their property are ax murderers. It turns out I was close; they were the old owners of our house.
No, really, they’re nice people, they just handled things a little odd. I hung up the phone and started talking to them, only to find out they weren't sure where the septic tank was either. They had an idea, but they weren’t totally sure, because it was never on their deed when they bought the house off of the original owners. They were going to inquire with the original owners about the location of it after they got settled in, only the original owners happened to go to the big pie in the sky, so they were unable to do so.
After that conversation, and one about how they really didn’t have to come over; they could have just called, they got in their car and left. I thought it was quite nice they came over, and it just confirmed my initial thought of them from thirteen years ago; they are strange, strange people, but nice. It’s the nice that counts.
And speaking of counting, there are now five people involved in the septic tank debacle. My mom, myself, Becky, and the two previous owners of the house. Five more to go.
Since it was dark after my mom got home, we packed it in and called it a day. Then the next day happened and Aunt Bev got involved. Do you see where I’m going with this, folks? Yes, this is totally going to turn into the greatest show on earth. Forget the circus, you should be here.
By the time I awoke, both Aunt Bev and my mom had a plethora of holes in the yard. So many, in fact, that I sang the song from the major motion picture, Holes, to myself several times. And you know what, it fit. Our yard completely looked like the desert in holes.
By the time I ate, went out on the porch, and decided to really inspect things, there were two other people in our yard; our older neighbors. I’m not sure what happened, but I looked out in time to see my mom and Aunt Bev coming back into the yard with these two, so at best guess they went and got them and asked them if they knew where our septic tank was since they were the oldest people in the neighborhood and had been here before time even started. Okay, so I hope they didn’t word it like that, but in all fairness they’ve lived here forever and knew the original owners, so it was worth a shot.
They hemmed and hawed around and decided they thought the septic tank was in a totally different place than the people we bought the house off of thought it was, so then my mom and Aunt Bev made more holes. Then they gave up, because no matter what they did, they were not finding the septic tank.
Ah, but I forgot the best part. You know the original owners of our house that are dead? Well, they’re not dead at all. In fact, they’re alive and well and live but twenty five minutes from here. The older than time neighbors told us so, therefore, after giving up, we decided to do some research and find the original owners and call them. This is how we got up to nine people being involved.
Upon calling and talking to one of the original owners, we found out that they never recorded where the septic tank was on the deed after they installed it, so no one but them actually knows where the septic tank is, so eat that, Becky. They gave us approximate measurements from the house as to where the septic tank would be. We dug there. They were wrong. Eat that again, Becky. The original owners didn’t even know where the septic tank was and they installed it, so HA!
I know, that was so mature of me. I want to be sorry, but I’m giggling like a child, and I suck at lying. And in a very childlike manner, I would also like to announce that she started it.
Anywhomaburger, while my mom and Aunt Bev were digging a hole in the particular spot where the original owners thought it would be, this happened. My mom was in charge of digging, and Aunt Bev was in charge of using a hammer to pound metal rods into the ground to see if she would run into something solid. I guess my mom was worried about Aunt Bev using a hammer, because she proceeded to say the following.
“Use the side. (of the hammer)” Aunt Bev does this and starts pounding away merrily. My mom’s next response?
“Watch your face!” Folks, I felt like I needed to take away anything sharp, pointy, or metal, and replace them with tiny tools Ala Lorelai Gilmore. Come to think of it, that probably would not have been anywhere near the worst idea in the world.
And on a similar note, I wonder what my mom would have said had Aunt Bev been using power tools. The world may never know, but in case this does happen, I will be sure to report it, therefore, the world will know.
Aunt Bev came out unscathed and the snark just kept on coming. After all this went down, I sat on my Spongebob chair and mentioned how everything looked like the movie Holes, what with eight holes now in a small area of our yard. This is when my mom pointed out that she once had a dream where she was married to Shia Lebouef and he was a great, amazing man and husband.
Let’s stop here to recap. Shia is in his early 20s and my mom is in her 50s. Apparently they were the same age in a dream. I don’t ask questions about such things. That would be stupid.
Anyway, with my sarcasm and whit toward marriage and dating, I asked my mom how having a dream about being married was actually a dream. Aunt Bev replied with, “dating someone your own age is always a nightmare (at our age). Dating someone thirty years younger is the dream.” Touche, Aunt Bev, touche.
From here, I made a smart ass comment about dating people thirty years younger than you, and how odd that is. Aunt Bev came right back with, “That’s the dream; it’s better not to date anybody.” I love you, Aunt Bev, especially when, directly after this, you pointed out that you shouldn’t talk like that because you’re going to mess up my dating life. But it’s okay, because I already know a lot of men are jerks and don’t have a dating life by choice because, well, boys are jerks, so it’s so not your fault. Feel free to say more funny things.
After digging so far and seeing that obviously there was now another motion picture worthy hole and still no septic tank, my mom and Aunt Bev threw in the towel for the day. As we went into the house, my mom commented that, once we find this septic tank, we better mark the area and mark it well so we never lose it again. Among the suggestions of things we could mark it with presented by yours truly, were:
- A garden flag
- Dancing munchkins in technicolor outfits, holding umbrellas and pom-poms
- A brightly colored sign with an arrow that shouts "I AM HERE!"
Wait, let’s go back to that second one. Dancing munchkins in technicolor outfits, holding umbrellas and pom-poms. Apparently I wanted to make our yard OZ, minus the yellow brick road. I’ll have you know this is still my favorite idea, because cute, dancing munchkins is so up my alley, but it was vetoed. This makes me sad.
Day three rolled around and I figured things couldn’t get weirder, and no more people could possibly get involved in this. Then I woke up.
My mom and Aunt Bev had been out dealing with her car again, and when they returned, they decided to re-collaborate and figure out how they were going to find this septic tank. The idea had come up the day before that they go rent a metal detector since we were told by the original owners who put the tank in that the lid was metal. It was a 50/50 on if we should believe anyone when it came to anything about our septic tank, because we had five wrong people so far, and then the three of us had no luck on our own, but we decided we’d take what we could get at this point.
After asking our neighbor, therefore getting another person involved, we found out that the older than time neighbors who had tried helping us the day before, and who were also the parent-in-laws of said new person involved, had one. Said new helpful neighbor went and got it and came over to try and help find the septic tank. Now we have ten people involved. In case you lost count, I will chronicle everyone for you in no particular order.
Mom
Myself
Aunt Bev
Becky
2 people we bought the house from
2 older than time neighbors
1 original owner of the house
Neighbor who is the son-in-law of the older than time neighbors
While my mom was rounding up the new helpful neighbor, Aunt Bev was sitting inside with me while I was eating. She happened to look down and notice my ultra-hip old people support hose. I have no idea how she noticed them. It’s not like they were obvious when I was wearing shorts, socks over them, monkey slippers, and they didn’t match my skin color, but alas, she noticed.
She commented on how hot I looked in them. I told her I knew how hot I was, and I know I’ve had a bad run with finding nice guys to date, but I was confident that this new fashion trend was going to pick me up the right guy. She pointed out that it would pick me up someone alright; a old guy who thinks a woman with her own support hose is hot stuff. I told her that I was just trying to be the next Anna Nicole Smith, and that old guys were the only nice guys left because they couldn’t try to force me into sex. Hey, I may be on to something.
For the record, I am so far from hot in those things. Here’s hot way over here, and here I am three galaxies away, waving, but you can’t see me waving because I am too far away. I do try to make them work by working them, though.
After a few minutes, Aunt Bev went outside to join in the fun of using a metal detector without adult supervision. Oh wait, I guess the neighbor guy, although the youngest of the three, counted as the adult. Anyway, I finished up my food and was just getting ready to go out and join when I looked outside. Neighbor guy was holding the metal detector above his head, pointing it towards the sky, with a puzzled look on his face. I didn’t ask.
With a little bit of effort, ten people and three days down, the septic tank was found. You would think this was the end of the story, but you would be incorrect. My mom and Aunt Bev still had to dig down to find the tank. They were told the tank was about four feet into the ground. So dig they did, and when they finally found the tank, it was only about two feet in.
This wouldn’t be all that funny, except the old owner of the house made it a point to tell my mom that he had to have someone hold on to him when he tried to get into the septic tank, so that he didn’t fall in. I know what you’re thinking...why was he trying to get into the septic tank? I’m thinking it too, and the truth is, I was too scarred by the idea of it that I couldn’t even bring myself to ask. I suck at getting information for all of you, guys! I’m sorry.
