Thursday, December 3, 2009

Well then

It's been awhile. Or at least I feel like it has been. I don't even have a real reason. Alas.
I haven't managed to read blogs, much less write one.

And I'm kind of tired now, so I won't write anything decent at the moment.
I'll probably go to bed shortly. After maybe playing Rayman.
Because, you know, you all care deeply about the intricacies of my life. Yeah. Right.

Coming soon to a blog near you: a decent post.
Just, you know, probably not mine.

Monday, November 23, 2009

whups, there goes my internets

i knew it was coming when windows was all like "increasing the siz of your page files" and i was all like "yo, keep you dirty mitts off my page files yo" and it was all like "too late! hahaaaa! some of your programs may stop working momentarily"

all sorts of problems going on.
might actually get some work done, i guess.
we'll see.


p.s. i fell asleep at 4pm and woke up at 5pm, thought it was the morning, went back to sleep, woke up at 6, was really confused as to why it was still so dark out, considered going back to sleep, remembered the work i'm supposed to have done by tomorrow, almost freaked out that i had ~ an hour to do it, thought to check my phone, did a double take, realized it was in fact still today, wondered how it could be 6 am if i remembered going to bed at 4pm the same day, finally realized it was 6pm, found some people and went to dinner.
p.p.s. it took me longer to figure that out than it took you to read. including the backtracking you probably did trying to make sense out of it.
p.p.p.s. windows and i have a love hate relationship. i'm all happiness and sunshine to it and it tolerates me until it suddenly decides it really doesn't want to run two programs at the same time and it picks one at random to close except it can't be random because it's never the music player because, you know, that's totally the more important thing in getting work done. background music. and when it decides to stop tolerating me, i'm usually less happiness and sunshine to it. but i still don't go changing bits of it without permission. not that i would ask my computer's permission to do something. i'd probably ask my brother. because he's good with things like that.
p.p.p.p.s. i just realized that the post scripts are longer than the post itself and i should probably be doing something important/milky productive right now.
p.p.p.p.p.s. i meant mildly. but milky is more amusing, so i'll leave it.

Sunday, November 22, 2009


Well, so much for blogging everyday. And Barnaby. He's kind of fallen by the wayside.

But besides writing, everything's going swimingly. By some miracle, I still have friends (no, no recent drama. It's just always a nice thing to realize every once-in-a-while).
I'm still in the third season of Dr. Who. I like it, really I do, I just can't find time to watch it. Which is kind of sad when you take into account all the others things I waste my time with.

My roommates and I watched Finding Nemo last night and they baked cookie bars (which were deliciousness). I haven't seen finding nemo in so long. Then Juy had to go and point out that if you flush a fish, dead or not, it won't make it into the ocean because there are things like choppers. And so all those kids who dumped their pet fish after seeing Nemo just killed them. Thanks, Juy. No, really.

But yeah. I like Finding Nemo.

My brother and I are cooking Thanksgiving dinner! It's going to be so delicious.
The menu, to make you all jealous: salad, dinner rolls, turkey, cranberry sauce, gravy, pineapple yam, cauliflower & cheese, stuffing (of course) and for dessert, pumpkin cheesecake and vanilla cream pie.
It is going to be so. good.
I kind of can't wait 'til I'm home.
I miss cooking big meals. There's really no oportunity for it now.

But there's work I should be doing, so in the hopes of starting it, Adieu.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

snowmen in july-like-weather in november

"you should go look outside your door (you'll probs have to actually go outside and look) and look around you stoop. legit. the sooner the better."
so like right before i got your message my roommate comes by and tells me.. dude there is snow on our porch. and i was like *insert name here*... haha how do you know where i live?"

*backstory, or as much of it as i care to give before going to bed because it's much later than when i went to bed last night.
he canceled on me friday night to go look at the pretty sky in the freezing cold. (it was wicked clear and really pretty and i saw a shooting star. totally missed out, he did.)
went to church tonight. saw him there. was in the process of convincing girl (who may or may not get a name at a later point in time) to go build snowmen with me. tonight. and though it was below freezing friday, it's mid fifties tonight. she thought i was crazy. he didn't believe me that there was snow and went home.

obviously, you should trust me when i'm giggling like a five year old.

