BB (from the other room): Hey, honey? When we get a dog can we not get a big, furry one or a German Shepherd that barks a lot?
NGS (listening to the mean German Shepherd next door barking maniacally): Sure. Unless we get a shaggy Irish wolfhound. I want one of those.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Why I Will Marry Him
Biker Boy is flipping through the latest installment of Sports Illustrated as he's eating the last of his dinner. He throws it down, saying with utter revulsion, "I was reading this article and then suddenly I realized I don't care."
I like someone with such strong opinions about leisure reading.
I like someone with such strong opinions about leisure reading.
Road Rage?
Biker Boy's sister, brother-in-law, and parents came to visit yesterday. It was a beautiful day. Seriously. It was above 30 degrees. The sun was out. The snow was melting. This was great fun (if you discount that I had the dream where Biker Boy dies and I'm in the back of the church at the funeral again last night after they had left*) and we got to show the future in-laws where the wedding will be (three months from today, baby!) and where the hotel was and how awesome our apartment is with the crazy spider plant that has suddenly exploded to become the size of our dining room table and they even got to hear opera guy singing next door. Hello, run-on sentence! And we got to eat out at a nice steakhouse and someone other than us paid the bill!
As we were all getting out of the giant Chevy Suburban that Biker Boy's dad drives across the street from our apartment building, we noticed that there was a vehicle idling (illegally, I might add) at the curb. Since the car was blocking the little walkway that was shoveled for people to get to the sidewalk from the road and the rest of the curb was piled high with snow, I pounded on the hood of the car and gestured for the car to move back, shouting through the window that the driver should move the car. There was no way for us to get to the sidewalk with the car there. The driver rolled down her window and said, in a bitchy voice, "maybe if you said please, I would move." I stared her down and pointed at the no parking sign directly in front of her myopic, idiotic face. Biker Boy and his family looked on, aghast. The car moved and not a please was spoken.
Is it road rage when you're not actually in a car?
*This is a recurring dream I have. I'm a little nervous that Biker Boy will die. And that his family hates me. I have nothing to support either of these fears, but, you know, I'm crazy like that.
As we were all getting out of the giant Chevy Suburban that Biker Boy's dad drives across the street from our apartment building, we noticed that there was a vehicle idling (illegally, I might add) at the curb. Since the car was blocking the little walkway that was shoveled for people to get to the sidewalk from the road and the rest of the curb was piled high with snow, I pounded on the hood of the car and gestured for the car to move back, shouting through the window that the driver should move the car. There was no way for us to get to the sidewalk with the car there. The driver rolled down her window and said, in a bitchy voice, "maybe if you said please, I would move." I stared her down and pointed at the no parking sign directly in front of her myopic, idiotic face. Biker Boy and his family looked on, aghast. The car moved and not a please was spoken.
Is it road rage when you're not actually in a car?
*This is a recurring dream I have. I'm a little nervous that Biker Boy will die. And that his family hates me. I have nothing to support either of these fears, but, you know, I'm crazy like that.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Why I Love Minneapolis
I need to leave the house like five minutes ago. But I decided to check the weather before I leave, so I know, you know, if I should wear long underwear or not. Yesterday I opted for the no long underwear option and was very cold all day long until I got home at 7:00 and put on my sexy flying pig pajama pants and BGSU sweatshirt and dived into bed, causing Biker Boy to raise his eyebrows at me, as if climbing into bed at 7:00 had to be either an invitation for sex or the desperate needs of a 28 year-old who needs ten hours of sleep every day or will die.
Oh. But, back to why I love my fair city.
Because I check the weather and (I wish I could cut and paste it, but it's not working, so pretend) it has a big fat smiling sun (sun! whee!) with the following news "Severe Weather Alert -8 °F feels like -25 °F."
Right. To my friend who had the "cold day because of lows near -10," I say fie on you. This is a typically day in February for us and I don't get a cold day. Although I would desperately love one.
Wheeee!! Long underwear for me.
Oh. But, back to why I love my fair city.
Because I check the weather and (I wish I could cut and paste it, but it's not working, so pretend) it has a big fat smiling sun (sun! whee!) with the following news "Severe Weather Alert -8 °F feels like -25 °F."
Right. To my friend who had the "cold day because of lows near -10," I say fie on you. This is a typically day in February for us and I don't get a cold day. Although I would desperately love one.
