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.

My parents have iPhones.  This is a ridiculous turn of events.  Below is an actual email from my dad:

Thanks       How are you?    Love     Dad


And that was written at a computer on a full-size keyboard. Why the strange spacing?  I have no idea.  This man has a master's degree.  
I am half-dreading seeing what a touch screen keyboard does to his communication style.  For the longest time when he started texting, he would leave out all vowels.  I got the text below from him once:


"Hm ths wknd r cmg fr fd n fn?"


I replied:


"I have no idea what you are saying. What do you have against vowels?"


His response:


"Hams do it not working this weekend if you want to come for food n fun"


Right. Okay.

Open Letter to Facebook

Hey Facebook:
Stop suggesting that I make my exes my facebook friends.  If I wanted them to be my facebook friends, don't you think I would have done that already?  I don't actually need a reminder that they exist.  Thanks for trying to look out for me and my online popularity, though.
Seriously,
me

last night's dream

Last night's dream was some kind of photo shoot involving beans and a soccer ball.
I believe the idea was to make it look like the beans (which were almost lima beans, but slightly smaller and not green) were playing soccer.  The soccer ball was regulation size for humans, though, so the set-up included lots of trick wires and some fishing line.  I remember that there were a couple little beans on the ground, standing upright, and one hovering on top of the soccer ball at an angle. I think that bean was getting ready to kick a goal.

I'm pretty sure that I happened upon this scene, which was set up in a warehouse or photo-shoot-y type environment.  But once I was there, I was in charge.  Quite an interesting responsibility to have thrust upon oneself.  I'm still considering trying to do this shoot someday.

career girl

I created my first commissioned artwork tonight.  Granted, it was a drawing on a onesie and I was paid with a Sam Adams, but still.  Holla.

It feels good.

Product Idea

They should make alarm clocks that look like cake. Or brownies, cookies, piles of gummy bears, ice cream sundaes, whatever.  Assuming no one likes having to wake up to an alarm, people will start associating their favorite treat with the unpleasant noise and experience of waking up and hitting snooze or disabling the alarm.

I think this could catch on with dieters, whether or not it actually works.

Bring on the money for me! In the unlikely event this idea gets marketed, I hereby claim all rights and proprietorshipity to this idea.  Verily and forsooth.

time travelling wedding crasher orgies

Yesterday, my grood friend sent me this link.  We both enjoy the comics of Toothpaste for Dinner, and this one was pertinent since I have always had bizarrely intricate dreams that I sometimes enjoy sharing with friends.  She did say that she doesn't necessarily agree with the comic in regards to me, but it was topical for us nonetheless.


Apparently my subconscious was feeling defiant after reading that TFD comic yesterday and tried to one-up itself.


I dreamed that I was a sixteen year-old Latina who was wedding crashing in order to find my time machine somewhere in the giant cathedral. I carried two bouquets of white roses, ostensibly to blend in, but they were some kind of magical power source for the time machine. You know how Latino weddings are -- anyone in a dress and carrying flowers blends in. I explored the upper stories of the building, finding bed-and-breakfast-style bedrooms and sitting areas, and then decided to have an orgy with four old men. Yeah. Gross. It was even gross in the dream. I started with one and then told him to send two in the next time. Of course, the second two weren't old anymore and were now semi-attractive, but still creepy that they were willing to do this. I didn't even get to try though, because my dream-mother and aunt came in, but they were only in their early 20s, since the time machine worked for them and I technically hadn't been born yet. My mother concluded that it was rape and sent my aunt, who was some kind of social worker or social justice advocate, away to get the papers to press charges. I was too ashamed (and bewildered) by my willingness to participate in the elderly orgy to admit the truth, and I knew I was going to ruin the lives of these men. I felt horribly confused and guilty, then woke up.
Of course, the fourth man that wasn't even naked in the room at the time was the one who looked like Ted Danson, who I would have most enjoyed orgying with.