Swallowing my Pride.

Facebook is a funny thing.
In one respect, it's like a journal. Logging pictures and thoughts and events for many people on a daily basis. And I think that's a good thing for the most part. It's turned personal history into something entertaining and easy to do.

On the other hand, it's very unlike a journal, in that others can read and comment on what would otherwise be very private. This can also be a good thing. But it can also very easily be a bad thing.

You can never really tell who to trust in real life, let alone a virtual reality. And you never really know who is going to read what you post or how they are going to respond.

Sometimes, after reading what others have said, I have the distinct urge to delete what I consider to be very rude comments. But over the years, I've decided it's a much better policy to simply ignore them and leave it be. Not only does this allow them to stew in their own mean juices for the world to read, it also prevents me from having to explain why their comment(s) is suddenly missing. I'm all about avoiding confrontation.

I'd like to think that when this happens that I'm simply misreading their words when they really didn't intend it to sound that way, but sometimes I really don't think there is another interpretation.

That's another funny thing about virtual communication. Audible inflections and tone of voice used in face-to-face interactions can go a long way.

In the same breath, I know things that I've written have been misinterpreted. I've gotten the impression that my words sometimes come across as prideful or conceited, and I really, truly don't mean them that way.

I think being 'proud' and being 'prideful' are really two different things.
I'm 'proud' of my talents, but I try not to be 'prideful' about them.

For instance, I'm proud of the fact that I recycle used ink cartridges at Office Max and use the rewards points to get 40 free postage stamps every month. Saves the planet and my wallet. But I don't use said stamps to mail out letters informing everyone else how much smarter than them I am.

Just like I'm proud of the mini cheesecakes I made for a Sunday family dinner. I think they looked nice, tasted good and were an excellent usage of a few ingredients I had lying around that would have otherwise gone stale/bad.

The husband had purchased a large bag of broken shortbread cookies from the Pepperidge Farm Thrift Store in Richmond, and turns out they were the perfect crumb crust when granulated and mixed with melted butter.

But I don't post this to demonstrate my superior baking skills. (Two words: wedding cake. Enough said.) And hopefully you don't think that when you read this.

Same thing goes with Facebook. Hopefully sharing the things I'm proud of doesn't come across as prideful.

I think it's perfectly understandable to feel pride in your work. I think the problem comes in when you change the motive behind what you say/do from a feeling of accomplishment to a desire to make yourself look better than others.

Just a little 'food for thought'. (ba dum dum.)

But if, by chance, you think this came across as a self-conceited spiel of why I'm more efficient than the average Corinner-Elly, I'll try and teach my blog self a bit more humility.

'Mark' my Words.

First things first, I am really glad that I am past the teenage acne years.

That being said, today I woke up with the blemish to rue all blemishes.
(Remember how we like that word bestest? It's the least disturbing.)

To avoid being overly graphic, it was not the kind that is easily 'pop-able'.
It is, however, the kind that will hang around for at least five days, causing people to stop looking into your eyes and instead stare trance-like at one specific spot on your face.

Lovely.

My one consolation is that this time it wasn't of the 'third-eye' variety. Meaning, the kind that is perfectly situated between both eyes, like an Indian jewel.

Except way grosser and less exotic.

Mine is more like a beauty mark, located just above the lip and to the side of the nose. (Beauty used here loosely, because the thing's a beast.)

But did you know that beauty marks were particularly highly regarded during the eighteenth century and creating false ones became common, often in fanciful shapes such as hearts or stars?

Interesting concept. Yet somehow I don't think a shamrock sticker on my face will solve any problems...

Why shamrock, you ask?
Because tonight is Corinner-Elly's Annual St. Patty's Day sleepover. The chill'ens are practically 'bursting' with excitement.
(Bad pun?? Sorry.)

So if you see me today, pretend that I'm emulating Marilyn Monroe.
And stop imaging a sparkly green clover on my face.

14 Days of Valentines

I'm sure you've probably heard of the '12 Days of Christmas' before, but have you ever encountered the '14 Days of Valentines'?

Truth be told, neither had I.

The idea is that you give your significant other a gift a day for the 14 days leading up to Valentine's Day. There are several website that have printables with corny little phrases like "Valentine, how about you 'chew's me?" on a pack of gum, but after throwing up in my mouth a little, I decided to go the more personal (and hopefully less nauseating) route.

And so, without further ado, the BF's '14 Days of Valentines':

Day 1:1 love poem.

Made the card myself. :) I was rather pleased.