Also, when you think of a guy having to be held to get down into a hole, do you imagine him with some rope tied to his belt loop as leans forward and falls slowly in the hole while someone else holds on to that rope? That’s just me, isn’t it?
While they tried to figure out exactly how large the lid to the septic tank was, ergo, how far over they had to dig, I sat down on the ground away from the hole, only to have my mom hit the septic tank with the shovel and have it vibrate under me. Obviously, the septic tank was large. I made a mention of this, only to be told by Aunt Bev that I was to enjoy my cheap thrill. Then, she started talking about couples having sex on the washing machine during the spin cycle. I love you, Aunt Bev.
This is the part of the blog where Aunt Bev would like me to tell you, and I took this verbatim and made a note, that, and I quote, she is a “wonderful, slightly older, but doesn’t look it, woman, who is looking for a rich man with one foot in the grave and another on a banana peel.” So if any rich, old guys are looking for a hot, single woman, they are to comment on the blog so that I can tell her it’s a match made in...I can’t even finish this sentence.
In between digging and after digging, we all sat down on the steps and had a heart to heart. By this I mean we talked about marriage, gay guys, fish bullies and Evan Lysacek, in that order. Obviously, all these things go together. Didn’t you know? It’s okay, neither did I.
Somehow, and with us it’s hard to pin down exactly one of the three billion reasons this could have gotten started, Aunt Bev brought up where my mom and her went wrong when it came to men. This had something to do with what we were talking about, which I believe was along the lines of how some people get men who financially take care of them and love and adore them. However, that’s not how I took it, which ended quite awkwardly like this.
Aunt Bev: “Where did we go wrong?”
Me: “You got married in the first place.”
See, Aunt Bev, you’re not teaching me this stuff. I think I’ll point it out to you. Oh, this can’t be good. Twenty four and already making marriage cracks. I promise I will find a way to make you feel better about this at the end of the blog. Somehow.
After I brought the conversation wayward with a downer, I decided to throw in an upper. This, of course, would be gay guys. Who doesn’t love a gay guy? They’re pretty much the most awesome thing ever, which brought me to say that I would marry one in a heartbeat, and he could do whatever he wanted. I just wanted the companionship. My mom and Aunt Bev wholeheartedly agreed.
This is where I would like everyone to know that if you’re gay and you need to keep up appearances for a job, for your family, etc, I am here to marry you. You can date guys and you don’t have to kiss or sleep with me at all. I’ll just be a super awesome companion.
I think I’m okay with just how dating ad sleazy that came out.
As we were sitting there, I was looking for Teddy the Terrific Toad. TTT is a toad that has his summer home behind our hose. I had just seen him the other day and wanted to be neighborly and say hey. I couldn’t find him, however, and shared my chagrin with the girls. Aunt Bev then told me that her super huge frog that lived in her pond and would kill her Koi fish wasn’t there any longer. She suspects that the two Koi that survived the frog's attacks decided to become bullies just to get revenge on the frog, and then chased him away. I like this theory. A lot. Therefore, I shall share my new motto.
Fish bullies; they make a bad day for frogs.
As the day wore on, we all sat there throwing banter around, until my mom decided to bring up the septic tank again. When she did, she pointed out how excited she was to find it, only she sounded like she was so bored she could cry. I compared her to Evan Lysacek. I think it was warranted. Look, I love, love, love Evan Lysacek, but he’s the least excited, excited person ever. If you don’t believe me, Dancing With the Stars even did a segment where the pieced together every time he said he was excited about something, and by the end of it, the judges were fake sleeping. It was awesome. I can't find it to share on here, but it was still awesome.
This also completes the awesome, with the moral of the story being, if you put in a septic tank, please mark it on your land deed. Unless you want three days of debauchery and a ten person circus, then by all means, don’t. Just remember to alert the new owners of your house that, when they decide to mess with the septic tank, to let you know so you can forget where it is and then come over and watch the shenanigans unfold.
Oh, and Aunt Bev, because I promised I would make you feel better about me and dating, I am going to try, and probably fail here. As for the rest of you, if you like pretty, pretty wedding gowns, then please stick around.
As I’m typing this, the show Girl Meets Gown is on. The one girl was taking a long time picking her color dress, which made me want pick it for her by yelling at the television my choice of color. I didn’t, because obviously this would be dumb, even though I do it all the time during every other show known to man. However, as soon as I realized how dumb this was, I also realized there’s about a zillion different color whites, and I am totally going to be the girl who stands there for three hours just picking a color for my dress. I also realized someone should slap me for this.
This should already start to make you feel better, because my first thought wasn’t, “if I ever get married I’m going to take three hours to pick a dress color.” It was “when I get married.” My second thought was “when I get married, and am 90 in an old people’s home.” My third thought was, “If I get married.” Anyway, telling you all of that is just getting counterproductive.
Because I couldn’t imagine how many different color whites there could possibly be, I decided to go online and start looking at wedding dresses to find out just for the hell of it. I had to know. Then the worst thing possible happened.
I fell in love with a dress. In absolute, complete love. This is great, because I totally have had a boyfriend in the past three years and am so close to get married. Not. I just couldn’t help myself though, I loved it. Then, to top it off, it has lace. I hate lace. If lace went down in a burning ring of fire, I would have been the one to start it, and then I would sit around it with marshmallows singing campfire songs until there was no more lace left in the universe. I wouldn’t even get up to go to the bathroom or anything. There would be no time for that. I’d be too busy killing lace.
Anyway, I decided since you’re my Aunt Bev, and you’ll never believe I found a pretty, lacy, girlie wedding dress, that I would share it with you. I’m positive that, not only won’t they still make this dress when I do get married, but it wouldn’t have been in style for at least five years, but a girl can dream, right? Contrary to popular belief, I would love to get married one day. I just love making fun of the idea of it more.
Before I show you the dress, I shall take you through a saga of all the dresses that I love, until we get to the dress. Come on, you have time for a saga. Grab some food and a drink, sit down, gather round, and enjoy the pretty dresses.
I came across this one and automatically loved it. Then I looked at it a couple times and thought, I can’t wear this. It’s everything I hate all in one. It’s bling, it’s tulle that sticks out below the dress line, it’s foofy and bunching and it shows off the ladies...but it’s oh so pretty and so different. I sighed. (Perla D’)
Next, I came across this one, and although I started out just looking at colors, I thought this one could also be a contender. What lost it for me is that it looked a little like a maternity dress, what with not being fitted. I could have even lived with that, but then I noticed the weird lacy thing going on at the bottom. However, I don’t know what kind of wedding I’m going t o have, and if it was a beach wedding, or an outdoor, easy-breezy casual wedding, this would be the perfect dress, and the lace would add a beauty and a touch of elegance to my comfortable, casual, special day.
I realize this is a blog and not written in real time, but I feel the need to, "say excuse me for a moment while I go figure out what the heck I just saw run across the floor." I thought it was a bug, but it was at least five inches long, and I’m not sure I want to know what it is, but I must. If I don’t come back...well, you’d never know because this blog would never get finished.
Please enjoy the music while I am away.
Okay, I’m back and I have no clue what it was because now I can’t find it. It ran so fast and it was so large that I’m now afraid to put my feet on the floor and seriously wondering if I want to sleep out here. I don’t even know if it was a bug. Now I’m gicked out. Oh well, back to the wedding dress saga.
Third, I found this one. It was simple and a little oddly shaped, maybe a little too much for me, but I thought the belt just made it perfect. Then, I saw that the belt was discontinued. I sighed. Then I realized that there’s a million other bridal belts on the market and I could pick any one that I wanted. The dress was still a contender.
I came across this one next and thought I really liked it. At second and third look, I think I just like the belt and the bunching. Other than that, it’s kind of plain and not as elegant as I would like, and I just don’t know if I would be happy in a dress this plain. I put it in the maybe pile.
I came across this one, and I loved the color instantly. I never saw myself in anything but a pure white dress, but I don’t think this dress would be very pretty in white. It’s the color that makes it so very special. I know what you’re thinking, this dress is more plain than the other one, but the material is different so it doesn’t just look like a big, plain bunch of material. It looks elegant and flowing, and I just love it. Especially the flower. It makes my world go round.
