Great. Now I need a cocktail.
I am eating candy corns. A lot of them. Because… well, you know what Buddy the Elf says… (and if you don’t, lucky you, I’ll insert it below)
“we elves believe in eating the four food groups. Candy, Candy Canes, Candy Corns and Syrup”
I think that is a direct quote. I don’t think I’m paraphrasing, but you never know. Another thing I never know is whether eating multiple candy corn should have an ‘s’. Obviously I lean toward yes, since I started this lame ass entry with the words “candy corns”, but.. multiple ears of corn are still called “corn”, not “corns”. Does the word ‘candy’ negate this rule when put before the word ‘corn’?
In re-reading before just throwing this into a blog box and hitting “post”, I realized that I am basically saying I am an elf that philosophizes too much about my sugar intake. What the fuck ever. It’s 1:06 and I can’t sleep and I’m eating candy corn instead of making a middle-of-the-night cocktail. Cut me some slack.
ETA: I figured it out. You’re just supposta say “candies of corn”
The Longest Intro Paragraph Known To Man. Or at least that is kinda sorta long. ish.
In a moment of passionate attempts for witticism, I was momentarily driven mad and actually just wrote the following paragraph in an email to a friend of mine that I likely did not know quite well enough to say this to without a certain degree of self-reproach after hitting the ‘send’ button.
I do still cry sometimes, though, when I look at my monkey ears in the mirror, but I think it is more because I am a total drama queen than that the baldness is more than I can handle. I imagine you probably can’t relate, but…sitting in front of the mirror watching myself cry seems to stroke some ‘self-consuming’ bone inside me or something. Focusing on the ugly ears is merely a means to the dramatically sobbing end, you know? ….things one can learn about me in my emails.. frightening, really.
clearly my issues could fill textbooks.
Individually wrapped candies are the bane of my existence.
That is all.
In the event that your morning needs my insight..
My house was freezing last night.
I had to get up to pee three times.
Any idea what a frozen house does to a porcelain seat?
They are so hot right now.
So it’s 2:25 am and I’m sitting in bed. I’m sitting in bed in my newest nightie from GAP. (I have three)
I used to say I bought them for the purpose of being sexy for You-Know-Who. Then, however, I went through a period of Smack Myself Sane* and decided to own all my own bullshit; I now fully admit that, while I cannot deny that GAP nighties are hot-tah-tah, I buy them purely for myself.
Every penny of the thirty five dollars is worth it.
- They feel like butter (…in a good way, if you can possibly make your mind turn around and go that direction).
- The fabric has this magical ability to be fitting but not at all cumbersome.
- They’re longer than regular nighties, which is good because my thighs don’t like to come out to play until the lights are off.
- The straps are the perfect amount stretchy so it doesn’t get twisted or pulled.
- Also, the stretch-factor of the straps and empire waist does something tricky so that my boobs don’t end up free-flyin’ as I flop around all night. This sounds disturbing.. but it happened. Be disturbed. Be very disturbed. (Keep in mind that these aren’t the tits of a 19 year old
bitch girlie that haven’t been put through hundreds of pounds of weight loss and gain, being regularly filled/emptied with/of mommy tonic, and had someone sucking in a downward direction for a grand total of 60 months. Let’s have no confusion about the quality of my hah-hahs, lest someone go get themselves worked up over this image under pre-conceived notions)
- And. And? They are cute and sexy. I like to be both of those things whenever possible. …which, I recognize, is a sentence that makes me sound overwhelmingly vain and shallow. Ah well. That certainly could be farther from the truth..
Summary: You don’t need to go buy one of these, I just wanted to talk about how much I love mine. Which I do. A lot. But don’t buy one. Boo on Big Business! But…yay for gap body nighties!
Goddammit if I were Dooce I’d be making $600.00 for that friggin’ brand pimpage.
*It’s called “smack myself” sane because I call myself out on all my shit, and then the crazy defensive part of my psyche gets pissed and smacks back, and so on and so forth and round about I go until I’m absolutely, positively sane. Or..at least that’s the goal. It’s a work in progress. Just a little tidbit there, for ya. I like to keep you informed of my psychological mechanics. You’re welcome.
Slaying undead in my pajamas
When one eagerly anticipates the moment they get home and can snuggle up with their Android phone to kill a few Stupid Zombies, well… I think, then, it is about time to express concern for the status of said individuals priorities.
In Laman’s terms..wait… is that the right phrase? Laman? When I think “Laman’s terms” I think of Laman and Lemuel, and a picture of a cartoon man bustling around carrying nephi-time gear comes into my head. I think it is a scene from a Book of Mormon cartoon movie series that I
was brainwashed by watched as a kid. Anyway, perhaps it is “layman’s”, meaning “the normal every day dude’s” terms.
The point is that it is the first night of my weekend, and I am spending it in my bed. Unfortunately, that point didn’t seem very catchy and appealing to start writing with, so I spiced it up by letting you in on my little addiction to the phone game Stupid Zombies. I find it oddly enjoyable and even therapeutic.
Now that I have picked my opening concept apart to indecipherable degrees, I’m at a crossroads. I have completely forgotten where I intended on taking this. I could just keep rambling. Undoubtedly, I’d cover many other equally-fascinating topics. I could wrap this up and get back to ridding the known world of mentally challenged undead. Or, I could pause and go back and really try to remember where I intended on going. Even choosing what to do seems overwhelming today.
Fortunately, the zombie slaying takes little if no mental capacity. My destiny awaits.
Just your ordinary, run-of-the-mill, pink-haired lady.
I wanted to say ‘girl’ so badly right then, but I figure it’s better to just say ‘lady’ and have everyone tell me how young I look than say ‘girl’ and know that 50% of viewers - my every expanding fan base of 1 reader would make that 1/2 a viewer - is silently mocking me. I hate being silently mocked.
I hate being mocked in any sort of way,come to think of it. The Silent Mock, though, is agonizing because you suffer from it whether or not you are positive it is happening. I always assume it is. Therefore, ‘lady’ is my word of choice today.