They Take Me Wisdom

That's right, I've traded all four pieces of my wisdom in exchange for twenty vicodin. I can no longer guide your lives or give out advice beyond this:
1. Ice is cold.
2. Blood tastes bad.
3. Two vicodin are better than one

Keeping Rosie Busy

Watching a mother give her child away to college is similar to what I imagine a very trusty robot malfunctioning as some cruel source sprays water on her mechanisms. The result is performing the everyday tasks over and over again.

Maybe I Had To Look Up The Planet List For This Post, Maybe I Didn't

What?! My world shakes! "Astrophysicists" should have a subtitle line on their business cards that reads "Childhood Killers" followed by a consolation hotline number when they do things like delete a planet. Pluto of all planets! That's the cute, small one! If they're going to get rid of a planet they should consider Mercury or Neptune. Nobody remembers Neptune. Maybe even take Uranus off the record.

Do you like that?
Uranus.
Like butt.
Butt's funny.

Discomfort, Defined.

Things that turn my comfort zone into a landing pad for the suck helicopter:

1. I survived camping enough to get in the car to go home and drop my lifeless phone into a cup of water. Turns out they don't warranty for clumsiness.
2. I got to the cabin just in time to babysit* a 3 year old cousin. To say the least, taking care of small children is not exactly* my forte, and falls just under my ability to tame elephants or time travel. I killed her sunfish that she caught and witnessed her first eulogy as she threw Sunfish back in the lake "so that for the bigger fish can eat him." She thanked him for being a good fish and for being our pet in the blue bucket which was left in the sun. Next to Wormy.
3. A man driving the Naked juice truck around town without his shirt on.
4. Getting pictures taken.
5. This post.


*Suggested words of spell check:
Babysit: Babysat, Pabst
Exaclty: ejaculate, ejaculates, ejaculated, ejaculating, ejaculation, ejaculations

[Insert Sentence Fragment Here]

Agreement in my personal dictionary of indecisiveness and fear is something followed loosely, providing me ample time to flake away from a decision or think through something I neglected earlier along the line.
Apparently, I "agreed" to go camping. This weekend. In the rain. In Ely where a town nearby suffered from 40 degree nights not so many nights ago. In August. The site is one which has slipped under the state park radar (translates: not an actual camp site) and has no "fire pit" or "open ground for tents". It's an island with no "bear control". And bears, apparently, can swim. Who knew? Not this one when she agreed.

When I freeze to death-
No.
When I get mauled by a bear-
No.
When my frozen carcass is eaten by Smoky the fire-preventing bear, please donate my remains to Body Worlds. At least when I go, I'll feel as though I'm part of some sort of elite club.

Major In Royalty, Minor in Communications

If all goes according to plan, and I eventually fulfill my obligation to the throne of Queen of the World, I will send an open letter to the world that goes a little something like this:

Dear People of the World,
Stop leaving.
It is no longer allowed here, as I, your queen, hate the good bye.
Thank you for your cooperation,
Queen Muffin

For Lack Of Blog-Worthy Experiences, Immaturities Exposed Here

"I wish we'd brought more dessert-like things"
"Oh we brought Poppycock."
"..."

"I'm Telling You She Doesn't Like Cantaloupe! If She Says She Does I'll Run Naked Around Your Property." -Uncle Mr. O

Walking into my humble home last night to find the frater playing with his new Magic Bullet to make "the greatest nectarine infused margarita ever" as he spills the Cuervo and asks what a nectarine is. In his 22nd year, this is a more acceptable behavior than what he got away with in high school, thanks to the traditional, Midwestern parenting skills where children abide by the legal system. My lack of posts has been the direct result of time spent at the internet-less cabin with cousins in town from Connecticut where rules aren't particularly rules until the cops come. Coming to the great land of Minny-sood-ah where they make up their own "You know you're in Minnesota when.." as the are directly affected and make up social security numbers to get their fishing licenses.
"Why are you bothering to get that kid a fishing license?"
"Because my kid drinks and smokes pot and if he's gunna go fishing, he's gunna catch a fuckin' legal fish."

Baby Book-Less AND Advice-Less! Youngest Child Treated Better Now Than Ever!

Funny* how one can come in third of the three waterskiing children for the duration of her three year waterskiing career. Also funny how she has received little advice from her bigger, better, balanced brothers as she has spent the last two years trying to successfully slalom without a faceplant-barrel roll combination.
"What are you doing?"
"Putting on my skis"
"They're on the wrong feet."
"Nuh-uh."
"Yup."
"No."
"You ski just like Steven and I and I'm telling you, you're supposed to be dropping your right ski."
"Fine. I try."

She skis. She drops. She slaloms. She flushes time down the pooper. Crap.



*See: not funny.

Why I've Started Carrying Around A Full Sized Notebook

"Dibs on the one [Olson twin] that doesn't have anorexia"
"Good. I like Mary Kate better anyways."
"Seriously?"
"Yes! She has problems. That's quirky. It makes her more real."
"..."
"She's like, 'I'm not above everyone. I do crack. And that's fine.'"
"..."
"The other one's boring!! No problems! That's not real!"
"Didn't she go to college?"
"Whatever."

Time Passes Here.

"Okay I have a confession to make. Sometimes I'm only funny so that I can be on your blog."
"I know."
"Crap."

And They Didn't Even Have Brakes

Roller blading is more fun when:
-You know where you are.
-It's not 10 pm.
-It's not a lightning storm with rain on the way.
-Your destination doesn't appear to be in some sort of alternate galaxy abyss not known to mankind.
-You don't break down on the phone with a very understanding, direction-wise friend.
-The mercury is not above the 100 degree level and you're only wearing jeans because you could only find wrist guards and not knee pads.
-By the time you get to where you're going you can't even eat the chocolate cake that just came out of the oven.

