Wednesday, August 17, 2011

POWER TO THE eh.. scew it.

I think I was born to be boring.

I went to Chuck e cheese's today and I spent the entire time playing a racing game stuck behind a semi. Sure, I could have obviously passed or the more entertaining route and smashed into it, but something about sitting there for a good five minutes getting road rage while a group a confused six year olds gathered around me made my night.

This isn't even a new thing. Even at a young age playing with my dolls I never did anything outlandish with my story lines. Ken had a 9 to 5 job at a bank. He didn't love it there. He actually wanted to open his own themed restaurant, but the bank payed well and had the job security he wanted. Barbie was a stay at home mom who I made clean everything top to bottom with a small piece of a wash cloth I cut up. Kelly was a good student. Made good grades and always went to bed at 7 p.m. sharp. I would go on but even this explanation is boring as crap and I wouldn't be surprised one of you reading this, (which would be half of my readers I'm sure) fell asleep twice while reading this. 

I'm not exactly sure what I'm getting at here, but I guess I just wanted to throw this out there and hopefully someone else who LIKES watching infomercials at night, who ENJOYS mundane school work like writing vocabulary, and LOVES reading the backs of shampoo bottles will finally feel not so alone in the world.

If you feel this way, if you're picking up what I'm laying down, message me! Comment on this and we'll bond on our enjoyment over the tedious.

Then again  most boring people are lazy so I understand if you do neither.

P.S. I feel bad that there are no pictures since I feel that's what makes this blog some what entertaining so I will leave you with my favorite commercial I watch instead of doing laundry. Enjoy.


Thursday, August 4, 2011

Insert Witty Post Title Here

I am lucky to be the kind of person that eats WAY to much junk food and still have no real weight problem. It's one of my best qualities. I like to be thankful for the fact that not only can I see my toes BUT I can also touch them.
Yeah, I'm kind of a big deal.

But sometimes I notice my pants must have shrunk lightly in the dyer and it seems my belt must have gotten tighter by witch craft.

You think I would have heard some cackling or something.

While it's obvious that weight had nothing to do with these two occurrences, I might as well eat a little healthier so I don't have to go out and buy new clothes. And that's when I get the terrible idea to go on a diet.

Diets are a heck of a lot like a terminally ill cat you decide to adopt. They are not gonna last. You go ahead and make the decision to do something good, and you do it with a grimace on your face. You won't enjoy it. You buckle down with some intense self discipline and MAKE yourself eat celery/pet the cat.

You glare at the nutritional facts/the eye goo you have to clean out.

And you shed a little tear when you pass the doughnuts int the store/it brushes up next to you and you feel its scabs.

 But you WANT to do good. You really do. So you keep trying. You keep your head high and go about it like you're actually enjoying it when in all reality you are simply waiting for those pants fit enough so you don't need a coat hanger to zip them/the cat finally gives up and admits defeat.