Tuesday, February 26

... About What The Web-Bots Think... About Me...

Okay, this is just a silly post today, but these are some fun quizzes to take if you're bored.


Well, obviously.



Ummm.... okay, that's creepily accurate. Especially since all I did was pick random colors. Try it.



Hmmmm.... I think this test is flawed. Not that I don't adore George, I just don't know that I'd consider him my soulmate. So let's try a different one.



Oh, yeah! That's more like it.

Friday, February 22

... About Fridays

Reader, if I wanted to, I could make a seventeen-and-five-eighths-page list of the reasons why my current job is superior to my old one. But I don't want to. That's just far too much work to do on a Friday. Pretty much any work is too much work to do on a Friday. I look over at my inbox and think to my Self: I really should get that done before I go home. But then my Self responds with this undeniably eloquent and well-conceived response: Eh. I mean, come on! How am I supposed to argue with that?

I know what you're thinking, Reader. I used to complain endlessly about how little I had to do at my old job, how boring it was, how mind-numbingly useless I felt every day. Admittedly, my current situation is a vast improvement. I'd much rather be busy than bored. But there's something about Fridays, those last few hours before the weekend break, that causes all of my vital systems to shut down. My brain stops completely, and every minuscule task I manage to complete is done entirely on autopilot. I'm not a robot; I'm the empty, cavernous shell of a robot that used to have faulty wiring but now has, well, pretty much nothing except a couple of screws rattling around and some complex gadgetry that no one knows how to make work. So, even though I appreciate the fact that I have real honest-to-goodness work to do the rest of the week, come Friday the only appropriate sentiment seems to be, eh.

This is hardly a new development. One day, back in high school, Jentzsch uncharacteristically showed up for class looking like he'd just rolled out of bed. He gave me a once-over, then with an exasperated sigh he moaned, "Why did you get ready today?" I'm not going to lie to you. I was confused. Then Jentzsch ever-so-tactfully pointed out that for as long as he had known me, I had shown up to school every Friday looking like some kind of cross between Swamp Thing and Winston Churchill. His sloppy appearance that morning was his attempt to show support for my laziness and officially instate Wear-Your-Glasses-And-Don't-Fix-Your-Hair-Fridays. He, Brett and I proudly upheld the tradition until graduation. And in my case, beyond.

So now comes the part where I'm supposed to come up with a way to end my blog entry. I should probably put forth a little effort with this. I should come up with something witty and/or smart that will make you feel like you just made a good use of time by participating in today's blog, Reader. I should, at the very least, finish with a complete... Eh.

Friday, February 15

... About What I Say

Heyyyy, Reader. How you doin'? I've been neglecting my blog lately, so I was browsing my past entries for inspiration and made an observation. All my blogs seem to be lacking ... something ... a je ne sais quois ... something that is uniquely me. I couldn't figure it out, and it was driving me insane. I get very emotional about my blog, you know. Explosively so. But I knew that if I thought long and hard enough, it would come to me. The truth is out there. Then suddenly, schwing! It hit me. A catch phrase! Yeah, that's the ticket! I need a catch phrase!

I know what you're thinking, Reader. "Whatchoo talkin' bout, Kristen?" (by the way, little segue here - did you hear that Gary Coleman got married to some chick he met while filming Church Ball? Well, isn't that special? No one is immune to the Utah Marriage Standard! Aaaaaand... back to the blog.) "You don't need a catch phrase! Baby, you're the greatest." Well, here's what I have to say to that: Reader, you ignorant slut. You eeediot! Of course I need a catch phrase. How else will I set myself apart from the rest of the blogging community? I pity the fool who is immortalized with poorly-chosen, ambiguously unspecified words. I mean, one minute I'd be a well-respected blogger, but then a few keen observers notice that I don't have a catch phrase, and yada yada yada, I'm outcast to the furthest outreaches of the blogdom alongside the people who update daily about their cats' bowel movements. Homey don't play that.

So now to come up with a catch phrase. Good grief. Just think of the possibilities! If it takes the rest of my natural life, I will find my perfect catch phrase.

I know what you're thinking, Reader. And you're wrong. This isn't a worthless venture. Don't make me angry... You don't want to see me when I'm angry. One false move and this whole blog could blow. And if you don't like it, then up your nose with a rubber hose!

*BAM!*


D'oh! Did I do that? Well, Mom always said, don't play blog in the house.

Friday, February 8

... About Becoming a Super Hero

I think all children (and, let's face it, most adults) imagine the super powers they would most like to have. When I was a little girl, I used to have intensely vivid dreams where I could fly. If I were a superhero, that's what I'd want. To fly. And have eagle-vision. And super strength. And the ability to morph. But mostly I'd want to fly. And while, sure, having the ability to save the planet would be advantageous and everything, everybody knows the best part of being a superhero is the accessories.

