Saturday, April 25, 2009
Don't I wish
So apparently, Google has this new thingy-ma-bobber where you can "monetize" your blog by adding advertisements. I think that really only works if your blog gets more traffic than one person a day and that person wasn't yourself. What a sweet gig. Getting paid from advertisements from your own blog where you muse about trivial things and spend countless hours preening for the spell check. Sigh. Life is complete.
Speaking of Life being complete, I feel like making a list. Lists make me happy. Especially making lists about things that make me happy. I've done that before, so I won't do it again. At least not right now. Instead I'd rather.... think about....
Hey, you know I just realized that I was writing a post on the wrong blog. As in, my old one that I've closed down. Ha-Ha that's so funny... only I'm not amused.
I'm surrounded by books all day and they're beginning to lose their luster. Remember when just entering a used bookstore was like shooting up crack? Oh the thrill, the high. It was unparalleled. But now, I think I'm moving on. Occasionally, I'll come across a new book or a book I haven't seen and be like, wow.... that's neat-o. And sadly, it's usually a book with lots of pictures in it. I'm losing touch with the belles lettres.... With my slowly fading intellect (if I really had one).
Jeopardy is only exciting when they do teen challenge. Then I know all the answers. I'm forgetting how to spell words (damn spell check! I curse you with one breath and I swear allegiance to you with the other!). Heck, I'm forgetting how to pronounce words. Well, I never really knew that. I'd read so many words that I never use in every-day language, that when I go to say them, I sound like a fool.
Maybe it's time for me to man up and go back to school. I'd love to get another bachelor's degree. But that would be plain stupid. A waste of time and money. Who get's two bachelor's (at different points in time, mind you. There is nothing wrong with dual majors)? Anyway, I'd have to get a (gasp) Master's degree.... oh, it'd be so hard! I hate hard school work! I like it when it's fun and easy and I get to talk a lot and use lots of pictures. All of this incessant writing (in a scholarly tone) gets old and it makes me want to rebel. And start a blog. Ha. A place where slang is the lingua franca and no one has to have an education to get paid for viewership. It could be like your own newspaper. Minus the news and tree-killing.
So, I'm done now. I'm tired and I'm going to bed. Chase is proud of me for writing on my blog again. My initial reaction to that was "that's dumb." I don't know why. Maybe because I'm tired and therefore cranky and when I'm tired and therefore cranky, I also get irrational.
P.S. I'd love to have an editior to tell me all the nerdy stuff I'm doing wrong in my writing. Like sentence fragment, verb-tense agreement not really agreeing, run-on sentences, syntax, and other more nerdy things that I am not even aware about. I never do like the technical side of things. I'm all about the earthy-au natural style.
Ameila Bedelia is my role model.
Speaking of Life being complete, I feel like making a list. Lists make me happy. Especially making lists about things that make me happy. I've done that before, so I won't do it again. At least not right now. Instead I'd rather.... think about....
Hey, you know I just realized that I was writing a post on the wrong blog. As in, my old one that I've closed down. Ha-Ha that's so funny... only I'm not amused.
I'm surrounded by books all day and they're beginning to lose their luster. Remember when just entering a used bookstore was like shooting up crack? Oh the thrill, the high. It was unparalleled. But now, I think I'm moving on. Occasionally, I'll come across a new book or a book I haven't seen and be like, wow.... that's neat-o. And sadly, it's usually a book with lots of pictures in it. I'm losing touch with the belles lettres.... With my slowly fading intellect (if I really had one).
Jeopardy is only exciting when they do teen challenge. Then I know all the answers. I'm forgetting how to spell words (damn spell check! I curse you with one breath and I swear allegiance to you with the other!). Heck, I'm forgetting how to pronounce words. Well, I never really knew that. I'd read so many words that I never use in every-day language, that when I go to say them, I sound like a fool.
Maybe it's time for me to man up and go back to school. I'd love to get another bachelor's degree. But that would be plain stupid. A waste of time and money. Who get's two bachelor's (at different points in time, mind you. There is nothing wrong with dual majors)? Anyway, I'd have to get a (gasp) Master's degree.... oh, it'd be so hard! I hate hard school work! I like it when it's fun and easy and I get to talk a lot and use lots of pictures. All of this incessant writing (in a scholarly tone) gets old and it makes me want to rebel. And start a blog. Ha. A place where slang is the lingua franca and no one has to have an education to get paid for viewership. It could be like your own newspaper. Minus the news and tree-killing.
