Random thoughts I probably should’ve just tweeted:
Harvest cheddar Sun Chips taste like crap all of a sudden. It’s not just me, right?
Am I a bad American for being in no hurry to ever take my kids to Disneyland?
Bone Folder is my new favorite paint-color name (it’s a design tool, people, get your minds out of the gutter)
After being six months behind in editing photos, and complaining about how slow my photo editing software was running, it suddenly dawned on me that DUH I could add more RAM to my computer. Bingo! Faster computer, getting caught up on editing. I’m up to March! If you’re bored because I’m blogging about paint and Sun Chips, feel free to go visit my Flickr photostream.
So, Bradley Cooper. Remember when you watched Alias, and he was Sydney’s journalist friend, and season 2 or 3 started and you’re all, “WHOA, when did he get cute?” and your household still refers to him as Suddenly Hot Reporter, but then he got kinda bloated-looking and greasy, and then he dated Renee Zellweger for a while, whose squinty face makes you angry and who might be a professional beard, so you moved on to other TV crushes (see: Jon Hamm), but then you saw this video?
Et maintenant je l’aime encore.
Things that make me way happier than they should:
a fresh pedicure
getting new Costco coupons in the mail
the way Eleanor’s curls dry after she goes swimming
a stack of books waiting to be read
I recently finished reading The Happiness Project. It was okay, I did get inspired to clean out my closets, but I don’t think the author and I would be friends.
But that’s not the point. The point is that the actual title of the book is The Happiness Project: Or, Why I Spent a Year Trying to Sing in the Morning, Clean My Closets, Fight Right, Read Aristotle, and Generally Have More Fun. Why do memoirs have to have those stupid subtitles that try to wittily describe the book? Like, The Year of Living Biblically: One Man’s Humble Quest to Follow the Bible as Literally as Possible (which is a good book, actually)? Or Julie and Julia: My Year of Cooking Dangerously? Or Living Oprah: My One-Year Experiment to Walk the Walk of the Queen of Talk? Are people who like to read memoirs stupid and therefore need to know the entire plot of the book within the title? Fiction books aren’t like this. It’s not Gone with the Wind: Scarlett Lives, Loves and Repurposes Curtains, Plus There’s a War. Or Moby Dick: Call Me Ishmael, and There’s a Big Whale or Something, and It’s Probably Easier to Just Read the Cliffs Notes.
Maybe what my blog needs to gain readership is a subtitle. Flesworthy: Look at These Photos of My Adorable Children While I Tell You How Much I Love Diet Coke and My Snuggie and By the Way Why Haven’t You Watched The Wire Yet?