Edit: I just realized I didn't address the whole 'how do you know where i live?' thing, but that's probably left for a better time when i actually feel like typing.
my arm is kind of tired from carrying a rather large chunk of snow/ice for twenty minutes.

Friday, November 13, 2009

Ice, Ice, Baby

I have discovered how awesome I am.
I am, in fact, awesome enough to have moldy ice in my fridge. (Yes, I abbreviate. Not because I think it makes me look cool, mainly just because I can't spell. Yes, my mother always told (and tells) me to sound things out. It does not help.)

Moldy ice.
Let's think about that, shall we?
Ice is water. H2O. There is no carbon involved, which is the main substance living organisms. You know, all the aliens say "stupid carbon-based organisms." Because we are. Carbon based and probably stupid, too.

Why have I never heard of moldy ice before? I'm going to go with: because it has never existed up until it found its niche in my freezer.
That's right, I'm awesome enough that new organisms (or at least mutations) take form in my general vicinity. A whole new kind of life, as far as I know, in that it doesn't involve carbon. Unless there's some extra carbon floating around in my freezer that was like "hey, ice" (carbon does not talk. that would be silly) and was all "hey, baby, how about we go back to your place and try to stream up the walls a little?" Come to think of it, that might be why the freezer compartment was dripping so much. Hot and steamy carbon-ice going ons.

And before anyone comments, no, I did not have anything else in my freezer besides the icecube tray which is made of plastic (pink, unfortunately enough, sorry mr. carnivor if you ever read this). And while some rubber is made from rubber trees, I'm pretty sure this thing is completely artificial and shouldn't have carbon in it to precipitate (I don't know if that's the right word and I'm pretty sure it's not, but spell check says it exists and I'm too lazy to google it. I love how google is a verb now) a life form.

Sorry if all these asides are distracting from the main argument. Let me recap for you:
I am awesome. So awesome that I have made life. A new species, in fact. A new life form. And then I washed the ice tray multiple times and washed it down the sink.

So if you suddenly have mold creeping out at you from the drains, it's probably my fault because this new lifeform thing doesn't have any natural predators seeing as how it was just created. Came into being. Whatever.

I'm sorry for the end of the world by mold. I'll work on thinking up something that will eat ice-mold. Ice-carbon children. Maybe ice is cannibalistic? Maybe if I had left it in there the ice would have devoured the offspring from the liaison? Maybe. Then again, my fridge kind of smelled. And I'm going to blame the mold. Because there's really not much in there. Well, there are like five water bottles. And I was going to say that water doesn't smell, but hey, if my ice can grow mold, what's to stop the water from growing mold, too, right? It's all H2O.


This isn't realyl a post on libraries in general like it probably should seeing as how that's the title and all. But it's not. So if you want to read about libraries, you should probably find somewhere else to go.
It's more about door holding. But not even that, because I have a good rant about door holding (well, like a paragraph, maybe, depends on the day) and this isn't that.

I just walked into the library (to use the computer! to look up a book! and not play Farmville like some other people!) and some guy (so, somebody I didn't know) saw me coming and stood there and held the door as he was leaving for like thirty seconds. Which is kind of a long time to hold the door for somebody. Like, I was a good three yards away. But probably not. Because I'm terrible at judging distances (not that that matters because I'm awesome at everything else. Except spelling.). But it wasn't passive aggressive door holding (where the person is obviously annoyed that they have to hold the door for you even thought they totally don't have to hold the door for you). And when I said "thank you" he said "no problem."

I think I like him.

But, kind of like Omegle, though I know what he looks like (okay, that part's not like Omegle), I will most likely never see him again. Unless he turns out to be involved in something I involve myself in.

