In Which I Random

It has come to my attention that I have been raising a bit of a "hullabaloo" lately. Although, I was already aware of how outspoken I have been lately but then it was made known to me that other people have noticed and then I remembered that this is a public blog and actual real-life humans can access it.
So this is me apologizing for flying the Srs Bsns Flag for so long.

[^^my facial expression the last, like, month and a half]

As soon as I can think of anything interesting to talk about we'll get back to our regularly scheduled nonsensical silly postings.

Adulthood is so boring. The more responsible and mature I try to become, the less fun and cool things that seem to happen. I mean, unless you count nearly being swarmed and shanked and simultaneously burning my house down as being "cool" and "interesting".
Except by swarmed I mean literally just insects and by shanked I mean stabbed by a clipped tree branch stub because I wasn't paying attention to where I was going and by almost burning my house down I mean I left food on the stove unattended.
What is storytelling if not gross exaggeration and hyperbole?
I was making parmesan chicken and rice [okay quick sidenote: can someone please tell me the secret to fully cooked brown rice?? I feel like it takes twice the liquid and twice the time to get it not crunchy anymore...] and I needed lemon juice/zest. I have never normally stocked lemons so I usually can't complete recipes like this but now we have a fancy lemon factory (aka overfruitful tree) in our backyard so I was like, "Ooh! Lemons! I haz those!" and went out back to pick a lemon. It's frightening how cool I felt being able to step out back for supplies to finish a recipe. This is why I need a garden. And a life.
Regardless, I had a weird soupy concoction of rice, broccoli and carrots and green bell pepper (because I didn't have frozen artichoke hearts so veggies?), and the chicken broth I made up myself from bouillon cement cubes boiling on the stove and probably burning to the bottom of the not non-stick pan but I ran out to grab a lemon because I'm bad at lining up all my ingredients beforehand.
But it's spring-ish and there are citrus blossoms bloomin' everywhere and I nearly stuck my hand in a picnic of bees. So I decided to grab our picker-on-a-stick (what are those called??)

[not an actual depiction of me harvesting fruit]

[considering those are grapefruit]

But in reaching for it behind the tree I forgot the exact location of every sharp branch stump sticking off of the tree and I backed into a particularly painful one on my way back out.
I prevailed however, grated and sliced my fresh lemon to add to the pot and then quartered it and sent the lemon down the garbage disposal. I love having citrus trees right in our backyard.

I never got the rice uncrunchy. Sigh.

I bought a random book, "20 Common Irish Tales" from Goodwill last time I was there (like a week and a half ago, I have a problem) and began reading some of the stories and it's kind of traumatizing me. They're less like leprechaun fairy tales and more like legends from the history of Ireland. Which is still fascinating! But not exactly the taste of culture I hoped to share with my children at bedtime. But it did give me a couple new favorites for baby names.
Gaelic is a beeping trip through crazyland, amirite? Like, I thought french was bad with the whole extraneous, superfluous letters and junk but Gaelic takes the cake.
All who have watched "Leap Year" know the frustration of Anna when she's in the pub trying to ask the bartender a question and the back of his jersey is inscribed with something like "Eoghan" and it's supposed to be pronounced "Owen". (I am also plagued with the frustration of not being in Ireland with a hunky irish man guiding me across country with a hunky name like "Declan". I can handle Declan. Life is rough. I'm married. Oops.) But that's honestly one of the more understandable ones. Or I guess easily understood because I'm sure if I actually studied the language and knew the logistics it would all make relative sense.
But "Conchubar"? Connor.
Aoife? That's an incredible vowel to consonant ratio. Phonetic spelling "Eefa".
And then there are the stories that don't include a pronunciation guide and my brain dies a little inside.
I'm just a dumb, airheaded American gaiz. I can't handle culture and languages and words are hard.

Warning! Do not read further if you have not seen Frozen!

Really though I don't want to ruin it for you.

Spoilers Spoilers Spoilers!

Switching gears, can we talk for a second about Frozen but not at all what you're thinking! I promise! How totally awkward and weird is "Love is an Open Door" now that Hans has been found out? What has to be going through his head this whole quirky number?

italics = song lyrics
bold italics = Hans' real thoughts

All my life has been a series of doors in my face... sah-weet! damaged and insecure, this will be easy.
Sliding down the hall what are we doing, I am an effing prince, this is so stupid, I hope no one sees.
We finish each others'...-sandwiches! what the actual wat.

Jinx! Jinx again! are we in junior high? maybe this wasn't such a good idea
Our mental synchronization oh please not the robot can have but one explanation yep, it's the robot
Life could be so much more with you, with you, WITH YOU, WITH YOU please stahp, don't say it one more time, is this like that orange knock-knock joke, seriously maybe I should just throw her off the cliff now

That is some intense dedication to evil plottery. Which makes it all the more startling and heartwrenching when he, mid-kiss buildup, reveals his true intentions.

But anyway, the sandwich line cracks me up. He can't handle the quirk. Quirk-it, gurrrl.