Kid-friendly?

Sometimes allrecipes.com lets you down, and it's rough for everyone involved. Tonight, I was browsing through the kid-friendly recipe section when I found this listed as the #3 favorite kids recipe. Maybe times have changed since I was a kid.... but back when I was a youngun'--walking up hill to school both ways and the crossing guard was frozen solid so we had to push the nerdy kids into the street to stop traffic--it was so not cool to eat spinach, sundried tomato, pesto, and jalepeno peppers.

Pepperoni was the definition of cool. Kids today... they must not understand what we used to.

When the kids grow up and move out :(

I created a little friend about 4 months ago, and now he is feeling all grown up and is almost ready to leave the nest. I wasn't quite ready to say goodbye, but the original little red headed girl--the one before That Girl came into my life--has decided that she impatiently wants a child of her own without any of the wait. So tonight, I took my little friend and divided him into two pieces like Solomon and shoved him into two mason jars which I stole from my mother. Don't tell her.

I'm giving away half of my pet... Sometimes things grow up and need to move on. But luckily sourdough starter is like that. It can grow and divide and be given to friends, and still leave you with a complete child. And then it's like all the little red headed girls in your life can have a piece of you, and your legacy is living all over the world. So this is what it means to be a father.

Small talk

I'm not a big fan of small talk--unfortunately this is the main reason that I've struggled to find an internship this semester (A businessman's ability to talk is much more respected than a businessman's ability to work).

In any case... I just don't understand people who try to make small talk with people in secretarial positions. When I answer the phone at work, I really just want you to tell me who you want to talk to so I can transfer you there and return to whatever silly task I might have been doing.

Twice today I've had calls where people ask me how I'm doing and then proceed to make small talk. One of which went on for such an awkward length of time that I eventually had to ask him what I could do to help him. The other one was nice... but my mind was like, "I don't have any idea who you are... I don't know exactly why you're telling me about traffic strikes in New York or your thanksgiving plans.... ummm... who do you want to talk to?" Luckily, this one told me before I had to ask.

Would life really be that bad if we just lived in a world without small talk? Is there anyone else who is as afraid of it as I am?

A hard day at the Wal-marts

Today at the end of my trip to our good and neighborly wal-mart, I made the decision to go through the self check-out line as I had things like blush, girl deodorant, caffeinated soda and stuff. I knew that I had a lot of items... I knew that it would be an awkward, difficult process... but I did it anyways. It wasn't too crowded, so I didn't worry too much about people being angry at me. However, it was only a matter of seconds before 4 people were lined up behind me.

The first tragedy was with the yams. No... yams do not have stickers or barcodes on them. No... yams are not listed under y for yams or s for sweet potatoes. They are awkwardly listed under potatoes, sweet--which makes SO much sense.

Eventually after lots of minutes, I got to the part where I needed to scan in my coupon so I could save 50 cents on the aforementioned feminine deodorant. When it didn't appear to work... I tried to forget about saving money and to pay for my purchases. But because I had scanned in the coupon, it would not let me forget. I then had to find a cashier (a hard task at Wal-Mart) to approve my coupon so I could leave.

15 minutes after beginning to stand in the line, the poor woman after me was able to purchase her dozen donuts.

I headed for the door only to hear sirens--sirens alerting me that I was under suspicion for shoplifting. The little helper lady came to inspect my overly full shopping cart. I informed her that there were no electronics... mostly just groceries. She glanced over my receipt, and then with a smile far too awkward and a blush far too pink, she said, "I know what it is." Then her eyes proceeded to scan themselves over me. I haven't been checked out very many times in my life, but I've checked out enough people over the years to know what was going on. I knew instantly that the lubricant, that I had so carefully tried to not draw attention to, had betrayed me.

I got myself hence.

Google analytics is as unsatisfying as the devil...

I go to google analytics to gain knowledge about my blog.... I leave google analytics with more questions than I went in with. India? Michigan? Why doesn't any one in all of Canada care? Why is the average time spent on my blog 0:00? Who is googling the phrase "Brennan blog"? Google analytics calls me in like a piece of string cheese and then leaves me answerless.

Another really good question... why does blogger not recognize the words "google" or "analytics" as being spelled correctly?

The illusive letter 'y'

Do you ever worry that your major of study is destroying your ability to function in every day society. Today I needed to type the word Inventor on something.... After I submitted it, I realized that I had instead typed the word inventory....

Accounting is taking over every facet of my life! Any good support groups out there?

My pioneer trek

Those of you closest to me perhaps know that I am slightly obsessed (give 'er take a few levels of obsessiveness) with the blog pioneerwoman.blogspot.com. Well, recently The Pioneer Woman came out with her very own cookbook and went on a book signing tour. She made a stop over in Salt Lake City, so I figured that it was worth the trek to meet my hero. I knew that lots of people checked her blog... but I didn't figure that most people were as obsessed as I was. I just figured there would be a cute little cowgirl at a table surrounded by books and maybe 3 people.

We arrived in sugarhouse and found the streets lined with cars. We eventually found a slightly illegal place to park (a little close to the stop sign if you know what I mean) about 4 blocks away from the bookstore. As we approached the bookstore, we were inhaled into a mob of middle-aged relatively-larger women. Most of the women were struggling to carry their seven cookbooks. The mob was pressing and milling around the small bookstore. I heard some woman say that they had run out of cookbooks and that she was only going to have time to see the people with tickets. Tickets!? Who is this woman?

So... we left. It was a very sad end to my trek. It probably kind of felt like the people who went to Zion's camp excited for some blood and then were told to go back.... bloodless, cookbook less and happyless :(