I don’t have anything in mind to blog about today, so I thought I’d invite you into my mind for a wee journey. I’m just going to expose you to a random string of consciousness as it comes up. You’ll be able to get a small taste of where my head goes as it travels from one minute to the next. Ready? Here we go…

Here’s a tip for all you budding writers out there: never ask your dog for advice on what to write. They never help you out, and the way they look at you after you ask just sorta’ makes you feel like an idiot. It’s as if they’re saying, “You just asked a dog to give you a writing prompt… actually, you just asked a dog something“.

So while my sanity is restoring itself, I thought I’d just tappity-tap away on my laptop and write you all a nice little entry about cranberries. No, no I’m not. I don’t know enough about cranberries. How about I write about The Royal Wedding instead? How about not. I think we’ve all seen enough of that as it is, don’t you? Now don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for “Wills and Kate”, but what I wouldn’t give to see the two of them elope. Wouldn’t that just screw everything up? Awesome.

I could elope. I’d like that. My mom probably wouldn’t (or maybe she would, given that my last wedding cost her a couple grand), and I’m sure The Cheerleader I Live With‘s mom would be right pissed off, too. But I wouldn’t want to elope and go to Mexico, or Las Vegas, or Bali. I’d elope on a Norwegian ice breaker. Because that way no one would have wanted to go anyway, so I’d have a lot less guilt about not inviting people.

You know what I don’t miss about full-time, gainful employment? Meetings. I hate meetings. We sit in meetings to discuss the last meeting we had, and then we make a meeting for a future meeting. Thank god there are muffins.

You know what I’d do if I was uber-wealthy and never had to maintain full-time, gainful employment? I’d get tattoos. And buy a Norwegian ice breaker.

Things that bug me: the metric system, child actors, math, unglazed pottery, seasonally inappropriate fireworks, when I can’t hear that night-time mosquito anymore, toe-socks, band-aids with insufficient glue-y backing, pulp, dry muffins, bad fries, all of the  Seven Dwarfs lining the back window of someone’s car,  Costco and Winners, airport seating, dull nail clippers, and sock pebbles. Yes, sock pebbles. You know those teeny-tiny little rocks that somehow get in your sock and migrate to your sole, and then you take off your shoe to try and get the rock out, but then you put your shoe back on and walk two steps only to realize the rock is still there because you took your shoe off but didn’t think to take your sock off too, because why would you, it’s a sock for god’s sake!

I’m going to be late for work.

 

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