Linguistically Correct

I frequently force Hambers to answer probably-never-going-to-happen, so-hypothetical-it's-almost-a-waste-of-breath questions.

Examples:

Hamb, what should we do if we win $300,00? How about only $30,000?

Hamb, what would you do if my leg turned into a giant wart?

Hamb, how mad would you be if I kissed Ludacris? Just kissed him. Hardly any tongue.

Since H put a ring on it, I've realized that I get to factor him into all of my decisions, big and little. Should I spend $25 on season 4 of Friends? Should I invest some of my money for a down payment on a house a thousand years from now? Should I eat the whole bag of yogurt pretzels? (Answers: no, maybe, no but I did it anyway)

Anyway, I wondered, "What term best describes this relationship? "Fiance" doesn't mean anything, and "future husband" is precious at best... OMG, he is totally my life partner. Because we make decisions together! Like a team! Life Team!"

I probably won't call him anything but Hamb or "the man" because I only use excess syllables on jokes, but if I wanted to use the most accurate label, I'd probably gay it up and say "Here's my life partner, HamberHambyHamb." And then goobers would give me the scoff eye or wonder if one of us was a tranny, but I wouldn't care at all.

Harper can be Life Mascot. Abe is Life A'hole. My tea is Life Beverage. This is perfect.

Look out, fancy Mercedez Benz.

Unlike you futuristic weirdos, Drew and I do not have wireless internet. As I'm blogging this, my computer is attached to a cord that is attached to a cable outlet that is attached to a whole, wide, world of information and smut!

To you, this non-wireless business might be restrictive, but I like it because it keeps me closer to

this:

This wildly important piece of art is titled "Dinosaurier auf der Autobahn" (oooobviously), and it used to be in the Hambletons' shed. I bet if we took it to the Antique Road Show, they'd say, "This poster is worth one trillion dollars", but I still wouldn't sell it... well, I wouldn't let Drew sell it, because it's not technically mine until the wedding.

Should I move up the wedding so I can be half owner of this poster?

If you were with me (physically), you'd be able to see the face of the guy who's driving that green truck. If you were with me (mentally), you'd be able to think, "Woweewowwow, this dino fills my soul with joy and whimsy!"

I would feel differently if this dino's last name were Rossi, but I don't think it is. I bet its full name is Dino Clompy.

Stay here in my sight, Dino Clompy. Never, ever go extinct.

Transportation

I've made two big transportation purchases:

(1) A bus pass for fall quarter. It means I get to hang out downtown for 10-60 minutes a week. It's like I'm a real city person. Once, I even saw a guy smoking a blunt at the bus stop. Drugs! What a crazy world.

(2) The best car in the world... or continent. Yes, maybe just continent. But look at this beautiful 2004 Toyota Matrix!

What it lacks in power locks and get-up-and-go, it makes up for in reliability and space for the dog to roam. I love it. So much. Drew's lucky I'm already engaged to him, because I totally want to put a ring on this thing. I don't know where it would go... maybe the door handle... but no matter. This car is mine always and forever and/or until it dies, but I hear Toyotas don't do that.

Now, as soon as our pupper realizes that we're not going to abandon her and leave her to be eternally frustrated by squirrels, I can actually leave the house via bus or car. Heeeey, mobility.

Fiance schmiance

Oh, what's that on my left hand? Ok, nothing. But what will be on my left hand after it's done being resized?

An engagement ring!

From Drew!

I am engaged to Drew. Here are some things that will be different after we're married:

-Drew will be less supportive of my signature, because to him it's ok that I blur "Walden" but not "Hambleton". Psh.

-Drew will be half responsible for cleaning up cat puke. Well, Abe's puke, not all the cat puke in the world. That's not how marriage works.

-I can say "father-in-law" and "sister-in-law" isntead of "boyfriend's dad" and "boyfriend's brother's wife". Hurrah for brevity!

-Maybe we'll get in a fight. I think married people do that sometimes. The angriest I've ever been at Drew was loosely related to chocolate chip mint ice cream, and within seconds, my rage went from "I'm never talking to Drew again!" to "I'm never talking to Drew again... for 24 hours!" to "I'm never talking to Drew again... for 8 hours!" which was how long I slept. So I totally kept that last one.

