So I took some pictures this weekend of the memorial day festivities. My aim in taking these pictures and posting them on the World Wide Web is twofold. First, I wanted to make the food served at my friends' barbecue look unappetizing, and at the same time, I wanted to ensure that neither of these girls would get dates in this town ever, ever again.
Now, why would I want to do this to my two closest friends?! Gosh, I just don't know, but I've done it before and I'll do it again and again without even thinking about it! Check out my flickr!
Tonight I had a jam session at my house. Basically, I had a bunch of friends over, told them to bring some fruit, and I'd show them the "Fredenburg family secret" for making delicious jam. Only 2 people out of 13 were crestfallen to discover that the Fredenburg family secret can be found in the informational insert in a box of prepackaged fruit pectin.
It seems that a successful blog is a specific blog. My pal Siri's blog is a hit because she sticks to fashion, and who doesn't love that? My interests and my posts are eclectic; so where do I fit in the blogosphere? Surely I can't have a news-crafts-jam-cookies-cats-math-and-drama-of-my-life-blog. Though if I did...
...then I'm pretty sure my readers would be confined to midwestern housewives, kindergarten pupils with incredible reading comprehension levels, and well, cats. Mostly just cats. The third cat down represents the "drama-of-my-life" faction.
Rachel and I have encouraged our dads to start blogs, so that at the very least, they will be reading this. Then we can have a "family" blog!
p.s. the word "blog" was used 6, no, 7 times in this post.
I was just fondly recalling some good times with Rach. This is a picture of that time that she ate an entire box of cheez-its. Look at that worried expression on her face, as if to say, "Julia, is this gonna hurt?" and I said, "Yes," but she didn't hear the answer over the crunching. She probably didn't even buy those. In fact, I bought them. I bought her snacks and then I drove her home and she wouldn't let me leave until I read her The Velveteen Rabbit. Then I had to make her a plush Velveteen Rabbit out of scraps of felt and tears from orphans. Stupid bitch.
I just realized that I went 4 years in college without joining an outrageous subculture. Is it too late to become a bike punk? Oh well, I'm really much to busy with math homework. Crap-- it's 11:26-- I should have been in bed hours ago.
So I'm thinking to myself, "It's a friday night, I'm an attractive 20 something, and single, maybe I should go out and see what kind of trouble I can stir up." But then, as if God's own hands had guided mine, I typed the word "felt" into a search engine instead.