tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55195924735479599802024-03-19T01:52:20.378-07:00Indecisively BloggingI may or may not be the most indecisive blogger.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04519328564567778978noreply@blogger.comBlogger50125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519592473547959980.post-73500691594271302192015-02-17T19:43:00.001-08:002015-02-17T19:45:32.617-08:00ABC Narrative of ProcrastinationIn the world of behavior therapy, there is something called an ABC narrative. It stands for antecedent, behavior, and consequence. While these are most frequently used to gain a deeper understanding of why a preschooler keeps throwing tantrums, I decided to use this technique to figure out why I procrastinate with the simplest of daily living tasks. And what did I learn about myself? I don't make any goddamn sense, and my house is a mess.<br />
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And here is the data...<br />
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Antecedent: Dishes are piled in the sink from dinner.<br />
Behavior: Jackie did not clean the dishes until the next morning (or later).<br />
Consequence: House smelled of garbage the next day. The candle burned all day to cover up the smell, and now it has run out of wax.<br />
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Antecedent: The dryer buzzed.<br />
Behavior: Jackie took the clothes out of the dryer and put them on the floor. She said to herself, "I"ll fold those later."<br />
Consequence: A mountain of "clean" laundry now lives in the hallway.<br />
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Antecedent: A visible layer of dust lives on Jackie's desk.<br />
Behavior: Jackie ignores the dust. She thinks to herself, "I should dust that," but she doesn't. This goes on for longer than Jackie will admit.<br />
Consequence: Shame and sneezing.<br />
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And there you have it. Chores are boring. I avoid them. Consequences are moderately unpleasant, but not bad enough to teach me a true lesson.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04519328564567778978noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519592473547959980.post-74580553771332622342014-12-17T21:13:00.000-08:002014-12-17T21:13:18.123-08:00Just stay away from me in the mornings.Some people wake up naturally cheerful, as if the sun shines out of their asshole or something. They believe it is perfectly acceptable to have a conversation that goes beyond "hi" or "good morning" before 9:00 AM. They might even whistle a Christmas tune.<br />
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I, on the other hand, wake up like a black bear who was prematurely woken up during hibernation...ready to maul every living thing that comes into my path. More than once, I've told my alarm clock to go fuck itself. That is not something I'm proud of, but it happens.<br />
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It's not just the getting out of bed that I struggle with; it's also the getting out of the door. How the hell do I <i>never</i> know where my keys are? Each weekday morning consists of going on a goddamn treasure hunt through the house for my keys. People keep telling me to just put them in the same place each time I am done with them. It's not that easy, you morons. <i>Okay, maybe it is.</i><br />
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I'm not sure where I'm going with this. Just stay away from me in the mornings. And for the love of God, please don't talk to me.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04519328564567778978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519592473547959980.post-65275335655612163872014-12-09T20:43:00.000-08:002014-12-09T20:51:08.540-08:00The Cracker: AKA how to be a horrible friendWhen we were kids, my sister and I used to make our friends play this game we called <i>The Cracker</i>. It was a fun game for us--for our friends, not so much. After reading the game instructions below, you will quickly come to the conclusion that we're a couple of assholes.<br />
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How to play <i>The Cracker</i></h3>
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<b>Number of players: </b>2<br />
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<b>Object of the game: </b>Make your opponent gag.<br />
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<b>Procedures:</b><br />
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<li>Player 1 must take a Saltine cracker out of the snack cupboard. </li>
<li>Player 1 must then search through the condiments until she is sure she has come up with a truly disgusting combination of condiments to dress the cracker with. The grosser, the better. </li>
<li>Player 1 must present the cracker to their unlucky house guest AKA Player 2. </li>
<li>Player 2 must take at least one bite of the cracker and swallow said bite without gagging. </li>
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<b>Hints: </b>My sister and I are always Player 1, and we never lose. Bonus points for adding extra horseradish. </div>
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I guess now I get why my friends didn't come over very often. It's all making sense now.</div>
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<i>The formatting is driving me apeshit. I shall fix it at some point. </i></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04519328564567778978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519592473547959980.post-82153171090999902792014-11-30T18:55:00.000-08:002014-11-30T22:22:40.433-08:00What happened to my blog?<div>
First of all, it turns out I am bad at balancing work, life, and hobbies. The hobby part of my life (which includes blogging) has been absent for months, and as a result of its absence, I have been feeling rather grumpy. The other day, I actually told the buzzer on my dryer to "fuck off," and I think I meant it. </div>
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Also, I started feeling weird about my blog. I wasn't sure if I was writing anything worthwhile. Basically, I fell into a writer's block hell. I'd dream up an amazing post, but as soon as I clicked away on the keyboard and saw the words on the screen, all I saw was complete and utter dog shit--and <i>nobody</i> likes dog shit.</div>
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So there you have it. Blogging and I had a falling out, and now I'm back. Please stay tuned for an upcoming post about Christmassy stuff. </div>
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P.S. Christmassy is not a word, according to Blogger. I was skeptical of its nonexistence and did a Google search. It turns out it <i>is </i>a real word. I win this time, Blogger. </div>
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P.P.S. Halloweeny, Eastery, and Thanksgivingy are <i>not</i> real words.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04519328564567778978noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519592473547959980.post-75871998667585062612014-05-30T20:46:00.002-07:002014-05-30T20:46:37.481-07:00This is what writer's block looks like.<div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04519328564567778978noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519592473547959980.post-59534386254524166192014-05-20T12:23:00.003-07:002014-05-20T12:28:32.269-07:00Tickled Tuesday: Honest Slogans Hello, everyone, and welcome to the weekly Tickled Tuesday linkup! Today's topic: Slogans. Honest slogans, that is. You know how you hear a product slogan and think to yourself, <i>what a load of crap</i>? Well, I do, and we're going to rewrite some for Tickled Tuesday.<br />
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What really irks me lately is those Taco Bell breakfast commercials. I mean, what <i>is</i> that? And they say, "The next generation of breakfast is here!" Um, alright. Is the next generation of breakfast a really disgusting one? Call me nuts, but I think I'll stick to my oatmeal. <a href="http://www.npr.org/blogs/thesalt/2014/03/31/297273201/sandwich-monday-the-waffle-taco-from-taco-bell" target="_blank">This article</a> showed me everything I need to know about Taco Bell's breakfast.</div>
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Okay, okay. I'll put a halt to my Taco Bell rant. After this:</div>
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Taco Bell's slogan: <i>Live mas</i>.</div>
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What Taco Bell's slogan should really say: <i>Shit mas</i>. You know, for obvious reasons. We've all been there.</div>
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I'll branch out of Taco Bell territory now and share some other slogans I decided to rewrite...</div>
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Chick-Fil-A's slogan: <i>Eat mor chikin</i></div>
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What Chick Fil-A's slogan should really say: <i>We kant spel. Eet hear.</i></div>
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Red Bull's slogan: <i>It gives you wings</i>.</div>
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What Red Bull's slogan should really say: <i>It gives you heart palpitations.</i><br />
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<!-- end InLinkz script -->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04519328564567778978noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519592473547959980.post-26082285368804746642014-05-18T22:52:00.001-07:002014-05-18T22:53:45.685-07:00The Two M's: Marriage and MovingI thought that title would catch your eye. Did it work? Are you intrigued? Do you want me to stop pestering you with stupid questions? Are you sure? Fine. I'll get to the point then. Some of you may have noticed that I have not posted at all for the past week, which is definitely a bit out of the ordinary for me. The truth, is I have been a very busy person lately. Two <i>huge </i>events occurred in my little life last week:<br />
