My father seems to have texted me the word 'wassup'

...I really have no idea what to do with that. If he wasn't a dyed-in-the-wool Mormon, I'd worry he was drunk. Or. Or.

...had his brain taken over by...

...by...

...what is the end of that sentence?

...the pledges of Kappa Tau? They probably text wassup.
I can't help feeling like it makes me a bad person to want to laugh at the Bubble Twins so much. I had to tell the Brunette Bubble how to write a check today. Also, she appears to have tried to put out a grease fire with water, which makes me worry about the house burning down. And they constantly talk to each other about their MySpace quiz results. It's not that they're not basically good people (the constant use of "gay" in a manner Pete Wentz would disapprove of aside), or even that they're not friendly, they're really trying and they're very cooperative re: bills, dish-doing, etc. It's just that they're so new to the whole being-a-grownup business, and they're so excited about it. It's cute.

They make me feel old. And patronizing. And guilty for feeling patronizing. *sigh*
The Apple support forums consider the abbreviation WTF to be obscene enough to be replaced with asterisks.

It's almost amusing enough to save me from being murderously irritated by iTunes.

Not quite, but almost.
Okay, just for the record?

Covering grease fires with a pot lid actually does work. Even if the flames are a foot and a half high.

This announcement brought to you by My Kitchen.



(Yes, I'm fine. And so is the kitchen.)
Author's notes on the fic I'm reading:

Jared and Jensen do not live together. (When I started this story, that idea was still utterly unrealistic).

*SPORFLE*

It's so TRUUUUUUUUUUUE
Heh.

Third time this week somebody has misspelled my handle (which, okay, is pretty weird) or my nickname, which is two letters, lol.

I think there must be something so fabulous about me that it scrambles people's brains. *cheerful*
Nannying again today.

This kid cracks me up. She's spoilt rotten--despite being mostly-functional in a family containing eighteen Special Needs children--and adores princesses, thinks of herself as one, but even being a princess is not her overarching motivation.

For instance, atm, we are playing Cinderella.

She is the evil Stepmother, because Cinderella has to obey orders, and the Stepmother gets to give them.

Required on the princess's part (see: my part) is no actual participation in terms of dressing up, creating any part of the game, or making any decisions. My job is to docilely repeat my dialogue, varying my volume according to instruction. Any attempt on my part to a) say anything not dictated to me; b) move without direction; c )act is immediately and harshly squashed. I am a human puppet.

It's kind of hysterical.

But if she grows up to rule the world, I hope god has mercy on our souls.
My room and I are engaged in an epic battle.

Third Rock from the Sun is in the laptop for thought-engaging purposes, and I am going through drawers, shelves, closets, and more. It's really astounding how much crap I always accumulate in the six months between these insane bouts of the urge for complete organization.

Among other things, I have found: the key to my brothers' car I've been looking for over the past two months; a dragon finger-puppet from an art festival; three really tacky cards (which I will send to my brother-on-a-mission) that I must have bought at least six years ago; pictures of me ages five to nine, in my ballet costumes (Pocahontas and Belle most prominent); the address of the pawnshop preferred by the woman who broke into my car last year; and seven hairbrushes.
*bursts out laughing*

Okay, no one else will understand why this is funny, but I once had a dream where Jensen was playing SGA's John Sheppard...*doubles over*

My subconscious wins!
Called my mobile from the home phone and left it off the hook while I pursued the sound of the theme song from the Rugrats to its hiding place under my bed. Ran back across the laminate floor to hang up the home phone before it went to voicemail.

In my socks.

Slid the last four feet on my rear and knee.

I think I left myself a voicemail saying "Shit!"
Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people don't kill their husbands. They just don't.
--Legally Blonde

Presumably they don't break down in tears in the middle of a classroom of three-year-olds either.

Therefore, off to the gym!

I'll see you when I've built up enough endorphins to counteract this day.
Let that teach me to post in [livejournal.com profile] metaquotes...I'd forgotten how much wank can get involved in that place.

