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Mini Me Mod

Age. 33
Gender. Female
Location Denver, CO
School. Other
» More info.
Sprocket's Training Milestones
Came home (Aug 2, 2014)
Asked to go outside (Aug 5, 2014)
Slept 4 hours straight (night) (Aug 5-6, 2014)
Crane Count
7/3/13 - 8
7/4/13 - 30
7/5/13 - 36
7/10/13 - 54
7/11/13 - 57
7/18/13 - 67
2/17/14 - 83
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Moon Mod!
To Read:
- Carrie
- Dream of the Red Chamber
- Time to Kill
- Scent of the Missing
- Stiff
Nano mod!
Books in Transit
Wednesday. 4.25.12 1:33 pm
So my books are supposed to come, today. Actually, amazon says that they left the post office and have been dragged around by the mail carrier since 9:00 this morning. Where are you oh booksie books!

These are kind of a valuable assortment of books. I got a new book, "The Explosive Child" for the explosive child in my life, "Fred Stays with Me" for the children of divorce in my life, "Beyond the Sling" just because I want to know more about attachment parenting and then finally "The Highly Sensitive Person" for... well... me. I am very excited about reading them, which is funny, because I have kind of been lagging on the whole reading fiction piece. I currently have Anathem, Sacre Bleu and Windup Girl to get through before I can even think about other books... but of course that isn't going to happen. I am just going to get to other books.

This, I feel, is why I need a two week vacation. Books are just hard to read when you can't 1.) take a whole week to stop freaking out about work and then 2.) take the second week to plow through the remainder of your reading material. That said, I am a colossally slow reader. That means, that I would have to take a month in order to finish it. This is why I either need a time machine or a time stopper. That way, I can either go back in time and finish my reading and catch up on my sleep OR I can stop time and do the same things. Sadly, this discussion is proceeding to more and more unlikely scenarios leading to the conclusion that I am wanting what I can't have.

So, I'm going to go to the porcelain throne, bring one of my books and wait for my new ones to arrive :( These are times, although I am abashed to admit it, where I am a little bummed that the world does not revolve around me.

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Kitchen Fires
Saturday. 4.21.12 11:21 pm
Be it extremely emotional, controversial, messed up, or whatever, this entry has been password protected.

If you know it, enter it; or, ask me for it.

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Necessary Sadness
Monday. 4.2.12 8:18 pm
I was talking to a friend, yesterday, about how we are too afraid of sadness In response, another of my friends stormed through the room and declared angrily, "I'm happy all of the time." What a contradiction! However, it did get me to thinking. Was I wrong? Should we strive for unconditional happiness? Or was I right, is sadness a necessary part of existence?

I have chosen the later and I'll tell you why. They did a study with chimpanzees where they hooked electrodes up to their brains and then had a researcher be sad, happy or angry across from them. As the chimp watched, it's brain lit up in exactly the same patterns as it would when the chimp itself was sad, angry, happy or angry. This is the basis of empathy. So imagine for a minute, that someone was incapable of having those electrodes firing (ie: was incapable of being sad). What a horrible person that would be? If they bumped you in the street and you fell over, they would not feel sorry for you. If they saw someone beaten and starving by the side of the road, they would not even think to stop.

We are sad sometimes, but this is not a bad thing. It is a sign that we are still human, still capable of knowing our own sorrow and knowing the sorrow of others... even if we would rather not.

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Kid story
Tuesday. 3.13.12 8:08 pm
So, I have a child who is a little hypoglycemic, like me. How can I tell?

Kid: I want to have a car.
Me: Alright.
Me: Alright, you don't have to have a car.
Me: Okay...
Kid: I'm kind of hungry.
Me: Cookie?
Kid: ::munch, munch:: I LOVE YOU!
Me: (Familiar? No...)

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Bananaphones and ninjas
Saturday. 3.10.12 8:14 pm
So, I came across my nanowrimo from 2011. I guess I hit a rough spot halfway through the month and valiantly tried to switch novels midstream. Talk about fat chance. Anyhow, I have been having some rough days and I was pleased to find this silliness all crammed together at the beginning. I hope you like it as much as I did.

     Clive looked both ways before he crossed the street. He knew he would have to do it again, before long, but he did so anyway. It is good to anticipate disaster, to a degree, especially when you are a snail. The ground went under his body, he felt the little pieces of gravel like a pumis stone on his pseudopod. He inched more and more along the street. Far above, the seagulls were flying. They were saying “caw” “caw” and trying to give some wisdom per the instructions of Jonathan Livingston Seagull. This story, and Clive had heard it, was a boring story about some bird who had wings and did not understand a single thing about what it was like to be a snail, although the people seemed to think it applied to them sure enough.

     “Excuse me,” one of the people said far above.

