Nothing really new at Casa Dragonfly. I even forgot today was Friday. That's sad. What's worse is there are no cupcakes left in the house. And the spawnlings have eaten all of the chocolate out of their Halloween goody bags. (Yes, I know I had a few but I didn't eat all of it!)
What's a girl to do without chocolate or cupcakes on a Friday she didn't realize was a Friday?
Well, Bufmufu has a new video up about Haters. It's hilarious... if your funny bone is located a little off from most other people's. Luckily mine fits that bill. I laughed until I cried. It's a response video to one by WardBingham (of Mondonation fame), called a thousand beautiful things. Not so much laughing on that one but it certainly is thought-provoking. And true. But not G-rated so don't watch it with your spawnlings hanging over your shoulder - as they are wont to do - unless you want to answer questions like "What's that word mean?" Hmm... on the other hand, a nice explanation might be a good thing. Catch 'em while they're young! Watch it yourself first, then decide. While you're at it, check the rest of his videos out too. All of them.
Also - over the past month some lady keeps calling and leaving messages on our phone, stating that Mr. Clean has been selected by a big-time Republican group to be profiled as this highbrow person of the year... and they'd like to interview him. Huh. Strange. How do they know who Mr. Clean is? All these weekends he's been working, has he been secretly going to political rallies? Mr. Clean refuses to call them back (he's shy). They keep leaving messages. It drives me batshit crazy. And I was bored. So I called:
Me: Yeah, so you keep leaving messages for my husband, Mr. Clean, stating you want to do a person of the year profile on him for your big-time Republican organization. That's really cool! We're so honored! And Mr. Clean has so much to say about the current state of the Republican Party. He's very excited. But I'm curious.... When did your big-time Republican organization start giving out person of the year awards for the Leftist of Left Democrats?
Them: *crickets chirping*
Me: What? You're not interested now?
Them: *click*
I don't think they'll be calling again.
(Disclaimer: the above in no way reflects our political leanings. I could try to explain them to you... but it would take a Long. Time. Sufficed to say... we don't really align ourselves with one party or another.)
Back to Bufumufu again for a moment as something is weighing on my mind. Comments. And new commenters. Better yet, new commenters who arrive seemingly out of nowhere and suddenly populate your space with comments!
Comments are funny things. Everyone is thrilled to see them in their blog or on their You Tube videos (even haters, because it gives one a chance to exercise the snarky love). BUT. It occurred to me today that perhaps the Bufumufu guys are sitting there, scratching their heads, while wondering just who the heck I am.
I'm a new commenter and I try to leave a comment on each of the vids that really make me laugh and what not. It's the polite thing to do, after all, and my parents did try to raise me to be polite. But then I also blogged about them - because they are funny and I HAVE to share the funny. Really. Have To.
Since then, they've read the blog - hopefully more than just the page(s) where I mentioned them. If not, they might think I'm a stalker. Oooooh. And it's funny how that gives me a neat segue for a childhood story to share with you, my little blog readers (as I have not shared any childhood stories in a while).
I was a pre-teen stalker. Oh yes, indeedy I was! It started in fifth grade when my parents gave me a new hot pink Huffy for Christmas. Suddenly, I was MOBILE and could wander about the neighborhood on my hot new wheels. More importantly, I could ride past B's house - a yummy blonde-haired boy I'd been crushing on since the 3rd grade (though I could only follow him around the library at school up until then. Umm, so yeah, the stalking actually started earlier than 5th grade but not officially).
I hopped on my bike and pedaled like the hounds of hell were chasing me down and flew past his house, whooping as I slid around the corner, and absolutely SURE he would notice me on my Brand New! Hot Pink! Huffy!
But he did. Not. Notice. Me.
Indeed, the leaves he so intently raked must have hypnotized him or something. Excusing his apparent distraction, I thought I'd give him another chance. So I rode around the block and past his house again - about twenty times in a row. Still. Nothing.
Not one to give up on anything I want, I returned daily. For about a year. And that stupid boy never saw me! Even when I followed him and the other group of boys around, and learned how to jump my bike off Really High mounds of dirt... he did not notice me.