This one is about in the same league as the last one, although I think the last one grew on me a little more. This one has the same ruching around the waist as the last one, and a flower, but it has a belt too. I just don’t care for the material as much. It’s that not-as-elegant material.
When I had first started looking, there was a very specific dress I was looking for. Mostly because it was one of the dresses the girl was hemming and hawing over the color of, and I wanted to see how many colors it actually came in. While looking for it, I found this one instead. It’s very similar, just not quite as intense. I don’t think I’d care for it without the belt, but the belt makes it gorgeous.
I later found the dress I was actually looking for. What’s sad is that I don’t love the dress in the picture as much as I did on the girl on television. The way it moved when she walked was so gorgeous and flirty. I really thought I could see myself in it. The girl on the show was also wearing a sage belt with a big bow on the right side, and I found I liked that better as well. Still, though, I love the dress. It’s in my top three.
When I found this dress, I instantly thought it was possible that it would be my dress. It had the same flowing, fun and flirty bottom as the last one, but it was more unique. It was technically strapless because the straps didn’t hold up the dress, but they’re still there sitting elegantly and uniquely on your arms. It’s so carefree, especially with the ruching and the little bit of bling. Correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t this dress just scream Alexis, from my novel? It’s so her, and maybe that’s why I liked it, because I'm so attached to her as my character.
Then there’s the gown I fell in love with. When you see this, you’re going to wonder if my brain passed out when I found this dress, or drunkenly stumbled across it, because it looks nothing like any of my other dresses. There’s no big, flowing skirts. There’s no ruching. It’s not as wedding dress like as the other ones as far as being big, solid and over the top. The material is light and feathery and it has my hated lace. But oh, something about this dress stops my heart and I can’t help but be in love with it, even though I can't explain, for the life of me, why I am. Ah, life’s little mysteries.
Saga finished.
So see, Aunt Bev, you have not ruined me from wanting to get married and find love from the things you say. In fact, what started out as just wanting to see how many colors of white there were, turned into me not only falling in love with several dresses, but choosing the one I’d want for my wedding and chronicling why I liked each and every dress.
Oh, and if I never mentioned it, I want to be a wedding planner for a day job, and moonlight as a writer. So I still believe in love out there somewhere, because you can’t plan weddings and write stories without love.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
It's Awfully Pretty Inside My Fairy Tale Castle of Snow
Yes, I ran away without really going anywhere. I admit this. I suck. I admit this, too. I also admit that I found this website fun, although it is intended to keep idiots busy. I understand this makes me an idiot and I am okay with that, because I enjoyed chasing the button, although I knew each time I pressed it, it would become harder to catch, therefore it would eventually become impossible to press the button at all. This is probably because I’ve long accepted that inanimate objects are smarter than me.
Although I realize my running away may have seemed unnecessary, others had reasoned their theories on why I disappeared, and decided to share them with me. They are, but not limited to, as follows.
1. I was still mediating that conversation between my friend and my mom about Matthew Gray Gubler’s hair. Let me explain.
On January 16th I posted this on my Twitter, and I quote exactly.
“Currently mediating a convo about Matthew Gray Gubler’s hair between my mom and my friend.”
Then I didn’t update after that. I actually had someone @reply me asking if the reason I hadn’t updated my Twitter lately was because I was still mediating that conversation. My response as of twenty hours ago was as follows, and again I exact quote.
“I know you’re all still wondering. Is she still moderating a convo about MGG’s hair? The answer is yes and no.”
But really guys, my mom and my friend had this odd little conversation about whether he was sexier with short hair, or long hair. Okay, so it technically started when I mentioned my friend thought he was hot, and my mom asked me to ask her if she liked him with long hair or short hair. I asked her through text, she answered, my mom disagreed, I told my friend and she rebuked. Viola, mediation occurred. I have an opinion, but am remaining Sweden, so you guys decide if you like it better long or short, and if you leave it in the comments, I’ll let my mom and friend know.
And no, that friend is not Aunt Bev, which leads me to possible reason 2 of why I haven’t been around.
2. Did your mom and Aunt Bev manage to do something so average that it somehow turned into a debacle and now there are problems in which may or may not involve jail time for those involved?
No, seriously, this was brought up to me. The answer is no. They are still them, but no one has ended up in jail.
Yet.
3. Have to somehow managed to kill yourself off with your talents of klutziness and unparalleled bad balance?
No, no I have not, but my question back to them is as follows. If I had killed myself, did you really think I would get back to you? Their answers? Yep. I love my friends.
4. I just figured you fell down a rabbit hole.
No really, my friend said this to me. It wasn’t even an Alice in Wonderland reference. I am just talented enough that I could somehow fall down and either die, or disappear into a rabbit hole and no one would find it weird, apparently.
5. I just figured you got lost in the snow.
We did have a solid two and a half feet of snow for weeks on end, but I chose not to go out in it. It’s understandable that I could have gotten lost in snow that, if walked in, only Jared Padalecki would look normal human size in, but I refrained. I’m glad my friends have faith in me.
In reality though, you guys, I am not as big of a loser as I’m letting on, but only in this case. My grandma died. For real. She passed away last month and it turned into this huge debacle in which we learned things about her we never wanted to know and left us all more confused than ever. In all of this, not only have I not updated, but I’ve learned only one thing.
I sincerely let my neighbor with the big knockers down when I promised her at the ripe old age of fourteen that I would trick or treat until I was thirty, and come and sing Christmas carols to her every year until she died. I am so sorry for failing you, Big Knockers Lady. Also, if you could please let someone in the neighborhood know your real name, we’d all love it. We really do refer to you as Big Boobs Lady, simply because no one seems to know your name. Unless that is your name. In which case, you’re good.
I also learned that I am talented enough to do one thing that no one mentioned. I can hurt myself without doing anything at all. I currently feel totally useless and hauled up on the couch with awesome ice packs all day. I won’t tell anyone I’m trying to put my room back together after a water leakage incident due to snow, if you won’t. Shh! If you don’t, I promise to leave you with words of advice for free. Oh, who am I kidding? I was going to do that anyway.
1. Up is a deceivingly sad movie about death and the loss of a life partner. You will need tissues for this movie, and preferably should buy a brightly colored box to hug while you watch the movie, in hopes that it will cheer you up somehow. It won’t. Even if there is a dog in the movie named Dug that will haphazardly stop mid sentence and yell SQUIRREL, it still won’t.
2. It’s not just the sellers that suck at Craigslist, as the website suggests. Buyers suck pretty hard too. Let me tell you a story.
My mom decided to sell her bedroom furniture on Craigslist. We did not have pictures yet, so naturally we received emails for pictures. We promptly took pictures of the furniture and posted them on Craigslist, and then joyously let everyone know pictures had been added. They were all on their way down the Yellow Brick Road to finding their perfect furniture, except for one particular woman who insisted there were no pictures. I checked the ad again, but they were clearly there. Other people had emailed me in the meantime expressing their liking for the furniture and their want to come see it based on the pictures. I went back and re-updated the page, just to be on the safe side, only to realize she never went back and looked at the ad after I emailed her and told her I had put pictures up. I emailed her back nicely and told her that the pictures were now there and any errors had been fixed. I didn’t want to make her feel stupid, which in turn, just proved that I was really the stupid one here.
She later emailed me back not once, but twice, apparently because I didn’t answer her first email within ten minutes of her sending it. I felt really bad about this considering I wasn’t near my computer at all when she sent either email, and my magical computer gnomes were on strike for lapse of a paycheck. The first email contained a copy of the Craigslist ad, minus the pictures. This was apparently proof there were no pictures on the ad. The only thing that this proved was that she may have been too lazy to add the pictures to the email. In that same email, coincidentally enough, she also happened to ad the link to my ad telling me to look at that link, because that was the exact page she was on when she copied and pasted my own ad into that email. I clicked the link. The pictures were there. Then came the second email which went exactly like this:
"I looked on Craigslist to find your listing and emailed it to you. It says that the listing has a pic, (photo) but there are no photos when you click on the listing. Could you just email them directly? Your email to me lists attachments, but there are none. Maybe you have to check your email and confirm changes to your listing."
This is an exact copy and paste. Names have been left out to protect the not so innocent; those guilty of needing a little chlorine in their gene pool, if you will. Let me notate the particular gems of this email, in case you haven’t noticed them yourself.
