i.n.d.e.p.e.n.d.e.n.t. do you know what that means?

5 months of marriage. Is that a big deal? I feel like it is. I dunno.

I thought about posting that picture, you know, the one where I'm really close to the camera and look awesome and Stephen is a blur in the background. I'll save it for 6 months. For now, I made this.

It's confetti.

But really. Marriage is rad. And so is this salad I'm eating. And so are you. I mean that.

I will never be as talented or as famous

I didn't shower. I turned on the water, it was cold, and I just couldn't do it. So I didn't. The thing about skipping the shower is that your day only gets progressively worse. It was off to a bad start as is. I woke up from a nightmare, late (alarm fail), and walked into an office that smells of pickled cabbage. I received a rejection email. I went to the grocery store to pick up three things. I walked out with two because I'm apparently incapable of remembering three flippin items.  Bad morning. And now sanshower, everytime I look in the mirror it's scarier. Everytime i smell something weird I wonder if it's me. And everytime I touch my hair it feels more disguisting.

tastes kind of like sad

I guess it's presumptuous to run on the sidewalk. I mean, I guess it was wrong of me to presume that I could run on the sidewalk without interference. Everything was fine until that final stretch. I started to sprint, trying to finish strong. Then, I swear, I SWEAR, out of no where a stout woman in a red shirt jumped in front of me a few yards ahead. She had a banana in one hand and an apple in the other. And she was headed straight for me. She sprinted at full speed and ran me off the sidewalk. This really happened.

but if you try sometime

Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps. But you will. Cause it's boring. I did, however, leave the theater with an even firmer conviction to understand the recession. I've spent three days researching it. I'm still confused. Credit swaps? Derivitives? From what I understand, money isn't money anymore. Money is numbers floating in clouds. And if anyone pokes a whole in that cloud, no one has money. Which makes me think I should carry cash. Or gold. And then I could also fend off attackers with my super heavy purse.

cupcake

Do you think they use to have one-hit wonders? Like way back, centuries ago? Maybe Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy danced to this really got song that all of the string quartets were playing at the local balls, and it was The Greatest Song, and a refreshing break from Bach and Mozart but then it got kind of old and the composer was never heard from again. Like the Baja Men.

concrete floors

On October 30 I'm running a half marathon. Unfortunately, the run falls one day before Halloween. I have to dress up. *$?@. I have such a hard time coming up with costume ideas. Pictured above is last year's. I was a Polygamist (pregnant). It was too good. I was too convincing. I walked into a restaurant to meet friends, and literally every head turned and every jaw dropped. Which would have been great had I been wearing great jeans and red lipstick. But I wasn't and it wasn't.

Suggestions please.

cape cod

Yesterday Stephen told me he saw Jon Hamm on the Daily Show. I think he thought I was going to ask more about the Daily Show. He was wrong. Instead I asked A LOT of questions about Jon. "Was he nice?" "Was he engaging?" "Funny?" "Handsome as I believe him to be?" "Demure, soft spoken" Stephen replied, maybe a bit exasperated. So here it is. Jon Hamm is Don Draper but nice. Which doesn't seem fair.

laundry

http://inscape.byu.edu/winter2010/nonfiction/walter_trick.php

if your offer still stands

There was a bee in the car yesteday. It landed on my foot. While I was on the freeway. Rough.

Exactly what kinds of incidents does the Incident Management Vehicle manage? If I spill my drink, can I call? If my computer crashes? I've fallen and I can't get up? I said something awkward? I'm hungry?

Also, the Courtesy Vehicle. What is that? Here's what I hope it is. I hope I can flag down the Courtesy Vehicle and the driver will teach me manners. Cause I think I missed a couple lessons. Like, how to properly eat a roll. And when to stop expressing opinions. And pizza with a fork? Really?