The next year, I gave up the hot pink Huffy and decided that he, being an older boy (by about three years), must not be interested in little girls on bikes. And here's where your even slightly abnormal girl would have given up. But not me! I was going to MAKE that boy talk to me and the fact that I'd just grown boobs had to be a bonus in my favor. Right?
I traded the bike in for a horse. What guy wouldn't notice a cute girl on a horse?
When riding my horse past his house every day didn't work... I drafted a couple of girlfriends to ride their horses with me. I figured if one girl couldn't get his attention, two or three most certainly could. And if not? He was definitely Gay.
Stupid, Stupid Gay Boy who never noticed our boobs.
The whole situation became an enormous game of What-Won't-You-Do-To-Get-Noticed, lasting until we were in High School and too busy with boyfriends to worry about him any more. Folks, he didn't even notice us when we rode past bareback, wearing bikinis! On order of secrecy, I won't divulge our other "attempts." His mother certainly noticed us, though! Heh.
I found out this year: he's married with kids. Guess he wasn't gay after all. He just wasn't that into me. Or any of the other girls. Or maybe the image of a whooping girl with pigtails on a hot pink Huffy freaked him out so much; the prettier teen with boobs on a horse never had a chance. Who knows.
Moral of the story?
Hopefully the Bufumufu guys realize that though I might have had slight stalker tendencies in the past, I don't have time to ride past their house on my hot pink Huffy these days. Just enough time to leave a comment or two. And while they're awfully nice to look at and I'll admit I'm into them... I'm just not into them that way - flirtation notwithstanding (though I might keep the whole CoachJim / Chai Spice icing fantasy around for kicks).
That being said... If four cutey-pies with southern drawls are spotted wandering around their corner of Taiwan, on hot pink scooters, notice them! And I officially claim no responsibility for anything my younger sisters might have learned by example.
What's a girl to do without chocolate or cupcakes on a Friday she didn't realize was a Friday?
Well, Bufmufu has a new video up about Haters. It's hilarious... if your funny bone is located a little off from most other people's. Luckily mine fits that bill. I laughed until I cried. It's a response video to one by WardBingham (of Mondonation fame), called a thousand beautiful things. Not so much laughing on that one but it certainly is thought-provoking. And true. But not G-rated so don't watch it with your spawnlings hanging over your shoulder - as they are wont to do - unless you want to answer questions like "What's that word mean?" Hmm... on the other hand, a nice explanation might be a good thing. Catch 'em while they're young! Watch it yourself first, then decide. While you're at it, check the rest of his videos out too. All of them.
Also - over the past month some lady keeps calling and leaving messages on our phone, stating that Mr. Clean has been selected by a big-time Republican group to be profiled as this highbrow person of the year... and they'd like to interview him. Huh. Strange. How do they know who Mr. Clean is? All these weekends he's been working, has he been secretly going to political rallies? Mr. Clean refuses to call them back (he's shy). They keep leaving messages. It drives me batshit crazy. And I was bored. So I called:
Me: Yeah, so you keep leaving messages for my husband, Mr. Clean, stating you want to do a person of the year profile on him for your big-time Republican organization. That's really cool! We're so honored! And Mr. Clean has so much to say about the current state of the Republican Party. He's very excited. But I'm curious.... When did your big-time Republican organization start giving out person of the year awards for the Leftist of Left Democrats?
Them: *crickets chirping*
Me: What? You're not interested now?
Them: *click*
I don't think they'll be calling again.
(Disclaimer: the above in no way reflects our political leanings. I could try to explain them to you... but it would take a Long. Time. Sufficed to say... we don't really align ourselves with one party or another.)
Back to Bufumufu again for a moment as something is weighing on my mind. Comments. And new commenters. Better yet, new commenters who arrive seemingly out of nowhere and suddenly populate your space with comments!
