Well, I may not have gone on a walk on Monday, but I did get some exercise by cleaning out all of the appliances in my kitchen. Yeah. Gross.

Actually, they weren't as bad as they could've been, but when my house smells different after the cleaning, it makes me wonder if my house smelled like dirty washing machine or dirty dishwasher before.

Argh. The dishwasher.

The machine itself isn't dirty; it has something coming up from the base and we can't figure out how to open up the thingy to look inside. Or, rather, I can't figure it out and my husband is having a little difficulty bending down to do it after bruising/cracking some ribs over the weekend.

Seriously, though, they should make self-cleaning appliances that really self-clean. This having to clean my cleaner crap is b.s. Our washing machine had so much soap buildup on the top that the rag I used to clean it was completely black when I was finished, and my arm still hurts from all of the scrubbing.

Scrubbing, you guys. Scrubbing. And I'm a pretty neat person, I just got out of my usual cleaning schedule when I was sick and I haven't gotten back into it.

Next week will be ceiling fans. I lead a very, very exciting life. Try not to be jealous.

Still. Self-cleaning appliances that require no effort on my part. I guess I'm going to have to invent that, too. Geez. What are all of the inventors doing with their time?

On a related note, I think I need to get a dog.

I'd like to be one of those people that gets up in the morning and says, "Yay! It's a beautiful day! Let's go for a run!" Sadly, I am not. In my house, it's more like, "Yay! Let's go have some cereal and sit on our butts and watch cartoons!"

Yeah. I should probably be realistic. Going for a run would be a stretch, but even feeling like going for a walk without throwing up my cereal would be nice.

I've been trying to convince myself for the last half hour that I should get out there now, while it's not hot and gross outside, but I can't seem to get up the energy to haul my big old butt out of my chair and exchange my pjs for walking clothes.

And bending over to put on socks and shoes? Out of the question.

I know I'm going to have to do it eventually, unless I want to weigh 400 pounds (I'm not exaggerating...I could very easily get there). The problem is, it takes me so long on days when my schedule is flexible enough for me to pick my time that by the time I get to it, it's hot and miserable and I think it may kill me. For reals.

Alright. Enough of this. I may have talked myself into it. Maybe.

Maybe.

Or maybe not...ugh.

We have joined the 21st century and started watching The Walking Dead. We hardly watch any shows that are actually on TV right now, so that's kind of a new thing in our house, but it's really good.

And really gory.

It's strange that I'm not bothered at all when it comes to zombies, because I am the biggest horror movie avoider of them all. I'm like a first-grade girl. A first-grade girl who has to change the channel when certain movie previews come on, because they scare the crap out of her.

Some previews show enough that I can guess the rest of the movie, or, at least, make up the rest of the movie in my imaginative little head, and what happens next (in my head) is usually way worse than what happens in the movie.

Yeah. So I just don't.

But zombies? Not scary. Maybe it's because they're so slow. I watch those things and think, "I could stay very, very quiet in a dark room and only go out during the day. Oh, and also, I would totally look INSIDE the abandoned cars. Plus, I would carry a baseball bat with me and just beat the crap out of them."

I think I'd be good. I really do.

And, when you kill them, you feel like you're putting them out of their misery and that's nice. I also think that maybe if we all washed our hands a little more, we could avoid the zombie thing. I don't know how. I just like to think of that.

In case you haven't seen it, here's a picture. I like how they put the zombie in it, and she's got her head all tilted to the side and her mouth open, like she's saying, "Heeeeeeeeey!"

Happy Friday!

Well, I'm back from my trip. We never mention going on trips before we go, because we're a little paranoid about break-ins. Yep, we're those people. Anyhow, we spent a week at my uncle and aunt's beautiful cabin (which is larger and nicer than most people's houses, mine included) in the mountains and did a whole lot of nothing.

Doing nothing is amazing.

