In case you hadn’t met your quota of creepy real-life stories lately, my hometown’s most notorious serial killer is calling attention to himself, 25 years after he was last heard from. And he’s seriously fucking creepy.
I got back to my parents’ home in Wichita last night, tired and alone, but glad to have escaped the complexity Chicago offered me.
Today I had two computers to set up for my family and one KU game to watch for my team. Tomorrow I have two (or three or more) pies to bake for a backyard cookout at my cousins’ house. It’s good to be home.
As if my posting hadn’t been minimal enough lately, in about an hour I’m getting in a car with Boyfriend and Roommate and driving to Roommate’s house in St. Louis, where we will all stay for the night. Tomorrow morning, Boyfriend and I are bound for Chicago, where we will spend my spring break, making Katie’s Bank Account go from “hey, I have money” to “shit shit shit, I’m broke.
I’m taking two cameras (digital and film) and am hoping I will not be so lazy that I forget to use them. I’ve been terribly lazy about that the last year and a half.
The point: I will be out having fun and unable to post about any of it until my return. No promise of an internet connection until next weekend.
It’s so damn nice outside, I feel ashamed for blogging it.
For me, the very definition of nostalgia is looking up insults we never really knew the meaning of back in junior high on the blessed UrbanDictionary and finding out, according to our more informed peers, what they actually mean.
A couple months ago, I was driving around Wichita with my mother, listening to NPR, when they aired an interview with the UrbanDictionary creator (and he provided a definition of milkshake as an example of what the site “does”). It made me chuckle a fair bit to hear about a site that seems…eh, a vital part of My Internet, being explained to NPR listeners everywhere. I wasn’t sure to respond with, “tsk, everyone knows about UrbanDictionary, duh,” or “noooo, don’t tell Them about our Precious.”
In celebration of Pi Day (3.14…3/14…March 14), a friend and I baked a couple apple pies. Because, you know, we are nerds like that.
And then we shared them with the rest of the house, and they were quickly gobbled up.
So it seems that baking an apple pie from scratch is not too hard. Good to know.
So, what’s the best way to ask someone you have to see every day to please remove the stick from his/her ass?
I often think of
the sweet gig I could have right
now. Cue the facepalm.
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