Which, to be honest, means next to nothing to me these days.
I really need to get out more.
Tonight I will finally be watching that Twilight movie. Please don’t squeal at me. No, I do not find Rob Pattinson attractive. No, I don’t wish I had my own Edward. Maybe it’s just me but I wouldn’t want to be with someone who removes the engine from my truck. That’s called being creepy in my book.
Since I have nothing else to report I’ll do my random thoughts.
So here is my random thoughts theme song.
Put your earplugs in. I can’t sing.
“It’s time for random thoughts, it’s time for random thoughts, be bop be do it’s time for random thoughts.”
Okay. I’m done singing. You can take out the earplugs.
So, the hotel that Jennifer and I stayed at while visiting the Mall of America was nice. But then Jennifer pointed out something.
Where did it come from? Who did it belong to? Jennifer said that she saw a black hair on it too.
I tried not to vomit.
I sincerely hope that it was a LONG black hair and not a short curly one.
I never saw any hair but it did amuse me that there was a washcloth casually tossed over the shower curtain.
I really need to get rich so I can afford to stay in places where that sort of thing just doesn’t happen.
Like a lot of people, I’m a little tired of hearing about the Swine Flu. Or H1N1 which I’m sorry, reminds me of a robot. I can’t take H1N1 seriously. Not that I can take Swine Flu seriously either. I just picture a pig, which makes me think of pork, which makes me want a pork chop. Oh, and some bacon.
I have been washing my hands more often to be on the safe side. I make my kids wash their hands too. They aren’t amused. I told Tommy to wash his hands when he returned home from school and he went,
“But why? I didn’t use the bathroom yet!”
He’s used to only washing his hands after he goes to the bathroom.
I get that more people die from car accidents than from this flu. But what worries me is the fact that it could mutate into something worse.
I’m not ready to go yet. I have a book that I need to finish writing, you infectious disease!
I just hope it all goes away soon.
I think it’s fantastic that Susan Boyle can sing. Who doesn’t like to hear about the less attractive girl making all the pretty ones gasp in shock? I would LOVE to do something like that. Alas, my singing stinks (see beginning of entry) and I can’t do anything else of importance.
But....if I have to see that clip of Susan Boyle singing on Britain’s Got Talent one more time I fear I may scream. I don’t want to see a stunned Simon Cowell with his palms slapped on his cheeks. I don’t want to see that female judge with her jaw dropped open anymore. I do not mind, however, looking at Piers Morgan. I have no idea why I find him attractive but I do.
I do hope Susan Boyle wins.
Then at least we’ll get to see a NEW clip.
Because I’m immature, I found this article to be hilarious.
It’s from Redbook , which always has interesting stuff to read. When I was on the airplane headed for the Mall of America I was able to catch up on my magazine reading. It’s always an enjoyable event when you can read all about if your vagina is healthy. (Mine is. Neat.)
That seriously was another article that I flipped through and it had a title that said, “Is Your Vagina Healthy?” I had to tilt the magazine away from my seat neighbor lest he look over and think I had something rank going on in my junk. I could imagine him scooting as far away as he possibly could (which wouldn’t be far, since we were in coach) and tossing horrified looks in my direction. Then I’d be all, “No, sir, you’re confused. My vagina IS healthy. It’s just a silly article that I’m only reading to pass the time away because I HATE to fly and I’m two seconds away from going into panic mode from all this turbulence…”
Anyhow, in this poop story, it says that you should listen when you sit on the toilet.
I’ll try to listen.
But it’s sort of hard when you have an audience.
My daughter usually follows me in and waits in the corner of the bathroom.
So I do my business as quickly as possible and quite frankly, I don’t have TIME to hear anything.
I suppose I need to make time because the Poop Story says that “poop should swoosh into the water like a professional diver, not go in like staggered belly floppers.”
Comparing poop to a professional diver is just not cool, yo.
I brought up the article to Tom when he called me and I asked if his poop went into the toilet like a professional diver or like staggered belly floppers.
“WHAT?” Tom boomed.
“It’s from an article I read,” I explained. “I’m just making conversation.”
“This is the weirdest conversation, Amber. I’m going to go now,” Tom said and then quickly said goodbye.
I suppose it was a little gross.
But sometimes when we talk on the phone, Tom is distracted by the television which makes for a stilted conversation.
So I had to get his attention SOMEHOW. And using the word poop did the job.
(For the record, shouting the word "boobs!" seem to get his attention too.)
This story was on The Today Show this morning.
Apparently this is the new bathing craze for babies.
I guess it's supposed to simulate the womb or something.
It looks uncomfortable to me.
I'll stick to regular baths, thanks.
One of the ladies was all, "Children up to three can bathe in this!"
If I tried to put my two year old in something like that she'd pitch a gigantic fit.
Of course, she pitches a gigantic fit when I put her in a REGULAR bath sometimes.
You just never know with her.