Yay! People read! I mean, people read my blog!
I was so pumped about my brand new plan of updating more and just writing writing writing on this thing, that I started composing a post in my head at work today. Too bad I don't have internet in my Batcave. No, good thing I don't have internet in the Batcave, otherwise I'd be posting and reading and wasting so much time it isn't funny. Or maybe it is. Anyways, I was concentrating so hard on my post that I forgot it. I remember planning on starting another blog. I know, I think I just may be getting a little too ambitious here, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. My other blog would be where I'd review books and movies. Movies mostly. In fact, just movies. I don't know where the books part came from. I think my sub-conscious threw that in in an attempt to add some depth to my shallow idea.
I don't understand my manager, HH, she hardly ever schedules me for morning shifts but when she does, it is always the morning after a long closing shift. It's not like I close every night or anything. I usually close two or three times a week sometimes four but that's it. Tomorrow, the morning after enduring a horrible, 4 hour long closing shift with the whole day's worth of work to do in the Batcave, while working with Andy and Grumpy, I have to work tomorrow 7:30-3, again working with Grumpy. MJ, the woman who has to do all the work I left last night, is going to kill me. I'm not going to be her number one anymore.
I think I'll go to bed now. Or maybe I will after I eat all the chocolate in my secret candy stash and watch a feel-good chick flick.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Who the *heck* needs groceries the day after Thanksgiving?!?
I have decided that even though nobody reads my blog, NOBODY. I shall still continue (HA! HA! I crack myself up) to post and may even write a little freer than I would if I knew for sure that many people read this.
That being said, I have to end this post or risk being late for work. Yippy. Work. The day after Thanksgiving. When everyone is still digesting and "filling up the corners" like hobbits. Today is not the a day to go out and work, or shop at a little small-town grocery store. What could one possibly need to buy to eat the day after Thanksgiving?!? And if no one needs to buy anything, then the little small-town grocery store doesn't need to be open and if the small-town grocery store doesn't need to be open, then this lazy small-town hobbit doesn't need to go and work at said small-town grocery store. Alas, it is not so. The world is upsidedown.
*pout*
I'm in the middle (literally) of my annual Lord of the Rings re-read. Can you tell?
That being said, I have to end this post or risk being late for work. Yippy. Work. The day after Thanksgiving. When everyone is still digesting and "filling up the corners" like hobbits. Today is not the a day to go out and work, or shop at a little small-town grocery store. What could one possibly need to buy to eat the day after Thanksgiving?!? And if no one needs to buy anything, then the little small-town grocery store doesn't need to be open and if the small-town grocery store doesn't need to be open, then this lazy small-town hobbit doesn't need to go and work at said small-town grocery store. Alas, it is not so. The world is upsidedown.
*pout*
I'm in the middle (literally) of my annual Lord of the Rings re-read. Can you tell?
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Wand'ring Poet by d.e.watson
I am a wand'ring poet.
The last of my kind, the rest have faded and are forgotten.
I am quite old for a wanderer. I am fast approaching my 47th summer. I have never married. Wanderers were not permitted to marry in the olden days and my old tudor was set in his ways. He believed it impossible for any woman to be content with wand'ring. "She would want a house." he argued, "She would want children!" And so I made myself content with wandering while some of the other poets took to their freedom and married, but my tudor was right. Their wives weren't content with wandering. They wanted homes and farms and children. One by one, they all laid aside their parchment, quills, and lutes to take up instead shovels, plows, and hoes. Pretty soon, I was the last of them all.
By the time I began to doubt my tudor's words and arguments, I was too old to settle down and start a family but that never stopped me from wondering what it would have been like. To have a home, a real home. A wife and children to come home to. When I would walk in the door after a hard day's work, being swarmed by my sons and daughters all wanted to tell me what special thing they did today or what amazing discovery they made. My wife would quiet them and give them all something to do to finish dinner, then sit and ask me how my plowing went and talk a little. She would then pick up a basket of laundry to be folded and put away if it was wash day or take the last few loaves of bread out of the oven if it was baking day. She would never be idle. Even when we'd have our evening talks before dinner, she would pick up her sewing or knitting.
After dinner, we would both put the children to bed. Then I would take my whittling out and work on a new axe handle or a little doll or trinket to be hidden away for a birthday that was drawing near. My wife would bring out her sewing or knitting again and work while singing quietly to the baby, while gently rocking the wooden cradle with her foot.
My wonderings varied slightly. Sometimes my wife was a fiery redhead with a temper, then our children would have red and auburn hair. Sometimes my wife was a gentle blond with clear blue eyes, then our children would have light, sometimes blond, sometimes light brown hair. Sometimes my wife would have raven coloured hair and violet eyes, then we'd only have black haired children. Most often though, my wife would have dark brown hair, deep green eyes with a mild temper and gentle ways. Those children were always my favorite; the girls, gentle and beautiful like their mama; the boys, strong and handsome like their papa.
Our farm would be large with fields and meadows. A big barn full of cows and horses. The house would be large enough for our big family but cozy and snug. A little school house would be a few miles away down the road for the boys to go to in the winter to learn their letters and arithmetic.
