OH MY GOD.

It’s been forever since I posted anything on here. I think I made the unconscious decision to either 1. suck it up and post what I want to Facebook, or 2. Just tell the relevant people whatever’s on my mind instead of leaving it here.

That said, I totally re-read some of my old stuff, and it’s freaking hilarious.

I just need to cultivate an aura of give-a-fuck.
Bill, on trying to not get fired from jobs.

MERRY FREAKING CHRISTMAS.

Last week, I had to display a bunch of advent calendars and light up snow globes.

Today, the mall birthed the 2013 calendar store.

Tonight, Tom decided it was time for me to watch Santa Klaus via MST3k.

WE ARE APPROACHING A CHRISTMAS SINGULARITY. Merry freaking Christmas.

How to know you’re officially out of the Raver Game.

Every single flyer for a regional massive posted on Facebook reads like a bunch of junk I made up on a “this would make a hilarious DJ name” kick.  Every. Single. One. 

Related: Who the hell is Knife Party?

EDIT: PRETTY LIGHTS IS COMING TO WESTFAIR IN AUGUST. LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WE ARE BACK!

I don’t know if “004” is a good probe temperature or not.  Guess I’ll just have to keep watching.  Thanks, Firestarter.

I don’t know if “004” is a good probe temperature or not.  Guess I’ll just have to keep watching.  Thanks, Firestarter.

Jane and I have the BEST conversations.
EDIT: even Drew Barrymore-with-mind-powers has gone fishing.  I have still never gone fishing.  I feel like if I eat something, I should probably be able to kill it.  In an ideal world, I’d go fishing for man-sized catfish with a motherfucking crossbow (those exist, and they look awesome).  And there would be screaming.  Guttural screaming.  But hell, at this point, even those supertiny, weird fishes Burger King pastes together to make a BK Big Fish would suffice.

Jane and I have the BEST conversations.

EDIT: even Drew Barrymore-with-mind-powers has gone fishing.  I have still never gone fishing.  I feel like if I eat something, I should probably be able to kill it.  In an ideal world, I’d go fishing for man-sized catfish with a motherfucking crossbow (those exist, and they look awesome).  And there would be screaming.  Guttural screaming.  But hell, at this point, even those supertiny, weird fishes Burger King pastes together to make a BK Big Fish would suffice.

bublog:

BUB hears ice cream truck.

bublog:

BUB hears ice cream truck.

Happy Birthday, Technology.

Or, Shameless Vanity 2008 - 2012.

Weirdly, when I made this post detailing the self-centered photo pursuits of my deviantArt days, I completely neglected to ponder just exactly where photos of that flavor have gone since then.  I curate a lot for Facebook, lest I come off as one of Those Girls who only post photos from PhotoBooth, but hey… this is a special occasion.

Happy 5th Birthday, Whitey.  You were a graduation present to me ‘round this time in 2008.  I named you Whitey, because I had learned my lesson from my first three hard drive failures, and I didn’t trust you one bit.  Five years later, you’re still kicking.  Your battery is swollen, your trackpad sensor overextends to the spots where my wrists go, and your keyboard could use a real deep clean, but hey… you’re mine, and I love you.  Good job, you impersonal chunk of plastic and silicon.  Let’s celebrate by taking a trip down PhotoBooth lane.

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Ghosts of 4th Of July Past

Or, a memory inventory.

2008: Backyard BBQ, followed by a rave off a logging road somewhere between Portland and the coast.  Last backwoods party I ever went to before moving back to Omaha. Broke in a pair of knee-high Doc Martens and received the worst blister I’ve ever had, also the first time following the directions backwards almost got me irreparably lost.

2009: Dustin is slated to spin fire at a family BBQ.  We plan to watch the casino fireworks from the roof of my apartment building.  Dustin comes home late, and we miss them by about ten minutes.  Why I failed to just go up to the roof alone is beyond me.

2010: Dustin, Lia, Brandan, Ben, and I go roaming with Zuzu in the heavy fireworks-induced fog that’s descended over downtown.  We run wildly, screaming through Turner Park.  Ross calls just as we begin our attempt to break into an abandoned apartment complex.  We discover boatloads of unopened mail, and realize it’s a lot harder than you’d think to kick a door down.

2011: First year fireworks are legal in the city.  Over the week leading up to the 4th, I spend over $150 on explosives, which are set off pretty much simultaneously when Dustin and bunch of dudes decide to wire all the fuses together.  I also witness my first flour bomb, and we almost burn down the house when a sky lantern gets stuck in the pine tree out front.

WHAT WILL 2012 HOLD? Tune in next week for the exciting conclusion.

Fixer, novelty slinger, urban decorator, Internet curator.

I'm an ADULT.

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