Want to know when you're gonna die?

This organization called Blue Zones developed a test that tells you how long you're expected to be healthy and when you're probably going to die.

Anyway, I took it because how could you not? Here 'tis.

New keys!

Ok. I bought a new piano and it rocks. I want to show you how happy I am with it, but I must conceal my identity (as you understand). So here you go.


My next move will be to learn/start remembering how to play this puppy. Then I will write you a song, or perhaps learn your fav song and play it for you. Zoom!

Bootastic.

My car got hit by this.


*sigh.

I was driving down the highway one completely normal morning when all of a sudden a truck full of rocks driving next to me and slightly ahead of me hit a pothole and a gigantor boulder bounced out of it, smashed my fog light, then bounced around underneath my car.

Ok so the rock was more like the size of a large head.

But no I didn't get the license plate (I was driving for cripes sakes!) and no I didn't see the name of the company. It was just a huge truck with a (loose) tarp over the top.

I got an estimate, and they said it's $330 to replace. No thank you.

Current fog light count: 1/2

I would NEVER do this in real life.

My friend told me about a recent (really disturbing) dream she had and it made me realize that this is the third dream I have heard of in the last couple of weeks where someone violently cut someone else with a knife.

Observe.

#2. My recent dream:
Here's some context. In real life, I have been considering getting a cat because lately I have been feeling the intense urge to care for something small and alive. Also, I am constantly hearing stories about adorable little buddies that make people my age happy. So my roommate and I decided to visit the Humane Society last weekend, but we picked the smallest and dingiest one to go to. We brought a cat to a cell-like room to "play with", but mostly she just hesitantly stared at us as we hesitantly stared at her. Then we put her back in her cage and left.
Moving on, I had started to reconsider the whole cat thing, when I had a dream that really solidified this reconsideration. In my dream, there was a cat trying to crawl up my body in order to claw my face. At first I tried as hard as I could to just push it down, but it was fiercely persisting. So finally, I took a knife off the counter, and cut the cat in half. Right down the middle.

#2. My coworker's dream:
Here is some context. In real life, my friend is the sweetest most kind and adorable person ever. She never says or thinks anything mean and when you're around her you just want to pinch her cheek she's so cute. She also watches a lot of cop/investigator shows in her free time. Sometimes the disturbing stuff she watches morphs in her brain then enters her dreams.
Moving on, a couple weeks ago she had a dream that there was this really horrible guy that was kidnapping other guys. He wasn't just killing them, of course. No no. He was killing them, then cutting off...certain...parts, then slicing those parts up, cooking them, and eating them. For her to even tell us this story it took every single ounce of courage in her body. And I courageously repeat it to you today.

#3. Nugget's dream:
Here is some context. My poor friend is plagued by absolutely insane dreams. On occasion they are awesome. Most of the time they're downright wacky. But sometimes...they are terrifying.
Moving on, here is what she said about her latest nocturnal adventure. "Last night I had a really scary one where there were these killers chasing me. I finally caught one in a chokehold and wrestled a butcher's knife from his hand. I knew I had to kill him, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I made some test cuts on his arm and was so disgusted that I was hurting him that I couldn't slit his throat. I handed the knife to someone on my "side" who did it instead. I woke up hyperventilating and sweating."

What does this mean? Why are three good-natured, guiltless ladies being reduced to violent and bloody knife dreams during our slumber?

She needs a name. It's been 5 days already!

Guess who is not scrambling her stuff together and sprinting through the skyways, breathless, desperate to catch the bus home?

This gal.

As of today, you're not going to be reading any more horrific bus catastrophes from me. Uh uh sister thang. Say goodbye to the ol' bussin' me. And say hello to.........my new car!

Here she is, boldly crashing through icy waters.


I'm so excited! Help me name her. She is red. Here are some pending possibilities:

1. tuna tot
2. angela lansbury II
3. scary cherry
4. lady
5. honey balogna
6. rabbit ears
7. ears of corn
8. pops murphy
9. car-y
10. belle
11. carlotta
12. drivin' mcgee
13. cottage cheese head
14. squirly sue
15. the lovely maiden
16. subaruby
17. the jester
18. miss daisy (drivin')
19. sparky
    
20. starlight randibond

I love this website.

Found this linked on a friend's blog. You will love.

I learned another trick!

Go to The New York Times homepage. Click on a story. Once you've opened that story, click on any word in that story that isn't a link.

It's like I found gold.

I just invented something. Well, I stumbled across it. And you are going to LOVE it.

Are you sitting at a PC? Hit ctrl-alt-arrow down.

What happened?! Did it work for you?!

I think this is the coolest thing I have ever discovered in my entire life. Now spread the love.

Or, play tricks on your coworkers with it.

I love the bus.

To add to the ever-loving saga of my bus travails.

I'm running a little late to the bus this morning, so I decide to sprint the entire 6 blocks to the bus stop. Normally, I don't get too winded from running. Last night I went on a 45 minute run and was completely fine the entire time. But when I run for the bus, it's a different story. I do a sort of panic run, not unlike this. It makes me sweat profusely and I can barely breathe and/or hold down vom by the time I'm able to stop.

So I get to the bus stop just in time to see the bus lazily slip away from my grasp. Great. Then I decide to chase it down Hennepin, then Lake. I think it sees me, so it stops in the middle of the street (not at a light or stop sign). I run up to it, but at this point my sides are about to split in two, my legs have all but fallen off, and vom is slowly starting to creep up my throat. So I slow down to a quick trot, removing my wallet from my purse. I trot halfway up the side of the bus when all of the sudden, the bus pulls away. It pulls away from me! It wasn't picking up or dropping anyone else off! It left me, my arms outstretched in bewilderment, standing at the curb.

Then, of COURSE, the next express bus didn't come until a half an hour later, so I had to take the 1 hour 10 minute non-express bus. Frick.

I'm bored. And boring.

And I don't do anything interesting. Ever.

Nugget and I recently talked about this. You go through college in this blinding haze of activity and people can't believe the amount of things you can actually squeeze into your day. You barely sleep and you never mind. You do homework when you have an occasional five minutes to spare (that you really don't have to spare) but really you don't do it because you don't have time and your average individual of average intelligence should figure out by now how to cruise through college with good grades without doing homework.

Then you graduate. You take on a couple crazy adventures in crazy places that you've never been. You do some jobs at places that seem like god's gift to young journalists at the time but you really just do some stuff for them for a little while then they get some new cheap youngster to fill the spot. You meet some people that amaze you at the time (but you're going to forget them later). You get out of your comfort zone, you grow up a little, you become comfortable with being alone, you feel independent even though you're mostly just scared and lonely the whole time, it's a happy sobfest, etc.

Then you get a job. Like a real job. And it's pretty cool. But the 40-hour work week brings about an interesting quandary: What the hell do you do the entire rest of the time? The first couple months are awesome. You're settling into your apartment, you're enjoying having nights and weekends off, you're watching movies, you're reconnecting with friends, you're cooking new meals. Then you figure out how to cook pretty much everything you want to. You're friends are back in your life, but still in their own weekly grooves. And your nights and weekends drag on.

You realize, your life boils down to this: You need a fricking hobby.