Tag Archives: impostor bugs

7 Quick Takes – Anniblogary edition

1. I’ve been at this for one whole year. Way to go, blog. I now have slightly more memories of the past year than I do of the ones that preceded it! Well, except for the middle and high school years. I kept journals. There is a very large Rubbermaid tote marked ANGST in my closet, and opening it would probably be a very bad idea.

2. We are taking Vio to see Toy Story 3 tonight. It will be her first movie-going experience. From what I’ve heard about the movie, I’m packing tissues, a blanket, and my mommy. I already have issues with feeling like the toys have FEELINGS, and these movies do nothing to quell that nonsense. I mentioned this on Twitter last night, and I got this response:

PSYCHO CREEPY BABY DOLL.

I’m going to have to be swaddled.

3. Matt and I are going to Busch Gardens this weekend with my brother and his girlfriend. And NONE children! I fear they will talk me into doing this again:

If she’d snapped the picture one half-second later, for the actual 90-degree 200-foot drop, you would have been able to see my life flashing before my eyes in mpeg form behind my glasses.

4. I sure am painting myself with the bravery brush today, eh? Well I took a spider outside today ALL BY MYSELF. So there.

5. Fine, it was the size of an obese ant. And when I was at the front door turning the knob with the paper-covered cup o’ spider in my other hand, Vio rolled a block through my peripheral line of sight and I AUDIBLY GASPED and scared the poor child because I somehow thought I’d dropped the spider and outrun it in the process.

What a block posing as a spider may look like.

6. I forgot to mention a vital bit of information in my traumatic grocery store trip post — namely, that I was caught without my wallet between leaving it in the pee-car and being defenseless in Publix. I took Vio to the mall this weekend to pick out a birthday present for her great-grandmother, and had to leave the gift at the register. So there is seriously no excuse for the idiocy that befell me that day. THAT FATEFUL DAY.

7. Really, a year of this nonsense? Thanks for reading, beauties. You deserve prizes and your own personal Santas to deliver them.

More quick takes here.

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