I am currently obsessed with this song. And the music video (quite strange for me, because I usually never watch music videos). Oh, and pay close attention to the lyrics, I love the lyrics.
"Somebody That I Used to Know" by Goyte (featuring Kimbra)
This is one of the few videos I've seen that actually compliments the lyrics of the song. So, while it is visually interesting on its own, paired with the lyrics, it paints (pun intended) a very interesting picture of the two of them as a couple, which I think is fantastic.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Not for the Faint of Heart
In the summer after the fifth grade, I grew six inches during one summer. BAM, I went from being tiny Laura to being TALL LAURA and also SURPRISINGLY SKINNY LAURA. Suddenly, I looked as if I was suffering from a chronic disease, like tuberculosis or maybe some other form of wasting disease.
With the height increase, I developed a bit of a problem, which was that I no longer had any body fat. Well, I had a little. But hardly any. How thin was I? Let's just say that, on a ride down the water slide, I got twin bruises on either side of my hip bone. With matching abrasions. And my rib cage stuck so far from my stomach, I looked like the victim of a war crime.
At the time, I had no idea why people kept opening doors for me. But last year, I was digging through some pictures, and I found one of me and Paul at the zoo, and I was in the Terrible Haircut phase of the summer, with a cut so bad, it was literally untameable and horribly short in the front, so I took to embracing the trend at the time, which was wearing a scarf over the hair, like a kerchief, which would have been great, but in the picture had the effect of making me look bald. Which means that I was horribly, dangerously thin-looking, extremely pale, and had my hair covered all the time, meaning people probably thought I had some kind of cancer. Oops.
At the same time, Dad was preaching at this church in a nearby town, and the church, like most in the area, was in an old building and had no air conditioning. It was also nearly the hottest summer I can remember.
I would stand up and sit down, sing, and stand and sit some more, but by the end of every service, even with the little paper fans in the pew, I was feeling overheated, weak, hungry, and very strange.
I was lightheaded, I was shaky, like micro-shakes in all my muscles. A person couldn't see the shakes at first, but I could feel them all over. And the world had this sparkly feeling, like there was a fuzzy wall between my eyes and the rest of everything, and with the shakes came a tingling sensation, and altogether, it felt like my world was made television static. And so was I.
Naturally, this came before my dropping to the ground like a rock and waking up moments later with no memory of several seconds, which I had spent unconscious.
Low blood sugar, the doctor said, was the cause. See, my body was still trying to grow, so it was gulping down every form of fuel it could get, which may have included several important organs.
So I ate more. And still, I would get the fuzzy strange feeling. And then I would sit for twenty minutes with my head between my legs, trying not to pass out.
And Paul had swimming lessons (I had taken all of them but the lifeguard course, and I was too young to be a lifeguard), so we would go to the pool and he would swim, and I would sit in the humid chlorine heat and wait. But one day at the pool, I got this strange sensation again, only stronger than ever before, and I just wanted to lie down. So Mom got me a Pay Day bar and I gulped it down, and she started walking me to the car so I could lie down, but I could not so much walk, so she had to hold me up and--
The next thing I knew, I was staring at the stars. And they were like The Lion King stars, I remember thinking, because they were glimmering and moving in a pretty way. And I could hear voices talking, like Mufasa but different, and then I was looking up at my mother and some strange man (the lifeguard) who had come to my mother's aid when I passed out while walking and clamped down my teeth on her shoulder, vampire-style.
Swimming lessons were cut short as Mom drove me to the doctor's office. I remember waking up a few times on the way.
And they poked and prodded and proclaimed me normal and sent me home. By that time, I felt great*.
I never felt that strange again, until last night.
I had arrived home from work and felt good. I'd had a sweet tea, so naturally, I was in a happy mood, because sweet tea makes me happy. I went to my room, put on jeans and the magic hoodie, and started up my laptop to continue watching The Vampire Diaries, because I am keeping a massive spreadsheet tracking how many deaths take place in that show, which is quite a challenge**.
And then I started getting the micro-shakes and Mom came in and I said, "Mom, I am feeling bizarre. I need food."
