Wherein one opens the connection from brain to fingers and just starts typing. Green grammar line of doom be damned.
The Red spelling line of death, however, is to be respected.
I’m stressed about birthdays. I’ve got to pay for things like summer camps, and do things like bulk up emergency savings. What I want to do is borrow my dad’s minivan and drive up to Disney World for a day.
Money has actually been an ok thing this month. I’m not stressing it too badly yet. Maybe the end of the month will be a whole other story.
A long time ago, someone posted this on Facebook and I laughed my petunia off: I want to drown all my sorrows but my baby daddy refuses to get into the water.
If that didn’t make you crack a smile, you have no soul.
Sometimes, I think I have no soul.
Is it silly of me to just want a simple old school birthday party at my house where a bunch of kids run around tearing things apart? My friend’s a gorgeous face-painter, she’d do a great job. I guess clean-up would be a potential problem but I’d save a ton of money. My daughter has been invited to two really crazy cool birthday parties at these really girly party places. I looked into one and the cheapest offering is $500 for two hours and 10 girls. That seems… ludicrous.
I like the word ludicrous. I also like the rapper Ludacris because he’s got a fantastic sense of humor and things that make me smile or laugh out loud score millions of points with me. So, if you’re interested in scoring points make me laugh dammit. A lot. Loudly.
I have too many ideas and not enough talent or time to do them. Also no motivation. And perhaps more likely than not, not enough confidence.
You people with your awesome cameras and gorgeous photos make me jealous.
I like my little side job a lot. I’m getting work way more frequently than I thought but I have to say, I think I’m going to drop the mystery shopping side of it. It doesn’t pay as well as the merchandising/auditing types of jobs nor do they come up as frequently. I don’t even get on the site anymore to look for work, the company calls me.
There’s a song by The Bird and The Bee called F*cking Boyfriend and I love it a lot. If you can stand the f-bomb sung in an angelic voice to an uber catchy tune, this is the song for you:
I gave my face-painter friend a billion ideas today. Maybe it’s living vicariously through her. Seriously if you are ever in need of some creative ass kicking, hit me up for a brainstorming session. By the end, I usually have people completely overwhelmed and reeling with ideas.
Do they pay people to do that kind of thing? I’m really good at it I swear.
I just suck at coming up with ideas for me. Or following through on them. Or even remembering them.
Perfect example, I’ve been thinking about a great tagline from the beginning of this blog and I still don’t have it.
Sometimes, I get so fed up with the Green grammar line of doom, I intentionally do things to make it appear more often. But, more often than not my High School journalism and English classes take over and steer me clear.
That reminds me I need to reach out to an old professor of mine. I should do it right now but I’m in the middle of brain dumping.
That also reminds me I have a friend in another state with a birthday this Sunday who I wanted to send a card to but I have run out of stamps and haven’t had the chance to buy any.
I also haven’t had a chance to put gas in my car (again) and have been driving with the light on since last night. I like to live on the edge of the gas line.
I’m dreading a meeting I have in like 45 minutes but I’m trying to not think about it.
I made an awesome form today for work. I love it. I love technology.
When’s the last time you did a brain dump?