Happy engagement, us!

Houndstooth tears

I love Project Runway more than bee-loving bears love bees. I love the goofy fashion, I love Tim Gunn, and I love how it makes me cry even though it's kind of about fabric.

On another note, my left nostril is totally clogged.

RIP Busty Bust

Buster Walden has gone on the Eternal Car Ride.

He's in a world of chasable squirrels, unstealable Nylabones, and 30-foot, metal cows at which he can bark. We loved that rascal. Buster Walden, thanks for a decade of flops, leans, and snugs. Lovelovelove and treats.

By and by

Alki Beach is fabulous. Don't let the weirdos tell you otherwise. Look at it!

It turns out they were ants, anyway.

I owe Oats.

It started when I attended a meeting to learn how to make HL a therapy dog. As I listened to the sweet ladies with dainty poodles, my mutt was performing therapy by destruction on my passenger side seat belt. It's a weird kind of therapy. Very new age.

So, I'd been driving around like a weirdo with passengers in my back eat. "Enough is enough!" I said. (Actually, Boyfriend said that. And then I said, "I'll get a new seat belt when you set up an automatic transfer from your bank account into your IRA." Secret message to Boyfriend: I have secured my passengers, so it's time you secure your future.)

I did a little research and found a seat belt in a junk yard... in Spanaway. Grosssss, Spanaway! My dad, Oats, was a hero and picked it up for me. You da man, Oats! Then I drove down to Puyallup and he almost helped me install it. You almost da mechanic, Oats! Unfortunately, we lacked the seat belt tools. The neighbor had them, though, so took things apart and started reassembling them. You da tool-havingest, neighbor!

But all this was just background for why I owe Oats a blog post. He made a comment that made me giggle like my teeth were made of sparkles. The conversation went like this:

Me: Oats, there are termites around. Scary!

Oats: Well... don't come out here and be wooden.

Hahahahaha. I was talking about the house, but he was talking about Pinocchio or something

Termites. Being wooden. Bahaaha.

Invisibility Cloak

Here are things I'd do if I had an Invisibility Cloak:

-Win radio contests. I'd sneak into the radio station and eavesdrop as they discussed the winning trivia answers. Then I'd sell the prizes online to buy a year's supply of wasabi peas.

-Scare my dog. "Why is my gutted hedgehog toy flying? WHAT IS HAPPENING?" Harper Lee is so precious when she's nervous.

-Travel for free. How easy would it be to sneak on to a direct flight to Paris if you were invisible? So easy! And then I could sneak into fancy hotel rooms after the housekeepers left, and I could steal croissaints from bakeries. (Only ones they probably weren't going to sell, though. InvisiKelly isn't completely devoid of ethics.)

-Look for cheaters. Students are clever, and some like to glance at their classmates' tests. H no, students! Your teacher can see you, even though you can't see her!

It's a good thing HP took care of Voldemort. Otherwise, I'd have to focus my Invisibility Cloak privileges on fighting evil instead of eating croissants.

The Avett Brothers

Why hadn't I heard about these guys? I do not accept the blame. Someone should have my directed attention to The Avett Brothers. I want them to follow me places and sing.

"Oh, here I am buying dill pickle relish." The Avett Brothers!

"Now I'm strolling in Schmitz Park with my dogger." The Avett Brothers!

"It's time to sleep now." The Avett Brothers!

Get on my iPod, Avett Brothers!

It's a fluffball!

We have finch babies!

Congratulations to Alejandro and Lady Gaga, our resident House Finches. After frequent visits and tweets to the nest by our window, they have successfully brought their babies from eggdom to chickdom! If cheeping is any indication, these tiny, fluffy finches are thrilled to be alive.

Since I can't actually see the nest, I can't give you details about the number and/or appearance of these itsy bitsy birds, but Google thinks they look something like this:


Stunning, stunning creatures.

If there are 4 chicks, we figure these are their names:
-Freya (as named by the roommate)
-Beaky (as named by me)
-Tasty Snack (as named by Harper Lee, the dog)
-Constant Temptation (as named by Abe Lincoln, the cat)

We are thrilled to welcome these babies into the world. Feel free to send cash or money to us so we can buy things that will help them better transition into non-eggdom. I sense that they want me to have new Patagonia shorts and a faster laptop computer.

