Thoughts on Yosemite

BY bonnie

Google Maps might tell you that Yosemite is about 6 1/2 hours away but that is a dirty lie. Yosemite is actually 6 1/2 light years away and when you add in three or so breaks at about 20 minutes each you won’t arrive at your campsite until exactly 10 hours after you left the house at six am. And you’d want to stab all the people when you finally arrived except that YOSEMITE and you have actually zero desire to stab anything all all.

If you find a gas station in the middle of nowhere for surprisingly cheap it’s probably because you’ve fallen back in time to the only gas station left on earth that doesn’t accept any form of plastic as payment. Just save time and go to the overpriced Chevron down the street.

Bakersfield is, indeed, the armpit of California. I hated it. So much. And we didn’t even stop there. I could just tell I hated it from the freeway.

In the area there is a street called 7th Standard Road. Even Bakersfield hates Bakersfield.
(ALTHOUGH. When googling the road name to fact-check myself, Google asked if I wanted to know about “7th Standard Road Ghost” so it just became slightly more interesting.)

There is a town called Fish Camp. There is a town called FISH CAMP. THERE IS A TOWN CALLED FISH CAMP.

In Fish Camp there is a creek called Big Creek. Really.

Other names that might need reconsidering: Mosquito Creek, Avalanche Creek.

I may or may not have cried when we turned the corner and got our first glimpse of Half Dome and El Capitan. The thing about these enormous rocks is that there is no way to fully capture their power and beauty in a picture. Even Ansel Adams, clearly the god of Yosemite photography, could not honestly convey how incredible Yosemite Valley is. You have to be there. To turn that bend and catch your first glimpse of the valley is a spiritual moment that neither words nor film will ever be able to convey.

People yell “Elmer” across the campground all evening. Really.

Bears like soap. Bears like Chapstick. If you need Chapstick at 4:45 am you will have to leave your tent and fight an actual bear for it. Bears are clearly assholes.

Here is the thing about bears. When researching this trip, I found this on the Yosemite official website:

So, basically, don’t have any crumbs in your car or you will probably die and kill everyone around you with bears. That is the message I took from that. And, to be honest, I don’t even think I am stretching what they are saying too far. Luckily, I knew that bear sitings were fairly rare since the bears are pretty people-shy, so I wasn’t too worried. Until I arrived and signed my bear contract (seriously) saying that I promised to follow the bear rules and while we were discussing this, the ranger told me they’d had bears in the campground every single night for the past two weeks. Naturally then, I saw a bear. It was right outside my tent at 4:45 am, looking through the neighbor’s (empty) boxes on their picnic table. Probably looking for Chapstick.

Because I am an emetophobe, the bear was still less upsetting than the kid with the stomach flu in the next campsite over. I did not sleep at all that night.

On Monday I had the kind of day where I dropped everything I touched (usually onto my feet) and I tripped over huge logs that were not at all invisible and I had a really hard time with Capri Suns.

Animals we have seen (in order of size):
Bear, stag, deer, coyote, ravens, blue jays, woodpeckers, squirrels, chipmunks, squirrel babies, massive ants, slightly less massive ants, regular ants.

The problem with learning to skip stones is that once you plunk it in the water it’s gone. And who has the time or patience to go looking for more skipping stones? NOT THIS CHICK.

On the other hand throwing stones as far as you can is fun.

Pros to being the driver on twisty mountain roads: Having control over not allowing the car to go careening down a cliff ending in the death of everyone on board.
Cons to being the driver on twisty mountain roads: Not being able to see the scenery while you carefully watch the road so that you don’t send the car careening down a cliff ending in the death of everyone on board.

The trick to being in icy rivers is just to wait until all your extremities are too numb to feel anything. At that point it’s quite comfortable.

Rain in Yosemite is beautiful and I’m so glad I got to enjoy it. I’m slightly less amused having to lug home a wet tent and camping chairs.

Los Angeles can have traffic at any hour of any day. But it will definitely have traffic at 9:30 on your way home after an exhausting trip. Especially if you were kept awake all night the night before by a crying baby at the site next to yours. Related: I feel somewhat stabby to those parents who walked their crying baby outside my tent all night.

When you leave cats alone for like five days, by the time you finally arrive home their eyes will be all big like they’re afraid they might be hallucinating, they won’t stop asking you if you are real, and once they are convinced this isn’t a dream, they’ll automatically get crazy and climb all the walls.

My mom’s high school best friend went to Yosemite for a summer job and never came back. I can see why.

