Why Can't I Write My Blog In My Sleep?

Okie dokie cowpokes. Another day, another post.

And may I applaud myself for keeping this thing up every week! Whoot whoot!

On the other hand, I'm definitely already out of ideas. So, there's that.

I've been told that I write like I talk/think. Which is a compliment, considering that I consider myself to be a happily, sporadic person. (By the way, isn't that a weird word? Sporadic. Say that 3 times and try not to check with someone about whether or not that's a real word... go on, try it.) The thing about how I think and how I write is that I think of my fun blog ideas while I'm not at my computer. So when I sit down to write, all my fun ideas have left my brain. Oh man, if y'all could be in my head while I'm trying to sleep, y'all would have a heyday of wonder! So many thoughts pop into my head when I'm at that stage of sleep where I'm not quite out, but I'm not about to be moved from my pillow.This leaves me with the question: Why can't I write my blog in my sleep?

But, here's what I'm going to do for this particular post and any other post where I have absolutely no themes/stories/antidotes...let my random, incoherent thoughts fly!!! Ready? Here we go:

- Could I grow a soybean farm? Like, a WHOLE farm. If I did, I could have edamame all the time. Just add salt and heat. Convenience at the snap of a limb!

- Jenny just told me it's unhealthy to eat a lot of soy due to its' insane amount of estrogen. Why does soy have estrogen? Does that classify soy as a 'girl'? And does broccoli classify as a 'boy' since it has lots of testosterone?

- I love buying in bulk at Sam's club. A 100 count box of cream puffs? For $14.00? I NEED THIS. My husband hates taking me here.

- I hate filing. I don't do it at my job, but I just hate it. Sorry, Filing, I just undeservingly hate you.

- I don't think "undeservingly" is a word. Nor does my friend Jenny. She just pointed this out to me.

-Spell Check just confirmed that "underservingly" is indeed not a word.

- I haven't gotten in a pool in almost 3 years. That's so weird. But would bathing count? That's like skinny dipping in a tiny pool.

- I just cracked myself up after typing the previous thought...Sad?

- Are Tervis Tumblers magical? I think mine may be.

- Sucre is the French word for sugar!

- I don't care about the royal wedding simply for the fact that Lifetime made a movie about it BEFORE this stupid wedding has even happened.

- I have gift cards that I cannot wait to spend. Hellooo Wal-Mart, TJ Maxx, Lifeway (Yes, I said Lifeway.) and Barnes and Noble!!!!

- Pasta salad with peas? Is that a real food item with a name or am I just dreaming this? 

- Why is boxed pasta salad so good?

- Tiny pasta is fun!!!

- I'm freaking out over finishing all the seasons of Scrubs before we move and now I've started dreaming about Zach Braff and the Janitor. EAGLE!!!

- I'm missing seasons six-eight of The Golden Girls. And the world is missing three out of the four Golden Girls.

-That last thought was a downer. STAY ALIVE BETTY WHITE!!!

-Paula Deen REALLY loves butter. I think her husband might be made out of butter. That's why she loves him so much... I'm sure of it.

- I'm a super bad speller. Spell Check remindes me of this on a daily basis.

- Jenny Martin says I should post a picture for my blog to be an "official" blog:



Gotta love graffiti.


So, that's my incoherent thoughts. I know for a fact that I will be posting more blogs with this type of writing simply because I have a horrible memory. But I do know this from writing everything that has popped in to my head and written down-I'm a crazy person.

"Um, I'm her husband."

Now, I'm an awkward person. This is a fact that cannot be denied. Ask any of my family members (in-laws included). Even my Mama and Daddy (Yes, I used "mama" and "daddy" because that's what I call them. No, I'm not four years old; I'm from the South.) think I have my moments. I tend to say or do awkward things or somehow just get into awkward situations.

This was an awkward situation.

This was such an awkward situation that I wrote a Facebook status on it. But somehow, 140 characters didn't quite convey my confusion at this awkward situation.

