Yes.
Friday, April 19, 2013
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Liebster Award
I just noticed this link in a comment to my last blog here and while I don't know anything about it except what I read on the nominator Trish's blog (This Girl's Messy Head), I thought it would be a fun exercise and wave back of thanks. Sorry, Trish, TOTALLY stealing your formatting b/c I'm lazy like that. ;)
Here is a little rundown in case you're wondering what receiving the Liebster Award entails:
- Thank the blogger who presented you with the Liebster Award, and link back to his or her blog.
- Answer the 11 questions from the nominator; list 11 random facts about yourself, and create 11 questions for your nominees.
- Present the Liebster Award to 11 bloggers, who have blogs with 200 followers or less, whom you feel deserve to be noticed. Leave a comment on the blogs letting the owners know they have been chosen. (No tag backs.)
- Upload the Liebster Award image to your blog. Here are my answers for Trish's 11 questions:1. What motivated you to start a blog? The blog started as a place for me to log all the crazy dreams and sleep walking stories I've gathered through the years. I've yet to spend much time posting about them yet, I got distracted by other ramblings.2. Where would you go if you could travel anywhere for a week? Ireland, Scotland, Australia, Bora Bora, Germany... I have a fairly long wish list.3. What is your favorite time of day and why? Bed time because it's often the most peaceful part of my day, curled up in bed with a book, my hubby and often times any number of our 4 fur children. That much love and contentment in one place is pretty wonderful.4. Do you have pets? If so, what kind? I do! I've even dedicated an entire post to our babies.5. Do you regularly clean under your couch or do you only clean it when you realize how disgusting it is underneath? Oh, goodness... Every so often it gets moved and I am horrified by the creatures that are trying to spawn underneath it, and every time I SWEAR I will clean under it more often but I never seem to remember.6. What is your least favorite thing about getting older? Aches, pains, pops, cracks; basically my body putting up more of a fight (or less, depending on how you look at it).7. What is your most favorite thing about getting older? Confidence, for sure.8. What is your favorite expletive to use? If you don't curse, what is your favorite alternate word to use in place of an expletive? I try to maintain clean language, but toss in a 'shiz' or 'frack' when 'golly gee' just doesn't cut it.9. What is your favorite charity and why? I don't think I have one in particular, there are so many great causes. Certainly anything that benefits animals, children or abused women who need a chance to get their feet back on solid ground are top contenders.10. What is the best advice you've ever been given? Any that comes with a finishing line of, "but I'll love and support you, whatever your decision is".11. What is the worst advice you've ever been given? Any that is contrary to who I am and what I wish to accomplish: in other words advice given by someone who doesn't know me at all.Here are the 11 bloggers I've nominated for the Liebster Award:
8. The Manny9. The One Lisa10. Trinity Ane11. Obviously I need to read more blogs...
Here are my 11 questions for the nominees:1. If you won the lottery, what would you do with the winnings?2. Describe your ultimate dream home.3. Do you garden, if so what do you plant?4. If you could pick any person in the world to have dinner with, who would it be?5. You've won a $100,000 shopping spree at the store of your choice. Where is it going to be?6. What is your favorite holiday and why?7. What are your best traits?8. Which traits would you most like to improve?9. What would your ideal job be?10. Favorite book or movie?11. What is your favorite way to unwind and relax?
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Meeting a Marine
*bushes off the layer of dust*
First, my lack of posting has had far less to do with desire than it has to do with laziness and lack of any of my half-formed writing ideas coming together the way I want them to. I explained to my mom the other day why I chose the name Rambling Inner Monologue for this blog; it's a very true description of the way my brain functions. Let's say you have a confrontation with someone and hours later you are replaying the whole thing, word for word, then editing it to have gone exactly the way you wanted, as if scripted to perfection. I feel like I'm always doing that for a dozen situations every day, like I'm my own sitcom voice over, and it has transferred into how I write. As I think about these things and create elaborate dialogues and situations in my mind some will start to solidify and a sentence or several will stick firmly in my head. I'll use those sentences to build an entire post around, thus sharing my mind with you.
See what I mean about rambling? On to today's show...
Thanks to a long chain of fateful events that will, one day, get their own post, I had the opportunity to travel to upstate New York to be an extra in a low budget video game parody movie. I'd only met a few of the people involved in the project but many reputations proceeded the members and friends of X-Strike Studios, one of the most predominant, the reputation of one Matthew Mahoney.