She came back with her yummy imported shortbread cookies. But at that point, I was shaking so badly, I could not hold the glass of milk she brought, so my mother ended up feeding me. And then I ate cookies. And then I got a peanut butter spoon with Craisins all over the peanut butter, because I was feeling well enough to walk and I know that when I get shaky, I need to have protein, not just sugar.
"I don't like this," Mom kept saying. And I wanted to say, "Gee, Mum, you think I do? No one likes this." But instead I kept eating. And I Googled.
You see, I have a sinus infection (yes, AGAIN), so I was given this medicine to kill the sinus bugs. And it is working. But it says on the bottle to "take with a full meal." And I had, but it occurred to me that, with my crazy-fast metabolism, my idea of a meal might not live up to the bottle's idea of a meal. My idea = healthy serving sizes. Bottle's idea = portions akin to The Cheesecake Factory's entrees.
And there it was, listed in the side effects along with some other unspeakable things like skin falling off and internal bleeding and death. The point being, I now have a blanket excuse, through the end of the week, to eat anything I want at any time.
So tonight I am making Saltine Toffees.
* Or as great as a girl can feel after a complete physical.
** I have no life, and I love spreadsheets. What--that surprises you?
With the height increase, I developed a bit of a problem, which was that I no longer had any body fat. Well, I had a little. But hardly any. How thin was I? Let's just say that, on a ride down the water slide, I got twin bruises on either side of my hip bone. With matching abrasions. And my rib cage stuck so far from my stomach, I looked like the victim of a war crime.
At the time, I had no idea why people kept opening doors for me. But last year, I was digging through some pictures, and I found one of me and Paul at the zoo, and I was in the Terrible Haircut phase of the summer, with a cut so bad, it was literally untameable and horribly short in the front, so I took to embracing the trend at the time, which was wearing a scarf over the hair, like a kerchief, which would have been great, but in the picture had the effect of making me look bald. Which means that I was horribly, dangerously thin-looking, extremely pale, and had my hair covered all the time, meaning people probably thought I had some kind of cancer. Oops.
At the same time, Dad was preaching at this church in a nearby town, and the church, like most in the area, was in an old building and had no air conditioning. It was also nearly the hottest summer I can remember.
I would stand up and sit down, sing, and stand and sit some more, but by the end of every service, even with the little paper fans in the pew, I was feeling overheated, weak, hungry, and very strange.
I was lightheaded, I was shaky, like micro-shakes in all my muscles. A person couldn't see the shakes at first, but I could feel them all over. And the world had this sparkly feeling, like there was a fuzzy wall between my eyes and the rest of everything, and with the shakes came a tingling sensation, and altogether, it felt like my world was made television static. And so was I.
Naturally, this came before my dropping to the ground like a rock and waking up moments later with no memory of several seconds, which I had spent unconscious.
Low blood sugar, the doctor said, was the cause. See, my body was still trying to grow, so it was gulping down every form of fuel it could get, which may have included several important organs.
So I ate more. And still, I would get the fuzzy strange feeling. And then I would sit for twenty minutes with my head between my legs, trying not to pass out.
And Paul had swimming lessons (I had taken all of them but the lifeguard course, and I was too young to be a lifeguard), so we would go to the pool and he would swim, and I would sit in the humid chlorine heat and wait. But one day at the pool, I got this strange sensation again, only stronger than ever before, and I just wanted to lie down. So Mom got me a Pay Day bar and I gulped it down, and she started walking me to the car so I could lie down, but I could not so much walk, so she had to hold me up and--
The next thing I knew, I was staring at the stars. And they were like The Lion King stars, I remember thinking, because they were glimmering and moving in a pretty way. And I could hear voices talking, like Mufasa but different, and then I was looking up at my mother and some strange man (the lifeguard) who had come to my mother's aid when I passed out while walking and clamped down my teeth on her shoulder, vampire-style.
Swimming lessons were cut short as Mom drove me to the doctor's office. I remember waking up a few times on the way.
And they poked and prodded and proclaimed me normal and sent me home. By that time, I felt great*.
I never felt that strange again, until last night.
I had arrived home from work and felt good. I'd had a sweet tea, so naturally, I was in a happy mood, because sweet tea makes me happy. I went to my room, put on jeans and the magic hoodie, and started up my laptop to continue watching The Vampire Diaries, because I am keeping a massive spreadsheet tracking how many deaths take place in that show, which is quite a challenge**.