If you want to see the rest of the pictures, you can find them at my Flickr album here.

I visited here with my grandparents nearly 30 years ago and it’s been a beloved and fairly clear memory ever since. I’m so glad I got to go back, and to share the place with my children, forming their own beloved memories in the process. I hope that the next time we go will be sooner than three decades on.

Cooking

Sanity comes at a high price. And that price is paying extra for already-peeled eggs.

BY bonnie

Ode to Hard Boiled Egg Peeling

Fuck you, eggs.
Fuck. You.

Sure, the Patriarchy is terrible, but can we talk about how awful the act of peeling eggs is? I’m writing this post to give us a place where we can gather together to rage and support each other through those emotional times when we are forced to peel eggs. It’s just the absolute worst.

This post is NOT a place to suggest “new” methods of peeling hard cooked eggs because, unless NASA has just released an entirely new method this week, I promise you I’ve tried every single idea ever and it’s still just the worst thing on the whole planet. If you find that you absolutely cannot avoid offering suggestions, I will be forced to put a curse on you and all your subsequent generations which will cause bunnies to explode whenever you come near them. This would be terrible. And embarrassing. When people would ask you why the fuck bunnies were always exploding when you were around you would be forced to say, “I offered unwanted advice about eggs” and you would become a social outcast. So don’t, okay? Save the bunnies.

But if you, like me, hate peeling eggs with the fire of seven thousand suns, feel free to leave a comment. Extra points for inventing new curse words I can save and use in case of road rage.

Delving into the Psyche

Sticks and Stones

BY bonnie

The Universe recently celebrated the end of my school year by gifting me with free streaming episodes of Six Feet Under on Amazon Prime. I’ve missed the Fishers. So much. But I was watching the penultimate episode of the first season – the one where David comes out to his mother – and I noticed a thing. It’s a thing that happens every day in real life, a thing that we defend passionately without, perhaps, really considering the ramifications. It’s a thing that is as specific as this particular instance, and as vague as an old childhood rhyme.

In the story, a young man is beaten to death for being gay and having the gall to, you know, exist. The ramification in the story is that David begins to confront his fears surrounding his own sexuality and begins his journey out of the dark place he’s been forcing himself to live. It’s a painful but beautiful episode.

At the funeral of the young man, protesters show up. They are holding all those signs you know so well and screaming the same cruelties vocally. David, finally, is done with their bullshit and attacks them and a reporter comes up asking about a possible story.

The thing that struck me is that, had it escalated, David would have been the one in trouble for physically attacking them. But they were attacking first. And the thing about that is that sticks and stones may break bones, but words can destroy a psyche. And, yet, we support those who verbally attack a person, while condemning those who are pushed absolutely beyond what their souls can bear and, because they have only shrugs from those who should be supporting them, finally give in to the pain and physically attack.

What. Even. The. Fuck.

Obviously freedom of speech is vital to the freedom of a nation. And obviously physical violence can all too easily get out of hand and can end a life thereby eliminating any chance of healing (whereas, even a destroyed psyche has the chance to heal if given the right circumstances). So I am not advocating any changes to our actual laws. But it’s time to stop making them our own personal American religion.

Stop hiding behind freedom of speech. Your words are designed to hurt. That’s not okay even if it is legal. Stop telling kids that words don’t hurt, you’re only setting them up to accept abuse as an adult.

It’s so ingrained that two paragraphs ago I originally wrote “actual violence” instead of “physical violence” while I’m trying to make the point that emotional violence is at least as damaging as physical violence is. (This is deeply relevant to the new layer of healing that I am currently working through regarding my own childhood abuse. Even just writing that word “abuse” there is difficult. Because. I mean. I never got hit. So is it really abuse? YES. IT IS.)

We have to stop this. We have to draw attention to it and to disallow it. We have to speak openly about it. Because until we do, we’re only allowing abuse – both public and private – to continue. And worse, we’re putting the burden of it entirely on the abused, who aren’t allowed to acknowledge it and therefore aren’t allowed to heal from it.

And now if you’ll excuse me, I have more Six Feet Under to marathon.

This is a Woman

Flames. Flames on the sides of my face.