The first two things I ever learned about Mahoney were that he was a marine and he was awesome. Many a story I heard revolved around some crazy, off the wall antics and a friendly-but-don't-mess-with-him attitude. It was easy to see everyone loved him but as I was already nervous and intimidated to be meeting such a large gaggle of people, his stories came across to me as much more concerning than they should have been.
Mahoney showed up late to our long-weekend video shoot party. I'd already met a LOT of people, many whom, to me, had a level of celebrity status, was working hard to remember everyone's name and start relaxing. Mahoney arrived and I watched him from a calculated distance, fascinated to put a face to the already infamous name. He seemed nice enough, but definitely tough, to me further evident when he spent the night (read: passed out) in a lawn chair on the driveway. I don't think of myself as a girlie girl who can't handle less than comfortable arrangements, but anyone who was happy and able to sleep wherever they landed when there was an option of couch crashing indoors was definitely someone I wasn't inclined to mess with.
Early the next morning we started with make up for the just under a dozen extras who needed to become zombies for the day's shoot. While the rest of us were waiting our turn, Mahoney, in his BDUs, military-issued combat boots and vest and black Under Armor, gave us mini stunt lessons on how to properly break-fall as we'd be needing to do a fair bit of it, mostly at his hands. I tried, and failed, to not feel incredibly nervous.
We filled several cars and hoofed it out to an abandoned Boy Scout camp in the woods, stopping to grab one or two plastic covered camp mattresses out of a cabin to use as cushioning, a kind gesture to the newly trained, inexperienced zombie stunt team. On the schedule for the day was an intense zombie attack scene where Mahoney's character, I think more similar to the man playing him than not, would stay behind to try to fend off the attack and buy his companions time to escape. This meant Mahoney would be taking down roughly six zombie extras in very loosely choreographed succession.
The plan was to shoot one attack at a time. The first take we would see how it went when Mahoney attacked the first zombie in the pre-determined method. I stood behind the camera in my assigned place in line as zombie number four, anxiously waiting my turn. Action was called and Mahoney's game face came on full force. He took out the first zombie and without a moment's hesitation grabbed the second zombie, much to everyone's surprise. The scene worked out alright as the second zombie played along incredibly well, especially considering they weren't expecting to be part of the first take. Take two was to try it again, this time with the first and second zombie only. Again action was called and Mahoney nearly growled as he took out zombie number one, number two... and grabbed number three, throwing him to the ground! This scene will forever be etched in my memory as I stood behind zombie number three, who was in a cast having recently broken his arm, and watched in shock as Mahoney grabbed him and threw him unexpectedly and unprepared to the ground.
My entire body shook. Being the next in line was scary enough when your Marine-trained assailant is getting all excited and jumping the gun on the take downs, worse when you realized the way you were scripted to be taken out was by means of broken neck. Now, there was never any real pressure or application of force in the acting of the neck breaking, but Mahoney's very recent history showed he seemed to be acting more on instinct than careful awareness and I was a tad bit worried.
The third take was intentional with all three zombies and I took a large, deliberate step back from the scene. Luckily Mahoney remembered to stop at three and they got the shot they wanted. Then my take came and for the first time I squarely faced Mahoney, one on one, eye to eye. I stared at him, trying to will him with my eyes to not accidentally end me, my jaw set in determination to make sure it was a good shot, no matter how scared I felt. I worried it would be rough and painful but was surprised by how gentle he was. He reached for my head but most of the whipping action came from me and I would fall onto the flimsy camp mat then immediately roll away as a moment later Mahoney would come crashing down to the exact same spot with 3 more zombies on top of him. We did it several times. My body protested but I survived.
I've had the pleasure of spending time with Mahoney several times since that weekend. Once we ended up in the basement of the Alexandria Hilton, completely by accident, and for me it was a far more entertaining experience than it would have if I'd shared it with anyone else. Watching him immediately flip into action mode and sneak down the hall to explore while I laughed and fought the urge to run away will forever be one of my favorite Mahoney Moments.
I'm privileged to call him a friend. He is a joy to spend time with, hysterical and fun, certainly adventurous. My reaction to him now is to give him a giant hug then sit somewhere I can hang on his every spectacular story-telling word. I'm always thrilled to hear about his beautiful wife and children and find comfort knowing he supports my similar endeavors. My initial fear of him now seems absurd but it helped defined the meeting of a person I am blessed to know and will never forget.
