Tag Archive: ipod


Things that upset me:

  • Josh Duhamel is married to Fergie. Still.
  • My local Target was all out of the eye shadow primer I use.
  • I ran out of shampoo this morning.
  • Miracle Whip has commercials on tv. I hate Miracle Whip. What the fuck is it??? Why?! Ew. Obviously, mayonnaise > miracle whip (why are they even comparable???).
  • Creeper men keep hitting on me (including at my workplace!). No thank you!
  • I went to the secretary of state today. Ugh.
  • I really want a glass of water but I don’t want to get up off the couch and no one else is here to bring me any water.
  • I can’t stop reading the most appalling blog ever, but for fear of offending the author or said blog, I will not link to it. It’s a train wreck and I’m consistently appalled by everything that is posted. I wish I could stop but I just cannot.
  • I don’t have an audiobook to listen to on my way to work tomorrow because I just finished The Host (again).
  • Scott Foley is on Grey’s Anatomy this season. While this fact does not upset me, the fact that Felicity ended after four seasons does. Even though Noel drove me up a fucking wall on Felicity, I have a deep, almost unhealthy love for that show.
  • The library in my town would not issue me a library card today because my address actually resides within the next tiny county. It was explained to me that while I can use the system of libraries for which I tried to obtain a library card today, I have to have my card issued at the tiny piece of shit library I didn’t know existed in my county. Ugh. Why does everything have to be so difficult?
  • My iPod will not sync with my iTunes. I don’t know what to do.
  • Where the hell did Anna Nalick go? I loved her first album. And let’s just get real for a minute: who didn’t love “Breathe (2 AM)”?!?!?
  • I can’t decide if I’m happy about the change I made in the format/design of my blog.

I’m just whiney right now.

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I read somewhere that the average four-year-old asks, like, 400-something questions a day.

That’s amazing.

I’m not saying that I’m a four-year-old, but I think I ask something close to that.

I just wonder a lot of things.

For instance, I had lunch with my mother today, and I had at least ten questions just about our lunch.

Before you get all “you’ve said that before!” on me, I just want to let you know I don’t really care if I repeat myself. It’s my blog, I can do what I want. And if that means tell you something repeatedly, then so be it! Anyway, let me please reiterate that my mom has this thing about having her ipod headphones in her ears at all times. Usually, she has one of her stupid audiobooks playing at the same time, but you can bet your bottom dollar there’s no way she’s actually listening to her book the entire time her headphones are in. I tried audiobooks. It’s hard to pay close attention. It’s like someone is constantly talking to you and you can’t zone out ever because you’ll miss part of the story and have to just nod and pretend you know what’s going on. Okay, so it’s really no different than sitting in class in college and listening to lecture, or having to listen to some bullshit story from someone you don’t really care about, or someone who just rambles about nothing and expects you to pay attention. Hey, that’s you. Start paying attention again. I’m actually going to get back on track again.

Ugh. ADD. Anyway!

She had her headphones in while she was making lunch and not listening to me talk about how I had just finished the very last episode ever of The West Wing on DVD. Because she wasn’t listening to me, I decided I’d snuggle up to Chiefy on the floor and tell him about it. Sometimes when I do this, she will actually be listening to what I say to the pets- like that time I sat in one of the teal recliners in the living room with Stella in my lap and I sang to her for five minutes, nothing you’d know because it was one I made up as I went. Or like that time I told Tag to get a job one day. Or when I busted my ass on the kitchen floor and bruised the whole right side of my body because I dared Tag that I would be able to jump straight onto a stepstool on the hardwood floor (I’m dumb.) and it clearly didn’t turn out right because I knocked the wind out of myself when I missed the stepstool and fell.

When we finally sat down to lunch, I had already been yammering up a storm, and every time I paused where she was supposed to respond, she always looked lost in our conversation. It’s really irritating to have to battle that in every single conversation, so I requested that she remove her headphones because I had some serious business to talk about.

When you eat tomato soup, does it feel like you are just eating hot ketchup?

Is tomato soup really made of just tomatoes?

How come I like ketchup but hate real tomatoes?

Who invented grilled cheese sandwiches?

Who invented putting grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup?

When you wear your fur coat, do you think about how you could be offending people around you?

Are you supposed to eat crackers with tomato soup?

Are you going to eat these crackers?

Why did you get them out?

Why do I hate Ritz crackers? The Townhouse crackers I do like are pretty similar to Ritz crackers, so don’t you think that’s weird?

Danielle brought animal crackers to work yesterday. Have you had animal crackers recently?

I eat the heads and legs off first. Is that how you eat them?

Did you know that the average four-year-old asks something like 400 questions per day?

Apparently, that last one was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Granted, she did make a joke about me being a four-year-old since I had literally just spent the entire time we were sitting and eating asking her completely superfluous questions. Even so, she finished her grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup, put her headphones back in, told me to finish up, and then took a nap as she waited for the dishwasher-repair man to come to our house.

I bet I have those four-year-olds beat. I ask a shit-ton of questions every day. That’s not even including all the questions I have to ask at work because it’s a function of my job.