The next morning, I crept up the stairs and taped it to his door.
It was terrifying.

I kept imagining that he'd be leaving early for school or that someone would hear me and peek out their window or that a homeless bum would see me do it and steal my love note.

Needless to say, I don't handle administering surprises very well.

One thing's for certain, though.

I'm sure glad his last name is so easy to rhyme with.

Day 2:2 movie tickets.

Wasn't in the swing of things quite yet (in addition to my extreme terror when it comes to being sneaky - see above) so I forgot to take a picture. Suffice it to say, we saw Tower Heist, which is not exactly a great classic but worth seeing once.

Day 3:3 lemon squares.

By this time, the BF was practically darting out after waking up each morning, to see what surprise I had left for him that day. Little did he know that his presents wouldn't always be taped to the door.

Oh, ho-ho, no.
On this day there was a gleaming plate of lemon squares waiting on the stove.

Which looked a little something like...

I was late, okay!?

Just know that they were beautiful and delicious.
And that the BF finished off the rest of the pan the next day.

He loves those things, man.

Day 4:4 pictures of us.

After buying the BF a new wallet for Christmas, he commented that he needed a picture of us to put inside. So I figured, might as well kill two birds with one stone, eh?

Pretty self-explanatory.
But what you must know is that it is almost impossible to get a picture where both of us are smiling our 'normal' smiles. The BF thinks he's somewhat of a photo-bomber.

The turd.

Day 5:5 Cinnabons for my cinnabuns.

Okay, so I suck at remembering.
No picture again.

I also was guilty of forgetting it was fast Sunday and tempting the BF and his roomie with freshly baked cinnamon rolls, after which, they quickly caved.

 I'm going to Hell...

Not to mention my semi-corny pun.
Just know that it's an inside joke derived from a hilarious comedy sketch by Demetri Martin. ("Excuse me, are you Cinnamon Buns?” “You bet your sweet a** I am.")

Day 6:6 Sangrias.

In case you didn't know, Sangria is a Mexican soft drink the BF happens to love.

He almost left the apartment without finding his surprise that day. Which would have been a tragedy considering I'd left him 6 cold Sangrias in the fridge.

Day 7:7 minutes in heaven with 7-Eleven.

Get your mind out of the gutter!
It doesn't have to be dirty...

Also, I'm still amazed that there are sour punch straws that you actually USE as a straw! Mind blown.

Day 8: 8 songs that make me think of you.

Posted to his Facebook wall in a sappy display of lovey-dovey-ness.

All of which were country.
What is happening to me?...

Day 9:9 conversation hearts.

Which I plastered all over his car and he re-purposed to use on me for Valentine's Day.

Don't think I didn't notice. ;)

Day 10:a 10 finger massage.

Once again, harmless.

And administered in the most chaste way possible.

Day 11:11 ways to say 'I love you' texts.

My favorites included "I'll love you 'til the zombie Apocalypse. And even then, if I were a zombie, I'd never eat your brain." and "If feelings were Legos, my love for you would be the Death Star."

We're kind of nerdy. Get over it.

Day 12:12 sticks of peppermint gum.

I don't know why anyone would choose peppermint when spearmint exists, but the BF does. What a weirdie.

Day 13:13 kisses (chocolate and...).

If there were ants inside, it wasn't my fault.

I'm just saying, they may or may not have invaded the rest of my room in search of those delicious caramel centers. But I'm talking sugar ants here. They're tiny.

And you probably wouldn't even noticed if you'd eaten one...

Did I mention I love you? :)

And FINALLY.

Day 14:14 Subway subs.

You cannot even comprehend how much this present is fitting.

You might think gift cards are lame, but when you have a boyfriend who eats Subway for lunch literally everyday, it's practically the best gift in the world.

I am not even joking, he can sense the next Subway within a 50-mile radius.

So there you have it.
I spread out the love over fourteen days and he showered me with gifts for one.

I think they're are pros and cons to both methods, but in the end...

only one thing matters.

My Lips Hurt Real Bad...

I'm having a crisis at the moment. Read my lips. (wah, wah, wah...)
The gloss Lacy-Hacy gave me a few weeks ago is practically gone.

Do you know what this means??...
Soon, very soon, I may go into a dry lips coma.

Which can only end with a new tube of lip-smackin' Bonne Bell VitaGloss O2.

Some of you claim that I am addicted to the stuff.
But I just keep a stiff upper lip and say, "Don't give me any of yo lip!"
Ba Dum Dum.

