I haven't blogged with more words than pictures because I haven't been able to write a story worth telling. I've tried, and failed. Failing = losing. I am a terrible loser. So I try to blog, I try to be funny, I fail. So I fail and that means losing and I hate losing so I get really depressed and then I definitely can't be funny because I'm wallowing in a pit of self-pity and personal degradation. The pressures of maintaining decent quality of bloggiture (read that like literature, get it?) have been getting to me. I will not apologize for my absence anymore, because I was doing the internet a favor. There is enough tragically terrible writing and failed attempts at humor floating around this intricate series of tubes (classic internet joke - one of my favorites) without me adding to it. So that's that.
Thoughts/Musings that I couldn't flesh out into entries:
+ The cover of my March 2010 copy of the Williams-Sonoma catalog has donuts on it. Delicious donuts. Perfectly shaped, glazed, and posed donuts. You know what I have to say about that? Eff you, Williams-Sonoma. I gave up junk food/empty calories for Lent and you knew that, didn't you? As if that jackass SOMEWHERE on the second floor of my apartment complex baking snicker-doodles wasn't bad enough, now I have to look at donuts. You knew, and you're a jerk.
+ I know the majority of the lyrics to that "Tik-Tok" song by that stupid girl who spells her name with a dollar sign, and I hate myself just a little bit more for that fact. But I'd like a moment to defend myself. The only reason I know that song is because it plays EVERYWHERE. In bars. (which i've consequentially stopped going to.) (okay, I'm kidding.) (Well, I have stopped going, but not because of that song.) (I wonder if there's a grammatical rule for the number of back-to-back parenthetical asides permissible in a piece of writing.) (Hmm.) What was I saying? Oh yes, they play the song in bars. In Steve Madden. In Barnes & Noble. Nowhere is safe. And because of this unfortunate series of events, every once and a while, the line "Wake up in the morning / feelin' like P. Diddy" gets stuck in my head. Now, I have an incredibly high tolerance for ridiculous song lyrics. i.e. "this shit is bananas / B-A-N-A-N-A-S,*" "You make me want to La La,**" or the ever-classic "girl I wanna be the poppa / and you can be the mom.***" But, believe it or not, there is a line. And if she hadn't crossed it by replacing the 's' in her name with a currency symbol, then she blazed right past it when she opened her mouth. Because in all honesty, what does that even mean? Seriously. Is it a metaphor? Can she spell metaphor? or would it be met@phor. (Freedom of speech is being immensely abused.)
Bonus Line: "Now the dudes are linin' up / 'cause they hear we got swagger / but we kick 'em to the curb / unless they look like Mick Jagger." *commence facebomb*
+ I have recently moved on to Blackberry Storm #4. Number one had a hard-drive issue. Number two had a defective speaker. Number three had a megapixel breakdown, so now we're on to number four. I am a big fan of giving names to my different technological devices (like Dexter - my laptop, Maxie - my hard-drive, and CC aka Central Command - my desktop) but it's hard to really get attached to a device that you know is going to cop out on you after a month or two of seemingly mutual adoration. If I was looking to be happy for a couple months before invariably succumbing to pain and suffering and a whole lot of "What could I possibly have done different? Why didn't this work out? What's wrong with me?" then I'd get a boyfriend. But no, I don't need a boyfriend - because I own the Blackberry Storm.
+ There are several reasons why I regard my parents as two of the most intelligent, capable people that have ever lived. But hands-down, one of the top reasons I think my mother is bordering on wizardry is because she, Kathryn Thibeaux, can successfully fold a fitted sheet. Now, I've never seen her in action, but time and time again, sheets would be returned to the linen closet of our home, in uniformly square piles. The entire concept of how to fold those pocketed little devils eludes me. I try, every single laundry day - I try. I get two corners together, tucked into each other with mediocre success, but then I am left with some kind of trapezoidal disfigurement. I have spent up to an hour trying to make that four-sided monstrosity into something that resembles my mother's craftsmanship - but alas. I always, without fail, resort to my own personal fitted sheet folding technique: the 'ball it up and shove it in a corner' method. Not as effective, definitely not as pretty, but kind of fun to do.
* "Hollaback Girl" by Gwen Stefani
** "La La" by Ashlee Simpson
*** "Temperature" by Sean Paul