idontbelieveingrammar

Some reccomendations on how to play it safe: Order the same thing. You already know you like it. Shop at the Gap. Wear appropriate swimwear. And never forget sunscreen. Keep your training wheels on. Don’t call. Don’t go first. Save for a rainy day. Keep waiting for that rainy day. Carry an umbrella. Work late. Pick neutral tones. For your walls and nails and cars. Wear a helmet. And kneepads. Keep your windows rolled up and your doors locked. Screen your calls. Hit save instead of send. Never wrestle. Never commit. Play by the rules. Don’t make promises. Just in case you can’t keep them. Eat in your room or your cubicle. Get coffee by yourself. Do what always works. Always have a plan and a map. Don’t do things that scare you. ever. Dress in layers. Match your socks. Have conditions. Wait. Put your keys in the same place every night. Always take your phone. Get a second opinion. Always use a dryer sheet. Use your parking brake. If it’s not working, gi...

I went to visit a good friend this weekend. When I walked into her town house, the Christmas tree was still up. The laundry piled on a chair in the basement where I was sleeping and toys scattered the floor. When I asked for a broom (as a prop, not for cleaning purposes), she told me she didn’t have one. To which her husband replied. Yes we do. Beside the fridge. It was just like my house. But neater. The other day I had some friends over unexpectedly and we had to make our way through dolls and toys and legos just to put our purses down. And I didn't even flinch. Because they know me. It wasn't the first time they have seen laundry baskets in my living room, dog hair in the corners and dirty dishes in the sink. They know my mess. And came in anyways. Most of my favorite friends don't require knocking, much less picking up first. Or makeup. Or even getting out of my pjs. Sometimes me and another friend send pictures back and forth to see whose house is messier. A...

The jaguars had their first game of the season this weekend. In the post flash flood sticky heat. Those poor boys who never seem to run out of energy, Looked like they were going to melt out there. Most of us sat on the sidelines under umbrellas downing Gatorades and sweating through our clothes just watching. Owen has decided that he now likes soccer. Even games. And he is still the littlest and least decorated ( they get a patch everytime they score a goal). I am happy to get to keep my seat on the sideline. And even happier to not have to bribe him with a nickel for everytime he touches the ball. He may not be scoring any goals, but I’d be out at least a few bucks these days if we still resorted to the bribing. After the game which was lost in heartbreaking last second fashion, the jaguars quickly forgot their misery as they got snacks and high fives. We were packing up our chair and cooler when someone else’s lawn chair flipped. Another player’s grandfather sprawled on the sidel...

For the last month I’ve been training for a sprint triathalon. It is a 300m swim, 20K bike ride and 5K run. Guess who won’t be sprinting? It was a little crazy for me to sign up. Because I’ve never swum laps and the peak of my cycling career was about when I was around 10 years old. I have run in over a dozen 5Ks. Or at least mostly run. And even a few longer races. So training for the running part doesn’t really scare me. And back in the day, I owned my neighborhood on my Schwinn, so how hard could the bike part be. I was petrified however, of the swim. So. I joined a gym. Bought a decent pair of goggles, a speedo and started swimming laps. I even broke down and bought a swim cap. My first time in the pool was rough. After only two laps I was winded. I couldn’t figure a breathing pattern out and the water felt thick and heavy and hard to push through. But eventually, every day I swam a few more laps. The water started to feel relaxing and I got into a rhythm. I still haven’t figured o...

The last few days I spent a lot of time in the car… Which means I read lots of books. But it seemed like every time I was getting to the good part, it was time to stop for gas or for lunch or to find a lost toy or my husband suddenly wanted to engage me in conversation or Owen want to show me something…..well you get the idea. In a story, the “good part” is called the climax. (and I’m sure you all know this and don’t need an English lesson from a girl who doesn’t believe in grammar, but humor me here…I am getting to a point…maybe….at least I hope to get to a point). When I googled climax (carefully of course or else I’d have all kinds of definitions that I could not post here)…this is the definition that popped up: “The climax is the result of the crisis. It is the high point of the story for the reader. Frequently, it is the moment of the highest interest and greatest emotion. The point at which the outcome of the conflict can be predicted.” In addition to all this car reading, I’ve...