The Stingy Seamripper

"When a person quits having birthdays, there's somethin' bad wrong." A very wise quote from my very-quotable grandfather, who is now deceased and no longer concerned with birthdays or time or anything else. And so, I am embracing this, my 26th birthday. Which will, no doubt (I hope), be looked back upon as a time when I was really just a child in so many ways. I wanted to reflect back upon a few of my more memorable birthdays and have been thinking about that all day, but I've been busy with birthday stuff and am just now getting around to at at nearly 2 AM on October 19th, which is actually the day after my birthday, but whatever. First off are my not-so-memorable birthdays... at least not memorable to me. The day I was born. I know I was born around 5 PM... or as I was told when I was little, around the time Sesame Street comes on. Or at least that's what time it came on back then. Now it comes on at 8 AM. There's a picture of the doctor holding me upsid

So I took a pretty big, unannounced internet sabbatical. No, I haven't completely abandoned my computer. I'm an information junkie. I could live without the internet, but the idea doesn't thrill me. I spend a lot of time busy and running around like a crazy person, but I spend a lot of time sitting with my kids while they're watching TV and stuff, too. Since I obviously am not greatly entertained by the likes of Caillou and Marvel Heroes, I usually spend that time reading and looking at stuff on the internet. So, my break wasn't from the internet in general (although I have been spending a lot less time on ye olde computer), just from specific things on the internet. You see, it hit me one day what I had been spending big chunks of my time on. Updating my Facebook status about what I was spending my time doing... posting pictures of my life... writing blog posts all about me . Me, me, me ! Ugh. Have you ever gotten tired of the sound of your own voice? That

My subtle hints directed at my husband earlier tonight concerning the sad state of our trash situation prompted me to recycle this post from a previous blog of mine which I no longer maintain. He has since remedied our trash situation, which is one more of many reasons I'm glad I married him. Enjoy! P.S. I had to recycle a second post that I referenced in this one, so enjoy x2. I've found, in all my amassed years of experience, that perhaps the most perplexing element of adulthood is taking out the trash. Of course, pretty much every household chore is a vicious cycle of doing and undoing (e.g., bane of my existence, laundry is thy name), but there is absolutely nothing satisfying about emptying a trashcan. Clean laundry at least smells nice. Clean dishes are sparkly. A made-up bed makes a room look nicer (and we all know it bounces better). An empty trashcan offers no reward. Taking the trash out has never made me feel better. And so I avoid i

This post is recycled from an old blog which I no longer maintain. Please hold to a minimum any and all comments pertaining to the freakish nature of my toes and/or the fact that I could, if I wanted to, swing from or climb trees. It hurts my feelings. This was the highlight of my day today. And when I say highlight, I mean the thing that happened which most made me want to commit some illegal action requiring time served in a penal establishment. It all started with the trash can. Or, no... wait. It all started with the amount of trash in the trash can. But my family's excessive-trash disorder is another post altogether. So, the first problem was too much trash in one bag. The second problem was the el cheapo con economisto a la carte trash bags which create an UNREAL, I mean like space capsule to shuttle level suction, amount of suction with the sides of the trash can. Does NASA use suction to hold those two things together? Are capsule and shutt