DOG

Remember when I said I'd save up thousands and thousands of dollars before I got a dog? And how I said I just wasn't ready to get a dog? Clearly I was a ding-dong. A few weeks ago, I adopted Harper Lee, and now my life is twenty-eight hundred times better.

Ok, I am as broke as a 24-year-old because she almost died and had to stay a weekend at the emergency vet clinic. And, all right, I am spending exorbitant amounts of money on reducing her separation anxiety and finding toys and treats she adores.

But really, I freaking love this dog. Let her drain my bank account! I have a new best friend, and she has a scruffy nose.

Harper Lee Basics:
-11ish months old
-Kind of sickly
-Lab/Airedale mix
-Way mellower than you'd think a Lab/Airedale mix would be
-Fond of chasing squirrels
-OMG SO PRECIOUS
-40 pounds
-Will accept fan mail. Email me for our address.

Spreading the Bechdel Word

Lots of movies are sexist.

The first person to clearly point that out to me: my old movie professor, Doug Something. (Learn about the male gaze!)

The second person to clearly point that out to me: my roommate, Baumity Baum Baum. She told me about the Bechdel Test, and now I am going to tell YOU about the Bechdel Test.

For a movie to pass the Bechdel Test, it has to have these 3 things:
1. Two female characters
2. Two female characters who talk to each other
3. Two female characters who talk to each about something other than men.

That shouldn't be so hard, right? Tell that to the stinking directors, producers, and writers!

Most of my favorite movies pass it, namely The Sound of Music, Sister Act, A League of Their Own, and I thiiiiink Moulin Rouge.

However, I love plenty of movies that sure as HECK don't pass it, including Star Wars, Up, Dogma, 40-Year-Old Virgin, Forrest Gump, Armageddon, When Harry Met Sally, and a billion more.

But I get it. Who wants to hear women talk about politics, puppies, money, or hot air balloons? It's unnatural. It shouldn't happen. Get out of here, dynamic female characters!

Words and herbs.

You guys. I have a plant posse.

I photographed my planter, but my camera is in the living room, and who wants to walk all the way out there and then upload them? Nobody. So I am going to describe it in words.

Herb Garden simile:
My herb garden is like a chorus of angels.

Herb Garden metaphor:
My herb garden is freedom.

Herb Garden personification:
My herb garden feels excited to be ripped apart and crushed in my summer beverages.

Herb Garden hyperbole:
My herb garden is filling the universe with its fresh, delicate scent.

Herb Garden alliteration:
My herb garden grazes Gary's* goblinesque grandmother.

Herb Garden assonance:
My herb garden sighs as it lies and waits for July.

Herb Garden cut and dry description:
My herb garden contains 4 herbs - oregano, cilantro, basil, and mint - and they're crammed in a 24"(ish) x 9"(ish) by 9"(ish) wooden box. They make me smile every morning.


*I don't know a Gary.

Precious 6th grade boy does a killer Lady Gaga song!

Woweewowowow!

KJW: Patience-Haver, Money-Saver

You want to know why I'm blogging like it was 2008? Because it's free!

I've been thinking about cash-money and how I don't have any, and how if I want a dog, it'll take some of that non-cash. What do I do? Suze Orman knows.

So a little online research, a whole lot of using my parents cable to watch Suze shoot down a guy's dream of a house boat, and some honest and kind-of-fun reflection made me realize this: I need to save like whoa.

Ain't no thang. I am freaking about "low" levels in my checking account that once would have been thrillingly "high". But Suze Orman would tell me that until I have an impressivo emergency savings account, I can't cure Puppy Fever with a spaniel, retriever, or any other caniney rascal.

In sum, I have a new goal. Wait wait, let's capitalize it...
New Goal: Save 12 grand. Get a dog. Take it to the park and giggle at its silly tricks while I bask in financial security.

Eye-steered car: a bad idea

Some goofballs are creating a car that's steered by your eyes. What?! Can you imagine how many puppies my car would run into?!

Childish vs. Childlike

I'm seeing my peers get all "Oh, I'm not going to do this fun, hilarious thing because that's childish." What ding dongs! Fake mustaches are not childish. They're childlike.

