Random Musings for the Day Volume II
I have a whole bunch of things on my mind currently, and no real rhyme or reason or theme to any of them, so I figured it was time to resurrect a random musings post like my first one.
By the way, I went through my archived posts to find my first random musings, and got all sorts of confused when it was under the 2010 catagory and I was all, but I wasn't a blogger last year, why is it under 2010? Then I realized it's currently a new year. (totally confusing, right? I KNOW! I have no idea what I just said. Obviously.) I've never claimed to be *smart* or *quick-witted*, people.
So, without further ado (whatever that means) here's my most recent rapid fire list of musings:
Why am I always pushing in the chairs around the kitchen table? Who pushes them all out and then leaves them? There's only four of us, and the Wee One is too small, so that leaves Bossy Girl, the Hubby, my alternate personality, or the cat. But his puke trail would give him away. I half expect that at any given moment I'll turn around and see Carol Anne in my kitchen telling me about the TV people screwing with the damn chairs. (one of my all time FAV movies ever, btw. I found a copy of the "digitally remastered" Poltergeist at TJ Maxx for $5 and bought it for myself for Christmas. And wrapped it for myself. And acted all sorts of surprised and touched by someone's thoughtful gift when I opened it.)
For the longest time I've thought my garbage disposal has been playing me for a fool. I've felt that it hasn't been admitting it's true potential and we've been treating it with kid gloves. It can take on more food than it lets on, right? Why can it not handle large chunks of potatoes and potato peels, I've wondered.
I tried out this theory tonight. Turns out I'm wrong. It's clearly the wussy model. I may need to chew its food for it next time. Wimp.
If you ever, ever, ever need someone to put back a lid onto a bottle, don't ask my Hubby. He'll He Man the shit out of it and you'll never get it open. Ever. Again. I've given up on one of Wee One's sippy cups. I may just throw it away. (Oh, and do you think he'd channel that manly man strength into something productive? Oh, I don't know, say, lugging all that laundry up two flights of stairs for me? Ah, hell no. That'd be too *logical* and *practical* and *nice.*)
I'm fairly certain Patrick Swayze is reaching out to me from the great beyond. Wherever that is. I've dreamt about the man three times now since he's died. And I don't have some special affinity towards him as an actor. I don't necessarily love his movies or call myself a fan. Although Dirty Dancing was the bomb. But he's been showing up in my dreams lately, and I'm freaked the freak out (props to Victoria Justice for that one). In one dream, he literally wanted me dead. In the second, he was trying to get me to try a new flavor of ice cream at Dairy Queen. And this last one, last night, he was serenading me with "Seasons Change" by Expose. What the f**ck?????
Before I go to bed tonight I'm going to say out loud for Patrick to hear, "Look, spaghetti arms. This is my dream space. That, is yours. I don't go into yours, you don't go into mine."
And he'll likely reply with, "Look, you've gotta understand what it's like, Baby. You come from the streets and suddenly you're up here, and these women, they are throwing themselves at ya, and they smell so good, and they really take care of themselves. I mean, I never knew women could be like that, you know?"
And then I'll say, "We're supposed to do the show in two days, you won't show me the lifts, I'm not sure of the turns, I'm doing all this to save your ass, what I really want to do is drop you on it"
To which he'll answer, "I don't see you running up to daddy telling him I'm your guy!"
OK, this just went way past weird about 5 minutes ago......
By the way, I went through my archived posts to find my first random musings, and got all sorts of confused when it was under the 2010 catagory and I was all, but I wasn't a blogger last year, why is it under 2010? Then I realized it's currently a new year. (totally confusing, right? I KNOW! I have no idea what I just said. Obviously.) I've never claimed to be *smart* or *quick-witted*, people.
So, without further ado (whatever that means) here's my most recent rapid fire list of musings:
Why am I always pushing in the chairs around the kitchen table? Who pushes them all out and then leaves them? There's only four of us, and the Wee One is too small, so that leaves Bossy Girl, the Hubby, my alternate personality, or the cat. But his puke trail would give him away. I half expect that at any given moment I'll turn around and see Carol Anne in my kitchen telling me about the TV people screwing with the damn chairs. (one of my all time FAV movies ever, btw. I found a copy of the "digitally remastered" Poltergeist at TJ Maxx for $5 and bought it for myself for Christmas. And wrapped it for myself. And acted all sorts of surprised and touched by someone's thoughtful gift when I opened it.)
Oh, and this house? My house? Is not clean Tangina.
Where the hell's my Merry Maid?
For the longest time I've thought my garbage disposal has been playing me for a fool. I've felt that it hasn't been admitting it's true potential and we've been treating it with kid gloves. It can take on more food than it lets on, right? Why can it not handle large chunks of potatoes and potato peels, I've wondered.
I tried out this theory tonight. Turns out I'm wrong. It's clearly the wussy model. I may need to chew its food for it next time. Wimp.
If you ever, ever, ever need someone to put back a lid onto a bottle, don't ask my Hubby. He'll He Man the shit out of it and you'll never get it open. Ever. Again. I've given up on one of Wee One's sippy cups. I may just throw it away. (Oh, and do you think he'd channel that manly man strength into something productive? Oh, I don't know, say, lugging all that laundry up two flights of stairs for me? Ah, hell no. That'd be too *logical* and *practical* and *nice.*)
I'm fairly certain Patrick Swayze is reaching out to me from the great beyond. Wherever that is. I've dreamt about the man three times now since he's died. And I don't have some special affinity towards him as an actor. I don't necessarily love his movies or call myself a fan. Although Dirty Dancing was the bomb. But he's been showing up in my dreams lately, and I'm freaked the freak out (props to Victoria Justice for that one). In one dream, he literally wanted me dead. In the second, he was trying to get me to try a new flavor of ice cream at Dairy Queen. And this last one, last night, he was serenading me with "Seasons Change" by Expose. What the f**ck?????
Before I go to bed tonight I'm going to say out loud for Patrick to hear, "Look, spaghetti arms. This is my dream space. That, is yours. I don't go into yours, you don't go into mine."
And he'll likely reply with, "Look, you've gotta understand what it's like, Baby. You come from the streets and suddenly you're up here, and these women, they are throwing themselves at ya, and they smell so good, and they really take care of themselves. I mean, I never knew women could be like that, you know?"
And then I'll say, "We're supposed to do the show in two days, you won't show me the lifts, I'm not sure of the turns, I'm doing all this to save your ass, what I really want to do is drop you on it"
To which he'll answer, "I don't see you running up to daddy telling him I'm your guy!"
OK, this just went way past weird about 5 minutes ago......
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1 Comment:
I am SO GLAD to discover I'm not the only one who has blogging ADD! Although, I call mine "Brain Sludge." It's that completely random list of shit you absolutely cannot stop thinking about until you write it down. I don't see how it is possible for people to actually have themed blogs, and are able to write about the same subject on a regular basis. My fat head would pop right off.
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