Just think of all the cool gadgets that superheroes use. Grappling hooks, super-magnets... but I must admit, the one accessory I'd really want is a totally kick-a car worthy of my superhero awesomeness. And now, with just a $500 deposit, that dream could be a reality in about a year. Meet my newest friend, the Aptera.


I'm not going to overload you with all the amazing details, you can click the picture and go to the website for that. And you should. It's going to make you want one as badly as I want one. And ooohhhhhh........ that's baaaaaaadddd.....

So now I need a superhero name.

Monday, February 4

... About Ice, Ice, Baby...

Alright, stop, Reader. Collaborate and listen. Or read, rather. I'm not sure how it happened, but as of today, Ice and I are no longer on friendly terms. It's not that we were ready to pick out curtains or anything, but I always thought we had an amicable relationship. We understood each other. But lately, we haven't been getting along so well. Today, Ice and I took a turn for the worse. I know I've said this before, but it's over. I mean it this time. I'm not going to put up with it any more.

This morning it got so bad that while I was leaving for work, fuming over all the horrible things Ice has said and done to me lately, I just couldn't help it anymore. I was trying to stay level-headed, to keep myself from saying something I didn't mean, as I scraped Ice off my windshield. But Ice wasn't in nearly so calm a mood. It was bitter, and after all these years it knew exactly how to hurt me. I started to cry. And by "cry" I mean "bleed." Out my finger.


By the time I got to work I had mostly settled down, and I decided that I would just have to sit down with Ice this evening and work it all out.

But, no. Ice wouldn't have it. During my lunch break, Ice showed up and spitefully took away my afternoon refreshment. Normally I can get a drink during lunch and it will last me until quitting time, but not when my cup is about 5/6 Ice and only 1/6 Pepsi.

Seriously, what does Ice think it's doing? Is it trying to goad me into a bad mood? Does it actually enjoy fighting with me?!

I'm sorry about that, Reader. Thanks for being such a good friend. You know you can always come to me when you need to vent, too. If there is a problem, yo, I'll solve it! Check out the hook while my DJ revolves it! (dun-dun-dun-duhduh-dun-dunnnnn....)

Friday, February 1

... About the "Oceanic Six"

I know what you're thinking, Reader, but you're wrong. I'm not obsessed. I'm just analytical. And last night, while trying to sleep, I managed to analyze myself into a satisfactorally convincing theory about what's happening on Lost.

Have I mentioned that I love this show? I. Love. This. Show. And last night's season premiere had everything I love about it - mystery, suspense, even my dearly loved CHARLIE! (And he looked soooooooo goooooooood! Even as a psychologically-created corpse he makes my heart flutter.) And, of course, Lost just wouldn't be Lost unless it was endlessly confusing. But I think I've made some sense of it. Ready? Go!

So Jack, Kate, and Hurley get "rescued" off the island, along with three unknown other survivors (my money is on Sawyer, Sayid, and Michael. Yes, I said Michael. Oh, how I loathe him. I also think he's the one in the casket during Jack's flash-foward at the end of last season, but that's a different theory). In last year's season finale, when a heavily bearded and inebriated Jack shouted, "We have to go back!" to Kate, we were meant to assume that the good doctor simply found life in civiliation so despeartely lonely without her that he would go to any lengths to be with her again. It was a sad future, one that our hero should never have to suffer.

And luckily, my fears about Jack's future were alleviated last night. Because as soon as Ana-Lucia's ex-partner asked Hurley if he remembered seeing Ana on the plane before the crash, I knew.

Only six of the survivors made it off the island. But that doesn't mean only six of the survivors survived. The idea of leaving no man behind has been an underlying theme of Lost since the pilot episode. Now, in these flashes of the future, we're seeing it again. Everyone else is still alive, still on the island, and when Jack and Hurley proclaim that they need to "go back", it isn't for their own salvation. It's to rescue everyone else. However, as demonstrated by the creepy dude who visited Hurley in the mental institution and asked if "they" were still alive, those on the island are facing mortal peril if they are ever found.

So what about the Oceanic Six? Why were they taken and no one else? Both Jack and Kate spoke to someone on the boat via Naomi's satellite phone. And, if Sayid was right about the intruders listening in on their communications, they would have heard Hurley talk to Jack over the walkie-talkie. The other three... we'll have to see. Ben already told Michael and Jack that even if they were to get off the island, they would never come back. But I think soon, perhaps by the end of this season, Ben will be proven wrong. At some point the show will split and show the survivors still living on the island, and the Oceanic Six desperately trying to get back to their comrades.

I. Love. This. Show.