I like people who are willing to hold the door for some random person even though it will put them out all of thirty or even fifty seconds of their time and they don't look aggravated about it and actually respond if you thank them and maybe even smile.
I don't know if this kid smiled because I don't make eye/face-contact with strangers for longer than like half a second, tops.
But he sounded happy enough when he (*gasp*) responded with his 'no problem.'

But, no matter how earth-shaking this was, I should probably get to what I was coming in here to do in the first place.

Thursday, November 12, 2009


So, in case you haven't heard of it, Omegle is this site where you chat with strangers. You don't have a profile or anything and there is no way to contact the same Stranger twice. Unless you give out random personal information like AIM or Facebook (though why you would do that I have no idea).
But then again, parenthesis, I'm kind of paranoid. And the most information I've given out on Omegle is that I live in the US. Because the US is kind of a big place.

I've had some awesome conversations on that site. It is totally possible.
If you try it, don't be discouraged by the "a/s/l?" or the "horny female" people. There are other people out there. Who know things like punctuation and grammar and how to spell the word 'you'.
I've had conversations about zombies, the end of the world, edible cell diagrams, and music. And other things, too. And not about how horny I am.
I was even dubbed some random name, once. So they called me that instead of "Stranger".
I do not tell random people on the internet my name.

So. I don't tell random people stalkery information about myself. But every single time that they decided on guessing how old I am, if I'm male/female (the latter one people, and I don't feel sketched out by saying that because A) that's like half the world population and B) maybe I'm lieing because I'm actually some creepy 50 year old balding man who just pretends to be a girl on the internet to get fourteen year old boys to cyber with him. That's how I think, people. That's why I don't tell people about myself on the internet. Because there are people like the balding man. There are even people who aren't balding, but still don't have girlfriends or boyfriends or dolphins (do not look up how to have sex with dolphins. somebody told me that. i did not take them seriously. you should take me seriously. don't. do it.) or whatever would make them happy).

So anyway.
They always guess correctly. Every single time. Maybe it's just wishful thinking, but they're always right? I guess it's good to know I'm everybody's ideal, I guess.

Stranger: how old are you?
You: old enough to know better, young enough to get away with watching disney movies.
Stranger: good answer
Stranger *proceeds to guess my age correctly*

The hell. That should cover a good decade of years or so. Man.
Guess I'm transparent in my usage of the vernacular of the younguns these days.

Popcorn hates me.

I love popcorn. It tastes delicious. And you can throw it at people (like rocks! but edible! and less damaging).
Every time I eat popcorn, I cut the top of my mouth. Now, I can eat anything sharp you'd like (well, edible stuff at least), corn chips, hard taco shells... well, that's my list I guess of sharp things I eat. But. Popcorn? Every single time I end up with a cut on the roof of my mouth. I don't even know what the popcorn is doing up there. Hand to tongue to teeth to throat, no? Apparently, no. So now I have this cut in my mouth, again. And I'm wondering if popcorn is even worth it. But I bought a lot of popcorn a couple weeks ago, so I feel like I have to use it up. Or I could give it to people. But then if I'm hungry and I don't have anything else and I've given away all my popcorn, what will I do? Be hungry, I guess. Which is lame.

I haven't made pie in awhile.
Successful pie types: Strawberry, blueberry, apple, pumpkin, pineapple
Honorable mention: Banana.

I don't even like banana (as a flavor, so that's totally singular) that much. I don't know why I made banana pie. But it wasn't a cream pie and it was sweet enough and everything, it just tasted really strongly of banana. Which is why it is not on the successful list. Because I don't like banana.

The pineapple turned out surprisingly delicious, though. I've never eaten grilled pineapple, but I've heard fantastic things about it and thought 'why not'? So I googled it and look at that, people have made warm pineapple pies before. Warm pies are totally different from cream pies, by the way. I say warm pie as in what you probably think of when you think of "apple pie." Cream pies, to me, include any type of cold pie, but people look at you funny if you say 'cold pie'. And they're all like "well, pumpkin pie is good cold" and I'm all "no, that's a warm pie."
It's in the process, people. You don't cook a cream pie. Or cold pie. Or snazle. Whatever you want to call it.
I guess a merange pie fits under the cold pie title. But I don't really know because I've never made one. I tried a custard pie once, but I made the wrong type of custard. It totally matters. If you make a custard pie? Make sure you're making the right kind of custard. I didn't even know there were different kinds of custards before that. Well, I still don't really know, but I'd rather blame the custard than my own baking skills.