So, I'm done now. I'm tired and I'm going to bed. Chase is proud of me for writing on my blog again. My initial reaction to that was "that's dumb." I don't know why. Maybe because I'm tired and therefore cranky and when I'm tired and therefore cranky, I also get irrational.
P.S. I'd love to have an editior to tell me all the nerdy stuff I'm doing wrong in my writing. Like sentence fragment, verb-tense agreement not really agreeing, run-on sentences, syntax, and other more nerdy things that I am not even aware about. I never do like the technical side of things. I'm all about the earthy-au natural style.
Ameila Bedelia is my role model.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Bubble Irony
So... the other day Chase and I were doing the dishes after dinner and I mentioned how Kiwi's don't rinse the dishes off. They just dry sudsy dishes. Chase and my mom were like "ewwwww. That's so weird" I have to admit, it did take some getting used to. But it works just as well as rinsing them off. I mean, they didn't leave sudsy dishes out to dry, we'd promptly wipe them dry.
Well, the next day, a plumber came over to install the toilet and shower fixtures in the bathroom my dad is renovating. I hopped in the shower just as he got here. It wasn't until I was already wet (and past the point of return) that I realized that when plumbers come over, they usually cut the water off. I was like oh-poo. So I start whizzin' through the shampoo and conditioner stage of my shower routine and in the process knock my razor to the floor. The blades get knocked off and my poor little razor rests on the tile, broken and sad. Once I finish rinsing, I bend down to pick it up and reassemble.
It is at this break in my routine that I start daydreaming. For real, my mind just starts wandering around. And suddenly, I hear a couple thuds and what sounds like sawing of metal... and instantly I'm snapped back into reality and realize that precious seconds have slipped by! Woe is me! My hair is washed, but not my body! So I race to finish the task, all the while, feeling a slight ebb in the water pressure... until just as I'm all lathered up, the water trickles out to nothing. And I'm left standing in the shower covered in suds.
Then my mind wanders back to the other night when I told my story of how Kiwi's don't rinse off their plates. And I wondered if they rinse off their bodies? Because I was about to towell off all these suds and pretend like that didn't gross me out just a touch. Thankfully I didn't break out in any unusual rashes during the day. So I must have gotten all the soap off. Hey, who says you need to rinse off anyway? It must be the utility compaines whispering in our ears... getting us to use more to pay more. Yeah.... that's what it is.
You know, you don't have to refridgerate eggs either. From the hen's butt to your plate, you don't need a refridgerator. Just thought you'd like to know...
Well, the next day, a plumber came over to install the toilet and shower fixtures in the bathroom my dad is renovating. I hopped in the shower just as he got here. It wasn't until I was already wet (and past the point of return) that I realized that when plumbers come over, they usually cut the water off. I was like oh-poo. So I start whizzin' through the shampoo and conditioner stage of my shower routine and in the process knock my razor to the floor. The blades get knocked off and my poor little razor rests on the tile, broken and sad. Once I finish rinsing, I bend down to pick it up and reassemble.
It is at this break in my routine that I start daydreaming. For real, my mind just starts wandering around. And suddenly, I hear a couple thuds and what sounds like sawing of metal... and instantly I'm snapped back into reality and realize that precious seconds have slipped by! Woe is me! My hair is washed, but not my body! So I race to finish the task, all the while, feeling a slight ebb in the water pressure... until just as I'm all lathered up, the water trickles out to nothing. And I'm left standing in the shower covered in suds.
Then my mind wanders back to the other night when I told my story of how Kiwi's don't rinse off their plates. And I wondered if they rinse off their bodies? Because I was about to towell off all these suds and pretend like that didn't gross me out just a touch. Thankfully I didn't break out in any unusual rashes during the day. So I must have gotten all the soap off. Hey, who says you need to rinse off anyway? It must be the utility compaines whispering in our ears... getting us to use more to pay more. Yeah.... that's what it is.
You know, you don't have to refridgerate eggs either. From the hen's butt to your plate, you don't need a refridgerator. Just thought you'd like to know...
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
What's this, a Wednesday?! Geez.
Oh, it's been ages!
A terribly long time, indeed. And in case you were wondering why it's been so long between this post and the last, his name is Chase Porter. You'd think maybe I'd want to write all about getting swept off my feet. But as it turns out, being swept off your feet is a continuous process that takes up a lot of time. About six months to be exact. But don't think that just because I'm writing now that the sweeping has ended. I should think not!
