Statement of the Retracting Nature

I take back any statement regarding my previous stance of never wanting to get married.

I could go into a lengthy explanation, but I think my feelings are better summed up with some good music, good drink, and a great movie collection. I recommend, right now, Walk the Moon, Jack and Coke, and the following movies: It's A Wonderful Life, Dark Knight Rises, and most importantly UP.

I'm not determined to get married, necessarily, but if the proper opportunity presents itself, I will not turn away from it.


In other news: Christmas is almost here. And I'm loving my new laptop case, complete with UP laptop decal. Made some shnazy Christmas cookies last night with my family and I have to say...I really love Harry Potter.

The Absurdity of Months Passing Too Quickly

Where has December gone? I'm already halfway through and what do I have to show for it? I got all of my Christmas shopping accomplished in this month (I can write this even though it hasn't happened because why would i buy Christmas gifts after Christmas? Wouldn't those gifts just become "gifts" then?

What about the crying children at Walmart who regularly throw fits. I don't know what kind of parents are raising those kids butI really enjoy not loking while tryping in and writing preciesly what kidns o that I had zionvilve (Re: sleep typing)

Told you there'd be more of those to come!

I want to be Audrey Hepburn

What a classy lady.

I could hold baby deer, have gorgeous eyes, massive eyebrows that nobody could speak poorly of, and my nostrils would be large (I would be excessively conscious of this fact, but would keep my nose as is.) I would have perfect skin, a slender body, and oh so much class. I could carry around cats named Cat, wear them as a scarf, place random items in the refrigerator, shoot men in my fantasies, wear absolutely ballin' dresses only to be mistaken for Hungarian royalty, and look absolutely perfect in any and every occasion. I could be Holly Golightly. I could be Eliza Doolittle. 

Commercial break. Googled the names to make sure I was spelling them properly. Singer/songwriter Holly Golightly? Crazy pop artist Eliza Doolittle? What is this. Audrey Hepburn cannot be disgraced in such a manner. Audrey was a saint. Audrey had short hair. Audrey was perfection. You cannot possibly take her stage names and use them as your musical identities. I will not hear of it. Nor read of it. 

Listening to the soundtrack for "Breakfast at Tiffany's." "Moon River" should be my theme song. Not for the lyrics. But just for the melody. It's so melancholic yet uplifting. There's so much doom and hope coexisting and dancing together in the one song. I was singing the song at Walmart tonight and couldn't help but wish to move to New York. To find a random writer and enter his apartment only through his window. To be like Holly Golightly and not care a bit about the world around me. 

This gets me to thinking, what is the movie really about? I don't know how many times I've watched it. I love it. It's perfect for sick days, days when it's raining, days when you want to hold your cat close and promise to never let it out in the rain especially when one or both of you are feeling sick. If I could marry a movie, it would be "Breakfast at Tiffany's." Sure, there's more potential for hunk material in "Magic Mike" but I'd be missing out on Audrey Hepburn. This woman. 

I wish she were still alive. My pineapple wish would be to meet her. 

Honeycrisp Apples

Mmm. Yum. Today's goal at the grocery store (beyond buying artichokes, salmon, and other delicious items) was to try a zillion different types of apples.

I failed.

I only bought four.

Regahdless, yum. Mmm mmm mmm! I got one fuji apple, 1 jonagold apple, 2 gala apples, and 1 honeycrisp. I was planning to save the honeycrisp for last because people are constantly buying them at Walmart (we regularly sell out) so I know they have to be at least somewhat decent. But then, the worst happened.

The apple fell on the floor.

And the only way to solve this issue was to eat it. Right away.

So I did.

It was like the Fourth of July in my mouth. My tastebuds were rejoicing. My teeth were greeted with the most pleasant crunch, unlike so many other apples I have tried before.

We interrupt this regularly scheduled program to bring you this breaking headline: RED DELICIOUS APPLES ARE ANYTHING BUT DELICIOUS. Thank you for your time. We now return you to your regularly scheduled program.

With the success of the honeycrisp apple, I am apprehensive to try anything else. But I must go forth in my mission! The world of similarly-colored, yet obviously different in taste, apples awaits!

An apple a day keeps the doctor away. But 4 different types of apple eaten by one person? #neverpayingmedicalbillsagain

A list of stuff I miss

1. Amish Friendship Bread. Why did we stop making this at my house? Why can we not make it soon? I request its presence at the family Christmas next month. If that means I have to make it...so be it. Come one, come all! Come Amish Friendship Bread!

2. Roller Coaster Tycoon. I wish I had the original for Macs. Like, seriously. Video games do not get any better than this. I promise you. Favorite past time in the game? Drowning people. "This ride looks too boring for me...I want to go home." "YOU WANT TO DROWN." Or burying them alive. That was also quite fun. Dig a really deep hole, make it so you could see through everything in the game, then watch as they fall deeper and deeper, eventually disappearing off the grid. No points against you for the person mysteriously disappearing (drowning hurt your park rating, as I recall.) "Guest 2013? I have no records of Guest 2013...you must be confused." Hours put into that game. Bring. It. Back.

