Monthly Archives: September 2008

Bacon flavored Snickers bar on a stick wearing a bikini.

So, I have g-mail.  And it’s great.  I was actually excited to check my e-mail for the first few months of having it, because I love color coding, categorizing and all manner of sorting. 

For example, as a child, Halloween meant holing up in a corner somewhere in whatever costume I had chosen that I could feasibly wear with both a tiara and a snowsuit, ignoring the roar of hunger in my stomach and the cry of my inner-fat girl as I sorted my candy by size, then texture, weight, shape, flavor, and whether or not it involved a stick. I also practiced my sorting with Barbies (hair color, height, and where on the spectrum of awesome they fell according to their bikinis), babies (eye color, size, and whether or not they had blinky eyes) and my little brother (you do not fall anywhere on the spectrum of awesome, get out of here.)

G-mail must know this about me.  Why else would they implement the sorting mechanism in the first place? But you know, it’s actually starting to get a little creepy how much G-mail knows about me. 

Because this morning, I’m just going about my business, kicking off the daily barrage of e-mails to and fro my dear friend Duncan, when one of their helpful, automatically generated links popped up.  It was an advertisement for bacon salt, because, according to this link, “everything should taste like bacon!”

I could not possibly agree more.

How do you do it G-mail, HOW?

Does that go against my vegetarianism?  I don’t want to eat pigs.  I just like how they taste.  It’s different.

 

It’s different, right?  Right?!?

Ohmygodimissbaconsomuch.

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Filed under Digressions, My World

In addition to the healthcare, pirates are also a concern

I’ve been sleeping unusually well for the past week.  Usually I wake up at 3 a.m. on the dot, for no discernable reason, and prompty have strange hallucinations alone in my room.  These often include scenarios in which I’m lying in bed, but in a classroom and trying valiantly to stay awake (because, you know, it’s rude to sleep in class.  Even if you did bring your whole bed…) or odd visions in which people from soap operas come to argue their case in front of me.  And by “case”  I mean Joan Collins circa 1986 tells me all about her many lovers while wearing a gold lame cocktail gown.  Nighttime with Hilary is all kinds of fun!

Luckily, these visions of academia and golden delicious fun have stopped for now.

Unluckily, my subconcious has taken over the job of generating twelve kinds of crazy every night, and last night’s result was this very odd dream:

Boss Lady – “Hey everybody, thanks for coming to the staff meeting.  We have lots of things to discuss today.  To kick things off, where are we with the ship insurance?”

Me – “Um, we don’t have any.  But as soon as they start making ships with tall towers again, we’re going to need to get some.  You know, because of pirates.”

Boss Lady – “Good thinking!”

Good thinking, indeed!  I may hate my job, but at least I’m on top of my shit where the safety of our loot and booty is concerned.

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Filed under My World, Quotes, Work

Twist and Shout…in pain

Me – “You know, we should really invest in some more board games, since playing board games is really the only thing that holds our attention enough that we forget that we’re not… you know.  Let’s face it – I’m way too young to have your babies.”

The Mister – “That’s a good idea.  We need to broaden our range of activities so that we do things other than… you know.  Scrabble’s not particularly sexy.  Maybe that will help us not to act like unsupervised 15 year olds?”

Me – “Actually I was thinking something more fun and less torturous than Scrabble.  Like Twister!”

The Mister – “Um, I don’t think that will help our situation.  Also, I hate Twister with the passion of a thousand fires.  It hurts my back.”

Me – “Well then maybe we should just borrow a game from the nursing home you’ll be moving into soon!  And seriously, how is that artificial hip?”

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The Mister 101

I’m not entirely sure how to begin this post.  I don’t usually talk about other people on my blog, although there are a few exceptions, most notably LP, who is my mostly companion, sagest (and most cynical) council, and my woman friend who is also my soul mate because we agree on life’s most important things: pizza toppings, tequila brands, and exactly which crap TV is worthy of our time.  I love her.

