Freaky Me - Part 3

I pay for people ahead of me in line.

I know what you're thinking. "How nice," or "that's sweet," or "that's not weird, it's a good deed."

Nope.

I don't do it because I'm nice, or because I have a lot of money and can necessarily afford to give all my money away. Nor do I do it to play "pay it foreward."

I'm just really, really impatient.

I HATE waiting for people to count out change in line. Granted, I do it, too, but only if there's nobody behind me. I gather all my goods, hit up the counter, pop my wallet open... and the last thing I want to do is wait for somebody to dig through her purse or his pocket for sixteen cents.

I hate it. HATE it. Makes my eyes roll and my lungs sigh. Hard.

I'm so sorry. This makes me a bad person- my impatience- and I really should try to work on it. But until then, maybe tomorrow is your lucky day and I'll pay for your under-five-dollar purchase.

More power to ya.

Freaky Me - Part 2

I practice my evil laughter in the shower.

I know most people sing, some people plan out their day, and others just silently scrub-a-dub.

Me?

Listen, you never know when your evil plot for world domination will come to fruition. You have no freaking clue if the dolphins you've trained to plant gps scramblers in coves and cays all over the world will finally develop some work ethic. You cannot see the future.

I want to prepare myself. So, yes, I practice my cackles and maniacal guffaws whilst exfoliating my elbows.

I bet you're just thinking of the miniscule 'hand-wringing' most villains utilize, but I feel like if I just did it while washing my hands, it would kind of be boring. But a good, hearty, long-lasting chortle with a pumice stone in your hand, buffing your heels to tender foot meat (there are only so many words I can think of right now) will solidify your alpha position in this world.

Also, it makes you feel really good- like, really, really good- about yourself. There's just something about it.

But family, roommates, and significant others passing the bathroom door tend to get a bit nervous, so be sure to have a back story, just in case.

"My vote for American Idol made a difference."

Freaky Me - Part 1

I thought I'd start sharing some of my deepest, darkest secrets for the honesty and amusement of others. Also, I hate having to re-explain my quirks, and it will help to send people to this handy place when they see me doing something weird. So here is the first installment:

I hate drinking on old spit.

'Old spit?' you may ask. Yes, old spit. You know what I'm talking about, you just have to envision it.
Imagine you're rocking out to some Foo Fighters, reading a 'zine, and drinking a tall glass of fruit punch Mixade (as I get my flavored mixes from discount grocers). You hoist your gargantuan glass and take a good, solid gulp-number-one, then return the glass to its upright position. Well a few minutes later, you're about to go in for gulp-number-two, but your first one has left a few sticky droplets on the rim of the glass.

Maybe you, darling reader, would drink from the same spot.

I'm a tad more picky.

I hate drinking on old spit.

I would have to turn the glass a few centimeters to the right/left and catch a clean lip-mounting-area before I agree to drink again.
And ten minutes later, I'll do it again.
And again.
And... you get the point.

And yes, I know that, eventually, I'll run out of fresh places to plant my mouthparts. I shudder at the very thought. I've flown into numerous bouts of panic wondering if I'll be able to finish this glass of juice, or be forced to pour it into a new glass. So, if there is one, last, solitary clean arc of print-less glass, I'll dive in (carefully) and finish the last of the juice.

I HATE drinking on old spit.

Oh, yeah, I could just use a straw, but that's ONE lip-juncture, and if THAT get's sticky, I'm doomed.

P.S. This is only for non-tea beverages... we already know it only takes four actions to drink tea. It has no time to get sticky.

The Comeback

I have been either too busy or too lazy to do everything I need to do, and, frankly, it's really bringing me down. I keep saying "I wish" or "I'd like to" when I really should just knuckle down and do. So I'm attempting to get things back into order, at least in a few ways.
I do have a new video to edit, so that should take some time. I also need to figure out my Etsy bylife and situate that. Meanwhile, I still have work, family, and sideline relationships to maintain, whilst still staying sane.

Okay, funny junk.
Somebody chose not to warn me that a friend was crashing on the floor while I was asleep on the couch, half-decent. Then, when I got up to let the cat out, I almost trip over a slumbering body while trying to keep my berries in the basket. Nice save.

I suppose it's payback for telling everyone to "Look at my breasts!" in LB back when.

Anyway, there's my mission statement. Not to look at my breasts, but to get back in line.

Tide Pods...

...are AWESOME. They smell amazing, they magically dissolve, and they clean like whoa.
And they're visually stimulating.
So it's no wonder kids are sucking them down like Flintstone gummies.

Let's be serious here. They do look delicious. I'm a grown woman and if not for how icky they feel in your hand, I'd be tempted to taste one... Just to see.

But children are stupid, so-
Okay, not stupid. My apologies, "parents". Children lack the no-no-code, so they pick up anything that promises amusement and/or scrumption. Now, there are some-odd numbers of kids suffering from vomiting and diarrhea after they got ahold of the pretty pods and ate one. So is it Tide's fault?

No.

Why? Because the packaging specifically states to keep out of reach of children, like, four times. Actually, you can't even open the thing before you acknowledge the label. It's like an EULA; find it in the store and see for yourself.

So I hope nobody tries to sue Tide. Trust me, the last people to have blood on their hands are the people who help you wash it out of clothing.

Gone, Gone, Gone...

A lot has been going on, and I really don't have an excuse.
I do, actually; I've been under a LOT of stress. Literally, my biological clock has probably wound itself back about four years.
But I'll be around doing what I do. And more fun and odd than ever.

Omc...

Isn't this awful?

I'm still trying to figure my life out and unfortunately, it doesn't want to unravel. It's such a shame the world revolves around money... if creativity and imagination were worth cash, I'd... well, I wouldn't sell mine, but I'd probably rent it out for science projects, fashion shows, and design competitions. Be crazy to sell it, I worked so hard to build it.

So right now, I'm on the phone making that call nobody wants to make when they're grasping at straws, and still have to make a trip to that place nobody wants to visit when they're grasping at the aforementioned straws. It hurts bad, but that could also be hunger.

And what's up with the wait music? I hear it over and over again, but it's so blandly generic, I'm positive it couldn't possibly ingrain its melody into my gray matter without managing a hostage situation.

i hate weddings

Really. They take a lot of time to plan bridal showers for. I know I ended that sentence with a preposition, but trust me, that's the best grammar you're going to get out of me this week.

Dear Arizona,

You know, you've always been my go-to beverage when I had little or lots of pocket money and a thirst for power and fruit punch. But now that Brisk has come out with it's 24 oz. wallops of liquid, I'm torn. I know I've cheated on you, but I just can't help it. They offer lemonade all by itself. And mango with dragonfruit. And... peach iced tea.

Brisk and I have a relationship that... you just can't understand.

But you and I will always have Arnold Palmer... We'll always have Arnold.

Love, Brie