BY bonnie

So I am not writing about this myself right now. Partly because I’m basically like Mrs. White in that one scene from Clue on this subject this week. Instead I’ve been sharing my favorite things that come across my various feeds on TIAW’s Facebook page, and on TIAW’s Tumblr. In an unrelated (except that it involves the patriarchy and sexism) issue I wrote this in my journal last night:

I am SO VERY STABBY about the patriarchy that I sort of want to grab a torch and just walk screaming and chanting down the street as more and more pissed-off women join with their torches until we become an angry mob marching all the way to actual Washing DC where Michelle Obama and her girls will grab torches and join us. And people actually have to listen to us because we are, in fact, more than half of the population and I guarantee you that when we all join forces we will be one big flaming mass of reckoning. And then we will drop all of our torches and will physically dismantle the patriarchy with our bare hands while screaming obscenities at the misogynists, cowering in fear in their rightful place in the corner.

Like. I want to LOSE MY ACTUAL SHIT over the patriarchy right now, I am so mad. And it makes me more mad to think that people will just write it off as feminazi shit, or “chicks are crazy, man.”

So I saw this article. And it’s a good one. But the title. The title. I am going to make myself a shirt that says “Furious Feminist” and wear it proudly and any time someone tries to brush off my rightful anger as “crazy” I’ll be all HELL YES I’M CRAZY WITH MOTHERFUCKING ANGER, YOU MISOGYNIST PIG. And any time someone tries to brush off my rightful anger by saying I’m “just an angry feminist” I’ll be all HELL NO YOU GOT IT WRONG, ASSMASK, I’M MOTHERFUCKING FURIOUS.

Review, Television

Can we talk about that last season of Scrubs? Now that it’s been four years?

BY bonnie

I loved Scrubs. I think it was the first sit-com that I’d really liked in a long time. I remember feeling like it was really different from everything I’d ever seen before. Maybe News Radio was the closest, made up of an eclectic group of quirky people, thrown together by their place of employment. But it had been a few years and Scrubs was refreshing with its wackiness and unique style of humor.

Even so I’m really bad at any TV that I have to remember to watch at a particular time on a certain channel and at some point – I think it was somewhere in season 8 – I started to lose track of it, catching only an episode here or there. I remember really disliking the first series finale (because, if you recall, Scrubs had a love-hate relationship with ending and, in total, wound up with three different series finales. Only one of which was any good. But HOLY CRAP was it good and I may or may not have been sobbing at it while exercising on my stationary bike last week). But the final season, after the show was un-canceled one final time, was really different and most of the people I knew didn’t like it. I tend to root for things that no one else likes just on the basis that somebody has to like it dammit, so at the time I remember defending it. And I’ll say there is still a lot to like about it. But there are some things that definitely didn’t work. Here are my lists.

The Bad:
1. The lack of characters we loved, including the, you know, main character. I’m sure there were probably some real-world conflicts that got in the way, and I understand that, in terms of story, things have to evolve. But dammit I missed Carla and Jordan and the janitor and wanted more of JD and Elliot.
2. The bromace between JD and Turk just wasn’t the same. I’m not sure if there was simply a lack of time to fully develop it, but it was, I felt, far too shallow and codependent in this season, rather than being the usual mix of charm and just plain guy love without any need for “no homo”.
3. For that matter, JD’s character seemed far more childish. Without any of his usual actual maturity to balance that, it makes for a less pleasant character. I’m sure it was because this season the focus was on the newer students so that we didn’t get to see into his head, or to follow his life as much, but it weakened him as a character and made him flat.
4. LIKE WHERE THE HELL WAS THE JD/ELLIOT WEDDING WE ALL DESERVED? FUCK WHOEVER SKIPPED THAT SHIT. WE PUT UP WITH THEIR OFF-AND-ON BULLSHIT FOR ALL THOSE YEARS AND WE DON’T EVEN GET A WEDDING? NOPE.

The Good:
1. Drew and Denise. I SO SHIP THOSE TWO.
2. Drew.
3. Denise.
4. Drew and Denise.
5. Cole. Strangely enough. I know. I’m just as surprised as you are.
6. Drewnise. Is that their ship name? I don’t know. I’m gonna go start a tag on Tumblr.

What did you think about this season? What did you think about Drewnice? (Clearly you loved them. That is the only acceptable answer.) Do you even remember this show? It was about doctors and they wore scrubs and had antics. To refresh your memory. I know. Doing a review four years later is weird. You’re welcome.

Ranting and Raving

What’s the opposite of me waving my cane and telling kids to get off my lawn?

BY bonnie

You better believe I’m gonna take a selfie if I get eaten by a shark. That shit isn’t gonna remember itself.