Wheeee!! Long underwear for me.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Really?
A friend of mine from high school has been married for just over two years. She sent me her new email address and in the subject said it was a shared email with her husband. Really? We share email addresses with our spouses? This is a thing?
It's bad enough that I share a bank account with him and feel the need to justify my purchases of new clothes. But, but, but...to share my email account?
Is this right?
It's bad enough that I share a bank account with him and feel the need to justify my purchases of new clothes. But, but, but...to share my email account?
Is this right?
Friday, February 15, 2008
The Case of the Lockdown
When I was in high school, we did fire drills and tornado drills. Okay, I'm going to sound like a seriously old person here, but Bill Clinton was president, terrorism was associated with bombings of military targets, and I'd never heard of Littleton, Colorado.
Now at high schools they do lockdown drills where they pretend there is a person with a gun in the school. There are procedures designed for this. Including everyone in the class going to an area in the classroom where there are no windows so no one could see there are people in the classroom, turning off the lights, and locking doors.
Since the killings at Virginia Tech, and more recently Lousiana Technical College and Northern Illinois shootings, I've been wondering more and more about the wisdom and practicality of instituting similar procedures at universities and colleges. I am, as a part of a college environment, worried that this could happen at my school, in my classroom, to my students. Don't get me wrong, I don't stay up late at night, fretting over guns in the classroom. I know these are isolated incidents, but I must admit that the media buzz over these isolated incidents is forcing me to reconsider the safety I feel on campus, while in my classroom.
At our urban campus, crime alerts about muggings and accostings seem pretty regular. But as soon as step in front of the classroom, I feel invincible. I'm teaching. The students are learning (or sleeping, as the case may be). No one is going to come into my classroom and shoot it up. But, if they did, would I know what to do? Could I protect the students?
I'll think of those students who were killed all day today. And hope that their families and friends will make it through the day. And hope against hope that I never have to hear about gunshots being fired at any other school again.
Now at high schools they do lockdown drills where they pretend there is a person with a gun in the school. There are procedures designed for this. Including everyone in the class going to an area in the classroom where there are no windows so no one could see there are people in the classroom, turning off the lights, and locking doors.
Since the killings at Virginia Tech, and more recently Lousiana Technical College and Northern Illinois shootings, I've been wondering more and more about the wisdom and practicality of instituting similar procedures at universities and colleges. I am, as a part of a college environment, worried that this could happen at my school, in my classroom, to my students. Don't get me wrong, I don't stay up late at night, fretting over guns in the classroom. I know these are isolated incidents, but I must admit that the media buzz over these isolated incidents is forcing me to reconsider the safety I feel on campus, while in my classroom.
At our urban campus, crime alerts about muggings and accostings seem pretty regular. But as soon as step in front of the classroom, I feel invincible. I'm teaching. The students are learning (or sleeping, as the case may be). No one is going to come into my classroom and shoot it up. But, if they did, would I know what to do? Could I protect the students?
I'll think of those students who were killed all day today. And hope that their families and friends will make it through the day. And hope against hope that I never have to hear about gunshots being fired at any other school again.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Every Breath You Take
I pass a billboard on my way to work most days that has the statistics listed for the number of suicides, homicides, and DUI-related deaths for last year in the state of Minnesota. The number of suicides is almost twice that of the other deaths combined. The tagline of the billboard is "depression kills."
Today was a perfectly fine day in my life. But I'm sitting here at the computer, aware that I'm just concentrating on every breath, willing myself not to cry, and wondering at what I'm doing. I'm overtired, I know. I'm upset that on Valentine's Day I left the house at 7:00 am and didn't get home until 9:30 pm and now all I want to do is go to bed, but I want to spend time with my fiance and I want this neverending cycle of constant work to stop. My throat is closing up. My stomach is in knots.
I check the news and see that there has been another shooting at another college and more students are dead. I hear another story about another couple who can't even pay their bills on time having a child. I panic when I think about what will happen in another four months and insead of having three jobs I have none. I panic about the alarm going off nine hours from now. How can I get through another day like this?
Most days I am fine. Absolutely fine. I go through life without a hitch. But today, right now, I feel all of this inside and I wonder about that billboard. I wonder if I had to live with this day after day if I could take it. I hope that when I wake in the morning, all of this anxiety disappears and I can be myself again.
