I had a dream that I wrote a blog about mustard.  French's plain 'ol boring primary color mustard, with the squeeze tip that crusts over, but is the perfect tip for applying shapes and designs to hotdogs and sandwiches.  Mustard is the best condiment, not that artery-cloging white lard like substance.  So disgusting, I won't even justify it's presence by writing it name.  Gross.  Although, I know Natanis lives the stuff.  And I had an uncle that would literally eat it with a spoon.  It doesn't even have a taste. 

Anyway, the dream, all I remember is a hotdog (in bun) flying through the sky.  A giant hotdog, and I'm applying a perfect squiggly line of yellowy mustard goodness down the middle.  I would go as far as to say this hotdog was a model hotdog.  I hope it was one of the tofu dogs; I don't eat horse hooves and rat that they generously throw in other hotdogs.  Now, I want a hotdog.  A vegetarian dog. 

I woke in a grouchy mood, which isn't me.  I went to bed in an even worse mood, but that was more of an depressed/sad and want to read a book and eat Arby's food all night mood.  This morning I woke insanely early because my stupid foot is THROBBING.  It is hurting more this morning than any other day since the intial pain-fest.  So I hop on the 'puter to make my sports picks for tomorrows games, but nothing is leaping out at me, which sucks.  I thought I'd research the teams, maybe learn something.  Firing the 'ol synapses also perks me up.  But no.  Still in a lame ass mood.

Well Muse came on the Sirius radio and I'm am almost in a better mood.  It more of acknowledging an attempt may be made in the next three and a half hours to perk myself up.  Like a light at the end of a 374km tunnel.  It's there.  It's just gonna take a long time to get there.  I may have to go buy myself a new set of really nice sheets to cheer myself up, 'cause the divine ones know I ain't buying high-heeled beautiful stilletos anytime soon.  Ironically, I purchased two new pair of insanely high and deliciously gorgeous shoes the day before I sprained my ankle.  I look at fondly with a touch of grief everytime I open my closet.  The are prominently displayed.  One day.  One day.

I wonder if Arby's a) has breakfast and b) delivers.  I'm thinking not, I may have to settle for meusli.

Oh and thank you Muse for the perk.

I'm in the market for a bike.  I want a really cool one, and considering the time frame for my stupid ankle, I'll be biking before I'll be jogging.  Lame.  Anyways, I've been searching on craigslist for bikes 'cause you can find some sweet crap on their for a minimal price.  I thought I should get a touring bike so I can throw some saddle bags on it and go for a long ride and the seats are comfy for distance and the tires aren't crazy wide like a mountain bike.  But, I saw some insane vintage Schwinns that I would pimp around the Seattle area like crazy.  Example:

Is that not sweet???  And it needs some restorative work done considering it's been sitting in some dudes garage for the past two decades.   I'd love a little bike project.  I've never done any kind of work to a bike before, but dude.  It's a friggen bike.  I can learn, I'm handy with my hands, there hasn't been a project on my car or tother such that I haven't been able to tackle.  I need this bike.

The Giants had an amazing game yesterday.  It was so intense I was biting my nails.  Intense!  The place I went to watch the game ruled because it seriously had every game on, and there was a Browns community there too.   Which struck me as odd 'cause the Browns are poopy.  Like their colors.  But I wanted very much to see Palmer and the Bengals kicked the poopy Browns so I was happy.  Seriously though, the Giants game.  Insane.  And, I was 4 for 4 yesterday on my football game piks.  I highly recommend everyone go to sportspickspros.com and see my name on the top of the cool person list.  I rule.

I ended up doing something really cool.  I stepped of the curb and sprained my ankle.  It's swollen to size of a melon and has changed some pretty psychadelic colors that just don't seem natural.  And it hurts.  Bad.  So what did I do?  I decided to walk all over Seattle in an effort to walk it off.  I think i just made it worse 'cause I had to give up on walking.  When crossing the street seems like crossing the English Channel with no arms, it's probably not a good thing.  And my buddy had to carry me.  That is probably the only thing I'm scared of, being picked up.  But he kinda pulled a fireman thing and before my swollen ankled retardedness could react, I was halfway to the pub.  Now I still can't walk.  I feel lame.  I've never sprained my ankle.  I met another Giants fan at the bar yesterday, and for some reason he was telling me that he's broken his ankle a couple of time and it hurts more to sprain it than break it.  About 2 hours later I was hobbling around and he gave me a call from the ER 'cause when he left the bar, he re-broke his ankle.  Yesterday was not a good day for mentally challenged Giants fan to be walking around. 