3. Not having to buy gas. Let's be honest. I get pretty good gas mileage. My gas consumption compared to yours is probably pretty minimal. But still, ouch. If I didn't have to purchase gas, I would be able to purchase all of the ingredients for Amish Friendship Bread...all of the time. I wouldn't be able to get to the store to purchase said ingredients, but I sure as hell could afford them.

4. Being motivated to do homework. To do list: essay for health comm., essay for comm criticism, case study for organizational comm, study for an ASL test, solve all of the world's problems, etc. Looks like a good time to clean/organize my room!

5. Saturday morning cartoons. Actually, I don't miss this. But probably everyone else in my generation does, so I figured it belongs on here. Maybe? Don't hassle me, I'm local.

6. Recess. The show, the actual event at school. Having not been a very active child (or adult) recess meant a time to gossip on the jungle gym. It also meant feelings being smashed to smithereens if you lost at chicken on the parallel bars. Such is life.

7. Pokemon. I collected the cards. I knew the names of the various Pokemon. Did I play the game? Uhhhhh no. Did I watch the show? Negatory. I think I only collected the cards because everyone else was, plus I thought they were pretty. My first pack of cards, I got a holographic Charizard. Fuck yeah. Boss at the ripe age of 8. Dollar Tree purchase well spent.

8. Crooked teeth. Not that I really miss crooked teeth. But back then, I had crooked teeth because that was how they grew. Now, if I have crooked teeth, it's because I haven't been wearing my retainer properly (as I put in my retainer...) I'm constantly fearing that I'm not wearing my retainer enough and that my teeth are going to revert back to their abandoned tombstone state. Eek.

9. Writing horoscopes for the newspaper. Okay, so this wasn't that long ago. 4 years. But I still really miss telling everyone at school what horrible disease they were going to die of by the middle of the month. I am the new Trelawny. Deal with it.

10. Not feeling the need to go to ten items on a list. It would look sad otherwise.

I know there's more stuff, but "Happiness Is A Warm Gun" is just distracting me like mad.

I see your topic, and I raise you a challenge! [dyslexia]

Here it goes, here it goes, here it goes again, here it goes again
I should've known, should've known, should've known again

Re: youtube. I don't know if you remember the first video you saw on youtube, but I do.

And it was not this video.

But I do love that video. If only I had some kind of coordinated movement... #whitegirldancinglikeafool

Actually, the first video I saw on youtube was the evolution of dance video. We watched it in my English class freshman year and I remember being fascinated by it. Not by the implication of videos reaching large numbers of people around the world, but by the humor of it all. I haven't watched the video since that first viewing in...2005? 2006? Probably 2006. Yes, definitely 2006. That class was EPIC. And I don't mean in the sense of I mean it in terms of "A long poem, typically one derived from ancient oral tradition, narrating the deeds and adventures of heroic or legendary figures or the history of a nation" I mean it in terms of "terribly awesome and I'll never ever ever get back together...with another class as great as it." Because English don't get much better than that there class. I'm not even going to bother posting the vidya, cause ya'll have search skills like mahself.

Ok Go was such an awesome band. Are they still together? I could easily look it up, but #toolazy.

Stay tuned until 1 for more breaking news! This has been Robin Scherbatsky: watch more How I Met Your Mother!

Snorting Cats

I swear cats can snort. Or at least, MY cat can snort.

It was a Saturday like any other Saturday. We were all gathered in the reading room, handling books without opening them. Any time that my mother rises from her seat, in comes the cat. She has a newfound fascination with our cushioned rocking chairs. Someone gets up? Within ten seconds, she has taken over the seat. My mom then removes her from the seat in a fashion causing the cat to hiss. I told her to be nicer when removing her, so in the most recent instance, she lifted instead of pushing off the edge. My cat made this sound that was...not a hiss, but rather a snort. I think my cat has been hanging around pigs, maybe? Definitely not a hiss.

Re: cats, because this is what my blog is primarily about, mail order cats. What a fascinating idea. Forget mail order brides, mail order groceries. Let's move forward in life and mail order our cats. I would imagine an order sheet to look something like this:

Name: LR
Date of Birth: 08/31/1990
Location: Indiana
Current No. of Cats in Possession: 1
Desired No. of Cats: As many as I can feed
Check off the following traits you desire of a cat
___ Independent
___ Loving
___ Fluffy
___ Snuggler
___ Lap dweller
___ Mouse hunter
___ Night owl
___ Excessively vocal
___ Performs tricks
___ Fetches toys
___ Manages to not hack up a million hairballs
___ Pudgy
___ Dough kneader
___ Pounces at ankles when walking by
___ Other All of the above, plz.

I mean, come on. Mail order cats. I may be the only buyer, but I sure would keep them in business.

On the same thought, my friends should expect cats as Christmas gifts this year. No big deal.

Looks like...

It's time to start blogging again.

I call this episode: forever alone...but not necessarily forever unhappy.

My older sister just got engaged today/tonight. Words cannot describe how elated I am for the two of them! Thrilled!!

My little sister is on a date with her boyfriend right now. Watching a Steel Magnolias remake with an all-black cast. What quirkiness. Gag me it's so cute.

And I...I sit at home, "chuffed to bits" that my cat does not hate me today. Right now. She does not hate me *right now*. I'm also pondering when I'm going to get raped. Not because I am convinced that I am going to get raped at some point in my life, or because I think that my raping is part of God's plan, but because someone on Pinterest posted tips for women on how to get rid of a rapist.

