Perforation Problems

This is the only picture I took today -- of my lunch. I call this my France meal, cause it's almost identical to what I subsided on my entire summer in Chambéry: baguettes, cheese, and Pringles. Okay, so it's a Kraft cheese single, French bread from Kroger, and Baked Lays, but close enough. It's delicious. Also I read the latest David Sedaris book on Saturday, which I really enjoyed -- I'm going to see him with a friend in November. Super excited. Cheese, bread, chips, and a good book. I don't know what else to ask for. That's not true. Cookies. I ask for cookies. 

My grandma has these tin Campbell's Soup signs in the bathroom at the lake. I don't know if they're real antiques or just replicas (my great-grandma had an antique store that was just sold a month or two ago, so they could be from there), but they creep me the eff out. "It takes a bright and sparkling flavor to attract children?" Ew. Also those children are scary. I would not tarry with them anywhere. 

I'm in the middle of a war with the cleaning lady at work. When I set up my old desk, way on the other side of the room,  I made a conscious decision to put my trash can to the left.  This felt like the best location for everyone involved...i.e. mostly for me. Towards the end of the first week, I came in to find my trash can on the opposite side of the desk. "Well, this is not right," I said to myself. "She must have forgotten where the trash can was when she picked it up." So I put it back in the correct location. Next week, same thing. Once again I moved the trash can back. By the fourth week, I was ready to give in. All right, maybe it's just really inconvenient for her to put the trash can on the left. Maybe I'm wrong and it's a stupid location for a trash can. I'll not make a big deal out of it. What do I know about trash cans? Life went on. A year or so passed. I got used to the trash can on the right. Then we decided to move my...

The little seed packet I got at the state fair has turned into tiny green seedlings :) Planting seeds mades me feel like that little girl in preschool who planted a geranium in a tiny pot for her mommy. 

This is going to be a silly post because it's all about how much I love this water bottle. Please ignore how dusty my bedside table is.  I know, it's a water bottle. What's to love? I got it for free because there were leftovers after an event at work. It's not even the water that's great, though the label tries to make you think it's scientifically perfect. I don't care -- I've refilled it a couple times already with normal tap water. It's the bottle itself that I love. It's the perfect size -- you can't drink it too fast. It's also the perfect thickness -- it's easy to squeeze to get the water to come out. Basically I'm in love with a water bottle. And I might or might not have five of them hidden in the pantry. 

I love the idea of running. There are even days where I say, "Yes, going on a run seems like a good idea. I want to do that." I can picture my legs propelling my body forward, feel the satisfaction from making my muscles work together in machine-like synchronism. "I am a RUNNER," I say. "I ENJOY THIS." The problem is that it's all a lie. This is not what running feels like. Running makes you hot, and you're tired, and you've already had a long day, so with every step all you really want to do is JUST FREAKIN' STOP AND LAY DOWN. You get stitches in your side, your face burns like an oven, it's hard to breathe, and every second is just so ridiculously boring. But...then you're done. You think, "Oh, that wasn't so bad." You even feel good about yourself. Look how healthy you are. YOU'RE A RUNNER. "I'll do it again in a couple days," you say. I've been on the edge of quitting ever since finishin...

I've jumped on this whole use-a-ladder-as-decoration train. I can't really think of anything else to say about that. It's a ladder. It was a birthday present from my grandma. It's in my bathroom. It's got towels on it. Maybe sometime I'll climb it?