And then I started getting the micro-shakes and Mom came in and I said, "Mom, I am feeling bizarre. I need food."
She came back with her yummy imported shortbread cookies. But at that point, I was shaking so badly, I could not hold the glass of milk she brought, so my mother ended up feeding me. And then I ate cookies. And then I got a peanut butter spoon with Craisins all over the peanut butter, because I was feeling well enough to walk and I know that when I get shaky, I need to have protein, not just sugar.
"I don't like this," Mom kept saying. And I wanted to say, "Gee, Mum, you think I do? No one likes this." But instead I kept eating. And I Googled.
You see, I have a sinus infection (yes, AGAIN), so I was given this medicine to kill the sinus bugs. And it is working. But it says on the bottle to "take with a full meal." And I had, but it occurred to me that, with my crazy-fast metabolism, my idea of a meal might not live up to the bottle's idea of a meal. My idea = healthy serving sizes. Bottle's idea = portions akin to The Cheesecake Factory's entrees.
And there it was, listed in the side effects along with some other unspeakable things like skin falling off and internal bleeding and death. The point being, I now have a blanket excuse, through the end of the week, to eat anything I want at any time.
So tonight I am making Saltine Toffees.
* Or as great as a girl can feel after a complete physical.
** I have no life, and I love spreadsheets. What--that surprises you?
Friday, February 10, 2012
At Home with My Family
I was calmly brushing my teeth yesterday when I saw something move out of the corner of my eye.
Really. What more could I add?
Really. What more could I add?
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
A Nice Hot Bath
I am allergic to my own hair.
No, really. See, when I get my hair cut, the little bits of hair that are snipped off? The ones that land on your skin and your clothes and the floor? Yeah those ones. Wherever those little bits of hair touch my skin, I get hives.
No joke.
So when I got my hair cut today, I came home and ran a lovely bath, so I could get rid of the little bits and be hive-free.
As I lay in the water, I thought, "Gee, this is a nice bath."
But because I am me, that thought was short-lived.
I turned the water back on to run some flaming hot water into the bath, because a bath isn't really a bath unless you are scalded lobster-pot red. But because of the whole safety-first thing, I put a hand out to steady myself, so I would not fall forward and smack face-first into the faucet, knocking out half my teeth.
And as I leaned that hand against the wall, something happened. Something BAD.
The wall MOVED. And at first, I thought it was my hand, what with it being wet and all, but NO. The wall moved, and it moved IN. My hand dented the wall.
So first I thought, [WORD REDACTED].
Then I thought, "This couldn't happen when I wasn't all slippery and naked."
Then I thought, "What are the chances this isn't as bad as I think it is?"
Then I got out of the bath and (when sufficiently covered) went to get Mom (You don't get Dad in these situations. He tends to react badly).
"Mom," I said. "Could I borrow you for a moment? There's something you should take a look at."
And Mom came. And then she grabbed a nearby screwdriver and started ripping out tile while I stood there in my fluffy pink robe, my hair still dripping gently on my shoulders.
From what we can determine, there was a leak somewhere in a pipe that connects to the faucet of the tub. The leak slowly spread out from the faucet, causing a section of wall, about the size of my laptop, to become...structurally unsound.
Luckily, we have plenty of extra tile and were already planning on replacing the faucet.
Unluckily, this meant we had to call a plumber, and the plumber would come in who-knows-how-long, and he would fix the problem. And we had to tell Dad. Yeah.
So Mom got Dad.
"I hate to show you this now," she said sweetly. This was happening five minutes before his bedtime (and that is possibly the WORST time to approach him with a problem). "But better now than to have you walk into the bathroom tomorrow morning and see a bathtub filled with tile!"
The next thing I heard was a strange crumbling noise. And when I peered in to investigate, I saw Dad using his bare hands to rip tile off the wall. And then he tore out wall. He was like the Hulk, only smaller and less green.
Mom, meanwhile, went into her bedroom closet, because in the closet there is this little wooden panel that pulls away, revealing all the pipes and whatnot for the tub. I went over to see if there was a massive quantity of mold back there, a wise move for someone as violently allergic to mold as I am, but hey, I was curious.