Excuse me?

Yes. Tips to women from rapists on what scared them off from potential victims.

How am I supposed to know that this article was not actually written by psychopaths who love raping women who fight back? Maybe this article is comprised of tips on how to get yourself a 100% guarantee raping. "It's fail-proof or your money back! Peace of mind returned at additional charge." Um...what? Yes. These are the things that I think of "tips" anyone gives to everyone. Other girls read these messages like "Oh yeah! That's a good point! I will absolutely remember this for the next time I'm getting raped" and I'm over here like "You know? I'll just keep eating pizza. Men don't rape girls who aren't hot and talk nonsense all the time..."

Re: not being forever unhappy.

I can create my own happiness. Nobody needs to do that for me. (Plus, I can always buy more cats. Shelters will love me once I have my own place.)

Something to Ponder

Reading something tonight has sparked my interest. It brought up a point about an idea not being of a single person's creation, but rather shared between two or more people. And while this makes sense, I thought about expounding upon this theory. What if: you define yourself based on the people you surround yourself with.

[This story's old but it goes on and on until we disappear.]

And when I write this, let's say you are named Frances. Frances has several groups of friends: A, B, C, E (D was deleted after a massive fight with the group's leader) etc etc etc. Does Frances exist beyond the context of being with these groups of friends? Frances as a singular being is still Frances, but does Frances have a personal identity? Is Frances within friend group A the same as Frances within friend group C? Of course not! Because who we are is not so much what we are, but rather how we are. And by that, I mean how we react to experiences/ideas/actions. Within friend group A, I may decide that a proper reaction to a friend slipping and falling is to laugh hysterically and continue to push them over as they attempt to pull themselves up. But within friend group E, the proper reaction may be to dial out for medical help because no issue is too small to be over-examined. You are not what you think you are, but rather how you react. You do, therefore, have multiple personalities. Nobody responds the same within multiple social circles. Maybe friend circles have scientifically proven roles that each friend must fill in order to function as a proper entity. Perhaps each group must have the really loud friend, the super shy friend, the one who loves to eat, the constantly falling asleep friend (no need to introduce myself): each circle must have one of each. YOU change which role you fulfill within each circle, even though you are always Frances. At the core of your chemical makeup, nothing changes from being with group A to group B. But mentally, you are an entirely different species.

Then ask me what it's like to have myself so figured out. Wish I knew.

The Nights When Nothing Sounds Right

Tonight

Is not one of those nights.

Anything and everything sounds right tonight.

Why?

Because it's Friday, Friday, gotta get down on Friday!

It's not really Friday, but it's my Friday. Making tomorrow my Saturday AND my Sunday. Darn those 6 day work weeks. Until the check comes. Then it's more or less "BRING ON THOSE LONG WEEKS! LET'S SEE IT HAPPEN! GIVE ME ALL THE SHIFTS!!" Or something like that.

Tonight is a good night for cat cuddling.

Tonight is a good night for listening to music (but let's face it: every night is a good night for listening to music.)

Tonight is a good night for discovering fun stuff to do when bored.

Tonight is a good night for banana fishing.

Tonight is a good night for going to bed hungry.

Tonight is a good night for going to bed full.

Tonight is a good night for purchasing cats online.

Tonight is a good night to plan out the week ahead. In the normal person sense, not in the "Here's what kind of weather you can expect for the next week."

Tonight is a good night to become Jim Cantore.

Tonight is a good night to plan out fantasy vacations.

Tonight is a good night to kill ALL THE BUGS!

Tonight is a good night for pancakes.

Tonight is a good night for morning to come early.

Can you imagine if that were to happen? Would time be completely altered for the rest of our days? Or would some higher authority be able to change the speed at which the Earth rotates and put the time back to how it should be, etc.etc.etc. You know, with everything we can do and accomplish at this day and age, I wonder if we as humans have the capability to change the rate at which the planets rotate. Or is this just something that happens without us having any influence whatsoever? What would happen if one second were added to each day as more and more people are born because the Earth can't rotate fast enough? One second isn't much, but eventually it could add up to humans being 1 day older than society actually tells them they are (assuming they live to be 100, which obviously not everyone achieves, but whatevs.) The concept of time, beyond just being overwhelmed with death, birth, life, etc. is mindblowing. Who decided the units?! Time is on my side, and really likes to poke me super hard.

3709 and all of it's regular visitors, I miss you. Hardcore. <3

Ode to Wasp

In the morning
When I wake up
Your bright shining face
Is the last thing
On my "to do" list.
Maybe the "to kill" list
But never the "I REALLY WANNA SEE YA RIGHT NOW GET YOUR SWEET SUGAR BOTTOM OVER HERE" list.

So when I was graced
By your ever so lovely presence
This morning, I knew it would be your last.
You've tortured me for a first and final time,
Mr. Wasp.
Not everyone can live forever
Certainly not you.

Is it a spider? Is it a fly?
NO.
It's a wasp. A freaking wasp.

Does it really serve any purpose?
Will it leave you alone if you leave it alone?
NO.
It's a motha freakin wasp.

It's a life sucker, a sleep robber
A bug spray whore
A heart starter.