Which are pretty awesome, by the way.

And pie is a great way to meet people. If you walk around with a warm (or, you know, cold) pie in a nonthreatening manner and offer it to people (nonthreatening in that they don't think you've laced the pie with something), you're sure to make some quick friends. I don't know why you'd want to make friends with random people on the street, but, anyway, it'd probably work.
Unless you need a license for that. I don't know.
I don't sell pie on the street.

I might eventually sell pie out of a building, but I don't know.

I am so looking forward to Christmastime when I'll have access to my parents' kitchen, because they have a cutting board and things like wax paper. And I'm going to make croissantes. Because I miss good croissantes. I can't find any good ones here and I always compare them to the ones I've made in the past.
Maybe my memory is all biased, but it still ends with the fact that I don't eat croissantes anymore.
Or pie.
Because my pie is better.

My pie brings boys to the yard, it's that good. Maybe not all of them, but enough for me.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009


I've been up an hour and a half and have yet to decided if it's good or not. It seems kind of average to me.

I had some of those "almost normal" dreams last night, so no Barnaby tales.

:My 11am was canceled. I don't have an 11am. That's when I go eat lunch. Except, today I'm not even going to eat lunch until afternoon, so I really don't have anything to do right at eleven. I would be mildy depressed if my lunch was canceled, though. I love food. It's usually delicious and you kind of need it to, you know, live and everything.
So yeah. Food's pretty fantastic.

:I was sick and wearing a sweatshirt and someone went to hold my hand and I was all like "oh, hold on a sec" and I folded back the sleeve of my sweatshirt so the sickness wouldn't be spread to them. I don't know how that would help, but hey! Someone wanted to hold my hand. Scandalous.

:The random stranger who I kind of accidentally made fun of about thinking the pumpkin icecream was gingerbread flavored added me as a friend on Facebook. Without me ever telling him my name. Or me knowing his. Yet I knew it was him.
(Dear strange boy: I am sorry I seemed disbelieving and somewhat mocking of your belief that the pumpkin icecream was gingerbread flavored. I'm sure you know what pumpkin tastes like. And gingerbread. But not really, I guess, because you told me it was the wrong flavor after having some to eat first.)

Yesterday I was all prepared and everything: I looked at to see the forecast for the day so I would know whether or not to wear a sweatshirt.
It told me the high was 65 (F). So I did not wear a sweatshirt. I failed to realize that the low was in the 40s and that it would be overcast the entire day.
I wore a T-shirt. It was chilly.

Maybe some wit later? Probably not, seeing as how I kind of should get some work done. And do networking calls. And stuff.
Yeah, I'm cool.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

It's early.

But not as early as Blogger is intent on telling me it is.

Dream sequence.

"It's a wondrous place where you don't need things like pants."

"But velociraptors need to eat, too." "So do zombies. That doesn't mean I'm going to go around feeding them myself."

Where in the museum did he go? Everywhere. He needs ideas. Not just any idea, the right idea. The perfect idea. The one that you can never find when you look for it, but not the kind that jumps out at you when you turn around. This was no haunted house ghoul idea. It was the ideal idea. But any idea can give way to this perfect idea. You have to look for it, but you will never find it by looking. It's always somewhere else.