Here are more examples to deepen your understanding:

Childish: calling in sick to work because you're tired :(
Childlike: doing a Beyonce dance to wake up from the tiredness :)

Childish: spending all your money on chocolate bars instead of housing :(
Childlike: having your friends paint Lady GaGa masterpieces to fancy up your home in a frugal way :)

Childish: not taking your car in to get oil changes :(
Childlike: writing hysterical things on friends' (with senses of humor) dirty cars like "I wish my boyfriend was this dirty!" :) (Don't do that if your friend is going on a job interview or something. Then this would be childish.)

Childish: pouting about friends' boringness :(
Childlike: having a box of silly hats your friends can wear when they come over :)

To summarize, in 12, 28, and 45 years, I'll be (a) financially stable and (b) a riot! And I'll hang out with you if you're a riot, too... and/or you're financially stable and will take me out on your boat.

The Year of 25, starting yesterday.

Remember when I was 24? Man, what a goof I was. Now I'm 25. I'm fancy. I'm wrinkly.

That birthday, I declared some stuff. It was the Year of the Lemons, the Year of Comfortable Shoes, the Year of Susan Boyle, etc. All good choices. I was wise for a 24-year-old.

It's time to move on to greater things, though.

The Year of 25:
-The Year of Fiscal Responsibility
-The Year of Nicki Minaj
-The Year of Late Morning Snuggles
-The Year of Public Transportation

I considered declaring The Year of Making Friends with People Who Own Boats, but I'll save that for 26. That would be too much pressure for my peer group in this tough economic time.

Happy Birthday to me!

A peeve

For an English teacher, I'm not persnickity about grammar. Honestly. If a person says "safe" when they should have "safely", I don't judge. When I read "gonna" in my students' papers, I don't freak out.

But for some reason, I struggle to respect those who consistently mix up "you're" and "your". If I send you "Thanks!" via text and you respond "Your welcome", I'll squint my eyes in anger and make a mental note to no longer express gratitude to you.

Overall, though, I love all words and the people who say them. Your all super!





I don't know if I have the strength to let that joke remain.

Dog Fever

Some people have Spring Fever. Others have Baby Fever. I have Dog Fever.

Ohmygodiwantadogsobadly.

I do have a wonderful roomdog (like a roommate, but a dog), Solomon. I freaking love Solomon. He is the sweetest, gentlest dog in North America. However, he's not mine. I want one of my own! To name and to cuddle!

And, ok, I have Abey Lincoln. He is a magnificent cat, and I already forgive him for trying to gnaw on my chin while I drank my tea. But could Abey hack it in the dog park? H no.

I am not in the life position for a dog... yet. Some day I will be. I'll have a few extra dollars, some spare backyard, and I'll be comfortable in the "got to go home and take care of Notorious D.O.G." routine.

For now, though, I get my canines fix by invading strangers' personal spaces and petting their dogs at farmers' markets, beaches, and coffee shops that somehow get around the health codes. Oh, and petfinder.com. Thank the internet for that wonderful petfinder.com.

Elephant Seals

When my pal Baum and I drove from Santa Barbara to Seattle, we hung out with baby elephant seals.


Look at this. A whole beach of baby elephant seal. Plus, there was one big daddy. I will post a picture of him... now!


Guess how enormous he is. No, bigger. He is nearly 16 feet long! My dad, Oats, is just over six feet tall, so imagine 2 2/3 of Oats. Whoa. Plus, when this elephant seal rears up to wobble his giant nose at another guy elephant seal, he stands about eight feet tall. Don't mess with him. He will get you.

According to Wikipedia, the largest elephant seal ever recorded was 11,000 pounds and over 22 feet long. Omg.

When it comes down to it, though, I am more impressed by the adorable babies than by the giganto males.


Stab me in the heart with a cute fork. I'm done.

This narrows me down to 1.5% of the population, I bet.

Things I Like That Most People Don't:

-Watching college fastpitch on TV. How do I watch TV if I don't have channels? The gym! It's perfect. The elliptical, UW TV, and the nation's champions. I enjoy fastpitch more than baseball, in fact, because it's faster and the girls cheer. Cheer! Like, cheers that rhyme!