Alas, there is no such place, not for me anyway. I have seen the farm many times. I have seen the wife. I have seen the blond wife, the red-haired wife, the black-haired wife, the brown-haired wife, but they are never mine. I have seen the children, but they are never mine.
And so I wander.
I wander until I can wander no more.
The last of my kind, the rest have faded and are forgotten.
I am quite old for a wanderer. I am fast approaching my 47th summer. I have never married. Wanderers were not permitted to marry in the olden days and my old tudor was set in his ways. He believed it impossible for any woman to be content with wand'ring. "She would want a house." he argued, "She would want children!" And so I made myself content with wandering while some of the other poets took to their freedom and married, but my tudor was right. Their wives weren't content with wandering. They wanted homes and farms and children. One by one, they all laid aside their parchment, quills, and lutes to take up instead shovels, plows, and hoes. Pretty soon, I was the last of them all.
By the time I began to doubt my tudor's words and arguments, I was too old to settle down and start a family but that never stopped me from wondering what it would have been like. To have a home, a real home. A wife and children to come home to. When I would walk in the door after a hard day's work, being swarmed by my sons and daughters all wanted to tell me what special thing they did today or what amazing discovery they made. My wife would quiet them and give them all something to do to finish dinner, then sit and ask me how my plowing went and talk a little. She would then pick up a basket of laundry to be folded and put away if it was wash day or take the last few loaves of bread out of the oven if it was baking day. She would never be idle. Even when we'd have our evening talks before dinner, she would pick up her sewing or knitting.
After dinner, we would both put the children to bed. Then I would take my whittling out and work on a new axe handle or a little doll or trinket to be hidden away for a birthday that was drawing near. My wife would bring out her sewing or knitting again and work while singing quietly to the baby, while gently rocking the wooden cradle with her foot.
My wonderings varied slightly. Sometimes my wife was a fiery redhead with a temper, then our children would have red and auburn hair. Sometimes my wife was a gentle blond with clear blue eyes, then our children would have light, sometimes blond, sometimes light brown hair. Sometimes my wife would have raven coloured hair and violet eyes, then we'd only have black haired children. Most often though, my wife would have dark brown hair, deep green eyes with a mild temper and gentle ways. Those children were always my favorite; the girls, gentle and beautiful like their mama; the boys, strong and handsome like their papa.
Our farm would be large with fields and meadows. A big barn full of cows and horses. The house would be large enough for our big family but cozy and snug. A little school house would be a few miles away down the road for the boys to go to in the winter to learn their letters and arithmetic.
Alas, there is no such place, not for me anyway. I have seen the farm many times. I have seen the wife. I have seen the blond wife, the red-haired wife, the black-haired wife, the brown-haired wife, but they are never mine. I have seen the children, but they are never mine.
And so I wander.
I wander until I can wander no more.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Whoa, Weird
In the course of only a half an hour, I listened to UB40, DeBussy, Frank Sinatra, Michael Buble, and The Beach Boys. In that order.
Now on to my 80's/90's playlist which includes, but is not limited to, Dead or Alive, David Bowie, Spin Doctors, Jesse's Girl, Too Sexy, and OK Go.
Now on to my 80's/90's playlist which includes, but is not limited to, Dead or Alive, David Bowie, Spin Doctors, Jesse's Girl, Too Sexy, and OK Go.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Can I turn off my nose?
Ugh. Saturday I woke up with a sore throat and other ickynesses that contribute to a cold. I got up, went to work at 7:30, and by 10 was going nuts. I was tired, had no energy and just general I-have-a-cold-I-don't-feel-well-ness. To make matters worse, my replacement was 10 minutes late and said he would probably be another 20 minutes finishing up what he was doing. I must've looked really sick, desperate or about ready to throttle him because he said he'd take over and finish what he was doing when my manager got back from lunch. For the rest of Saturday I did just about nothing. I watched an episode of something (I can't even remember what show it was) and fell asleep several times. I would wake up just long enough to pee, blow my nose or text someone. Sunday wasn't much better. I woke up and immediately realized I was in no condition to go to church. I tried to go back to bed was couldn't sleep so I finished a book Dave had lent me about a forensic entomologist. Talked with Nenu for a while, watched some rifftrax samples and riffed political ads. By that point I was feeling quite a bit better and even considered going to the Randlett's to watch some football. But once I started moving around, *BAM* exhaustion hit and I realized I might still be contagious. So I slept some more, and watched Star Wars A New Hope, Extreme Makeover Home Edition, and half of Star Wars The Empire Strikes Back. I think my brain is mush.
Monday dawned and with it brought hope of a better day. My sore throat was gone gone gone. My nose almost stopped dripping. I had some energy. Life was good! I got stuff done. I got to hang out with Dave and watch the first half of the Steelers game.
So you would think that today I would be even better. *buzzer* WRONG! Today my sore throat came back, my nose is driving me up the wall(!) and my eyes are all itchy and red and obnoxious.
I hate being sick.
Oh, and I have to work later. Lucky me.
