Transferring to New Blog 1... 2... 3!

Dear God in heaven, this has been quite the traumatic week.

But you know what? I'm not going to go into it. I don't care about furnace explosions, 7-page paper disappearances, men, math ulcers, lack of heat, bleeding thumbnails, or PMS. I. don't. care.See, I like happiness. I'm a happy person. I like life, babies, old people, and puppies. You can't go wrong with those things. I tried making a list of everything that I loved one day on one of those long yellow notepads, and I filled up 8 pages, front and back. So I'm not worried about you know, becoming a depressed emo-screamo kid or anything like that. But then I have a week like this one and suddenly I can think of only two things that I like about life... chocolate and Shop-ko. Oh, and CHRISTMAS junk at Shop-ko is a double whammy... HELLO life completion. Oh, and maybe Robert Redford, circa 1973. (EDITORS NOTE: Everybody needs to rent "The Way We Were" and you will know why Robert Redford is a shoe-in for bad days/weeks. De-lish. I'd make out with a bag of Fritos if it looked like him. And p.s.--- you WILL, against all odds, become a Barbara Streisand fan after watching that movie as well. Boys, you too. I won't tell.)

Anyways. I realized how long its been since I've updated this thing and now I really want to get back in the swing of things. AND I have to finish my Amish life story! Goodness... that should have been done wicked ages ago. I've been thinking about that a lot lately, ya know, simplicity. Especially on Tuesday morning when my IBM Thinkpad was THISCLOSE to shattering into a million little pieces when I wanted to desperately chuck it down the stairs in a fit of fuming rage. And then I thought, well why not throw my evil-spawn cell phone down with it... no cell, no laptop, no life and brain-cell wasting on Facebook, AIM, ect... life would be positively the most beautiful place on earth. I like WANT to be Laura Ingalls Wilder at this point in my life, let's saaaay, circa 1844. Talk about perfect! I mean, really. My life would be so complete. I would trade in my worldly-Fowlerville-sophistication into a petticoat-wearing, bonnet-sporting, fire-hearth sweeping, fiddle-playing, Indian-fighting, quilting-beeing, baby-making hero of the nineteenth century. I'd live in a log cabin deep in the backwoods of the Upper Peninsula where we would outhouse it and shoot prarie dogs and chew on blades of grass and make our own soap out of pig's lard and call our kids names like Inger, Lars, and Ivar, and Sven. Maybe Duncan too. I think that name is so pecking cute.Lordy lordy look who has to go on with her life as a stupid 21-year-old living in the stupid 21st century... I got screwed over in this being-born-in-1985 business. I'll be back! I'm out like a Mormon at a Pepsi convention.