First, my lack of posting has had far less to do with desire than it has to do with laziness and lack of any of my half-formed writing ideas coming together the way I want them to. I explained to my mom the other day why I chose the name Rambling Inner Monologue for this blog; it's a very true description of the way my brain functions. Let's say you have a confrontation with someone and hours later you are replaying the whole thing, word for word, then editing it to have gone exactly the way you wanted, as if scripted to perfection. I feel like I'm always doing that for a dozen situations every day, like I'm my own sitcom voice over, and it has transferred into how I write. As I think about these things and create elaborate dialogues and situations in my mind some will start to solidify and a sentence or several will stick firmly in my head. I'll use those sentences to build an entire post around, thus sharing my mind with you.
See what I mean about rambling? On to today's show...
Thanks to a long chain of fateful events that will, one day, get their own post, I had the opportunity to travel to upstate New York to be an extra in a low budget video game parody movie. I'd only met a few of the people involved in the project but many reputations proceeded the members and friends of X-Strike Studios, one of the most predominant, the reputation of one Matthew Mahoney.
The first two things I ever learned about Mahoney were that he was a marine and he was awesome. Many a story I heard revolved around some crazy, off the wall antics and a friendly-but-don't-mess-with-him attitude. It was easy to see everyone loved him but as I was already nervous and intimidated to be meeting such a large gaggle of people, his stories came across to me as much more concerning than they should have been.
Mahoney showed up late to our long-weekend video shoot party. I'd already met a LOT of people, many whom, to me, had a level of celebrity status, was working hard to remember everyone's name and start relaxing. Mahoney arrived and I watched him from a calculated distance, fascinated to put a face to the already infamous name. He seemed nice enough, but definitely tough, to me further evident when he spent the night (read: passed out) in a lawn chair on the driveway. I don't think of myself as a girlie girl who can't handle less than comfortable arrangements, but anyone who was happy and able to sleep wherever they landed when there was an option of couch crashing indoors was definitely someone I wasn't inclined to mess with.
Early the next morning we started with make up for the just under a dozen extras who needed to become zombies for the day's shoot. While the rest of us were waiting our turn, Mahoney, in his BDUs, military-issued combat boots and vest and black Under Armor, gave us mini stunt lessons on how to properly break-fall as we'd be needing to do a fair bit of it, mostly at his hands. I tried, and failed, to not feel incredibly nervous.
We filled several cars and hoofed it out to an abandoned Boy Scout camp in the woods, stopping to grab one or two plastic covered camp mattresses out of a cabin to use as cushioning, a kind gesture to the newly trained, inexperienced zombie stunt team. On the schedule for the day was an intense zombie attack scene where Mahoney's character, I think more similar to the man playing him than not, would stay behind to try to fend off the attack and buy his companions time to escape. This meant Mahoney would be taking down roughly six zombie extras in very loosely choreographed succession.
The plan was to shoot one attack at a time. The first take we would see how it went when Mahoney attacked the first zombie in the pre-determined method. I stood behind the camera in my assigned place in line as zombie number four, anxiously waiting my turn. Action was called and Mahoney's game face came on full force. He took out the first zombie and without a moment's hesitation grabbed the second zombie, much to everyone's surprise. The scene worked out alright as the second zombie played along incredibly well, especially considering they weren't expecting to be part of the first take. Take two was to try it again, this time with the first and second zombie only. Again action was called and Mahoney nearly growled as he took out zombie number one, number two... and grabbed number three, throwing him to the ground! This scene will forever be etched in my memory as I stood behind zombie number three, who was in a cast having recently broken his arm, and watched in shock as Mahoney grabbed him and threw him unexpectedly and unprepared to the ground.
My entire body shook. Being the next in line was scary enough when your Marine-trained assailant is getting all excited and jumping the gun on the take downs, worse when you realized the way you were scripted to be taken out was by means of broken neck. Now, there was never any real pressure or application of force in the acting of the neck breaking, but Mahoney's very recent history showed he seemed to be acting more on instinct than careful awareness and I was a tad bit worried.
The third take was intentional with all three zombies and I took a large, deliberate step back from the scene. Luckily Mahoney remembered to stop at three and they got the shot they wanted. Then my take came and for the first time I squarely faced Mahoney, one on one, eye to eye. I stared at him, trying to will him with my eyes to not accidentally end me, my jaw set in determination to make sure it was a good shot, no matter how scared I felt. I worried it would be rough and painful but was surprised by how gentle he was. He reached for my head but most of the whipping action came from me and I would fall onto the flimsy camp mat then immediately roll away as a moment later Mahoney would come crashing down to the exact same spot with 3 more zombies on top of him. We did it several times. My body protested but I survived.
