Goon

I pulled into our garage the other day, without issue. I was not so fortunate while attempting to exit, however. Our garage opens from both the front and back (the back side leading to our basement apartment)but there's no keypad attached to the back door so you have to push the 'close' button and then leap over the sensors when exiting. Typically, I am a very graceful sensor-jumper. The other night, however, our walk ways were covered in ice, which impeded my jumping strategy. I didn't want to leap full force onto a sheet of ice (Conlin and I can only afford so many major surgeries in a year), so I tried timidly hurtling the sensor. Boy, that thing's touchy! I swear I was clearing it, but I had to try SEVEN TIMES before I made it! Each time, I'd think I'd be in the clear when that darn garage door would re-open. I must have looked like a complete goon squealing and leaping--in a very ungainly fashion, I'm sure--time and time again. I don't think anyone saw me, which is a relief. Although I would feel guilty denying my good neighbors of such high-end entertainment.

Yesterday (I couldn't think of how to segue into this story, so just go with it...) Conlin and I were sitting at the kitchen table doing homework (actually no--I was doing homework, Conlin was making faces at me) when my mom called. We chatted for a little while then hung up. A few seconds later my mom called again. This time, a little girl's voice greeted me. I assumed my mom had ran into some relatives or something, and continued talking to the little girl--whom I could barely hear. After a minute, I noticed Conlin was cracking up. The little punk was prank calling me! He has an app on his phone which allows him to impersonate other people (his number appears as someone else's) and there's a voice-change option. He had selected a little girl's voice and then set the phone down on the table. All I had heard was my voice echoing through his phone! Man alive. I should know better by now.

But I'm glad I married someone that still likes prank calls. Because I still like prank calls. And I'm glad we dance to gangsta music in the kitchen and play tricks on each other. I'm glad Conlin tries to rap like Lil' Wayne and impersonates the God Father (if anyone is conscious-less, you should get Conlin drunk and convince him to do said impersonations...it's really the most entertaining thing). I'm glad we are weird together.

To all you single ladies--marry a closet weirdo. It's the best decision you'll ever make.

The end.

freud would eat me alive...

The other day in my creative writing class we did a little exercise; we were given a paper with random sentences and blanks, and then instructed to-as quickly and with as little thought as possible- fill in the blanks with the very first thing that came to mind. The first sentence read: Blue paint spilled on the road like---

And then we had to finish the sentence. Wanna know what I came up with?

Blue paint spilled on the road like tortoise. Tortoise?!

And I am an English Education major. The rest of my sentences got progressively worse, if you can believe it.

I would share them with you but they could be interpreted as rather racy freudian slips. (Which I hope isn't indicative of my subconscious or writing potential...)

And yes, I know I just blogged about...well, nothing. Please forgive me- I'm running on four hours of sleep.

I'll leave you with this thought: "I think a good product would be "Baby Duck Hat". It's a fake baby duck, which you strap on top of your head. Then you go swimming underwater until you find a mommy duck and her babies, and you join them. Then, all of a sudden, you stand up out of the water and roar like Godzilla. Man, those ducks really take off! Also, Baby Duck Hat is good for parties."
-Jack Handy