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1. I GOT MARRIED!!!<br />
2. I moved to a new place!<br />
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More is to be said about both of these things, but I am not willing to write an elaborate post right now, and that is simply because I am exhausted beyond belief. At this moment, this is all I can share with you. I will say, though, that I am incredibly happy and grateful for my life. Also, did I mention that I GOT MARRIED?<br />
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So, there you go. Consider yourself updated. Carry on.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04519328564567778978noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519592473547959980.post-79027545944507076642014-05-06T07:03:00.001-07:002014-05-06T07:04:55.701-07:00Tickled Tuesday: My Anti Birthday List<div align="center" style="padding: 5px;">
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<p>
Each year, as a loved one's birthday approaches, we're apparently supposed to ask them what they want for their birthday--that is, if we remember their birthday in the first place. When someone asks what I want for my birthday, I feel put on the spot and also a bit uncomfortable. Making a birthday list is something that I just don't do. Yes, there are things I dream of having someday, but I'm not going to go around asking people to buy me those things. It just doesn't feel right. Plus, where is someone going to find a unicorn anyway?</p>
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All jokes aside, I'm kind of the best person to give a gift to. My mother can vouch for this. She jokes about me opening up a package of socks under the Christmas tree, clutching the socks to my chest, and exclaiming, "YES! I REALLY, REALLY NEEDED SOCKS!" Of course, I would then rip the current socks off my feet, tear open the package of new socks, and promptly apply a pair of those brand new socks to my tootsies. It doesn't matter what the gift is, really. Judge my corniness if you must, but it truly is the thought that counts.</p>
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With all of that said, my birthday is next week, and I've heard the birthday list question come up more than once. This year, I have decided that I'm going to give in. That's right. I'm making a list...an anti birthday list. This may not answer the <i>what do you want for your birthday? </i>question, but it should definitely answer what I do not want on my birthday.</p>
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My anti birthday list/what I don't want for my birthday</h3>
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<li>A Bob Saget poster</li>
<li>A chronic case of diarrhea</li>
<li>Tickets to a Justin Bieber concert</li>
<li>A poster of Miley Cyrus and her stupid tongue. <i>Put that tongue back in your mouth, woman. What are you, a golden retriever? </i></li>
<li>Scabies</li>
<li>Lice</li>
<li>A ferret</li>
<li>A snake</li>
<li>The book <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Crafting-Cat-Hair-Cute-Handicrafts/dp/1594745250" target="_blank">Crafting with Cat Hair</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Confessions-Guidette-NICOLE-SNOOKI-POLIZZI-ebook/dp/B004XVQQ64/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1399383435&sr=1-2&keywords=snooki" target="_blank">Confessions of a Guidette</a> by Snooki</li>
<li>Tickets to a Nickelback concert</li>
<li>Jury duty</li>
<li>A speeding ticket</li>
<li>A root canal</li>
<li>A blizzard. <i>Let me clarify. If it's a Dairy Queen blizzard, I'll totally take it. If it's the kind of blizzard that involves a large quantity of snow falling from the sky, well, no thanks.</i></li>
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So there you go. I'm not too picky, am I?</div>
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What's on your anti birthday list? </div>
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<!-- end InLinkz script -->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04519328564567778978noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519592473547959980.post-85606319993474921982014-05-04T14:00:00.000-07:002014-05-04T14:00:31.909-07:00Sunday Confessions: Cultivate AKA The Time I Picked All The Carrots
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It's Sunday, which means it is Sunday Confessions time with More than Cheese and Beer. This Sunday Confessions topic is <i>cultivate</i>. Of course, when I hear the word cultivate, I think of farming or gardening. And what do I know about growing any sort of plant? Diddly squat. That's what. </center>
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While I may know nothing about gardening, I do know how to destroy someone else's garden. Before you go judging me for my destructive and careless behavior, please keep in mind that I was 5-years-old at the time of the story I'm about to share with you. </center>
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Okay, onto the story now. After a little background, that is.</center>
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This story took place at my childhood friend, Jamie's, house. Jamie and I were always doing something fun, and I have fond memories of the tea parties we would have with her little child-sized tea set. Her mom would make us a little pot of tea, and we would take turns pouring it in the teeny tiny tea cups, followed by dropping a little cube of sugar into the cup to sweeten it up a bit. Jamie and I would sit there and sip on our tea with our pinkies out while we practiced our best 5-year-old American versions of British accents. (I might have made that pinkies out and British accent part up just to make the story sound more interesting, but you get the point. We liked our tea parties.)</center>
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Sure, we loved our tea parties, but we also loved playing outside. I remember going on bug hunts in her back yard and swimming in her pool quite a bit, but there was one time that we decided to embark on a gardening adventure. </center>
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You see, Jamie's parents had a really lovely garden in their backyard. I'm not certain as to what exactly they grew, but I do know that they grew lots of carrots. And why do I remember the carrots? Because Jamie and I picked a whole lot of them one day...without the permission of her parents. </center>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">photo credit: </span><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/19779889@N00/11999105224/" style="font-size: medium; text-align: start;">arbyreed</a><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;"> via </span><a href="http://photopin.com/" style="font-size: medium; text-align: start;">photopin</a><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;"> </span><a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/" style="font-size: medium; text-align: start;">cc</a></td></tr>
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In retrospect, I have not a clue as to why we had the impulse to do that. Maybe we thought we were helping her parents by prematurely yanking the carrots from the soil. Maybe we were hungry and decided to pick a few to have for a snack. Who knows, really? One thing I do know is that it was probably my idea and that we were determined to pick those carrots.</center>
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Just picture a couple of little girls crouched in the garden and yanking carrots from the soil, giggling and grinning about all the fun they were having. That was us. For a few minutes, this was a very exhilarating experience. Pulling out the carrots felt almost therapeutic. So therapeutic, in fact, that we just couldn't stop pulling them out. </center>
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Her mom was in the kitchen doing the dishes when she looked out the window in horror and realized that we had torn her garden apart. She was the sweetest woman in the world, and this was the first time that I ever heard her raise her voice. We were ordered to stop what we were doing, get out of the garden and into the house. </center>
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Upon entering the house, we received our punishment. Our punishment was to eat all of the carrots we just picked, which, in retrospect, was not exactly a punishment. I mean, we picked the carrots because we wanted to eat them in the first place. I'd say we won.</center>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04519328564567778978noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519592473547959980.post-64231910577633595322014-05-02T13:49:00.002-07:002014-05-02T13:49:47.875-07:00Five Minute Friday: Mess<br />
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<a href="http://lisajobaker.com/five-minute-friday/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Five Minute Friday"><img alt="Five Minute Friday" src="http://lisajobaker.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/5minutefriday.jpg" height="200" style="border: none;" title="Five Minute Friday" width="200" /></a><p>It's Friday, and I decided to celebrate the occasion by liking up with Lisa Jo Baker for 5 Minute Friday. For 5 Minute Friday, you write about the given prompt for 5 minutes straight with no editing.</p>
Today's topic? Mess. As a constant mess maker, this is a topic in which I may very well be an expert at. Allow me to explain.<br />
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My house goes through two fazes: messy and somewhat decent. Don't get me wrong, I scrub toilets sweep floors, dust, and make sure it's not covered in filth and diseases. When it comes to putting items in their proper place, don't count on me.<br />
