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Random Bits About My Crazy Train

March 1, 2013 1 comment

It’s Friday and I’m uber busy getting reading for two major things I have happening this weekend for work. So, of course, I am procrastinating. Why is that? Am I the only one? Please tell me I’m not.

I seriously have a bucket-load of crap to get done before 4:15. And I just opened my cabinet and thought about which coffee cups I never use anymore and could donate to Good Will. What the eff brain? The only thing that stopped me was the realization I don’t have a box big enough to hold them all.

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Haters Gonna Hate: Comic Sans, Underwear, Et Al

November 30, 2012 8 comments

Have you ever wondered if part of human evolution has been to make us more extreme? Or has technology simply made it seem that way? It seems like more and more often I read, hear, or somehow experience extreme reactions to even the most mundane things. Of course, it may be that my Gen X “meh” is just showing. After all, it seems ludicrous to expend so much energy on some of this stuff.

Take Comic Sans for example. People seem to largely have feelings about this font. And their feelings tend to run mighty big. “LOVE IT!” some scream in the style of Wheezy from DragonTales. Others scream just as loudly, “Burn it with the fire of a thousand suns!” like the grumblers they are. The whole thing leads me to say, “It’s a font folks.”

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Writing and Pants

November 16, 2012 2 comments

I have gadzooks of writing to do today. Seeing as how I’m a writer among other things, this is not a surprising thing. However, in this case I’ve got gadzooks of writing to do for work as well. So yeah. There comes a time when you can’t procrastinate any longer on certain projects. This rubber needs to meet the road and in a hurry. But I also need to buy some pants.

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Talking Poop Yo!

September 21, 2012 5 comments

We’ve all done it — talked about someone or something in disparaging terms. Call it “venting” or “going stabbity” or whatever, there are times when airing our feelings, perhaps in even a less than favorable gossip-like way, feels like the right thing to do. But how comfortable are you to talk about actual poop? As in your own?

Me, not so much.

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Love When The Forecast Is For 90

September 17, 2012 1 comment

Today has been one of those days. Not necessarily bad, just not the kind you want to have your own personal Groundhog Day modeled after. Case in point? I got to chat with the dude from the gas company while wearing my “grandmotherly” bathrobe and my hair standing on end. I bet he wishes he hadn’t come to my door right then. I suppose the bright side of the whole catastrophe is the fact that by being freshly showered instead of my pajamas he may have assumed I was some health nut who’d been exercising for three hours. Of course, we all know I was swilling coffee and writing, but whatever. Read more…

Doing Things The Hard Way

August 17, 2012 6 comments

I’ve been lamenting for several days over the sad, sad condition of my kitchen floor. I’m pretty sure that if it were any more sticky, I’d loose either a flip-flop or a 6 year old in there. But of course, mopping said floor is never very high on my list of things to do. (Obviously.) But this morning, as I schlepped across the kitchen to the coffee maker, my slippers making a sound much like when I give my dog peanut butter, I figured I’d better actually mop the dang thing. And therein lies the story. Read more…

Vaginas Are Bad and Other Lies

July 6, 2012 8 comments

I’ve been thinking about the capriciousness of life lately. Of my three children, one has Mister Soandso’s brown eyes; the other two have versions of my own hazel. They played no role in determining their own eye color, and yet it is part of what makes them who they are. Each of us is made of similar lists: hair, skin, and eye color; the shape of our features; the length of our bones; the effectiveness of our body’s organs and systems. Each of those check marks that come together to make us, were simply handed to us via chromosomes and genetics. However, they become who we are because they are what people see when they look at us.

We are to some extent only what people see. And we are also what people believe us to be, even if it is a lie.

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