I'm so rambling.  Check out my cool person status.  My life has meaning for the week.

Goodness, I'm a geek.  I get so excited about little things, and I'm so friggin excited about Sunday, that I may burst.  Or fart.  Maybe I'm gassy.

I have precious few buddies that I can talk sports with, or enjoy sports in the company of (case in point:my best friend John asked if I would be clapping "that loud the entire game'" the moment we sat down to watch the Red Sox/Mariners game on my birthday. Two months ago and I'm still fuming) and tomorrow, I'm getting up at the butt-crack of dawn to take a bus into downtown Seattle, perch my heinie on a bar stool and talk sports.  Watch sports.  YELL sports!!!  And the festivities begin at 10 am.  I've only got two buddies that will hold full-fledged baseball conversations with me and one that is a good football fan.  I have fandangled him into a day of football.  And maybe a few glimpses at one the Yankee/Red Sox doulbleheader. I almost wish Saturday was done so I can run off and watch the games.  Almost.

Also, I made some picks on Timbo's site, so I have to see how my games play out.  Sundays and Mondays are turning into my favorite days of the week.  Sunday football, monday night football on ESPN.  I'm giddy.  Like a girl.  Which I am. EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! 

Today I highlight one of my many talents, my talent for understanding clouds.  Living in Seattle has given me inane ability to comprehend clouds.  I can look at the sky in the morning when the light is just starting to come out and tell myself how the day will progress.  It's a true talent, and since recognizing this flair, I haven't been wrong in my day-predictions.  So far, I'm 2-0, good odds by my book.

Exapmle, yesterday is was pissing rain.  By Seattle standards, this was a down-and-out-downpour, flood warnings should have been issued.  I looked at the sky and said, "This will last till about 11:30ish, then we will have partly cloudy skies till about 3 and sun the rest of the afternoon and evening will a smattering (technical term) of clouds."  I was right.  Hot DAMN!

I do believe you just need this inane ability and bad hair to be a tv weather person.  My odds are better than the weather dudette on Q13 Fox, and she's mentally retarded with a drooling problem.  I'm seeing my future...........

I cannot stand still for one minute without feeling like I am missing/forgetting/losing something.  But, I take a smoke break and I'm completely spaced out for a good 5 minutes; watching the cars go by, seeing things I never noticed although I've been looking at the same space for years. 

Yesterday's break I remembered a dream I had for my life.  I want to hand-build my home.  Buy a spot of land and build a home for myself, something I can pass onto my little bro's kids or my little sister's, but just a one-of-a-kind house, from the ground up.  I realized I wanted to build a house when I took a drafting class in highschool.  I LOVED drafting, and I was incredibly good at it.  While in that class, I kind of daddled and drew up a few floor plans, and decided then and there, I had to build a house.  Buy materials, land and start pouring foundation. 

So yesterday I started thinking about that again.  It could be a fatehr-daughter bonding thing 'cause I would enlist my Pop's assistance, and we work really well together.  I love to wood work and we could discuss cherry floors and what kind of granite would go with what different types of wood cabinets.  My dad's specialty is wood, and he works in granite, so I'd ahave a marble/grantie/rare wood home.  SWEET!  What I"ve always wanted!  I'd make myself a garden, I'd get a couple dogs, I eat fresh organic produce that I planted and harvested.  Play with the pooches, lay in my lawn. 

Then I realized, unless I wanna live in bum-fuck-Egypt, I'm not going to find land close enough to a city to build a house on, unless I'm rich and can knock down some houses first.  So, I'm starting in on my second dream first.  Winning the lotto.  Anyone got any good tips?

Anyone check out the re-vamped dictionary.com?  I give it two big thumbs up.  It looks great, and that is one of my favorite websites.  Sometime, when I'm bored, I try to make up words to find new words that I haven't heard of.  And, I have typos, misspelled words and other grammatically incorrect documents, so dictionary.com helps me in my neurosis.  Woooo-hooo!