I can't help it if my lips are drier than the Sahara Desert.
Like two pieces of shriveled jerky, they are.

The way I see it, lips shouldn't stick together when they're momentarily united. (I'm talking top lip and bottom lip, you sicko.)

And don't be fooled into thinking licking your lips will do the job. That only exacerbates the problem. I know this from experience.

Instead, show 'em a little love and use some product.
Balm, gloss, stick. It don't matter!

In fact, should you choose to use all three simultaneously, no one needs know. I promise. My lips are sealed.

'Peas' Don't Make me Eat Them.

Due to a lack of inspiration for an entertaining post today, I shall document my favorite and least favorite fruits and vegetables and my love/aversion to them.

Thrilling, I know.
Here's the gist: peas and squash are nasty.
Watermelon, peaches and cherries are delicious.

Peas, or 'little green abominations' as I like to call them, should be banished from off the face of the Earth. Nothing good has ever come from eating a pea, cooked or raw.

They are simply little squishy balls of death.
Determined to ruin my fried rice.

The same with squash. Anything with a stringy consistency should not be eaten. Except for mango. Mangoes are delicious. I guess that the difference is mangoes taste good behind all that stringy-ness. And squash does not.

I have been told that I am crazy for this viewpoint. Hundreds of times, in fact. *cough, mom* That squash, with a little pad of butter and salt/pepper, is delicious and nutritious.

I still hold that anything, given enough butter, can be edible.
But what, pray tell, happens when you don't have enough butter to douse it in?...

No, no. Peas and squash. Do not eat them.
Stick with versatile vegetables like potatoes and green beans.

Watermelon, on the other hand, I could eat everyday for every meal. Especially when it's nice and cold. Every year, I'm sad to see summer come and go for this reason especially.

Why-oh-why can't you last all year watermelon season?

Same with peaches.
Someday, I'm going to have an orchard of peach trees. And I'm going to eat peaches with sugar and milk every morning for breakfast. I am.

Scratch that. I'm going to have an orchard of peach and cherry trees. Don't want to leave my very favoritest fruit out.

Cherry is, by far, my favorite flavor. Everything is better with it.

Cherry pie, Sonic cherry CreamSlush, cherry chapstick, Jergen's cherry-almond lotion. Maraschino cherries, cherry cordials, pretty-please with a cherry on top. You get the idea.

There is nothing that cannot be improved by a cherry. Or two. Or seven.
Actually, I take that back. Peas can not be improved by a cherry on top. Squash either.

Some things are just beyond the magical powers of the cherry.

Merry Little 'Fish'mas

SANTA CAME WHILE I WAS SLEEPING!!!

(My mom would like to insert that the 'sleeping' part lasted far longer than it should have. Sorry to disappoint ya mommy baby. After all, I am 21 ya know. Twenty. One.)

I'm excited to report that I am now the proud owner of a Panasonic FH20. (Complete with waterslide.)

Take a look at this little beauty.

Little did you know, it's also a present for all of you! I will now post photos with actual quality. Not the pixelated blurry blobs to which I have previously stooped. Hoo-SHA. You thought this day would never come. Right? Right?

But, to be sure, I was rather proud of my thrifting skillz this holiday. Particularly with Da Twinneh's gift. It started off as a really hideodorous green shelf with a nasty wallpaper pheasant scene...

and turned into...

the most fantastical bear painting you ever did lay your sweet little eyes upon. (Notice the 'bear'-'bare' pun. What can I say? It runs in families.)

Da Twinneh loves all things bear (especially black bear, she's racist). So when she saw this sign online...

naturally, her first response was to have me create a rip-off version. (I'll have you know that I just typed 'bare bottoms welcome' into a Google image search. This was a highly risky flub and I'm not sure I've come away completely unscathed.)

I tend to think that mine is a gajillion times better. Especially free-handed! And judging upon the screaming and the bouncing and the flailing that took place upon removing the wrapping paper, I think Da Twinneh does too.

And now, I shall relate a Christmas tragedy.

It all came about when a certain little boy, with a twinkle in his eye, asked his adoring Grandpa if he could feed the gleaming fish in his immaculate aquarium.

Without hesitation, the beloved gramps gave an approving nod and the youngster scampered away to throw a few pinches of fish flakes into the pristine water.

Meanwhile, various holiday tunes were plunked away by a line-up of other grandchildren on the decrepit old piano as the rest of the family dutifully applauded each performance attentively.