-Doing dishes. It's soothing, and my hands are always dry anyway, so it doesn't have any negative side effects. Clean forks, relaxing minutes, and, when no one else is around, NPR on the radio. When I'm old and rich, I will get a kitchen with two giant sinks. (Dangit. Now the boyfriend knows I don't wash his dishes to be nice.)

-Eating plain, non-fat yogurt. To be fair, I prefer yogurt with flavors, but just examine the ingredients. The cheap, plan stuff has, like, three ingredients, while the others have a billion, several of which I can't pronounce. Unacceptable. Give me the basic, and I'll add my own flair... and by "flair", I mean blueberries and nothing else, because I am in a breakfast rut.

That's all I can think of. My tastes aren't unique. If I made a Stuff I Like That Most People Also Like, it'd be even longer than a detailed list of how many times Abe Lincoln tries to get my attention when I am busy. "Woweewow!" you say. I know. So this is it. Softball, dishes, and yogurt. I'm a teensy bit unique.

Get back in my life, speakers.

I didn't appreciate computer speakers while I had them.

In the olden days, I could put on a Nicki Minaj playlist and dance while cleaning my room.

In the olden days, I could snuggle up with the boyfriend and watch a documentary about the beer industry on streaming Netflix.

In the olden days, I could enjoy "Single Ladies" Youtube videos without getting flat hair from headphones.

My life is a lot harder now.

First World Problems

What a dingbatty day. I'll explain using the math symbols "+" and"-" to indicate swell things and stupid things, respectively.

+I ate a third of a burrito for breakfast because that's the only food I had left in the fridge.

-I get to the office and realize I forgot to bring the papers I graded at home... the same papers I skipped the Trailer Park Boys sequel for!

+We hear good news about our school's contract, but it's even more boring than the other two things above, so I won't tell you.

Keep reading. It gets goofballo. Do you think I'd blog about 3/11/10 if the events were all on the scale of the above events? If so, YOU're goofballo.

-When I walked in the door at home, I smelled a terrible odor. Solomon the Gentlest Dog in the World had pooed a horrible poo in my bedroom.

-Since the poo had tainted one of my bed sheets, I tore up the bed. Suddenly, a SOMEWHAT LARGE SPIDER came running across the sheets. I killed it with some of the rage left over from discovering the poo. (I HAVE BEEN SLEEPING WITH A SPIDER.)

+I bought cat food for Abe Lincoln. I explained the "All Walk" intersection to a baffled pedestrian.

+I won 2 games of Cribbage. Hamb and I mourned and celebrated, respectively, by eating sushi.

+I visited Jodi in Lynnwood, because she was in the area for a SPED conference. She taught me about Autism.

And here is where it gets doofiest....

-My eye plowed into the Lumina's car door. No, I was not intoxicated. No, the door hadn't swung into my face. I simply leaned to grab my phone and BOOM. Cut under my eye. It bled. Now it's all band-aidy. It may be accompanied by a black eye in the morning.

I'm ready for a poo-free, eye-wound-free 3/12/10.

Beat the Drum, Parts 1 and 2

Reason #1 Today is a Good Day:
Hamble and I are celebrating two years since our first date. Aw. To honor the occasion, we will eat ice cream.

I love Hamble. Here we are eating sausage on date #1:

Psych! That's a picture of 2 aardvarks, one adult one baby.

Here we really are:



Reason #2 Today is a Good Day:
You know about Better Lovers Book Club, right? And you know they're my favorite people, and how we always have giggle storms together, and how they all live far away?

Well, scratch that last one off, because THREE - one, two, three! - are moving to Seattle within the next few months. I knew about EBot and Lynn, but now Jodi too! Woweewowowow.

Simile time: three of my bffs moving to Seattle is like waking up and discovering a thirty-foot high Reese's Peanut Butter Cup in my backyard. And that Peanut Butter Cup would be sheltered from the rain and other treat-stealers by a beautiful yet intimidating tent.

No worries. I'm still 24.

"She was twenty-five and looked it, and so there was no longer any need for her to try to be attractive."


Mitchell, Margaret. Gone with the Wind. New York, NY: Warner, 1993. Print.

Adorabirds

Play particularly close attention to the one at the far left. For pete's sake, these birds need to cuddle in my arms and go places with me, including work, the bank, and the grocery store.

You da man, Netflix! ("You are too, Phil!")

