Irony & vague pronouns...

Ok, so tonight I ran across a site to help women who have dealt with sexual abuse... and it was playing the hymn "He Touched Me." I am speechless...

Fall...

Tomorrow is the last leaf pickup day in our neighborhood, and today I got behind the leaf-blower-picker-upper-shooter thing. It's probably good for me to be stuck between vehicles long enough to get over wasting time and start savoring the finer moments in each season of life. Even having to sit behind two ugly slow-moving pieces of road maintenance equipment for ten minutes made me thankful that our fast-paced society still allows the leaves to fall in their own time. I guess if they wanted, they could probably in the name of efficiency just devise some truck to vaccuum all the leaves off the trees before they clutter up our lawns and re-nickname the season "Suck..."

I really need to cut the cheese...

Upon my arrival home today after far too much coffee and a few hours alone in the car, I have come to grips with my personal kryptonite. I love cheese. After such soul-seeking surfaced this problem to my attention, I turned to the only obvious dependable beacon of wisdom in our ever-shifting society and found the following cheese addiction research via google. Come on, folks, when are we going to quit blaming petty narcotics and start getting serious about the War on Cheese?

TangentJunkie.com & Barbie Therapy...

After visiting a very random website today, and I'm convinced that randomness is like yawning. Whatever it is that The Yawn knows about being beguilingly contagious, Randomness has apparently learned and mastered. I say this because after having spent a mere half hour perusing amazing articles of global irrelevance (such as the pros & cons of digital post-it notes and the top 10 best things to stare at), I find that my brain is now on shuffle.

It has currently landed on a childhood passtime that had escaped my memory for well over a decade - parachuting Barbies off of my parents' second story porch equipped with the ever-fashionable plastic grocery bag. In hindsight, my amazement lies not in the fact that I did this, but how long/often/much I did this, given that it never really worked. Even with the most elaborately designed baggie-chute, alas the Barbies always seemed plummet to the ground, landing sideways on their disproportionate thighs.

Now that I think about it, it's strange that I ever even played with Barbies. Maybe because I grew up playing Hotwheels & He-Man with two guy cousins, or maybe because I was the sort of precocious little brat who would tell you that I was not cute and did not play with dolls. Subconciously, I think the reason is obvious. I didn't care if Barbie ever floated gracefully to safety. I was just after was the same thing all of us are - seeing her little 39-23-33 "I-would-have-to-walk-on-all-fours-if-I-were-real" butt eat dirt.