P.S.
Dear Blogger,
Seriously, if you don't fix the fucking spell check function I may be forced to hurl my computer out the window. And you don't want to be responsible for that, do you?
Today was a perfectly fine day in my life. But I'm sitting here at the computer, aware that I'm just concentrating on every breath, willing myself not to cry, and wondering at what I'm doing. I'm overtired, I know. I'm upset that on Valentine's Day I left the house at 7:00 am and didn't get home until 9:30 pm and now all I want to do is go to bed, but I want to spend time with my fiance and I want this neverending cycle of constant work to stop. My throat is closing up. My stomach is in knots.
I check the news and see that there has been another shooting at another college and more students are dead. I hear another story about another couple who can't even pay their bills on time having a child. I panic when I think about what will happen in another four months and insead of having three jobs I have none. I panic about the alarm going off nine hours from now. How can I get through another day like this?
Most days I am fine. Absolutely fine. I go through life without a hitch. But today, right now, I feel all of this inside and I wonder about that billboard. I wonder if I had to live with this day after day if I could take it. I hope that when I wake in the morning, all of this anxiety disappears and I can be myself again.
P.S.
Dear Blogger,
Seriously, if you don't fix the fucking spell check function I may be forced to hurl my computer out the window. And you don't want to be responsible for that, do you?
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
The World Has Defeated Me
6:45 am Alarm clock goes off.
7:05 am Outside to warm up Monster. Monster does not want to be warmed up.
7:06 am Back inside to get the mug of tea I left sitting on the coffee table.
7:45 am At the university, "prepping for my class." This "prepping" includes listening to an old This American Life episode because I am going to use Ira in my class if it kills me.
8:12 am Can't find the keys. Can't find the keys. Must go to class without keys.
9:35 am Back from class. Where are keys? Where are keys?
9:37 am Call Biker Boy. I need keys.
9:50am Back from walk to Monster. No keys in Monster's ignition.
9:55 am Women's restroom. Note on the mirror that someone had left keys in there. Oh, yeah.
10:00 am Call Biker Boy. Found keys.
10:15 am Leave for second job.
10:45 am Am swarmed by high school children demanding to know grades. Don't care. Don't know. Please leave me alone during my prep period.
11:30am-2:30pm Teach. Point-slope equations and alternate exterior angles. Don't you wish my life was yours?
2:30 - 3:30 pm Meeting.
3:30-4:50 pm Grade. Write tests. Make photocopies.
5:20 pm Get home. Inhale soup.
5:30-7:30 pm Work on Thursday's lecture for the university.
7:30 pm Watch Family Guy with Biker Boy.
8:45 pm Wash face. Change into flying pig pajama pants and XXL Bowling Green State University sweatshirt. Sexy.
9:50 pm I am going to bed. I cannot stand to be awake for another twenty minutes. The world has won. I cannot stay awake any longer.
P. S. Dear Blogger,
Why doesn't your spellcheck work? Why doesn't your photo link work? Why do you hate me?
7:05 am Outside to warm up Monster. Monster does not want to be warmed up.
7:06 am Back inside to get the mug of tea I left sitting on the coffee table.
7:45 am At the university, "prepping for my class." This "prepping" includes listening to an old This American Life episode because I am going to use Ira in my class if it kills me.
8:12 am Can't find the keys. Can't find the keys. Must go to class without keys.
9:35 am Back from class. Where are keys? Where are keys?
9:37 am Call Biker Boy. I need keys.
9:50am Back from walk to Monster. No keys in Monster's ignition.
9:55 am Women's restroom. Note on the mirror that someone had left keys in there. Oh, yeah.
10:00 am Call Biker Boy. Found keys.
10:15 am Leave for second job.
10:45 am Am swarmed by high school children demanding to know grades. Don't care. Don't know. Please leave me alone during my prep period.
11:30am-2:30pm Teach. Point-slope equations and alternate exterior angles. Don't you wish my life was yours?
2:30 - 3:30 pm Meeting.
3:30-4:50 pm Grade. Write tests. Make photocopies.
5:20 pm Get home. Inhale soup.
5:30-7:30 pm Work on Thursday's lecture for the university.