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Take keys, for instance. What the hell is so difficult about putting keys in the same place every time so as not to embark on the great key hunt every freaking time you want to go somewhere? I don't know why, but I struggle with this every day. I play the "where the hell are my keys" game nearly every time I'm about to walk out the door.<br />
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With that said, I think a constant disorganized state creates some adventure and fun in my life that otherwise might not be present. I mean, how boring would it be to say, "Alright, see ya later. I'm going to the grocery store," and then just grab your keys from their designated spot and head out the door?<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04519328564567778978noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519592473547959980.post-17223475673892890872014-04-29T07:46:00.000-07:002014-04-29T07:50:25.630-07:00Tickled Tuesday: Books <div align="center" style="padding: 5px;">
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It's Tickled Tuesday again, and this time our chosen topic is books--more specifically, books that make us smile and/or laugh. I suppose you can say these books <i>tickle</i> us.<br />
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Here is a stack of my favorites that I pulled from my bookshelf:<br />
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All of these books have the ability to keep me up at night with the reading light on, laughing crazy-like until the wee hours. I won't type up a summary for each book; Amazon can do that for you. What I will do is provide you with a favorite quote from each book.<br />
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Here is my list of my favorites and a quote to go along with each one:</h3>
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<b><i>Naked</i></b> <b>by David Sedaris:</b> <span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I haven't the slightest idea how to change people, but still I keep a long list of prospective candidates just in case I should ever figure it out.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i>Me Talk Pretty One Day </i>by David Sedaris: </b></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“On my fifth trip to France I limited myself to the words and phrases that people actually use. From the dog owners I learned "Lie down," "Shut up," and "Who shit on this carpet?" The couple across the road taught me to ask questions correctly, and the grocer taught me to count. Things began to come together, and I went from speaking like an evil baby to speaking like a hillbilly. "Is thems the thoughts of cows?" I'd ask the butcher, pointing to the calves' brains displayed in the front window. "I want me some lamb chop with handles on 'em."</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i>Hyperbole And A Half </i>by Allie Brosh: </b></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; line-height: 18px;">“No one could tell me not to eat an entire cake—not my mom, not Santa, not God—no one. It was my cake and everyone else could go fuck themselves.”</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; line-height: 18px;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; line-height: 18px;"><b><i>Let's Explore Diabetes With Owls </i>by David Sedaris: </b></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; line-height: 18px;">“In the beginning, I was put off by the harshness of German. Someone would order a piece of cake, and it sounded as if it were an actual order, like, 'Cut the cake and lie facedown in that ditch between the cobbler and the little girl'.”</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; line-height: 18px;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #181818; line-height: 18px;"><b style="background-color: white;"><i>Dad Is Fat</i> by Jim Gaffigan: </b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">"</span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #292f33; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nobody likes being a new kid. It's uncomfortable and strange. People are mean and call you dog breath."</span><br />
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Wait a second...there's more favorites on my Kindle!</h3>
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<b><i>Bossypants </i>by Tina Fey: </b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; line-height: 18px;">“It is an impressively arrogant move to conclude that just because you don’t like something, it is empirically not good. I don’t like Chinese food, but I don’t write articles trying to prove it doesn’t exist.”</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; line-height: 18px;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; line-height: 18px;"><b><i>Let's Pretend This Never Happened</i> by Jenny Lawson: </b></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“A friend is someone who knows where all your bodies are buried. Because they're the ones who helped you put them there."</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And sometimes, if you're really lucky, they help you dig them back up.” </span></span></div>
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So there you have it. I love my books, especially the funny ones. What books make you laugh? Go ahead and share them in the comments or by linking up below if you have a blog of your own.<br />
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PS, I realize that I just wrote an entire entry consisting of mostly quotes written by others. I cited them. What do you want from me?<br />
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PPS, I could have included even more David Sedaris books, but I made myself only choose 3.<br />
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Boots was the first pet that I remember having. My mom said there were others before Boots, including a cat named Allison Purple, but I was too young to really remember them. Boots was mostly a black cat, but the fur on her legs was almost exclusively white. This created the illusion of a cat wearing white boots, and that's why we named her Boots. Before I go on, you must know something; I did not like Boots.<br />
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It wasn't just that I didn't like Boots, but I didn't really like any cats at all. To this day, I still don't. They have so many odd behaviors that I just don't understand.<br />
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For instance, every time a cat purrs, I get really creeped out. <i>What does this mean? </i>I ask myself in absolute disgust. I never know how to interpret purring, but all I know is that it makes me feel extremely uncomfortable. Combine the purring with the kneeding into things with their paws, and I want to throw up. I really wish I could come up with a more logical explanation for why cats give me the creeps, but I can't.<br />
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Now that you are knowledgeable of my background as person who detests cats, it should be no surprise to you that my mother caught me drop our cat, Boots, off the upstairs balcony when I was 3-years-old. I wouldn't say I <i>dropped</i> her though, as dropped sounds accidental. I simply was trying to let her go, much like a supervisor would let an incompetent employee go. It was my hope that she'd find a nice new family to antagonize in the neighborhood. Unlike the incompetent employee, Boots came back, and back she stayed for almost another decade.<br />
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photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sea-turtle/4490241649/">sea turtle</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com/">photopin</a> <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/">cc</a><br />
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As a child, I wasn't always the Easter egg hunt trophy winner. In fact, I never was. And why was that? Easter egg hunts required a certain level of competitiveness that I didn't possess. I mean, sure, I wanted to get a basket full of Easter eggs, but I wasn't about to trip the kid next to me or break out in a sweat in order to get my greedy little fingers on the Easter eggs we were after. Instead, I went about the hunt in my ever-so-passive manner.<br />
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Now that I have successfully painted the picture of how I handled Easter egg hunts, I am sure that you can imagine what it was like when my mother signed my older sister, Sara, and I up for the city of Roseville's Parks & Rec Easter egg hunt. For some odd reason, my mom thought this would be a good time. Apparently, my mother had lost her goddamn mind. Didn't she know who she was working with here?<br />
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The city-wide Easter egg hunt was packed full of very greedy children and their possibly even greedier parents. Some might think survival of the fittest is a suitable description for this catastrophic event I am about to describe, but I think it was survival of the assholes. The assholes, of course, were both the kids and their parents.<br />
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The moment the gates opened, kids ran like wild animals after those eggs. Not unlike the kids in the <a href="http://indecisivelyblogging.blogspot.com/2014/03/sunday-confessions-celebrate.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">pinata</span></a> story, these kids swooped in like vultures for those eggs. Pushing and shoving were not uncommon tactics used in this egg hunt.<br />
