These streets will inspire you

"Excuse me, are you the candy man?" he asked the adolescent in a red uniform standing next to me. A little creepy right? Wrong! He spoke in a Scottish accent. So he could have said "I want to pull out all your hair and feed you to my pet pterodactyl" and I would have nodded and smiled at this delightful elderly Scottish man. I contemplated following him around the rest of the store. Stealthily, mind you, lurking a few aisles behind, just close enough to hear "Lad" and "mutton" and you know....cute Scottishy phrases. And that's when I realized-- maybe it's time to move to a location where anyone who's even remotely different isn't such a rarity that I resort to grocery harrassment.

I have no idea what you are talking about

Thank you, good people at Excedrin, for making the individual Excedrin packages impossible to open. Because every time I find my head splitting, my eyes watering, and my lunch ready to exit my body in a violent manner, there is nothing I want more than to focus really hard on a tiny piece of plastic, seemingly indestructible and therefore unopenable. Really. Such a delight.

The Master and Margarita

There is a pile of my clean laundry sitting on top of the dryer. My clean whites, to be more specific. And everyday I take what I need from the pile, and will probably continue to do so until there is no more pile and it's time to wash another load of whites. Amen.

I found a fatal flaw.

I think it was about age 4 when I had imaginary friends. Sally and Baby.
Sally was brunette, wore a scarf, carried books, and talked about important things.
Baby had blond pigtails, wore a lot of pink, and giggled almost too often.
They seem like caricatures, hyperboles, an other words of elevated language that basically mean exaggerations. Exaggerations of what? If I had to venture a guess, and I think I probably do if I'm blogging about it, I would hesitantly say the two sides of my personality. Maybe as a 4-year-old I was trying to decide if I wanted to be Sally or Baby. The weirdest part (yeah, it gets weirder), is that Sally and Baby never got along, and both confided in me with their frustrations. So I'm self-conflicted.

Do you ever chew a piece of gum until it loses its flavor, and then have every intention of spitting it out, but get distracted and forget and hours later you're still chewing the flavorless blob and the back of your mind thinks "whatever is in my mouth is disguisting" but fails to transmit the message to the front of your mind until still hours later when you realize that you can in fact rid yourself of the agony that is chewing flavorless gum by merely spitting it out into the nearest rubbish bin? No? K nevermind.

spin it. yeah.

"There's a time and a place to be a trophy wife" -English 291 Professor.

I guess that makes my most recent 291 test score ok, since really my only job is to ornament an arm. Which reminds me of this.

I've saved this picture on my computer twice. Once during the summer and once today (I had forgotten it was already saved). I named the file the exact same thing both times ("pretty cake", because I'm really funny). So there are two ways to look at this. 1. I'm consistent, which bodes well for the trophy wife life, or 2. my writing hasn't improved any over the last semester, the thought of which creates a big, dark, ugly pit in my stomach, compounded by my most recent English 291 test score, and now I'm feeling a bit short of breath and woozy, what with the dark abyss that is my future, wondering if anyone in a neighboring library cubby has a paper bag I might breathe into?

k I need you to stop bothering me know because I have a paper to write.

Maaaaaaaaaaaps

I'd rather see almost anything than see a used band-aid.

Macintoshes shall be carbonized.

16 years ago Mrs. Bastian asked our 2nd grade class if anyone had an important announcement to make. I saw a fleeting look of exasperation in her eyes as I raised my hand. (I raised my hand everyday, and my announcements were never important.) But today I had real news. Headline worthy.
My little sister Hannah was born.
And now she's driving and dating and other alliterations.