Archive | August, 2012

“You chose … wisely.”

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Do you ever have moments of absolutely pure conviction? Where you don’t need anyone else’s opinion on something, because you are 100% certain that you are about to make the right decision?

I rarely have moments like that. I require someone else’s feedback on everything. Which shoes I should wear. What books I should read. I’ve literally asked dinner dates if they thought I should “pee now or wait until after we’ve ordered.”

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Remember how a few weeks ago, I was upset about how cold it was in Seattle? Well, I’ve been eating those words. (Metaphorically, I mean. Technically, the only thing I’ve been eating this morning is cereal.) It is HOT in my city. Perhaps not as bad as say, Wichita in the summer, but still pretty darn hot, especially for Seattle. I’m coping by dropping ice down my shirt and complaining about the heat. The latter of which I’ve heard burns calories.

If that were true, I would be waaaay skinnier than I am.

Also, I could really go for a popsicle. I’m going to go hunt one down. You enjoy these links.

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Speaking of popsicles, this writer’s tale of how a frozen confection ended up costing him $2000, and his struggle to cope with that financial loss reminded me a lot of the experience Rand and I had with the Dick Move Inn.

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It might be the ginormous mosquito bite on my leg talking (my apologies for that visual), but I really want one of these bug-bite relieving thinga-majigs.

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Have you ever fallen in love with a place that you’ve visited, but you can’t really figure out why? There’s just something inexplicable about it that makes you happy to be there?

And the more you try to describe your rationale for loving it, the crazier you sound? To the point where you might be clutching someone’s hand, trying to convince them of the magic of this place? And because you’re so damn passionate about it, you fail to realize that the person you’re talking to is somewhat scared for their life? And that you’re now frothing at the mouth and screaming about homemade fudge and free parking on weekends and you look positively mental? This doesn’t just happen to me, right? RIGHT?

Well, that’s kind of how I feel about Jacksonville, Oregon.

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For once, they don’t charge you for the view.

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I’m a bargain-hunter. I’d like to think of this as one of my better qualities, instead of, as my husband puts it, “an acute kind of madness.” And granted, sometimes I do strange things to avoid spending money. Not unethical things, mind you. I’ve never shoplifted or stolen anything (okay, FINE, there was that one time), but I will go to ridiculous lengths to save a buck.

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One of the nice things about brain surgery is that you can pick out all sorts of clever things to say for when you come to. I had a few quips lined up (“I have a splitting headache!”, “Who wants morphine? I do! I do!”, and “Which of you bastards tried to tip my surgeon to ‘throw in a lobotomy’ while he was in there?”) but it was my friend Natalie who gave me the winner.

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Every time that Rand and I stay in an old hotel, we have a similar exchange:

Me: This place is nice. Too bad it’s haunted.

Rand: Baby, this place isn’t haunted.

Me: You’d like for me to think that, wouldn’t you?

Rand: Yes. Yes, I would. I would very much like for you to believe that this place isn’t haunted, because it isn’t.

Me: Whose side are you on, anyway?

Rand: Um … logic’s?

Me: SO NOT MY SIDE, THEN.

Or something like that. The point is, I’m rather steadily convinced that every time we stay at an old, remodeled hotel, we’re going to be haunted right out of there, and Rand’s convinced we aren’t.

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Many of you are probably wondering why I am beginning the week with a round-up of links. After all, don’t I usually end the week with a round-up? Why on earth am I posting these on a Monday?

And to those folks I will say – nay, I will shout – OPEN YOUR MINDS! The world is not static. It is full of metamorphosis and change and it is an exciting and unpredictable place! Now let us all take off our shoes and run barefoot through the park!

Also, maybe I got kind distracted last Friday because it was really sunny and beautiful out (and I heard the ice cream man), so I neglected to finish this post. But here it is, and only three days late. Fear not: my blog has not fallen into a state of anarchy. Regular posting will resume momentarily, and in the order that you are used to: round-ups on Fridays, WTF Wednesday on Wednesdays, and lots of kissy-face photos on all the other days.

But in the meantime, please enjoy this rare installation of Monday-morning links.

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An answer to an age-old question: What’s up with those “Do Not Eat” packets inside of shoe boxes and pill bottles?

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Xkcd explores what happens if a glass suddenly became half empty.

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It’s been six weeks since my surgery.

My surgeon said that it would take about six weeks until I felt completely like myself again. Six weeks until I was more or less recovered. And he was right. I feel like myself.

More or less.

I feel more tired. And more sensitive. Literally. I have a soft spot. Like babies do.

And I am less … tumor-y. And less headache-y. Are those even real words? I’m not sure. And I’m less concerned about whether or not they are.

Here’s what my head looked like right after my surgery:

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