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And how did the parents conduct themselves? They snuck in, of course. They pointed out eggs for their children. In fact, they may have even grabbed some eggs for their children. The point is, they cheated. It's as if they said to the kids, "Hey, want to be an asshole when you grow up? Watch what I do!"<br />
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This, of course, was all too much for me. When I'd finally spot an egg that I thought I could lay a finger on, I'd hear someone's dad yell something like, "Bobby, don't let her have it! Get in there!" and little Bobby would promptly swoop right in and snatch it. This happened many a time. I didn't get a single egg. Surprise, surprise.<br />
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As for my sister, she was able to snatch up a few eggs. She even was lucky enough to find a golden egg, which indicated that she was the winner of some kind of prize. I think it was a stuffed animal.<br />
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After that big Easter egg hunt, my mom vowed to never take us to one of those huge organized Easter egg hunts again. This pleased me, and I spent subsequent Easters participating in Easter egg hunts from the comfort of my backyard. These home Easter egg hunts were much more pleasant, as my mom hid the eggs in the most obvious of places and provided many a hint about the whereabouts of the eggs.<br />
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Do you readers have any good Easter egg hunt stories you'd like to share in the comments of this post?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04519328564567778978noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519592473547959980.post-43742101305010480132014-04-16T09:44:00.001-07:002014-04-16T09:44:22.161-07:00What if Wednesday: What if I could FlyIt's What if Wednesday with More Than Cheese and Beer. Today's topic is "What if I could fly."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjFrKy-oVlxirPbDjFuT36ZMPxT4JgmhOs8wDEPQrKH4Dx1W9xW4cBjcHr3b1dw34YHHG0ezpSb3MlE2z3RZjvwRcBGRwpJruNN281KA43uf3JPF9Y1aBFZEDpUExH2HATwlXjMLpjmGCz/s1600/hummingbird.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjFrKy-oVlxirPbDjFuT36ZMPxT4JgmhOs8wDEPQrKH4Dx1W9xW4cBjcHr3b1dw34YHHG0ezpSb3MlE2z3RZjvwRcBGRwpJruNN281KA43uf3JPF9Y1aBFZEDpUExH2HATwlXjMLpjmGCz/s1600/hummingbird.jpg" height="893" width="747" /></a></div>
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When people are asked what superpower they would choose, many of them choose the ability to fly. I totally get it. Flying would be awesome, liberating, and convenient. For me, it would also be somewhat scary.<br />
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I have a pretty intense fear of heights. In fact, standing on a ladder can sometimes be a terrifying experience for me. As long as I'm looking upward and onward at whatever I'm trying to reach while I'm standing on that top step of the ladder, I'm fine; however, I'm not fine when I decide to allow my eyes to peer downward onto the ground. That's when those feelings set in. You know, the butterflies in the stomach, the paranoia of falling, and the light-headedness. With that said, I'd have to really try hard to overcome my fear of heights if I wanted to put my flying power to good use. Either that, or I'd become a huge hermit.<br />
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Taking my paranoia into account, I'd make sure that I fly with safety in mind. I would carry a back-up parachute with me just in case I had a brain malfunction and forgot how to fly. These said malfunctions occur on a daily basis in the form of forgetting my email password, forgetting garbage day, forgetting to buy toilet paper, and other daily things that I should really remember. How could I trust that I wouldn't space out and totally forget how to fly? That's where the parachute comes in handy.<br />
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Sure, the parachute would protect me in case I forgot how to fly, but sometimes I'd need more protection than that. For instance, what if I'm flying over giant lake? That's why I would invest in some high quality water wings. <i>Yes, the things we all wore when we were 4 and doggie paddling in the pee-infested public swimming pool.</i> That way, if I'm flying over a body of water, I won't drown because my water wings will save me.<br />
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With the help of my protective gear, I would begin to appreciate my ability to fly. In fact, perhaps I'd even get cocky about it after a while.<br />
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Maybe I'd get really close to the windows of passing airplanes and wave to the passengers manically. I can just imagine a passenger looking out the window in hopes of seeing a beautiful bird's eye view of the scenery below, when suddenly they are interrupted by this flying water wing wearing maniac.<br />
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That visual sort of reminds of <a href="http://www.hulu.com/watch/39184" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">this scene</span></a> in <i>Liar Liar </i>when Jim Carrey is trying to stop the plane.<br />
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I'd snap quick photos of the passengers' reactions. I'm assuming I can't access Instagram from that high up, so I would update my Instagram later on with the pictures. Of course, I'd need the perfect hashtags to accompany the photos. Something tells me #IGaveSomeoneAHeartAttack would be one of them.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04519328564567778978noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519592473547959980.post-86660879695999449412014-04-15T11:00:00.000-07:002014-04-15T11:03:30.881-07:00Tickled Tuesday: Cooking Mishaps<p>I'm proud to say that I'm not a horrible cook. Then again, nor am I the best cook. With that said, cooking mishaps are no stranger to me. These mishaps come in various forms. Whichever way they come, they're always uninvited.</p><br />
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<b>Allow me to share my most recent cooking mishap for today's Tickled Tuesday.</b><br />
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Thanks to Pinterest, I developed a strong and undeniable craving for chocolate chip cookies the other day. Sometimes looking at pictures of cookies just isn't enough to kill the craving, so I did what any impulsive sugar lover what do; I embarked on a chocolate chip cookie baking adventure.<br />
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And so it began. I pulled out the Joy of Cooking cookbook and found my go-to chocolate chip cookie recipe. Upon first glance at the recipe, I decided that it would be best that I baked just a half batch. After all, there are only two people in my household, and I'm the only one that really likes this type of cookie.<br />
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Thanks to my knowledge of simple math and common sense, I instantly knew what to do. I'd decrease each ingredient quantity to half its amount. This worked out really well...until it didn't anymore. My poor short term memory and lack of attention span had other plans for me. You see, I remembered to add half the amount of sugar, butter, vanilla, baking soda, and eggs--yet I didn't remember to add only half the amount of flour.<br />
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As soon as the dry ingredients met the wet ingredients in the mixing bowl, it was evident that the flour ratio was off. <i>That's way too much flour</i>, I thought. <i>Oh well. Too late.</i> I pulled the lever on my little red Kitchenaid mixer and let it rip.<br />
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As I formed balls of dough to lay down on the cookie sheet, my hands could sense that the texture was off. The dough felt too...<i>floury</i>. In my state of desperate optimism and poor judgement, I thought that maybe these cookies would taste delicious after they were baked. <i>It's nothing 350 degrees can't fix. </i>So I proceeded.<br />
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And the aftermath? They looked nice and fluffy, unlike my usual chocolate chip cookies which are usually quite flat. They tasted more like little crunchy biscuits with chocolate chips in them than they tasted like a cookie.<br />
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After all that work, I wasn't ready to throw in the towel just yet. I was determined. I was going to take a second stab at this. Then I remembered that I can't try to bake another batch because I used up the last drop of vanilla in the first batch. Dammit. You win, cookies. You win.<br />
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As I was just about to lose my shit over this cookie debacle, I looked down at my crappy tasting cookies and realized that one of them was smirking at me. Seriously. Look at its face.<br />
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I remember going to friends houses as a child and seeing their collections of Barbies, Hot Wheels, Beanie Babies, or American Girl dolls. These things were all considered normal items to have collections of. While I thought they were great things for my friends to collect, I never really got into collecting such things.</div>
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So, what did I collect? My collector's items were limited to mostly tiny packets of jelly that I stole from tables at restaurants, and rolly pollies that I stole from the playground at preschool. It is true. I loved both of those things, and I tried to collect an abundance of each.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlvF5d5_xmfxEK48EJpEe-uEzHJlXQ0sdGbbHOmaqtUkS5kbEbiooBe053L5HgreCqGJY7qd800EaK2K_J1pJLXwfjXAaImgeIeDRNP4Ec9G6QRRuo_WNdQbZSLP_wJ9EXfN1jZiZbnI2W/s1600/large_5834714866.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlvF5d5_xmfxEK48EJpEe-uEzHJlXQ0sdGbbHOmaqtUkS5kbEbiooBe053L5HgreCqGJY7qd800EaK2K_J1pJLXwfjXAaImgeIeDRNP4Ec9G6QRRuo_WNdQbZSLP_wJ9EXfN1jZiZbnI2W/s1600/large_5834714866.jpg" height="587" width="747" /></a></div>