And, apparently, I am too stubborn to let the arrogance of unknown profane people slide.
OML!!

One of my favorites of my kids...tiny, blonde hair, blue eyes, fragile look...three years old...spent half an hour teaching her fellow students to break dance. It was the funniest thing in the world!!

And one of the babies said good-bye to her best friend!

Answers )

Oh, and yeah, P.S. for RL people;

Kimi got an LJ!! [livejournal.com profile] kiwi_cow
Have you ever had a hairdryer blare to life under your feet while walking through your bedroom in a semi-somnolent state in the middle of the night?

It's startling. Trust me on this.
Gender bias will bite you in the butt.

So Michael's car broke down in front of the house last night. He told us the battery was dead. Did it occur to ANY of us to ask him if he was SURE? NOOooooo...so what do we wind up doing but calling the fire department because we set the jump cables on fire. 0.0

If it had been Kimi, we would have asked. We would have tested. We probably would have asked someone else. But because of the subconscious gender bias--bingo!

Well, we learned something. So--hey!
Have been working as a telepolltaker for three days. Have so far talked to:

1) More than ten people who didn't want to talk on the phone while there was lightning (???)

2) A little kid who I somehow found myself spending five minutes explaining what an "election" was to (cute)

3) The National Weather Service (!?)

4) A ten-minute rant on everything the Rupublicans have done wrong in the last ten years (and we're supposed to be neutral, otherwise I'd have just been saying, "I agree with you! I agree with you!")

5) A lingerie hotline, which I hung up on just before they started reciting from an advice article (!!)

6) A man over fifty who wanted my home number *h2k*
*is still supremely amused by all the wankiness that is fandom*

However, am feeling unexpected twinges of guilt about the old OIA. And unexpected twinges of sympathy for these people who started their ridiculous community. Although honestly they don't seem to have been joking, so that is a small salve to my conscience--nonetheless, until it was my beloved person/char/whathaveyou under attack, I don't think I fully understood how it felt. *hugs Claire for forgiving her*

The supreme amusement is mostly what is running my consciousness, though. Have joined Die_dierondie because these people don't take themselves seriously at all and are so very amusing. I may have to friend those who are not already on my flist.
Due to my constant spamming lately, I've decided to go away for three days and make it up to you--kidding, kidding! A group of girlfriends and I are going to the Utah Shakespeare Festival, to see Henry IV, Taming of the Shrew, and Winter's Tale. There will be cloaks, stargazing, and (I have no doubt) much Pottertalk. We'll be back Thursday afternoon.

I will miss you all--especially TC, with whom I did not get my angst fest. *pouts* It's entirely my fault--I'd forgotten RL people would be at my place planning the trip--but I'm still sad. I will be at home Thursday night unless something drastic happens, so please, all whom I've been missing, ping me then! *grovels at TC's feet in apology*

Driving down in our little '91 Camry that is already making odd noises--everybody pray that the car won't collapse on the way down. It needs all the help it can get.

I will miss you!

P. S. Please don't talk too much--catching up on the flist will be hard. ^_~

Random glompage to Magnolia Mama, who I love.

ETA: *choke, cough, wheeze*: I'm currently processing a file for Jim and Mary-Sue Potter. No, I'm not kidding. It's right here in front of me.
I love TC, have I said that lately?

I get on in an absolutely foul mood. One conversation about thumbwars, drunken groping, cats, and three-legged racing later, I'm much happier. The problems have not gone away, but they are more handleable. TC is a great comfort when you want to throw yourself off the nearest handy cliff.

It has even held over to this morning. I am much cheerier than yesterday, although the sickness has gotten worse.

Perhaps you've heard his morning show, "Wake Up With Flem"?
--Peggy in Runaway Bride

(P. S. Apologies for spamming everybody yesterday. I will be good, I promise.)

ETA: If you get a comment responding to something you said a month ago, it's because I'm trying to improve my LJ-email-comments karma and replying to the things I meant to reply to when you made them but didn't. Enjoy hearing things you should have heard then!

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