Happy birthday, Jesse!
This is what I was uploading last weekend that was bogging down our internet.
That saucy little look at the camera the last couple seconds is just for you, baby.
Preeeetty sure this is the best five dollars I've ever spent.
Now get back to opening the rest of your presents, handsome man. Well, present, but there's more in store today!
(For all the non-birthday attendants who are obviously wondering how to get a hold of this guy, here's DancingDror's page to buy your own 30 second inexplicable dance with whatever you want him to write on his stomach for $5. He'll let you choose the song, but I told him to just do "whatever feels right". MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.)
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Faster than a speeding dog, more powerful than a high kick to the face, it's...
I got some new photos of myself taken recently. I thought I would share them with you.
Ugh, I look fat, don't I? I hung these up by my mirror as motivation to not let myself look like that ever again.
Summer has arrived in Portland! The sun is shining, the tank is clean--THE TANK IS CLEAN. I actually came to tell you a story of my childhood.
When I was a kid I thought that since I was able to run as fast as my dog, Auggie, that I was as fast as Superman. There is that scene in the first Superman movie where he is running next to a train, right? And we watched that movie a couple years ago when we were snowed in during Christmas and those movies are terrible.
All.
Four.
Of.
Them.
Except if Jesse is reading this, then oh honey. I love those movies so much, kind of.
Anyway, I thought that OF COURSE my overweight cocker spaniel was just as fast as Superman, because everyone knows dogs have super speed. And since I could run as fast as Auggie, logically, I was as fast as Superman.
Then again, I was also the kid who peed in a heater vent.
Superdog:
He looks sad there, doesn't he? I know it's hard carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, Superdog. Don't let it get you down.
I also thought that I could do a majorly awesome high kick, and attempted so in the kitchen when I was 8. I leaned so far over during my "kick" that I kneed myself square in the nose and sneezed for half an hour. One second I thought I was doing a ballin' high kick. The next I realized I'd kneed myself in the face, and either I was really glad that no one saw it take place or my poor mind has blocked out if anyone else was there.
Ugh, I look fat, don't I? I hung these up by my mirror as motivation to not let myself look like that ever again.
Summer has arrived in Portland! The sun is shining, the tank is clean--THE TANK IS CLEAN. I actually came to tell you a story of my childhood.
When I was a kid I thought that since I was able to run as fast as my dog, Auggie, that I was as fast as Superman. There is that scene in the first Superman movie where he is running next to a train, right? And we watched that movie a couple years ago when we were snowed in during Christmas and those movies are terrible.
All.
Four.
Of.
Them.
Except if Jesse is reading this, then oh honey. I love those movies so much, kind of.
Anyway, I thought that OF COURSE my overweight cocker spaniel was just as fast as Superman, because everyone knows dogs have super speed. And since I could run as fast as Auggie, logically, I was as fast as Superman.
Then again, I was also the kid who peed in a heater vent.
Superdog:
He looks sad there, doesn't he? I know it's hard carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, Superdog. Don't let it get you down.
I also thought that I could do a majorly awesome high kick, and attempted so in the kitchen when I was 8. I leaned so far over during my "kick" that I kneed myself square in the nose and sneezed for half an hour. One second I thought I was doing a ballin' high kick. The next I realized I'd kneed myself in the face, and either I was really glad that no one saw it take place or my poor mind has blocked out if anyone else was there.
Monday, June 27, 2011
P. Sherman, 42 Wallaby Way, Sydney
I sold those dishes! And no I didn't spend some of the money on fast food. Please. (Jack in the Box.)
I'm also working on a truly hideous scarf that I kept trying to tell myself I liked because I'm gaudy, and then as I was knitting I came across a big patch of yarn that had maple syrup on it and realized I HATED THAT SCARF. I tried to wash it off and then I put it in a bag so I wouldn't have to look at it anymore. ANY. MORE.
But really, I think I like it a lot because that thing is ugly.
Oh man, I was just reminded of the time when there were raccoons fighting outside of my bedroom in high school. I woke up in a cold sweat and heard this horrible hissing and barking outside and was convinced there were rabid dogs near my window. When I looked out I saw two raccoons hissing and snarling at each other and suddenly? My image of cute little raccoons was ruined forever.