It's more like I'm surfacing because I've finally managed to reconcile a constant state of bliss with my every-day real life. I think another reason I didn't write (and didn't write about being swept) is that it is all so incredibly saccharine. I mean like, totally puke worthy. Unless of course, you happen to be the star. Then it's all delightful and a big ole bowl of cherries. I do, however, keep tabs on the reaction of others around me, and I try to keep all the lovey-dovey gooey-wooey stuff to myself for the most part.
My mother and Louise do enjoy jumping in that bowl of cherries and swimming around in it. They're probably the only ones without a gag reflex and truly love watching two fools fall in love. Everyone else clutches their stomach and runs for the bathroom. Well, there is one way to clear a room. And we're pros at it.
We've taken trips together for fun and for more fun. We cook for each other and we read to each other. We take care of each other when ill or tired and we rub each other's feet. We text all throughout the day and meet for lunch when we can. We spend every evening together and feel the seams of ourselves tearing when we have to part for the night. We open ourselves up to new experiences with each other and try new things. We take naps together and swing in the hammock. We spoil Rosie rotten and take her for walks. We talk about the future and share stories of our past. We say exceptionally nice things to each other and watch with glee as the biggest smile breaks forth. We love each other.
I'm not sure what I imagined when I thought about falling in love... but the actual exerience has far surpassed anything I could have imagined. He's so wonderful and so kind and so thoughtful and so perceptive that I have to fight the feelings of complete surprise and wonder that he's fallen for me. I've learned never to question the good in life. But accept it with open arms and then give out all kinds of good too. That way, there's a stream of goodness following me around all day. Seems good, yeah?!
Anyway, after all that gushing, I've slighted raised my own gag reflex. But I just can't help it! I'm in all kinds of love and I just can't see straight anymore. I have to admit that I prefered this skewed view. It's a lot merrier.
So there you have it. The truth is out. And now, maybe, I'll return to some sort of normal blogging schedule and find the time to talk about something other than being ridiculously in love. Here's hoping!! (back a paper bag for future viewing in case the sacchrine level breeches your ability to contain it)
A terribly long time, indeed. And in case you were wondering why it's been so long between this post and the last, his name is Chase Porter. You'd think maybe I'd want to write all about getting swept off my feet. But as it turns out, being swept off your feet is a continuous process that takes up a lot of time. About six months to be exact. But don't think that just because I'm writing now that the sweeping has ended. I should think not!
It's more like I'm surfacing because I've finally managed to reconcile a constant state of bliss with my every-day real life. I think another reason I didn't write (and didn't write about being swept) is that it is all so incredibly saccharine. I mean like, totally puke worthy. Unless of course, you happen to be the star. Then it's all delightful and a big ole bowl of cherries. I do, however, keep tabs on the reaction of others around me, and I try to keep all the lovey-dovey gooey-wooey stuff to myself for the most part.
My mother and Louise do enjoy jumping in that bowl of cherries and swimming around in it. They're probably the only ones without a gag reflex and truly love watching two fools fall in love. Everyone else clutches their stomach and runs for the bathroom. Well, there is one way to clear a room. And we're pros at it.
We've taken trips together for fun and for more fun. We cook for each other and we read to each other. We take care of each other when ill or tired and we rub each other's feet. We text all throughout the day and meet for lunch when we can. We spend every evening together and feel the seams of ourselves tearing when we have to part for the night. We open ourselves up to new experiences with each other and try new things. We take naps together and swing in the hammock. We spoil Rosie rotten and take her for walks. We talk about the future and share stories of our past. We say exceptionally nice things to each other and watch with glee as the biggest smile breaks forth. We love each other.
I'm not sure what I imagined when I thought about falling in love... but the actual exerience has far surpassed anything I could have imagined. He's so wonderful and so kind and so thoughtful and so perceptive that I have to fight the feelings of complete surprise and wonder that he's fallen for me. I've learned never to question the good in life. But accept it with open arms and then give out all kinds of good too. That way, there's a stream of goodness following me around all day. Seems good, yeah?!
Anyway, after all that gushing, I've slighted raised my own gag reflex. But I just can't help it! I'm in all kinds of love and I just can't see straight anymore. I have to admit that I prefered this skewed view. It's a lot merrier.
So there you have it. The truth is out. And now, maybe, I'll return to some sort of normal blogging schedule and find the time to talk about something other than being ridiculously in love. Here's hoping!! (back a paper bag for future viewing in case the sacchrine level breeches your ability to contain it)
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