7:30 pm Watch Family Guy with Biker Boy.
8:45 pm Wash face. Change into flying pig pajama pants and XXL Bowling Green State University sweatshirt. Sexy.
9:50 pm I am going to bed. I cannot stand to be awake for another twenty minutes. The world has won. I cannot stay awake any longer.
P. S. Dear Blogger,
Why doesn't your spellcheck work? Why doesn't your photo link work? Why do you hate me?
Sunday, February 10, 2008
These are my people
When Biker Boy and I decided we were going to move in together, we started looking at apartments and were astounded at the crappiness of the two-bedroom units available in the general area in which we wanted to live (Uptownish, with the emphasis on ish - we wanted to be able to be close to major bus lines, including express busses to the University, but looking out the window everyday at the monstrosity that is Calhoun square was not an option for me).
Anyway, the first apartment we looked at was an okay apartment with lots of closets in a squat brick building. The second apartment we looked at was carpeted with a brown shag that bore the stench of years of incontinent cats and a fair amount of fur and, as the realtor told us as if it were a selling point, had a family of raccoons living in the tree just outside the living room window. The third apartment we looked at was about $50 a month outside our budget, had crumbling retaining walls on the outside, and broken windows on the inside. The benefit was that we could have a dog there, but the cost and the shabbiness were a bit prohibitive. The next apartment we looked at must have been vacated by people in the meth business because I have never seen a cooktop so destroyed. As an added bonus, there were feces smeared on the walls and blood on the carpet. The next place we looked at had what the resident manager told us was a small mouse problem. The next place we looked at was a really big one bedroom at the garden level. It was cheap and subterranean and I couldn't imagine waking up every day and facing the gloom that was that apartment.
We went back to the very first apartment we looked at and settled for an okay apartment with lots of closets. But after all those other crappy apartments, what seemed okay at the time was simply fabulous.
And here we are. At 716. The outside of the apartment building is not attractive. It's a combo of brick and stucco and has a flat roof. Who builds a building with a flat roof in a state where it snows six months of the year? But the apartments inside are pretty nice. Hardwood floors throughout, dishwasher in each unit, each unit is a corner unit because there are only four apartments on each level, and, you know, no feces smeared anywhere.
Our next door neighbor is an opera singer. He sings all the time. Usually just as we're about to watch a movie or go to bed. He's also very normal looking. Every time I see him, he's wearing a trucker hat, so I refer to him as Ashton Kutcher. Because my pop culture references must be dated. He has very loud sex about once a fortnight and we are always very pleased for him.
Our neighbors downstairs are the resident managers. They've lived in the building for fifteen years. She wears oversized shirts and leggings. Every day. I have seen her leaving for work dressed like that. I wonder what she does for a living. He is big and grumpy and shovels somewhat obsessively. The other day it snowed for like two seconds and he was out there, shoveling the dusting that was half melted before he was finished. They have knocked on our door several times to tell us we are being too loud. They fight at the top of their lungs over things like renewable energy resources and what brand of beer is best. I wish I didn't know this, but you can hear them in our apartment like the fighting is happening in our apartment.
Once I heard an unbelievable painful noise, like an animal being tortured. I turned to Biker Boy and asked if it was a cat. He said, "I think it was a child." There is a baby in our apartment building, across the hall from us, who screams all the time. When we are in the hallway, it is inevitable that the child will be screaming his/her fool head off. Biker Boy does not desire children and this is not helping.
The couple across the hall from us seem like very nice people. They have a ginormous cat. They also still have a wreath on their apartment door and their Christmas tree up.
Welcome to my small piece of Minneapolis. I love this town.
Anyway, the first apartment we looked at was an okay apartment with lots of closets in a squat brick building. The second apartment we looked at was carpeted with a brown shag that bore the stench of years of incontinent cats and a fair amount of fur and, as the realtor told us as if it were a selling point, had a family of raccoons living in the tree just outside the living room window. The third apartment we looked at was about $50 a month outside our budget, had crumbling retaining walls on the outside, and broken windows on the inside. The benefit was that we could have a dog there, but the cost and the shabbiness were a bit prohibitive. The next apartment we looked at must have been vacated by people in the meth business because I have never seen a cooktop so destroyed. As an added bonus, there were feces smeared on the walls and blood on the carpet. The next place we looked at had what the resident manager told us was a small mouse problem. The next place we looked at was a really big one bedroom at the garden level. It was cheap and subterranean and I couldn't imagine waking up every day and facing the gloom that was that apartment.
