Again?!?!

Really, Facebook?  This didn't resonate with you, so you one-upped yourself?  

Now Facebook is suggesting I friend an ex's mom.  I don't know how fb even knows to do this, because I'm not friends with that ex on fb.  I don't even think he's active on fb, though I have no way of knowing for sure.  Either way, we have no friends in common.

What the crap.  How does technology know these things???  STOP IT, INTERWEBS.  You have proved your superiority.  Now get out of my head.

Like a Prayer for Sleep

Never again.  Never again will I take two Excedrin tablets and listen to Madonna's Like a Prayer before bed.

Apparently, I haven't treated many headaches with Excedrin lately.  Therefore, when I took some for a growing headache last night, the caffeine in the tablets was enough to make me toss and turn for hours.
And Madonna sang the entire time.  The. Entire. Time.  I tried reading.  I even tried singing How Much is That Doggy in the Window in my head.  I tried planning art projects.  All I could do was wait for the effects of the caffeine to subside enough to enable sleep.

Why would I listen to Madonna at bedtime?  I had wanted to compare her song to the new Coldplay single, Every Teardrop is a Waterfall.  I've heard it on the radio a bit lately, and it took me a few days to figure out what it reminded me of.  Yesterday when Coldplay came on when I was driving to work, I tried singing Madonna's song on top of it.  It worked pretty well, except I didn't know most of Like a Prayer's lyrics.  At that time.  Now I think I do.  It's a five-minute song, did you know that?  And after last night, I am starting to consider having this be my karaoke debut choice, if I ever gather the courage to perform karaoke.

stream of consciousness

In an effort to actually write something on this again, I am going to insert a stream-of-consciousness blog entry. 
Here goes:


I'm eating an orange that was purchased from Aldi on May 20.  Today is June 17.  The orange tastes only slightly garbage-y.  All in all, a satisfactory pretend lunch.  Does rotten fruit have the same vitamins in the same amounts as fresh fruit?
I don't think I ever call grown men "big guy."  Maybe I've called babies that, because they don't know what I'm saying and therefore don't have to either be offended or wonder if they should be.
I should re-paint my toenails.  Painting nails is more fun to say than polishing nails.
I'm not good at stream-of-consciousness exercises all the time because I still fix my grammar and spelling mistakes, and sometimes think, "is this interesting?"
It is ridiculous that the annoying lady at work insists she can't say the surname "Rujel."  Just because it is from a language/ethnicity other than one's own, it doesn't require knowledge of different letters.  I feel bad for the guy who sits across from me when the ladies around him make him say his own last name on conference calls.  Make some effort, old ladies.  He doesn't call you "those old ladies," does he?  No, he uses your names.  Because that is respectful and appropriate.
I am thankful that certain people I know are not teachers, or counselors, or in any kind of guidance position to young or particularly vulnerable people.  Annoying Work Lady, I'm referring to you.  And no, I don't use your name #1 to protect your identity from my scathing internet barbs and #2 because you don't know mine either and I bet you never try if you don't even try 'Rujel.'

And I think I'm spent on this exercise.  Pat on the back for effort.