As I stood behind Mom, I saw a hand reach through the wall and into the closet. This was especially freaky due to my viewing of The Woman in Black last Friday.
Then I withdrew to my room, leaving my parents conversing through the hole in the bathroom wall. How Shakespearean of them.
"You aren't listening to me," I heard Dad say.
"I am listening."
"You AREN'T LISTENING."
"I am.*"
Then I heard the sound of Dad pounding off into the living room. He lasted less than five minutes. He panics when things go wrong.
So now, we have no bathtub that we can use, because there is a gaping hole in the wall. The shower in the basement is infested with spiders as big as my hand, so that is a terrifying option.
When I mentioned to Mom that this meant we couldn't use the tub until the plumber came, she looked at me calmly and said, "Well, you're clean now, at least!"
Behold, the hole in the bathroom wall.
More tile will need to come out to remove all the plaster that was water-damaged. The affected area is mostly visible on the side of the wall in the room where a Very Angry Guy Who Should Be Left Alone is sleeping, but you get the idea.
*For the record, Mom is so much nicer than I am. And she was so totally listening.
No, really. See, when I get my hair cut, the little bits of hair that are snipped off? The ones that land on your skin and your clothes and the floor? Yeah those ones. Wherever those little bits of hair touch my skin, I get hives.
No joke.
So when I got my hair cut today, I came home and ran a lovely bath, so I could get rid of the little bits and be hive-free.
As I lay in the water, I thought, "Gee, this is a nice bath."
But because I am me, that thought was short-lived.
I turned the water back on to run some flaming hot water into the bath, because a bath isn't really a bath unless you are scalded lobster-pot red. But because of the whole safety-first thing, I put a hand out to steady myself, so I would not fall forward and smack face-first into the faucet, knocking out half my teeth.
And as I leaned that hand against the wall, something happened. Something BAD.
The wall MOVED. And at first, I thought it was my hand, what with it being wet and all, but NO. The wall moved, and it moved IN. My hand dented the wall.
So first I thought, [WORD REDACTED].
Then I thought, "This couldn't happen when I wasn't all slippery and naked."
Then I thought, "What are the chances this isn't as bad as I think it is?"
Then I got out of the bath and (when sufficiently covered) went to get Mom (You don't get Dad in these situations. He tends to react badly).
"Mom," I said. "Could I borrow you for a moment? There's something you should take a look at."
And Mom came. And then she grabbed a nearby screwdriver and started ripping out tile while I stood there in my fluffy pink robe, my hair still dripping gently on my shoulders.
From what we can determine, there was a leak somewhere in a pipe that connects to the faucet of the tub. The leak slowly spread out from the faucet, causing a section of wall, about the size of my laptop, to become...structurally unsound.
Luckily, we have plenty of extra tile and were already planning on replacing the faucet.
Unluckily, this meant we had to call a plumber, and the plumber would come in who-knows-how-long, and he would fix the problem. And we had to tell Dad. Yeah.
So Mom got Dad.
"I hate to show you this now," she said sweetly. This was happening five minutes before his bedtime (and that is possibly the WORST time to approach him with a problem). "But better now than to have you walk into the bathroom tomorrow morning and see a bathtub filled with tile!"
The next thing I heard was a strange crumbling noise. And when I peered in to investigate, I saw Dad using his bare hands to rip tile off the wall. And then he tore out wall. He was like the Hulk, only smaller and less green.
Mom, meanwhile, went into her bedroom closet, because in the closet there is this little wooden panel that pulls away, revealing all the pipes and whatnot for the tub. I went over to see if there was a massive quantity of mold back there, a wise move for someone as violently allergic to mold as I am, but hey, I was curious.
As I stood behind Mom, I saw a hand reach through the wall and into the closet. This was especially freaky due to my viewing of The Woman in Black last Friday.
Then I withdrew to my room, leaving my parents conversing through the hole in the bathroom wall. How Shakespearean of them.
"You aren't listening to me," I heard Dad say.
"I am listening."
"You AREN'T LISTENING."
"I am.*"
Then I heard the sound of Dad pounding off into the living room. He lasted less than five minutes. He panics when things go wrong.
So now, we have no bathtub that we can use, because there is a gaping hole in the wall. The shower in the basement is infested with spiders as big as my hand, so that is a terrifying option.
