Is your dash, like mine, full of posts about Brave and the relationship between Merida and her mom Elinor? And is it as weird for you as it is for me to see so much of the rare proper spelling of our name?!
It IS weird! But I like it. :) Finally, some goddamn appreciation!
A thing about my Elinor name that is kind of cool - my great-great-great-great grandma was Elanor. Her granddaughter was named for her, but spelled it Elinor. Then HER granddaughter - my grandma - was named Elinor, but changed the spelling to Eleanor in the 30s because she was such an FDR fangirl. I was named for her, but my folks opted for traditional spelling.
I’m betting the name is going to keep becoming trendy to the point that people totally corrupt spelling. How long until baby Ellynnors are roaming the playground?
HOWEVER, I have found that when employed with other types of real chocolate, white chocolate is a non-issue. I have very much enjoyed double chocolate chip cookies. In fact, chocolate chip, white chocolate, and macadamia nut cookies are delicious (if you don’t have an aversion to nuts).
The addition of white chocolate is forgiven by the presence of dark chocolate. Dark chocolate is as delicious and decadent as it gets, she’s got this cookie victory on lock.
Ann Romney throwing candy into oatmeal will ruin America. And candy. And oatmeal.
How is my dash not peppered with the adorability that is This Movie yet?
All of you: go watch it, and then come back here. Bring gifs.
ETA: Okay, I have more to say about this. My budding movie writing brain has more to say.
The thing that I love about this movie is that it had so many pieces in place to be cynical, and it seemed to move that way, but it came back around to be sweet, and sincere. Not many movies are sincere these days, and when a movie doesn’t seem like it will be, and then IS - well, it’s a treat.
Reason #9284932470932 America is all kinds of fucked up
I’m gonna clarify because that’s how I do. Poverty level for a family of four is $23,050. For one person it’s $11,170. Info here (pdf). If you make minimum wage ($7.25) and work 2080 hours per year (about average), income before taxes is $15,080.
Not disputing that this is a crazy small amount of money. But more numbers make a clearer picture.
Yesterday I was mocking pinterest in front of my husband, and he had no idea what it was. So I tried to explain it to him. If you think pinterest already sounds insane, imagine how it sounds to a person who isn’t even aware of the mason jar takeover of all contemporary decorating.
After my dad passed away a couple of years ago, some friends bought me and my brother tickets to see fucking Rob Schneider perform. It was a joke present, but real tickets, and after some time, I accepted that I was going to see Rob Schneider live, and began to look forward to the ridiculousness of it. And then like two days before the show, motherfucker canceled. And then I was disappointed. Disappointed by NOT seeing Rob Schneider. While mourning my father. It was a rough couple of months.
Would anybody like to read the saddest story ever told?
A friend of mine had elderly neighbors growing up. Every day the couple would ride their tandem bike together around the neighborhood. And then the wife died, but the husband would still ride their bike around.
Let’s repeat for clarity:
Elderly widower rode a bicycle built for two…alone.
I went to my first class last night. It was fun! It was more pilates-y than I expected - there wasn’t a ton of bar stuff except using it to not fall over - but it was good exercise and not boring.
I was worried that everybody in the class would be crazy fitness people, but there was a mix. A lot of the women looked like current or former dancers, but there were some normals, too. Nothing was too hard, or like crazy advanced, and plenty of people (even the size zero ballerinas) did modified movements so I didn’t feel weird or embarrassed to be a beginner.
Oh, also, I was right next to a girl who looked SO. MUCH. like Martha Jones. Like, a crazy amount. But with dreadlocks. She was impossibly gorgeous. I kept sneaking peeks at her face and then feeling like a weirdo. And then I accidentally kicked her. SMOOTH, SELF.
Did I ever tell you guys why I hate The Eagles? Like EXTRA hate them?
When I was doing my American-college-student-with-a-backpack-in-Europe thing, some guy at a hostel recommended we check out this tiny Italian town that wasn’t even in the guidebooks. So we did. Or tried to, anyways. Turns out the fucking EAGLES had heard of this little place, and were playing a free show there that very same night. Everything, for miles in any direction, was booked. We had to go all the way to Pisa and stay in a fancy hotel because it was getting dark and that was all we could find. It was a stupid, expensive waste of a night.
So, FUCK YOU THE EAGLES. NOBODY LIKES YOU. AND YOU COMPLICATE TRAVEL.