*It’s obvious that I must not know what a pic is, because she had to tell me that a pic was a photo. I would like to share with her that she used incorrect punctuation and sentence form when doing so.
*When I click on the link she sent me, I get pictures, so obviously we are not looking at the same ad, even though we are.
*I never sent her any attachments, and also kept copies of all the emails I sent her. They did not list attachments either, at least not my end. This tells me she’s a little more than slightly confused about how to use a computer.
*She passive aggressively decides to tell me that it’s obvious the problem lies in me, even though she’s the only one who can’t see the pictures. Hmm.
*No matter what I did, she obviously couldn’t correctly identify if there was an attachment attached to her email, so it wasn’t worth my time to email her pictures.
I nicely emailed her back and told her our furniture was not for her, being as she was the only one not seeing the pictures. I was kind, but returned her passive aggressive manner, and then promptly decided not to communicate with her any longer. Oddly enough, we got an email an hour later from a woman who fell in love with the furniture because of the pictures. She came out to see the furniture the next day and took it on the spot at full asking price. Take that, “There Are No Pictures,” lady. Take that.
3. Never, ever under any circumstances tune out when your mom and your friend are discussing your friend’s potential purchase of a home. You might just tune back in in time to hear your friend go, “I MAY NEVER GO OUTSIDE!,” and have no idea what they’re talking about.
4. If you’re ever unsure about a book you’re reading, pulling up reviews online for further insight may only confuse you more. I shall elaborate.
I am currently reading a fictional book that pertains to the subject of spiritual warfare, and intertwines with talking about Him. The book was so different and unusual that I decided I wanted to see what others thought about it, because I honestly had no idea what to think of it. For once in my life, I was speechless. I ended up coming across a review on a blog from a woman who was quite angry at the author of the book for portraying spiritual warfare as violent, and then went on to rant how this went completely against the Bible’s rendering of spiritual warfare. I don’t know what Bible she’s reading, but I think it left out Revelations. Either that, or she thought it was called spiritual warfare just because someone got a kick out of calling it that, and all those violent and unpleasant terms used in the Bible referring to it were really just code words to scare people, when really they meant sunshine and lollipops, as well as unicorns farting rainbows. When I finish the book and make a decision on how I feel about it, I will then share what I’m reading with you all. It’s just one of those books.
5. If you are a millionaire who decides to put himself on The Millionaire Matchmaker, and you wear shirts two sizes too big, pants that are also two sizes too big and aren’t meant to be capris, but come nowhere near your ankles, and Ed Hardy shoes that resemble a woman’s Mary Jane’s, don’t brag about what a hot bod you have, and then expect to not be made over. Seriously. Just don’t. And don’t give the lady you're paying to help you attitude.
6. Even though the NuvaRing commercial says “hormonal vaginal ring,” this does not mean that the vaginal ring is hormonal and will suddenly start a fight with your no no place about the lack of light it sees when in use.
7. Aunt Bev buys the best presents ever. As proof I will provide the below ill centered picture so that you can see what the present she bought me allowed me to be able to make. The pictures inside the frame, I totally made those thanks to her.
8. The guys on Supernatural really are that hot. In case you’ve forgotten, we have this example and this one.
9. I do not have the maturity level necessary to watch the Olympics. Every time someone correctly pronounces the name of an athlete from another country, I find a way to realize just how dirty it sounds.
10. Criminal Minds is a really good show. When you finally catch up on all five seasons, you suddenly have complete Criminal Minds withdrawal. It sucks.
That’s all I have for today, folks. I will leave you with something I wrote for my Grandma the day she passed and had intended on posting. Since then I have found out many things about her that have made me question everything I knew about her, but I have decided to post this anyway in hopes that someone can relate to the truth you feel just hours after learning someone has passed.
Oh, and btw, I know this layout is ugly. I'm working on it.
Someone else’s tragedy is always far more romantic than your own. That’s a lesson the movies won’t teach you and that you have to learn on your own. Too bad I already knew that.
My gram passed away this morning. I made the phone calls. No matter how many times I explained whose granddaughter I was, and then followed those words with “she passed away,” it still doesn’t seem real. I’m in total shock, but the funny thing about shock is that your body begins to respond to the stupidest things. Instead of crying, I find myself frustrated every time someone goes “but I just talked to her the other day.” And there wasn’t one person who didn’t announce this to me. In a moment, anything can change.
She was a wonderful grandmother, and I spent my childhood looking up to her, playing with her, and she always chased me around the kitchen island. I will always remember that. She gave me the gift of amazing memories, and warm love. Even though she’s gone, those things will never fade.
She was a mother to others, and even those who didn’t have a mother of their own. She took in everyone and was a great friend. Or, like my great aunt told me, “she was like my sister.” I like to think a lot of people will remember her that way.
So here’s to you, Laura: Grandma, Mother, Sister and Friend. You are now at peace, free from any pain and suffering. You will walk amongst the clouds with those that have been lost before you, but at the end of everything, you will be reunited with your one true love. In life and straight through to death, love is all that matters.
Although I realize my running away may have seemed unnecessary, others had reasoned their theories on why I disappeared, and decided to share them with me. They are, but not limited to, as follows.
1. I was still mediating that conversation between my friend and my mom about Matthew Gray Gubler’s hair. Let me explain.
On January 16th I posted this on my Twitter, and I quote exactly.
“Currently mediating a convo about Matthew Gray Gubler’s hair between my mom and my friend.”
Then I didn’t update after that. I actually had someone @reply me asking if the reason I hadn’t updated my Twitter lately was because I was still mediating that conversation. My response as of twenty hours ago was as follows, and again I exact quote.
“I know you’re all still wondering. Is she still moderating a convo about MGG’s hair? The answer is yes and no.”
But really guys, my mom and my friend had this odd little conversation about whether he was sexier with short hair, or long hair. Okay, so it technically started when I mentioned my friend thought he was hot, and my mom asked me to ask her if she liked him with long hair or short hair. I asked her through text, she answered, my mom disagreed, I told my friend and she rebuked. Viola, mediation occurred. I have an opinion, but am remaining Sweden, so you guys decide if you like it better long or short, and if you leave it in the comments, I’ll let my mom and friend know.
And no, that friend is not Aunt Bev, which leads me to possible reason 2 of why I haven’t been around.
2. Did your mom and Aunt Bev manage to do something so average that it somehow turned into a debacle and now there are problems in which may or may not involve jail time for those involved?
No, seriously, this was brought up to me. The answer is no. They are still them, but no one has ended up in jail.
Yet.
3. Have to somehow managed to kill yourself off with your talents of klutziness and unparalleled bad balance?
No, no I have not, but my question back to them is as follows. If I had killed myself, did you really think I would get back to you? Their answers? Yep. I love my friends.
4. I just figured you fell down a rabbit hole.
No really, my friend said this to me. It wasn’t even an Alice in Wonderland reference. I am just talented enough that I could somehow fall down and either die, or disappear into a rabbit hole and no one would find it weird, apparently.
5. I just figured you got lost in the snow.
We did have a solid two and a half feet of snow for weeks on end, but I chose not to go out in it. It’s understandable that I could have gotten lost in snow that, if walked in, only Jared Padalecki would look normal human size in, but I refrained. I’m glad my friends have faith in me.
In reality though, you guys, I am not as big of a loser as I’m letting on, but only in this case. My grandma died. For real. She passed away last month and it turned into this huge debacle in which we learned things about her we never wanted to know and left us all more confused than ever. In all of this, not only have I not updated, but I’ve learned only one thing.
I sincerely let my neighbor with the big knockers down when I promised her at the ripe old age of fourteen that I would trick or treat until I was thirty, and come and sing Christmas carols to her every year until she died. I am so sorry for failing you, Big Knockers Lady. Also, if you could please let someone in the neighborhood know your real name, we’d all love it. We really do refer to you as Big Boobs Lady, simply because no one seems to know your name. Unless that is your name. In which case, you’re good.
I also learned that I am talented enough to do one thing that no one mentioned. I can hurt myself without doing anything at all. I currently feel totally useless and hauled up on the couch with awesome ice packs all day. I won’t tell anyone I’m trying to put my room back together after a water leakage incident due to snow, if you won’t. Shh! If you don’t, I promise to leave you with words of advice for free. Oh, who am I kidding? I was going to do that anyway.
