Oh hey.
I promise there is awesomeness going on up in this piece.
Best apartment yet.
Awkward boy stories.
Apple bobbing.
A bajillion classes that shouldn't belong at the university because they're too fun.
Health fanaticism squared.
Parachute pants.
We'll get there. I just need to find a good balance for blogging in my life.
In the meantime, enjoy these pictures of a tropical funeral arrangement (I want that)
& some flowers saved for Inigo Montoya's wedding.
Sleep in a delicious-smelling eucalyptus forest.
Explore old army bunkers with your matchy-match-match family.
Jog on the beach
Make Sasquatch noises in a haunted forest on the beach.
Tide pools with tiny cousins.
Alcatraz.
Six-Flags.
Golden Gate.
Redwoods.
China Town.
Boogie Boarding.
So. Much. Awesome. Food.
San Francisco was awesome--warm, but not hot. Hydrangea lined the streets in front of colored houses. The city itself held all the excitement of a bustling urban-center, but with much more class and cleanliness than New York City.
I did miss my mountains though.
Some people go on fantastic family vacations and return with nice sun-tans, memorable stories, and pictures of the wonderful foods and fashions they took part in. These people are called Good Bloggers.
Mother Says:
"Maybe you should marry someone from California. But you know, if you live really far away you won't get as many cute baby clothes, because how would I get them to you? Huh? Think about that."
The pre-pull:
One of many pulls. Certainly not the funniest, but the least revealing of things you just really don't want to see:
And on that note, I'm going to San Fran.
Because really, who's not going to San Fran?
I was just sitting on my bed, minding my own business, playing my guitar without any clothes on, when my door creaked.
"Don't come in, I'm changing!" I shouted.
You would think that would be the best brother-repellent out there, but to my horror the door inched slowly open.
"No really, don't come in!" I full-on screamed in panic, "I'M NAKED!!!!!!!"
I lunged furiously at my door, wearing only my guitar as covering as if I belonged in a dirty comedy act.
Alas, my dog sat in the doorway, paw guiltily raised mid-scratch.
For some reason I still harbored anger in my heart for Jordan, the likeliest perpetrator.
I breathed a sigh of relief that there was no one else in the basement to share the moment.
My neighbors breathed a sigh of relief that all the windows in the entire house were wide open, preventing them from missing their free weekly entertainment.
...........and then my brother begged me to wax his back, to which I all-to-gladly obliged. He required a gentle hand and video footage. This is good news for you.
Just found this picture on my phone. Took it while cleaning the Primary room for the win.
Everything's slightly funnier when you're cleaning the Primary room for the win.
These children are doing great in the "service gifts" department. When I was 5, I ran around naked and proclaimed an above-average adorable factor to be my service gift to the world (although I never wrote that on a flower and taped it to the wall).
This is true.
I wish I were still in Primary.
But not in a weird way.
Ya....I'm done.
These children are doing great in the "service gifts" department. When I was 5, I ran around naked and proclaimed an above-average adorable factor to be my service gift to the world (although I never wrote that on a flower and taped it to the wall).
This is true.
I wish I were still in Primary.
But not in a weird way.
Ya....I'm done.
Next time you see Laura, mock her for her lack of pocket-change and her inability to sleep in for the next 3 months. You might get slapped in the face, but you will feel good about it.
And then go drink a tall glass of soda and eat a mint-chocolate brownie, just because you can.
I will be at home. Going to bed early. Eating veggies and protein shakes and energy beans. Incapable of sleeping past 6:00 for fear of inadequate training resulting in DEATH.
Dear Laura,
Bucket Lists are idealistic, you fool!
Next time, ctrl-alt-delete out of the marathon page and make yourself a dang quesadilla.
It will be better for everyone.
I'm doing it for the kids, because everyone wants a 26.2-stickered minivan mom (not true).
I hope the children like embarrassing cliches, because I'm disconcertingly stoked out of my mind.
I grounded myself from the Blogosphere.
You may have noticed.
We have a love-hate relationship. Kind of like my relationship with Facebook.
It's not them; it's me.
But at work I came across something adorable that made me sigh out loud like a pansy 8th grader during the final scene of High School Musical 2. (Please read this next sentence as though it is dripping with sarcasm) And I know how you love when I share with you all about my work.
I wasn't going to blog, but this might help out the gents, and the gents know they need all the advice they can get (here's some more advice: get off the girly blog and go catch a football or a delicious bass or something).
This evening as I was getting ready to close up the shop, a regal-sounding man called in requesting a 3-rose wrap-bouquet. Light pink. Because he called ahead (<------do that), I was able to put some extra time and love into the pretty-lil'-thang (<------I refer to flowers as though they are my girlfriends).