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photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/acradenia/5834714866/">Acradenia</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com/">photopin</a> <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/">cc</a><br />
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In fact, my mom loves to tell people about the time that she took me to Disneyland, and I dropped my little plastic purse full of jellies off our hotel balcony. Naturally, I was devastated. I talked my mom into going down to rescue the purse full of jellies. When I got there, I was faced with the ugly truth. And what was that ugly truth? My jellies had exploded inside the plastic purse, and it was a sticky mess. I cried. My mom rolled her eyes. I got over it eventually, but I'll never forget.</div>
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As for the rolly pollies, I dedicated many a recess to searching for those critters and putting them inside my pants pockets. I'm not sure what I loved so much about those little guys, but it's safe to say that I had a full blown obsession. When my mom did laundry, she was always guaranteed to find a small handful of rolly pollies from the pockets of my pants.<br />
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So there you go. I was sort of a weird kid, but who wasn't? </div>
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Readers, what did you collect when you were a kid? Did you have any weird obsessions?</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04519328564567778978noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519592473547959980.post-82401044736445855602014-04-09T09:31:00.001-07:002014-04-09T21:47:59.040-07:00What if Wednesday: What if I were the Opposite Sex<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWlEDZrizOENFbiOwXSYgcz-D3TerSohYKQFp_ny6y8l0pS4qUroHk2U6shkXw7uOBJdfZPcNNX4nTluBYY8ilY2t8s6sVmlrDqxHDu9GLqTAWRmOioyNeqRxZWvXo9npP7eWqyCfmy5Hx/s1600/medium_8670630500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWlEDZrizOENFbiOwXSYgcz-D3TerSohYKQFp_ny6y8l0pS4qUroHk2U6shkXw7uOBJdfZPcNNX4nTluBYY8ilY2t8s6sVmlrDqxHDu9GLqTAWRmOioyNeqRxZWvXo9npP7eWqyCfmy5Hx/s1600/medium_8670630500.jpg" height="531" width="747"></a></div>
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photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/lukeamotion/8670630500/">lukeamotion</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com/">photopin</a> <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/">cc</a>
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It's What if Wednesday with <a href="http://www.morethancheeseandbeer.com/" target="_blank">More than Cheese and Beer</a>! Here is today's hypothetical scenario: What if I were the opposite sex?</h3>
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If I were a man, I'd pee standing up. This means that I'd have to use a urinal in public restrooms. Quite frankly, thinking about using the urinal is anxiety provoking. How do men do it? I mean, I understand how they can <i>physically </i>do it, but don't they feel extremely awkward using public urinals? Just think about it. Although they're facing a wall and are somewhat covered up, they're still unzipping their pants and pulling out their "member" in front of other people. (Do you like my use of the term <i>member</i>? I learned it from Cosmo.) Not to mention, their stream of pee is totally visible to others. And what if you had asparagus that day? Since you're not in a stall to somewhat cover up the scent of your asparagus scented urine, would everyone smell it?<br>
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photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/elsie/200834070/">Elsie esq.</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com/">photopin</a> <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/">cc</a></div>
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Of course, there are other aspects of the male gender that sets them apart from females. Take, for instance, wearing boxers as underwear. Don't they get bunched up? Does it get extremely sweaty? That's a lot of extra fabric to wear underneath your jeans, if you ask me. With that said, if I were a man, I'd <i>totally</i> wear tighty whities. By the way, is it just me, or do tighty whities closely resemble a cloth diaper? Whatever. At least I'll be cozy.</div>
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Sure, wearing men's underwear and using urinals would be uncomfortable, but there are things about being a man that I would enjoy. For example, not having to waste way too many precious minutes of the day shaving. Men only have to shave their faces. It's totally acceptable to look like a hairy gorilla if you're a man. In fact, growing a beard almost seems like the cool thing to do these days. I'd totally grow a beard. </div>
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Not only do men not have to shave, but they also don't have to go through the horrible getting ready routine that women go through in the morning. There would be no makeup, no blowdrying, and no changing your outfit 500 times before heading out the door and wondering if your ass makes your ass look fat. You would simply shower for 5 minutes, brush your teeth, shave your face if you're that kind of guy, comb your hair, throw on some clothes, and run out the door. Basically, I'd be sleeping in more if I were a man. I'd get ready in 20 minutes instead of an hour.</div>
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To sum it all up, life as a man would be much easier. I'd embrace being a hairy individual and would grow a Jesus-like beard. I'd live a more peaceful life by getting extra sleep. And to hell with boxers, bring on the tighty whities! </div>
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<a href="http://www.morethancheeseandbeer.com/p/what-if-wednesday.html" target="_self"><img alt="MoreThanCheeseandBeer" height="125" src=" https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-t3TRHqYZu28/Uym81MUIcvI/AAAAAAAAAmA/vY9d062hs0U/s200-no/what+if+wednesday.jpg" width="125"></a>
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PS, You should <span style="color: red;"><a href="http://tomatoflavoredpopsicles.blogspot.com/2014/01/its-difficult-to-explain-mix-of.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">CLICK HERE</span></a> </span>to see Tomato Flavored Popsicles' post about using public restrooms from a man's perspective. Totally hilarious. You won't regret it.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04519328564567778978noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519592473547959980.post-18765233266599844472014-04-08T06:00:00.000-07:002014-04-08T06:00:00.528-07:00Tickled Tuesday #1: Things Kids Say<h3>
Welcome to the first Tickled Tuesday linkup!</h3>
Some of you probably didn't see my updates about the new linkup I'm doing. I'm hosting it every Tuesday. Each Sunday, I provide a prompt for Tuesday's linkup. You can find that prompt on my Twitter, Facebook, or Google Plus profile. Anyone can link up, and the only requirement is to have fun and write whatever you want on the prompt that was provided for the week. Also, please comment on at least one other participant's post.<br /><div align="center" style="padding: 5px;">
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Tickled Tuesday #1: Things Kids Say</h2>
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If you know me, you know that I love kids. I went to school to be a teacher, and I've worked with kids in various settings, such as preschool and kindergarten classrooms. I have learned many things from working with kids, but one main point that I'm going to emphasize is the fact that they are natural comedians. They are the kings and queens of one-liners, and most of the time they're not even trying to be funny. Yes, they're <i>that</i> good.<br />
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Without further ado, here are my top 5 favorite kid quotes that I decided to write about:</div>
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1. When I was student teaching in a kindergarten class, one of the kids brought a whoopi cushion in as his show and tell item. It was evident that he was really excited about his chosen object, as he couldn't contain his mischevious grin as he held it behind his back. When my mentor teacher and I noticed that he was holding a whoopi cushion in his hand, we just looked at each other and tried not to laugh. Wanting to be polite and not squelch his spirit, we asked him to please share his special toy with us and tell us a little bit about it. Very matter of factly, he said, "This is my whoopi cushion. I like it when it farts. Any questions or comments?"<br />
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2. My mom bought a pony for my younger siblings a long time ago. A few years ago, Penny (the pony) died. I believe my sister was 12 or so at the time. After hearing the news about her pony's passing, my sister was really sad. Here is the conversation that took place between my sister and my mom when she was finally ready to talk about it.<br />
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"Penny was like a mom to me."-Sister<br />
"What? How was she like a mom to you?"-Mom<br />
"Well, she always carried me around..."-Sister<br />
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3. The following conversation took place between a preschooler and I during nap time:<br />
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"We have to turn our voices off during nap time. This is a quiet time."-Me<br />
"My dad says I only have to listen to my parents and God."-Preschooler<br />