Monday, November 9, 2009

Needs a Name

We can't go around with our Main Character going unnamed! How will we distinguish him from all the other characters? Saying "Main Character" over and over is so annoying. And long. So he must be dubbed something. It has to have a good ring to it. No main character here named "John Smith." We just can't have that! He's going to save the world! Or at least his favorite girl. But that's in the future. At the moment, he only needs a name, not a plan. Something heroic, strong, and brave. A full name (and not barbarian. We aren't going to have Oolog here. Or Nak. Or Vladimir. Any character with a name beginning with "V" is bound to end up evil, or least easily swayed. So no Vlad. Maybe something easy to remember? So he is obviously Main Character. Not 'a', not 'the', just "Main Character." There can be no other, after all.
There's a concensus. He must have a name. But what name? It should have a meaning, but who has baby-naming books on hand? Certainly not Author. What if he were to be abbriviated? M. C. But that's already an abbriviation of an accepted phrase, so we can't use that. Well then, something that can be shortened to the same thing? Michael, who resembles God. Not religion! Can't have that in a popular novel. Unless it's made up, of course. But no, no Son of God here. Meyer. Farmer. That's a good one. Starting from humble beginnings our hero rises to shine! It also means 'bright one,' so it works well for that. Meyer it is! And what of his last name? Well, he's a hero. There are the Enemies trying to hunt him down and hurt or maim or kill him. He cannot be too easily found. So his last name shall be "C." Until the mysterious stranger who knows all about his past (and humble beginnings) shows up to reveal his knowledge and offer The Clue That Brings It All Together.
Meyer C., the farmer who saves the world. Well, when he saves the world nobody will know that he was a farmer. Unless his skill at throwing haybales becomes the undoing in the Enemies' plans, and then it will all come out. And the lass will not love him for he was only a farmer! But she, ah, she was just a milkmaid, captured by the Enemies for her innate natural beauty, so she can truly understand him. And his skill of throwing haybales.

I've officially joined Nanowrimo. Check it out if you're so inclined, but you're nine days behind. Then again, so am I. Let's see how this works out, hm?

Sunday, November 8, 2009

Oh Hai

So, my friend wants me to write 50k words as a part of the November Writer's Challenge or whatever it's official title is. Since I write better in rants, I was planning to use this blog to maybe get to 50k. However, she has since informed me that it's supposed to be a novel and therefore on the same subject. Or at least related.
Possibly, this blog will see the birth of a novel.
This also means that novel-related posts will be longer. Hopefully around 1000 words each. Sorry about that. I was kind of hoping for short posts. But I guess what with the kind of long intro and the kind of epic third post I've already ruined that.
1k word posts. I'd need 2 and a bit 1k word posts a day to hit this 50k goal. I don't think that's going to happen. But I will try to write every day.
And I will try to write about the novel every day. Try.

It's on the interweb, so it must be true!

Double Post!

Not that this isn't my fourth (wow I have a lot of time on my hands) post today. But, it's like within minutes of that last one.

I kind of want to make it up to you. Not that there are any of you. Well, somebody has to be reading this. If a blog's words are never read, do they exist?
I don't really have any thought epic enough to make up for even the length of that last post, though.
So, um.
Here's one of my dreams from last night. That counts as a thought, right?

"Barnaby Bombs told me how you stole his television." (This would imply a darkness in our main character- and how could we love him now?) But fear not, dear reader. For record shows there has never been a Barnaby Bombs living in London. But record can lie. Take Barnaby, sitting in the basement in his favorite blue leisure suit. They used to belong to Big Ben. They even had a little badge on his left breast that said "Ask Me the Time!" He loved those robes. Wore them all the time. He was wearing them the day they took him away. He was sitting in his basement and he was wearing his blue robes and they came to take him and he was watching television and they came for him and he was waiting for the right idea and they took him away. (So record lies and the man probably is as well. Even if our dearly beloved main character did steal, he probably did it for some orphans or widows or street urchins. For that is what a main character does.)

What, your dreams don't come with more words than pictures? Or a narrator? Or readers? Huh. Weird.
Well, actually, mine don't usually come with readers. But it's a fifty/fifty chance of words or pictures.

