no pop tarts.

some enchanted evening from the show south pacific.

love song for no one by john mayer.

just haven't met you yet by michael buble.

what do all these songs have in common? you guessed it, they are all love songs. not just that though, they are all love songs that have to do with a love at first sight kind of thing. you see a stranger from across the room, the right person will just come into your life with right timing and luck, just hurry up and get here right person. yeah i guess it's romantic and fairytaleish (new word). but what if that isn't what i want?

I want to KNOW the person i love. i want a best friend first and a lover second. i don't want a pop tart, i want an actual thoughtfully planned out and baked pie. or cinnamon roll. both are good.

but what i'm trying to say i guess is i don't buy it. yes the commercials (or love songs in this case) make the pop tart look really good and the quickness of it is awesome i guess. sure a pie takes time, but isn't it worth it? in my eyes it is.

you know what would be really great? if you could have a delicious home made real pie in the time of a pop tart....the waiting part does really suck, but pie over pop tart any day.

I JUST WANT A PIE DANG IT!

SSD

I realized today that i have a problem.

I happen to know that the first part in overcoming anything is admitting that it is a problem.

So I openly admit that I have SSD. More commonly known as Severely Sucky Disorder.

In other words I suck.

Now this is the thing about SSD. It doesn't pertain to all areas of ones life. It may just cover one area. But if you allow it to go unchecked it will grow to other areas of life. My SSD is getting out of hand. It started so so small, but now it's like a giant arachnid sticking it's huge ugly legs into every part of my life!

I'm starting a support group. SSDA. (Severly Sucky Disorder Anonymous. Because I can only be original once in a while.) If you would like to join please leave me a note. Or you can contact me at 1-800-isuck. Again that is 1-800-isuck.

number is not valid in the U.S. or Canada. Or anywhere else on this Earth. Please try Mars.

boo.

you know the song about the snowman? How there was one and he was tall, tall, tall? but then in the sun he melted small, small, small?

Well,

I am the snowman.

School is the sun.

I'M MELTING! I'M MELTING!

boo.

Nothing like Daddy's French Toast

(notice the painting. it's one of his.)

My dad is my biggest hero. (Well truthfully him and my mom often duke it out.) My father has been through so much more than anyone else I know. Yet I know that he would do anything for me.

Really,

ANYTHING.

My daddy has a nasty bugger of a disease, and a myriad of other health problems plopped on top of that. I feel that when most people look at my dad they don't see him. All they see is disease. Not my Papi. My Papi is not a disease. If they would just take a closer look here is what they would see:

A man who loves and is dedicated to his family.

An INCREDIBLE artist who has the talent to see beauty in everything and capture that beauty through paint, pencil, and lens.

A gourmet chef who's French toast and cinnamon tortillas have no rivals. (Both of these delicacies are often only consumed at my house between the hours of 11:00pm and 1:00am. This is usually the time daddy begins craving them.)

A teacher/historian who always pours out his wealth of knowledge through some personal story.

A comedic mumbler. The most hilarious things he says often come out of his mouth barely audible. The diligent listener will always be rewarded with a belly full of mirth and questioning stares from those who worry for their sanity.

A dog lover

A coke addict

A technical nerd

A romantic language enthusiast

A lover of Monty Python and other "dumb humor" as my mom calls it

A husband. A father. An Uncle. A Brother. A Grandpa. My daddy.

Anyone who know's this man is lucky. I'm blessed to always have him in my life.

School Teacher, Policeman, Fireman....all over rated.

Lately I have realized that I have absolutely no idea what I want to be. I also realized I would like to have that figured out before I am three years into college. I remember once upon a time in the lovely grade of ten I was forced to take a test that would tell me what I was most capable of going into as a living. The top two the test gave me? Bus driver and crossing guard. Correct me if I'm wrong, but crossing guards don't get paid do they? (Plus I'm starting to firmly believe that that test wanted me to be a creeper on small children.) So today I decided to search for my dream career. Here is what I found:

Wrinkle Chaser

A Wrinkle Chaser is the person that irons wrinkles from shoes as they are being made to ensure they are perfectly smooth when you buy them.
Perfect! I have a strange loathing for wrinkled shoes....not.

Chicken Sexer

This is a real job title. A chicken sexer sorts through baby chicks to determine if they are male or female, and then segregate them.
Smelly and dealing with birds. Oh my two least favorite things.

Citrus Fruit Colorer

A Citrus Fruit Colorer, with the help of steam and chemicals, gives citrus fruit a more natural coloring, because fruit is usually picked before it is fully ripe.
Now who doesn't love citrus and coloring??

Celluloid Trimmer

A Celluloid Trimmer shaves down a golf club and then adds celluloid bands onto the golf clubs to make the leather grip stay in place.
Um yes....I'll take one of those...?

Odor Judgers

Odor Judgers get to smell armpits all day to help make deodorants that will work well. I'm not sure why somebody other than some strange fetishist would want this job.
Two words; DREAM JOB.

Furniture Tester

Now here's a good one. The La-z-Boy Company (and probably others) employs furniture testers to check out their recliners. Want to relax for a living?
Now this job I would be AMAZING at. No sarcasm included.


As you can tell I have very high hopes for my future. Don't you worry Mr. W., I'm dreaming big and I am sure to see you at the top. Amen.

arguments and gnomes

i want a gnome in my yard when i grow up. and this gnome will be named pierre-pont. (said with frenchish accent.)

and this is HILARIOUS to me. monty python. my hero.

rabies

Dear Patrons of the Wilkinson Center Memorial Room,

I DON'T BITE.

when the only empty seat in the memorial room is next to me, you can have it.

you don't HAVE to walk around the room looking at all the full seats longingly, then move a table so that you can sit in a tiny crevasse.

unless i smell bad. then i understand. that's all.

Love, Lyndsie