Corinner-Elly watched as her nephew reached far above his head, impatient to push open the tank lid and feed its hungry inhabitants.

And that is when it happened.

CRASH! Instead of simply lifting the hinged cover to dust off the contents of his hand, the young lad pushed what he supposed to be a sliding lid with all his might, resulting in a dramatic display as it, and the items resting on its perimeter, crashed to the floor.

The now morbidly silent crowd watched as the old man rushed to the cowering boy's side, eyes wide with fright as the contents of an old soda bottle, used to produce needed CO2 for the tank's live plants, pumped deadly yeast water into the small ecosystem.

The room was tense for a small moment as the Grandpa regained his composure and softly reassured his offspring that everything would be alright. Activities resumed but all could tell that the man was concerned for the many small aquatic lives he had spent countless hours nurturing over the past many months.

Intuitively recognizing this in her father's worn face, Corinner-Elly silently prayed for the fishs' survival. (Actually... she just went and got some more shrimp and cocktail sauce but... almost.)

But alas. The very next morning, after gifts were unwrapped and relatives were visited, the family came home to a gruesome sight.

Each small corpse floated belly-up, faces contorted in a terrific fashion as if to suggest they died mid-scream. The last few struggling survivors twitched a fin frantically here and there, propelling them in pathetically irregular circles.

"WE CAN SAVE THEM!!!", Gem yelled as she frantically collected the necessary medical tools.

If you haven't read this story, you haven't lived.

No pun intended. Read HERE.

But dad knew the truth. He laid a tired hand on the now darkened container and gazed at the carnage sadly.

Before long, each small body had been scooped from the scene, the water de-contaminated and they had done their best to revive the few fighters.

Leaving Corinner-Elly to wonder pensively,

is there such a thing as fish CPR?...

I 'Sew' Fly.

I don't know bout' choo, but I'm loving the new Facebook profile. Know what else I'm loving? That people aren't incessantly complaining about it all day long.

Facebook changes people.
Facebook WILL CHANGE. Deal with it.

I swear. There are certain Facebook trends that people just can't seem to let go of. I think I'll compile a little list for future reference. It goes a little something like this:

The 'If You Wish to Be My Friend, You Must Never-Ever-Ever Be Found Guilty of Using These Abominable Antics' List.

1) Status letters (aforementioned here)
2) Fake relationship statuses (That was funny in second grade.)
3) Complaints over site upgrades (see above)
4) Statuses about the weather (NO ONE CARES)
5) Statuses begging others to repost (We know you love your family! Dedicating status(es) to them is LAME.)
6) Statuses guilting you to repost (Let's face it people. Pretending you're a character from your childhood will not help child abuse victims. It will, however, make you look like a mindless fad-following land maggot.)
7) Ugly profile pictures (Isn't having to look at you in real life enough?)
8) Constant Contest Entries (You know, if you're deluded enough to think you're going to magically win a free laptop or airline tickets or frickin' pony by giving your information away online, we shouldn't associate. In fact, *click*. We don't.)
9) Eternally sick statuses (If you're deathly ill EVERYDAY, isn't it your normal? I don't post about feeling good every blasted time I get online. So give it a change. Let me know when you're feeling well, m'kay? Which is never, apparently.)
10) Inspirational status quotes (God loves me? My voice is powerful? Love is all I need? Let's all be vague and existential together!)

I could probably go on forever but I'm just starting to realize that I am fueling a potentially deadly army of friendly retribution.

Meaning...

You are all going to continue to do these things, except now, with a VENGEANCE. Right? Right?

Please. I beg you. Have mercy.

*sigh*
I brought this upon myself.

My one consolation is my newly re-made coat.
My Mommy-dearest offered to buy me a new one from JC Penney (not 'Penny's' for once, thank heaven :P) online but, unfortunately, the fit was not right.

Curse you unrealistically trim JC Penney catalog models!

So I had to work some magic. See?

Lumpy, boxy disgusting-ness -----> Corinner-licious-ness.

 

I ended up taking off a good bit of length because the 'trench' style made me look like I had little nubbins for legs. Then, I used that extra material (and the extra buttons they sew onto the liner) to make a belt at the waist.

And what, you ask, did I use for clasps to those buttons?

Why, an old stretched-out hairband, I reply. Useless for holding hair but perfect for winter coat re-purposing.

I love the wide-lapels on the collar.

They look all stately and sophisticated.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I need to monitor my Facebook wall.

I'm sure it's going to explode any second now...

It's... Complex.