I've had the pleasure of spending time with Mahoney several times since that weekend. Once we ended up in the basement of the Alexandria Hilton, completely by accident, and for me it was a far more entertaining experience than it would have if I'd shared it with anyone else. Watching him immediately flip into action mode and sneak down the hall to explore while I laughed and fought the urge to run away will forever be one of my favorite Mahoney Moments.
I'm privileged to call him a friend. He is a joy to spend time with, hysterical and fun, certainly adventurous. My reaction to him now is to give him a giant hug then sit somewhere I can hang on his every spectacular story-telling word. I'm always thrilled to hear about his beautiful wife and children and find comfort knowing he supports my similar endeavors. My initial fear of him now seems absurd but it helped defined the meeting of a person I am blessed to know and will never forget.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Nesting
Yesterday I told a friend his wife had made a cameo in my dream the night before but I only remembered a few flashes of images. He, naturally, thought I was an odd cookie which sparked a discussion of how my vivid dream history could well be an indicator of my mental stability or lack there of. In turn I was motivated to update the blog, a blog that was originally created to be a place to share my crazy dream memories that I have collected since I was a wee thing. Today's memory is less about any particular dream and more of my bizarre sleeping habits when I was a kid and how it relates to me as an adult.
I had a history of kicking off my blankets in the middle of the night. I would start dreaming about being cold and can remember "feeling too tired" to wake up enough to pull the blankets up. In my dream state I thought to myself if I could just curl up in a tight enough ball I could stay warm, so I would move up the bed and try to fit my entire body on top of my pillow. This, naturally, did little to fix my issue, in fact it moved me further away from the warmth-giving bed coverings. So, the obvious Plan B was to try to fit INSIDE the pillow case. Inside. With the pillow. Imagine that for a moment, if you will.
Eventually I would get fed up with myself and wake up enough to get repositioned where I should be, all nice and tucked under the toasty covers, vowing to myself that next time I would just skip the crazy and go right to fixing-the-issue part. Let me just say there is a reason this memory is so vivid and it's not because it only happened that one time...
As a grown, logical human being I am able to stay under the covers throughout the night, which is quite an accomplishment given how much I can be prone to thrash about as if in the throes of some horrific affair, but my nesting tendencies are strong. I am happiest when it is cold and I can cocoon myself in a heaping pile of fleece blankets and my favorite outerwear includes an ankle length wool cloak that feels like wrapping up in pure heaven against the wind.
Now that I have the covers under control you'd think I could resolve the issue of trying to sleep through those urgent midnight Ladies room breaks, it's like boot camp for the bladder. Same problem, VERY different dreams...
Come back soon and listen to the tale in which I buy a neon yellow rubber gun.
I had a history of kicking off my blankets in the middle of the night. I would start dreaming about being cold and can remember "feeling too tired" to wake up enough to pull the blankets up. In my dream state I thought to myself if I could just curl up in a tight enough ball I could stay warm, so I would move up the bed and try to fit my entire body on top of my pillow. This, naturally, did little to fix my issue, in fact it moved me further away from the warmth-giving bed coverings. So, the obvious Plan B was to try to fit INSIDE the pillow case. Inside. With the pillow. Imagine that for a moment, if you will.
Eventually I would get fed up with myself and wake up enough to get repositioned where I should be, all nice and tucked under the toasty covers, vowing to myself that next time I would just skip the crazy and go right to fixing-the-issue part. Let me just say there is a reason this memory is so vivid and it's not because it only happened that one time...
As a grown, logical human being I am able to stay under the covers throughout the night, which is quite an accomplishment given how much I can be prone to thrash about as if in the throes of some horrific affair, but my nesting tendencies are strong. I am happiest when it is cold and I can cocoon myself in a heaping pile of fleece blankets and my favorite outerwear includes an ankle length wool cloak that feels like wrapping up in pure heaven against the wind.
Now that I have the covers under control you'd think I could resolve the issue of trying to sleep through those urgent midnight Ladies room breaks, it's like boot camp for the bladder. Same problem, VERY different dreams...
Come back soon and listen to the tale in which I buy a neon yellow rubber gun.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Fall Down
It has been quite a while since I last wrote and I blame a number of causes for that. Mostly I've been waiting for uplifting inspiration to strike, not wanting share an update of more "woe is me", because overall my life is great and that is what I really want to share here, but I'm trying to shake this suffocating depression that isn't leaving much room for anything else.
