Idk why but I just have a gut feeling that Hogwarts is going all the way in this years’ #FinalFour.

Now You’re Under Control

I need to take a second and rage against the dishwasher.

It’s a stupid invention that lulls people into a false sense of convenience. 

It is NOT convenient.  It is more bullshit tasks built on the appearance of being quick.

First of all, you’re still rinsing the plates, are you not? So, you’re still touching dirty dishes to clean water via manual labor. And you have the added rubik’s cube nightmare of stacking and lining the plates <just so>.  Let us not forget that the damn thing is built into the wall unit at a level only accessible from the fiery gates of hell and you’re also dealing with constant bending over and a sweet backache once all is said and done.

Oh.  Once it’s loaded and ready to rock, Aunt MawMaw is gonna insist that her Great Grandma Gertrude’s Clay Pots straight from the estate of Laura Ingalls Wilder NOT be washed in the machine.  So, cut to you, you sorry bastard, busting the suds on the most delicate group of dishes.  Which also happen to be the largest.  Which apparently were used to cook boiling cement and hardened maple syrup.  Kiss them fingernails goodbye, sucker.  Hope you liked pruned hands and anger management.

But hey, at least the dishwasher also DRIES the dishes.  Unless those dishes are plastic.  Or tupperware.  Or plastic tupperware lids FML hard. None of those things dry.  They get steamed and then remain full of water droplets at the very best. Retention ponds abound at the very worst.  Either way.  Swing one of them puppies around without first drying them off with a rag via manual labor and your hardwoods are most def accumulatin some water stains. 

IT’S A SCAM.  I’VE DONE DISHES MANUALLY MY WHOLE LIFE.  I’M HERE TO TELL YOU THE AMOUNT OF WORK IS BASICALLY THE SAME.  STOP TELLING ME LIES, DISHWASHER ENTHUSIASTS.  I REJECT YOUR BULL!!!!!!!!!!!

Life is too short.  Just eat cereal.

Why does no one listen to me?!?!?!

"Don’t Let The Perfect Be The Enemy Of The Good."

The Obamacare deadline is today.  It is a mess.  Is it socialized medicine? Or is it still too capitalist? There are still gaps in coverage.  There is still a lot wrong with the bill, the implementation, and so on.  It has vehement haters. Lots of opposition in Congress.  Deep flaws.  You name it.

But.

Can we all just take a minute to give props to Barack for doing AT LEAST one thing he promised he’d tackle in his initial campaigns?

For all his screw ups, can we agree that this was one scrappy entry in the W column? 

Annnnnnnd—it was something the Clintons couldn’t get done. 

There is still SO FAR to go and much to be desired.  But let’s just distill it down to, “we’re gonna try to tackle this health care quagmire.”

X was promised.

X was delivered.

Life is a shit show.  Take your victories where you can find em.

Big Ups, Barry.

Regarding vehicles fully submerged in large bodies of water in the movies: why is it that no matter age, socioeconomic status, occupation or educational background, characters always know instinctively where the air pocket is and manage to find it in time? I consider myself a pretty resourceful gal but I can tell you that no where in my life training was I taught this skill. If the car i’m riding in heads to the bottom, my immediate instinct would be to do nothing but think, “well this shit is going to suck. Maybe I’ll at least see King Triton on the way out? I hope they have Cheetos in the afterlife.”

On Couches and Cars and Gum

When I was little and my parents had to drag me along from chore to chore

My mom would call it “running errands.”  Get in the car, I have to run errands.

My dad would make it a question:  T, you wanna go for a ride? I have running around to do.

Either way, it was always an adventure.  People to watch, tasks to complete.  Plus, I love being in a car.  There’s nothing to do in a car but sit and think, sit and watch, sit and talk.  The automobile is among the most ubiquitous of technological innovations but also lends itself to the most introspection and quiet.

So, I would always be up for the car ride. 