Is it bad that I kinda enjoy giving people complexes?
If it makes you feel any better, most of the time it's an accident.

Really.

I think my older sister, Katerina Cupcake, introduced me to this guilty pleasure. One day, she noted that 'Da Twinneh' has a head that is unusually egg-shaped and guess what?

'Da Twinneh' has a complex. Majorly.

All it takes is one well-placed comment and shiz-zam.
Com. Plex.

But it doesn't end there, oh no.
One time, I told Gem that she had a butt-crack forehead.

It's true!

Whenever that girl knits her eyebrows, (where most people would have two indentations) she has only one crease.
A single, uni-wrinkle.

And it looks like a butt-crack.

But I do feel a little remorse for some of the complexes I've unduly issued. Take my friend Hamm for example. (Hamm is new to the Corinner-Elly scene so let's give her a big 'hello'. Everyone say 'Hi Hamm'. Good.)

She has a middle toe that's longer than all the rest.
It's cute! I love it! No reason to change a thing!

Except for that it kinda looks like she's flipping people off.
Foot style.

Oh! And I also may have prompted her into an unreasonable distaste for her own tongue... (Distaste... hehehe... Ba dum dum. Chee!)

It's just different, okay!!? But different's not always bad.
'Da Twinneh' may say otherwise but she doesn't count.

The point is:
I love 'Da Twinneh', Gem and Hamm.
Even if they do have egg-shaped heads, butt-crack foreheads, weird toes and funny looking tongues.

CHEAP SHOT.
Sorry. I will resist.

So... the weather, eh?
Bleck. Scratch that.

Worst conversation starter EVER.

I'd better just quit diggin' this hole I'm in.
But before I go, take a looksie at the wood blocks I found at D.I. (for .50 cents all together!) then painted and modge-podged letters on.

I was trying to think of two five-letter words to put on both sides that were either witty, ironic or sarcastic. But, alas. I think I'm losing my touch.

All I could come up with was 'sweet'...

and 'bliss'.

And, of course, if I'm in a cheesy mood:

Smell ya' later.
 P.S. Hamm has voluntarily signed up to be featured on ze blog. I don't know why someone would submit themselves to such cruel and unusual punishment but... what the heck. My creative juices are already stewin'...

Train of Thought.

Ever heard of Epic Fail Blog?
You can find some pretty darn funny stuff there.
I highly recommend it.

But the great news is: not many realize that anyone can make their own Epic Fail! Whether it be image or video.

That's the part where I come in.

Wouldn't cha know, over the weekend I recorded my very own epic video. 'Cept this time... it was a WIN.

The stage is set.
Characters: Mom, Daddy-O, Gem and Corinner-Elly
Location: Heber Valley Railroad on the Soldier Hollow Express (formally known as the Heber Creeper)
Date: October 16th, 2010
Time: approximately 3:18 PM, give or take
Color Worn: pink (is my fay-vor-it cuh-lah...)

Alright, here's your motivation.
Gem looks to be sleeping across from you on the bench.
Daddy-O decides to break up the stagnancy of the ride by placing a fake plastic mouse on Gem's arm.
Corinner-Elly feels tension as excitement begins to build over the pending prank.
Gem doesn't notice.
Gem lies there.

Gem may be dead?...

Corinner-Elly impatiently scoots the mouse closer, hoping that its tiny rodent nose might tickle her arm.
Corinner-Elly hopes she doesn't fall out the partially open window.
Mom and Daddy-O look on bemusedly.
Corinner-Elly has an epiphany and decides to record the whole ordeal on her phone.
Gem suddenly looks up.

Gem is suspicious.

Corinner-Elly begins to doubt whether or not their trick's success is obtainable.
Slight conversation ensues.

Enter hilarium.

BRILLIANT!

Cut, print, check the gate, moving on.

and now for a short learning moment.
*cue happy music, preferably on a flute*
Brought to you by: Corinner-Elly.

Things I Learned While Riding the Train:

1. It is impossible to walk a straight line down the aisle from one end of the train to the other, while in motion, without swaying, swaggering, side-stepping and possibly landing on a small child, happily seated with her grandmother. Killing them instantly.

2. Trying to imagine what it would have been like to have traveled by train in the olden days is harder to accomplish when you just purchased a corndog from the concessions caboose. Even harder when you steal some of your sister's nachos.
3. The slow rocking motion produced by a train that is traveling at a leisurely pace down a peaceful mountain landscape will almost always lull the parentals into a blissful state of delirium.