1. Up is a deceivingly sad movie about death and the loss of a life partner. You will need tissues for this movie, and preferably should buy a brightly colored box to hug while you watch the movie, in hopes that it will cheer you up somehow. It won’t. Even if there is a dog in the movie named Dug that will haphazardly stop mid sentence and yell SQUIRREL, it still won’t.
2. It’s not just the sellers that suck at Craigslist, as the website suggests. Buyers suck pretty hard too. Let me tell you a story.
My mom decided to sell her bedroom furniture on Craigslist. We did not have pictures yet, so naturally we received emails for pictures. We promptly took pictures of the furniture and posted them on Craigslist, and then joyously let everyone know pictures had been added. They were all on their way down the Yellow Brick Road to finding their perfect furniture, except for one particular woman who insisted there were no pictures. I checked the ad again, but they were clearly there. Other people had emailed me in the meantime expressing their liking for the furniture and their want to come see it based on the pictures. I went back and re-updated the page, just to be on the safe side, only to realize she never went back and looked at the ad after I emailed her and told her I had put pictures up. I emailed her back nicely and told her that the pictures were now there and any errors had been fixed. I didn’t want to make her feel stupid, which in turn, just proved that I was really the stupid one here.
She later emailed me back not once, but twice, apparently because I didn’t answer her first email within ten minutes of her sending it. I felt really bad about this considering I wasn’t near my computer at all when she sent either email, and my magical computer gnomes were on strike for lapse of a paycheck. The first email contained a copy of the Craigslist ad, minus the pictures. This was apparently proof there were no pictures on the ad. The only thing that this proved was that she may have been too lazy to add the pictures to the email. In that same email, coincidentally enough, she also happened to ad the link to my ad telling me to look at that link, because that was the exact page she was on when she copied and pasted my own ad into that email. I clicked the link. The pictures were there. Then came the second email which went exactly like this:
"I looked on Craigslist to find your listing and emailed it to you. It says that the listing has a pic, (photo) but there are no photos when you click on the listing. Could you just email them directly? Your email to me lists attachments, but there are none. Maybe you have to check your email and confirm changes to your listing."
This is an exact copy and paste. Names have been left out to protect the not so innocent; those guilty of needing a little chlorine in their gene pool, if you will. Let me notate the particular gems of this email, in case you haven’t noticed them yourself.
*It’s obvious that I must not know what a pic is, because she had to tell me that a pic was a photo. I would like to share with her that she used incorrect punctuation and sentence form when doing so.
*When I click on the link she sent me, I get pictures, so obviously we are not looking at the same ad, even though we are.
*I never sent her any attachments, and also kept copies of all the emails I sent her. They did not list attachments either, at least not my end. This tells me she’s a little more than slightly confused about how to use a computer.
*She passive aggressively decides to tell me that it’s obvious the problem lies in me, even though she’s the only one who can’t see the pictures. Hmm.
*No matter what I did, she obviously couldn’t correctly identify if there was an attachment attached to her email, so it wasn’t worth my time to email her pictures.
I nicely emailed her back and told her our furniture was not for her, being as she was the only one not seeing the pictures. I was kind, but returned her passive aggressive manner, and then promptly decided not to communicate with her any longer. Oddly enough, we got an email an hour later from a woman who fell in love with the furniture because of the pictures. She came out to see the furniture the next day and took it on the spot at full asking price. Take that, “There Are No Pictures,” lady. Take that.
3. Never, ever under any circumstances tune out when your mom and your friend are discussing your friend’s potential purchase of a home. You might just tune back in in time to hear your friend go, “I MAY NEVER GO OUTSIDE!,” and have no idea what they’re talking about.
4. If you’re ever unsure about a book you’re reading, pulling up reviews online for further insight may only confuse you more. I shall elaborate.
I am currently reading a fictional book that pertains to the subject of spiritual warfare, and intertwines with talking about Him. The book was so different and unusual that I decided I wanted to see what others thought about it, because I honestly had no idea what to think of it. For once in my life, I was speechless. I ended up coming across a review on a blog from a woman who was quite angry at the author of the book for portraying spiritual warfare as violent, and then went on to rant how this went completely against the Bible’s rendering of spiritual warfare. I don’t know what Bible she’s reading, but I think it left out Revelations. Either that, or she thought it was called spiritual warfare just because someone got a kick out of calling it that, and all those violent and unpleasant terms used in the Bible referring to it were really just code words to scare people, when really they meant sunshine and lollipops, as well as unicorns farting rainbows. When I finish the book and make a decision on how I feel about it, I will then share what I’m reading with you all. It’s just one of those books.
5. If you are a millionaire who decides to put himself on The Millionaire Matchmaker, and you wear shirts two sizes too big, pants that are also two sizes too big and aren’t meant to be capris, but come nowhere near your ankles, and Ed Hardy shoes that resemble a woman’s Mary Jane’s, don’t brag about what a hot bod you have, and then expect to not be made over. Seriously. Just don’t. And don’t give the lady you're paying to help you attitude.
6. Even though the NuvaRing commercial says “hormonal vaginal ring,” this does not mean that the vaginal ring is hormonal and will suddenly start a fight with your no no place about the lack of light it sees when in use.
7. Aunt Bev buys the best presents ever. As proof I will provide the below ill centered picture so that you can see what the present she bought me allowed me to be able to make. The pictures inside the frame, I totally made those thanks to her.
8. The guys on Supernatural really are that hot. In case you’ve forgotten, we have this example and this one.
9. I do not have the maturity level necessary to watch the Olympics. Every time someone correctly pronounces the name of an athlete from another country, I find a way to realize just how dirty it sounds.
10. Criminal Minds is a really good show. When you finally catch up on all five seasons, you suddenly have complete Criminal Minds withdrawal. It sucks.
That’s all I have for today, folks. I will leave you with something I wrote for my Grandma the day she passed and had intended on posting. Since then I have found out many things about her that have made me question everything I knew about her, but I have decided to post this anyway in hopes that someone can relate to the truth you feel just hours after learning someone has passed.
Oh, and btw, I know this layout is ugly. I'm working on it.
Someone else’s tragedy is always far more romantic than your own. That’s a lesson the movies won’t teach you and that you have to learn on your own. Too bad I already knew that.
My gram passed away this morning. I made the phone calls. No matter how many times I explained whose granddaughter I was, and then followed those words with “she passed away,” it still doesn’t seem real. I’m in total shock, but the funny thing about shock is that your body begins to respond to the stupidest things. Instead of crying, I find myself frustrated every time someone goes “but I just talked to her the other day.” And there wasn’t one person who didn’t announce this to me. In a moment, anything can change.
She was a wonderful grandmother, and I spent my childhood looking up to her, playing with her, and she always chased me around the kitchen island. I will always remember that. She gave me the gift of amazing memories, and warm love. Even though she’s gone, those things will never fade.
She was a mother to others, and even those who didn’t have a mother of their own. She took in everyone and was a great friend. Or, like my great aunt told me, “she was like my sister.” I like to think a lot of people will remember her that way.
So here’s to you, Laura: Grandma, Mother, Sister and Friend. You are now at peace, free from any pain and suffering. You will walk amongst the clouds with those that have been lost before you, but at the end of everything, you will be reunited with your one true love. In life and straight through to death, love is all that matters.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
I Would Do A New Year's Celebration Dance For All of You, But Then I'd Have to Apologize
First of all, Happy New Year, y’all! I hope everyone had a fantastically safe New Year’s Eve and you all have an even better New Year! Can you believe it’s 2010 already? I know that I sure can’t. Where did time go? Did someone eat it?
Speaking of time, this segues ever so nicely into the part of the blog where I would normally apologize for being MIA, but instead, I'm not going to. The truth is, I have been extremely busy and have probably been on the computer to do something outside of working on my novel for a total of somewhere between ten and twenty hours since mid September. I know this sounds like a lot, but when you factor in that I was either checking my e-mail, shopping for great deals for Christmas, or catching up and making plans with someone and then running off into the dark of night (did I just make myself sound like a hooker?), it really isn’t. I’ve wanted to write, but was absent of a lot of stories to tell in the insanity that has ensued in the last few months.
Now I finally have some stories to tell, having come out of the holidays totally unscathed. How did you all do?
