What's a Grown-Up, Anyway?: Random Rumblings...

So rather than giving you the play by play of my day (unless you're feeling as if you need a nap and can't fall asleep), I thought I'd just tell you about some things that I find funny, sweet, or that just piss me off.

--On the houseboat trip, the absolute peak of everyone's laughter came from a lone self-inflating whoopie cushion. Apparently, Scott had gotten this for Rachel as a gift--which I find, in and of itself, hilarious--and they'd brought it with them for entertainment. I have never seen grown men and women laugh so hard at fake farts in my life. If you're feeling blue, get yourself a whoopie cushion, shove it in your pocket, and push it on every time you sit down next to someone.

--The first night on the houseboat trip, I fell into a much-needed deep, amazing sleep. Entering into the best part of the night--REM sleep--I began to dream that I was walking through the woods. (In the dream, I was walking through the woods at the farm, but that's not at all what our woods look like.) Suddenly, I heard the distinct sound of someone peeing. When I rounded the corner to see who, in fact, was peeing in our woods, it was none other than Chester Cheetah. You know, the big orange, cartoon cat from the Cheetos commercial. I'm not sure I've ever had a more badass dream. I told everyone as soon as we all got up, and for the rest of the trip, we said, "It ain't easy peein' cheesy," as many times as possible.

It ain't easy peein' cheesy, baby!

--I am reading the book by Jenny Lawson--The Bloggess--Let's Pretend This Never Happened. It is just as hilarious as her blog. And it makes me think that one day, there may be some girl out there who wants to read the silly sh*t I have to say. In book form, every night, right before she dreams about Chester Cheetah.

--I got some pretty badass bruises on the trip. I can't account for any of them.

It's not loose, it's trapped inside my eyeball.

--My freaking eye hurts again. If you haven't yet heard, my doctors thought I had an eye amoeba about a month ago, and I had to undergo this extremely painful biopsy of the fungus on my cornea to ensure that a tiny bastard wasn't feasting on my vision three times a day. It wasn't an amoeba but it was a severe infection caused by the combination of contacts and rosacea. Going sans contacts for what felt like 17 years and putting antibiotic and anti-rosacea drops in hourly every day for 106 years, I thought I'd kicked it. Today, I have leaked all over my face, had to come home and take my contacts out, and wondered if maybe a shard of glass blew into my eye during the rain storm. I have one thing to say about all of this: DAMMIT.

--Did that last paragraph sound like it was written by Kevin Clark?

--I haven't been on Pinterest for a while lately, because I'm cheating on it with blogger. But I got on there for a little bit last night. Why is it that some of the crap on their makes me think I'm a big, fat, lazy slob? If I wanted to look at pictures of girls' huge boobs and tiny bellies, while feeling demeaned and degraded, I'd watch porn. I don't need it on Pinterest. People want to put pictures of impossibly attainable body types with captions that say things like, "Your brain shrinks with every pound of belly fat you gain," right next to the pictures of the amazing seven layer chocolate ice cream mocha lard cake with sprinkles on top. I'm all about being fit and healthy, but we simply don't need ANOTHER thing to make us feel bad about ourselves. So, stop the insanity, Pinterest.

This is the ONLY way I burn calories. And I'd still probably eat it. In your face, photoshopped pinterest models.

On a better note, these boys are my favorite two boys in the whole world.

This guy is pretty dang high up there too.

I think that I'm as obsessed with my sweet doggie as most people are with their kids. He makes me smile, makes me shake my head, and makes want to tell the world how sweet and cuddly he is.