Just Like An Eagle Scout

This Muffin I know went camping last night. She spent the night under the stars cooking hot dogs by a homemade campfire (log-cabin-with-a-tepee-inside style). She went in the woods using the other kind of T.P. and got burrs stuck on her bum. She used Off for campers in the deep woods and made friends with the mosquitoes that flew around her but not on her, except for the one that bit the under of her big toe. She freaked out once when a june bug the size of her thumb landed on her leg, but otherwise tallied zero meltdowns.

Trendy iClothes and Choppy iHaircut Included

Having a clean, white, aesthetically appealing computer is just one giant perk of Macs. I know you, Mr. Mac-Hater. They're just pretty and that sells to this materialistic culture. True. I'm presently blogging via OS X, which has joined muffins, balsamic vinaigrette dressing, and office supplies on my list of top 18 favorite things. At the Mac store today, Steveo and I played with iLife, a totally rock and roll program where you can edit all your media, and hook up to iWeb- a blogging program. Blogger and I have gotten close, despite our linking, picture posting, and bolding dilemmas, we've made it over some pretty rocky roads. But can I simply drag a picture from a file to a post? Could I make a custom color for this page? Or put a video clip right {here} if I wanted? The internet is a beautiful place for rhetorics. Aside from the fact that I'm a right click whore, I'm ready to convert.
On a completely unrelated note, when making a new bookmark for this page, I accidentally saved at http://bananaloaf.blogpot.com. A deadly in-an-ironic-sort-of-way mistake.

Fashion 911, A Non-Truth.

There is no such thing as urgent mail from Cosmopolitan.

I Live A Good Life Because In Hell, I Am Forced To Host Parties

Number of:

Old people who said, "I didn't even recognize you! I haven't seen you since...Oh Lordy! I can't even...": 4
Times I hid from people: 6
Stress-related meltdowns: 1
Crock-Pots: 7
Crock-Pots with uncooked beans which were still served and eaten: 1
Times someone asked if the stress-rash was sunburn: 2
Cousins I have who I can't remember if her name is Emily or Ellie: 1
Times I heard this conversation from a 6, 9, and 10 year old sibling set:
6: I'm a jedi master.
9: My name is Carly.
10: What animal do I look like?
6: A giant eyeball.
10: A lemur? Say lemur!
6: I look like a jedi master.
9: You look like an eyeball.
Enough to make my head pound.

Bob's Zit

A story* by Muffin in an undated time, approximately the third grade.

Once upon a time there was a guy. But this was no ordinary guy, this was Bob. Bob would go through many difficulties and greaticulties. This was a difficulty.
One day as Bob got out of the shower and went in to his room, he went over to the radio and turned it on. To Bob's surprise, the radio burst into song singing, "Cheddar, get down baby, cheddar!" It was Bob's favorite band, The Moldy Cheese singing his favorite song, "Cheddar". Bob was so thrilled he decided to dress to the tune. As Bob unraveled his teddy towel, he got out his special edition under-dog undies and began to up them on in front of his mirror, when all of the sudden, Bob felt as though he was in a horror movie. He noticed an incredibly large, cherry-red bump on the left side of his butt. Bob did not understand. He has always taken such good care of his beloved butt. Bob needed advice, and fast. He called for his pet chameleon, Fred. Fred came loafing (!) into the room, saw Bob's butt, and loafed out.
Bob sat down in his lazy boy chair and began to cry. Bob cried and cried for about ten minutes until his brain worked up a plan. He would call his friend Tutti. He picked up the phone and dialed. As the phone rang, bob tried to sniffle away all his tears and the mucus that had gathered in the back of his throat. Someone picked up the ringing phone and Bob started sobbing. Bob finally finished with "And I need your help!" He waited for an answer from who he thought was Tutti. "You must want Tutti." said the voice. Bob felt so embarrassed he wanted to cry all over again.


*I've always loved writing, but grew up with little writing endurance. I started many a story, but never finished, as exemplified here.

Addition

In the past week, many additions have been added to various parts of the world.
This is how I will catch you up on my absent, non-blogging behaviors.

1. A bug the size of a small finger has been added to the list of things Colleen has eaten recently (along with a Mancala bead, an olive pit, and a carnation).
2. Blister fluid was added to my face for a period of time. The blister was not my own and apparently squeezing and popping is not an affective way to drain lest you wish it's juice in your eyes.
3. A new friendship bracelet. While others weaved thirty strings together in elaborate patterns, I tied a piece of green floss around my wrist. I'm a simplest.
4. More freckles, which, after extensive research, I have concluded are not prevented by sunscreen.
5. An increasing pile of evidence at my anti-outdoors-edness which is nearing the kid who quoted this:
Enters blow up obstacle course. Makes it over hill, through pillars. Gets to top of second hill when he falls, in attempt to get through the tunnel at the end.
"My pants! They're falling off!"
Flailing.
"My pants!!"
Second pair starts race and gets over second hill where Indoor Kid is stuck trying to pull up his pants and cannot get through the tunnel.
"Dude you're still in here?"
"Just give me a second!"
"Come onnnn"
"My pants!"
Rolls out of tunnel.
"I'm kind of an indoor kid.."

Motivation

I Would Give You Context, But Nothing Can Save This

"I hope you don't mind that I have...genitalia."
Blink.
"Wait..I meant..herpes...you know...of the genitals..?"
Blink.
"Okay I have a serious question."
"Okay."
"Do girls have genitalia?"

Nice To Meet You, You're Copper.

It's true that new friends think you're more funny than:
1. The friends you've had for years
2. People on the street/strangers
3. You probably are

It's really only a matter of time before the sympathy laugh dies down and they realize they don't have to tell me..erhm..you that you're good at DDR. This game was not meant for those with poor balance.