I hate mornings
But I hate them even more
WHEN YOU'RE IN MY FACE.

The Importance of Turn Signals

Residents of Vista Way, this message is directed AT YOU.

I wish there were some way that I could tell security to punish everyone coming into Vista Way who is not using their turn signal. Tip off the police that if their quotas are really low, they should just sit at the entrance to Vista and fine EVERY SINGLE PERSON WHO FAILS TO SIGNAL THEIR TURN. Using your turn signal is such a simple step to take. A flick of the wrist! Maybe just moving a finger over a little bit to initiate the turning of the signal! There are so many things wrong with Vista Way residents BUT THE ONE THAT IRKS ME THE MOST IS THE FAILURE TO KNOW HOW TO DRIVE.

I mean, I suppose putting it like that is a bit broad. Because there are so many topics within this one issue that Vista Way residents commonly use with poor taste. For example, occulus reparo. Ahem:

• Turn signals
• Knowing how to use a 4-way stop
• Stopping completely at a stop sign
• Knowing right of way
• NOT BEING A JERK WHEN DRIVING BECAUSE YOU KNOW WHAT, I'LL BE A JERK RIGHT BACK AND THEN WE'RE BOTH STUCK IN SITUATIONS NEITHER OF US LIKE.

Turn signals must be used:

• When entering the complex
• When exiting the complex
• When MOVING IN A DIRECTION OTHER THAN THE ONE YOU ARE CURRENTLY USING
• When turning into a parking spot when someone is close behind you 

Knowing how to use a 4-way stop IS COMMON KNOWLEDGE. Whoever arrived at the intersection first GETS TO LEAVE THE INTERSECTION FIRST. It's not a matter of "well I can take off faster than that car, so CLEARLY I get to leave first." No. F that. YOU GO IN THE ORDER OF ARRIVAL. It's not that hard. 

STOPPING COMPLETELY AT A STOP SIGN IS SOMETHING YOU SHOULD ALWAYS DO. I know it's law to stop completely at a stop sign IN EVERY CIRCUMSTANCE. I am guilty of not stopping completely at each stop sign. I will admit. But if I am stopping completely at a stop sign when you are behind me, don't get all mad because it means you have to stop fully as well. Heaven forbid those few extra seconds make that big of a difference in your timing. 

Knowing right of way goes along with the 4-way stop issue. But it also expands into the ideal that when one car is supposed to stop before turning where as the other purely gets to turn, you should probably stop and think to yourself for a while. "By turning right here, am I going to cause harm to the person who is also trying to turn in here? Will they know what I'm doing without me having to scream it out the window?" Simple, understanding words tend to work best if screaming must be resorted to. BUT if everyone would just observe right of way, this would not be an issue. 

Lastly, if you feel I am moving too slowly for your taste and you have to make this quite evident by pulling up beside me, making inappropriate gestures at me, then trying to pass me, you best believe I will do everything in my power to see to you not passing me. Now you're mad and I'm satisfied knowing that I've made you mad. Your loss, my gain. JUST BE PATIENT AND AT LEAST GIVE ME TIME TO GET OUT OF YOUR WAY. 

If there were one thing I hope someone walks away from this remembering, it would be:

USE YOUR TURN SIGNALS FOR CHRIST'S SAKE! 

Vista Way, it's on. 

Those Days When

You really don't feel like going to work. Like today. I could think of TONS of things I'd rather do than go to work.

I could go sky diving. Rocky Mountain Climbing. Bull riding. (song reference?) I could fly to Boston. I could take a bike ride in the Keys. I could sleep all day and become one with my sheets. I could go apple picking (time machine necessary.) I could go swim in the ocean and be eaten by a shark. Wait, scratch the latter half. I'd rather work than be eaten by a shark. Perhaps fish. I wouldn't mind fish nibbling on my toes. Is that something that I should admit to? Undetermined.

I would rather clean my room (which needs it desperately and will probably happen tonight.) I would rather clean my bathroom (which is also in need and will hopefully happen tonight.) I would rather go running outside as long as I had a means of hydration. I would rather be subjected to needle torture over a firey pit of doom. I would rather eat watermelons and tea with no other options FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE.

I have faith in the fact that this summer is going to be superb. I don't want to just stay in one spot! I want to explore! And now, more than ever, I will have the flexibility to do so! Doldrums of summer, watch your back. You've met your match. I'm coming for you. I don't know when, where, or how, but I'll get you and your heat rays of death.

#thuglife.

The Joys of Sleeping Without Pants

And other simple pleasures that hurt only those who walk in on you when you have a wedgie in your sleep.

Not sure that there's anything else that falls under that category, but you get the point. Basically, anyone who has a major issue with what you're doing that you find enticing. Perhaps they've walked in on you while you're picking your nose. Some people like this. Maybe they've encountered you while you're in the middle of releasing large amounts of gas orally. Is this a relaxation technique? I personally cannot burp as a normal person would (at least, I'm not aware of my ability to do so) but I would imagine that it is highly relaxing and brings about a sense of peace with the world. Or maybe I'm wrong and it's just something to do so you can eat more, spend more money, etc.

