So many more fabulous photos over at Wordless Wednesday. Go get ‘em!
One Tree Hill, or Montreal to one of my bestie’s adorbs little sisters, said peace out last week. I am a lover of shows, often those that center around adolescents and their crazy dramas and struggles. I loved 90210(the OG), MSCL, Melrose Place, Dawson’s Creek, Party of Five and the list goes on.
I didn’t get down with Tree Hill until a couple of years in at the relentless behest from another adorbs little sister of said bestie. And all of a sudden I loved it. The crazy shenanigans were fun, the drama was…well, dramatic and the episode titles were epic. And then there was the music. They had an indie, ears to the ground quality that I found pretty freaking rad. The soundtrack fit the mood and was always comprised of shit you wouldn’t hear on the radio. It was like a weekly mix tape from a cool sophomore with an uncle in a kickass ska band and a penchant for the drums and French films from the 60′s.
But even with all that, I was really in it for the characters. I didn’t care that the acting wasn’t top shelf and that the storylines included a killer nanny and a Russian mafia kidnapping scheme. The Scott family, Brooke and Julian’s twins, the goof troop with the sexy bod, Quinn James and all the rest made it worth my while to hang out there every week. I’m sorry to see them go. My 42 year old ass is not at all ashamed to say that I cried big, fat tears as the gang belted out the theme song alongside old Gavin DeGraw. It was a lovely sendoff.
Loves ya, Millie and Mouth. See ya Haley James. Peace out, Brooke Davis. Sayonara, Skills. Good night, River Court. I love all y’all. Yes, even you, Chris Keller. Thanks for the memories. I don’t want any of you to be anything but what you’ve been trying to be lately. Don’t be anything other than you.
You might have noticed that I haven’t been posting SISS for quite some time. You also might not have noticed. Probably more likely the latter. But no matter because it’s back for a limited time at the very least. The hiatus was not due to any lack of awesome on the internetties, but much more to do with my inherent laziness multiplied by that depression motherfucker added to I just started school.
Hey y’all, guess what I learned at school this week. You can search for information on Google. It has like, all the knowledge of the world. Also, accept and except mean two totally different things. And finally, a Master’s degree does not absolve one of the need to shower.
And now it’s almost Easter, which to a non-Christian(me) doesn’t mean a whole hell of a lot. It’s like the anti-holiday holiday. Except for the Cadbury mini eggs, which are leading me down the road to diabetes one egg at a time. One egg, one bag. Tomato, tomato.
Easter has never really been a big deal in our home, even when we were technically Christians. Which was to say, not at all by the standards of other Christians. Something about living communally with a charismatic leader while praying to many “Masters”(sorta like saints or mini gods or Steve Jobs) doesn’t really go over to well with the Jesus crowd. The best thing about Easter was the new dress. The worst thing about Easter was the potential to spend up to twelve long hours sitting on the hard ass ground of Ascension Hill while we wait for some “Master” to dictate to us through their conduit, Mother. Let me tell you, I would rather go naked for a week than suffer through that, and the subsequent lobster-like burn, again.
So Easter has always been a non-event for me. But dudes, now a have a kid. A kid that could potentially help me re-live all the cool shit about childhood. Egg dying was cool, we should do that shit. Easter baskets were cool, check. Egg hunts were balls out. I once won the hunt by finding a marble egg. Awesomesauce. Sweet, my mom’s group has an annual egg hunt so I don’t even have to plan the shit myself. I just stuff a few eggs, bring something yummy and show up. I am so making Pioneer Woman’s Vanilla Scones. I am a domestic goddess. I make Cake Batter Muddy Buddies AND Cake Batter Rice Krispies. I scoff at vanilla scones. And then I devour them. With my mouth.
Why didn’t anyone tell me that scones require specialized equipment? Pastry cutters and sifters and rolling pins. I mean, who has this shit? It’s archaic. Everyone must know by now that you can buy the cookies already cut out. You just stick them in the oven and it’s homemade goodness. In my mouth.
