It's that time. That SPECIAL time. You know what to do.
You don't? Oh, come ON. You do so. Grab the fugly button, write a haphazard post (or a numbered one, if you're OCD like that, you're allowed), and leave your link! You know you want to!
Let us begin:
Around here, spring has finally sprung. If you count "sprung" as "warmed up enough to consider melting us out of our permafrost cocoons". Things are dripping and chirping, and we're all exiting our houses and blinking in confusion at the sun. We're looking at our neighbours, and thinking, Oh, right. YOU people.
And we're cautiously removing our
bear skinsjackets, and then looking down and thinking, Oh holy crap I need a wax and a pedi like, STAT!
Also, at least in my case, some kind of noxious substance to apply on my body in the hopes that it might make me appear less like a flabby white supernova.
I wonder who thought that applying bizarre chemicals directly to your skin means that you have less of a chance of getting cancer than if you go out in the sun? Personally I think you're kind of fucked either way. I'll stick with my natural skin tone of "blinding oncoming traffic".
Some search strings from Google Analytics:
"I honestly don't care".
"Honestly people don't care".
"Don't give a crap about shit".
Hm. It's really that obvious, huh?
I've noticed that ever since having my son, all the plants in my house are...kind of the worse for it. As in, I think there's one left with a breath of green on it. I used to be able to make anything grow, but apparently I can't manage to keep the kid, the dog, AND the plants all fed and maintained at the same time.
I probably shouldn't tell the dog if we ever plan to have another kid.
I need a better system for recording my blogging thoughts. I tried carrying around a notepad, but I kept leaving it behind, so every time I wanted to write something down the notepad was inevitably in the wrong location. So I got like, FIVE of them, and now they're ALL in the wrong location.
I saw these tub crayons for kids that they can use to write on the tub, each other, whatever. Considering the only time I have to myself is usually in the shower, I come up with 75% of my blogging thoughts there.
Do you think hubby would disown me if he wandered in to take a pee and was confronted with fractured (but brightly colored!) sentences like "flabby white supernova" and "plants dying, 2 things max, dog next to go hee hee!"?
Speaking of hubby, after I poked fun at him here last week about his ambitious plans for his week off, his feelings were a little hurt. I didn't mean to trash him or anything, I was just poking fun. But apparently that means he DOES read this blog.
Or at least skims for his name. Maybe I should give him a code name, like, I don't know, Shnorgen Farfulflugel.
Some of you were wondering what the hell I was talking about in yesterday's post. Maya is "My Fitness Coach", which is a game for the Wii (not the Wii Fit). And no, you can't actually tell her to go to hell. That picture may or may not have been digitally altered by someone who may or may not be me. Possibly.
On a related note, it drives me absolutely batshit crazy that JS-Kit won't let me reply directly to you guys to answer a simple fucking question.
Sooooo...before Nintendo (or JS-Kit) sues me for slandering them or misrepresenting them (or something - I'm not a fucking lawyer) and shuts this place down, belly up to the Random Bar and link your post! Happy Tuesday!