4. Sisters are not inclined to cooperate in pictures when you have recently played a prank that scared the bejeebies out of them.

Relations, however, often improve.

5. Train rides are always better when you have someone to enjoy them with. And I don't just mean the conductor. Though he did have some pretty wicked whistle/horn-blowing skills...

It also helps when you don't have to wolf your food down during a rushed lunch at 'The Hub' only to wait for an hour at the station because someone looked up the departure times wrong.

Good thing I'm so forgiving.

Throwin' the Bull.

Gem's had a rough weekend. 
She thought she had it made. No school, no work.

Just livin' the high life. Until...
BLACKMAIL.

I know, I know.
How could it get any better, right?
(Props to Jenny Harrison of Design Gone Wild Photography for the fantastic photo.)

But looky here! I caught it all on video!

Stop judging the poor video quality.

I said STOP IT.

I asked Santa for a new camera for Christmas, alright?

What's really a shame is that I just missed her attempts at trying to actually get on the contraption.

I was pretty much a hysteric, wheezing mess by the end of that.

Others were subjected to the same fate.

This time horror reigned supreme.

and...



Probably had to change the bull out after that wild ride.

Let alone Zoe's undie pants...

But I say that's what you get for being a Team Jacob fan.

Deserter! Traitor! Benedict Arnold!
You shall live to rue this day.

P.S. To 'throw the bull' means to chat or gossip. Always wanted to know that, didn't cha?

Stalking isn't Serendipitous.

I feel like 'It's a Small World' should be playing on a constant loop in the back of my head sometimes. I mean, what are the chances?

On second thought, if 'It's a Small World' was always playing on a constant loop in the back of my head, I just might have to impale myself on the closest sharp object. Because we all know how annoying that ride can be. And they don't even let you collect any of the ba-jillion coins along the way!

Rip-off artists...

But the point is: everywhere I turn, I see someone I know or someone who, under closer inspection, has some sort of tie to me.

Take for instance, my Family Finance class.
I shove my way through hoards of people into an auditorium with, at least, 2 million students trying to find somewhere to plant themselves. And who do you suppose I end up seated by?

A girl who just happens to be from Mt. Pleasant who happens to relate to my drive-in movie stories who happens to have a cousin who knows a kid who just happens to have been in my singles ward and so on and so forth.

Needless to say, we don't have trouble gossiping er'... talking.

And if that weren't enough, not ten minutes after thinking of re-connecting with someone who I haven't seen since freshman year, who should I pass en-route to my car?
You guessed it. (Cue Twilight Zone music.)

Then, I swear Gem comes home everyday from UVU with a new story about someone we know who is in her class or who she passed on campus or who taught her to longboard. And suddenly I'm feeling like closing the curtains because this is starting to feel like a creepy stalker moment.

(Hehehe... What is life without puns?)

Speaking of stalkers, wouldn't you say that boys are more inclined to be 'stalkers' in the everyday sense of the word?? I'm not talking innocent Facebook browsing.

Because, heaven knows, that is completely harmless.
Believe me. I know.

I'm talking 'unwanted, obsessive attention by individuals to others'. (Yes, thank you Wikipedia.)

Granted there are some girls who go out of their way to throw themselves at their current crush in the most ridiculous of ways, but in my experience, boys are much more likely to secretly track a girl's movements, likes, dislikes and various other details in attempts to woo her with their thoroughness.

The thing is, unless this attention is warranted and/or invited, it just comes across as creepy.

As in, 'I know you're staring at me from across the room so cut it out or I'm gonna prance over there and slap you silly'.

Does this sound at all familiar to anyone but me?
Cuz' it's practically the story of me life.

But I know what yer thinkin': "You have a public blog! Get over it!" And that isn't a completely un-warranted thought...

I suppose it's just a sacrifice I am willing to make.

Speaking of sacrifice, look what I made in the wee hours of the night under threat of death from my office management. Okay, okay. Maybe not threath of 'death' but certainly duress.

I think it turned out marvelously!

I mean, seriously. They hire a front desk attendant and whaddya' know? Her duties somehow magically expand to include graphic design, culinary artifice, children's activites, office decor, plant sustinance and beyond.

Not to mention, my mere presence imbues pure joy.

(Remember my first post about humility? Yah. Me too.)

I do believe a raise is in or-DAH!

Just as a sidenote, 'See You There!' is not an open invite to all stalkers. If I do 'see you there', woo boy, you're gonna wish you were never born.

I carry Mace.