But really, let's get to the real point at hand: sleeping without pants on. It's really only an issue if you have a roommate who directly shares your room (of which I have none anymore) or if you live with people who do not like to knock on the door. Again, I have none. Thus, pants free sleep. Has there ever been an activity so....liberating? I didn't think so either. Especially when it's a warm summer night in the middle of the spring. (Are we still in the middle of the spring? I think by this point we can probably classify it as the latter half of spring, by far.)

Tomorrow's activities: buy Zach's birthday present, try a new hairstyle, work. And sleep. But who doesn't love sleep? Especially liberating sleep.

Me gusta.

TODOS LAS GUSTAS!

Everybody Wants to Rule the World

Especially ducks. Epcot ducks. UK Epcot ducks. Ducks who like to listen to the British Revolution band in the UK pavilion. Ducks who gossip about children trying to talk to them in a language humans cannot even begin to comprehend.

Do ducks have their own duck language? Are animals able to communicate with each other within their own species. Would it be possible for a duck to learn to speak cat? Maybe ducks, cats, possums, ring tailed bears, and even platypuses are able to learn the languages of each other. Speaking of, do platypuses quack? When can I meet one? I need to go to Australia at some point in my life and be reassured that they are, in fact, not extinct. Who told me this, when, and why?! I have been lied to all of my life. But enough about platypuses. Maybe bears can speak to birds and we don't even realize it. Maybe all mammals can communicate together, along with being able to speak to flying creatures, but reptiles are excluded. Sorry Mr. Alligator: no you CANNOT date Miss Koala. Maybe marsupials can all talk together, like the wombats and kangaroos are tight, but the Tasmanian Devils are all "to hell with this family, we'll talk among ourselves." Are Tasmanian Devils the super stuck-up cousins? Maybe they are. If I were a Koala, I would SO not like the TD's. "GET OUT OF MY YARD. PLEASE AND THANK YOU. AND STOP MAKING FUN OF MY NOSE."

Maybe the animals will eventually take over the world. How do we know they haven't all been plotting against humans since we first existed on this earth. (Could it be aliens? And I say, YES.) Maybe they don't all know the same language, but are able to communicate telepathically. Maybe their sounds, like quacking, mooing, meowing, woofing, oinking, etc. are just to satisfy humans. Maybe they just make the noises to try and keep humans from realizing what they're truly up to.

They're going to form a band greater than the Beatles and we'll be doomed for the rest of our days. Lord almighty, the ducks are going to ruin George Harrison.

Because Curling Has Merit

Have you ever contemplated the sport of curling? Read anything on it? Been interested in being a professional curler?

I have not. (This is a lie.)

BUT I was interested in finding out more about it. So, as I sat at the kitchen table this evening with my roommate, we discussed curling. Wikipedia, lord of all useless information, informed me of the history behind curling (while it was made an Olympic sport in 1998, it's actually been around since the 1500s), how many registered curlers there are in the world (1.5 MILLION), and how I can go about starting my own curling club (Step One: CROSS THE BORDER TO CANADA.) Curling is fascinating to me, all of a sudden! I wish to own my very own curling team; manage a curling squad into greatness; use semi-colons improperly; and BE ALL AROUND AWESOME. (Should not have had ice cream and Sprite right before bed...)

So, after you've crossed the border into Canada to start your own curling club, you must then come BACK into the United States with the Canadians intact. I suppose, if you really wanted, you could melt the ice in front of them with fancy brooms that way they get across the border faster. If you really wanted. Once the Canadians are yours for the keeping, you're free to make maple syrup, attend hockey games, and comment on the growing moose population in the company of equals. And create a curling club! You may want a curling stone/rock/large puck, some brooms, and some slip-resistant shoes (Disney has plenty on hand, believe you me) and ice. Lots and lots of ice. Voila! You are now ready to begin curling. Although if you prefer straightening, I'm sure you could make it happen.

And there you have it, folks. All about curling in just a few short sentences without really providing any information at all! How did I happen to become so fascinated about curling this evening?

Ice cream. (Mint ice cream: it had been far too long.)

Because What You Want is What I Need

What a shame, not to cry. I'll defend you til the day I die.

Do you ever have those nights where you want nothing more than to go driving? Driving forever until the road stops going (or until you run out of gas.) Keep driving until everything holding you back from living freely disappears, out of sight, out of mind, out of reach. If only you could go a little further, venture deep into the night, everything would be perfect. It wouldn't matter that you're alone, it wouldn't matter than you have no one to hold. All could be, and would be, right in the world. For those hours while driving.

Why must we live in a society that frowns upon exploring places late at night without a permit? I've never done such but every so often when driving home from my friends' house, or driving home from work, I'm struck with such an intense desire to drive to the beach. A remote section of the beach where it would be just me, the waves, and the stars. Why can I not do this on a regular basis? What is so wrong about that?

Tonight I watched a movie with a great friend. P.S. I Love You. It was a pretty decent movie, although I felt it was lacking in some character development. Regardless, it had the ability to make me feel completely alone in the world. Even though I was watching it with my friend, sitting next to her on the couch, occasionally holding one of the cats: not alone at all. When I returned to my apartment, I still felt alone. Perhaps I just need to drive to the coast and enjoy the beach. Relax in the soothing sound of the waves. Allow for the world to embrace me with open arms.

An escape from absolutely no real problems: how can it be an escape?