The novel is coming along, but not as well as I would have liked. I really want to make this novel something I’m proud of, and take the time I believe it deserves to write it. I want to know when I take this to a publisher and shop it around, that it is something I am truly proud of and wouldn’t want to change a thing, or think I could have done something better. That way, if it’s rejected, I can never say I didn’t put my best foot forward, and from there I will continue on, write some new stuff, and self publish my book for those of you who have requested a copy. I thank you for that. You will definitely get one, one way or another. (Which just makes me want to sing the song, but I’ll do it quietly while I type.)
I write differently than most writers, and I knew going into this novel, being as it was my first shot at writing one, that considered and my health, too, it was realistically going to take me somewhere around two years to finish. I wanted to be done at the end of 2009, but I knew it was unrealistic when I made that goal. There’s a lot of things that come along with writing a novel that I didn’t expect, and it’s certainly much different than writing out short stories to post on the internet.
When I write, I always start by writing a first draft of the entire story, each chapter between eight to ten pages, and then make character profiles for each character from there. Then, I go in and do my second draft, which is the novel version that I have to get right. The reason I do this is because I already know exactly how the story will go from writing the first draft, and I’m happy with the first draft as a whole. When I go back in and do a second draft, this allows me the opportunity to expand upon each chapter to tie in with later chapters, while knowing exactly how the story ends. This also allows me to fix pieces that I wasn’t sure of, as when I do my first draft, I write straight through with the intention of fixing things later. In the second draft, it’s do or die. I consider the third draft the draft where I do nothing but fix small grammatical errors and the like, but by the time I reach that draft, the story is done and exactly how I want it.
I’m enjoying this process, and finding that it’s much more difficult than I thought, because the little things I think I can change easily, never end up being that little or that easy. Sometimes it feels like I’m staring down the belly of the beast, and they become larger than life. That’s when I have to walk away and get my head together for the sake of the story, and then come back to it. In the mean time, I have plenty of other ideas that are shaping up nicely. Who knows, maybe the story I started and thought would be my first novel, will end up not being the first one that I finish? I’m just enjoying the ride knowing that the important thing here is that I one hundred percent keep writing, and have faith that something beautiful and right will come out of it.
All in all, sometimes I lose my will power to keep writing, and I need to get back into reality for awhile, because it’s easy to spend too much time inside of your head while spending ten plus hours a day doing nothing but writing a story your imagination discovered. I had to take a good break from my computer, and especially from the internet world, and focus on myself and getting better, because in all of this writing and social networking, I forgot about taking care of myself. Knowing my current health, there were nights I stayed up way too late just to finish a chapter, and paid for it dearly the next day. I’ve been feeling a lot better since I’ve gotten on a more regulated sleeping schedule, and have taken a good bit of the stress out of my life by backing away from constantly feeling like I had to keep up with a ton of networking sites on top of writing a story. It was exhausting and stupid on my part.
I know for sure I will keep this blog going, and hopefully I will write more, because I do love to write on here. I’m also considering started a blog specifically to talk about the writing process and what not. If I do start that blog, I will let you know. I also plan on keeping my Twitter, because, as little as it is used, it also takes a full two seconds to write something onto that. After that, I’m unsure. Having a mild case of OCD, Facebook and it’s non cohesive layout and feed of absolute junk and confusion just kills me. I actually don’t mind Myspace, but in a way it’s starting to feel like organized stalking. Essentially, Twitter is, too, but I feel like, in a lot of ways, it’s less invasive than Myspace. Maybe I’m wrong? Plus, Myspace is time consuming and I keep being told that “no one uses Myspace anymore.” Am I getting old that my response to that tends to be, "but I remember when Myspace was the shit?" Wait, I know the answer to that.
I have no idea what I’m doing with those sites yet, but I do know that anything outside of those sites will most likely be gone. I just can’t see spending hours a day updating a bunch of sites, and doing them all half assed just to network. I’d rather have a few that I do well and go from there. In the day and age of the internet, it’s easy to really feel lost in real life, and forget that there are real people outside of the computer screen. I don’t want to get sucked into that more than I already have. The computer age is good, but there’s a lot of things about it that just aren’t real, that you can’t touch.
I’m going to work on getting everything set up for 2010 and go from there. Actually, let me just process that it's 2010 already, and go from there instead.
Let’s talk holidays. There’s no way something funny hasn’t happened to you this holiday season, and by holiday season, I’m including anything that’s happened between Thanksgiving and 2010, so let’s start sharing stories and telling secrets like best girlfriends, shall we?
A week before Christmas, I found myself at the mall with a friend of mine, who I met through another friend. This was our first time hanging out just the two of us, so I didn’t know what to expect really, especially considering he was uber shy any other time I had been around him, but just as nice when he did speak, and a gracious host when I was at this house. This prompts me to share something else with you before I get into what I want to tell you, just because it’s so funny.
One time I ended up at this particular friend's house. We will call him Mike, mostly because that is his name. If I’ve talked about a Mike before, which I can’t remember if I have, this is a totally different Mike. Anyway, Mike lived with his parents and his brother who was two years his junior. His brother was a bit of an odd commodity, and never peeped out of his room in the basement except to eat, use the bathroom or leave. He didn’t even say much to Mike, so they just accepted this was who the brother was, as did all of Mike’s friends, and went along with their day. Then one day it happened. The parents were out of town and Mike’s brother comes up to him and says...and I quote, “I’m having a party in the kitchen tomorrow. You’re can come if you want.”
What makes this particularly great is that, not only was that the only thing his brother had said to him all week, but Mike was invited to a party in his very own home in which he lives. To make this ten times better, the only television in the house is down in the family room, and to get to the family room from anywhere in the house but the basement, you must go through the kitchen. To get to any of the cars to leave the house, you must go through the kitchen. There’s just an oodle of reasons you have to go through the kitchen in that house, so even if Mike wasn’t invited to the party, it’s unlikely he wouldn’t have had to somehow become part of it at one point in the day just to navigate his own house. Oh, and did I mention that Mike then invited my other friend and myself to the party that he was invited to by default? We didn’t go, but we should have. We heard all of his brother’s friends were nerds and they all sat around and literally stared at each other and said about two words to each other the whole night, and it was the lamest party in the history of the nation, so then again, maybe it’s good we missed it.
But back to the original story. Mike and I met up at the mall. He had Christmas gifts to still get, I did not, but I needed out of the house a little. We walked around, talked and then headed to get something to eat, but not after passing a guy who was tiny, white, dressed like a gansta, and wearing headphones and rapping, three times. THREE TIMES WE PASSED HIM! Epic.
Naturally, we’re sitting at the food court and Mike’s eating, whereas I wasn’t hungry, and we get into a discussion about music, which evolves into Mike telling me this. He is the kind of person, much like myself, that has to have some music going on while in the car. His mother, on the other hand, along with his father, both like complete and utter silence. For awhile Mike had been trying to convince his parents to let him play music when he was riding with them, to which they refused. Finally one day he was in the car with his mom and it was dead silent and killing him. He worked hard to convince her to let them listen to music, and she finally, after awhile of begging, obliged and hit the button on the CD player. Unbeknownst to him, apparently she listen to music in her car, even though she always told him she likes it completely silent. What’s better? Very loud, heavy, bitches and hoes rap music starts blaring through the speakers. Naturally, Mike is horrified. This is his mother listening to heavy rap. Then it happened, he turned to her, asked her what she was listening to, and she proceeded to rattle off the name just as a fifty something would rattle of Bette Midler, and continued driving like nothing happened. He, of course, wanted out of the car and never again asks to listen to music while riding with her anymore.
What still remains unknown is if the real reason his mom didn’t want to listen to music in the car when he was there was because this is what she listens to and she didn’t want him to know. What also remains unknown is how a fifty something found out about and got into Lil John and the East Side Boyz. Maybe somethings are better left to the imagination...or just laid to rest. To top it off, neither Mike nor I knew who Lil John and the East Side Boyz were prior to this, and both had to Google them. Sad and backwards? I think so.
As Paul would say: “I blame rap music.” Touche, Paul, touche.
I think by now everyone knows that I’m so out of the loop when it comes to cool things at the ripe old age of twenty four, but if you ask me anything about Disney Channel, particularly The Wizards of Waverly Place, I could tell you anything you wanted to know. This led to an interesting encounter between my mom and a random stranger, both who were Christmas shopping at Target.
My mom searched out and found The Wizards of Waverly Place movie at the same time that another woman also had. My mom then proceeds to look at the other woman and have a conversation similar to this. My mom reads this blog, so I’m sure she’ll correct me and let me know that this is not exactly how it happened, but I like to think it is, and the ending is all the same. The ending, by the way, is the good part.
