I selected "alternative" on my iPod this morning, and "Human" came on.
If you don't remember, it's a hit song "The Killers" had a couple of years ago.
The chorus is "Are we human? Or are we dancer?"
Yes, "dancer".
I always thought it was "dancers".
So I'd be listening to it and thinking to myself,
"Why is that a choice? We can't be both? You're either human, or your dancers? What's that all about?"
Yeah.
So this morning it comes on, and I realize he says, "dancer".
Just... "dancer".
And I'm like, "Wha?"
"Are we dancer?"
"We" is plural, "Dancer" is singular.
How does that work together?
As far as I can figure out, he is talking about a name.
The only "dancer" I know, is a reindeer.
So, he wants to know...
Are we human?
Or are we reindeer?
Uh...
Is that hard to figure out?
And why did they pick "Dancer"?
Why not "Prancer"?
If the lyrics were "Are you human? Or are you Prancer?" I'd totally pick Prancer.
I like prancing around.
Like this.
It's what I do when I clean my house, or grocery shop.
It's my "thang".
No, not really.
I'm really more of a "Vixen".
Rawrrrr.
No, not really.
"Cupid"?
No
"Comet"?
Er...huh?
"Donner", maybe.
Wait, they eat people.
No.
I'm just not going to make any choices tonight.
I'll get some sleep and think about this in the morning.
Probably when I'm shaving my legs.
Then I might be convinced I really am a reindeer.
That, or a yeti.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Friday, May 10, 2013
Something's been weighing me down.
(People are always asking where my archives are. O.k., people never ask me that, but a girl can dream, right? The answer is, I have no idea. I can't get them to show up, but I can see them in private. I guess you can call that a private reading. Jealous much? Anyway, it's Archive Friday (I made that up), and I pulled out this classic for you. If you haven't read this before, then, Hey! It's new to you!)
I had to close my blog to get ready for this post.
It's that important.
I have felt called to talk about this, but have had put it on the back burner for quite a while because the enormity of the problem.
"It's too big for me to lead the charge!" I'd whine to myself.
Because, you know, I am a whiner.
"I'm not a leader! I'm a follower!" I'd cry, while curled up into fetal position on my bed. Silently wondering if my stat counter was still working.
Not sure how to broach the subject with you.
I will just have to lay it all out here.
I'm not even sure if you'll get on board with me because, as I hinted to before, it's a big problem, and it's spreading.
It started in the 1800's, but as people have gotten more inventive, and creative, it's morphed into a big, ugly problem of epic proportions.
I hope as I set my plea before you, that you will take it in your arms, cradle it, and make it your own problem.
As I say, I'm a follower, not a leader.
Peanuts?
Good.
Unless you're allergic.
Circus?
Meh, okay.
Unless you're afraid of clowns.
Circus + Peanuts?
Classic fun.
Unless...
you take out the "+".
Then you, my friend, are left with...
circus peanuts
Oh yes.
Circus Peanuts.
"What??" you laugh
I knew you would.
They seem so harmless.
"It's candy, right? That's not a problem!" you say
But you are wrong.
So very, very wrong.
Something that seemed so harmless, has spread like a fungus, right under our very noses and spawned these...
*collective gasp from the audience*
"Crocs are made out of circus peanuts??" you ask, incredulously.
It's hard to believe, and I haven't been able to prove it yet, but I am almost 37% certain that they are.
I cannot be sure because I haven't actually tasted a croc yet, but I'm positive if I did, it would taste like faux bubble gum.
Just.like.a.circus peanut.
So my friends, in order to stop the croc problem, we've got to rid the world of circus peanuts.
"How do we do that?"
That, my friends, is the hard part.
Not only have circus peanuts morphed into crocs, they have morphed into nasty crap like...hot dogs, and pizza.
"Um, hot dogs and pizza?"
Oh yes.
Hot dogs and pizza.
I give you Exhibit 1:
Don't be fooled. Hot dogs do not come in miniature size, covered in corn starch, and sealed in plastic,
and neither does Exhibit 2:
That's not pepperoni, that's chewed up bubblegum resting on a nest of CIRCUS PEANUT PIZZA!
