Things we want to know....

If it's August in St. Louis, why are the tomatoes in the grocery from Holland? If it's May in St. Louis, why are they from Canada?

If you are a tattoo artist, why would you advertise your business with a hastily spray-painted plywood sign? Because nothing says "Trust me to inject a foreign substance into your skin in an artistic fashion!" more than a hastily spray-painted plywood sign.

Does this inspire confidence? I think not. And don't get me started on the extraneous apostrophe........



Why do Boy, Girl and Spouse insist on playing unending rounds of Super Smash Bros Brawl (or whatever), when all it does is make them all bitchy?

*Girl side note* Because no matter how it may seem, we do enjoy it. It's like watching sports or doing the Sudoku. You know it's going to piss you off sometimes, but you still like doing it.

*Mom* I hate Sudoku. Especially the Saturday ones. And Friday. And sometimes even Thursday. But I totally pwn the rest of the week.

I watched a sixth grader google Google. I don't know what I want to know about this.

If you're going to spend extra money on vanity plates, why would you choose one that simply tells the world what you're driving? When I'm following a Mustang, I do not need the license plate to inform me that I am indeed following a Mustang. I can actually tell this by the word Mustang prominently displayed on the rear end of the car. (Not to mention the distinctive styling) Only slightly less annoying is the plate that tells you to whom the car belongs. My Kia, for example. Ummm....thanks. I thought maybe you stole that Kia. I appreciate you clearing that up for me. HOWEVER, it is acceptable to use vanity plates in this manner if your vehicle is vintage and you work the year of the car into the plate. I can also live with it if you have a nickname for your car (the common ones like 'stang or pony are okay....why am I struggling with thinking up examples that do not apply to Mustangs? I don't know. Maybe because Mustangs are cool.) My favorite is the silver SUV I see around town... HI O AG. Cute.

Why is vanilla Coke only available in the summer, while citrus Cokes are only available in the winter?

Today's newspaper had an article that foretold large budgets cuts for higher education, primarily from financial aid. Right next to this article was another telling how the state wants to make school districts more accountable by adding EVEN MORE standardized tests AND by tracking how many students graduate from college in a certain number of years. So, to sum up....state has less money....give less to colleges.....make schools spend more on tests....less instructional time....state spends more on tracking kids.....who can't afford college.....blame schools! I want to know if these departments even know the other exists!?!

Why is my dog so dumb?

A lot of people I know amuse themselves by discussing whether it is possible to whelmed as opposed to over or underwhelmed. We want to know if it's possible to be......

Vincible!

Corrigible!

Luctant! (the first time you resist? After that you're reluctant.)

Hearsing! (after that you are rehearsing. Thanks, Bugs Bunny.)

Calcitrant!

sigh...these are getting to be a bit much....I should just post.

A Note From KDHD

So I haven't been very good at posting lately...

I'm gonna go ahead and say it's because I haven't been on ADHD medication for three and a half weeks now, which is the longest I've gone without since third grade.

I've had to quit taking them because my heart's been freaking out lately, averaging at 120 bpm while resting. Since I took Adderall, my doctor was pretty confident it was involved somehow, so he forbade me from taking it ever again.

This is a problem.

See, I like taking my meds. They let me do things I can't normally focus long enough to do, like exercise, not eat so damn much, only sleep for seven to eight hours, sit through an entire episode of something other than Game of Thrones, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, or Arrested Development, remember to call my doctor about getting new meds or about my heart test results, or you know, write a reasonable blog post.

I need to call my doctor, but the problem with that is, I'm afraid of the phone. Not in a crazy person kind of way, but I really really really really really really really really really hate calling people on the phone, especially businesses.

I always feel like an idiot, and I'm completely incapable of regular human speech once there's actually a person on the line. I feel like I owe whoever I'm calling an apology after the call is over for my inability to function when a phone is in my hand.

I wish I could just text the doctor's office.

So usually, I procrastinate until I forget, and then it all works out. Unfortunately, that's not going to work this time around, seeing as it's about my heart and head, and both are pretty important.

Anyway, I know my last post was an apology ramble too, and I am actually working on a real post, so all I can say is, I'm sorry for this post. Better ones to come.

I Don't Even

I don't know what to write. I'm making it look like I'm blogging, but I'm really not. Not at all.

