irrelevant (and sometimes questionable) ramblings

I wish teh Interweebs would just shut up about Lindsey Lohan and LeBron James.

I. Don’t. Care.

Of course, some other celebrity will eventually have their own train wreck and take center stage. It never ends.

That is all I’ve got to say.

With ideas, that is!

But sadly, they’re not story ideas. They’re everything but story ideas.

I’ve got ideas for craft projects, for decorating, for gardening, for baking and almost everything else under the sun flitting around in my brain, but not a single new story idea popping up.

And while I really am enjoying this flow of creativity in general, I wish at least a third of the ideas could be writing-related. It would be very helpful, you know.

It must be a pregnancy thing. *sigh* Oh, well.

Or something like that.

Paper.

Paper is the bane of my existence.

For supposedly living in an increasingly “paperless” society, I feel like there’s more paper floating around than ever before. I have to say my filing system is haphazard, at best, and it’s only getting worse. I really, really need for this shit to be organized so I can

a) find things and

b) have everything put away neatly.

Part of it is, I must admit, a touch of paranoia. I’ve kept things that I’m not sure I’ve needed to keep, all because of a “just in case” feeling. Some things, yes, you need to keep. Tax stuff, legal documents, etc., etc… those are all no-brainers. I just don’t know why I’ve got So. Much. Paper. otherwise.
I keep thinking that once I get the filing cabinet (yes, we even have a lovely filing cabinet, ready to hold all those pesky sheets!) sorted, life will be much better. Delusional? I don’t know. Being self-employed, as it were (the writerly type) I also have receipts coming out of the wazoo.

Don’t ask. It’s painful.

I know people say don’t try to organize the clutter, get rid of it! But what if it’s stuff that you really can’t get rid of…? Then what are you supposed to do? Well, I can’t put this off any longer. I’ve got to start trying to make some headway here. You know the drill. Call in the Mounties if I haven’t reappeared in the next couple of days.

I should know better than to do a Google image search on something innocuous (pony clip art, for God’s sakes! You know, little cartoon horsies?!?) with Safe Search switched “off”.

I’m going to go bleach my eyeballs now.

From the “I couldn’t make this shit up” Files:

I caught a mention of the phrase “tea potting” on teh Interweebz today and thought, “Gee, what’s that?”

From the Giver of All Knowledge And Power (sorta), aka, Urban Dictionary.com:

a sexual act performed on a male by a partner (straight or gay). the male fills a tea pot with warm (not hot!) water. he then places his balls into the open top of the tea pot. the partner then blows down the spout of the tea pot causing a jacuzzi effect on the males scrotum. it is then accompanied by a handjob. note: no boiling water or tea bags should be used at any time during this sexual act.

Call me immature, but this made me giggle like a wee schoolgirl for five solid minutes. Who the hell comes up with these ideas?

“Hey, honey, I wanna put my nuts in the teapot with some hot water, and then you blow in the spout to make bubbles, okay?”

It boggles the mind. And makes me hope they’re not using Grandma’s china teapot for this purpose…

Somewhere along the line I picked up a cold that has steadily gotten worse. I am taking my poor congested self to bed where I can lie miserably until I eventually fall asleep.

Just call me Little Miss Sunshine.

Ugh.

I’m sick again.

Nothing major, other than half of my head being completely congested. Blast it all. Don’t know where I picked up the germs, likely the Offspring, but I’m annoyed. My hands are raw from washing already and I try to be *so* careful when I’m out and about.

(Note: I am not a germophobe, just trying to stay healthy — considering I can’t take anything to make me feel better. Gurk.)

Anyway. There’s stuff I wanted to talk about. Maybe after a good night’s sleep I can post again and chat about my thoughts. We’ll see what happens.

Catch you on the flip side, regardless.

Open letter to the teenage boys who stand in the street outside our house and smoke pot before going to school:

Attention Doorknobs:

The girls you want to get don’t like loser potheads who have no ambition and can’t see beyond the immediate gratification of the day, and who subsequently have no future. You’re killing the few braincells you’ve got left in there, and you will never get laid. Quit that shit while you’re ahead.

Signed,
A Concerned Citizen

Why, oh why is there no such thing as Brain Bleach?

I desperately need to scrub my brain out. This is what I get for randomly following internet links until I read part of a story that has now given me permanent goosebumps and raised the hair on the back of my neck.

The alternative could be a Harry Potter-style Time Turner, so I could go back and change my mind at the last minute and NOT read the freaky stuff I did.

*shudder*
Of course, it doesn’t help having a vivid writer’s imagination, either. This is why I never, ever, ever watch horror movies anymore, or read things like Stephen King books.

Note to self: STOP while you can. DO NOT read further if you can avoid it. Gaaaaah!

The beeyotch is visiting, and I can’t wait for her to leave.

Let’s just say everyone should be giving me a wide berth right now — especially if they want to keep all of their internal organs.

I’ll be back in a couple of days when all is right with the world again.

Thanks fer yer patience.