So I originally read this article a couple of weeks ago now and it was just one of a steady stream of articles I’ve come across recently that apply a hipster-level judgement to anyone participating in the year 2014. There’s your usual all purpose stop-using-the-internet message shared via internet, there’s this one commanding me to totes stop saying totes based entirely on my birthdate, there is just your general selfie hatred, and there’s that one I linked above condemning the newly christened “shelfie”. Here’s how they describe what a shelfie is: “It’s about gathering up ~significant~ objects and creating something that’s you.” What is this world coming to? Now people are creating still life shots that represent parts of their personalities or interests? Nooooooooo! *collapses dramatically from grief for the entirety of humanity*

Hey, judgey people? Don’t tell me what I can’t do. I mean. I make it a general life goal to never have anything in common with John Locke (from Lost, not the philosopher) (although maybe him, too) but in this case I can’t help myself. You say I can’t instagram my breakfast and suddenly I want to show you my same bowl of yogurt and granola every single morning.

But on a more cerebral level, every single one of these things is legitimately an interesting and relevant part of this world that I don’t want to lose.

I took part in the 7 Days project where we would meet quarterly for a week of self portraiture. It was fun, it was silly, and it was vitally important to my personal growth. Taking selfies taught me a lot about photography and I made new lifelong friends via the project. But the lessons I learned about myself were perhaps the most surprising aspect of what selfies are. Self portraiture taught me to see myself in a new way, it taught me to be photographed, it taught me to see beauty in a new manner entirely, and how to find it within myself. While I’m sure that there are people out there who ~~take too many selfies~~ take more selfies than you personally think they should, they may be learning these things, too. And these are good and important things to learn. You should try it.

But now there is this thing called “shelfies” which internet haters are hating on. And I just don’t get it. Like. Have you never been to a museum? Because like 90% of that is still life (percentages not verified by any source whatsoever) and I guarantee you those are nearly all staged. Do you think Edward Weston just happened across that sexy bell pepper out in the wild and grabbed a quick shot? Cause you’d be wrong. He staged it. And no one (except haters) talked shit about him taking pictures of bell peppers. Instead they put that shit in a book and called it art and now students have to study how awesome it is when they take beginning photography classes. It’s like when people say that fan fiction is “standing on the shoulders of giants”. Cause, in case you hadn’t noticed, much of literature is comprised of retellings or at the very least, allusions to older stories. Taking away the freedom to create the art that is inside us – in whatever form it comes in – is controlling and dampening and caging and wrong.

Language is constantly evolving. That’s what’s so awesome about language. You can post as many funny little images about how “irregardless” won’t ever be a word no matter how many times it’s used, but you could not literally be more wrong. (And I use that “literally” literally here.) If people use it, it’s a word. Period. That’s how words are born. That’s how words evolve. Admittedly, I enjoy the evolution of the world “literally” more than I enjoy the evolution of the word “irregardless” but I don’t deny that it exists as a word. There is a word that I picked up from some SNL character and it makes me giggle and I can feel it bubbling up from inside me, trying to become a permanent part of my vocabulary and I can’t hold it back much longer. So be prepared. I’m gonna start saying “tragesty”. (Admittedly, the frustrating part of evolving language is the autocorrect lag. No I do not mean travesty, Autocorrect.) But the point is that I am 36 and I can say “totes” or “adorbs” or “I’ll cut a bitch” and especially “feels” all I want. Because language is amazing. And I love watching it evolve. And I want to be a part of that. Finding new ways to communicate things is not a bad thing. It’s exciting! It is, in fact, totes exciting. And it gives me feels. So there. (See? Stubborn.)

In my creative writing class we had to do an exercise where we formulated a very short play. One person (whose writing I’ve always liked) wrote a scene between a grandfather and his grandson about how we should put down the phone and live life. And, sure. Sometimes we should. But I really wanted the grandson in this play to point out all the ways that technology is important to humanity, too. This slam poem has been making the rounds recently and I’ve tried to watch it on more than one occasion because I feel like it’s only fair if I give it a shot, but I can’t even get through it. I tried but my eyes rolled so far out of my head that I literally had to go to the ER (see: evolution of language). Again, I’m sure that there are times when this is advice that needs to be given. Sometimes people do get caught up in their technology and forget to pay enough attention to the world around them, myself included. But never forget how much that technology does to connect us. I am so different because of the internet. I’ve made friends who’ve taught me things, and taught me kindness, and taught me how to find out who I really am. Without those virtual connections I’d still be lost and scared and vastly more ignorant. Do not ever discount the importance of social media. Internet friends are still real friends.