Because I Was Born In A Factory

Or was I? I suppose in some strange, bizarre way, you could say that everyone is born in a factory. Women are like their own factories (sorry, guys) and all they really need is the oil to make the machines work smoothly and properly. Awkward? Oh ho ho yes.

A thought occurred to me today as I was saying goodnight to my lovely roommate: WHY does Viva not make toilet paper?! Viva paper towels are some of the best things ever. Soft, like a cloth. Sturdy, like a cloth. But fresh with every use, like a paper towel. It's the best of both worlds! Viva should make toilet paper precisely in this manner: no more toilet paper lint, so compromise between super soft=falls apart really fast vs. super sturdy=ouch ouch ouch! Viva would be soft, but sturdy. However, I have to wonder if the reason this does not already occur is because it's not septic-safe. I'm assuming this is the issue at hand, or else everyone would be using Viva toilet paper to clean their rump. Er, rumpus room.

Face washing tonight took approximately 30 minutes, which leads me to believe one of two things. A.) I fell asleep while in the bathroom and just didn't realize it, or B.) My face is super super clean. I'd like to say the latter is the truth, but knowing myself as I do, it's probably the former. Pity. I'd really enjoy a super super clean face.

I think this'll be all for the night, but I'll leave you with a thought. Viva toilet paper: the way of the future. The way of the future. The way of. The way. They way of. The way of the future. The way of the future. Viva toilet paper: the way of the future.

Because It's New And I Can

Therefore I want to.

But what do I want to? Is it wanting to do something? Is it wanting to go somewhere? Is it wanting to eat something? It is wanting to say something? Does it have to do with doing a thing, or is it doing a person? Does it revolve around adopting a dog and grooming the dog to show and win many blue ribbons? What kind of dog would I adopt to do such competitions? Do dogs actually enjoy shows like this?

Imagine if we were dogs: your owner has suddenly decided that you should be washed, trimmed, and promenaded around in a circle. Does this make you feel of worth? Or is it it demeaning to your every being? Does it ruin every ounce of life that you live for? Does it make the cats greater beings than you? Do you enjoy walking with your tail up, exposing everything you hold private on your body to the world? Do you have no sense of pride? Or does the prancing about in the circle increase your sense of pride?

Or perhaps I am wanting to eat a brand new flavor of ice cream. Is it a chocolate base? Maybe it's a bizarre flavor of ice cream as my base, such as peanut butter, caramel, butter pecan (which should never be an ice cream flavor to begin with. Whoever thought that disgusting ice cream should be littered with pecans that have an unpleasant crunch and completely contradict all that ice cream stands for? Clearly the ice cream scientist in question has a cruel sense of humor.) Maybe I'm not wanting to eat a brand new flavor of ice cream at all, but rather invent a new flavor of ice cream. Does Edy's still offer the game online where you run a city solely operated on revenue from the ice cream factory? You had to make sure that the cartons for the ice cream were visually appealing, the ice cream was actually a decent flavor (obviously NOT butter pecan), and that the name was clever and pleasing to the ear.

Or it could be that what's new and I'm partaking in because I can is a new album being listened to for the first time.

This is far too simple.

And yet true. Andrew Bird. Break it Yourself.

It is love.

Because Friday's Are Haunted

What better a time to write than a Friday? Friday's lead to bad events, especially at Cap'n Jack's. Two weeks ago today was the death of the man, last week was the vomiting Buzz Lightyear child, and this week was relatively calmer, although definitely points to a much longer-term issue at hand. Today, we had the glory of dealing with a verbally abusive husband, both towards his wife and his daughter. At what point in your life do you say "No, thank you. That's quite enough. I'll take my daughter, who will hopefully denounce belonging to you and sharing flesh with you in the future. We'll go somewhere lovely where people actually appreciate us and all we bring to the world. We do not need anymore of your negativity, and we can stand on our own. F*#! off, please." I would hope that moment would come as soon as the words were uttered from his disgraceful mouth, but some are put into less than desirable positions.

If ever I find myself in such a position, I would hope that: a) I have enough sense to recognize the point at which it starts and get the heck out of there, and b) If I do fail to follow through with point a, I do not drag my (potential) children into the mess with me. As my roommate kindly pointed out this evening, if you're willing to put up with the man, that's your own issue. But if you're dragging your children into such a situation, you're putting them through it just as much, and they have no choice but to put up with it. Children should not be raised in such a hostile environment, regardless of whether the man (or woman) is purely verbally (not physically) abusive. Get. Out. Of. That. Relationship. Help yourself and those around you.

On a separate note: life is going splendidly. I'm now more satisfied being single than I ever have been, although I am still accepting applications, if anyone were so inclined. I have been exposed to so many negative relationships lately that I am THRILLED to not have to be going through similar situations.

Same requirements as before, just please have a promising future. Por favor. And by promising future, I mean some cash flow that won't require a paycheck to paycheck lifestyle is probably going to be necessary. Money can buy love. I promise you.

Wait. Am I growing up? Did I really say money can buy love? Love can exist without money, absolutely. But as long as the person is kind, I'm pretty sure I could put up with living without love so much easier than life without comforts.

Back to haunting: phantom throw-up-er on building 37 steps? Your vom needs cleaning. Esta. Noche. Please? Thank you. It looks like the innards of a really tomato-y burrito. Somebody has already stepped in it, and they deserve an apology. Man up.