Dear John

You have no idea how happy I am that you are refusing to talk to me. Like, really. I'm happy you found yourself a date, surprised, but it means you won't ask me (I was only able to come up with one excuse). Really. I sincerely never want to talk to you again. I'm kind of contemplating deleting our mutual friends on facebook so you don't stalk me through them (*cough* again), but I approve of them on their own merit. Though my appraisal of one has been diminished somewhatbecause of the last facebook interaction, but I kind of blame you for that. Oh, facebook. No, really, I don't want to stalk you. I'm fine not knowing what you're doing. You can stay blocked. And yeah, there's a reason I blocked you on im, too. I don't actually care if I talk to you. I mean, yeah, I think it's nice if ex's can talk to each other and be civil to each other.
But I really don't appreciate that you insinuate that I'm in love with you. Because, really? No. And it was annoying that you hinted that you loved me after I broke up with you. Because come. On. If things are over, they should stay over. And if my reason for getting back together was to be 'to make you stop bothering me about it,' it's really probably not meant to be. Not that I know what's meant to be and everything. But. If something ends, it's ususally for a reason.
So. You wanted a list. Not that you'll ever see this. But if you do, maybe you'll realize that it's for you.
Aren't 'dear john' letters great?
1) You're passive aggressive. Like saying "maybe you'll think of somebody" to end the conversation about how you didn't even want to go to the formal dinner but your mum wants you to go and so you have to find a date. Hi, I don't want to go. And I don't really care if you go.
2) Your "subtle" comments on how you found a date. I don't care. Remember how I've been telling you to find another girl for, what, eight months now? I don't actually know, because I'm not keeping track.
3) The way you tried to get me to say I missed you/wanted it to really work out/lets do something when I'm home on break.
4) The fact that you continued to talk to me after I tried three times to be like "yo. movie watching. FULL SCREEN."
5) The fact that you had a mutual friend im me to tell me you think I'm a bitch now (especially because it's since I blocked you so I could freaking watch my movie. Yes, I could have just ignored you. But I'm really bad at ignoring people.) Seriously? I'm pretty sure you still have (or at least had at that point) my phone number. Call someone in person.
6) No, I don't really care about our friendship. I honestly don't think we ever had one to begin with. And yes, it's nice if ex's can be friends. But. Tried that. See number 3.
7) The way I want to talk to you. That's probably not your fault, but I'm adding it onto this list anyway, because it's related. See, I'm full of myself. I accept that. But it means that when somebody says they'll love me forever, I expect it to be true. Even after we've broken up. It has worked in three other cases (because I really am that awesome). But then again, I was friends with them before dating them. But anyway back to number seven. So. You never said you loved me (near the end there I was kind of expecting it and rather dreading it, so thanks at least for that). But the emo-y status' (stati?) after? Love lost and all that? Pretty sure it wasn't.
Wait. Back to number seven. I expect people to want to talk to me. At least the people I want to talk to. And I usually want to talk to everybody. But I don't want to start conversations. So yeah, I'm one of those people who puts thing as the im status that is a good conversation starter. It works for me. And every single time you've been on (as far as I know. I didn't really always scroll down to see if you were on), you commented. Makes me more full of myself. But. I always feel like talking more to the people who talk to me. So therefore I wanted to talk to you. Maybe this isn't logical seeing as how I've kind of disliked you since August for being a w.b. and everything. But whatever. Works in my world. Usually.
8) You called me a bitch. Normally, I dislike swears. I try to avoid them, because I see them as pointless and think that there are always other, better words. But I kind of get the feeling that you were trying to piss me off by calling me a bitch. Which just annoys me. Like, the word doesn't bother me. I usually just look at people until they attempt to find a different word in their vocabulary or just, you know, do without. But this is a different case. First off, you can't really glare at people over im, especially when they do it through other people. Second, you wanted a reaction so of course, I try to do none. I hate it when people try to piss me off. It's fine when they're doing it jokingly. But to be serious about it? I don't get the point. So it's annoying. But sorry, I'm not ticked about it. Or maybe I am. I haven't been honestly angry in several months, so maybe this is what it's like now?