But, even aside from all this, don’t judge people because judging people is shitty. End of story. You can try to open your mind and learn new things from the people you meet online, or from recently evolved language, or from selfies and shelfies – and I cannot recommend it enough! But even if you never do any of that, just don’t judge people. It doesn’t make them look worse, it only reflects on you. And, besides, as my friend Jen said in response to that Jezebel article, nothing will ever make me quit the internet.

The Zebra

This is without a doubt the absolute weirdest dream I’ve ever had. You’re welcome. I’m entertaining offers to buy the script for a future summer blockbuster.

BY bonnie

The woman’s arms were laden with packages. Old cardboard boxes, rumpled at the corners, edges softened with years of openings and closings. They were long, flat rectangles. She wasn’t sure what was in them, but she assumed they were Christmas ornaments recovered from some attic or basement in an old home on the East Coast somewhere. She walked briskly through the museum trying to find a map that would lead her to her destination. The place, being comprised entirely of marble floors, walls, monuments, and statues, was bright and cool. Her children, chattering, orbited her in gleeful circles as she searched for him. Ted Kennedy had passed away a few years ago, but she was on her way to return these things to him – or to his grave, at least.

But the museum was massive and her path was convoluted. The maps were unclear, the guidance lacking. People milled about in the background, but they did not offer help and she did not ask it of them. The children had run off somewhere, or maybe left entirely, one could not be certain. Around and around the museum she wandered. Possibly in circles. There were other graves and memorials along the main hallway, and in little nooks here and there, but not the one she sought.

That was when things started to go very wrong. Everyone fled and left her was alone in the massive marble halls. She turned a new corner and wound up in some back area, with ramps for unloading new shipments of valuables. Even this utility hall was pristine, built with the same marble the viewing areas were. Fire engulfed the room and raged across her path to Mr. Kennedy’s grave. At the end of the flaming marble ramp, two velociraptors fought. And yet, with such danger around her, the woman stood at the doorway, observing detachedly, merely disappointed that she would never complete her mission.

Being a Mom, Conversations With Kids, The Son

The hilarious is strong with this child.

BY bonnie

The other day my 8yo son was playing with his Avengers Legos and I heard him say, “Hulk. What a beefy lego.” And that was just funny enough on its own, but then I kind of laughed and repeated it and he just kind of looked at me – you know how kids look at you when you’re being a really, really stupid adult? – and said, “YOU KNOW MOM, ‘beefy’ can mean ‘strong’ too okay?”

I just found this quote on my phone from about six months ago. I have no idea what the heck was happening, but this was his response: “I can’t even feel my lungs this is so good. I mean I can. I just wanted to make a good pun.”

A couple of weeks ago we met Bethany and her family for lunch and were going to go to the movies afterward. We took Annalie in the car with us from the restaurant to the theatre and Elliott held the door open for her to get in the car. I told him that was sweet and he replied, “Well, you have to be nice to the ladies.”

Riding home from our recent vacation listening to Night Vale in the car, the host, Cecil, made some comment that I don’t even remember but that Elliott enjoyed. He laughed heartily and then proclaimed, “This guy is funny! DIBS ON HIM!”

The day before that, while trying to entertain the kids all the kids cooped up in one hotel room, Summer’s sister Amber offered the kids a chance to look at her son’s human anatomy kit. My son, the never-nude, squinted his eyes at her and replied, “I… don’t think that’s really appropriate for kids.”

The Zebra, This is a Woman

I don’t want to jinx anything, but here’s the first introspective psycho-spiritual growth post I’ve been able to write in a long time.

BY bonnie

Lately I’ve been introspective, reframing some thoughts I have about my self-proclaimed faults. I have long worked to balanced the good and bad of all things – to find the positive aspects of a troublesome trait or situation and vice versa. So I sometimes try to find the good facets of my faults (although admittedly not always).

One thing that has always been glaringly obvious to me is my need to please everyone around me to the extent that I sometimes sacrifice myself or my needs just to not make people even slightly annoyed with me. They teach you all through school not to give in to peer pressure and this sometimes manifests in that way so I feel like I should have learned this lesson a long time ago. And yet, I still struggle. Sometimes this means I’m really insecure about my tastes in music (which… why music? I’m not insecure in my tastes in books or television or fashion. huh). But, if I am being totally honest, sometimes this means that I listen with two widely open ears to the thoughts and feelings of other people. And so my openness, my need to please people, has actually made me more empathetic and careful and thoughtful.

Of course, just for fun, mix that in with my social anxiety and I become a tightly wind ball of awkward afraid to say any words in any order in the fear that I might inadvertently hurt someone. Thank god I’m cute.

