Thursday, August 12, 2010

Completely Unrelated, But Totally Awesome, Thoughts

1.    Have you ever suddenly had an incredibly intense pain in your stomach that was more like your side and it kept getting worse and you thought oh my gosh, I’m going to die.  Not as in, I’m-being-dramatic- I’m-going-to-die, but as in I’m actually going to die.  And the pain gets worse and you are about to scream your head off, but you hold it in because your husband is sleeping and you’re considerate like that, but then you think that maybe he should know you are about to die because that is information he could find useful?  But then you get up from the toilet (did I mention you were peeing? Probably not.  It’s not really all that relevant to the story) to wash your hands, because you totally don’t want to be known as the girl who died with dirty pee hands, and then the pain goes away.  And then you’re really glad you didn’t scream bloody murder and wake up your husband.  But then you think you should wake him up to tell him how considerate you are for not waking him up when you were about to die.  But somehow that seems counterproductive so instead you make yourself a kick ass awesome wife award, print it out and tape it to the bathroom mirror so he sees it when he wakes up in the morning.  But instead of being able to print it, your stupid printer decides now would be a good time to run out of ink. And then you’re like, well f*ck.  Now what?  Oh, I know.  I’ll blog about it.  This story is very interesting and everyone will be thoroughly entertained.  Good idea me.

2.    Dear Eminem,
Please stop singing.  I’m sure all your new songs are really super duper great and full of suicidal fans and wife beating and what-knot, but you are about to get me fired.  Instead of doing all my important work things at work, I spend my days trying to engineer a device to extract my eardrums from my head so that I no longer have to listen to your songs.  Like I said, I’m sure they’re just dandy, but Sirius plays them every fifteen minutes.  Literally.  I timed it. Every. Fifteen. Minutes.  All effing day. I suppose you’re going to say that I should probably blame Sirius, but the way I see it, they’re just the messenger.  They are your songs, after all, so I’m going to blame you.  I don’t suspect this letter will do me any good, cuz the last time I checked you weren’t very good at writing back your fans, so by the time you read this I’ll probably be sitting in my car at the bottom of the lake, or something like that.

Sincerely,
the girl with soon-to-be no eardrums if you don’t shut the hell up

3.    Have you ever written a letter to a rapper with a race identity crisis, who seems like he might have some anger issues, criticizing his music and then get really scared he’s going to find out and track you down and write a really violent song about you even though there is no way in hell he’d ever find your blog to know about the letter, but you’re still kinda terrified about the whole thing? And by “kinda” I mean a whole freaking lot.  That, my friends, is an extreme case of paranoia.

4.    Remember those pair of pants you bought that never fit you even though they seemed like they did in the store?  You totally would have returned them, but you’re lazy and throwing money away is sort of a hobby of yours.  Then one night, at 1:15 a.m. you are digging through your closet to find something to wear to work when you stumble across those pants and you think, maybe, and you try them on and they totally fit.  And you’re not sure whether you should feel elation over not having to do laundry at one in the morning or depression over finally being fat enough to wear the pants that never fit you.

5.    Sometimes I am inspired by an old couple at the airport, sometimes by a song, sometimes by the light peeking from the garage.  And sometimes I’m inspired by my husband.  Here is a story based on one of those times.

Unlikely Love
By Kelley Williams

In the dark I reach for you.
I am half asleep but I need to feel your touch.
I hold you.  I caress you.  I kiss you.
Together we make magic, create moments reserved for Hollywood.
I drift back to sleep and let you go, but you are never far from my thoughts.
My love.
My life.
My lamp.


6.    I have reached the pinnacle of my writing career.  Someone googled diarrhea pants and found my blog.

7.    I sit here writing with the sounds of football in the background.  Life is good.

8.    In the honor of the impending football season, I leave you with some marriage advice:

You and your husband must be die hard fans of the same college football team.*  Nothing says divorce like a Gator and a Seminole living in the same house.  Or a Gator and Bulldog.  Or a Gator a Tiger.  Seriously, if you’re not a Gator why bother?  It’s as if you want your spouse to call you a loser.  A Gator and a Buckeye in the same house are okay as long as the one of you that’s the Buckeye doesn’t mind answering the question ‘what the f’s a buckeye?’ on the daily, and is cool with being totally dominated, in a completely non-sexual way, by your spouse over and over again.

*Those exempt from this are my married friends who are living in a house divided.  Their marriage will totally last.  The rest of you are screwed.


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Amylicious, here is your award.



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Mah Book Progress: approximately 5 very painful sentences

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