     “It’s alright,” Clive said in his snail voice, “I was just moseying along, don’t mind me.”

     “Oh, would you look at that,” said another of the people. He stopped and stared a moment from his high high height. A little girl in a flouncy dress stooped next to it as well, but the tall one told the little girl that they had to go and that he had a meeting.

     Clive did not understand these things called meetings, but he heard a lot about them. If snails ever wanted to meet… well it would take an awful long time, that’s all.

     Clive, in fact, was headed to a 'meeting' of his own. He dressed up in his Sunday best and headed across the road last week, in fact. His sweetheart, a Mrs. Julianna Novello, was waiting for him across the road in a little hallow log, but Clive knew that it would take him a little longer to get across the path and so he had encouraged her to go about her business and they would meet up at the spot whenever they could.

     I knew that something funny was happening when I saw pinstripes. Pinstripes are not exactly the best kind of fashion statement for mormagorgs on the best days, this was not one of those days. The streets were filled with cops and criminals, the smell of the sewers were flooding through the pipes, burping and belching with every step that I made. Even the gondalliers had decided that they should take the day off early.

     It was four o’clock on a Sunday afternoon and I started to feel a warm breeze coming in at me from the kitchen. At first, I was not sure how to feel about the rough fingers as they wrapped around my wooden stick. It was almost a thrill to be connected to this strange giant as he brought me closer and closer to his mouth. Then I started to perceived was about to take place.

     The gleaming white teeth bore down on me, the tongue writhing in his mouth like a snake, oozing its own slime. I could feel my skin melt in the 98.5 degree heat. My cherry deliciousness was sweeping away into nothing. Then there was a crunch. My whole body screamed, creaked and then collapsed against the fiercely gnashing yellow teeth. I shot back with my icy coldness, but it only took a moment longer before he was back on the hunt, biting and devouring me alive. Soon, I was nothing put a soggy stick, left limp in the creature’s mouth.

     “Do you want another one?” someone asked.

     “Sure,” boomed the voice all around me. He chucked me in the trash can. Just as the lid closed, I saw another of my friends, another of his victims, dive into his mouth.

     “No, not another one,” I wailed, but my soggy wooden voice fell on deaf ears. The massacre would continue, on an on, until all of the popsicle sticks were gone! Oh the humanity!

     Now, for something completely different.

     The receptionist picked up the phone, “I’m sorry, the line is rotting, may I help you?”

     “I’m sorry, but my dog ate your phone. I am calling you from the phone next door, do you think that you could bring up another one?”

     “Oh dear, your phone has been eaten? You do realize that our patented bananaphones are very expensive.”

     “Oh yes,” replied the woman on the other end, “but I’m afraid it was an accident. You see, I was not aware of your phones when I booked the hotel…”

     “Oh, that is alright,” the receptionist replied, “I will charge that one to your bill and get another one sent up. Is that alright?”

     “I’d rather you didn’t,” the woman replied.

     “Well, then I highly recommend that you replace the phone before you leave,” the receptionist replied tersely, “And why do you think we are called the banana phone hotel if we don’t use banana’s for phones?”

     “I thought it was a clever joke, or that… maybe you would have plastic banana phones, not rotting edible ones.”

     “How absurd. Plastic banana phones?” the receptionists contradicted.

     “It is not absurd, all sorts of people have plastic phones,” the woman retorted.

     “Oh really? Well, maybe tacky people, but we don’t have that kind of kitsch here,” she declared. Just as she did so, she squeezed the banana too hard. It squeezed through her fingers. She sighed heavily, looking up at the new customer.

     “I’m sorry sir, how may I help you?” she asked.

     Three sloths sat in the tree, with their three toes on each of their three hands were attached to three limbs. The fourth limb of each of the three sloths were poised delicately in the air.

     Immomagram did not mean to destroy the flux time capacitor. It was entirely an accident on his part, and not even a small accident either. It was as if the whole world had been ripped apart and not even the ninjas knew how to hide from it and that is who you really had to be looking at was the ninjas… even if you couldn’t see them.

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Being Sick
Thursday. 1.26.12 6:56 pm
Imagine we are all apples hanging out on the tree of life. One day, a great big black horse called Death rides up to this lovely bunch of apples and it picks one it wants to pluck off the branch. At first it just nibbles in sharp piercing stabs, but as it becomes more determined, it wraps it warm slavering mouth about the apple and starts yanking and pulling until, all at once, as though it got a bad taste in its mouth, it lets go. The apple has the joyous feeling of flying through the air, spittle flying off its shiny red surface into the sky until the pendulum of the branch swings back the other way and it is shaken vigorously, gasping for air.

This is a little bit what it is like to be sick with a 102.5 fever for two days. ...Bleh.

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