Life is Precious

May we never forget that life is fragile. It can be taken from us at the drop of a hat.
May we never forget that when we talk to a person, it could be for the last time.
May we never forget that together we achieve more.
May we never forget to stay calm in chaotic situations.

And that is all.

Fish Fell Out of My Ear

I leave Indiana until June on Thursday. Today is Monday. Madness. That means that, at the very most, from this exact moment, I have 70 hours left in Indiana. I can’t even…what?! 70 hours. That’s 140 episodes of New Girl including the commercials. That’s 233 and a third pizzas baked back to back in one oven for 20 minutes (and let’s face it, they’re never REALLY done in 20 minutes.) That means that, at the most, I can listen to “Born to Die” (Lana Del Rey: check her out if you haven’t already. SNL was not a strong show for her, but holy canoli does she shine in recordings) 882 times. But then I also have drive-time without Lana in my car, sleeping time, family time, time when I’m listening to “Video Games” instead, or time when the interwebz aren’t working so I can’t bask in the glory of Lana’s Stevie Nicks esque voice (sans the dying goat aspect.) Which therefore dwindles down my numbers to about…67. Roughly. I’ll keep a tally and report back before leaving.

Things I’m looking forward to leaving behind in Indiana this go-around:

-          My crappy internet connection

-          My neighbors constantly burning trash (headache, anyone?)

-          Snow

-          Ice

-          Salt on the roads from the aforementioned weather phenomena

-          Cluttered room (working on decluttering said room between thought processes)

-          A cold room when it’s cold outside (50 degrees inside. Any takers?)

Things I’m not looking forward to leaving behind in Indiana this go-around:

-          My family

-          George (furry brown brother)

-          Ruby (Russian cat determined to conquer the world, one hairball at a time)

-          Fat squirrels (the Florida squirrels look so underfed, poor babies)

-          Friends WHO I FULLY EXPECT TO SKYPE WITH ME REGULARLY.

I suppose I should finish up the packing and just get this stuff done. Former roommate and lifetime friend is flying into Indianapolis tomorrow (no capes) and I promised myself I’d have all of my packing done by the time I leave to pick her up. BLUE, 32, HIKE HIKE HIKE! 

The Short One from Night

I apparently like to type in my sleep. Ahem. From a recent conversation with a good friend of mine, in which I had fallen asleep but continued to write, I bring to you: Adventures in Sleeping. (I'm totally hoping this becomes a series, be tee dubs.)

• Adam Burks

  • ok cool
• 
  

  19 hours ago

  Hannah Richardson

  • sirrt'
  • feel asleep
  • awake ish
• 19 hours ago

  Adam Burks

  • sirrrrrrrt
  • '
  • hahaha
• 
  

  19 hours ago

  Hannah Richardson

  • IF you would just come to indiana
  • i wouldn't have to apologivze about failling asleep
  • i'd just fall asleep aand after i give it to you i won't need agin i mean you'll type an dinever ever know what's woing on
• 19 hours ago

  Adam Burks

  • after you give what to me? haha
  • the computer?
  • HANNAH
  • DID YOU FALL ASLEEP AGAIN

What Will Happen When I Grow Old

Singing in the shower this morning, naturally happened upon "64." Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm 64?

I sincerely hope that when I'm 64, I'm not dependent upon others feeding me my meals. Society and life are changing drastically: 64 is the new 63. Such a difference, I know. But really, if I had to depend on others to feed me my meals at only 64, I'm thinking something in my life better be really messed up, and it better have been something that I could prevent happening.

When I'm old, I hope I'm a sassy sort of old lady. I need to be like a "Cool Runnings" lady. When I look in the mirror, I don't want to see old, wrinkled skin. I don't want to see gray hair. I don't want to see saggy boobs. I don't want to see enlarged knuckles from arthritis. I want to see PRIDE, I want to see POWER, I want to see a BAD ASS MOTHER WHO WON'T TAKE NO CRAP FROM NOBODY! I want to be the old lady on the street that everybody is afraid of, but once they get to know her, they love. And still secretly fear her.... I want a grouchy set of animals. I want a driveway that twists and threatens children from wandering too far back into my neck of the woods. I want a candy-cane fence, with a gumdrop sidewalk. I'm going to roast any children who find their way to my house. WAIT. NO. DON'T TURN ME IN! I'm kidding. Children aren't as tasty as you would expect. Slightly tart. Although, they do sit well with the cats.

I want to be an old lady that even parents don't want to mess with, yet shows up to every school function because I've been watching the children out of my window, making notes about their personality. I will take my Facebook creeping skills and convert them into real-life applications. Genius. I'll finally have some worth in the world! When the children ask how I know so much about them, I'll tell them the great history of social media. They'll love Mark Zuckerburg (or however you spell his name), and they'll chuckle at the idea of dating sites.

So, chillin's, you can put your dreams away for now. I am lost for some time. I get lost in my mind. The Head and the Heart will tell you that in one succinct package. Can I? Not legally without citing them. But, I would think that getting lost in your mind would involve getting lost in your dreams. Or maybe I'm thinking improperly? My old age is already beginning to show.

Bring it, 22. I'm ready for you and your sly ways.