I opened my mailbox Monday, and there was a Netflix movie. "Huzzah!" I wooped. It was a foreign "film". (Don't you hate when people say "film"? I do, so I'm putting it in quotations to show I don't take the word - or myself - too seriously.) I'm looking FOREIGward to it. (See what I did there?)

(That's not the climax of the story, guys. We're still in "rising action" mode.)

Then I got some email from Netflix about how they couldn't get When Harry Met Sally to me even though it was first in my queue, but they'll try soon. "No worries," I thought, because I'm a laid-back gal.

Whoosh ahead to today. I open my mailbox just like I did Monday and - whoa! - another Netflix treat! And it was W.H.M.S., the same gall darn about which the rascals emailed me! This probably isn't a big deal to you 2-movies-at-a-time richies, but I scrimp. I pay for only one.

So I was like, "Shooooo, I bet I accidentally upgraded." A little clickity clacking on the internet showed me that no, I hadn't upgraded. Netflix was just being a sweetie! They gave me W.H.M.S. just to be the dollfaces they are. (That was the story's climax.)

Now I have extra-strong, positive feelings toward Netflix and I want you, reader pal, to subscribe if you hadn't already.

(That was the resolution. I will try to write more posts in story line format because I want to prove to my students how applicable our lessons are to real life.)

Saturday, Hikerday

My boyfriend is mountainy, and I do a decent job keeping up. Yesterday, Hamble and I took advantage of the freakishly warm February weather and moseyed up to the top of Mount Pilchuck.


Pretty, right? I never feared for my life, and only once was sure I would tumble down a steep, icy hill and become paralyzed in 30-75% of my body. Didn't happen. My limbs remain movey.

Best/only hike of 2010! And probably the top 3 hikes of my life. The plethora of dogs on the trail helped. (If you run into the waggliest brown husky you've ever seen, give him another pat for me.)

Holla' fo' the outdoors!

Next big idea

Remember the tiny whale idea? Like, how you could put some itsy bitsy Humpbacks in an aquarium in a doctor's office? Of course you do. Your collective silence, readers, indicated you were overwhelmed by the thought, in a good way.

Well here's the next one:

Teeny weeny woolly mammoth.

Do you love it? They'd have to be housetrained, of course, and their tusks would need to be dulled, but still. I envision them the size of a cocker spaniel, and just as snuggly as my parents' black lab.

Get to it, scientists.

Magic at Admiral Junction

At 3:00ish, I left for the library. The sun was blarey, so I wore my gray hat. No big deal. I always wear my gray hat.

At 3:10ish, I arrived at the library. I sat down next to an old man who looked like he'd hunt giant squid. He glanced over as I read Time. (By the way, how awful is the new Newsweek format?). I don't know why. I removed my hat and put it in my lap. It fell on the floor a few times.

Then I left the library. I walked to Safeway where I bought two rolls of paper towels, four Pink Lady apples, and a Dove dark chocolate bar (strategically located next to the tampons). Those were the only three items on my list. Self-control while shopping is one of my numerous strengths.

THIS IS WHERE THE MAGIC BEGINS, so don't stop reading. I was at the corner of Admiral and California - Admiral Junction, if you will. I could have gone west or north since my home was northwest. A former student whose name I can't remember was west, so I chose south. As I started to cross, I saw the scraggly, possible squid hunter... with my hat!

OH MY GOODNESS!

He waved to me and said, "You dropped this, and then you hurried out of the library so I couldn't give this to you! I can't believe we actually ran into each other!" Woweewowow. Since we were in the middle of the crosswalk, the cars stopped at the light were probably also enchanted by this moment.

Woweewowow again. Woweewow.

I saw where the guy lived, so I might leave him a cookie or something. I like that gray hat.

Vacation

The Man forced me to take a personal vacation day. It didn't have to be January 28th or anything, but why the heck not? Kids are in the lab, weekend's about to start, it'll do.