Every year when September hits, like clockwork, all I want to do is hunker down and hibernate. I want to be home, anti social and wear PJs at all times. This year, however, those desires are much more intense than I remember them. There is a deeply rooted sense of dread that turns my stomach and is sucking me dry. Dread at the thought of what happens when Clif and I try again to have a baby. Dread at the outcome of the election, how to get through the campaigning leading up to it and the impact the result will have on my beliefs versus my family's. Dread at having to figure out a way to afford a replacement sliding glass door and desperately needed tree trimming, having a growing list of house and yard projects that will probably never get done, finding the mental and emotional strength to stand up to the rantings of completely unreasonable customers, getting through each day and still trying to find energy and motivation for chores and after-work activities that have all been suffering in the wake of my apathy. Dread about finances, responsibilities, failures, eventualities...
I know the things that make me feel better: getting chores done, going to the gym or other physical activity, keeping up with tasks and expectations. I also know where I've been failing: getting chores done, going to the gym or other physical activity, keeping up with tasks and expectations.
Part of me needs this; large, uninterrupted chunks of time where all I have to do is exist. I love it to a very large extent, so telling me to suck it up, get out of the house and DO things is not as much help as you would expect. If anything a lot of that doing comes back around to contributing to the problems and then I get stuck in this circular think-hole that only piles onto my anxieties.
An example of such a process: I am feeling really down and I've been slacking so I should go to class tonight because I love it, the people I train with and it makes me feel better. It is also expensive and equates to money that I really should be putting into savings instead, especially now that I have an increased financial responsibility. Yes, but that can be said about everything money is spent on, and while some things can be cut out, where do I draw the line? The logical answer is to draw the line where it needs to be drawn: don't spend a penny on anything that isn't absolutely necessary. So I should expect to cut out every thing that I love and enjoy and save money but be unhappy having to give them up? Or, do I continue to spend but feel miserable and guilty for not saving? Then, when I'm nice and worked up about having no clue what decision to make I'll just keep paying the money for the things I love but keep skipping because the waves of depression keep me chained to the living room. Soon every choice or opportunity to leave the house can be justified away by saying it saves time and money to only walk out the front door to go to work or if the house is on fire.
Is your head spinning? Try a seat in mine.
My chest hurts more often than not and I'm tired of it. Fed up and frustrated at myself for knowing better but not having the will power to do something to fix the situation. This is usually the part where well-intentioned friends and loved ones offer advice on what to do or not do. Don't get me wrong, advice can be great, but in this case it is largely more frustrating than helpful. For the most part the advice offered isn't anything I don't already know and the re-hashing of it just makes me feel stupid and weak. Sometimes all I want to do is feel angry, be allowed to feel down and vent about it.
Part of me needs to kick my own rear and get back to the activities I've been passing on because it makes me feel so much better when I do. Part of me wants to force myself out of the house and to be more social, even though it wears me out. Part of me wants to look through the budget and cut every single financial thing out of my life that does not equate to keeping a roof over our head and food on the table. Part of me wishes I was in a mental and emotional place that would allow me to let someone else just tell me what to do, already, then hold my hand.
Every year when September hits, like clockwork, all I want to do is hunker down and hibernate. I want to be home, anti social and wear PJs at all times. This year, however, those desires are much more intense than I remember them. There is a deeply rooted sense of dread that turns my stomach and is sucking me dry. Dread at the thought of what happens when Clif and I try again to have a baby. Dread at the outcome of the election, how to get through the campaigning leading up to it and the impact the result will have on my beliefs versus my family's. Dread at having to figure out a way to afford a replacement sliding glass door and desperately needed tree trimming, having a growing list of house and yard projects that will probably never get done, finding the mental and emotional strength to stand up to the rantings of completely unreasonable customers, getting through each day and still trying to find energy and motivation for chores and after-work activities that have all been suffering in the wake of my apathy. Dread about finances, responsibilities, failures, eventualities...
I know the things that make me feel better: getting chores done, going to the gym or other physical activity, keeping up with tasks and expectations. I also know where I've been failing: getting chores done, going to the gym or other physical activity, keeping up with tasks and expectations.
Part of me needs this; large, uninterrupted chunks of time where all I have to do is exist. I love it to a very large extent, so telling me to suck it up, get out of the house and DO things is not as much help as you would expect. If anything a lot of that doing comes back around to contributing to the problems and then I get stuck in this circular think-hole that only piles onto my anxieties.