When I mentioned to Mom that this meant we couldn't use the tub until the plumber came, she looked at me calmly and said, "Well, you're clean now, at least!"
Behold, the hole in the bathroom wall.
More tile will need to come out to remove all the plaster that was water-damaged. The affected area is mostly visible on the side of the wall in the room where a Very Angry Guy Who Should Be Left Alone is sleeping, but you get the idea.
*For the record, Mom is so much nicer than I am. And she was so totally listening.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
How I almost maybe kind-of died. Again.
This winter, Rachael and I have been CURSED. Well, maybe only I have been cursed. Or maybe Rachael is arranging meet-ups with me, then informing a hit-man/woman of my route in order to get me killed. I don't know. Rachael, did you put a hit out on me? Is it because we accidentally buy and make the same clothes?
The first time, I was driving to Rachael's house so we could go to Fort Wayne to go to several yarn stores, Biaggi's, and as many bakeries as we could find. On the way, it was snowing. It wasn't bad enough for me to descend into raw panic, but it was bad enough to cause some slippery road issues. The solution was to drive normally, but reduce speed for turning and also to not slam on the brakes like one would when stomping a spider into oblivion. No problem.
But then, as I drove past the Happy Horse Farm, which Mom named because the horses there looked well cared for and...happy, a dude with some kind of top-of-the-line Chevy truck pulled out of the Happy Horse Farm Driveway, pulling an empty horse trailer. And while the truck had awesome traction and what-not, the horse trailer may well have been the FIRST HORSE TRAILER EVER, it was so beaten and abused, and it did NOT have traction at all, resulting in the trailer swinging back and forth behind the truck like a toddler with one of those duck pull-toy things. You know the ones.
That would not have been a problem, except I was in the opposite lane and suddenly a ginormous truck-plus-trailer was heading directly toward me, poised for a head-on collision. And I had nowhere to go, except off the side of the road, which was elevated, then down into the ditch where I would be trapped until my car could be drug back out, if my car did not flip and roll several times.
Mercifully, the truck regained control before I had to choose between the two.
Then I met up with Rachael and Katherine, and we ate lots of pastries to make up for the near-death experience. And we also bought yarn. To cushion us in case of a deadly, deadly crash.
Today, I was meeting Rachael for lunch, because we do that sometimes. And on my way, as I drove through yet another snow storm, I came to a stop at a light. It was a red light. Then I looked in my rear-view mirror.
In the mirror, I saw a giant Mack truck. They are bigger than the Chevy ones, and are often used in road repair to carry around gravel and things. But this one must have been empty, because it was not heavy enough to avoid the fact that it was going too fast to stop for the light where I was stopped. Much too fast.
But the driver tried to stop anyway, resulting in the entire truck veering to one side, then proceeding down the road, sideways. So, I was about to be rear-ended by this truck, or rather, the truck's side. If I was lucky, only the top of my car would be sheared off as the truck slid over my car.
Have I mentioned that I just finished paying off my car? This is why people keep trying to destroy it.
The light changed, so I drove forward, hoping that my slow acceleration would allow the truck enough time not to kill me, and I was RIGHT. The truck corrected and proceeded behind me at a safe distance, and I met Rachael and we ate BLTs. This was much better than being subjected to the jaws of life.
And now, I have the extreme pleasure of driving home on the questionable roads this evening. I am planning on a night covered in the heating blanket I got for Christmas, and maybe even a cup of hot chocolate before bed. If I survive the drive, that is. Wish me luck.
And here is my favorite snow-driving video, for entertainment purposes. I was not driving any of the cars in this video.
**A Note on Blogger-ly Things: You may notice that the comment form has changed. Hooray! This is a wonderful thing, because one can now reply to comments, meaning I can reply directly to you! Isn't that lovely?**
The first time, I was driving to Rachael's house so we could go to Fort Wayne to go to several yarn stores, Biaggi's, and as many bakeries as we could find. On the way, it was snowing. It wasn't bad enough for me to descend into raw panic, but it was bad enough to cause some slippery road issues. The solution was to drive normally, but reduce speed for turning and also to not slam on the brakes like one would when stomping a spider into oblivion. No problem.
