The twelfth Doctor was announced yesterday and I have a few thoughts on the subject:
- I hope River comes back (and I think she’s supposed to) because watching her flirt with a Doctor, if nothing else, actually appears to be in the same age bracket would be highly entertaining. All the sass that could potentially happen here would make me all kinds of happy.
- Maybe now Clara will STOP flirting with him. (I don’t care for Clara much.)
- I think I would have been more excited if he were a woman, or not white, or even ginger but he’s older, which I like (mostly for the fangirls who only seem to enjoy the show to drool over the actor playing the Doctor).
- I’m willing to take the excitement of others that know more about Mr. Capaldi’s work to heart and I look forward to seeing what he can do.
Welcome Doctor, it’s delightful to meet you.
Note: Image property of the BBC
In a conversation at work yesterday, my friend Chris brought up the subject of Google and what we ever did without it. I started thinking about it last night and I remembered looking up the little girl’s name from Poltergeist while on vacation because we couldn’t remember her name and someone had jokingly said, “Don’t go into the light, Alice! Wait. That’s not right. What’s her name?” (It’s Carrie Ann in case you were wondering. I was.) This is an illustration of what my life was like before Google became my go-to for everything I wonder about:
Me and someone else watching TV….
Me: I wonder how they do that thing.
Me: I mean, how did they make that thing do that? Don’t you find that thing interesting? Don’t you wonder about the thing?
Them: *Blank stare*
Me: I mean, what if
Them: No. Stop.
Me: *Blinking innocently*
Them: Where did you even come up with that? And why do you care? You are so WEIRD.
Me: *edging away quietly and vowing to never think aloud again*
I LOVE YOU GOOGLE
(I’m not saying this happened.)
(But it totally did.)
My brother once argued with me about going to a movie together, claiming that people would assume that we were boyfriend/girlfriend instead of brother/sister. I poo pooed the idea on the premise that anyone with eyes could read our body language and see that there is nothing romantic there, besides the fact that he’s ten years younger than I am and annoying as fuck half of the time. But I forgot the universal truth that people are stupid. At home this wouldn’t really matter because any attractive men in this town are long since married or on their third divorce. When you choose to stay in your small hometown after high school/college, you generally get married young, mostly out of boredom would be my guess. (Unless your name is Carrie, in that particular case you married your soul mate and you are damn lucky.)
Anyway, the point being I thought my brother was being ridiculous and even I get bored with going to things alone so I wore him down and now we often see nerdy movies together. (Where I have been known to punch him in the ear when he gets more annoying than usual.)
Then we all went to Florida on a family vacation and the argument was turned on its head. While getting out of Space Mountain at Disney Hayden, my nephew, was referred to as our child. (Whaaaaa?!) My brother and I looked at each other in horror but said nothing because really, how could you possibly make this situation better? By embarrassing the poor kid running the ride?
As a girl who is as single as single gets, I do enjoy the occasional flirtation that happens away from home but I was being cockblocked by my own brother! That is a very strange feeling and I don’t like it. In the three instances of mild flirt that I got up to while in Florida, all three happened when I was alone or at least half a dozen steps away from anyone in my family. I’m not sure which is more distressing, that I look married or that I look like I would be married to my little brother. Oi.
Needless to say, the geeky thing I hopefully have planned to go to in St. Louis will be sans brother. (He wants to go but I told him that was only happening if he brought a friend along. At least then someone could assume that I could handle two twenty-something’s. And that’s better? Maybe? Who knows.)
I took my nephew to see Man of Steel this past weekend and they were having trouble with the projector so it started about 20 minutes late. While we were sitting there waiting, staring at a blank screen, my nephew leans over and whispers, “This movie is awesome! Thanks a lot for taking me, Aunt Bri!” He is such a shit. I adore him.
I have an unimaginable amount of useless knowledge rattling around in my brain, but don’t ask me where South Dakota is, apparently I delete states that I consider unimportant. (This happened and my mother was mortified.)