My vacation looks like this:
-Talk to the Payroll and Benefits lady. Fill out paperwork. Feel SO EXCITED.
-Set up my retirement plan. (Get ready for my giganto retirement party! June 2045!)
-Research dentists in Seattle. Recommendations? A plethora of magazines in the waiting room is my number one priority.
-Do laundry.
-Play tennis-ball with Solomon the Dog.*
-Try to fix the stink in my apartment. WHY IS THERE A STINK IN MY APARTMENT? Clean the litter box. Light candles. Continue to feel frustrated about the unchanged apartment stink.
-Go to the YMCA. Feel happy there's another Leonardo DiCaprio movie on channel 55. Elliptical to it.*
-Help boyfriend move into his fancy studio apartment.*
-Think about pho.
-Not actually go to pho.*
-Notice how perfectly my hair is flopping.
-Head up to B'ham for what is destined to be one of the Top 10 Weekends of '10 - snowboarding, free popcorn, dancing the night away, book club baby shower, sandwiches.

I'm living the dream, you guys.

*Predicted activity.

R.I.P., Mr. Salinger

But not in THAT much peace, because I hear J.D. Salinger was a jerk. Still, he wrote my favorite book - Franny and Zooey - and exemplified "voice" in writing. Angsty, over-privileged, 15-year-old boys around the United States will mourn the creator of their - yes, their very own, not anybody else's - Catcher in the Rye.

If it's true that he's been secretly writing for decades (the crotchety old man wouldn't share with anyone!) and that his works can be released now that he's croaked, well then color me p-u-m-p-e-d. Expect serious hermithood from me the week after his stuff is released. Hermithood and giggles.

Cheap cheap cheap

I am typing on an oldish, crappyish computer. That used to bother me. "It takes many minutes for you to load!" I'd holler at it. "I am afraid of downloading more music into your computer brain!" I'd scream. But now it's not so annoying, because my renter's insurance is going to be dang cheap.

I don't own much of monetary value, you see. It all adds up - a cat tree here, a lime green ski outfit there - but I'm confident that the collective value of my junk is much lower than my peers.

The most expensive things I own:
-This adorable computer desk: $150ish
-Used mattress and box spring: $120ish
-Precious, speedy bike: $300ish
-Oldish, crappyish computer: now worth... maybe $250?
-Pictures of me looking adoooorable: $100,000ish

My "accept things for free, buy things used" lifestyle is a bargain, and because of this, my renter's insurance is, too. If frugality was a person - Fru Gality, perhaps - I'd hug him for seconds and seconds and then a few seconds more.

The Daily Puppy suggests this week will be adorable.

What's a better combination than chocolate and peanut butter? Donkeys and puppies!

Dubai is a weird place.

Dubai just constructed the tallest building in the world. It's freaking high. It is just under 1/5 the height of Mt. Rainier.

YOU'RE STRANGE, DUBAI ARCHITECTS. YOU ARE WEIRDOS.

Here are other equally ridiculous things the bosses in Dubai could have done:
-Committed themselves to eating one hundred German chocolate cakes a day for twenty-two years.
-Hosted "1,000 people vs. 1,000 koala" race, and then let trillions of robot cockroaches loose to distract the 2,000 racers.
-Looked at NicUnCool for ten seconds straight
-Dug a 900-square-mile hole and filled it with black licorice flavored ice cream, and then topping it with chocolate-covered black licorice bits shaped like house keys and 3-ring binders.

But they didn't. They chose the giant building. I don't know what is going on over there.

Too many goals.

It was the first day of winter quarter. I was filing rubrics. I was setting goals for the quarter.

Goal #1: Be more organized.
Goal #2: Focus on one thing at a time.

But, haha! That doesn't work at all!

Scientists - make this your resolution.

Superman has Kryptonite. Pooh has honey. NicUnCool has Ricky Martin Van Buren Raden the cat. I have ice cream.

Ice cream, you are like... yourself. Your frozen, heavenly, fatty, delicious self. I hate you. And I love you. You make me want you, and then you stick in my fat cells forever. Even Zumba can't cancel you out, and Zumba is an easy to moderate workout, depending on the day.

Now I hear that scientists are working on a healthier ice cream. Don't be confused! It's not good for you, despite what that tricky headline makes you think. It's just less bad. Like how Nicole Richie is less bad than Paris Hilton. Both ice creams will destroy your body, and both NR and PH will destroy your soul.

Scientists, stop half-assing it and produce a frozen, heavenly, nutritious, delicious self. Eliminate "fatty" and other bad adjectives. Create my dream food, already.

2010 - A Year for Ice Cream Miracles