Two entries in one day - my, I'm wordy

As a result of my usual Sunday boredom, I've been sitting at my computer all afternoon. I have in my possession both Great Expectations and The Three Musketeers to enlighten my mind (or whatever), but really I can't be expected to read real live non-fluff books on a day like this. Actually, I can't really claim to have ever been into that kind of book, unless it was for bragging rights. "Yeah, I read Les Miserables and Ivanhoe. What of it? Doesn't everyone read classic literature for fun?" Okay, so Les Mis was abridged to like 300 pages, but I was only 12 or something, so that's almost like reading the real thing.

The reason for the aforementioned enlightening books is a list my sister sent me, almost like throwing down a gauntlet, asking how many of these supposedly NEA endorsed books I'd read. Sometime when I remember I'll post the list on here, although we've since decided that the list might not be legit based on the separate listings of Hamlet and The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. Apparently Hamlet isn't worthy of inclusion in Shakespeare's works. It's all that Ophelia's fault, crazy bi-otch.

But I digress. Rather than reading classic lit, or even Harry Potter or something, I've been web surfing. Too bad web surfing doesn't give you the same great bod as real surfing, or I'd be HOT! My cousin told me about a blog called Seriously, So Blessed that I've been meaning to get to, and I finally did. Holy. Freaking. Hilarious, Batman. I've been reading intently all afternoon. AND, to my extreme delight, that blog led me to others! It's been awesome! The only sad thing is, now I feel lame and stupid for not being nearly so clever. Maybe I should start reading some Jonathan Swift to get in a more cuttingly satirical frame of mind....

Anyhoo, here are the blogs that I'm now in love with:
Seriously, So Blessed
Pulsipher Predilections
The Blog Cabin
Bishop Higgins 3rd Ward - News for Mormons

The first blog does give me a little bit of a complex though. When I first came out to school here in Utah I was not so much appalled or shocked, but annoyed by the "Mormon culture" that is springing up into obnoxious cheesiness. But no matter how much I object to my religion becoming a culture as opposed to a faith, I'm pretty sure I've picked up on some of these idiosyncrasies and Seriously, So Blessed makes me painfully aware that I may be laughing at my own weaknesses. Yikes!

The last one is apparently a follower of my blog (maybe because I'm so ridiculously silly, like the girls Seriously, So Blessed makes fun of), and OH MAN it cracks me up. GOOD. TIMES.

Is it just me?

Um, so, heh heh... I may be insane.

Is it bad that I have so many hypothetical (a euphemism for imaginary) conversations with myself that I actually whisper out loud? That my lips move and my hands involuntarily gesture? That my moods actually change as a result (ex. I'm grumpy after a pretend fight, happy after a good joke session, etc.)?

I don't want to be the crazy bag lady in the park!!!

The great Dave Barry

It has come to my attention that some of my acquaintances have not heard of the writer Dave Barry, and so cannot worship him in all his awesome hilarity properly. I was just giggling and chuckling over an article of his and decided to post it here to prove that I'm not crazy, just properly devoted. Enjoy!

A story line with bite

People always ask me: ``Is it hard to be a professional writer like you and Joyce Carol Oates?''

Yes. Very hard. Here is a true example of the kind of difficulties we face: The other day, I was in sitting at my desk in my home office, doing what I do all day, which is frown at my computer screen and wrestle with professional writing issues, such as: ''Do I have anything to say about this topic?'' And: ''What, exactly, IS this topic?''

This is tiring work, so roughly 35,000 times a day I have to take a break to eat something or drink something or scratch something. At this particular moment, I reached to my left to pick up my can of Diet Coke, and

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

That is the screaming sound my brain made when it realized that my hand was, at most, two inches from a LIVE SNAKE. Really. As a South Florida resident, I'm used to having ants on my desk, but they are friendly, harmless and easy to smush. Whereas this was a full-blown snake, coiled for attack, with its head reared up and its tongue flicking out toward me, which is how snakes communicate the message: ``Hah! Perhaps you wish to die for your Diet Coke, Mister No-Topic Writer Man!''

Any wildlife expert will tell you that, when confronted with a potentially dangerous animal, you must remain calm and not make any sudden movements. That's why I always say: ''The hell with wildlife experts.'' Propelled almost entirely by my bun muscles, I shot, missile-like, from my chair, landing on my feet, clutching my keyboard in a defensive pose. The snake had not moved. It was clearly thinking: ``My species is millions of years old. I do not fear your keyboard.''

