Skillz (or the general lack thereof)...

This would be one of those evenings where I desperately wish I had some semblance of talent or skill in the kitchen. My cook Trevor isn't feeling well and went to bed at 7:30 - leaving me hungry and left to fend for myself.

On another note, we don't seem to have any food. Which can't be right because I've been to the store at least twice since we've been home. Maybe I am just seeing ingredients? I'd attempt some sort of combination (with the intent of creating a meal), but I worry about poisoning my already ill husband. And then there is Thor to think about.

When did I become such an epic failure in the kitchen? Oh, wait. That's right: The day I was born. I have other skills. That aptitude test a decade or so ago discovered that my true talent lies in the field of pitch. To be fully happy, I should be learning and studying some long dead Chinese dialect where a single word, depending on pitch, means a multitude of different things.

I love that my true calling in life is completely irrelevant and...well, useless. I've tried to self soothe over the years by telling myself that practical skills are completely overrated. That is until I am faced with evenings like this one where I am left to my own devices (a.k.a. starving on the couch with a box of Wheat Thins and a few hunks of dried papaya) without the basic knowledge needed to feed myself properly.

Seriously. It is kind of amazing I've survived this long. Thor is totally screwed.

Update: Trevor just woke up and made me a salad. I totally didn't know we had salad fixings! That man is a genius. What ever would I do without that man I love? Oh, that's right. Shrivel up and die of starvation. Note to self: Do not outlive husband...

Update II: Trevor just pointed out that I was (apparently) SO hungry earlier, that I opened the box of Wheat Thins upside down. I also missed the bag of carrots in the fridge, which were located next to invisible salad fixings. Maybe my brain IS shrinking?

Yes. It is true. I suck.

Apparently, the holidays have not been conducive to blogging this year. Which isn't to say that I have nothing to post. I've just been lacking the motivation to sit at a computer and do...well, anything. I will try to rectify this situation as quickly as possible. Just don't hold your breath. Or get irritated if you start noticing a sudden deluge of back posts. Because someone DID call me out (once) for back posting (a long time ago), and it has given me a bit of a complex. Like back posting is something to be ashamed of and feel guilty for doing. Which is, of course, silly. And yet I feel ashamed and guilty about it anyway. Stupid irrational complexes. Maybe I should work on having fewer of those in the New Year?

...Ah, who am I kidding?

In the meantime, something that bothers me:

Why is North Park actually located south of Park Lane?

Excuses, excuses...

So, the problem is that I have a lot to say, but no motivation to actually write out a post. Which explains - sort of - why I have filled my blog lately with a bunch of photos and emails, but very little content. Yeah, I'll try to work on that. Maaaybe.

I have a big head and little arms...

“The whole point of getting things done is knowing what to leave undone.”

- Stella Reading

Unfortunately, that means This Blog.

The Good News: My internet is FINALLY working again at home.

The Bad News: May is shaping up to be a very (very, very) busy month. I have stories to tell, just no time to dedicate to writing them down.

So, don’t be surprised if you see a lot of back posting (if posting at all). I did some of this last week (i.e. writing what I could when I could, and then posting the stories “around” the time I should have posted them in the first place).

I swear: I’m not doing it to confuse anyone (really!). I’m just trying to make it through the next several weeks without losing my mind completely, which is (of course) much easier said then done. Don’t believe me? Ask Melissa. I’ve been incredibly grumpy recently. I’m really just exhausted, but…well, you know. Sometimes acting like a six year old is all the maturity I can muster at the end of the day.

Sigh. I need a nap.

An apology of sorts...

For those of you concerned that I may have fallen off the face of the Earth, fear not! I am fine.

The absence of new postings is nothing personal, mind you. I have a perfectly good explanation. Namely, I went out of town (yes, again), and – since my return to the good ‘ole State ‘o’ Texas – have been desperately trying to catch up at the office.

