update: “the best thing ever” blog game

(Btw, it’s kinda killing me not to be able to have a pick here!)

All right. Get over it, Trace.

Sigh. Okay. Here’s a list of the players and choices so far for The Best Thing Ever blog game:

(For those of you who picked more than one, I went with the first one you mentioned. Tell me now if you want to change it!)

1) Mini Cooper — Anita

2) Jane Austen — Sarah

3) The judicial system — sheila

4) The Magna Carta — Dave

5) Thomas More — Sal

6) Alec Guinness — ricki

7) Monty Python — Missy

8) Douglas Adams — Cullen

9) The Beatles — JLR

10) Shakespeare — RR

11) Winston Churchill — Witness

12) Typhoo QT Instant White Tea — Kathi

13) The Sex Pistols — red fish

14) Margaret Thatcher — Katie

15) The Book of Common Prayer — Andy

ONE SLOT LEFT!!

Remember: Winner gets ONE WHOLE POUND of lovely luscious coffee — hand-packed by moi. Bonus.

“the best thing ever” blog game

Okay, peeps. This is your vague and vexing introduction to “The Best Thing Ever” Blog Game. I can’t go into too much detail for a few more days, BUT I do need some things from you right now to get the game going:

First: Well, hm, I suppose I need players. So why don’t you all just decide to play right now, knowing absolutely nothing about it? I really do think that’s best. I mean, blind, ignorant commitment to God-knows-what always works for me. Just allow yourself to be dragged along. Surrender. Succumb. Sell your soul. You know, for fun and stuff.

Second: I need those people who just decided two seconds ago — blindly, ignorantly — to play this game to do this:

Choose the thing that, in your opinion, is The Best Thing Ever to come out of England.

Simple.

I don’t care what it is. It could be a person (even though, yes, I know, a person is not a thing, but whatever, that’s the name of the game and I’m not changing it). It could be a historical event. It could be a movie. An actor. A sport. A book. A food (‘tho unlikely). Again, this is your opinion. No right or wrong here. No judgment. Pick that English thing (or person — a very very valuable non-thing) that you really truly love or admire or appreciate most. I want you to be totally invested in your choice. Don’t just say, “Uhm, okay …. I can’t really think of anything but I wanna play …. so Posh Spice, I guess. Ho-hum.”

NO!

There’s no crying in baseball and there is NO blase in The Best Thing Ever Blog Game!! If your choice is bangers and mash, then embrace it! Embrace it with a full heart and a sound mind and all ten of your grubby little banger-soaked fingers!

Third: I cut the list off at 16 things. Which is ridiculous, I know, as if “There are only 16 good things ever to come out of England, nyah.” Or, well, worse: “There are not EVEN 16.”

(Hm, okay. Don’t think about that, Trace. Forge ahead. Blindly. Ignorantly. As only you know how.)

So …. 1 choice per person. If 16 people don’t step up to the plate — blindly, ignorantly — then I will …. well, I don’t know yet. But I can tell you this: I will be ….. uhm …. extremely proactive. Or WORSE. Grrrrrr, etc.

Also, this just occurred to me: Posh Spice is NOT an option. Because I said so. See? Extreme proactivism.

Also also: Winner gets superdelicious COFFEE!! And if you don’t like coffee, you get to — PRETEND!! Hooray for Mama teaching you good manners for awkward moments just like this!

Please don’t ask what this is all about. Please don’t offer a guess. All will be told shortly.

So. 16 people choosing 16 of The Best Things Ever from England.

Ready? GO!!

I love paper!

From artist Laini Taylor, these paper doll adornments, each one with a quote to match its theme. I looooove them. So fun.

lady1.jpg

lady4.jpg

lady3.jpg

lady5.jpg

lady8.jpg

Go check out her site. Click around. There are lots and lots of these. Can’t you see one hanging from a bedpost or a mirror?

who are you? whowho? whowho?

So my favorite aunt was in town last weekend, all the way from Amish country, PA. But she’s not Amish. No, she flew here. And wore jeans. And partook of electricity. And no barns were raised whilst she was here. At least that we were involved in.

Anyway, turns out, she’s been busily researching our family tree and while she was telling us all about it, she dropped this bombshell: My family on my father’s side is NOT Welsh, as we’ve always thought. Nope. We are Scottish. I mean — gasp! Talk about yer tailspin! Talk about yer identity crisis! Wow. Really? Okay. So, not this:

tomjones.jpg
(Although I fear I have these mom jeans and their attendant tightness issues hidden somewhere deep in my closet. Nasty Welsh.)

But this:
braveheart1.jpg

Okay. Hm. Actually, yesss, this seems about right. Pants-less and blue-faced and crazed.

mistress lazypants

Sorry. I’ve been a lazy blogger lately. Lots going on. Lots to report from Boheme.
Also — I’m working on a sure-to-create-a-gathering-tizzy BLOG GAME!!

But today …. TODAY, MB and I are both playing hookie (hooky? how do you spell that, anyway?) and going to the movies!!

So …. cell phones OFF. Do not call us. Do not need anything. We can handle no more NEEDS.

Do NOT bug us.

We do not exist today. Go away.

(Not YOU, of course, peeps, just The Universal You. The infernal you-ness of eachandeverybody.)

tooo long

The Peep: (running up to our car as I climb out) Tee Tee!

Me: (jumping out to grab her and hug her) Hi, Peeps! I am so excited to see you!!

The Peep:
I AM SO ESCITED TO SEE YOU, TOO! THE RIDE IN THE CAR WAS TOOO LONG!!

oh, goodie! I am stone phillips

“Midland,” huh? Guess they didn’t want to hurt us neutral, generic-sounding people by saying: Uhm, you sound BORING.

What American accent do you have? (Best version so far)

Midland

(“Midland” is not necessarily the same thing as “Midwest”) The default, lowest-common-denominator American accent that newscasters try to imitate. Since it’s a neutral accent, just because you have a Midland accent doesn’t mean you’re from the Midland.

Personality Test Results

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tonight’s episode

~ I wander into the kitchen and take a bite of a half-eaten Snickers

~ I wander over to the table and take a bite of a half-eaten banana

~ I wander into the bathroom and peer into the mirror at the small red dots I get under my eyes after a big heaving cry

~ Then I think about work today and how I cannot seem to communicate with The Overlord

~ I wonder just how puffy my eyes will be tomorrow and if I can call in sick

~ I think about how my favorite aunt is in town, my dad’s little sister, and how I haven’t even seen her since the memorial service for this

~ I think about how she’s coming to Boheme tomorrow and how I wish I could show her something else

~ I worry about seeing ny mom this weekend, whom I haven’t seen since Easter and all this

~ I sit and read a chapter in this completely deranged novel I’m reading that I cannot put down and that I kinda hate myself for reading

~ I watch The Office with my sunglasses on because my backup pair of glasses were stolen from The Beanhouse and I haven’t gotten new ones yet

~ I worry about how soon I will go blind because of this

~ I glance at my calf crossed over my other leg and wonder for the gajillionth time why it looks like an albino leg o’ mutton

~ I sigh about how it’s even whiter without the sunglasses on

~ Then I think about Henry VIII because I always think of Henry VIII when I look at my calf crossed over my other leg

~ I worry about sleeping and if I will see that face flying at me again — the one that made me scream out loud

~ Then I wonder for a long long time how to get past the high cold walls to where the rest of me is, the better parts, surer parts, deeper parts

~ I wonder that in every episode