So I ran into the kitchen and grabbed what I felt was the best anti-snake weapon I own: barbecue tongs. Brandishing them, I went back to the office and lunged at the snake. The good news was: I was able to grab it. The bad news was: I grabbed it in its midsection, and it was long enough (I am estimating 17 feet) that it could easily reach my hands with its mouth, and it was flailing around in a very irate manner. Fortunately, I was able to keep a cool head, as we see by the following verbatim transcript of my thought process:

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

I dimly remember bursting out the patio door, with my outstretched arm gripping the tongs as far back on the handle as possible while the snake thrashed wildly. The instant I was outside I dropped the tongs, and the snake, now free to go anywhere in North America, proved that it was in fact the Evil Demon Serpent from Hell by slithering directly into the swimming pool. Head high, it began to briskly swim laps in a counterclockwise direction.

''Ha ha, Barbecue Boy!'' it was indicating. ``Perhaps you do not have a large enough pair of tongs to handle the likes of me!''

So I had no choice but to pick up the tongs again and chase the snake around the edge of the pool, in that schizophrenic way that you chase a critter when you are actually terrified of it. Like, if you see a crab or a squirrel in your path, you keep moving toward it, not because you are brave, but because you believe it will run away from you. But if it's one of those renegade crabs or squirrels that run in your direction, you -- admit it -- turn and flee, whimpering, because even though you're 200 times the critter's size, you're afraid that it will bite (or pinch) you, whereas you know in your heart that you will not bite (or pinch) it.

We just have to hope that more critters do not figure this out. That was the situation I found myself in, chasing the Demon Serpent around the pool. I'd get close enough to grab it with the tongs, and suddenly it would reverse direction, and WHOA I was fleeing from the snake. This went on for several minutes -- chasing the snake, fleeing from the snake, chasing the snake -- until finally the snake made the classic tactical error of going into the pool filter basket. Once again, I was able to get close enough to get the tongs on it and

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

This time, when I dropped the tongs, the snake went into the patio planter, where it disappeared. It's still out there somewhere, lurking, and now I'm a nervous wreck, wondering how it got into the house and where it will show up next.

I'm also exhausted. YOU try sleeping with barbecue tongs.

© 2008, Dave Barry

Yar!

I just wanted to say:

Argh, be havin' a wonderful Talk Like a Pirate Day.
Yeearrrrr.

Phavorite photos

This is vain, but I wanted to download some of my favorite pictures of me. If you were to ever visit my facebook account you'd see I change my picture like every two days. They're not always good pictures, they just express how I'm feeling. These are my good pictures, hee hee.

The first picture is the color I *want* my hair to be.

The second is the color it *insists* on staying.

This is how I feel about life usually.





But sometimes I feel like this,


Or this.


These are my most favorite kinds of pictures, the ones that best express my randomness:

Where's my rainbow? Heck, where's my ark??

I have terrible judgement, really I do. I'm bad at picking movies to watch, restaurants to eat at, and especially picking out apartments. Ever since my first horrible apartment, which was picked mostly out of abject fear of not moving fast enough to get a properly empty apartment (because my roommate had three other friends that just *had* to live with us) rather than out of experience and wisdom; I've had a run of crazy landlords/roommates/maintenance problems.

My sister and I fought tooth and nail in an exhaustive battle to get our heating/cooling system fixed so we could be cool in August, but warm by the end of September (how unreasonable of us); as well as to get our deadbolt fixed so we wouldn't be raped and/or killed in our beds (again, what jerks we are!). That was my craziest landlord.

Then it was the crazy roommates. There was the one who collected little bears - so many little bears, all over the apartment; one couldn't help but imagine them coming to life while looking into their beady glass eyes... maybe I'm the crazy one? Or there was the roommate who's friend would always bring his pet boa constrictor over to "play". He delighted in leaving it next to me, hoping that I would squeal or scream. I didn't, but oh boy did that boa want to eat me! Fortunately I was the bigger one. HA!

And the maintenance funnies. I moved to a basement room that seemed nice enough. Until I noticed my closet dripping, that is. Foolishly, I merely moved my clothes to the other closet and watched with curiosity until, to my horror, the closet ceiling collapsed under the pressure of water from the shower upstairs. That was fun times, living with a crazy big fan blowing ALL THE TIME until they deemed the carpet dry enough. After that I lived in another apartment that had BEES (or at least *a* bee) living in the vents of my bathroom. I steamed up the bathroom more than once after that, because there was NO WAY I was turning the fan on again.

My newest adventure took place in the form of yet another flood, but this one was of Epic Proportions! The girls above me mistook the sprinkler heads for hanger hooks and placed a hanger on one. Apparently some pulling or tugging of the hanger occurred, and all Hell broke loose. Well more accurately, a lot of water (about 600 gallons) came pouring from the ceiling. Of course that amount of water doesn't just sit there, so it made its merry way through their floor, which also happened to be *our* ceiling! After many angry mutterings and gasps of horror, my roommates and myself packed away our more perishable items (TVs, computers, bedding) and moved to a hotel. First is was two days, then three, now four. I hope to move home someday.

What I really want to know is: Noah got a rainbow promising no more troubles, where's mine??