helter skelter

Remember those kids that would come back to the high school after they'd graduated? They'd visit the teachers and walk in the hallways and touch their old lockers as though they held sentimental value. I remember thinking "Get a life. Move on. Can't make friends at your new school?" I was sooooooo much better than them. But wait. I'm not. Tomorrow I'm returning to campus. I'm going to act like a student. I'll attend a student-run function and read an essay for a student-run journal. Should I wear camo? Something to help me fit in? I'm afraid that I'll get too excited. I might say to the other kids "Hey guys! Want to go to the library? We can study!" Or "Who's up for some creamery ice cream?!"  Or "Please let me come back here."  Meanwhile Stephen will have to drag me out of the room, saving what's left of my dignity, and reassuring everyone that the real world is awesome and that they should all graduate soon because really, life outside of school is just the best. And then I'll yell "Liar!" as the final trace of me vanishes out of the JFSB forever. (Room 4188, 7:00 PM, if you care to be a witness).

to remind you

Because the muppets still make me laugh. And cry.

dreamweaver

I usually eat fairly healthy. It's one part vanity (I prefer clothes to hang, not curve) and two parts neuroticism. Say what you will about the public school system: I may not have learned math or science, but man, if I didn't learn the importance of a healthy lifestyle. Year after year we reviewed the Food guide pyramid and exercise regulations, and by the time high school graduation rolled around, I was brainwashed and believed that if I didn't run thirty miles a week and eat seven servings of green veggies a day, I would contract type II diabetes, become morbidly obese and die at age 25. Not long ago Stephen watched my naw on a raw green pepper and asked "Do you have some sort of vitamin deficiency?" Only paranoia. So anyway, often to the puzzlement of coworkers, family and friends, I'll eat cucumbers and almonds and the white part of orange peels. This works for me. I feel good. But then comes Thursday. Thursday is rough. Thursday is the day I skip the morning run. The day I roll out of bed at the last possible minute. It's the day I walk into work late, drink too much diet coke to try and kill the headache until I give in and take excedrin. And it's the day I go to In-N-Out. Because a cheeseburger animal style with fries is just what I need.

don't punch girls and we don't punch a clock

I understand that mosquitoes need blood to survive. And with all the meat I eat, I deserve to be a victim somewhere in the food chain. So although I curse and cry and shake my fist at the heavens when bitten, I get that it's necessary.I always thought the miniature biters had some sort of understanding when it came to boundaries. If it's a muggy evening in July and I'm standing outside in shorts and a T-shirt, I'm not surprised when bitten. If I'm camping in deep woods without repellent, I'm downright asking for it. But when I'm in a buzzing metropolis, fully covered on a chilly September night and my derrier gets that familiar itch, a line has been crossed. Have you know shame, you blasted creatures? Do you not know what it's like to sit on an itch for nine hours? How am I supposed to take care of this? Scratching your arm in public, acceptable. Nose, foot, neck, acceptable. Bum, unaacceptable. It doesn't help that my skin has a freakish reaction to your nibbles. Stephen didn't believe me when I claimed mosquito allergy. Probably because I tell him that I think I have throat cancer, dramatically receding gums or polio at least once a day. But when he saw a small planet sized welt on my leg, he became a believer. Again, if it was on my arm, fine. Whatever. But it's not on my arm. I hope mosquitoes are cannibals and get mosquito bites.

i got two turn tables and a microphone

I bought red lipstick. Not because I'm the kind of girl who looks good wearing red lipstick, but because I want to be the kind of girl who looks good wearing red lipstick. Someone once told me, if I'm going to be wrong, be wrong loudly. And even though looking back I realize this is really horrible advice, it's still engrained in my subconscious, and still causes me to make rather noticable errors. The sales girl told me it looked awesome. Maybe I shouldn't have trusted someone making a living on commission or with eyelashes longer than my thumb. I'm not giving up. I'm hoping with enough feigned confidence I will at least become the kind of girl who thinks she looks good in red lipstick, true or not.

Not how I look.

zombie

Mean Girls taught me that making fun of other people won't get you anywhere. But... I saw a sticker on a car that said "Live to hunt, hunt to live". And that's fine. But it was written in Papyrus. Papyrus. If woodland creatures could type, they would type in Papyrus. And speaking of being hunted, (Mom stop reading) yesterday on my walk I saw a man holding some mettalic object. As I drew nearer to his lawn, I realized it was actually two metallic objects, a bow and an arrow. He stood still, aiming at what seemed to be too close to my head, and I ran. Adventures in P-town.