We also got to see tons of wild animals, including baby deer and wild turkeys (the animal, not the alcohol), and have two birthday cakes (one made by my super cool family and one made by me) and see my Grandma.

And my Grandma remembered who I was the whole time we were there, which just made my day, AND she knew who my husband was, too. I love my Grandma so much, and that makes me really happy.

Anyway, I'm back. More later, but I was sure all five people who read this were terribly concerned not to get to read my musings upon farts and poop and the like. Have a super Thursday!

What is it about Chicken McNuggets that is so good? I know, in my brain, that there is not a lot of chicken in there, and there's a whole lot of nugget, which is really kind of scary if you think about it, and they soak/fry it in hot oil, which is tremendously bad.

Still, though. Every once in a while, they call to me. Their nuggety goodness beckons from up on the hill and I have to go.

I have to.

Then, about three hours later, my stomach always protests.

So why do I do that?

Yesterday was that day, and they were totally awesome, so it was worth it. I guess. Except that this morning I started thinking about it and it grosses me out because I know there's some kind of mystery in that crispy delicious fried breading outside, probably involving pink slime and some other mysterious substances. 

Not the kind of mystery Scooby-Doo solves. An icky mystery that would probably make the gang puke.

But still.

Still.

I know I'll do it again. It's only a few times a year, and that Sweet 'n' Sour Sauce just compounds the awesomeness to a level that could make my head explode.

Ew, though. Ew. I know. But it's fried.

I may have already posted about this, but I kind of feel like it's time again. It's sort of my duty to provide this type of public service.

You're not British.

There, I said it.

Just because you watched Harry Potter and Downton Abbey along with everyone else and you noticed that they put a "u" in some of their "-or" words, and they say certain slang terms that are just now making it over here, it does not mean you're British.

It means you're trying to be cool.

If you feel that you might, in fact, be British, here is a test that can help you to decide:

First off, have you ever been to England, Ireland, Wales, or Scotland? If so, was it for more than a month?

Secondly, were you born and raised in America?

Third, do you watch a lot of shows on BBC America?

If you answered "yes" to the first question and "no" to the second two, you might be British. Maybe. If not, you're definitely not.

Adding a "u" to words like "favorite" and saying everything is "bloody brilliant" on Facebook is not going to change that. Sorry.

Maybe go get a job. That might make you feel better about who you really are. Or, and this is way out there, just stop trying to be cool. Just be yourself.

Ah. I feel much better now. Brilliant, in fact (the smart kind, not the cool British kind).

My awesome sister took me out this past weekend for my birthday. We stayed in a super fancy hotel downtown and had room service and went to a baseball game and the comic expo. It was super awesome, and definitely worth the heat.

I was still pretty tired and stuff from feeling like crap, but most of our activities involved large amounts of sitting, so it worked out great. We even got to go to one of those Japanese restaurants where they Hibachi it up right in front of you, and that was magnificent. Especially because they made too much fried rice, so I got this ginormous pile, and I was still having some steroid hunger at that point, so that just hit the flipping spot.

So much ricey goodness.

I also experienced the majority of my facial steroidy swelling over the weekend, so that was fun. Every time I went into a bathroom, I could look in the mirror and get a peek at what I would look like if I gained a hundred pounds.

Not a good look.

By Sunday night, my face was approximately the size of a small European country, and I was getting emails from Campbell's about copyright infringement.

However, I hit the water really hard and stayed in my cool office all day yesterday, and the swelling decreased significantly.  It's really shocking, though, how much water your body will hold and how fast it changes what you look like. Weird.

So, great weekend, and I'm still (slowly) recovering. I wish there was a way that I could stop feeling like a 90-year-old lady, but every day is a tiny bit better, and that's probably the best I'm going to get. Singing is the next thing on the horizon, and hopefully my head gets opened up fully within a week or two so I can get back to some real practice. I managed two minutes of humming yesterday, and that's it.

Probably not going to cut it. Ah, well. It'll get there. I hope.