If you still don't believe me, then I ask you, when is the last time you saw hot dogs and pizza in counter top display cases??
Think on that.
I'm laying this at your feet my friends.
The enormity of this problem is too much for me.
I've got posts to pull, and whining to do.
Not to mention all the visitor tracking I do around here.
It's practically a full time job.
So, it's your problem now.
I've exposed it.
You had no idea until I brought it to light.
You are welcome, and I wish you luck.
I had to close my blog to get ready for this post.
It's that important.
I have felt called to talk about this, but have had put it on the back burner for quite a while because the enormity of the problem.
"It's too big for me to lead the charge!" I'd whine to myself.
Because, you know, I am a whiner.
"I'm not a leader! I'm a follower!" I'd cry, while curled up into fetal position on my bed. Silently wondering if my stat counter was still working.
Not sure how to broach the subject with you.
I will just have to lay it all out here.
I'm not even sure if you'll get on board with me because, as I hinted to before, it's a big problem, and it's spreading.
It started in the 1800's, but as people have gotten more inventive, and creative, it's morphed into a big, ugly problem of epic proportions.
I hope as I set my plea before you, that you will take it in your arms, cradle it, and make it your own problem.
As I say, I'm a follower, not a leader.
Peanuts?
Good.
Unless you're allergic.
Circus?
Meh, okay.
Unless you're afraid of clowns.
Circus + Peanuts?
Classic fun.
Unless...
you take out the "+".
Then you, my friend, are left with...
circus peanuts
Oh yes.
Circus Peanuts.
"What??" you laugh
I knew you would.
They seem so harmless.
"It's candy, right? That's not a problem!" you say
But you are wrong.
So very, very wrong.
Something that seemed so harmless, has spread like a fungus, right under our very noses and spawned these...
*collective gasp from the audience*
"Crocs are made out of circus peanuts??" you ask, incredulously.
It's hard to believe, and I haven't been able to prove it yet, but I am almost 37% certain that they are.
I cannot be sure because I haven't actually tasted a croc yet, but I'm positive if I did, it would taste like faux bubble gum.
Just.like.a.circus peanut.
So my friends, in order to stop the croc problem, we've got to rid the world of circus peanuts.
"How do we do that?"
That, my friends, is the hard part.
Not only have circus peanuts morphed into crocs, they have morphed into nasty crap like...hot dogs, and pizza.
"Um, hot dogs and pizza?"
Oh yes.
Hot dogs and pizza.
I give you Exhibit 1:
Don't be fooled. Hot dogs do not come in miniature size, covered in corn starch, and sealed in plastic,
and neither does Exhibit 2:
That's not pepperoni, that's chewed up bubblegum resting on a nest of CIRCUS PEANUT PIZZA!
If you still don't believe me, then I ask you, when is the last time you saw hot dogs and pizza in counter top display cases??
Think on that.
I'm laying this at your feet my friends.
The enormity of this problem is too much for me.
I've got posts to pull, and whining to do.
Not to mention all the visitor tracking I do around here.
It's practically a full time job.
So, it's your problem now.
I've exposed it.
You had no idea until I brought it to light.
You are welcome, and I wish you luck.
Wednesday, May 08, 2013
Nobody move.
Someone from my hometown is stalking me.
Not in real life.
On my blog.
I can see you.
Maybe you could go do something else.
Go to Big Daddy's drive in and have a hamburger.
The roller rink is still open, maybe try that.
I'm not worth stalking, seriously.
^
That's my segway (segue).
Remember the song, "Died In Your Arms"?
Do you ever wonder how they came up with the beginning?
Sometimes I try to imagine what that session was like.
O.k. Larry, after the intro, you make a dying sound.
Uh...what's a dying sound?
Hmmm...how about...UGH!
Uh...I guess that might work.
UGH! I just died in your arms tonight!
Nah.
Wait! How about, OOOOOH! I just died in your arms tonight!
No, too sexy.
What about gurgling?
Gurgling?
Never mind.
Oohhhhhhhh...
Wha?
YES!
Oohhhhhhhhwhaaaaaaaaaa!