However, my ultimate motive was pretty simple:

25 cent Candy Machine

image

If I could get my hands on a handful of these anywhere in my travels, my week was complete.  The bank was location numero uno. If I knew my dad had banking to do, I was all in.  He, an International Man of Mystery, would deposit his millions.  Me, an expert hacker on the petit candy black market, would hoard gum chiclets. 

Second favorite target: the mall.  Whenever my mom had to buy a gift, I was there, sistafriend! They had a special section of the mall where the 25 cent machines were all lined up and I’d hit them up ASAP style.

Occasionally, tragedy would strike and I would scour the couch cushions for some quarters and come up empty.  Those were miserable days.  I’d just stay in the car and bitterly try to conjure up reasons why the Universe tortured me so. 

Being a kid is not for the weak.

More on this later. But my BFF pulled off a surprise she has apparently had in the works for weeks. What a sneak.

More on this later. But my BFF pulled off a surprise she has apparently had in the works for weeks. What a sneak.

Writers don’t retire. I will always be a writer.
Andy Rooney (via writingquotes)

This is why writing is my favorite hobby and/or therapy. As long as my mind can fire and I have at least two semi-useful digits, it can be on and poppin for as long as this life will have me. No physical limitations.

By nature, I will always have a good rant in me somewhere. The world and the people in it are a mess; there will always be something to marvel or scoff at. And I’m all too happy to do just that.

Longevity in this day and age is a dying notion. Jobs no longer last forever. Relationships flame out. People are fickle.

Everything is tenuous. Vulnerable. Temporary.

Writing is a constant companion.

At our old house, my dad had a little work station in the corner of the basement.  There was also a little smurf picnic table down there, so while he worked on legitimate projects, I would “work” on drawings and coloring books.  (Sometimes when I look back, I feel I was that annoying kid who always followed him around and needed to be all up in the bidness with whatever he was doing.)

Truth be told, I never knew what he was doing.  Only that he would measure things and take notes and look super serious and verrrry busy. He always had a pencil in his hand. He’d periodically step back, scratch his head, put his hands on his hips and just stand there for a few seconds, considering his next move.

One day, as he readied himself for the next step of whatever project he worked on, he lost his pencil. Sitting with my smurfs and my crayons, I noticed him turning around and around, lifting up tools, sifting through the crap on the table and repeating, “my pencil.  Where is my pencil?”

He didn’t find it right away, though.  As minutes ticked by he got more and more frustrated.  “Where THE HELL did I put that pencil? I lost my damn pencil.”

He stewed over his own absent mindedness when I spotted the pencil, in the usual place he put it when it was not in use.

"Dad?"

"What?"

"Have you looked everywhere? Even up high?"

I pause here to ask you what kind of little jerk speaks in riddles instead of just telling people outright what they need to hear?!?!

<THIS JERK, THAT’S WHO>

"What do you mean up high? I’ve looked everywhere and I can’t find my damn pencil."

"It’s where you always put it."

<JUST TELL THE MAN YOU STUPID TWIT.>

"Nope, I don’t see it."

"Ok. Well."

"Yeah?"

"Check your ear?"

He had tucked the pencil in between the top of his ear and his head.  He always had a pencil there, it seems.  He lifted his hand to his ear and found it.

"Oh, yeahhh! I see, I see. I forgot I put it up there."

I’m sure I was very congratulatory of myself for being so invaluably helpful. But seriously. 

What a dill hole.

Right from the word “GO.”

(Editor’s note. We moved out of that house when I was 4.  So when this incident happened, I was probably 3, maybe pushing 3 and a half.  Which tells me I was born a smart-assed little shit and locked all the traits down pretty early in life.

Why did I write? Because I found life unsatisfactory.
Tennessee Williams (via chainedyetadrift)

(via screenandscripts)

You only live once! (And, let's face it: once is too much.)

Writing & humor is how I process all things. (Perplexing topic #1: Mi Redunkulous Familias)

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