But then, as I drove past the Happy Horse Farm, which Mom named because the horses there looked well cared for and...happy, a dude with some kind of top-of-the-line Chevy truck pulled out of the Happy Horse Farm Driveway, pulling an empty horse trailer. And while the truck had awesome traction and what-not, the horse trailer may well have been the FIRST HORSE TRAILER EVER, it was so beaten and abused, and it did NOT have traction at all, resulting in the trailer swinging back and forth behind the truck like a toddler with one of those duck pull-toy things. You know the ones.
That would not have been a problem, except I was in the opposite lane and suddenly a ginormous truck-plus-trailer was heading directly toward me, poised for a head-on collision. And I had nowhere to go, except off the side of the road, which was elevated, then down into the ditch where I would be trapped until my car could be drug back out, if my car did not flip and roll several times.
Mercifully, the truck regained control before I had to choose between the two.
Then I met up with Rachael and Katherine, and we ate lots of pastries to make up for the near-death experience. And we also bought yarn. To cushion us in case of a deadly, deadly crash.
Today, I was meeting Rachael for lunch, because we do that sometimes. And on my way, as I drove through yet another snow storm, I came to a stop at a light. It was a red light. Then I looked in my rear-view mirror.
In the mirror, I saw a giant Mack truck. They are bigger than the Chevy ones, and are often used in road repair to carry around gravel and things. But this one must have been empty, because it was not heavy enough to avoid the fact that it was going too fast to stop for the light where I was stopped. Much too fast.
But the driver tried to stop anyway, resulting in the entire truck veering to one side, then proceeding down the road, sideways. So, I was about to be rear-ended by this truck, or rather, the truck's side. If I was lucky, only the top of my car would be sheared off as the truck slid over my car.
Have I mentioned that I just finished paying off my car? This is why people keep trying to destroy it.
The light changed, so I drove forward, hoping that my slow acceleration would allow the truck enough time not to kill me, and I was RIGHT. The truck corrected and proceeded behind me at a safe distance, and I met Rachael and we ate BLTs. This was much better than being subjected to the jaws of life.
And now, I have the extreme pleasure of driving home on the questionable roads this evening. I am planning on a night covered in the heating blanket I got for Christmas, and maybe even a cup of hot chocolate before bed. If I survive the drive, that is. Wish me luck.
And here is my favorite snow-driving video, for entertainment purposes. I was not driving any of the cars in this video.
**A Note on Blogger-ly Things: You may notice that the comment form has changed. Hooray! This is a wonderful thing, because one can now reply to comments, meaning I can reply directly to you! Isn't that lovely?**
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Inside Laura's Head: a Play in One Act
Act One
[Camera pans over library. Laura sits in desk chair, staring at cell phone. She is visually nervous. Narrator is offstage, speaking for Laura as she sits quietly onstage.]
Narrator: Some days, I am like, "It's so great that today is almost over, and I get to go home and have fun because today is Fri--Thursday. Crap." Because on Wednesdays and Thursdays, I don't leave work at five. I leave at eight.
Today is one of those days.
And that creates a problem, because I was making plans with Jen for a Girl's Night, and all week I have had the startling realization that it is not the day after the day it actually is, so planning things, it has been hard.
So tonight, due to my stupidity, will have to be Girl's Night Abridged. And that will be fine, except not if I told Jen that I finished work at five like I think I did, and I think that is what I did. I think I told her five. I meant eight. Math has never been my strong suit.
Now, if I were a normal girl, which I am not, I wouldn't freak out about this.
But I am not a normal girl. Like I just said. I'm not. Really.
I am Super Anxiety Girl, who creates imaginary mistakes for herself, then punishes herself for them. Like right now.
[Laura quietly freaks out]
Narrator: I'm all like, "It's three-o-eight, Jen! CHECK YOUR CELL. Have you checked it yet? Get with the checking!"
But there is no new text.
Which means Jen still has no idea about the late-working-ness of tonight.
[Laura continues to freak out]
Narrator: It's three seventeen. THREE SEVENTEEN. Is Jen out of school yet? She must be. I think we used to get out of school at three back when I was little. Didn't we? Was it three or three-twenty? I can't remember. Stupid Laura can't remember. *freaks out some more*
This is not good. I will go down in history as Laura, the Bad Friend who tells people wrong times of things.