Yes!
*high fives*
Pretty sure that's how it happened.
I might have shortened it up a bit.
I'm not good with dying sounds.
It's not something I'd care to google, either.
Not in real life.
On my blog.
I can see you.
Maybe you could go do something else.
Go to Big Daddy's drive in and have a hamburger.
The roller rink is still open, maybe try that.
I'm not worth stalking, seriously.
^
That's my segway (segue).
Remember the song, "Died In Your Arms"?
Do you ever wonder how they came up with the beginning?
Sometimes I try to imagine what that session was like.
O.k. Larry, after the intro, you make a dying sound.
Uh...what's a dying sound?
Hmmm...how about...UGH!
Uh...I guess that might work.
UGH! I just died in your arms tonight!
Nah.
Wait! How about, OOOOOH! I just died in your arms tonight!
No, too sexy.
What about gurgling?
Gurgling?
Never mind.
Oohhhhhhhh...
Wha?
YES!
Oohhhhhhhhwhaaaaaaaaaa!
Yes!
*high fives*
Pretty sure that's how it happened.
I might have shortened it up a bit.
I'm not good with dying sounds.
It's not something I'd care to google, either.
I found this
blog the other night.
I laughed and laughed.
I don't usually laugh (especially out loud) when I read blogs.
Even humor blogs.
I once read that it is hard to make Germans laugh.
I believe this to be true.
I laughed when I read Gweenbrick.
I shook the bed while I laughed.
Someone had a hard time sleeping because I was laughing so much.
Go there.
Laugh.
If you don't laugh, you might want to see a doctor.
Edited to add: Blogger keeps adding spaces in my posts.
I might have to see a doctor if they keep doing this to me.
I laughed and laughed.
I don't usually laugh (especially out loud) when I read blogs.
Even humor blogs.
I once read that it is hard to make Germans laugh.
I believe this to be true.
I laughed when I read Gweenbrick.
I shook the bed while I laughed.
Someone had a hard time sleeping because I was laughing so much.
Go there.
Laugh.
If you don't laugh, you might want to see a doctor.
Edited to add: Blogger keeps adding spaces in my posts.
I might have to see a doctor if they keep doing this to me.
Monday, May 06, 2013
Sunday, May 05, 2013
There. I said it.
I still use Yahoo mail.
I gave someone my e-mail address today and they laughed.
"You use Yahoo?" she asked.
She made some remark about getting a lot of spam,
then, she laughed.
Laughed.
That hurt.
No, not really.
I guess having a Yahoo e-mail address in 2013 is the equivalent of pulling your polyester pants up really high, or having a "kick me" sign stuck to your back.
It may very well be why I don't have many friends.
Well I like spam, so...there.
If it weren't for spammers, I'd have no e-mail.
No e-mail and no one to help me.
Now, with Yahoo mail, I have people waiting to help me.
Do I "need cash?"
Am I "suffering from chronic pain?"
Do I "want to know the Internets best kept secret?" they ask.
(Found out, not telling you.)
People want to know my "invention and product ideas."
What's that?
You didn't know I had invention and product ideas?
Maybe because you never e-mail my Yahoo account.
"Inspire children by becoming an Elementary School teacher!" and
"View thousands of single women!" they beg.
I'm all like, "Woah, I'm only one person!"
But I secretly like the attention.
"Uh, Carrot? Why do they want you to view thousands of single women?"
Actually, I was wondering the same thing.
My first thought was maybe they needed help for that matchmaker show.
You know, weed out the crazies for them, perhaps?
Then I remembered that Yahoo thinks I'm a man.
"Why would they think you're a man?"
Er...I might have told them.
I like to throw people off my trail.
"I'm a loner Dotty, a rebel."
That's what I always say.
Except sometimes, I switch it up and say,
"Do not e-mail me, for I might use Yahoo...."
Yahoo mail is like having white New Balance tennis shoes.
They might not be cool, but they are stable and you get noticed.
Maybe not for the right reasons,
but noticed, nevertheless.
"You've jumped the shark, Carrot."
Yes.
Yes, I have.
Thank you and goodnight.
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