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.