We went back to the very first apartment we looked at and settled for an okay apartment with lots of closets. But after all those other crappy apartments, what seemed okay at the time was simply fabulous.
And here we are. At 716. The outside of the apartment building is not attractive. It's a combo of brick and stucco and has a flat roof. Who builds a building with a flat roof in a state where it snows six months of the year? But the apartments inside are pretty nice. Hardwood floors throughout, dishwasher in each unit, each unit is a corner unit because there are only four apartments on each level, and, you know, no feces smeared anywhere.
Our next door neighbor is an opera singer. He sings all the time. Usually just as we're about to watch a movie or go to bed. He's also very normal looking. Every time I see him, he's wearing a trucker hat, so I refer to him as Ashton Kutcher. Because my pop culture references must be dated. He has very loud sex about once a fortnight and we are always very pleased for him.
Our neighbors downstairs are the resident managers. They've lived in the building for fifteen years. She wears oversized shirts and leggings. Every day. I have seen her leaving for work dressed like that. I wonder what she does for a living. He is big and grumpy and shovels somewhat obsessively. The other day it snowed for like two seconds and he was out there, shoveling the dusting that was half melted before he was finished. They have knocked on our door several times to tell us we are being too loud. They fight at the top of their lungs over things like renewable energy resources and what brand of beer is best. I wish I didn't know this, but you can hear them in our apartment like the fighting is happening in our apartment.
Once I heard an unbelievable painful noise, like an animal being tortured. I turned to Biker Boy and asked if it was a cat. He said, "I think it was a child." There is a baby in our apartment building, across the hall from us, who screams all the time. When we are in the hallway, it is inevitable that the child will be screaming his/her fool head off. Biker Boy does not desire children and this is not helping.
The couple across the hall from us seem like very nice people. They have a ginormous cat. They also still have a wreath on their apartment door and their Christmas tree up.
Welcome to my small piece of Minneapolis. I love this town.
Saturday, February 09, 2008
Go Huckabee!!
Right. My delight that Mike Huckabeen won the Kansas caucus knows no bounds. Way to hang tough, Mike!!
This was really difficult!!
So my new friend, Denora, tagged me for a meme, which is a concept I don't completely understand, but sounds similar to a chain email that you add to each time. Anyway, I found it thought provoking, so here's my best attempt at playing along. Part of the reason this turned out to be so difficult is because Denora referred to me as "hysterical" and I don't want to let her down. But reading through my archives leads to believe I am not "hysterical" so much as "crazy moody pyscho bitch." I shall carry on, as Tim Gunn would advise, however.
THE RULES:
** Post about the meme and link back to the person that tagged you.
** Go back to your archives and link to your five favorite posts.
Link One: must be about family
Link Two: must be about friends
Link Three: must be about yourself
Link Four: must be about something you love
Link Five: can be anything you choose
** Tag five other people (at least two must be new acquaintances so that you can get to know them better).
Family: Oookay. I looked far and wide for hysterical on this. Familial relationships are not great in these neck of the woods. Here is one discussing a really good time I had last summer with my mom and sister. Here's one about how much I love my mom and the things she has done for me. Here I am already breaking rule. One link about family?! Crazy talk.
Friends: My friend Erock hates this story I tell about her. But it cracks my shit up. This is a recent one about one of my high school friends. It made me deeply sad when I first wrote it and it almost made me cry as I reread it, but it's honest. But not hysterical.
Yourself: I think these pictures sum up who I am as a person. Who acts like that in public?!? But, every once in a while, days like this make those pictures seem like distant memories that can never come back.
Love: Biker Boy treats me so well, as clearly demonstrated here. I don't know what I'd do without him.
Anything I want: So much freedom in this last category. Oh, boy, what do I choose? How can I make such an important decision?! It's all about Minneapolis. After some years of growing pains, I can officially declare my love for this city.
Okay, I'm supposed to tag five other people. I don't know that five other people read this. If you read it, do this!! And let me know you're doing it. I'll post-tag you!! See, I can make up my own rules cuz I rock!!
