Few-words Wednesday.

It is Wednesday, so i will post only a few words.

Chocolate milk and Cheez-its.

They are a surprisingly happy couple when it comes to midnight munchies.

Meet Henry, and company.

Like I may or may not have mentioned, I am ridiculously clumsy and accident prone in general.

For example.

In January, for those of you who have no knowledge of the world outside your computers, it gets very cold, snowy, and icy out here in Utah. Although the grounds crews attempt to keep the sidewalks shoveled, etc, it doesn't really help at all. When they shovel, they simply scrape off the top layer of snow and call it good. They don't realize that there is an even slipperier, sleeker layer of packed snow/ice stuff they leave behind, which is magnanimously harder to walk on than the snow itself.

I am a living example to this statement.

When I was walking to class one such blustery day early this year, I was in a bit of a hurry and I was walking fairly quickly. Literally, about 20 feet from my building of goal, I biffed it.

I biffed it HARD.

I slipped there on a missed patch of ice next to a large planter and landed on my butt, arm and smacked my head on the brick lay.

It frikkin hurt, as attested to by my cries of "Eff!" and "Good Lord" as I scrambled to regain myself.

A kindly fellow attempted to help me up, but almost fell over himself in his goodwill. I hurriedly scuttled off to class, feeling a bit nauseous and an odd pain in my left arm.

I ended up sitting through only about 10 minutes of that class, until I decided I wasn't going to make it and scooted into the bathroom, where I promptly sat on the floor and lost consciousness. Like, seriously passed out.

Somehow or another I made it back inside the lecture at some point, and actually went to my next class as well, before I decided to call my mother and go to the emergency room, since at this point I couldn't move my arm at all.

After a long, harried day running in and out of doctors' offices and hospitals, I was given the diagnosis that my elbow was broken.

First of all, Who even breaks their elbow??? Only some kind of freakish spaz who can't walk outside. Meaning myself.

Fortunately, it wasn't a major break, just a fracture, so I had to wear a cast that went from my palm to my bicep, permanently sustaining my arm in a right angle, for four weeks.

The good news: I got a purple cast. Right after I got it put on, I went home, glued googly eyes on it, and named it Henry. I like to name things.

The bad news: Besides having to cover your arm with a garbage bag before taking a shower, wearing a cast makes it extremely difficult to bowl with one's friends.

Case in Point:
And regardless of how bad one's friends are at bowling, that doesn't keep you from feeling like a failure when you bowl a whopping 35.

Life Lessons Learned the Hard Way.

I am, as I may or may not have said before, am extremely accident prone and a bit scatterbrained. This being said, Don't judge me for what I am about to write here.

When I was twelve years old, I was having a very boring summer.

At this point in my life, I was still reading things like "American Girl Magazine" and watching Nickelodeon cartoons all day long. One afternoon, as I was flitting through one of my precious magazines, I found a smoothie recipe. I mean, they printed it in 'American Girl' so how hard or dangerous could it be?

I went and begged my mother in anticipation, swearing to clean up any and all messes made and promising to share the fruits of my labor with my younger siblings. She allotted with a heaving sigh of surrender after a few minutes.

So excitedly I ran downstairs to my kitchen and began my escapade, getting out all the ingredients necessary, along with the large, heavy glass blender my parents had received for their wedding 18 years prior. I measured out, poured, and plugged in.

Whirrrrrrr. Dang it.

Stupid peaches were not reaching the bottom to be chopped up. Instead they were floating nonchalantly at the top of the mixture, proclaiming their defiance to my superiority as Supreme Smoothie Maker.

I stopped the blender, opened the lid, and poked the rebellious fruit with a fork. I then replaced the top, and turned it back on again.

Whirrrrrrr. Stupid dang peaches.

I paused for a moment, letting the blender run, thinking hard on how to make them obey.

An epiphany! I picked up the fork I had used before, blender still running, with a smirk on my face, proud of the innovation I thought I was so clever for.

The next few moments didn't pan out exactly has I had intended. I reached into the running blender with my fork and began to shove the peaches down to the blades at the bottom.

I will never know if the peaches actually reached those blades, because right at the moment, the fork made contact with the spinning metal tool and all hell broke loose.

By this, I mean the entire blender shattered in front of me. And I mean SHATTERED. Later, there was literally almost nothing but the base of the machine and a few inches of the glass bottom.

I remember freaking out, screaming and practically having an aneurysm, crying out at my younger sister who was standing nearby to "Help me help me help me!!!"

Somehow I got it turned off. However, by this time I had also had time to realize that my hand was bleeding profusely.

I am crazy needle/blood/shots/etc phobic, so i pretty much swooned. I ran to the sink and ran my hand under the water, freaking out like nobody's business.

My mother eventually came down, after hearing all of the pandemonium I had caused, and went on to help clean it up, take me to the emergency room, and all that jazz.

What is the life lesson learned, praytell?

Never put a fork in a running blender.

Questions?? Suggestions?

???????????????

Those are question marks.
Yes, yes they are.

