(no subject)
I've been using the same "empty" tube of toothpaste for 11 days now. I've decided it's a miracle. I keep thinking it's all gone and then another serving comes out of the tube. In my time of need, fresh mint manna from heaven is provided. Perhaps it's clean mint manna or cool mint manna. I can never remember. I'm expecting one of those priests who investigate miracles for the Catholic Church at my house any day now. Maybe it'll be Ed Harris, like in that movie. Wait, there was a movie where Ed Harris played a priest who investigates miracles, right? And Patricia Arquette was in it? Am I just making all this up?
We pitched the tent in the yard on Saturday night and slept out there to see if camping might be something we can do with the girls. Obviously, we're talking car camping because I'm not taking two two-year-olds backpacking. Hell, who am I kidding? I'm not taking me backpacking. My pillow and down comforter would never fit in the pack. And what about the wine? Anyway, the "camping" went well. Or so I hear. I went inside around midnight and slept in my own bed because the ground was really hard and lumpy, even with the down comforter. I'm so punk rock, aren't I?
Today is bike to work day and I did. Bike to work. But I also rode yesterday because I didn't want to be a poser who only rides on the designated day. Also because it was the first day in a week that wasn't in the mid to high 90s. I like riding because it's all good for me and the environment, but mostly because I can feel smugly superior because it's all good for me and the environment. And I love to feel smugly superior. I really do.
I've worn the shirt that is currently adorning my body exactly twice. The first time was in February 2004 when I went roller skating in black leather pants at smileattherain's birthday party. And then it sat in my closet for over three years for I don't know what reason. I put it in my pack this morning and thought about trying it on before I got to work to find that it doesn't fit for whatever reason, but shrugged off the thought because I'm incredibly stupid. So, it fits, but it is cut down to my navel. Ok, that might be a slight exaggeration, but it definitely shows large swaths of inappropriate for work mountainous areas of my chestular region. And my bra. Thank Liza for Juanita, She Who Always Has Advil and Safety Pins.
I just got email from my dad containing the sentence "There's also an extraneous comma in the second paragraph that separates a plural predicate incorrectly." Sorry, ladies, he's taken. I'm nerdily proud to be related to a man who can make such an assessment.
We pitched the tent in the yard on Saturday night and slept out there to see if camping might be something we can do with the girls. Obviously, we're talking car camping because I'm not taking two two-year-olds backpacking. Hell, who am I kidding? I'm not taking me backpacking. My pillow and down comforter would never fit in the pack. And what about the wine? Anyway, the "camping" went well. Or so I hear. I went inside around midnight and slept in my own bed because the ground was really hard and lumpy, even with the down comforter. I'm so punk rock, aren't I?
Today is bike to work day and I did. Bike to work. But I also rode yesterday because I didn't want to be a poser who only rides on the designated day. Also because it was the first day in a week that wasn't in the mid to high 90s. I like riding because it's all good for me and the environment, but mostly because I can feel smugly superior because it's all good for me and the environment. And I love to feel smugly superior. I really do.
I've worn the shirt that is currently adorning my body exactly twice. The first time was in February 2004 when I went roller skating in black leather pants at smileattherain's birthday party. And then it sat in my closet for over three years for I don't know what reason. I put it in my pack this morning and thought about trying it on before I got to work to find that it doesn't fit for whatever reason, but shrugged off the thought because I'm incredibly stupid. So, it fits, but it is cut down to my navel. Ok, that might be a slight exaggeration, but it definitely shows large swaths of inappropriate for work mountainous areas of my chestular region. And my bra. Thank Liza for Juanita, She Who Always Has Advil and Safety Pins.
I just got email from my dad containing the sentence "There's also an extraneous comma in the second paragraph that separates a plural predicate incorrectly." Sorry, ladies, he's taken. I'm nerdily proud to be related to a man who can make such an assessment.