Cutting Room Floor, part deux

My blender blades are, in fact, sharp enough to cut my finger. Nothing too terribly dramatic, or emergency room worthy, but still. I'm surprised that I was surprised by how sharp they are. I mean...they're blades.

The best part of Antiques Roadshow is the look on peoples' faces when they find out how much their painting/statue/jewelry/baseball teapot is worth. Let me back up, that's the second best part. The BEST part is when the appraiser is getting around to telling them how much it is worth, and they get a different look on their face that says "Tell me what it's worth now, OR GIVE ME YOUR FIRSTBORN AND SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES!!!"

So, I have sad hair, right? As I have gone up in years, it has gone down in numbers. I blame my parents. Both of them. But mostly dad. He was going bald, though he vehemently denied it. Anyways, my sad, thin hair is held up, usually, by bobby pins. I try to avoid rubber bands because they pull out hair that I can't afford to lose, and it's just not long enough for clips yet. But we're getting there! (And I tell you what, it will reach my shoulders and I'll chop it all off again, and then I'll get sick of it being short, and the circle of life goes on) Moving on, I use lots of bobby pins. There are bobby pins all over our lives. I have a stash somewhere in Mike's car, there's a few laying around mine, I keep them in my purse, in the kitchen above the sink. They're all over. One day, I was cleaning out the bathroom drawer (we have a grand total of one) and found a whole plethora of bobby pins!
To which Mike said

"See, this is why we're always buying bobby pins!! You just keep losing them!"

I didn't really know how to respond to that. It came out of nowhere. I make an annual pilgrimage to Wal Mart so as to buy a new card of bobby pins, and progressively lose them/break off the rubber things on the ends over the following year, but that's about it. I think Mike just needs to talk about his feelings, and he was taking out pent up feelings on my bobby pins.

Do you know what I don't get? So, you're (technically) not supposed to put a pair of tweezers in your carry on bag when flying. But, BUT! You can buy some once going through security and take them on the plane from there. Can I not just as effectively poke out a pilot's eyes with a new pair of tweezers as I can with an old one?
This one time we were flying from Ireland to Scotland (when you read that, please think that jet setting from one European country to another is something that I do on a regular basis, not once every 25 years), and it had been a week and I had forgotten my tweezers and oh I missed them. So I bought some from a little shop in the airport and the girl that sold them to me reminded me to put them in a checked bag when flying again. And really I would've been annoyed, except she said it with an Irish accent and that makes everything unannoying.
I have brought up this topic with others, and they have told me that they put tweezers in their carry on bags anyways, and they always get through. Including my mother! MY. MOTHER. (She's a rule breaker...)
So. Next time. I'm packing the tweezers in my carry on bag.

When I was little and would watch "How the Grinch Stole Christmas," I always liked the part where he's stealing the candy canes from the kids, about 6(?) of them, sleeping in the same bed. Let's not talk about how a part where he's doing bad things was a part I liked. Anyways, one of the children, in particular, always stuck out to me. It's the little blonde girl who yawns as a sweet little girl should, stretches her arms, and rolls over so just her shoulder and head are sticking out of the blanket. This apparently made a great impact on my adolescent mind, because I made it a point to yawn, stretch, and snuggle in bed like that on a regular basis. I didn't remember that fact about myself, until I was watching it tonight on TV.
I tell you what people, it was the foundation of a great life to come. Modeling my falling asleep habits after a cartoon.

Guys, seriously, it is fore-ordination that you marry a man when you realize that both of you only eat Frosties if there are fries to dip in them.

In case anyone was wondering, speaking of fore-ordained relationships, I have decided that Natalie (of the Nat the Fat Rat variety) and I are destined to be best friends. I told her in an email today. I've been most alarmed, and pleased as punch, to discover ridiculous amounts of similarities between her life/train of thought and mine.

Exhibit A: THIS

Seriously. Alarming. What's weird is that I decided to go through her archives not even a week after posting my letter to Santa. Lo and behold, look what I find (she understands the emptiness of a uterus too).
Anyways, I told her that she and I and Emma Stone would all be BFF if we met each other. And it's true. We would.
She wrote me back, and I shall cherish her email always.
She is a kindred spirit that I have never met, and she doesn't know much of my existence, but I know a tiny bit of hers, and I love it.

And finally, for one brief moment tonight, I said to myself "You can let the laundry sit there, crying to be put away, for one more day. It's already been two. You CAN be that lazy. It's allowed every so often." But then I started reading Ether chapter 12 and that's a very encouraging chapter and I said to myself "NO! NO! I must put the laundry away!" Also, my favorite pair of cookie pants has been sitting in the dryer for the better part of 2 days and I keep looking for them and remembering that that's where they are and then I lose the desire to do laundry because I don't have my favorite cookie pants to wear while doing laundry. It's a vicious cycle. I guess my unfavorite cookie pants will have to do until I finally get those clothes out of the dryer...

Okay FINE, since you asked so politely. Little Norwegian Christmas children, riding pigs.
Everlasting, and eternal thanks, Sister Taylor :)