Twenty-three and cheating.

No new pictures today. Well, new to this blog, but not new. And not taken by me actually either.
But do you ever have times when you look back and remember that you were just happy? Plain and simple, happiness.

These pictures are from some of the times when I pulled a Kurt Vonnegut over the past year.
"I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, 'If this isn't nice, I don't know what is.'"

22 redux. Or, why it is a bad idea to paint with white out.

Because, it never comes off. Apparently.

So, Bad Polar Panda is now Bad Bear of Indeterminate Origin. But we made up by making prints in
the silly putty! (Like concrete, except we couldn't find any concrete. (Back off, he isn't a child so he doesn't know the difference.))

Today: Bad Polar Panda takes a bath! (Twenty-two)

Eloise takes a bath was a lovely book. It may have been the inspiration for this. Except we aren't at the plaza.

When you've got nothing else to burn you have to set yourself on fire.

This has been stuck in my head all day.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HVIdy9_wqQw

This is also what I hear whenever I meet someone new.
Which becomes infinitely more exciting when they actually turn out to be a Mr. or British.

I miss a lot of things right now, like being employed at a place that isn't the USDA. Or Minnesota in general. July coming up makes me think a lot about a certain person. It gets more difficult every year. But he was definitely the original Mr. F. And I'll miss him more than I can ever say. And more than I'd want to say, in a blog post, natch.

HA. POST.

On time. Ahthankya.

Bad Polar Panda tried to get back to his roots, in the great wilds of the backyard.
In other news, Jean-Baptiste and I have gained a new friend at work. Cady, I salute you. And apologize for scaring the crap out of you.

Twenty. Like Starbucks.

These are some feet. My niece is outrageously tall, ergo she has outrageously large feet for an 8 year old. Okay, not really, but I have issues with the growing up concept.
And my mom has midget feet. And we finally have pretty pretty toes!
Which ones are mine?
No Bad Polar Panda.

Nineteen.

This is what happens when I am at my job and not talking to the lovely man from the Georgia Department of Corrections.
Therefore, I give you Bad Polar Panda. (Courtesy of the white-out at my desk.)

Eighteen and barely legal, kids.

In which Bad Panda is extremely bad and barely legal.
In my cubicle (which has walls so high I never see anyone coming) there is a profusion of staplers and hole punches, while also containing a dearth of pens. There also is an Emergency Shut Off Button. Why they have chosen to put me in the cubicle containing this button remains to be seen. I feel as if it is actually part of a CIA experiment, in which they study my ability to not touch something that I'm not supposed to touch.
Naturally, Bad Panda touched it.
Also, note the box. It has no lock. Fools.

I am seventeen, going on eighteen

And I do not have a predilection for Nazis. What a silly song. Bad Panda, being Asian, found the rice cooker that one of my co-workers inexplicably keeps in the break room.

Sixteen.

I will never post on time.
Bad Panda meets the Octopus.
No, I don't have a real job.

Fifteen?

Now Madame S. and Bold Panda have resolved their differences. Also, Bold Panda meets The Great White Whale.
He is unamused.

In which I am FINALLY caught up.

An entry on the correct day? WHAT?! This is so shocking. Almost as shocking as finding that Bold Panda has the third eye. He did lose his tarot cards, though.


Also, Bold Panda and I learned that sorting walnuts is nothing like Willy Wonka. This is disappointing.

Thirteen.

Battle with Madame Supprimer continues. Bold Panda tried to escape through the wild forest of Jean-Baptiste's chest hair.

TWELVE.

Today, Bold Panda had a dangerous encounter with the Madame Staple Supprimer. She is angry with her gaping maw and her sneaky hiding spots.

Yes, but this one goes to eleven.

Which is why Bold Panda listens to NPR on these headphones.

Ten.

This is Bold Panda. He spends his time doing many things. Like hanging out with President Taft.

NINE.

So, this is a post of the blogical persuasion.
I have been thinking about one of my friends a lot recently. She is wonderful, a really incredible person - and I feel like people don't tell her that enough.
Anyhow, she seems to be sad lately, and even if she isn't, she is well within her rights to be. In this blog, I will call her Kat. (Kat. Prrow.) Although she really isn't like Kat Stratford in any way other than to be sporty like in girl bands. And that she's talented, although not in the angry girl music of the indie rock persuasion as Kat chooses, but in many many other arenas.
So, Kat, this is to make you feel better. I will always put my underwear on my head for you.

BEST. LETTER. EVER.

EIGHT.
I love mail. I love mail quite a lot. Seriously. If you ever want to write to me, DO. Or if you want me to write you, I will. Perhaps it will be stupid, but I will write you.
Anywhozle, I received a letter from my fellow Wardrobe Woman, your friend and mine, Mulan. And if you know her at all, you'll know who I mean. She's bomb diggity.
AND. In her letter, she included this lovely bit of illustration, which brings me to the picture (and a link!). For those of you who don't know, you're welcome. Also, Edward Gorey costumed "Dracula" when it was upon Broadway and therefore infinitely better than that heinous monstrosity with Winona Ryder.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y_LL49ErkPM

(Yes yes, I could have reversed the photo, but I don't FEEL like it.)

look a haiku and two words.

SEVEN. ONE WEEK. AGO.
i put pictures on the webs
and look what happened.


A SPIDER

In which this would have been on time if not for Blogger so HA.

So I will post-date it.
Six.
Soccer. I don't even care that this picture is stupid, because this entire team (seemingly only containing boys with names that rhyme with "Gabe" and one lone "Dominic") is pure dead marvelous. Although for reasons beyond my comprehension, the West Des Moines soccer league will only allow blue to be used as a team color. So, even though all the games happen at the same place, they are sometimes "home" and sometimes "away" which basically means sometimes one team wears white and sometimes blue (as demonstrated below). BUT. They all have the same jerseys. Honestly, I ask you.
They were freakin adorable though.

Four. And five.
FAIL.
Flowers!
And a girl who brought an umbrella to play in a fountain.

What did YOU want to be?

Three.

This has nothing to do with my picture, but I've always wanted to be a paleontologist. Up until I started watching Deadliest Catch. Now I want to be a crab fisherman. Woman. Person. Whatever. I want to fish for king and opilio crab in the Bering Sea.
And I will do it someday.This is Alphabet Man. Well, part of him anyway. Apparently, he's actually called Nomad, but that's dumb.
Des Moines is pretty bomb, particularly the Sculpture Garden. I assume more of this will figure into my 365 later.
Alphabet Man in all his glory looks like this:

It is also possible to kill flies with honey. The saying does not tell you that.

Two.

So, I am the least productive human on the planet, and aside from falling asleep for 4 hours outside today, I have been to Michaels.
That's literally it.
So here's a Skype picture, from some of the fabulous conversations I have with Ajax.
Lata son.

One. And a half.

So, went to Chicago for Memorial Day and some family business that involved nuns, dinosaurs, and torrential rain of hurricane dimensions. But, this is Sue. And some of my family. Of course, I also consider Sue part of my family, but that gets confusing for most people.

Of course, my youngest nephew tried to hold up the Bean.