THE RULES:
** Post about the meme and link back to the person that tagged you.
** Go back to your archives and link to your five favorite posts.
Link One: must be about family
Link Two: must be about friends
Link Three: must be about yourself
Link Four: must be about something you love
Link Five: can be anything you choose
** Tag five other people (at least two must be new acquaintances so that you can get to know them better).
Family: Oookay. I looked far and wide for hysterical on this. Familial relationships are not great in these neck of the woods. Here is one discussing a really good time I had last summer with my mom and sister. Here's one about how much I love my mom and the things she has done for me. Here I am already breaking rule. One link about family?! Crazy talk.
Friends: My friend Erock hates this story I tell about her. But it cracks my shit up. This is a recent one about one of my high school friends. It made me deeply sad when I first wrote it and it almost made me cry as I reread it, but it's honest. But not hysterical.
Yourself: I think these pictures sum up who I am as a person. Who acts like that in public?!? But, every once in a while, days like this make those pictures seem like distant memories that can never come back.
Love: Biker Boy treats me so well, as clearly demonstrated here. I don't know what I'd do without him.
Anything I want: So much freedom in this last category. Oh, boy, what do I choose? How can I make such an important decision?! It's all about Minneapolis. After some years of growing pains, I can officially declare my love for this city.
Okay, I'm supposed to tag five other people. I don't know that five other people read this. If you read it, do this!! And let me know you're doing it. I'll post-tag you!! See, I can make up my own rules cuz I rock!!
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Results
I checked the caucus results for my precinct. There was exactly one vote for John Edwards. Thanks, America, for the opportunity to vote for a second-time loser.
Back to your regularly-scheduled non-political discussion later this weekend.
Back to your regularly-scheduled non-political discussion later this weekend.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
It's Super Tuesday
So caucusing was...unexciting.
I stood in a really long line*, filled out a form with my address and phone number, and was handed a little yellow piece of paper on which to write my choice for presidential candidate (I don't want to give too much away, but his initials were JE - I hate you, frontrunners!). I did the writing.
Then I went into the chapel (argh! why do all political events in Minnesota take place in places of religious services - it creeps my atheist self out!?!?) and waited while the assorted caucus folks voted for party offices and for our delegates. I opted out of delegating because, ummm, I think I have enough on my plate right now with the three jobs and the wedding and the stuff.
Then I left. See? Not exciting.
Oh, but what was exciting?! So many people caucused that it overflowed the chapel. Seriously awesome to see so many people excited about this election. Even if they were voting for Obama!!
* Stood in a long line BY MYSELF. Biker Boy was not kidding. He didn't caucus with me. I was astonished. I thought he had been JOKING. I was WRONG.
I stood in a really long line*, filled out a form with my address and phone number, and was handed a little yellow piece of paper on which to write my choice for presidential candidate (I don't want to give too much away, but his initials were JE - I hate you, frontrunners!). I did the writing.
Then I went into the chapel (argh! why do all political events in Minnesota take place in places of religious services - it creeps my atheist self out!?!?) and waited while the assorted caucus folks voted for party offices and for our delegates. I opted out of delegating because, ummm, I think I have enough on my plate right now with the three jobs and the wedding and the stuff.
Then I left. See? Not exciting.
Oh, but what was exciting?! So many people caucused that it overflowed the chapel. Seriously awesome to see so many people excited about this election. Even if they were voting for Obama!!
* Stood in a long line BY MYSELF. Biker Boy was not kidding. He didn't caucus with me. I was astonished. I thought he had been JOKING. I was WRONG.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Duck and cover?
For reasons that are obscure* to me, Biker Boy is watching old Duck and Cover public service announcements on YouTube. It's cracking me up. "Be ready for the atomic bomb. Duck and cover. And stay covered until we know the danger is over." Danger is over or you are dead.
*It's for his International Politics class. I think.
*It's for his International Politics class. I think.
Look what I can do, Ma!!
Look!! I made this pillow!! With my own two hands.
A friend of mine is sick. Pretty sick, actually. Part of her treatment involves wearing an eyepatch. So I put together a fun care package filled with pirate-themed goodies. Including this pillow that I sewed!!
I called my mom and she was so excited. "You are my daughter, after all." You may not know this, but my mother and sister are the craftiest people alive. This crafty bug totally skipped over me. Except in times like this when badly sewn pillows are needed!!