Have a question? Ask it. I guarantee you an answer. To EVERY question, no matter how stupid or odd it may be. However, I cannot guarantee the quality or content of the answer. Sometimes you hay have better luck with a Magic 8 Ball.

Also. Any suggestions for posts, home remedies, and/or where I may purchase a snuggie are also welcome. Have at it.

A Letter to my Wall

Dear Wall.
We used to have a good relationship. I walk through doors in you, hang posters and art on you, and am sheltered from the elements by you. I am very appreciative of this. However, lately we've had issues, and frankly Wall, its getting hard to deal with.

Here are some examples:

I really don't appreciate it when refuse to hold up things you've held all the time. Its just one or two little post it notes, Wall. They won't make you look fat, or muck up your complexion or anything. They even stick to me, wall, so I know they can stick to you.

I'm also tired of your mood swings, Wall. I know you can't PMS, because, well, you are neither female nor a human. So frankly, there is no excuse. I hope you realize that. There's no reason for you to start dropping things you've been holding up for months. Its annoying that you're being so pissy. Grow up and take some zoloft.

Lastly, Wall, the physical abuse.

I know we've had our share of tiffs in the past, but I never meant it when I accidentally opened a door too quickly or stubbed my toe against you. We both have the scars to prove it. But the last straw, Wall, was when you attacked me.

I was simply lying in bed minding my own business, when I rolled over mid dream and was so rudely awoken by your slamming into my head. I bruised, Wall. On my face. Not Attractive. I'm not happy with you.

I hope we can get over this amongst ourselves, because it would be slightly upsetting (and disturbing) if we had to go to couples counseling; because frankly, Wall, you are an inanimate object and that would be pretty ridiculous.

Tay-Tay and Kanye

I couldn't resist.

VMAs. MTV. You know the drill.
Just the other night Kanye West decided he was captain of the douchebag squad and got up on stage, literally taking the mic out of Taylor Swift's hand as she accepted her award for Best Female Artist Music Video. He then proceeded to cry out to the audience and world that Beyonce's video was best, before handing the mic back to a flabbergasted Taylor.

Basically, Kanye is a Skidmark on the Underpants of Society.

MORE IMPORTANTLY.

WTF is going on with Kanye's head?? Its halfway between being shiny and having hair. Not to mention the designs etched into his 'doo make his skull look like it smashed up against an Incan Ruin.

"Kanye!! Imma let you finish, but I had to ask, Is that a crop circle on your head?"

Guidelines please yes ma'am okay.

As i start out this blog, I have several ideas for posts that I have been dying to write since I deleted my old blog, so there will probably be significantly more posts posted significantly more often. Don't get your hopes up, this isn't permanent. Just until I can find a good pace to write at. Until then, Enjoy the musings of my overactive mind.

Before I begin the dance, allow me to post a few guidelines for your comments.

--For the most part, you the audience, my lovelies, have free range of commenting. I will try to reply as often as possible to let you know your voice has been heard and noted by yours truly. I really, really do appreciate comments, So comment as often as possible, even on old posts. I will check them for new comments pretty regularly.

--I like to make things interesting, so If you have something to say, go right ahead and do so. I like controversy., conspiracy theories, etc. If you don't agree,are angry, or have something shady to say, don't hesitate to say so. Feel free, be my guest by all means. Drama? LOVE it. I embrace it whole-heartedly. So vent away. I will post this at a later time in the side bar to remind you to be free, little birdies, and have your way with my comment box, as dirty as that may sound.

-- If you have even the slightest idea of who I am, DON'T SAY SO. Not in the comment box, not to your friends aloud, not to me, even if you see me in person eating a taco, DON'T SAY WHO I AM. This isn't for the purpose of mystery, or not wanting my readers to know me, but to prevent an unfortunate happening. I had one recently, and I would prefer it not occur again. Inevitably, someone at some point will find out who I am, or someone I know will stumble across the blog and my face, and i'll deal with that then. But whatevs, I'll deal with it then.

--COMMENT COMMENT COMMENT!! doooo ittttt.

Enjoy, folkses. Enjoy.

Assumptions.

Friends are like Potatoes. If you eat them they die.

Welcome to blog.

You may wonder one or more of several things. One or more of these several things may in fact include:

- Who in the sam heck are you

- What in the sam heck is the potato thing about

- Who is Sam Heck

Unfortunately, I do not know the answer to that last one. You can google it if its killing you to know. However, I can help you out with the first two.

- Eppy was my high school nickname back in the day. I recently had a scare with someone finding my old blog, on which I had written some things that I probably oughtn't to have. Basically, everything on the internet is seen by somebody, and sometimes 'somebody' is your supervisor.

After giving it time to cool off, I decided I missed blogging and wanted to start again. However, since I deleted my old blog in a panic, and I had been looking for a new direction for said blog anyways, I decided to start a new one under an assumed name, said high school nick name. So here's hoping.

As for the quote, it is simply a quote that I pretty much adore. If you didn't see it on the top of this post, or the tope of the blog page, or on the side bar, well then, wow. way to fail at reading. But thanks for visiting anyways. I appreciate it. Come back again, maybe you will see it and feel intelligent about it.