Those stupid raccoons were destructive. And I just realized maybe I shouldn't tell the story I was actually going to tell. No, I will. The raccoons were a problem, getting under everyone's mobile homes and having babies under the floor and eating all of Cinnamon's food and washing their creepy human looking fingers in his water every night. So my dad got a permit and a trap from Fish and Wildlife to catch them, and they said feel free to trap and kill them because they were a problem.
During that time I was on my way home from a choir trip and called to check in. I don't remember how he got around to it, but my dad said he had killed a raccoon. Even though we didn't own guns I think I asked if he shot it. When he said no, I asked if he broke its neck. "Broke its neck? I'm not sticking my arm in there with a hissing raccoon. I drowned it."
WHAAAT IS THIS
And my dad proceeded to say that he put cinder blocks together and stuck a tarp in it, essentially making an above ground pool, if you will. He filled it with water and put the cage, raccoon included, into it. Dad just emailed me. I am supposed to call this the Pit of Death.
THE RING OF FIRE
But isn't it saying something about how manly I think my dad is that I thought he broke a raccoon's neck? I have this totally butch image of my dad. In my head he is the epitome of manliness, riding a tyrannosaurus rex through the burning wasteland. You know, punching sharks and stuff. There are sharks on land in this terrifying future.
Really he just likes to play puzzles and doesn't actually enjoy being the designated raccoon killer of the family.
Um, anyway, Jesse and I went to the Oregon Coast Aquarium last weekend. Sharkbait, hoo ha ha.
I sent my parents an email about the raccoon story to get their feedback. While my dad wrote, "be sure to accurately describe the Pit of Death," my mother said, "I was not involved. I thought the whole idea was madness." Those two sentences regarding the same story describe my parents perfectly.
I'm also working on a truly hideous scarf that I kept trying to tell myself I liked because I'm gaudy, and then as I was knitting I came across a big patch of yarn that had maple syrup on it and realized I HATED THAT SCARF. I tried to wash it off and then I put it in a bag so I wouldn't have to look at it anymore. ANY. MORE.
But really, I think I like it a lot because that thing is ugly.
Oh man, I was just reminded of the time when there were raccoons fighting outside of my bedroom in high school. I woke up in a cold sweat and heard this horrible hissing and barking outside and was convinced there were rabid dogs near my window. When I looked out I saw two raccoons hissing and snarling at each other and suddenly? My image of cute little raccoons was ruined forever.
Those stupid raccoons were destructive. And I just realized maybe I shouldn't tell the story I was actually going to tell. No, I will. The raccoons were a problem, getting under everyone's mobile homes and having babies under the floor and eating all of Cinnamon's food and washing their creepy human looking fingers in his water every night. So my dad got a permit and a trap from Fish and Wildlife to catch them, and they said feel free to trap and kill them because they were a problem.
During that time I was on my way home from a choir trip and called to check in. I don't remember how he got around to it, but my dad said he had killed a raccoon. Even though we didn't own guns I think I asked if he shot it. When he said no, I asked if he broke its neck. "Broke its neck? I'm not sticking my arm in there with a hissing raccoon. I drowned it."
WHAAAT IS THIS
And my dad proceeded to say that he put cinder blocks together and stuck a tarp in it, essentially making an above ground pool, if you will. He filled it with water and put the cage, raccoon included, into it. Dad just emailed me. I am supposed to call this the Pit of Death.
THE RING OF FIRE
But isn't it saying something about how manly I think my dad is that I thought he broke a raccoon's neck? I have this totally butch image of my dad. In my head he is the epitome of manliness, riding a tyrannosaurus rex through the burning wasteland. You know, punching sharks and stuff. There are sharks on land in this terrifying future.
Really he just likes to play puzzles and doesn't actually enjoy being the designated raccoon killer of the family.
Um, anyway, Jesse and I went to the Oregon Coast Aquarium last weekend. Sharkbait, hoo ha ha.
I sent my parents an email about the raccoon story to get their feedback. While my dad wrote, "be sure to accurately describe the Pit of Death," my mother said, "I was not involved. I thought the whole idea was madness." Those two sentences regarding the same story describe my parents perfectly.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
They tryin' to catch me ridin' DIRTAY. And Cinnamon does not like getting on a bike.
I'd like you to meet....
Princess Peach.
Don't worry, Cinnamon gave me a nice scratch on my neck for these ones.