Mom: “My daughter LOVES this show. She LOVES Selena Gomez.”
Other Lady: “My daughter, too.”
Insert more parts about me and this lady’s daughter, and how we all realize I could be obvious besties with her daughter, with sleepovers and WOWP marathons included. Then it all comes crashing down.
Mom: “Wow. Twenty bucks is just too much to pay for this movie. It will be on Disney Channel again, and my daughter’s already seen it.”
Other Lady: “But it’s Christmas.”
Mom: “Yeah, but my daughter’s twenty four. She’ll get over it.”
The look on the other lady’s face turns from understanding, to confused, to shock, to confused again over if my mom is serious or not that I’m twenty four and I sound like her daughter.
Other Lady: “Oh, well my daughter is ten.”
Mom: “Well, that’s a little different.”
Other Lady: “Yeah, but you’re right, this is too much.”
*Both walk away from movie*
Look, Little Awesome Ten Year Old, of whom I do not know. First of all, let me say sorry that you didn’t get WOWP. It’s all my fault. Not directly, but it is. Secondly, I will buy you the movie with my Christmas money if you will talk WOWP and Selena Gomez with me without laughing. I’m not trying to be creepy, but I need a friend who understands how awesome Disney and Selena are. We can also color. I'll bring the crayons.
Oh, did I mention I got crayons for Christmas? I didn’t? Well, I did and Aunt Bev laughed and thought my mom was kidding about getting me crayons. In order to combat this, I colored Aunt Bev a picture for Christmas. I think this worked out quite swimmingly.
I also need to add a few more things. One - I submitted a story to MyVeryWorstDate.com. It was the Thanksgiving feature. You can see it here. I’m thinking this is probably really, really sad, but somehow the fact that it got posted makes me happy. It’s good to know others can laugh at something that I now laugh at, even if it wasn’t funny then.
Two - Gram is another reason I’ve been MIA, but even though she’s still terminal, obviously, she’s still hanging in there. Pray for her, you guys.
I also have to add to a previous post where I told a story about being at the hospital, and waiting to get an ultrasound. My mom informed me that I forgot to mention Fred, so here goes.
There was a guy in the waiting room named Fred. Fred looked and acted like a serial killer. How, you ask? Well, good ole’ Fred was suspicious from the get-go, what with his moving chairs to sit by new people who had been sitting in their place long before he came along, every couple of minutes and what not. He also lurked suspiciously behind his paper, as well as gave people the evil eye. He resembled closely every generic villain on Walker, Texas Ranger, and did a slew of other things that my mom can probably remember, but I can’t say that I can. So really Fred is probably a perfectly nice guy who can’t seem to make friends with any certain seat, but we’re just gonna say he’s a serial killer and leave it at that.
To round out this blog, I will also tell another story that comes to us via a friend who I will allow to remain nameless. Several years ago, this certain friend took her brother into a local sporting goods store to get him something he needed for his baseball team. As she’s standing there, jacket and all, a woman comes up to her and asks her where the bathrooms are. She tells the woman she doesn’t know. The woman then insists she works there. After my friend argues that it’s obvious she doesn’t, the lady then goes “but you should still know where the bathrooms are.” Finally my friend looks at her and says this exactly, “I’M A FAT KID IN A SPORTING GOODS STORE! DOES IT LOOK LIKE I COME HERE OFTEN?” And this is why I love my friends.
On a side note, does anyone else find the guy who plays Dr. Spencer Reid on Criminal Minds oddly attractive? I feel like the only one, and I have to admit, I'm a little embarrassed by this. I always did love the nerdy guys. Gees, someone make me feel better about this, please.
Oh, and y'all, please check out my mom's blog here.
Speaking of time, this segues ever so nicely into the part of the blog where I would normally apologize for being MIA, but instead, I'm not going to. The truth is, I have been extremely busy and have probably been on the computer to do something outside of working on my novel for a total of somewhere between ten and twenty hours since mid September. I know this sounds like a lot, but when you factor in that I was either checking my e-mail, shopping for great deals for Christmas, or catching up and making plans with someone and then running off into the dark of night (did I just make myself sound like a hooker?), it really isn’t. I’ve wanted to write, but was absent of a lot of stories to tell in the insanity that has ensued in the last few months.
Now I finally have some stories to tell, having come out of the holidays totally unscathed. How did you all do?
The novel is coming along, but not as well as I would have liked. I really want to make this novel something I’m proud of, and take the time I believe it deserves to write it. I want to know when I take this to a publisher and shop it around, that it is something I am truly proud of and wouldn’t want to change a thing, or think I could have done something better. That way, if it’s rejected, I can never say I didn’t put my best foot forward, and from there I will continue on, write some new stuff, and self publish my book for those of you who have requested a copy. I thank you for that. You will definitely get one, one way or another. (Which just makes me want to sing the song, but I’ll do it quietly while I type.)
I write differently than most writers, and I knew going into this novel, being as it was my first shot at writing one, that considered and my health, too, it was realistically going to take me somewhere around two years to finish. I wanted to be done at the end of 2009, but I knew it was unrealistic when I made that goal. There’s a lot of things that come along with writing a novel that I didn’t expect, and it’s certainly much different than writing out short stories to post on the internet.
When I write, I always start by writing a first draft of the entire story, each chapter between eight to ten pages, and then make character profiles for each character from there. Then, I go in and do my second draft, which is the novel version that I have to get right. The reason I do this is because I already know exactly how the story will go from writing the first draft, and I’m happy with the first draft as a whole. When I go back in and do a second draft, this allows me the opportunity to expand upon each chapter to tie in with later chapters, while knowing exactly how the story ends. This also allows me to fix pieces that I wasn’t sure of, as when I do my first draft, I write straight through with the intention of fixing things later. In the second draft, it’s do or die. I consider the third draft the draft where I do nothing but fix small grammatical errors and the like, but by the time I reach that draft, the story is done and exactly how I want it.
I’m enjoying this process, and finding that it’s much more difficult than I thought, because the little things I think I can change easily, never end up being that little or that easy. Sometimes it feels like I’m staring down the belly of the beast, and they become larger than life. That’s when I have to walk away and get my head together for the sake of the story, and then come back to it. In the mean time, I have plenty of other ideas that are shaping up nicely. Who knows, maybe the story I started and thought would be my first novel, will end up not being the first one that I finish? I’m just enjoying the ride knowing that the important thing here is that I one hundred percent keep writing, and have faith that something beautiful and right will come out of it.
All in all, sometimes I lose my will power to keep writing, and I need to get back into reality for awhile, because it’s easy to spend too much time inside of your head while spending ten plus hours a day doing nothing but writing a story your imagination discovered. I had to take a good break from my computer, and especially from the internet world, and focus on myself and getting better, because in all of this writing and social networking, I forgot about taking care of myself. Knowing my current health, there were nights I stayed up way too late just to finish a chapter, and paid for it dearly the next day. I’ve been feeling a lot better since I’ve gotten on a more regulated sleeping schedule, and have taken a good bit of the stress out of my life by backing away from constantly feeling like I had to keep up with a ton of networking sites on top of writing a story. It was exhausting and stupid on my part.
I know for sure I will keep this blog going, and hopefully I will write more, because I do love to write on here. I’m also considering started a blog specifically to talk about the writing process and what not. If I do start that blog, I will let you know. I also plan on keeping my Twitter, because, as little as it is used, it also takes a full two seconds to write something onto that. After that, I’m unsure. Having a mild case of OCD, Facebook and it’s non cohesive layout and feed of absolute junk and confusion just kills me. I actually don’t mind Myspace, but in a way it’s starting to feel like organized stalking. Essentially, Twitter is, too, but I feel like, in a lot of ways, it’s less invasive than Myspace. Maybe I’m wrong? Plus, Myspace is time consuming and I keep being told that “no one uses Myspace anymore.” Am I getting old that my response to that tends to be, "but I remember when Myspace was the shit?" Wait, I know the answer to that.
I have no idea what I’m doing with those sites yet, but I do know that anything outside of those sites will most likely be gone. I just can’t see spending hours a day updating a bunch of sites, and doing them all half assed just to network. I’d rather have a few that I do well and go from there. In the day and age of the internet, it’s easy to really feel lost in real life, and forget that there are real people outside of the computer screen. I don’t want to get sucked into that more than I already have. The computer age is good, but there’s a lot of things about it that just aren’t real, that you can’t touch.