Monday dawned and with it brought hope of a better day. My sore throat was gone gone gone. My nose almost stopped dripping. I had some energy. Life was good! I got stuff done. I got to hang out with Dave and watch the first half of the Steelers game.
So you would think that today I would be even better. *buzzer* WRONG! Today my sore throat came back, my nose is driving me up the wall(!) and my eyes are all itchy and red and obnoxious.
I hate being sick.
Oh, and I have to work later. Lucky me.
Friday, September 19, 2008
I'm Bored
I can't even begin to count the amount of times I have said that in my lifetime. They were probably the first words I said as a baby. Counting from then all the way up to no less than a few days ago, I've probably said it 8,247,672,896 times. Give or take.
Today, while listening to country music (Kenny Chesney's When The Sun Goes Down with Uncle Kracker, to be exact) I realized something about the phrase "I'm bored." It is not said when there is nothing to be done. It is not said when every other activity has been exhausted. It's not even said when you maybe don't want to color or play legos but still want something to do. It is said when there is something you should be doing, and aren't. It is said when you want an excuse to get out of cleaning your room. It is said when you know you should be emptying the dishwasher or researching that paper due Friday, and instead you're trying to read a book or make your Halloween costume early, but just can't concentrate on ANYTHING. Your messy room, unmade bed, over-grown lawn, whatever, is tugging at the corners of your mind. Reminding, reminding, reminding, spoiling whatever activity you're using to distract yourself.
Speaking of distracting oneself, a half-written essay on the peoples of Pakistan and Bangladesh is tugging on the corners of my mind.
Today, while listening to country music (Kenny Chesney's When The Sun Goes Down with Uncle Kracker, to be exact) I realized something about the phrase "I'm bored." It is not said when there is nothing to be done. It is not said when every other activity has been exhausted. It's not even said when you maybe don't want to color or play legos but still want something to do. It is said when there is something you should be doing, and aren't. It is said when you want an excuse to get out of cleaning your room. It is said when you know you should be emptying the dishwasher or researching that paper due Friday, and instead you're trying to read a book or make your Halloween costume early, but just can't concentrate on ANYTHING. Your messy room, unmade bed, over-grown lawn, whatever, is tugging at the corners of your mind. Reminding, reminding, reminding, spoiling whatever activity you're using to distract yourself.
Speaking of distracting oneself, a half-written essay on the peoples of Pakistan and Bangladesh is tugging on the corners of my mind.
Thoughts
"Come on...lose your life just so you can find it."
My friend Kat's away message jumped out at me just now. I really shouldn't be up. I was putting up an away message when I noticed my friend Mike online. Mike's at college so I haven't talked to him in a while. We ended up talking for a while (still are actually), about a very thought provoking (for me at least anyway) subject, long enough for Kat to change her away message from a tongue-twister to the above quote.
God works in mysterious ways. Just when I was feeling like my life was falling apart. I have so many things to do this fall. I'm working part time. I'm organizing a fundraiser that is supposed to happen October 24th. I'm Jan's intern this year so I have to be at PI every Wednesday. I have a small part in a community play that I was an idiot to even try out for this fall. My bedroom is a mess and Natalie is spending the weekend here. Natalie's baby is due in one month, within a week of the fundraiser, a three-day conference my parents are attending and something else that I can't remember. Just when I feel my life is falling apart. Just when I start to think of telling people heck with this I can't do it and running away to Europe to live on the streets of London, God, through Kat's away message, subtly reminds me how one must lose their life to find it.
Matthew 10:39"Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it."
Matthew 16:25, Mark 8:35, Luke 9:24, and Luke 17:33 also all say essentially the same thing. One thing the Bible does is repeat things that really matter. Not that anything in the Bible is unimportant, but rather some things are more -for lack of a better word- relevant than others.
My friend Kat's away message jumped out at me just now. I really shouldn't be up. I was putting up an away message when I noticed my friend Mike online. Mike's at college so I haven't talked to him in a while. We ended up talking for a while (still are actually), about a very thought provoking (for me at least anyway) subject, long enough for Kat to change her away message from a tongue-twister to the above quote.
God works in mysterious ways. Just when I was feeling like my life was falling apart. I have so many things to do this fall. I'm working part time. I'm organizing a fundraiser that is supposed to happen October 24th. I'm Jan's intern this year so I have to be at PI every Wednesday. I have a small part in a community play that I was an idiot to even try out for this fall. My bedroom is a mess and Natalie is spending the weekend here. Natalie's baby is due in one month, within a week of the fundraiser, a three-day conference my parents are attending and something else that I can't remember. Just when I feel my life is falling apart. Just when I start to think of telling people heck with this I can't do it and running away to Europe to live on the streets of London, God, through Kat's away message, subtly reminds me how one must lose their life to find it.
Matthew 10:39
Matthew 16:25, Mark 8:35, Luke 9:24, and Luke 17:33 also all say essentially the same thing. One thing the Bible does is repeat things that really matter. Not that anything in the Bible is unimportant, but rather some things are more -for lack of a better word- relevant than others.
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