Groupon May Be Trying To Kill Me

First of all, I'm amused that the ad at the top of my Yahoo mail today is for makeup, when I rarely (if ever) WEAR makeup and can NEVER be called "haute" in any way.

Also, in MN the word "Haute" is rarely used at all. When it is (recently popping up in food magazines and such) it's used to refer to a high-falutin' HOTDISH* (casserole, for you non-mid-westerners) restaurant. That's right. "Haute Dish" is a place in Minneapolis that serves upscale tater-tot hotdish. I don't know what that means...I loathe tater-tot hotdish so I haven't been. My point is, whatever "Haute" means in real life doesn't apply to me.**

Anyway, Groupon, as you can see, is advertising quite possibly the WORST combination for my grace skillset: roller skating with wine! Granted, every time I fall, run into a wall, or knock over my companions I'd giggle and likely feel no pain, but I expect I'd be ticketed for assault with a deadly idiot. Or at the very least, SWI. I think not, Groupon, I think not.

*See? Even Blogger doesn't know what to do with the word "hotdish" because it's a purely Mid-westerner weird thing involving casserole fixings and (usually) cream of mushroom soup in a can. Ugh.

**In case you were wondering, "Haute" is the root word for "haughty" and means pretty much exactly that: elevated, high-class, fancy-pants (well, HELLO Mr. FANCY PANTS!)

***It's POSSIBLE "fancy-pants" isn't in the official definition... but 10 points to whomever gets the movie quote.

I'm Too Lazy To Write Two Posts: Cross Posting "Dear UnSubtle Gym Rat: My Crotch Is Not For You

While I mostly keep my other blog just to track my progress in my personal self-torture adventures, tonight's fun at the gym made me chuckle when I re-read it.

If you don't find it amusing, that's cool: I'm likely high on something...like muscle pain.

Or idiots.

Dear Unsubtle Gym Rat...

Driving Within The Lines

I'm feeling somewhat melancholy tonight (husband says I should stop that immediately, because melancholy is a silly word). Not depressed, just sad. I miss a few people intensely this time of year in particular: some because they're far away, some because they're no longer occupying the space in my life they used to.

The line between "missing" and "wallowing" is one of those fine dotted ones...you know, like the kind on the highway signaling it's ok to leave your normal space for a few seconds, if it's safe, to go around an obstacle? Yeah. Gotta pay attention and keep my people-missing in the "reflect upon where you've been, with whom you've connected, and who you've let go" phase that stays healthy.

Then again, I'm not terribly adept at staying within lines. Ok, that's not completely accurate: I CAN AND DO stay within driving lines...I just occasionally go too fast. Police, if you're reading this, I do not drive erratically, or drunk, or anything else...and I'm working on my lead foot, I swear.

I once wrote a short story during my bus ride home from school that included haunted houses, bears ripping people's arms off, and a plucky crew of friends who fought ALL THE EVIL. I was in 2nd grade...I believe that would've made me 7 at the time. I'm probably lucky my parents (or the teachers) didn't send me to therapy. See? not good at staying within the boundaries of this very blog post. Ha! Take that, 2nd grade teacher!

And so tonight I'm somewhat melancholy and thinking a lot about what I should hold on to in hope and what I should let go of to move on as gracefully as possible. This IS me we're talking about...graceful means getting out without black eyes or a broken toe, after all.