For those of you interested in how I earned the money to buy a bike (which none of you asked, but here I am still typing) here is a breakdown. You may notice I did not make any money by way of illegal activity, because I hear that involves a lot of standing on street corners and it's been raining a lot.
I'm part of a few survey sites, and was very diligent in taking all of those stupid surveys. Late into many a night* was spent marking the correct box. Female, 18-24, White/Caucasian, REPEAT AD NAUSEUM.
*No later than 8:30 pm. I got things to do, son.
Survey site #1: $30
Survey site #2: $25
Survey site #3: $50
Selling a video camera on Craigslist: $50
Wiper refund: $5
Mystery shopping (it's a mystery indeed!): $75
Interest in my fat bank account: $1.42
Pennies that were in a bank shaped like a crayon: $5.58
Jury duty: $15.80
Tidbit #1: This is the crayon bank I was filling with pennies:
I am sure Jesse is ecstatic about me posting that picture.
I only got to about the C in crayon. Tidbit #1.5, I had a spreadsheet that listed where all the money came from in my bike fund and was copying the information over here. Instead of pennies, it said penis. Awkward, frown-filled moment with myself, there.
Tidbit #2: I ended up receiving TWO rebate checks for the wiper refund, but Jesse made me be a good person and I only cashed one. I'm bitter and all, but I guess he's right that I don't feel guilt about cashing that extra five bucks. (If they send more I'm not telling him.)
Tidbit #3: If you want to know the survey sites I use, don't be afraid to ask! Because for just six easy payments of -- wait, that's my Botox pitch. I'm getting confused.
I bought that bike and knew that it would be a possibility that I would have to ride it home from the shop if it didn't fit into the ample backside of Evan, our VW Beetle.
If you've seen a VW Beetle you know that was a wonderful pipe dream, and that I would be riding it home from the bike shop. Four and a half miles. No big deal, right?
Well, sure, no big deal if you're used to riding a bike for 4 1/2 miles, of course. Because my minor asthma was all YEAH LIKE THIS IS GOING TO HAPPEN and Jesse ended up riding it the last three miles home.
There's a pretty rough hill on the ride home (through a nearby trail) and Jesse had to endure stares from others as he rode a girl's bike and then quit halfway through to walk. Have I mentioned how great he is? He didn't bat an eye as I came to a stop by the car and he said, "Get on in, I'll ride it the rest of the way."
Tidbit #M: I finished those mittens I referenced in the last post, and here's a picture. However, all the photos of these mittens about made me pee myself, so if you'd like to view all the shots, here's a link to the Picasa album. Also, here's the link to all the bike photos if you like to really stalk people like I do.
Princess Peach.
Don't worry, Cinnamon gave me a nice scratch on my neck for these ones.
For those of you interested in how I earned the money to buy a bike (which none of you asked, but here I am still typing) here is a breakdown. You may notice I did not make any money by way of illegal activity, because I hear that involves a lot of standing on street corners and it's been raining a lot.
I'm part of a few survey sites, and was very diligent in taking all of those stupid surveys. Late into many a night* was spent marking the correct box. Female, 18-24, White/Caucasian, REPEAT AD NAUSEUM.
*No later than 8:30 pm. I got things to do, son.
Survey site #1: $30
Survey site #2: $25
Survey site #3: $50
Selling a video camera on Craigslist: $50
Wiper refund: $5
Mystery shopping (it's a mystery indeed!): $75
Interest in my fat bank account: $1.42
Pennies that were in a bank shaped like a crayon: $5.58
Jury duty: $15.80
Tidbit #1: This is the crayon bank I was filling with pennies:
I am sure Jesse is ecstatic about me posting that picture.
I only got to about the C in crayon. Tidbit #1.5, I had a spreadsheet that listed where all the money came from in my bike fund and was copying the information over here. Instead of pennies, it said penis. Awkward, frown-filled moment with myself, there.
Tidbit #2: I ended up receiving TWO rebate checks for the wiper refund, but Jesse made me be a good person and I only cashed one. I'm bitter and all, but I guess he's right that I don't feel guilt about cashing that extra five bucks. (If they send more I'm not telling him.)
Tidbit #3: If you want to know the survey sites I use, don't be afraid to ask! Because for just six easy payments of -- wait, that's my Botox pitch. I'm getting confused.