But mostly this blog is about me.  The stupid things I do, the weird things I eat, and the embarrassing things I say, and the hilarity that ensues after I’ve done something stupid/eaten something weird/said something embarrassing. And that’s intentional, on account of the fact that – I know you’ll be shocked to hear this – there are lots of people in the world who think blogging is only for political pundits, angsty 13 year old girls, and angsty 13 year old girls who grew up to be angsty 33 year old mommy bloggers who now have nothing better to do with their time than gush about their kids and whine about their malfunctioning Diaper Genies on the Interweb.  

Naturally, being a 23 year old single person who is without angst, kids, or Diaper Genies but who is also a mostly regular blogger, I know this isn’t true.  

And you know what else isn’t true?  That part up there, where I said I was a 23 year old single person.  I’m still 23, although my birthday is rapidly approaching (I’d like a unicorn and a trip to Tahiti, please thanks) but I am no longer what I would call a single person.

Enter The Mister, stage left.  Or stage right.  He’s a Republican, after all, so in the interest of fairness, I’ll allow him to enter into my life story on whichever side of the stage he chooses.  Especially because I’ve been making way too many Jamie Lynn Palin jokes lately, and also alluding to the fact that The Mister might be almost as old as John McCain.  Let’s be fair.

Luckily for both of us, The Mister isn’t quite 49 years my senior, a la George…I mean John…  But he is enough older than me that doing age math is really, really fun.  For me.  For example, when The Mister graduated from college, I didn’t yet have a driver’s license.  When The Mister was at his senior prom, I was still in elementary school.  When The Mister gets out of bed in the morning, his back audibly cracks.  And then I audibly laugh, and make jokes about his (nonexistent) artificial hip.  See how fun it can be, dating an older man?  Fun for everyone!

But seriously – it’s really fun.  Even more fun than elementary school, driving, or the senior prom, and that’s saying something.  Apparently fun is what normal people have in relationships, which is just plain crazy, because I always thought relationships were something you did when you felt like self-mutilation might not be enough of a picnic by itself.  Or something you took part in when you weren’t feeling quite as horrible enough about yourself as you possibly could. I thought relationships meant that someone drives 60 miles to see another someone who treats them like crap and rewards their long drive not with a kiss on the cheek, but a noncommittal toss of the head because they were in the middle of playing Guitar Hero and couldn’t possibly bother to stop.  I thought that’s what it was like.

Luckily for both of us (that’s you and me, Internet, because now you won’t have to listen to my whining) I was wrong.  Turns out that relationships can actually be more than silence, frustration, and one-sided effort.  They can be more than Guitar Hero and blank stares.  They can be more than all talk and no action. They can be more than I ever hoped for.

Because I hoped for common ground and understanding, and instead I found a common soul with wisdom and intelligence to match.  I needed a sense of humor, and I got someone who makes me laugh until I cry.  I prayed for someone to be nice to me, and I have someone who is considerate, chivalrous, and kind.  

I always wanted someone like this.  And I found him.

So even though he is right leaning, slightly disdainful of both veggie pizza and tequila, and was actually born in an entirely different decade, he is also open minded, thoughtful, hilarious, and he brings to our relationships an entirely different perspective of the world that forces me to think about everything in a new way.  And that’s worth all the unicorns in all the land.  

And all the trips to Tahiti, too.

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Filed under Gentlemen Friends, My World

Just one more reason why my mom is awesome:

Me – “Bye Mom, I’m off to The Mister’s * house!”

Mom – “Um, do you expect this to be a late night?  Not a late night?  I just need to know when I should report you missing.  You know, to preserve my motherly street cred.” (Yes, she actually said “street cred.”  I taught her that, you know.)

Me – “Let’s be honest: it’s probably going to be a late night.  Or maybe an early morning night.  Who are we kidding here?”

Mom – “Like I said, I just need to know when to worry.  I trust you to make smart decisions.  As long as you don’t go all Bristol Palin on me, we’re good.”

 

Um, my mom is awesome and you all WISH you had a Mama Davis, but you don’t.  Thanks.

 

 

* Hey Internet – I know we’ve never discussed the presence of a Mister here on this blog.  Well, not really anyway.  But it turns out The Mister is starting to be a time consuming part of my very Hilary life, so I figured it was time to introduce the idea.  More official updates to follow. Don’t worry though – I still love you the most.

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