There is no point to what I'm doing. I'm probably not going to even post this. I'm sitting here with my family and a family friend, listening to them reminisce about college years, and weddings, and all that jazz.

It's all very fascinating.

I feel bad, because I haven't been doing anything lately, but I still can't come up with anything to blog about. All I can come up with is a blog post about how I can't write a blog post.

This is becoming a bit of a problem.

But I know I will get over this. Especially once school starts again in like...a month or three. I dunno when fall semester starts, and I don't feel like looking it up but I've been out for a month, so that's bound to mean something.

*Mom- I really want to add to this but I'm at a loss.

Glad you chimed in there, Mom.

There's a cupcake container on the table with four little cupcakes left, and it was full when the night started. We've turned into cupcake-eating monsters as of late. If there's ever a noticeable lack of cupcake in the house, some magical vortex seems to open up immediately, depositing a new batch of delicious, sugary pastries into our house. That, or my mom goes to the store and buys them.

I'm beginning to regret not wearing pants again.

This time it's a combination of bugs and cold, rather than just bugs, but this time, I'm not getting up to get them. I'll stick with my shorts, thanks.

Anyway, I said absolutely nothing in this post, but I felt the need to actually post something, so here it is. Sorry about this. Ignore it, really. I'll have something substantial soon.

Debbie, I Imagine?

I dearly remember my childhood friends Debbie, Donna and Sewing Machine. I do not recall the circumstances that caused Sewing Machine to be encumbered with such a name, but being a sweet and accepting child, I rolled with it. I had no problem with the fact the Sewing Machine's name was not to be shortened or nicknamed in any way. She was Sewing Machine and that was okay. I loved playing with my little friends. We used to go to my grandparents' farm and we had a blast. They had a swingset there and a real live outhouse (why was THAT exciting? Shrug.) and (I know it doesn't really sound like a toy) this huge, I don't know, gas tank, I guess. Here,

So, we used to play on this thing all the time. If Debbie, Donna and Sewing Machine weren't with me, my brother would play too, sometimes. We used to have contests to see who could jump onto the tank without using hands. We would come up with these routines like it was the Olympics or something and the gas tank was an apparatus. To be clear, my brother DID NOT participate in the Olympic thing. That was me, Debbie, Donna and Sewing Machine. I seriously thought if the Olympic officials could see our routines, they would immediately include Gas Tank Gymnastics in the games and I would be the very first gold medalist. Even as I flipped and twirled on that honkin' gas tank, I never worried that it was dangerous. No one blew up, so we had that going for us.

*Girl* Which was nice.

Once in a while, one of us (usually me) would lose our grip and fall on our head. It wasn't far, though. There were no lasting effects.

My grandparents had this big barn with a big haymow on both sides, way high. In between was a rope. I don't know what the rope was for. It could not have been put there for grandchildren to try to kill themselves. But that's what we did with it. You could climb up and swing from the haymow and it was AWESOME! And none of us died from it. Yay. I think Debbie, Donna and Sewing Machine were a little scared of the rope. They never came into the barn with me. My cousins and I would play in there all day (or until our parents found us....yikes), but not Debbie, Donna or Sewing Machine. Scaredy cats.

I guess it's a little ironic how Sewing Machine died, considering the extreme level of caution she demonstrated at Grandpa and Grandma's. Even though I swang on the barn-rope, there were things I knew better than to go near. My Mom's sewing machine, for instance.

I used to watch her sew and, Oh My Gosh, was that thing scary! Her hands would get so close to the foot thingie and I was terrified that she would get her hand caught and get sewed to death.

So imagine my sorrow when my dear friend Sewing Machine was killed in a Horrible Sewing Machine Accident! I don't know exactly what happened. No one ever told me the gory details, but I tell you, my imagination went into overdrive. I pictured poor Sewing Machine, stitches up and down her limbs, droplets of blood staining the very thread that both killed her and held her together.

Luckily the next day, Sewing Machine was back! She came back to life! What joy! What thrill! No vicious sewing machine could beat my sweet Sewing Machine! YAY!!!! Debbie, Donna, Sewing Machine and I played together for a few years after that horrid incident. Every once in a while, Sewing Machine would die yet another hideous death, but she would always come back the next day, or at least the next week. Some accidents were worse than others. I think Sewing Machine's deaths were far more gruesome if my Mom had recently been mending on her heavy-duty machine rather than making doll clothes on her normal machine. Buuut I can't be sure.