This past Sunday I was watching Ghost Adventures on the Travel Channel not because I hold any particular belief in the paranormal, but because the three 'investigators' are so completely ridiculous I can't believe they ever figured out how to put their pants on in the morning, much less get their own cable show. Each episode can be summed up thusly:
[Scene]
The setting: some totally rad-awesome place where Something Bad may have happened anywhere from the dawn of time up to last year. Usually an abandoned warehouse, extra-dusty, an abandoned sanitarium/hospital, a mid-renovation hotel, or a bar. Our 3 Dudes arrive and set up camp.
Dude 1: DUDE. Bro.
Dude 2: Brah?
Dude 3: Like, dude.
Dude 1: Dude. Duuuuuuuudebrah. Look at me yell at ghosts. [note: The last line will come out as 'Bro dude dude $(#% brah']
Dudes 2&3: Brooooo.
Dustbunny: Rah.
Dudes 1-3: WAAAAUUUUGGGGH DUDE BRO BRO DUDE BRAH $%! BRAAAH DUUUDE!!!! [They run in terror to either a like-minded paranormal investigation team or a priest. The like-minded paranormal investigation team will inevitably tell them at the the drafts, dust bunnies, and their own shadows are like, totally for sure ghosts. Dude. The priest will sigh and tell them to go back to Bakersfield and see if they can get their jobs at Pac Sun back.]
Dude 1: Bro. Dude.
[SCENE]
Sad as it is, it's still better than American Idol or Kate Gosselin's dancing. Combined.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Acrobatics
One of the first things my husband and I did after we returned from our honeymoon (our first joint purchase, for future note) was to buy a bookcase for our living room. He loves putting things together; I love pretending our living room is about to be showcased in Better Homes & Gardens, so what better way to spend a Saturday than to go down to Target as moony-eyed newleyweds and make a our third joint purchase: A 7-foot-tall espresso-colored pressed fiberboard bookshelf that would look entirely too large in our living room? It seemed like a great idea, until we got it into the parking lot and to our second joint purchase: my husband's car. Chalk it up to the naivete of youth or just poor foresight, but cramming this 7-foot-tall espresso-colored pressed fiberboard bookshelf into a Mazda 3 with two full-grown adults was going to prove to be something of a Tetris championship of spacial management. We did it though. We popped open the trunk, laid down the back seat, wiggled the yet-to-be-assembled bookshelf in, and scooted the passenger seat up until we could close aforementioned trunk.
The only problem with this was that there was an occupant in the passenger seat: me. I am not short, nor am I particularly flexible, but I was determined to have this too-large bookshelf in our living room by noon, so help me God. By the time all was said and done, all the doors closed (mostly), the trunk closed (mostly), and I got to spend the mercifully short 8-10 mile drive home with my face mashed against the windshield hoping that we didn't run into any state troopers because if I'd have tried to put on my seatbelt I would've strangled myself. Of course, if we'd been hit nothing in that car would've moved. At all.
My point in saying all this is this: we're revamping our efforts to swap out some older, worn hand-me-down furniture and we still don't have a car capable of transporting it. I drive a Corolla that so far, knock on wood, has not tried to kill me by random acceleration. My husband's still got his Mazda. All I can hear right now is my parents telling me that we should really get a car that we can transport stuff in so there's really no need to say 'I told you so!' Mom and/or Dad. My car is recently paid off and I'm trying to think ahead as to what I'd like to replace it with Someday. Someday, by the way, gets a capital S because we've got a lot hedging on it. We're going to get a house Someday, we're going to have kids Someday, I'm going to remember that I don't like raddishes before I eat one Someday, but I digress. What's good out there in terms of a mid-sized car or smaller SUV? I don't need a Land Rover or tank (although that would certainly take the headache out of my commute), just something I can Someday put a headboard and new dresser in.
The only problem with this was that there was an occupant in the passenger seat: me. I am not short, nor am I particularly flexible, but I was determined to have this too-large bookshelf in our living room by noon, so help me God. By the time all was said and done, all the doors closed (mostly), the trunk closed (mostly), and I got to spend the mercifully short 8-10 mile drive home with my face mashed against the windshield hoping that we didn't run into any state troopers because if I'd have tried to put on my seatbelt I would've strangled myself. Of course, if we'd been hit nothing in that car would've moved. At all.
My point in saying all this is this: we're revamping our efforts to swap out some older, worn hand-me-down furniture and we still don't have a car capable of transporting it. I drive a Corolla that so far, knock on wood, has not tried to kill me by random acceleration. My husband's still got his Mazda. All I can hear right now is my parents telling me that we should really get a car that we can transport stuff in so there's really no need to say 'I told you so!' Mom and/or Dad. My car is recently paid off and I'm trying to think ahead as to what I'd like to replace it with Someday. Someday, by the way, gets a capital S because we've got a lot hedging on it. We're going to get a house Someday, we're going to have kids Someday, I'm going to remember that I don't like raddishes before I eat one Someday, but I digress. What's good out there in terms of a mid-sized car or smaller SUV? I don't need a Land Rover or tank (although that would certainly take the headache out of my commute), just something I can Someday put a headboard and new dresser in.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Airing out
I love order. I love organizing, cleaning, putting piles of things away, and right angles. Hardcore love on the right angles. From looking around my home right now, though, it'd be hard to see that. There are dishes on the counter, in the sink, the kitchen floor needs to be swept, and I won't even begin to describe the chaos that is the fridge, pantry, or state of our bedding. It's ok though, because what I love most about order, organizing, and cleaning is blitzing our house (apartment, really. But I call it a house sometimes. Freudian slip.). There's something about going rather haywire on a mess that eases tension and makes me feel copacetic.
If I had a therapist they would probably say I like to do that because it's something I have complete control over. I can't control the state of my job. I can't control the traffic on my commute into the city, or the fact that I have not and will not get a raise at work. I can't control the economy, or the weather (yet), or other peoples' minds (again, yet). So I clean.
And it makes things a little easier.
If I had a therapist they would probably say I like to do that because it's something I have complete control over. I can't control the state of my job. I can't control the traffic on my commute into the city, or the fact that I have not and will not get a raise at work. I can't control the economy, or the weather (yet), or other peoples' minds (again, yet). So I clean.
And it makes things a little easier.
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