So I McGyver’ed up some specialized kitchen shit and did the thing. PW told me(and the rest of the viewing and/or reading public) that the dough would be quite crumbly. Oh, P Dub, you so crazy. I scoff at crumbly dough. Until I’m left, weeping, with a crumbly pile of dough that refuses to be rolled out flat by my coffee thermos rolling pin. Somehow I manage to soldier on and create some pretty tasty cakes drenched in tastiness. But these are not the lovely, perfect scones of one Mrs. P. W. Diddy. No, these are the bastard children of the guy that services the septic tank of a passing acquaintance of the lady in question. But even bastard children can taste great if you glaze them with vanilla infused icing. Let that be a lesson to you all on the true meaning of Easter. Sugar heals all wounds.
There is so much more to link to, but so little time. As always Trifecta, Seeking Elevation, Karen is Muttering, Bugginword. I am currently obsessed with Crack You Whip. The first link is to one of her hilfreakinglarious posts. Read that shit. You will probably pee your pants. You may even die. Of laughter. Read everything she had written and then beg her for more. Seriously. I can’t because I’m too lazy. There’s also that matter of showering every day. It’s eating up my free time, yo.
What badass mamajama started the Friday Fluff craze that’s sweeping the nation? Lisa from Seeking Elevation, that’s who. Read her often hilarious, totally irreverent and always honest replies to surveys posted to Quizopolis.com. And join in. I double dog dare ya.
This week’s survey was created by: SaFaLa
Art by elisaann
Do you believe in unicorns?
I believe in the power of fictional animals as kickass totems. The phoenix is kinda my deal. I do like the idea of an animal that poops glitter and/or rainbows and would strongly petition for the creation of such an animal should the creator ever ask my thoughts on the matter.
How many of you does it take to screw in a light bulb?
Unfortunately there is only one of me. I can appreciate the appeal of the clone situation, but have taken Multiplicity as a cautionary tale. Hey Steve, didja bring me any pizza, Steve?
Are you single?
Sorry dudes. This lady is taken. And sorry, chicks. This lady is like a one on the Kinsey scale. Two, tops.
Do you like pickles?
How do you feel about meadows?
They remind me of a)P.E. or b)douching.
Have you heard of Flarp!?
Yes. And, while I believe it’s pretty cool shit for kids, the double punctuation thing slightly befuddles and enrages me.
Ever flipped a turtle over?
Like from front to back? Because that’s some mean ass shit, right there. But from back to front is like a superhero move. It doesn’t take much in the world of turtles. I am like a god to them. You can be too. We can rule in the land of the turtles forever. Mwah ha ha.
Do you like to doodle?
I do doodle. I am a doodler. I doodled in class today. Because otherwise I may have gone blind, deaf and dumb from sheer and utter boredom.
How do you feel about long socks and chucks?
Like Chuck Taylor’s? Because they are the shiz. My faves. Long socks are always bad unless you’re:a)a schoolgirl b)dressing up like a naughty schoolgirl c)camping or hiking in mosquito infested areas d)older than dirt
Would you rather find a four leaf clover or a heads up penny?
Fucking four leaf clover. I mean, who really finds that shit? Except for leprechauns and the Irish. And they’re probably really just leprechauns who make us all weak in the knees with their dreamy accents because they don’t want to share their pots of gold with the rest of the world.
Ever squirted orange juice in your eye?
You have a variety of issues that I don’t even want to begin to get into in this post. Email me privately if you’re interested in a diagnosis and/or some pretty intensive and ongoing psychotherapy. And, no.
Do you keep a journal/diary?
This blog is the closest thing that these days.
Do you play an instrument?
I can pick out a few things on the piano and remember none of the guitar I learned in college. But I enjoy the maracas.
What is your favorite sound?
The sound of the door slamming behind you on the way out. Or like, summer rain.
How many kisses on the lips have you given?
Oh very young, what will you leave us this time?
What’s your favorite ride at the amusement park?
Which amusement park?
Magic Mountain – the Colossus because it was super badass in my youth and you can ride it forward or backwards.
Disneyland – It’s a Small World for the kitsch and the nostalgia.
Universal Studios – The Studio Tour so I could overcome my childhood terror at Jaws biting the trolley in two.
Peony Park(now defunct) – Sprite Night, which was not so much a ride as a musical par-tay.
Adventureland – I don’t really remember any of the rides because we only went there once and I was super young, but they slapped a bumper sticker on our brown Gran Torino which stayed there for the life of the car, to my mother’s great dismay.
Only one more month, fellow nerds, until Avengers assemble. They have a Hulk. Hell yeah, they do.