OK, here we go:
All of our friends were going to see Scream 4 at the movie theater to please our friend Nikki. Side note: DON'T go see a scary movie in a New Orleans theater during it's opening weekend. The end. Scream 4 is rated R and you have to be 17 years old to buy and see the movie.
Now, at this point, let me say that I had woken up that morning, threw my hair into a ponytail and put on an old shirt and jeans. I was also out with my friend Lauren and her awesome son, Trindon, all afternoon. Granted, I didn't look super great.
So, we get to the place, buy the ticket outside, and head inside for the AMC Theater employee to tear it off so we can get to our seats. As this little employee starts to take my ticket, she asks, "Are you over 17? Can I see your ID? Are you here with your parents?" WHOA. Whoa whoa whoa. At this, I was rendered two things: speechless and then a bumbling mess. My response- "Um, ok! Wait, seriously? No, no, It's fine! It happens all the time!" My husband's response- "Um, I'm her husband. She's 25." Of course Brent would say the shortest to most to-the-point answer. As I'm pulling out my ID to prove to her that I was born before 1993, she starts to apologize by telling me that she's 22 and gets this type of thing all the time. I'm sorry, but was that suppose to make me feel better? Not that I was feeling bad before, because I know she probably felt silly, but still. I'm three years older than you lady.
And it's not something I would normally mention, but this was an EIGHT YEAR DIFFERENCE. I'm 25 and was ID'd for looking like I was 17 or younger. Maybe it was the ponytail. Maybe the old shirt and jeans. Maybe, just maybe, I made a deal with the devil and I have a picture of myself that's aging while I stay young. Yup, I just dropped my 9th grade English essay on Dorian Grey on y'all. You weren't expecting that. You're welcome. I started to yell to my friends Krista and Carmen to get out their ID's, but the lady didn't even look at theirs! I mean, that's just wrong. If anything, Carmen gets mistaken for a 18 year old all them time!

I know that people are going to tell me that I'm going to love hearing this in 10-20 years, but I don't want to hear it now! So, please don't tell me that. Let me appreciate the "mistaken younger age" thing when I'm 30 or 40.

Anyway, that's my awkward moment.

Enjoy.

You do!!!

Oh man.

Blogging is hard.

I mean, I'm sitting here trying to think about things to write...A lot of stuff has been running through my head:
- Like how I've been LOVING the new chocolate shakes from McDonald's, and yes, I said new. They are now considered a "cafe" item instead of a "dessert" item. Oh yes, the McDonald's trick worked because I'm more apt to getting one when it comes from their fancy Starbucks-esque shake maker opposed to their old, nasty looking blender.
- And how much I've been waking up in the wee hours of the morning to pee and it might because of a UTI, but considering that my mother and my mother-in-law might read this, I'll skip that one.
- And why I will miss listening to my Pandora during the workday. My QuickMix radio station is the best because it combines all my stations together and I get random play. For instance, I'll be listening to John Coltrane and then the next song will be Alison Krauss, then Switchfoot, then Ben Folds, then Smoky Robinson, then Imogen Heap and so on. I'm a terribly distracted person...but I really don't have to prove that; this is an evident fact if you know me. I really only listen to this station when I'm at work because it's in the background as I'm "working" (as I was typing that, I totally pictured Joey from Friends doing the air quotes with his fingers, it was awesome). All that to say, when we move, I probably will have the TV on as background or wherever I work won't have the free Pandora app that doesn't have all the on-air advertisements. So, dang. That's disappointing.

But now, I'm thinking about why I'm using a blog. And who would read my rambling thoughts. But, you do! You, random reader, read my blog for no apparent reason except for a good laugh, a pick-me-up after a bad day, or for general curiosity (especially if you know me). So, I'm going to keep on keeping on and find new ideas for this thing.

So, thanks. I think you're pretty cool too. Assuming you think I'm cool. If not, then never mind, I'm sure you're still a nice person...insert winking face here.

Well, Well, Well...We Meet Again.

So, to start off, my title of this blog is ridiculous. I mean, hello, it's my first post. And honestly, I'm a little freaked out. This blog is all like, "name your blog NOW!!!!" and "pick a template NOW!!!" Why are you making me make all these decisions, Blogger? So much pressure and so little time!!! You're making me question this life choice, "Blogger," . I hope you don't traumatize anyone else like this. It makes me sad for you.

And now, onward we go...

Clearly, I am not a boring person. I mean, didn't you just read the first paragraph? I am a crazy person. At best, an "interesting" personality and at worst, a "um, okay?" personality. So definitely expect some key moments in your reading, dear reader, where you momentarily ask yourself, "At what point in my life did it make sense to read Kate's blog? And what the heck is wrong with her?" But that's ok. Life goes on and eventually, you'll become immune to my crazy train of thought (if it makes you feel better, you can pretend I sang that in the style of Ozzy Osborne) and obscure pop culture references.

All this to say, I hope you enjoy a glimpse into my mind via blog. I'm wirting in the way that I think, so if it's a little hard to follow, keep on truckin'!

Here goes nothing...

Until we meet again...Again.
See? Crazy person.