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ntbubbles
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Name: Nicole
Birthday: 1/17/1983
Gender: Female
Interests: I believe that wine in a box is just as good as the kind in a bottle. I believe in pillow fights and tickle fights, but not real fights. I believe in the snooze button. I believe in buying things you can't afford sometimes, just because you deserve it. I believe that everyone needs at least one really good friend, and that friends are truly the best thing a person can have. I believe that cosmopolitans can be consumed in the middle of the day. I believe that some songs are popular for a reason, and it's not necessarily bad to like them. I believe that it's okay to eat ice cream in lieu of a meal once in awhile. I believe that everyone should share a little piece of themselves with others, and maybe they'll share a little with you too.
Occupation: Administrative
Industry: Legal
Message: message me
Website: visit my website
Member Since:
3/12/2005
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| Not in real life. Just my blog.
Xanga's pissing me off.
Plus, I'm fickle like that.
Please come visit me at http://ntbubbles.vox.com. It's pretty.
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| I go through all that trouble to write up an amusing anecdote about the wedding this past weekend, and all I hear from you people is "WHERE ARE THE PICTURES? WE WANT PICTURES. SCREW YOUR STORIES, YOU SUCK, PICTURES!" Well screw you guys. I'm going home. Here are your damn pictures. 
The link will take you to the Flickr set. | | |
| I went to a friend's wedding this weekend. It was a very nice, non-traditional wedding involving a knot tying and the admission that the bride and groom will, in fact, most definitely piss each other off at some point written into the vows, which I found to be incredibly awesome and refreshingly honest. The bride looked gorgeous, the groom was handsome, the weather was perfect- all in all, a perfect wedding.
That is, until the bouquet toss. The toss was announced and immediately all the single girls exchanged frightened looks. Remember, we're all still pretty young in marriage-terms, and either happily single or with boyfriends who find "marriage" to be a naughty word and, also, a death sentence.
As commitment-phobe as most of the us are, none of
the girls wanted to go up and catch the flowers and put that pressure
on their boyfriend, or perhaps more importantly, put themselves in a prime position for teasing from those of us who didn't catch the bouquet.
So the bouquet toss was announced and the girls began exchanging "HIDE ME THERE IS NO WAY I'M CATCHING THAT THING NO FREAKING WAY" looks. Until we looked at the bride, who was holding her flowers and waving us over to the designated bouquet-catching area. We couldn't very well be the bitches who ruined her big moment, so we sighed and wandered over, making sure to claim spots as far away from the probable area of landing as possible.
The bouquet was tossed. Boys were standing off to the side, desperately shooting "DON'T YOU DARE CATCH THAT THING" mental rays our way. As the bouquet fell, the group of girls took a cumulative step back so that the 10-year old flower girl could catch them, as she was obviously the only one who had not developed a deep and ingrained fear of marriage.
When it was time for the garter toss, several of the guys (my own boyfriend included) found it to be the perfect opportunity to disappear to the bathroom*.
After the wedding, everyone headed over the the groom's family's house, where the alcohol was flowing freely and all pressure was completely forgotten in the warm and fuzzy embrace of drunkeness.
You gotta love weddings.
*a.k.a. Hiding behind a pole. Pussies.
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| or, I Compromise My Artistic Integrity.
There are moments in life during which I am so sure that there is a God, and that God is up there, looking down at me and laughing His ass off. Case in point: I got locked out on my balcony for 45 minutes yesterday. By my cat.
I know what you're thinking: Cat's don't have opposable thumbs! They can't lock doors! Well, I am here to tell you that yes, yes they can. And they will.
I was planning on leaving my house at 7:00 last night to meet some friends. Around 6:45 I was ready to go, so I decided to smoke a quick cigarette before heading off on my merry way. The door leading to the balcony is a sliding glass door, which we keep locked with a couple of wooden poles on the tracks to keep the doors being openend from the outside. I moved one of the wooden poles away from the door, and stepped out onto the balcony.
Once I was done smoking, I turned to open the door to hea d back inside only to find that the door wouldn't open. I pulled harder. Still nothing. That was when I looked down to notice that my sweet, darling little kitten had somehow managed to push the wooden pole back onto the track so that the door couldn't open.
A visual aid*:
So there I was, trapped on the world's tiniest balcony**, with no way down. I tried to wait it out for a few minutes, hoping that my roommate would come home and rescue me.
He didn't.
After a little while, jumping down actually started sounding like a good idea. "It's only the second story," I thought, "And if I aim right I might just miss that pile of rocks. And those logs. And the concrete slab."
Alas, I'm not insane so that plan didn't work either.
After about 30 minutes of standing outside, I had a great idea to use some metal plant hangers that were out there from a prevous tenant and attempt to jimmy the door open. After much Macgyver-style maneuvering and shaking of the door, I managed to get the plant hanger in a position to nudge the Door Stopper of Doom® out of the door, so that I was able to open the door. Finally. 45 minutes after I realized that my cats are foul, evil creatures disguised as cute, cuddly creatures. Don't let them fool you. They are bad. They actually sat there and watched bemusedly throughout this entire process, even when I was throwing my entire body weight against the door.
I now understand how dogs got the title of "Man's Best Friend." If their only contender was cats, it's no contest.
On the upside, chasing them around the house with the Door Stopper of Doom® was awfully fun.
*Artwork created with the ultra-high tech Microsoft Paint.
**This is not an exaggeration. My balcony is approximately 4 inches wide.
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| I don't dream very often. Or, rather, if I do, I rarely remember them. A fact which I am extremely happy about following the sorry excuse for a dream that I had last night. The complete and utter banality of it made me think, "Hey! This totally fits in with all of the other completely boring blog entries about my completely boring life!" And that, my friends, is why you're reading all about it here.
It started out okay. I was teaching a class, and caught one of the students cheating on a test. Were this anyone else, this is the point that something moderately cool would have happened. Maybe they would have smacked the kid upside the head with a stick. Or taken him in the hallway for a serious ass-whoopin. Or strung him up in front of the class by his toenails while yelling, "And that is why you don't cheat on my tests!" and patroling the room with a whip. I could have done so many things that would have made me wake up thinking, "Damn, I am the shiznit."
But what, instead, did my dream self do? And continue to do until I finally bored myself awake?
I collected the tests. And graded them. One by one. Extremely carefully.
I mean, seriously. Who does this? In dream world, where one is capable of doing anything they want to do, I sit at my desk and grade papers.
I am so going back on Tylenol PM.
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