The suited man rode up to the store on his bike 20 minutes later. He had just gotten off a long day at work and dropped by to pick up some flowers for his woman waiting at home. Friendly and happy and complimentary, he held his bouquet with care. I asked him whether it would be difficult to ride his bike home while holding the flowers, but he smiled and assured me that it was amazing what he could do with just one hand when he needed to.
I watched in awe as he walked outside, buckled his helmet into place, tucked his bouquet into one arm, and rode off into the sunset.
Middle aged. Suited. On a bike. Carrying roses.
I submit this to be better than Liam Hemsworth.
And since I'm already blogging . . .
I voted! (and I read a Usage Dictionary before bed?)
From this experience, I correctly learned how to incorrectly vote.
Even though I thought I'd rather give blood than go vote (for some reason I've always associated the two--lines and stickers maybe),
I fully intended to read up on the candidates before casting my ballot.
Then I fell asleep. And the next thing I knew, my politically-inclined brother was dragging me to the polls. I really didn't have a say in the matter. He registered me already, and it would be a waste of a project to leave me at home. I've pathetically enough put no effort into this.
So I voted.
- I voted for one candidate based on the fact that his opponent had a really annoying fan-base on a street corner on my way over, and I just couldn't select that guy.
- I voted for another based on my annoyance with his opponent's cheesy campaign slogan.
- I voted for one based on the fact that his face hadn't been plastered, as big as my dog, on every street corner.
- Another got my vote because I'm sick of all the haters obsessing over getting rid of him (Hating on haters).
- I voted for one man because his name was Larry.
- And the final guy received my vote because I hadn't received half a dozen machine-automated phone-calls asking for my support for him.
Basically I'm just anti-advertisement or something.
But then after I had voted, I actually went and read up on everyone and realized that my method probably could use some revising.
Whatever. It's only the Primarys.
Don't be like me when you fulfill your civic duties and stuff.
You may have noticed.
We have a love-hate relationship. Kind of like my relationship with Facebook.
It's not them; it's me.
But at work I came across something adorable that made me sigh out loud like a pansy 8th grader during the final scene of High School Musical 2. (Please read this next sentence as though it is dripping with sarcasm) And I know how you love when I share with you all about my work.
I wasn't going to blog, but this might help out the gents, and the gents know they need all the advice they can get (here's some more advice: get off the girly blog and go catch a football or a delicious bass or something).
This evening as I was getting ready to close up the shop, a regal-sounding man called in requesting a 3-rose wrap-bouquet. Light pink. Because he called ahead (<------do that), I was able to put some extra time and love into the pretty-lil'-thang (<------I refer to flowers as though they are my girlfriends).
The suited man rode up to the store on his bike 20 minutes later. He had just gotten off a long day at work and dropped by to pick up some flowers for his woman waiting at home. Friendly and happy and complimentary, he held his bouquet with care. I asked him whether it would be difficult to ride his bike home while holding the flowers, but he smiled and assured me that it was amazing what he could do with just one hand when he needed to.
I watched in awe as he walked outside, buckled his helmet into place, tucked his bouquet into one arm, and rode off into the sunset.
Middle aged. Suited. On a bike. Carrying roses.
I submit this to be better than Liam Hemsworth.
And since I'm already blogging . . .
I voted! (and I read a Usage Dictionary before bed?)
From this experience, I correctly learned how to incorrectly vote.
Even though I thought I'd rather give blood than go vote (for some reason I've always associated the two--lines and stickers maybe),
I fully intended to read up on the candidates before casting my ballot.
Then I fell asleep. And the next thing I knew, my politically-inclined brother was dragging me to the polls. I really didn't have a say in the matter. He registered me already, and it would be a waste of a project to leave me at home. I've pathetically enough put no effort into this.
So I voted.
- I voted for one candidate based on the fact that his opponent had a really annoying fan-base on a street corner on my way over, and I just couldn't select that guy.
- I voted for another based on my annoyance with his opponent's cheesy campaign slogan.
- I voted for one based on the fact that his face hadn't been plastered, as big as my dog, on every street corner.
- Another got my vote because I'm sick of all the haters obsessing over getting rid of him (Hating on haters).
- I voted for one man because his name was Larry.
- And the final guy received my vote because I hadn't received half a dozen machine-automated phone-calls asking for my support for him.
Basically I'm just anti-advertisement or something.
But then after I had voted, I actually went and read up on everyone and realized that my method probably could use some revising.
Whatever. It's only the Primarys.
Don't be like me when you fulfill your civic duties and stuff.
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