Inundation

Hello, my dear readers. I'm sorry to overwhelm you with photos today, but I have to post my assignments to the web. I'll write something more interesting soon, but for now: PHOTOS GALORE! (I suppose I could use Flickr or something, but I'm doing it this way for now. Hee. Also, some of these might be awesome in black and white. What do you think?)

Only on the street where [I] live

Variations on a theme:




I'm not sure what I think about how these worked out. But, hey, I'm learning, and it's a cool idea.

Embiggen

"Thanks, and have a nice... uh... evening," he says with a smile, confident in the charisma he actually lacks. Airports are the ideal people watching spot. There are so many people, but not enough bustle that it's impossible to take people in. This man, for instance, ordered the clerk at the airline desk around -- thinking he was somehow charming and exuding a "well-travelled" aura, when really he was just impolite.

There was a woman a few seats down from me waiting for a flight to Boston, where she was getting married. She was talking loudly on her cellphone to her mom about the stress of repacking too many suitcases and trying to figure out how to decrease checked-baggage weight. In the end, she was given a fee of $280 and her mom didn't quite understand why. Then flight 6420 to Boston was called and she and her fiance toted hundreds of wedding menus onto the plane as their carry-on luggage.

But, there's another reason I love airports: I love flying. No matter if you're leaving or coming home, something good always lays ahead. There is inherent excitement sitting in your seat, listening to the video about oxygen masks and exits, and feeling the plane take off.

I think this could be a good trip for me: Even with my "haven't-slept-in-48 hours-and-I've-been-sitting-on-a-plane-for-much-of-that-time" look, I already had (crazy) men hitting on me. Don't worry; no matter where I go, I manage to attract the same type of people, so those stories aren't over. (And? As a bonus, I learned that I, too, exude much less charisma than I thought, because they thought I might be a terrorist when I landed.)

A few photos:

Fractional distillate of petroleum fuel oil

This is my sister's adorable dog. He had to get all his hair shaved off.

Utah: A pretty great state.

I think that used to be our advertising campaign. Or an option before they chose "Life Elevated," maybe.

Anyway, according to a study published in the Wall Street Journal we're the 4th most agreeable and conscientious state. We're top 10 (8th) in extraversion. We're slightly higher than middle of the pack (18th) in openness to new ideas. And we're the least neurotic state in the entire country.

Check it out. The flash maps are fun. (And, if you're not from Utah, you can find some fun things about your state, too.)

I'm a puppet; you can almost see the strings.

People always say that you should pay attention to what people DO, not what they say. That's a lesson I still need to learn.

Because I want to believe people. I want to think that people are honest and that they try to make what they say and what they do the same. I want to believe in the whole, "I'm as good as my word" idea.

Unfortunately, I've had to learn many times over, in unpleasant ways, that the world doesn't work that way.

Enter: today.

It's moments like this that I think, "I want to just leave all this behind and go somewhere else, do something else, be friends with other people." The best part about today? I am.

Oh lolli-lollipop

As I was walking to work today, I followed a woman with the most bouffant hair I've seen in some time. It was actually very pretty hair, and evident that she just had a lot of it -- not that she had spent all morning teasing it. However, she was also among the skinnest women I've ever seen. It caused her to look something like this:

(Note: While inspired by true events, the image below is merely representative, and is in no way meant to infringe upon the image rights of the aforementioned woman. Some aspects of the image were modified to protect the innocent. No animals were harmed in the making of this image.)



This made me think two things: 1) when you have that much curly hair, you should not be a stick. It's not natural. 2) I'm going to kind of miss high heels for the next few months.

A spot of bother.

The awesome thing about waking up this morning is that my face was one big rash.

Alright; which one of you came and smeared poison ivy on my face last night?

There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered.

Dear internet,

I quit my job recently. I wasn't planning on it. I left work on a Friday and, by Monday, I'd decided to take a new, slightly-altered -- or maybe just detoured -- path. I'm going to do something completely different in a completely different place. I'm going to be a better, more-fulfilled person, and I'm excited about that. I'm excited to come back, too, to find the ways in which I've changed.

Cheers,

E

2,900 burial plots available.

I have at least that many plots available in my yard -- when you consider that the majority of the deceased are potato bugs. My home has become some sort of mecca for potato bugs that know they're going to die; the idyllic, preeminent choice for eldery pill bugs (which are apparently crustacean) or perhaps the pill millipede. (It's amazing what the internet can teach you.)

Last night, when I got home from work, I swept up about a dozen of these little guys, all curled up and dried out. (Gross.) This morning, as I left for work, I saw at least three more that will be waiting, I'm sure along with some friends, to be swept up and interred somewhere. Does putting them in the garbage count as interment?

I've tried several kinds of spray to keep bugs out, but for some reason, these guys don't seem to be bothered or deterred. Anyone who knows me knows how much I love bugs and clutter -- both. What better than clutter created of bugs? I have no idea.