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4. After prompting a preschooler for what other body parts he could add to the picture he was drawing of his dad (I was thinking something along the lines of ears, mouth, eyes, etc.), he said,"I know! I'll draw his wiener!" He then drew a protrusion coming from his dad's legs.<br />
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I can only imagine what he went home and told his parents that day. It was probably something along the lines of, "Miss Jackie told me to draw more of your body parts, and I drew a picture of your wiener for her."<br />
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5. During independent writing time, a kindergartener raises her hand for assistance.<br />
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"Do you need help sounding out a word?"-Me<br />
"How do you spell pub crawl?"-Kindergartener<br />
"Pub crawl?"-Me<br />
"My mom went on a pub crawl this weekend."-Kindergartener<br />
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She then pointed to a picture she had drawn. It had four legs and appeared to be an animal. Assuming it was one of her pets, I asked her what it was. She said that it was her mom crawling home from the pub crawl. I'm not sure if she thought that's what a pub crawl actually was, or if the mother did in fact hit the bars so hard that she had to crawl through the front door.<br />
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So there you have it. Kids are the kings and queens of comedy. What funny things have you heard kids say? </h3>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04519328564567778978noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519592473547959980.post-82726396057481185852014-04-06T19:43:00.000-07:002014-04-06T19:47:05.009-07:00Sunday Confessions: Time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Today is Sunday Confessions time with More than Cheese and Beer. Today's topic? Time.</div>
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I've convinced myself that I actually don't run on the same kind of schedule that the rest of the world seems to run on. You know, the schedule that requires you to wake up somewhere between the hours of 5:00 and 7:00 AM feeling cheerful and ready to take on the day? How do these people wake up feeling fully able to function in society so early? </div>
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To me, waking up is like biking up a hill...a painful and slow process that requires many a pep talk. When I wake up in the morning, I have to set a whole series of alarms in order to get up. The first alarm tells me that it's time to get up soon, but that I can still lay down. The second alarm indicates that I should get up if I feel like I don't need an extra 15 minutes, and the third alarm tells me that I better get my ass out of bed unless I want to really hate myself. </div>
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Let's be honest here, I sleep until that third alarm on most days. More often than I'd like to admit, I hit the snooze on that third alarm, giving myself hardly any time to get ready for the day. Those days are painful, and they frequently result in poorly planned outfits, crazy hair, and zero makeup. Those are the days that people say with concerned looks on their faces, "You look...tired today."</div>
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All the while, the rest of the world walks around these godawful hours with a bounce in their step and a chipper tone in their voice as they sing those two dreaded words. "Good morning." </div>
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Anway, my point is that my time preferences seem to be out of sync with what is considered the norm, and I wish there was a law that states the following: "No person should have to work before the hours of 10:00 AM, unless they are one of those sociopaths that we call morning people."</div>
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<a href="http://morethancheeseandbeer.blogspot.com/p/how-to-participate-in-sunday-confession.html" target="_self"><img alt="MoreThanCheeseandBeer" height="125" src=" https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh-eUhiYPjsglpBY5Y09MUyjmmRNiFnO7ZNszuQ6Ng94lm7a_aAkqf9qqHYNVvae8SR-VSqLfIS4lGqNXn1qtVV3cGCOavAfkPFiwJw_XMk6BL4vfx2oqaf_sRScL0BKdEN4lrLVT3Hoo/s1600/confessions+button.jpg" width="125" /></a></center>
<br />photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/cx33000/3590330288/">cx33000</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com">photopin</a> <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/">cc</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04519328564567778978noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519592473547959980.post-63189226232240065122014-04-04T09:12:00.000-07:002014-04-04T22:43:30.021-07:00Buying Girl Scout Cookies from Creepy Vans<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<span style="text-align: left;">I've always loved Girl Scout cookie season. Each year, I show my dedication and embrace my inner philanthropist when I purchase 2-3 boxes of Somoas and Thin Mints and eat all of them over the span of 3 days. I'd love to say that I'm loyal to the Girl Scouts of America organization, but when it comes down to it, it's really all about the cookie.</span></div>
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In my lifetime as a Girl Scout cookie enthusiast, I have encountered two different types of Girl Scout cookie sales. One scenario consists of the usual Girl Scout or 3 dressed in uniform so that you know they're official. Alongside them, and usually breathing down their necks as they count back the change, is a mother. This is the real deal, and you know that your money is indeed going to The Girl Scouts of America.</div>
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And what's the other scenario? The other scenario is the windowless white van parked at the Chevron station with a handwritten sign taped to the side of the van that says <i>Girl Scout Cookies For Sale. </i>Outside of the sketchy van is a woman that is missing quite a few teeth. Alongside her is a little girl without a Girl Scout uniform on.<br />
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To some, it may seem off-putting to make your annual Girl Scout cookie purchase in scenario #2, but not for me. Girl Scout cookies are Girl Scout cookies. Even if you bought them from a sketchy van, they're still going to taste like sugary bits of heaven. And besides, these cookies are only available for a short period of time, so you better take advantage of the first opportunity you get. God forbid it be your last.</div>
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With that said, it is no surprise that my fiance and I ended up buying some boxes of Samoas and Thin Mints from the questionable Girl Scout. What are loyal cookie fans to do? This was my first cookie sighting that season, and I clung to the opportunity for dear life. We marched over to the sketchy white van, placed our order, and forked over the cash.</div>
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This is where it gets weirder, because the cash had its own agenda. You see, it was an exceptionally windy day, and as soon as the cash was handed over to the possible Girl Scout, it flew away in the wind (the cash, not the girl). With panic-stricken faces, we all ran like mad around the parking lot to catch the flying money.</div>
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Luckily, we were able to catch the money, and after I finished making some stupid and pointless comment about how windy of a day it was, my fiance and I were on our way back to my apartment with cookies in tow. And you know what? They were delicious.</div>
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A little bit later that day, we were driving around town and spotted real Girl Scouts in their official uniforms, selling cookies. This sighting didn't occur once, but two or three times in various locations around town that very day.</div>
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While I try not to read into situations too much, I couldn't help but wonder if this was all a sign that we made a mistake...the money flying away from us as we tried to pay for our cookies, and the Girl Scout sightings around town just moments after our sketchy purchase. As regret started to seep into my conscience, I popped another Samoa into my mouth and remembered that it's all about the cookie.</div>
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photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/bessgrant/1582572282/">bess grant</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com/">photopin</a> <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/">cc</a>
photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/marcyleigh/13066476423/">Marcy Leigh</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com/">photopin</a> <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/">cc</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04519328564567778978noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519592473547959980.post-21549592266049284492014-03-31T21:30:00.000-07:002014-04-04T22:37:38.513-07:00My Writing Process <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOajmAMX9A0oo54zRROPIRVF3KOFbslZcu8GbLDVMeSmFi2Ry8uNXVMfwjXT9NLKm1dEIO29MZ36T_FZKC50kn3m1mm4f30YpOuCBB1F4DkJre8wfCc_-udZVPusGHpq-MiNBNo6EUMZKG/s1600/large_2665408313.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOajmAMX9A0oo54zRROPIRVF3KOFbslZcu8GbLDVMeSmFi2Ry8uNXVMfwjXT9NLKm1dEIO29MZ36T_FZKC50kn3m1mm4f30YpOuCBB1F4DkJre8wfCc_-udZVPusGHpq-MiNBNo6EUMZKG/s1600/large_2665408313.jpg" height="600" width="747" /></a></div>
photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/new_sox/2665408313/">new_sox</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com">photopin</a> <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/">cc</a>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br>Tim from <a href="http://absentelemental.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Short Stories and Sustenance</a> has invited me to participate in the My Writing Process blog tour. You can read more about Tim and his writing process at absentelemental.wordpress.com.</span></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-CA" style="background-color: white; color: #262626;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">What am I working on?</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Honestly, I feel like I have been flying by the seat of my pants lately with my blogging. Right now, I have a couple of posts that are sitting in the drafts folder. One of which is a story about a horrible Easter egg hunt adventure that I embarked on as a wee one. It reminds me of the post I wrote about the birthday party I had where everyone stole my candy. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626;">I've recently started participating in some linkups as well. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626;">A few weeks ago, I started linking up with </span><a href="http://www.morethancheeseandbeer.com/" target="_blank">More than Cheese and Beer</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626;"> for Sunday Confessions. I'm making a conscious effort to contribute to that linkup regularly. If you aren't sure what I'm talking about, you should definitely head over to www.morethancheeseandbeer.com and check out her "How to Participate in Sunday Confessions" page. Oh, and she has a new series called What if Wednesday. It's also wonderful, and I hope to contribute to it regularly as well. These linkups provide some great writing prompts that I otherwise might not think of on my own. It really helps to get those creative juices flowing with a prompt.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Other than that Easter story, a few little silly posts in the draft folder, and the linkups, I'm working on whatever flies into my thought process. I'm a pretty spontaneous blogger, so who knows!</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="background-color: white; color: #262626;"><b>How does my work differ from others of its genre?</b></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626;"><br /></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="background-color: white;">This is a tough one to answer, and that is probably because I am having a hard time defining my own genre. I write lots of stories based on real life events, and sometimes my writing is simply just an expansion of my own thought process. Most often, I write about things that were traumatizing at the time they occurred but later ended up being humorous in retrospect. Also, I make fun or myself a lot. I think it's a healthy thing to do--to not take yourself too seriously. I don't think I answered the question, but I tried. It's difficult to compare myself to others. We're all so incredibly different, and we all have our own stories to tell and our own way of looking at the world.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="background-color: white; color: #262626;"><b>Why do I write what I do?</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="background-color: white;">I write what I write because I have a blast writing it. Also, It is my hope that others will read my posts and relate it to their own lives. It is so exciting for me when I read through my blog's comments and see that my posts have inspired my readers to share a similar story. This is about to sound really corny, but I really hope that people occasionally crack a smile or laugh along as they read some of my stories. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="background-color: white; color: #262626;"><b>How does your writing process work?</b></span></span><br />
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I'm new to blogging, and I'm still trying to figure this all out. So far, I've had good luck with coming up with material that I deem blog-worthy. I try not to just write a post just for the sake of writing a post. If I think something I write looks like crap, I won't post it. Lately, I've been suffering of some blogger's block. That's where those linkups and prompts come in handy.<br />
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Whew! That was a long one, and I'm still not sure if I actually answered any of those questions. Nonetheless, that's my writing process post, and I'm sticking to it.<br />
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<b>Meet Amanda Nicole!</b><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Amanda is joining me in the My Writing Process blog tour. I have asked her to tell us a little bit about herself. Here is what she said:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">"I am a Georgia transplant in the flat farmlands of mid-Missouri who decided on a whim to move several states away to be with the man I adore. I blog about Love, life, and everything homemade. And sometimes my cats."</span></div>
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<span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.peachesinmo.blogspot.com/" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank">www.peachesinmo.blogspot.com</a></span></div>
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PS, If you're familiar with the My Writing Process thing...I know I was supposed to pick 3 bloggers to participate in this with me. It was really hard to get people to do it. That's why Amanda is the only one. She deserves a high-five. I'm a rule breaker. Deal with it.</div>
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PPS, I have a video that I'd like to share as my token of appreciation for you people sticking around to read that post. I hope you like it as much as I do. Yes, it's another Jimmy Fallon one. I'm obsessed, and I don't care who knows it.</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="420" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/27exhy-cZkQ" width="747"></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04519328564567778978noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519592473547959980.post-17118241681776133442014-03-30T21:33:00.001-07:002014-03-30T21:33:35.410-07:00Sunday Confessions: Little<p>When I found out that Ash at <a href="http://www.morethancheeseandbeer.com/" target="_blank">More than Cheese and Beer</a> chose "Little" as today's topic for Sunday Confessions, I felt it was my duty to write about this topic. After all, I am an expert of all things little. If you have never seen me in person, let me spell it out for you: I'm only 4'11". Yes. That's four feet and eleven inches tall.</p>
Not only do I have the stature of a third grader, but I also have a baby face. These two factors create a considerable amount of confusion to adults and children alike. People can't figure out what the hell I am. Is that a small adult with a baby face or a mature third grader with breasts? That is the question lingering in each person's head upon having an interaction with me. I love that my physical appearance is so damn baffling. Seriously. This is an entertaining life. Not everyone can say that they completely confuse the living crap out of people on a daily basis...just by existing.<br />
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Here is an example of a time that I convinced someone that I am indeed a sophisticated child. I work with little kids. One time, this little preschool student stared at me with a puzzled look on her face as I read the class a story. I could tell that she was confused about something, and I figured that she must have been confused about the plot of the story. Soon I would find that my assumption was inaccurate, because when I finished the story, she raised her hand and said, "You act like a grownup." Apparently she thought I was a preschooler, and she was quite impressed with my adult-like sophistication.<br />
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In the midst of their baffled state, people like to comment on my size quite frequently, and I have gotten used to it. Here is a list of questions people ask me, along with my answers to those questions.<br />
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<i>So, are you a midget?</i><br />
No, I am not a midget. I'm just short. My body is quite proportionate. Thanks for asking.<br />
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<i>Do you know that you can get a handicap sticker for your car?</i><br />
I don't think so.<br />
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<i>Where do you buy clothes? Baby Gap?</i><br />
No. They only have baby clothes. I buy my clothes where everyone else does, but I shop in the petite section. I may be short, but do you really think I can fit into a 3T?<br />
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<i>Are there other short people in your family?</i><br />
Yes. That's kind of how genetics works. Are there other average sized people in your family?<br />
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So there you have it. I'm little, and it confuses the bejeezus out of strangers on the regular. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.<br />