(His im through the other girl? "tell her to stop being a bitch, and if she doesnt want to talk to me tell me already cause i will stop cause im tired of dealing with her and this nonsense"
I'm the one who precipitated this whole breakup thing. I gave up on you in August and blocked you on im and Facebook. you made a new account to im me (September) asking me why and can't we talk and I was like "sure. fine. whatever." I believe part of that conversation went something like "I just want to feel like I can say 'hi'." ... So. If what I'm doing qualifies me as a bitch, I'm fine being one. I actually don't care what you think about me. Back in August you told me to 'have a nice life'. I decided that the best life I could have didn't involve you. Then you wanted to talk to me anyway.
So here goes *sarcastically deep breath* "I don't want to talk to you. Seriously."

Sorry anybody reading this, seeing as you're probably not the Dear John the letter is for.
You probably don't care.
But I really just wanted to write this out. And, you know, post it somewhere he might eventually run across it. Not that he reads blogs because, you know, he doesn't think he's a nerd like me.
(#9. Calling me things I don't call myself. It's fine to agree with me when I insult myself. But making up new ones? Not cool)

I hope the rest of my posts are witty enough to make up for this one. I feel like this one isn't very funny or amusing or anything. Unless you can relate?

Is it a bad thing if... (1)

Is it a bad thing that I can't smell pot?

Not clay. I can smell clay. I kind of like the smell of clay, at least I remember that I do. I haven't had the opportunity to play with clay in a while.

No. Several people came out of a neighbor's room. A couple people from around me commented on the terrible smell, how much it stank, etc.
And I couldn't smell anything. At all. Not even I smelled it and it didn't smell bad, I just couldn't smell it.

I've never smoked anything. I've done nothing that should have destroyed my capacity to smell. But I can't smell pot.

So, one of the reasons I'm blogging is Allie. She doesn't know it yet, but we'll be practically best friends at some point, maybe.
She's awesome. I love her blog, her responses to comments, her sexy lion. I'd add to her two proposals of the week, but I think I'll just wait for the marriage license.

Look at me and my links! I impress myself, sometimes, when I make technology work the way I want it to.
I mean, I can usually make it do something. Just not, you know, necessarily what I want it to do.


Well hello there. This is going to be a place where the posts will be short, but hopefully frequent and recent. (I never noticed how well those two words go together before.)
Some of them will not make sense.
Many of them, probably. If you dislike this, then I'd recommend finding some travel blog or cooking blog or humor blog (cakewrecks and craftastrophe are two of my favorites, but more on that later perhaps?). Those usually make sense. And are kind of hilarious.

I probably won't type proper English all the time. I tend to leave out capitals. Feel free to be a grammar nazi, but it won't get you very far.
(Have you ever noticed that when you put a backslash "/" between words it means "and/or"? Which in turn means "and and/or or"? And etcetera ad infinita until you realize that you should probably have something better to do with your life besides finding infinite loops that are really more infinite linear progressions.)

Thought of the moment: I love the view from my window. Actually, pretty much any window. Except for the ones that have terrible placement and show you a brick or stone wall. If it's a grassy wall, I guess it's acceptable. But really: I love views. Of roofs, of houses, of mountains, of trees, of brick buildings, of the sky. Give me a good sky (which is any sky, really) and I'll be happy for the day. As long as I remember that, I'm happy. Because there's always a sky above me and it's always some shade of some amazing color, any time of day.
Sure, you can throw some religion in there and say the Creator created everything and is perfect so everything is perfect so of course that makes perfect logical sense.
But really, you don't need religion to appreciate something amazing.
Just accept that it's pretty. It doesn't really matter why. Revel in what your senses tell you. Enjoy everything around you. Might as well.

(oh look! bold! how... bold.)
This says I posted it shortly after 5am. This is not true. I'm asleep at 5am. Everyday practically. Without fail, except for those occasional days when I'm awake. The internet lies to you. I'd have made that a gerund, but spellcheck told me it didn't exist as a word.
Why would the internet ever lie to you? It's like you can't trust anyone anymore. Come on, internet. I expected more of you. Aren't you stalking me? Shouldn't you get your facts straight?