You guys are no fun. :P I wanted more guessing, but fine, I’ll just tell you.
I got a tattoo. :D
It’s still new and scabby, I’ll post a picture when it’s healed and prettified. Until then, feel free to speculate about what Grace has had inked on her back.
Today Grace did something very exciting. I don’t want to tell you until I have decent pictures to go with it, which I won’t for a few days yet.
Anyone have any guesses? :)
Let me tell you how this works. I will use small words.
When you get out of the subway
and take the escalator up
Seriously wtf people.
See, Boston, if you stand on the right side, the rest of us can walk on the left side and thus get to our destinations much faster.
And normal city rudeness is not in evidence. Like in London. They know how it works in London, and they aren’t afraid to say something sharp and rude to the dumb tourists who take up the entire width of the escalator. They’re so efficient.
It’s an easy lesson, folks. If we all work together, we can make it happen. And I will get to work on time without being all grouchy.
Not gonna lie. Aretha Franklin’s hat was pretty much the best part of my day.
I mean, President Obama is cool too, but ZOMG THAT HAT. I cannot begin to describe how much chaos I would cause for the chance of a hat like that. Not that I could pull it off. But damn I would try.
Nono, it totally makes sense. Bear with me.
Dorothy Parker once said:
“I hate writing. I love having written.”
Which–I don’t know about other writers, but I find this to be entirely accurate, some of the time. Don’t get me wrong, I love writing. We all do, that’s why we do it. I just hate it when it’s not working properly. But that’s most of the time, and that’s what really sticks–the pain, the suffering, the “why can’t you get yourselves out of this plot hole!?” that I wail to my characters. But having a finished story or novel in my hands (not a feeling I’ve had recently)–nothing compares to that, really.
Piercing is much the same. I hate getting pierced. I love being pierced.
And I mean that quite quite literally. I not only like the jewelry and the prettiness, I actually like the week of throbbing and the awful crusties that happen for months afterwards. It’s just the 6 seconds of piercing and inserting jewelry that I don’t like.
Both painful processes that I do anyway.
Really there was no point to this post, no moral or lesson. I suppose there should be. But it was just a parallel that occurred to me.
And if you are wondering why I have piercing on the brain, um, well, see, I found this awesome piercing/tattoo place within walking distance… yeah…
So you guys remember the dark ages, how I used to not have internet? Well this is a news story that I bookmarked just before New Year’s with the intent of writing a post about it, but… I didn’t have internet. And while it’s still interesting, a real post now would be lame and outdated, since it’s an article about how New Year’s was one second askew, for some reason or other. Way last year’s news.
But basically, I just wanted to share this line. They’re talking about how one year, the machine that adds the extra seconds, or “pips,” went a bit haywire:
I asked the BBC engineering team about this, and they said: “Well, the technical answer is that the bit of equipment that creates the pips ‘threw a wobbly’,” they explained.
hehehe. “Threw a wobbly.”
Yeah that’s it. Not too exciting, but I laughed aloud. Oh, BBC, why is your news so much better than ours?
Oh. My. God.
This is why I need internet all the time.
On January 4th, the house of a dear dear blogging friend of mine, Travis, burned to the ground. Burned. To the ground. I found out about it today. I can’t even believe it. Luckily he and his wife and his boys are okay. My thoughts are with you, Travis, even if a few weeks late.
A website has been set up, Habitat for Travis, and I encourage you to make a donation if you can. I know it’s hard times for everyone right now, but imagine this happening to you on top of everything else. Please help him.
It’s the day you’ve all been waiting for.
Gracetopia is once again connected to the internet!!!!
That’s right, folks, I am posting from my bed, in my pajamas. This is the life. I’d like to give a big shout-out to “the boys downstairs,” as I like to call them, for making this happen.
And now, back to the world of the webs. I will once again be visiting all the old blogs I know and love, I’m sorry guys for my long absence. I will once again be online a ridiculous amount of time for someone young and in their prime. I am once again a happy and fulfilled human bean. Being. Whatever.
And here we have the ultimate, 100% most important reason why Gracetopia needs internet.
Under normal circumstances, I would have known about the pick for 11th Doctor Who approximately 3 seconds after it was announced.
Instead, I find out days later when my father emails me. (thanks daddy!)
I have to say, aside from the fact that he is not Alan Davies, the new Doctor looks pretty fantastic.
And I’m not just judging by his hair. If you click on the BBC link above, he really seems quite charming and wonderful. Granted, I haven’t actually seen him act, but the producers chose the last two Doctors quite well, I’m sure this boy’s good too. A lot of people hate him already because, well, he’s not David Tennant, but frankly few people are and the boy is trying to fill some big shoes so cut him some slack.
I’m jumping on the Matt Smith bandwagon (sorry, Alan, I’m fickle) and all you haters can go chill on Skaro with the daleks.
I am sick. And I know exactly who is to blame for this:
I hear you say.
I did not get my black-eyed peas yesterday. Black-eyed peas must be eaten on New Year’s day in order to ensure luck and good fortune for the coming year. (My mother is from the South–I have learned not to question these things.) And I tried, I really did. I bought them and everything. Was all ready to make them. But then at the last minute I decided to go to a friend’s house in Providence, where there would be NO black-eyed peas. I went and it was a lot of fun but of course I was worried about ruining the rest of 2009 just because of one day of foolishness.
I called my mother and was told that if I ate the black-eyed peas today it should be okay; I even got my little brother to promise to eat a double-serving to make up for me.
But apparently it didn’t work, because here I am, snotty and coughing. Happy New Year, my ass.
The black-eyed peas are now cooking. Hopefully if I eat enough of them I should be okay…