**So what if there's a Christmas box next to it? There's an empty picture frame in that box and I just got around to ordering a picture (engagement pictures!!) for it. Wheeeeee!! When the picture comes in, the box will be removed.
A friend of mine is sick. Pretty sick, actually. Part of her treatment involves wearing an eyepatch. So I put together a fun care package filled with pirate-themed goodies. Including this pillow that I sewed!!
I called my mom and she was so excited. "You are my daughter, after all." You may not know this, but my mother and sister are the craftiest people alive. This crafty bug totally skipped over me. Except in times like this when badly sewn pillows are needed!!
**So what if there's a Christmas box next to it? There's an empty picture frame in that box and I just got around to ordering a picture (engagement pictures!!) for it. Wheeeeee!! When the picture comes in, the box will be removed.
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Double Trouble
Call from Keith Ellison early Sunday. Check.
Call from the Clinton campaign Sunday afternoon. Check.
Call from some strange person with a lisp, potentially campaigning for Obama, but I couldn't really understand. Check.
Call from Ron Paul? WTF? How can I possibly be on a Republican list? Damn you, Norm Coleman. I blame you. Even if you're not at fault.
Call from ex-boyfriend wanting to tell me about his four-month old daughter? Weird. Biker Boy told me to put his phone number in my contacts list, so I can ignore it if he ever calls again.
Maybe I should change phone numbers?
Call from the Clinton campaign Sunday afternoon. Check.
Call from some strange person with a lisp, potentially campaigning for Obama, but I couldn't really understand. Check.
Call from Ron Paul? WTF? How can I possibly be on a Republican list? Damn you, Norm Coleman. I blame you. Even if you're not at fault.
Call from ex-boyfriend wanting to tell me about his four-month old daughter? Weird. Biker Boy told me to put his phone number in my contacts list, so I can ignore it if he ever calls again.
Maybe I should change phone numbers?
Saturday, February 02, 2008
A little late now
Sooo...do you want to hear how I wrote a witty entry on Wednesday, but when I clicked "publish post" it got all deleted and stuff? No? Okay, then, let's pretend it didn't happen.
NGS: "Hey, are you going to come caucus with me next Tuesday night?"
BB: "No."
NGS: "Why not? It'll be a bonding experience. You know, couples that caucus together stay together and stuff?"
BB: "No. I will not participate in this sham electoral process."
NGS: "Uhhh...but..." (silently looks at the window with a sad look on her face)
BB: "So imagine if Obama wins."
NGS: "Not gonna happen..."
BB: "Okay, but let's pretend. He gets all these people newly enfranchised, gets them to vote for him with those snazzy television ads* with the hip** music, and then he gets elected. But then he can't actually make good on any of those promises. All the newly enfranchised people, and some people, like you, who keep voting only to have their hearts broken election after election, get pissed. This leads to a crisis of government and the collapse of this sham of a democracy."
NGS: "You've really been worrying about this, haven't you?"
**The first Obama ad I saw I thought it was a music video. For some of that "cool" music I inevitably can't stand. Because I am in no way "cool." See: all my music posts and my undying love for Garth Brooks.
*Yeah. He said "hip." I'm not kidding.
NGS: "Hey, are you going to come caucus with me next Tuesday night?"
BB: "No."
NGS: "Why not? It'll be a bonding experience. You know, couples that caucus together stay together and stuff?"
BB: "No. I will not participate in this sham electoral process."
NGS: "Uhhh...but..." (silently looks at the window with a sad look on her face)
BB: "So imagine if Obama wins."
NGS: "Not gonna happen..."
BB: "Okay, but let's pretend. He gets all these people newly enfranchised, gets them to vote for him with those snazzy television ads* with the hip** music, and then he gets elected. But then he can't actually make good on any of those promises. All the newly enfranchised people, and some people, like you, who keep voting only to have their hearts broken election after election, get pissed. This leads to a crisis of government and the collapse of this sham of a democracy."
NGS: "You've really been worrying about this, haven't you?"
**The first Obama ad I saw I thought it was a music video. For some of that "cool" music I inevitably can't stand. Because I am in no way "cool." See: all my music posts and my undying love for Garth Brooks.
*Yeah. He said "hip." I'm not kidding.
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