To the Love of Your Life

Fully aware of the fact that we have never met, I must first address our future (far, far away as it may be.) We will spend it joyously, watching our children whip our grandchildren as they disobey them for the millionth time. We will take great pride in raising our offspring with such militaristic mindsets (nothing makes me happier than this, you will tell me over and over.) "But," you will tell me, "I hate to watch them cry. We should cease this activity in the quickest way possible." I will walk to the barn, just east of the scolding, and fashion one of our 23 pygmy goats with a leash. As Rowan (the goat) and I promenade through the yard, you will sing a song, carrying melodies only the great Eddie Money could dream into existence. At once, our grandchildren will behave, and all shall be merry again around the dinner table (set with cold apple pie, pecan pie, steak, potatoes, and other tasty treats.)

Looking back from this point, however, perhaps I should introduce myself. I am nobody, yet everybody you will ever wish to meet. I am like you, only slightly less Canadian (eh?), not as artistic (my historical characters could never hope to compete with what you create), and lacking in the lady parts. I am, your future husband.

Convincing you of this matter means little to me, as of now, for I have traveled to the future. I have seen that we reside together in a small log cabin (which I cleverly crafted by hand. Thank me later with sexual acts.) We have goats, giant donkeys, and mules (thank me later with sexual acts.) We make love regularly (thank me now with sexual acts.) We complain about growing old, while silently, we look forward to the grumpiness accompanied with age. We bicker, we fight, we cook, we smile, we laugh; you tell jokes, I tell lame stories with no point. Our existence is important only within the confines of the cabin (did I mention I publicly humiliate you into destroying your entire comic business? Minor detail, of course.)

There is, as I have hinted at, no escaping. You have 24 hours to reply to this confession of love. If you reply with a "yes" to my question of marriage, I will greet you on donkey, carrying you away into the rain. If you reply with a "no," I will greet you on mule, being sure he kicks you, but nonetheless, taking you as my own. If you choose to not reply, I will greet you on the backs of 17 pygmy goats (I'm quite clever at my ability to harness them together and create a sort of pygmy walking carpet) (did someone say "skills"?) You have no choice.

Pleasure to finally be talking to you. Pack quickly.

A Popular Title Everyone Will Come Across While Googling

Oh my Google. What a wonderful tool. 

Oh my Google, ain't no other engine like this! 

IT MEANS YOU DON'T HAVE TO ASK EVERYONE OBNOXIOUS QUESTIONS

YOU JUST PLUG IT IN AND BAM YOU KNOW!

Oh my Google <3 

Siriusly, people, Google is still applicable in modern society. Just because it's easier than ever to bug your friends with ridiculously silly questions ("heyyyyy do you know what song this is???? i heard it on x106.7 at 10:32 pm and I know all of the lyrics, but what song is it?????") GOOGLE THAT SHIT, BRO. If you ask me, chances are, I'm Googling the answer too. "How do I...?" "Well, here's a link to tell you all about it!" *attaches Google.com* "That doesn't tell me anything!" "IT DOES IF YOU ASK IT TO!" 

Which reminds me of the days of AskJeeves. Oh Jeeves, you smart butler, you. If I had a question, I'd come to you. But if I just wanted to know about a certain topic, I'd go to Google. Even still, although Google functions better with questions than it once did, I will phrase what I'm wanting to know more about in a way that makes it not a question. Simply because way back when the dinosaurs roamed the Earth and asked their brontosaurus friends to tell them why Justin Bieber cut his hair instead of Googling it, question-asking on Google was unheard of. 

Let's take a trip down memory road, shall we? Remembering the search engines that tried to compete with Google. One that pops to mind? Alltheweb.com. Whatever happened to that jewel? IT GOT CRUSHED BY GOOGLE'S AMAZING POWERS, THAT'S WHAT. Then there was one with a dog holding a flashlight. Not sure what it was called, but I sure did love seeing that dog. Such a Qt. I don't even remember others! Askjeeves.com. Bing.com. OH WAIT. Bing still exists. But why? Bing can't even begin to compete with Google. Not only is Bing more complicated than Google, it's also more precise than Google. Isn't that a good thing, you say? NO. Because Google allows for your brain to at least exercise a little bit of power in searching for the articles among the millions it will have returned to you. You hear that? Brain power. Churning away. Bing takes out all of the work. Maybe in some futuristic society where everyone is a gelatin glob and moves around on hovering chairs, never knowing about plants or trees or rusty robots, Bing will be a better search engine. But while the mind is still curious enough to have that urge to explore and learn more than just what they are researching, Google will dominate. 

Google also brings forth multiple genres of accomplishments. It has email (gmail!), it can map stuff out for you (no more need for mapquest!), it can search images all over the web (did someone say bikini pics of Natalie Portman???), AND it even has its own web browser. For all of those PC users too cheap to cough up the money for a Mac (i.e. myself), Chrome is the closest we can get to feeling like we're using a Mac. Yes, we could download Safari, but that really doesn't make sense beyond the Mac realm. For now, I will use, and cherish, Chrome. It is my heart, it is my soul, it is my everything. Much like my future husband who has recently been named "Mr. Lee" due to a play on words revolving around my future name. 

I'm L.R., I approve this message, and I hope you find it by Googling it.