An example of such a process: I am feeling really down and I've been slacking so I should go to class tonight because I love it, the people I train with and it makes me feel better. It is also expensive and equates to money that I really should be putting into savings instead, especially now that I have an increased financial responsibility. Yes, but that can be said about everything money is spent on, and while some things can be cut out, where do I draw the line? The logical answer is to draw the line where it needs to be drawn: don't spend a penny on anything that isn't absolutely necessary. So I should expect to cut out every thing that I love and enjoy and save money but be unhappy having to give them up? Or, do I continue to spend but feel miserable and guilty for not saving? Then, when I'm nice and worked up about having no clue what decision to make I'll just keep paying the money for the things I love but keep skipping because the waves of depression keep me chained to the living room. Soon every choice or opportunity to leave the house can be justified away by saying it saves time and money to only walk out the front door to go to work or if the house is on fire.
Is your head spinning? Try a seat in mine.
My chest hurts more often than not and I'm tired of it. Fed up and frustrated at myself for knowing better but not having the will power to do something to fix the situation. This is usually the part where well-intentioned friends and loved ones offer advice on what to do or not do. Don't get me wrong, advice can be great, but in this case it is largely more frustrating than helpful. For the most part the advice offered isn't anything I don't already know and the re-hashing of it just makes me feel stupid and weak. Sometimes all I want to do is feel angry, be allowed to feel down and vent about it.
Part of me needs to kick my own rear and get back to the activities I've been passing on because it makes me feel so much better when I do. Part of me wants to force myself out of the house and to be more social, even though it wears me out. Part of me wants to look through the budget and cut every single financial thing out of my life that does not equate to keeping a roof over our head and food on the table. Part of me wishes I was in a mental and emotional place that would allow me to let someone else just tell me what to do, already, then hold my hand.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
A Moment of Solidarity
During my lunch hour I like to read through the archives of blogs like they are a chapter book, my most recent catch-up being with Alice Bradley's Finslippy. Today I came across a post she wrote a year ago and was floored. Mainly because I had just lived her story no more than two nights ago with Clif (minus the tweezing part)...
When I shave I do it hip to, and including, toe. There, I've said it. Whew! That feels so much better! Thing is until right this very moment I've lived in shame of the fact that my lower extremity shaving rituals include my feet. Why I have felt this way I'm not entirely sure, though I suspect it might have something to do with a girl once looking at me in shock and horror asking me if and why I would do such a thing. I immediately stuttered a red-faced denial and forever more steered clear of the topic (luckily it doesn't come up very often so I can be lax in my diligence), vowing never to admit my dark secret.
But here's the thing: why on earth is shaving ones toes such an astounding concept? Is Frodobia a thing?
Reading the comments on Alice's blog not only made me feel more comfortable about my own Hobbit feet, but showed me how many people I share that boat of shame with. Stand, we, united in our desire to rid excess body hair, no matter how negligible!
I also adore the smell of Windex.
What about your dark little secrets?
When I shave I do it hip to, and including, toe. There, I've said it. Whew! That feels so much better! Thing is until right this very moment I've lived in shame of the fact that my lower extremity shaving rituals include my feet. Why I have felt this way I'm not entirely sure, though I suspect it might have something to do with a girl once looking at me in shock and horror asking me if and why I would do such a thing. I immediately stuttered a red-faced denial and forever more steered clear of the topic (luckily it doesn't come up very often so I can be lax in my diligence), vowing never to admit my dark secret.
But here's the thing: why on earth is shaving ones toes such an astounding concept? Is Frodobia a thing?
Reading the comments on Alice's blog not only made me feel more comfortable about my own Hobbit feet, but showed me how many people I share that boat of shame with. Stand, we, united in our desire to rid excess body hair, no matter how negligible!
I also adore the smell of Windex.
What about your dark little secrets?
Friday, August 31, 2012
Friday Groove
It returns! Today's Friday Groove is courtesy of a friend I met online through World of Warcraft. Yes, I know there are all sorts of eyebrow raising things in that sentence, you'll just have to deal. The characters in the game each have a distinctive dance and when I commented on one of the new styles reminding me of the Push Me Pull You dance from the original Dr. Doolittle, she said she thought it was actually inspired by this guy:
Are you prepared for awesome? Are you sure?? Alrighty, carry on.
Are you prepared for awesome? Are you sure?? Alrighty, carry on.
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