Comments are funny things. Everyone is thrilled to see them in their blog or on their You Tube videos (even haters, because it gives one a chance to exercise the snarky love). BUT. It occurred to me today that perhaps the Bufumufu guys are sitting there, scratching their heads, while wondering just who the heck I am.
I'm a new commenter and I try to leave a comment on each of the vids that really make me laugh and what not. It's the polite thing to do, after all, and my parents did try to raise me to be polite. But then I also blogged about them - because they are funny and I HAVE to share the funny. Really. Have To.
Since then, they've read the blog - hopefully more than just the page(s) where I mentioned them. If not, they might think I'm a stalker. Oooooh. And it's funny how that gives me a neat segue for a childhood story to share with you, my little blog readers (as I have not shared any childhood stories in a while).
I was a pre-teen stalker. Oh yes, indeedy I was! It started in fifth grade when my parents gave me a new hot pink Huffy for Christmas. Suddenly, I was MOBILE and could wander about the neighborhood on my hot new wheels. More importantly, I could ride past B's house - a yummy blonde-haired boy I'd been crushing on since the 3rd grade (though I could only follow him around the library at school up until then. Umm, so yeah, the stalking actually started earlier than 5th grade but not officially).
I hopped on my bike and pedaled like the hounds of hell were chasing me down and flew past his house, whooping as I slid around the corner, and absolutely SURE he would notice me on my Brand New! Hot Pink! Huffy!
But he did. Not. Notice. Me.
Indeed, the leaves he so intently raked must have hypnotized him or something. Excusing his apparent distraction, I thought I'd give him another chance. So I rode around the block and past his house again - about twenty times in a row. Still. Nothing.
Not one to give up on anything I want, I returned daily. For about a year. And that stupid boy never saw me! Even when I followed him and the other group of boys around, and learned how to jump my bike off Really High mounds of dirt... he did not notice me.
The next year, I gave up the hot pink Huffy and decided that he, being an older boy (by about three years), must not be interested in little girls on bikes. And here's where your even slightly abnormal girl would have given up. But not me! I was going to MAKE that boy talk to me and the fact that I'd just grown boobs had to be a bonus in my favor. Right?
I traded the bike in for a horse. What guy wouldn't notice a cute girl on a horse?
When riding my horse past his house every day didn't work... I drafted a couple of girlfriends to ride their horses with me. I figured if one girl couldn't get his attention, two or three most certainly could. And if not? He was definitely Gay.
Stupid, Stupid Gay Boy who never noticed our boobs.
The whole situation became an enormous game of What-Won't-You-Do-To-Get-Noticed, lasting until we were in High School and too busy with boyfriends to worry about him any more. Folks, he didn't even notice us when we rode past bareback, wearing bikinis! On order of secrecy, I won't divulge our other "attempts." His mother certainly noticed us, though! Heh.
I found out this year: he's married with kids. Guess he wasn't gay after all. He just wasn't that into me. Or any of the other girls. Or maybe the image of a whooping girl with pigtails on a hot pink Huffy freaked him out so much; the prettier teen with boobs on a horse never had a chance. Who knows.
Moral of the story?
Hopefully the Bufumufu guys realize that though I might have had slight stalker tendencies in the past, I don't have time to ride past their house on my hot pink Huffy these days. Just enough time to leave a comment or two. And while they're awfully nice to look at and I'll admit I'm into them... I'm just not into them that way - flirtation notwithstanding (though I might keep the whole CoachJim / Chai Spice icing fantasy around for kicks).
That being said... If four cutey-pies with southern drawls are spotted wandering around their corner of Taiwan, on hot pink scooters, notice them! And I officially claim no responsibility for anything my younger sisters might have learned by example.
I(we?) admit maybe we've only read the blogs mentioning bufumufu. We won't consider you a stalker if you don't consider us narcissistic. hahaha
I wasn't scratching my head until you asked if we were scratching our heads...but now that i'm scratching, I've got a few theories as well as a cut above my left eye.(from all the scratching)
Theories? Intriguing. Also? You might want to get that scratching thing checked out. hahaha
Narcissistic Navel-Gazers Unite! BUFUMUFU!