I was never one of those girls who had obsessive crushes on celebrities or even boys I went to school with. I didn’t want to know anything about a band because that would have potentially ruined the music for me. I had an actual opportunity to meet a celebrity that I admired and enjoyed and I turned it down because I didn’t want to take the chance that the reality of him would ruin my movie watching, but if I were to run into a certain British actor all of that caution would go out the window. Hello. I am a 36 year old woman and I have my first crush on a celebrity. Were we to meet, it would be love, I’m telling you. (Mostly kidding. Mostly.)
In three weeks I will be in Florida, geeking my little heart out over Disney, Harry Potter, Marvel superheroes, and movie magic. I am so excited to be taking my first vacation in four years that I can hardly contain myself. If you follow me on Instagram or Facebook that week, I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.
When Bogart wants to play down and dirty he barks ferociously and loves nothing more than for you to bark and snarl back. Between barking and snarling in such a way that sounds like he would like to take off your face, he gleefully prances and bounces about the house like he’s playing a very strange game of tag.
Even though I can’t even begin to imagine how terrifying this would be to someone who didn’t know him, I do. So when he wanted to play last night, I got down on my hands and knees and growled in his face. He sneered like Elvis, tried to nibble my nose, slurped me across the face, then plopped down on the floor. I won. I usually do.
Late last week I saw or heard or someone brought up the game Candy Crush and I downloaded it to my ipad, thinking I would play it sometime when I was stuck somewhere and bored.
Fast forward to a week later and someone just shoot me now, ‘cause I started playing Monday of this week and I’m a teensy bit obsessed. The game gives you five lives to start and if you run through them, it makes you stop and wait 25 minutes for a new life or you have to beg
the other suckers your dear friends who are also playing to take pity on you and gift you with one. Which you will immediately play because you are determined to win are an obsessed sucker just one more level before I give up, damnit!
I couldn’t even explain to you how this game sucks you in, but I am writing this because if I fail at the level I’m on one more time, I may never eat candy again. (Ok, not really.) You can play on your phone as well as on facebook and your various other app driven devices. I would tell you to be smart and don’t even get started, but I need more facebook friends so I can keep a steady flow of lives going. Get on that, would you? Momma’s got some jawbreakers to bust up so she can get to the next level!
Last decade?(Or, you know, whenever.)
This is actually the…um third time I’ve tried to write a blog post since….that last time. When you last heard from me, I had moved in with my parents until I figured out my next move. Then I got a job. It was horrible and every day was misery, for very little money. And then I realized that in order to get my financial shit together, I was going to have to continue to live with my parents. Possibly forever. And then I died. Not really. But nothing much happened other than, you know, woe is me, life is hard.
Bogart was happy, he isn’t alone much and he successfully figured out how to manipulate my parents, so no problems there. Life was boring and I didn’t feel like I had stories to tell. Then I lucked into a job as a legal assistant, made friends, started working out for the first time in my life and things are starting to look up. I’m about to turn 36 in a couple of weeks and there is nothing wrong with my life that a little more money wouldn’t fix, so I’d say I’m doing pretty good.
And now for a short dog story. Bogart at 4 years old is a typical bulldog. Laziness with occasional glimpses of crazy. Last night I was watching TV and he had the doorway staked out to prevent my escape when I noticed him snarfling the throw rug he was laying on. (Snarfle is the best way to describe the sniffing/grunting noises he makes when he is SERIOUS about a smell.) As I watched, he scooted up the section of rug that had his attention between his front paws and opened his mouth to…..I don’t know what. Taste it? “Bogart!” He froze and his eyes rolled around to look at me without actually moving his head. (Lazy. Or efficient. One of those.) “Are we chewing on rugs now?” I could actually see his little brain working out whether he was going to ignore me or stop the mischief. Thankfully he went with stop but showed his displeasure with a big, put upon sigh and turning his head so he could no longer see me. My dog, ladies and gentlemen.
If you have been checking back occasionally and are even mildly excited that I decided to write again, thank you. If you stumbled onto this post and this blog because you googled what to do when your dog chews on your rugs and you actually read all the way to the end of my silliness, thank you too. And good luck with that. It sucks. (Also, feel free to look around. I’m occasionally funny.)