I'm About To Have A [Panic Attack] If You Don't Give Me Some Personal Space.

Smells I smelled at the Atmosphere concert last night:
-Shaving Cream
-Tommy Hilfiger Cologne
-Corn Cob Litter. We used to put this in my rabbit's litter box. Memories of him are usually more nostalgic and don't make overpriced lemonade rise in my throat.
-B.O. Which I have gotten sort of attached to just calling "bo". I was unsure about this concert in the first place because I feel like everytime I go to concerts, they always play the songs I don't know, and then I'm only 1/2 the fan as the smelly guy next to me. With the catchy beats, the majority of the standing crowd audience had one or both of their arms in the air waving to the beat, and in all the arm-raising-beat-catching, it fanned all the bo directly outward. Before I knew it, it was like standing in a room filled with middle school kids.

Aside from slight claustrophobia invasions, stupid convenience charges*, and the unnecessary three opening acts, it was a success and I knew most of the songs.


*I would call it convenient if someone gave me 10 bucks for no reason too.

For The Commitment-Fearing, Celebration Is In Order

Happy Blogiversary, YKTSTSM.
For our first year, I wrote you an end rhyme poem.

We've outlasted any diary in which I wrote.
Perhaps on our fifth Blogiversary, we'll celebrate on a boat.
I wrote to you on a semi-daily basis,
Much more than anything in my past, at least in most cases.
So Happy Blogiversary, You Know That Sound That Scissors Make,
From my future, you shall not shake.

He Can Probably Fly Too.

There is no patience like a man who:
Is a kindergarten teacher.
Volunteers to help second grade math before school every morning.
Does bus duty after early morning math.
Runs the mile with his 4th graders.
Takes the 5th graders to overnight Spanish camp.
And has five boys at home.

I'm On Third

Chips: "These cookies are amazing"
Chunks: "Thanks..OH! I put chocolate chunks in them!"
Chips: "Oh, that's okay.."
Chunks: "Wait..do you..you don't like chunks? Are you chips? And I'm chunks?"
Chips: "I'm chips."
Chunks: "I'm chunks?"
Chips: "You're chunks."
Chunks: "Crap."

A Visual Representation Of Emotion. Or An Excuse To Use The Newly Discovered Calligraphy Tip On Paint.

"I Used To Pick Up Shifts As Santa During Christmastime Because Nobody Told Me Not To, And Because Nobody Checked My Background"

I attended a volunteer training for the Catholic church to remind us not to follow suit of our leaders who inappropriately touch young children. It consisted of two video segments with case studies and interviews with the victimized children, their families, and the pervs. To much dismay, the guy who's been luring kids since he was twelve, the girl who got touched by her priest, and the kid who used to go to his camp counselor's apartment every once in awhile, were all paid actors. I'm still slightly bitter as I and about 35 other volunteer trainees invested our emotions into their stories.
Apparently it was Sucker training also.
The video segments were intermissioned by the training representative who deals with said situations. He profiled himself as the text book child predator, being "large and bearded", exclaiming that he knows how to appropriately interact with children without making them or those around believe he is thinking otherwise. Those tall, bearded, or both in the audience were warned.

I learned several things at this particular session. 1) Don't touch kids. 2)Maturity level is not measured in years.

Reasons To Buy Second Hand

1. So that you can compromise your morals to buy velvet shoes
2. Shirts with Jello molds on them

That's all.

To Avoid Any Confusion, This Is The Refrigerator

Legit uses of the 24 pack of Sharpies:

1. Decorating the CDs which now back up my entire music collection and fitting artists to specific colors.
2. Making bubble map of the people I know, matching friends to specific colors.
3. Coming up with various different names for each color, and logging them.
4. Practicing adding a tail to my u's.
5. Experimenting different ways to write my "&" symbol.
6. Labeling things
7. Coloring, designing my new walls

Yougoogalee And Other Zoolander Tales

The other day, after we found out Great Grandma Marion had taken a right down a dead end after 92 years, I was volunteered to help write the eulogy to a woman I didn't know well beyond the elf soap and cat ornaments she'd given me for the past 17 years at Christmas time. I opted to hand over the privilege to motherdearest who grew up with her, and was bound to write a more heart-felt passage than one that uses expressions like "chillin' with J.C. in the clouds" as distraction slang from extreme discomfort.

Some things I learned about GGMA-M (It caught on at the end there...) that are not likely to be repeated in my own eulogy:
-She made Chex Mix years before they came out with it, and years before you could patent recipes. She called it "Party Mix".
-Marion never had a hair out of place.
-She kept everything. Including newspapers from almost everyday.
-She was stylish, sophisticated, and a fabulous cook.

I think I'd actually be fairly accurate in saying that they could 180 GGMA-M's life and call it mine. That'll save someone some time somewhere along the line.

Doctor's Orders

Cut tongue on a yogurt cup trying to lick the excess inside the yogurt cup lip.
Change the common slang of "F-Bomb" to "Effenheimer". Thanks for showing that one to the world, Poppa.
Catch up on this past Oscars' nominees:
-Brokeback Mountain:: I knew Heath Ledger was bound for greatness after 10 Things I Hate About You. I expected less sadness, but still, greatness.
-Capote::Amazing. Probably not designed to learn more about myself. Hm.
-Elizabethtown:: It's amazing that this can hold the same concept as one of my more favorite books (Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. Read it. Love it.) about finding more about your father because you didn't while he was alive, yet the cinema piece can be such an ENORMOUS LOAD OF CRAP! Shame on you Orlando and Kirsten. Shame on you both.
-The Producers:: Bueller...Bueller...

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."