Scumbag brain.

ME, last night: Well, it's 11:15! I guess it's time for bed!

BRAIN: Actually, I think this would be a prime time to think about every single thing ever.

ME: Really, brain? Couldn't you have thought all these things like twelve hours ago?

BRAIN: Nope!

ME: Curses.

BRAIN: Also, I think we should compose an email we've been meaning to write for the last few days. And we'll mentally rewrite it over and over, changing one little word at a time.

ME: Is that really necess--

BRAIN: Over and over.

ME: But I really should--

BRAIN: OVER AND OVER!

ME: You know what, how about I just get up and write the stinkin' email right now?

BRAIN: Suit yourself.

ME: Fine. I will. But I'm not going to send it yet!

BLADDER: While you're up, would you mind relieving me? You really shouldn't have consumed a quart of liquid before going to bed.

ME: Sigh. If I must.

BRAIN: Now that it's 2:30 in the morning, I'm wide awake!

ME: Don't you have an "off switch" or something?

STOMACH: Feed me!

ME: What? No! It isn't time for breakfast yet.

STOMACH: FEED ME!

ME: Quiet, you! You will wait at least until the sun comes up!

STOMACH: Fine. But I will continue to make my displeasure known by growling unpleasantly.

ME: I think I'm going to try some relaxation techniques to help me fall asleep. First I'll focus on my breathing.

BRAIN: I have a better idea! How about I sing you to sleep? I'll start with all the songs from A Muppet Christmas Carol.

ME: In with the good air, out with the bad. In with the good air, out with the bad.

BRAIN: We're Marley and Marley, WHOOOOOAAA!*

ME: Maybe I'll focus all my thoughts towards the sensations in my big toe on my left foot. And I'll gradually work my way up to my head.

BRAIN: There goes Mr. Humbag, there goes Mr. Grim! If they gave a prize for being mean, the winner would be him!**

ME: Brain, I love you, but I hate you.

And that's how I didn't fall asleep until well after 3:30. And of course I was awake by 7:45. Sigh.

*Educate yourself.

**Can you believe Jacob saw this movie for the first time just this past Saturday?

"I don't drink gum."

So there I was, washing my hair and thinking to myself, "Dang, girl, you are shedding a TON today!" Naturally, my next thought was, "How can I make a blog post out of this?" 

I decided I would be really clever and take a picture of the shower wall, coated with my recently-departed hair and make a guessing game out of it. "Guess how many hairs I shed!", my post would proclaim. "The contestant who makes the closest guess will win a special prize!"

And then I would confess, "Just kidding! I've counted all of my shed hairs before. Never again. Never, never again."

And that would be that.

However, I hit a bit of a snag when it came to photographing the evidence. You see, when I took the first photo, you couldn't see the hair very well because it was spread out so much. I took the liberty of creating a representation in Paint:

So then I moved the hair to a more central location, with most ends meeting in a nucleus of sorts:

Finally, I wrapped the hair into a Giant Hairball of Mass Destruction:

At that point, I nearly tossed my cookies myself. So you can thank me for not posting the actual photos here. (Thanks are accepted both in verbal praise and in baked goods. Preferably baked goods.)

Lady, there's a hole in the doughnut, too.

Last Saturday, Heather and I volunteered at the Utah Tour de Donut. What's that, you ask? Why, it's nothing more than a 21-mile bike race, where participants cram as many doughnuts down their gullets as possible after the 7th and the 14th mile in a quest for a reduced adjusted time and everlasting glory. For every doughnut consumed, the rider takes three minutes off their total time. According to legend, one year the "King Donut" ate 28 glazed rings of fried dough.

Sounds pretty great, no? (Except for the eating 28 doughnuts part. That sounds slightly vomitous.)

As volunteers, we were promised free t-shirts and free access to any leftover doughnuts at the end of the race. Naturally, these were our main incentives.  Unfortunately, the t-shirts turned out to be a "traffic cone orange" color instead of hot pink or lime green or neon blue (or pretty much any other color besides orange). I suppose beggars can't be choosers.

To go along with our fashionable outfits, Heather and I were also bestowed highlighter yellow safety vests, as we were in charge of directing traffic along the course. And of course, we couldn't direct traffic without incredibly legit stop signs!

Not pictured: super attractive, extra large safety vests.

For some reason, the race coordinators didn't want two volunteers at the same turn on the course, so Heather and I were separated by several miles for the duration of the race. Fortunately, we had our cell phones and could text each other when we hit a slow stretch.

Things went great for the first hour and a half or so, with the small exception that we didn't have any shade or seating and our arms got really tired (try pointing to your right with your arm extended for 15 minutes nonstop and you'll see what I mean). Many of the riders expressed their appreciation by thanking us every time they rode by (they had to complete a 7-mile course three times to finish). Several participants wore tutus and inflatable doughnut hats. Others rode tandem bicycles or, surprisingly, traveled on roller blades. It was all well and good.

And then we hit the last half hour of the timed race. Most of the cyclists had finished by then, so there were long stretches where we were just standing there doing nothing (except texting!). A lady in a car who happened to drive behind a fairly large clump of riders rolled down her window and yelled at me because they were riding in the middle of the street instead of on the side. Um, sorry? They were riding in the middle before they got to my turn, so I'm not sure how she expected me to enforce them sticking to the side of the road. I told Heather about this lady and she told me, "You should cut her!" Tempting. Very tempting.

Then, a little while later, I was several feet inside the right lane and held up my stop sign so a father and his son could cross safely. The truck I was trying to stop was not having any of that. It kept barreling towards me, and once it was five feet away or so and I realized it had no intention to stop, I leaped out of the way! The man referred to my stop sign and said, "I guess those are just a suggestion. . . ." Indeed.

Anyway, after an eternity of standing around and exchanging increasingly desperate texts with Heather ("I'm wilting!" "I think my left ankle is sunburned." "If they don't have any leftover doughnuts I may shed a thousand tears", and so forth) we were finally picked up in a blessed chariot of fire. By which I mean a van with air conditioning.

And we were just in time to eat the very last two doughnuts.

The Mush Pot

In general, I am not a very sappy person. At least, that's what I like to think.

Back in high school, I was vehemently vocal about my strong dislike for pet names among couples. When my dating friends called each other "muffin" or "cookie" (shout out if you're reading this!), I would either a) visibly shudder, b) tell them to stop being so mushy, or c) pretend to vomit.

I know, I was so mature.

I would say that I'm still not such a huge fan of pet names, but Jacob and I have a plethora of nicknames we call each other. Allow me to share a few.

By and large, the number one name we call each other -- even above our own given names -- is Charlie. And this must be said in a British accent, like this:

Variations: Charlie Brown, Charlie Bucket.

Another way we address each other is by filling in the blank: "Oh, my little ____________", with one of the following:

- pony
- squankee/squankinator (a million bonus points to you if you know what this is from and you aren't my sister)
- Honey Bunches of Oats
- petunias/flufflunias
- stinkerpuff/stinkerpants

And yes, we have even succumbed to jokingly calling each other food names, such as Peaches, Pears, and (Jacob's absolute favorite) Plums.

So, what do you think? Have I weakened my resolve against pet names or are these still significantly less mushy than most?