I bought that bike and knew that it would be a possibility that I would have to ride it home from the shop if it didn't fit into the ample backside of Evan, our VW Beetle.
If you've seen a VW Beetle you know that was a wonderful pipe dream, and that I would be riding it home from the bike shop. Four and a half miles. No big deal, right?
Well, sure, no big deal if you're used to riding a bike for 4 1/2 miles, of course. Because my minor asthma was all YEAH LIKE THIS IS GOING TO HAPPEN and Jesse ended up riding it the last three miles home.
There's a pretty rough hill on the ride home (through a nearby trail) and Jesse had to endure stares from others as he rode a girl's bike and then quit halfway through to walk. Have I mentioned how great he is? He didn't bat an eye as I came to a stop by the car and he said, "Get on in, I'll ride it the rest of the way."
Tidbit #M: I finished those mittens I referenced in the last post, and here's a picture. However, all the photos of these mittens about made me pee myself, so if you'd like to view all the shots, here's a link to the Picasa album. Also, here's the link to all the bike photos if you like to really stalk people like I do.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Joey: Here's a little tip, she really likes it when you rub her neck in the same spot over and over and over again until it starts to get a little red.
Calm down, I'm here.
Things have been blissfully uneventful, and sometimes that's just what I need. I need the steady pace of a cat meowing outside my door at four in the morning and a husband that stays cute and draws things. (Here's a link to his blog with some new designs he's done, go check it out!)
I've made/fixed up a couple things, so here are pictures:
TABLE RUNNER
CAT TREATS LID
I put glitter on the cat treats lid, and was trying to find a good angle to showcase the glitter when someone in the background didn't like that I was just holding the jar and not getting down to business.
KEY RING
In other boring, grown up news, 2011 is becoming THE YEAR THAT SUNSHINE FORGOT. Us Portlanders have stopped complaining about the crummy weather and just started shaking our fists and then hanging our heads in despair. I'm knitting mittens, for crying out loud. It's almost June. I've been reading all these Australian blogs and am starting to feel like maybe we're on the other side of the equator. I'll be spending my Memorial Day weekend nesting and finishing good books
. I should be nesting and finishing good books and saying, "We really should be outside."
This summer is going to be eventful though, with SOCK SUMMIT in July (w00t!) and then a super secret vacation to go and see my friend Amy.
Also, if you're going to Sock Summit, let me know! I'll be there Saturday July 30th (a mere two days after my man turns 29 and after 48 hours of me going "I'm only 24, neener!"). I'd love to meet up (or ruthlessly avoid, BE HONEST) and I can give you some pointers about things in the Portland area. And by "pointers" I mean I'm going to tell you the worst way to get somewhere and then when you're hopelessly lost on public transit and you send me a desperate text message, I'll only reply "?".
Anyone need a set of dishes?
Things have been blissfully uneventful, and sometimes that's just what I need. I need the steady pace of a cat meowing outside my door at four in the morning and a husband that stays cute and draws things. (Here's a link to his blog with some new designs he's done, go check it out!)
I've made/fixed up a couple things, so here are pictures:
TABLE RUNNER
CAT TREATS LID
I put glitter on the cat treats lid, and was trying to find a good angle to showcase the glitter when someone in the background didn't like that I was just holding the jar and not getting down to business.
KEY RING
In other boring, grown up news, 2011 is becoming THE YEAR THAT SUNSHINE FORGOT. Us Portlanders have stopped complaining about the crummy weather and just started shaking our fists and then hanging our heads in despair. I'm knitting mittens, for crying out loud. It's almost June. I've been reading all these Australian blogs and am starting to feel like maybe we're on the other side of the equator. I'll be spending my Memorial Day weekend nesting and finishing good books
. I should be nesting and finishing good books and saying, "We really should be outside."This summer is going to be eventful though, with SOCK SUMMIT in July (w00t!) and then a super secret vacation to go and see my friend Amy.
Also, if you're going to Sock Summit, let me know! I'll be there Saturday July 30th (a mere two days after my man turns 29 and after 48 hours of me going "I'm only 24, neener!"). I'd love to meet up (or ruthlessly avoid, BE HONEST) and I can give you some pointers about things in the Portland area. And by "pointers" I mean I'm going to tell you the worst way to get somewhere and then when you're hopelessly lost on public transit and you send me a desperate text message, I'll only reply "?".
Anyone need a set of dishes?
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