I wonder if my cell phone keeps a copy of texts I have sent?
[Laura checks cell]
Narrator: STUPID PHONE, RUINING MY LIFE.
It it clearly the phone's fault. Also, I am such a bad texter! I text terribly, and I cannot get messages unless I turn my phone on and off and stand up on top of my bed to get a signal! I get messages hours after they were sent! This is my phone's fault!
Except that no. It is my fault. Because I am a Bad Friend.
[Laura freaks out even more. Checks phone again, keeps staring at phone]
Narrator: It might be okay. Jen has never murdered me before. I am still alive, after all. But what if she is BORED. Alone and bored, while I am working? Well. Then the boredness would be my fault. Because I suck. I am a pile of suck.
Stupid Laura, ruining everyone's life.
Especially Jen's.
Stupid, stupid.
Little Voice In Head Whose Job It Is to Kick Laura When She Is Down: [From offstage] "Also you look stupid in those pants and are generally unattractive!"
Laura: "Shut up, you."
[phone lights up with new text]
Laura: [reads text out loud] "Yes, You did." [sighs and slumps back against chair]
[Stage lights off. Exeunt Laura]
Thursday, December 22, 2011
All of the Things
I got my hair cut today, so the chunk that was burned away and the hair around it are now one length. I consider this some kind of victory.
I spent five hours last night making origami Christmas cards in order to avoid knitting on the sock.
A few days ago, I cast on for the sock in order to avoid knitting a certain sweater.
I have now made cards for everyone I can think of, and handed them out, so even the extra stuff I made up to make more Christmas prep work for myself after I already finished all my Christmas prep is now finished. I am out of luck. I guess Christmas had better come soon, before I decide to repaint my bedroom in holiday colors.
These cough drops make me want to throw up.
I am not throwing them away, though, because if I do, I will not have any cough drops, and I'm not buying more.
I just took my second dose of antibiotics. So hopefully, there will soon be improvement...
This is my last day of work until next WEDNESDAY. This is a mini-Christmas Vacation for me.
I have yet to watch The Muppet's Christmas Carol, and that makes me sad. I cannot find a copy to rent or to buy. Tragic.
In other Christmas news, Jennifer showed me THIS:
And I love it and want to make one. It is the bestest Christmas tree ever.
Then, while I was reading the various blogs I follow, I discovered this hilarious abridged version of Jane Eyre by YA author extraordinaire Sarah Rees Brennan. She is so very funny.
My favorite part? The Helen Burns section. "HELEN BURNS: Would you like to be friends? I love you, Jane, and I also love Jesus." And, "HELEN BURNS: HERE LIES HELEN BURNS, DEAD OF NARRATIVE INEVITABILITY."
Dead of narrative inevitability. Best way to die, ever.
I spent five hours last night making origami Christmas cards in order to avoid knitting on the sock.
A few days ago, I cast on for the sock in order to avoid knitting a certain sweater.
I have now made cards for everyone I can think of, and handed them out, so even the extra stuff I made up to make more Christmas prep work for myself after I already finished all my Christmas prep is now finished. I am out of luck. I guess Christmas had better come soon, before I decide to repaint my bedroom in holiday colors.
These cough drops make me want to throw up.
I am not throwing them away, though, because if I do, I will not have any cough drops, and I'm not buying more.
I just took my second dose of antibiotics. So hopefully, there will soon be improvement...
This is my last day of work until next WEDNESDAY. This is a mini-Christmas Vacation for me.
I have yet to watch The Muppet's Christmas Carol, and that makes me sad. I cannot find a copy to rent or to buy. Tragic.
In other Christmas news, Jennifer showed me THIS:
Source: mediatinker.com via Laura on Pinterest
And I love it and want to make one. It is the bestest Christmas tree ever.
Then, while I was reading the various blogs I follow, I discovered this hilarious abridged version of Jane Eyre by YA author extraordinaire Sarah Rees Brennan. She is so very funny.
My favorite part? The Helen Burns section. "HELEN BURNS: Would you like to be friends? I love you, Jane, and I also love Jesus." And, "HELEN BURNS: HERE LIES HELEN BURNS, DEAD OF NARRATIVE INEVITABILITY."
Dead of narrative inevitability. Best way to die, ever.
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