She Likes Purple

Almost Better Than When a Diamond Ring Followed The Question

Yesterday I came home to a box sitting on our front porch. I assumed it was our new wireless router because this was yesterday, as I mentioned, and back then I was younger, less jaded, and I hadn't yet come to realize that Verizon is being run by crackhead fucktards (hi Mom!). Our wireless router has not arrived and will not arrive until tomorrow, seven days from the day they laughed their asses off at us promised us the router would arrive within two days.

*Shake it off, shake it off*

So what was in the box on the porch if not the router?

A CAKE! Have you ever had a cake delivered to your door? No? Oh, that's too bad. I'm going to feel sorry for you over here, while eating my cake! Natalie, my sweet friend, sent me this as a perfect way to ask me to be in her upcoming wedding. I said hell yes, in between bites. That's actually a lie. I haven't had a single bite yet which is because edibles.com (the site she purchased this yummy-ness from) sent the NUTRITIONAL INFO along with the cake. Why? Why edibles.com would you do that to a bride two weeks before her wedding? Now I have to eat one bite, run in place for an hour, and then pray the preservatives hold up for another two to three weeks.

Odd Nostalgia

This flickr album of Mighty Girl's (a blog I avidly read) brought back memories of going to the rodeo when I was a kid, at the same Cow Palace shown in these pictures (in San Francisco). I grew up in the city, and did very city-like things for most of my childhood. I rode public transportation, I became accustomed to the homeless, we didn't have a front lawn growing up. Looking back, going to the rodeo doesn't seem to fit into the childhood I had (although it didn't seem odd to my sister and I then; we loved going). When we moved to Texas we, ironically, stopped going to the rodeo. One thing I have always loved about my family and my life experiences: They never have made much sense.

I'm lucky that way.   

Random Canon

She gets her energy from neither her mom nor her dad, as I'm pretty sure we took this picture from the window, while eating Nutty Bars.

My dog, my unopened wedding gifts (Mike is a patient man, and it is my mission to kill that part of him. I have so far been unsuccessful), and Tori & Dean: Inn Love on TV.

Horrifying, yes, but I'm wearing new glasses that I have yet to share.

Our driveway. Our dog. Our sold car. Our never-will-be-sold motorcycle.

::

Also, a little side-note: AMERICAN IDOL, I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU MORE THAN I HATE YAPPY DOGS AND TRAFFIC. Chris, if it makes you feel any better, I totally love you and I'm fairly certain I can convince Mike to let you move in with us. We'll have such fun. Call me.

Doing My Pop Culture Part

I wonder how mad Mike will be when he looks over our cellphone bill this month and sees the American Idol 866 numbers listed 246 times. And I wonder if playing Blake's version of "You Give Love a Bad Name" on YouTube will help me to convince him the calls were NECESSARY. HE'S BEEN IN THE BOTTOM TWO BEFORE, BABY. WOULD YOU BE ABLE TO SLEEP IF HE GOT KICKED OFF KNOWING YOU DID NOTHING?

Oh, you would. Huh. Well, look how dreamy Chris is. Does that help?

Baby, please don't throw things at me. I don't duck as quickly as you do.