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<a href=" http://morethancheeseandbeer.blogspot.com/p/how-to-participate-in-sunday-confession.html" target="_self"><img src=" https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh-eUhiYPjsglpBY5Y09MUyjmmRNiFnO7ZNszuQ6Ng94lm7a_aAkqf9qqHYNVvae8SR-VSqLfIS4lGqNXn1qtVV3cGCOavAfkPFiwJw_XMk6BL4vfx2oqaf_sRScL0BKdEN4lrLVT3Hoo/s1600/confessions+button.jpg" alt="MoreThanCheeseandBeer " alt="MoreThanCheeseandBeer" width="125" height="125" /></a>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04519328564567778978noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519592473547959980.post-20877840464918005262014-03-27T15:41:00.000-07:002014-03-27T15:41:01.534-07:00Is it that funny? (a rant on the use of LOL and other internet acronyms that indicate laughter)<p>I have been using the internet since childhood, but I still cannot bring my fingers to type things such as LOL, ROFL, LMAO, and so on. If my fingers had emotions, they would feel embarrassed to type such letter combinations. And why? Well, the truth is, I'd feel like a spaz. Sure, I'll let out a giggle here and there when I see something funny on the internet, but usually I'm not laughing <i>that</i> hard. Sometimes I might be doing the thing were I smile and almost laugh. I figure a good old fashioned <i>ha ha</i> will suffice when I think something is funny. If it really cracked me up, you might see a <i>HA HA</i>. In fact, I might even type out, "That totally cracked me up." </p>
Other people may type these acronyms to indicate that they are indeed laughing out loud, and that is okay. Just let it be known that I'll either be confused or think you are lying. For instance, do you need to type LOL in a message like, "We need to have coffee soon. I haven't seen you in forever. LOL." That's not funny. If it is, my humor detector is totally malfunctioning. Can you explain the joke? <br />
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LOL is one thing, but ROFL and LMAO are another...especially ROFL. Really? You're rolling on the floor laughing? This conversation must be a whole lot funnier than I thought it was. Also, that is truly impressive that you are not only rolling on the floor as a result of laughing so hard, but you are still able to type! How do you do it? Are you balancing your laptop on your chest and typing mid roll? If so, that's amazing!<br />
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Either the internet is littered with a whole bunch of lunatics that roll on the floor in laughter at each cat picture they see, or there are just a bunch of liars out there. Someone needs to do a study on this. I'd really like to know what percentage of these people really are a.) laughing out loud, b.) rolling on the floor laughing, or c.) laughing their asses off.<br />
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PS, I hope I didn't offend anyone. I know there are tons of people who rely on these acronyms on a regular basis, and it's totally okay to use an occasional LOL when something is really funny. I'm just referring to the excessive use of these acronyms. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04519328564567778978noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519592473547959980.post-70701000474012117242014-03-23T17:19:00.000-07:002014-03-23T17:19:18.516-07:00Sunday Confessions: Awkward Moments<p>When I found out that <a href="http://www.morethancheeseandbeer.com/" target="_blank">More than Cheese and Beer</a> chose awkward moments as this week's Sunday Confessions topic, I was initially very excited and looking forward to contribute. Then, I panicked. And why did I panic? Simply put, I have way too much material to work with on this subject. Finally, I did come up with something though, and I think you guys will agree that it is indeed very awkward and embarrassing.</p>
I kind of mentioned this in my <a href="http://indecisivelyblogging.blogspot.com/2014/02/ill-never-do-that-again.html" target="_blank">I'll never do that again</a> post, which consisted of a list of anti-advice based on stupid shit I have done. It was item #13: <i>Make a horribly unflattering face at a party. A stranger will take a picture of that horrible face and then make a meme about it</i>. <br />
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It was my freshman year in college, I think. I went to this party with a couple of my friends. We knew a few people there, but not a lot, so we kind of just stuck together in our little group. Keep in mind this was at a college keg. Clearly, I had some beer that night. In fact, I specifically recall getting really into a game of beer pong. <br />
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While I'm not sure if it was the excitement of the beer pong game or if I had a legitimate stroke, but something caused me to make the most horrible facial expression that had ever been created in the history of my face. I wish I could describe what that face looked like, but there literally are no words to do it any justice. Some asshole that I didn't even know at the party decided to snap a photo of me in the midst of my horribly unflattering facial expression. I had no idea. <br />
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A day or two passed, and a friend sent me a link in my Facebook inbox. It said, "LOL what were you doing?!" or something like that. I clicked on the link, and there it was...my face making a really crazy expression. It also appeared that I spilled my drink on my shirt in that picture. Beneath it, there was a caption that read, "The girl from The Ring...She lives next door!" Having not seen the movie The Ring, I wasn't sure what they meant by that. Judging by the appearance of my face in that picture, I knew the chances of it being a compliment were pretty low. So, then I decided to Google the girl from the ring, and I found something like this...<br />
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My friends thought the whole thing was hilarious, and I kind of did too, but I'm not sure that I saw quite as much humor in it as they did. </div>
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So there it is...my most awkward moment, or at least the most awkward moment that I am willing to admit on my blog. </div>
<a href="http://morethancheeseandbeer.blogspot.com/p/how-to-participate-in-sunday-confession.html" target="_self"><img alt="MoreThanCheeseandBeer" height="125" src=" https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh-eUhiYPjsglpBY5Y09MUyjmmRNiFnO7ZNszuQ6Ng94lm7a_aAkqf9qqHYNVvae8SR-VSqLfIS4lGqNXn1qtVV3cGCOavAfkPFiwJw_XMk6BL4vfx2oqaf_sRScL0BKdEN4lrLVT3Hoo/s1600/confessions+button.jpg" width="125" /></a>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04519328564567778978noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5519592473547959980.post-74926833931128994852014-03-19T14:01:00.000-07:002014-03-19T14:18:59.909-07:00What if Wednesday: What if I logged offAsh at <a href="http://www.morethancheeseandbeer.com/" target="_blank">More than Cheese and Beer</a> has decided to start a new link-up called What if Wednesday, and I think it's a pretty cool idea. Not unlike the 5 Minute Friday concept, you write a quick post on the given topic. I like the whole what if concept, so I decided to participate. Here is what I have to say about this week's topic...what if I logged off:<br />
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The truth is, I actually attempted to go on an internet detox a week or so ago. I believed in myself. I thought this would be something that I could do. It was meant to last for an entire day. No more than an hour into it, I found myself wondering what was going on, on Twitter. And not much longer after that thought entered my brain, my self-control flew away, and I decided to tap that little blue bird icon on my iPhone. <br />
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You know what I missed out on in that hour? Everything and nothing at the same time. Someone said something funny. Another someone retweeted something, and someone responded to one of my tweets. Could I have lived without knowing these things? Yes. Was it interesting to have discovered them? Again, yes.<br />
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I will not deny the fact that I spend some free time on social media and blogging networks, and sometimes I spend too much time on those sites. The thing is, I know when it is time to unplug..most of the time. You will never catch me out at dinner on my iPhone. Ever. You will never catch me on my iPhone when I am having a conversation with someone. It's rude. <br />
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<b>Okay, now let's have some fun.</b> Let's just say, hypothetically, I decided to log off of all social media sites and put the computer away for a few days. Here is what I imagine might happen:<br />
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1. I wouldn't see as many pictures of talking cats saying things like, "You haz my full attentionz." Why do people think cats would us the letter <i>z </i>so much? It's kind of weird. It's also weird how many cat memes and videos are floating around the internet. I don't even like cats, and the internet has informed me that I am a minority in my dislike of cats.<br />
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2. Which brings me to another point...How would I know that everyone else likes cats so much without the internet showing me? I had no idea that, as a society, we are truly obsessed with cats. <br />
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3. I wouldn't know what healthy food someone cooked and bragged about on Instagram.<br />
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4. I wouldn't be looking at food so much on Pinterest, so maybe I'd be less hungry. Or, maybe I'd actually have to use my real cookbooks made of paper.<br />
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5. I wouldn't have to read everyone's political opinions that pop up in my news feed. That one I can do without.<br />
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6. I would not know anybody's birthday. Seriously. Thank you, Facebook<br />
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I'd love to tie this all together with a beautifully written conclusion of my stance on this topic, but I'm afraid I have to go catch up on some tweets and check out some pictures of cakes on Pinterest. </center>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04519328564567778978noreply@blogger.com8