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December 2, 2012

So is it bad when you forget you have a blog?

I had one of those moments recently, or rather several of those moments, all strung together in something other people like to refer to as hours, days, weeks, etc.  Considering my last post was 19 november, I may have surpassed the ‘moment’ designation.

Apparently I got so wrapped up in a bunch of other mundane projects, I completely forgot about writing.  I completely forgot I had a blog.

Of course, even when it wormed its way back into my thoughts, I avoided doing anything about it.

That’s when I realized that my life is incredibly sad and boring.  I may have been busy, but I also had absolutely nothing interesting to write about.  Nothing amusing had happened.  Nothing unamusing had happened.

It seems my imagination had also abandoned me as I couldn’t even make up some random shitty story.

Really, I blame my friends and family.  They’re currently giving me nothing to work with.  I can only be responsible for so many idiotic things before needing someone else to fill in the gaps a bit; to add something new to the mix.

I can’t be expected to do it all people.  Work with me here.

Someone, anyone, wear your pants inside out and go out in public without realizing it (I’ve done that… makes you feel really clever and awesome), go from a normal standing position to being flat on your ass without having moved or done anything special to get there (got that one covered too), or how about watch someone sign their name, really look at it and think to yourself, “wow, that last name really looks familiar, where have I seen that before,” then have it dawn on you that  it’s your own last name (yep, this is about the time I realized I probably shouldn’t have eaten so much paste when I was young).

All I’m saying is that I have done all this for you, maybe it’s time to give a little something back.

I’m waiting…

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I can never decide where I stand when it comes to weighing myself, but an upcoming appointment with a potential new doctor has me making all kinds of self assessments and freaking out about what she will find wrong.

One evening many years ago, I poured myself a glass of wine, grabbed a hammer and sat down to have a nice, friendly chat with my scale

I bought a new scale; though I did manage a few years without it.

My new scale is glass.

Am I the only one who finds this incredibly disturbing?  WTF scale making industry?  As if weighing oneself isn’t a scary enough experience for most women, now we get the added fear of having to pick shards of glass out of our feet.

Alternatively I could choose to do an assessment on my wii fit. No risk of breaking glass, but torment free, I don’t think so.  Now I may love my wii fit (mostly as it amuses me to watch my cats meander along with me as I pretend to be running because of course they have their own miis), but it does require a healthy sense of humour. There’s nothing quite like watching my mii character balloon out from its pre-set healthy size and hearing the game tell me I’m fat in that oh-so cheery voice.

Whole new levels of bravery are required to find out your weight.  Unfortunately, I don’t have a healthy sense of humour and I’m not that brave, what I am is screwed… and slightly prone to unrealistic and possibly exaggerated views of myself.

Three dancers standing on a corner, and no, this is not the beginning of a joke.

Three dancers standing on a corner discussing the movements and skills we admire in our belly dancer friends inevitably turns into a conversation about which body parts we’d like to severe and use to replace our own not quite as good bits.  This look could work, right?

I hope so, since it may be my own clumsiness that leads to this and not my desire for flow-y dance fingers.

 

Seriously, my brother has tried to enrol me in beginner walking classes due to my butt’s ability to find the fastest and least graceful way of making contact with the ground. There’s also the random bruises that appear on my body for no inexplicable reason because klutziness will find me even without my knowledge. Maybe I’ve become desensitized over the years and no longer notice when I have injured myself, or it could be the result of pixies and their pinch-y ways.  Most likely it’s the pixies.

Sometimes I will take precautions to ensure my safety – mostly because I don’t want to listen to another lecture about my carelessness from Peter, but tonight I think I proved why I am better when I don’t try to make things better.

While practising, I made an attempt to keep myself safe by clearing the dance floor of veils so I wouldn’t inadvertently step on them, spin out of control and smash my head into the mirrored wall causing severe brain trauma which probably wouldn’t even have mattered as I’d have already died from loss of blood from all the broken mirror bits embedded in my flesh.

Clearly I’m writing this and didn’t die in a highly reflective bloodbath, what did happen is that while clearing out the veils I got my toe stuck in the bottom of my pant leg and tried to remove said toe from my foot.  Now my toe is all sore and swollen and while I may not be dead, I’m totally blaming Peter if it needs to be amputated. As my toe has no special skills and is now also dead, no one else is going to want it and that seems like a complete waste of a severed body part.

So, I think what we have learned here is that no matter how it happens, my parts are going to be of no use to any of my friends and I have let everyone down. Total friend fail.

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