The good news is that I am currently working on several new entries (complete with photographs) that I’ll be posting in the very new future. Until then, have patience my dear grasshoppers…

In the interim, consider the following:

Joseph Plumb Martin was a private in the 8th Connecticut regiment of General George Washington’s Continental army. He kept a journal faithfully during his seven years in the military, and – in the subsequent quotation – frankly assessed his fellow soldiers:

“They put me in this regiment, half New Englanders and half Pennsylvanians. Folks as different as night and day. Myself, I’d rather be fighting with a tribe of Indians than with these Southerners. I mean they’re foreigners, can’t hardly speak English. They don’t like me either. They call me that ‘damn Yankee’. That’s about the nicest thing they say.”

A) At this point weren’t they were all “foreigners” to a certain extent?

B) With the possible exceptions of the Dutch and Swedish, Pennsylvania was settled predominantly by English settlers. Therefore, we can conclude that most of them were fluent in English (seeing as though most of them came from jolly ‘ole England in the first place).

C) We can also deduce that the Pennsylvanians’ apparent trouble with the English language was not caused by a lack of access to a form of generalized education. I say this because the first public school in the original thirteen colonies was opened in Philadelphia, not New England. This, of course, makes sense when it is remembered that Mr. Martin stated that his Pennsylvanian counterparts “can’t hardly speak English.” Obviously, Mr. Martin, who lived in New England, didn’t have access to an education that would teach him the finer points of, say, grammar.

D) I’m sure that Pennsylvanians would find it humorous to discover that they were once described as being “Southerners”. I know I do, and I’m from Texas.

As you may remember, I love to poke fun at New Englanders. This is mainly because I don’t understand the logic behind which states are part of “New England” and which ones are excluded. In fact, I do not think that logic plays a part in it at all. Maine, Vermont, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Connecticut and Rhode Island all just got together and decided to form a club because they weren’t “cool” enough to play with the popular states like New York and New Jersey.

Anyway, I’ve talked about this before HERE. This is just more fuel for the fire (or something like that).

Okay, talk amongst yourselves…

Dear Constant Reader...

Hello, all!

I would like to apologize for my current lack of new postings. I am working on two rather large entries (because, you know, I'm kind of wordy) right now, and I hope to have them both up by week's end.

In the meantime, I would like to pose a question to all of you "People 'o' BLOGLAND":

One night in college, a bunch of my friends and I were sitting around watching our school's Homecoming football game AND the Miss America pageant (yes, they always came on at the same time every year, so we made an event of it. We ordered pizza, drank beer and made fun of the various (and very vacuous) Miss America contestants, while simultaneously watching our college football team lose to Temple. Again. Ah, yes, you gotta' love the Big East...).

Anyway, during this annual event, a friend of mine oh-so RANDOMLY announced that she thought that the song, HERE COMES THE SUN (by the Beatles), ran through a person's mind while committing the act of homicide (don't you love that a night of football, pizza and Miss America bimbos can lead to a discussion of murder? Because THAT'S morbid...and, yet, strangely logical (I so LOATHE beauty pageants of any kind)).

Now, whenever I hear that song (which is A LOT lately because of the whole State Fair Exhibit theme), I always picture a scene out of some really bad 1970's murder-mystery movie. There is a guy and he is heading up the stairs - weapon in hand - supposedly on his way to "off" someone. The whole thing is in slow-motion, and the only noise that can heard is THAT stupid Beatles's song ("do-di-do-do")!

I always start to giggle at this point, because WHY would THAT song go through a killer's head in the first place?! "Here comes the sun...do-di-do-do". I mean, it is kind of ridiculous if you stop and think about it...

...Yet, I have a friend who DID (and now I KEEP thinking about it, too)!

Which leads me to my question (in a desperate attempt to think of something else the next time I have to listen to THAT song!):

What do YOU think about when you hear the song, HERE COMES THE SUN, by the Beatles?

P.S. If you say "murder" we are SOOOOOO in a fight!!