I know everyone’s posted about it already, but all I can think of is the crazy out of control fire creeping it’s way toward the city. And of course that makes “city on fire! city on fire!” from sweeney todd play in my head.
I have started to muse over what to be for halloween. In a week or two, it’s about to get real serious. If you have any awesome suggestions, throw ‘em my way! I’m more of a “creative/interesting/hey i already kind of look like that” costume person than the slutty costume type, fyi. Possibly because I don’t have much cleavage to flaunt if I wanted to. Have I said too much?
“I like living. I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable, racked with sorrow, but through it all I still know quite certainty that just to be alive is a grand thing.”—Agatha Christie (via justbesplendid) (via getyourown)
Another night of trying to entice sleep to come to me. I’ve done pretty much everything but make sweet love to mr. sandman in an effort to get some snoozing done tonight. Perhaps I’ll slip into something more “comfortable” and try to get him in bed with me.
You hear that, Mr. Sandman? You come here to me…stud. Grrrowl.
that since the universe is expanding, distance between us and the billions of other galaxies out there is increasing. We need to put more money into NASA NOW before the aliens become too far away to EVER make contact with!!!
Last night I dreamed about talking dinosaurs who ate each other after grueling/awesome chases, a kittycat charm that makes someone do whatever you tell them to (but for the rest of their life; it makes them devoid of thought and soul), and my boyfriend’s roommate’s cat escaping in a parking lot of a movie theater. Also, I had to take the SATs in my parents bedroom (decorated as it was in the early 90s) and my old boyfriend was there, only he was a piece of fruit.
That the manufacturer’s of ladies’ razors would make a good razor that does NOT have an aloe vera smooth strip on it, because SOME OF US may or may not be freakishly allergic to aloe vera and would reeeeeally like to shave our legs without getting the feeling later that they are on FIRRRRRRE.
When my brother was little he asked my dad if the Easter Bunny was really real. As per usual, my father said, “do you really want to know?”
Usually, my brother said no, he didn’t reeeeeally want to know. Except this time, he did. And my father thought, “well here it all goes. He’s going to know the truth about the Easter Bunny, and then he’ll know about Santa too.” Because logically, you would think he would put two and two together about Santa if he knows about the Easter Bunny.
So my father tells him, “No, son. The Easter Bunny’s not real.” And my brother exclaims, “I KNEW IT! I KNEW he’d need a sleigh like Santa to get around to ALL those houses in ONE night!”
I cannot even begin to describe to you the insanity that was my Friday night. Lovely people, people I hadn’t seen since high school, and all kinds of hilarious stories and jokes. There was also a retelling of one of my favorite stories ever, that describes how my friend’s grandmother announced over dinner one night that she has no pubic hair. May your Saturday nights be just as hysterical as my Friday was.
I am REALLY sorry I accidentally hit you in the face today with your own hand. It’s just that it was covering your mouth and nose and you couldn’t breathe. I shouldn’t have let it go while you were sleeping and your arms were all flopsy, but the only other immediate alternative my brain registered was tucking it under you, which involved touching your mom’s boob. I guess I should have set it on your cheek, which is what we wound up doing. Once again, I’m sorry, but not that sorry since you slept right through the whole thing.
P.S. Do NOT listen to your father when he says that I am crazy. HE LIES.
Just saw the Fresno news say something about a man named Juan Martinez-Martinez. His parents clearly did not understand the concept of the hyphenated last name. Mr. and Mrs. Martinez, when you coincidentally have the same last name, hyphenation is redundant.
Today I had breakfast in a place called “The Red Caboose Cafe.” It’s pretty much what you would think it would be, complete with red checked table cloths, a model train, and constant refills from the waitress with the coffee pot.
While walking my nephew around until he nodded off to sleep on my chest, I felt like I was in some feel-good family life-time movie.