I’m going to work on getting everything set up for 2010 and go from there. Actually, let me just process that it's 2010 already, and go from there instead.
Let’s talk holidays. There’s no way something funny hasn’t happened to you this holiday season, and by holiday season, I’m including anything that’s happened between Thanksgiving and 2010, so let’s start sharing stories and telling secrets like best girlfriends, shall we?
A week before Christmas, I found myself at the mall with a friend of mine, who I met through another friend. This was our first time hanging out just the two of us, so I didn’t know what to expect really, especially considering he was uber shy any other time I had been around him, but just as nice when he did speak, and a gracious host when I was at this house. This prompts me to share something else with you before I get into what I want to tell you, just because it’s so funny.
One time I ended up at this particular friend's house. We will call him Mike, mostly because that is his name. If I’ve talked about a Mike before, which I can’t remember if I have, this is a totally different Mike. Anyway, Mike lived with his parents and his brother who was two years his junior. His brother was a bit of an odd commodity, and never peeped out of his room in the basement except to eat, use the bathroom or leave. He didn’t even say much to Mike, so they just accepted this was who the brother was, as did all of Mike’s friends, and went along with their day. Then one day it happened. The parents were out of town and Mike’s brother comes up to him and says...and I quote, “I’m having a party in the kitchen tomorrow. You’re can come if you want.”
What makes this particularly great is that, not only was that the only thing his brother had said to him all week, but Mike was invited to a party in his very own home in which he lives. To make this ten times better, the only television in the house is down in the family room, and to get to the family room from anywhere in the house but the basement, you must go through the kitchen. To get to any of the cars to leave the house, you must go through the kitchen. There’s just an oodle of reasons you have to go through the kitchen in that house, so even if Mike wasn’t invited to the party, it’s unlikely he wouldn’t have had to somehow become part of it at one point in the day just to navigate his own house. Oh, and did I mention that Mike then invited my other friend and myself to the party that he was invited to by default? We didn’t go, but we should have. We heard all of his brother’s friends were nerds and they all sat around and literally stared at each other and said about two words to each other the whole night, and it was the lamest party in the history of the nation, so then again, maybe it’s good we missed it.
But back to the original story. Mike and I met up at the mall. He had Christmas gifts to still get, I did not, but I needed out of the house a little. We walked around, talked and then headed to get something to eat, but not after passing a guy who was tiny, white, dressed like a gansta, and wearing headphones and rapping, three times. THREE TIMES WE PASSED HIM! Epic.
Naturally, we’re sitting at the food court and Mike’s eating, whereas I wasn’t hungry, and we get into a discussion about music, which evolves into Mike telling me this. He is the kind of person, much like myself, that has to have some music going on while in the car. His mother, on the other hand, along with his father, both like complete and utter silence. For awhile Mike had been trying to convince his parents to let him play music when he was riding with them, to which they refused. Finally one day he was in the car with his mom and it was dead silent and killing him. He worked hard to convince her to let them listen to music, and she finally, after awhile of begging, obliged and hit the button on the CD player. Unbeknownst to him, apparently she listen to music in her car, even though she always told him she likes it completely silent. What’s better? Very loud, heavy, bitches and hoes rap music starts blaring through the speakers. Naturally, Mike is horrified. This is his mother listening to heavy rap. Then it happened, he turned to her, asked her what she was listening to, and she proceeded to rattle off the name just as a fifty something would rattle of Bette Midler, and continued driving like nothing happened. He, of course, wanted out of the car and never again asks to listen to music while riding with her anymore.
What still remains unknown is if the real reason his mom didn’t want to listen to music in the car when he was there was because this is what she listens to and she didn’t want him to know. What also remains unknown is how a fifty something found out about and got into Lil John and the East Side Boyz. Maybe somethings are better left to the imagination...or just laid to rest. To top it off, neither Mike nor I knew who Lil John and the East Side Boyz were prior to this, and both had to Google them. Sad and backwards? I think so.
As Paul would say: “I blame rap music.” Touche, Paul, touche.
I think by now everyone knows that I’m so out of the loop when it comes to cool things at the ripe old age of twenty four, but if you ask me anything about Disney Channel, particularly The Wizards of Waverly Place, I could tell you anything you wanted to know. This led to an interesting encounter between my mom and a random stranger, both who were Christmas shopping at Target.
My mom searched out and found The Wizards of Waverly Place movie at the same time that another woman also had. My mom then proceeds to look at the other woman and have a conversation similar to this. My mom reads this blog, so I’m sure she’ll correct me and let me know that this is not exactly how it happened, but I like to think it is, and the ending is all the same. The ending, by the way, is the good part.
Mom: “My daughter LOVES this show. She LOVES Selena Gomez.”
Other Lady: “My daughter, too.”
Insert more parts about me and this lady’s daughter, and how we all realize I could be obvious besties with her daughter, with sleepovers and WOWP marathons included. Then it all comes crashing down.
Mom: “Wow. Twenty bucks is just too much to pay for this movie. It will be on Disney Channel again, and my daughter’s already seen it.”
Other Lady: “But it’s Christmas.”
Mom: “Yeah, but my daughter’s twenty four. She’ll get over it.”
The look on the other lady’s face turns from understanding, to confused, to shock, to confused again over if my mom is serious or not that I’m twenty four and I sound like her daughter.
Other Lady: “Oh, well my daughter is ten.”
Mom: “Well, that’s a little different.”
Other Lady: “Yeah, but you’re right, this is too much.”
*Both walk away from movie*
Look, Little Awesome Ten Year Old, of whom I do not know. First of all, let me say sorry that you didn’t get WOWP. It’s all my fault. Not directly, but it is. Secondly, I will buy you the movie with my Christmas money if you will talk WOWP and Selena Gomez with me without laughing. I’m not trying to be creepy, but I need a friend who understands how awesome Disney and Selena are. We can also color. I'll bring the crayons.
Oh, did I mention I got crayons for Christmas? I didn’t? Well, I did and Aunt Bev laughed and thought my mom was kidding about getting me crayons. In order to combat this, I colored Aunt Bev a picture for Christmas. I think this worked out quite swimmingly.
I also need to add a few more things. One - I submitted a story to MyVeryWorstDate.com. It was the Thanksgiving feature. You can see it here. I’m thinking this is probably really, really sad, but somehow the fact that it got posted makes me happy. It’s good to know others can laugh at something that I now laugh at, even if it wasn’t funny then.
Two - Gram is another reason I’ve been MIA, but even though she’s still terminal, obviously, she’s still hanging in there. Pray for her, you guys.
I also have to add to a previous post where I told a story about being at the hospital, and waiting to get an ultrasound. My mom informed me that I forgot to mention Fred, so here goes.
There was a guy in the waiting room named Fred. Fred looked and acted like a serial killer. How, you ask? Well, good ole’ Fred was suspicious from the get-go, what with his moving chairs to sit by new people who had been sitting in their place long before he came along, every couple of minutes and what not. He also lurked suspiciously behind his paper, as well as gave people the evil eye. He resembled closely every generic villain on Walker, Texas Ranger, and did a slew of other things that my mom can probably remember, but I can’t say that I can. So really Fred is probably a perfectly nice guy who can’t seem to make friends with any certain seat, but we’re just gonna say he’s a serial killer and leave it at that.
To round out this blog, I will also tell another story that comes to us via a friend who I will allow to remain nameless. Several years ago, this certain friend took her brother into a local sporting goods store to get him something he needed for his baseball team. As she’s standing there, jacket and all, a woman comes up to her and asks her where the bathrooms are. She tells the woman she doesn’t know. The woman then insists she works there. After my friend argues that it’s obvious she doesn’t, the lady then goes “but you should still know where the bathrooms are.” Finally my friend looks at her and says this exactly, “I’M A FAT KID IN A SPORTING GOODS STORE! DOES IT LOOK LIKE I COME HERE OFTEN?” And this is why I love my friends.
On a side note, does anyone else find the guy who plays Dr. Spencer Reid on Criminal Minds oddly attractive? I feel like the only one, and I have to admit, I'm a little embarrassed by this. I always did love the nerdy guys. Gees, someone make me feel better about this, please.
Oh, and y'all, please check out my mom's blog here.
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