My son is a good reader, but he does not (yet?) enjoy it very much. Once he told me it’s because he can’t see the pictures in his head. I know he’s got a mind that is very different from me. He’s a born engineer, and I suspect he’s got ADHD. So what if his brain is wired in a way that makes reading less enjoyable to him than watching a movie? I feel so strongly that books are important (and they ARE), but I wonder if maybe it’s okay to not like reading sometimes. Maybe it’s okay to have a differently wired brain, one that doesn’t like reading as much as some. It doesn’t make him any less smart, and it sure as hell doesn’t make him any less valuable.

So I started thinking about my faults – about this desperate need to please people – and about how those things mean both good and bad things for me. And I started to wonder if maybe it’s okay to just BE who I am. Maybe needing to please people isn’t something I need to fix about me. Maybe it’s just a part of me that gives me a gift in exchange for being challenged in other ways.

This week I went to a therapy appointment (because I do that now) and talked about my issues with self-hate. Because confession: Even after all the work I’ve done in myself and in the world, I still have this little ball of self-hatred underneath all the self-love and all the goodness that just won’t.go.away. I’ve tried everything. But that hard little core of loathing is just there. So I asked my therapist why and how I can make that stop and she said, “Maybe you don’t. Maybe you just learn to live with it.” And that was really not what I was expecting. But she has recently been doing work with balancing the light and the darkness of the psyche (my words, not hers) and I think she has a point. And I think this is all related to my recent musings. Maybe my little bit of self-hate is just a part of who I am. Of how I am wired (for some reason – maybe genetic, maybe a result of past abuses). Maybe if I just let her be, and accept that she’s always going to be there, maybe she won’t have as much power over me.

And honestly, it’s only been two days, but I feel like I might be on to something.

So here’s my radical experiment: Love my self-hate. Accept and acknowledge that little ball of self-hate. Talk about her when needed, casually, even. Don’t try to erase her, don’t try to hide her, don’t try to fight her. Just love her. Loving my self-hate. When Jesus said to love our enemies, maybe he also meant ourselves.

The Zebra, Vintage Blog Entry Time Yay

Vintage Blog Entry Time Yay: I Need a New Meme

BY bonnie

I have this creative nonfiction assignment for my creative writing class. I actually started this assignment like two months ago but now that it’s due this weekend I’m not happy with anything I have written. Naturally. So I’m sitting here scouring old blog entries for inspiration and I am toying with writing about the time I stalked that one actor. Or maybe that guy who was my first kiss. What I had started writing was bleak and basically hopeless because that is kind of who I am right now. I’m doing emotional cosplay of Richmond in general right now and that kind of writing is really better to never ever share with anyone because OMG EMO.

ANYWAY. I came across this at the old blog and it’s one of my favorite posts because I think I’m pretty much hilarious and I might be my own favorite comedian. I know PBS Ideas channel just did a whole thing about how memes get old and unfunny, but I call very bullshit much disagree wow. So there.

________________________________________________

He seems so nice, Ryan Gosling Meme. He’s always supportive and kind, no matter what. And it’s obvious he’s sincere. He honestly loves the mason jar lamp. And then he and I started to get to know each other a little better. And he started to offer to do things for me. Things like hand massages.

And I started to get a little attached, maybe. Like, I may not be pregnant at the moment, but with a guy as supportive and on the same page as I am, I could be.

So I realized that I needed to marry him. Honestly, I didn’t think it was asking too much to marry the nicest internet Meme ever.

Turns out, it totally was.

The light in my hallway went out. The one above my pantry. So I had to try to find food in the dark. It was horrible. And it stayed that way for DAYS. Ryan Gosling Meme never bothered to fix it. I tweeted my frustrations and Jen, being the wonderful friend and graphic designer that she is, sent me this message. And it was the best thing ever. And, I admit, it totally won me back. (What can I say? I’m slutty for the Doctor.)

But you know what? He didn’t change it after I went to bed. And he didn’t change it the next day either.

*sigh*

And I got really kind of mad at him. No, really. You think I’m just writing this line in character with this blog post, but I so totally am not. I was pissed. At an internet meme. For not changing my lightbulb.

Thank god I’m cute.

I decided I needed a new Meme to marry. So I started shopping around. First I tried John Cusack.

And he has a point. And I’m definitely intrigued. But there are two things wrong with this. First, he’s making promises again. He’s setting me up to get my heart broken again. Second, it turns out Ewan McGregor makes a way better pensive face.