As you can tell, I have a fresh batch of Dunkin Lyle going and jus the scent of it's warm brew is enough to lift my spirits.  You have no NO idea how incredibly depressing it was to wake up in my own bed this morning, knowing I have to go to....gasp! work.  Sheesh.  I also woke up insanely early, so I'm still on East coast time.  Lame.  And 'insane' is my new word.  That and 'explosion'.  Something totally tubular if it's an insane (insert totally rad item here) explosion.  Let me use that in a sentence for you:

This is an insane Dunkin Lyle Explosion!

That's the lesson of the day.

how does dunkin donuts make their coffee so good?  I just don't understand.  I purchased a pound of delicious hazelnut coffee to give to my dad as a gift from the East coast from my Hartford trip, and I of course popped open the bag of ground goodness.  I'm sipping it right now and besides the fact that it isn't scaldingly hot and trying to eat through my tongue with it's boiling temperature, it is the same cup-o-joe.  Does the power of dunkin donuts coffee lie in it's scalding temp?  i'm baffled.  I think I need to return to the east coast and continue my research of the best donut shop coffee. 

And, my trip to Hartford was fantastic.  Too short, lots of relaxing time.  I spent so much time watching sports shows and games that by Sundays, I thinking in sports lingo.  I was calculating my actions by odds of my previous actions.  Strange but true.  And, I have to admit, I'm pretty sure I missed a chance to get to know Beck 'cause I was hooked on ESPN.  Sorry Beck, it's a Chy thing.  Pubs and ESPN = a non-conversational Chy.

Back to the coffee.  I'm going through withdrawl.  Dunkin Donuts makes the bet coffee, which makes me wonder...do Dunkin employees not dip into the caffienated brew?  Every Dunkin I visited, I was attended to by a manic depressive individual.  Invisible noose aound the neck demeanor, I'm going to jump into the boiling vat of sugar icing and end my miserable existence was the theme of Dunkin employees.  They need a cup of coffee, milk and sugar, and maybe a donuts.  Chocolate for extra endorphin release. 

I think I need a return trip to Hartford and bring the happy cheery passive-agressive Teva and fannel wearing spirit of Seattle with me.

Eggs are meant to be eaten with salsa.  And Louisiana hot sauce.  There is nothin gbetter than waking up in the morning and setting your mouth on fire with eggs and salsa and Louisiana hot sauce.  MMMMMMM delicious.  That's about the only way I'll eat my eggs.  Unless my little bro makes 'em.  He makes the best eggs with all this stuff in 'em.  That's the only reason why he's remained alive so long.  His egg making skills make him invaluable.

Eggs Benedict.  Now there's only two ways to eat eggs.  With salsa and fire-fiery-hot-hot sauce, or as an artery clogging edible delight that is the eggs benedict.  Mmmmm.  Eggs. 

I love me some eggs.  That is my Terrell Owens impression.  I've got a a good 3 weeks of T.O. impersonations before he gets old. 

Ooo, goodness I've got a great story.  So, I wake up to brush my teeth this morning.  I'm big on the 'ol teeth, gotta brush them as soon as I roll out of bed.  But there was a HUGE brown spider in the sink, he was obviously stuck, and I have nothing against the spidys so I was gonna save him and release him into the wild.  I grab a paper plate ('cause I'm not afraid, ut I'm not gonna touch the hairy beast) and a cup and I'm gonna scrape him into the cup.  So, I'm trying to get him onto the plate, and all the sudden I hear this sound like acid.  And the end on my paper plate is smoking, or what I think is smoke.  I immediately think that there was something on the plate that burned the spider 'cause he's curled up in the spider equivalent of the fetal position.  I look at the plate and I realize, the dang spider shot some webbing at the plate.  CRAZY!  IN all the rescue missions I have preformed on spiders (my brother is SO afraid of the 8-leggers, I used to collect them and put them in his bed, between the sheets.  EVIL!) never have they shot web silk at me!  I was amazed, a little frightened, but I continued with operation Brown legged Savior and got the little beasty outside.  I swear I've saved this guy like 15 times already and his chances of survival are getting slim.  If Hope finds him, he's dead spidy.  Next time I'll save him, and name him Scutero.  Scutero the Oakland Spider.

Sidenote, i was really tired, and i don't recall spiders being able to projectile webbing from their tushes.  I thought this was a Cavutto thing.  He's got a plethora of knowledge about randowm stuff.  Cavutto? 

Anyone read the Dirty Sanchez article in this month's GQ?  Oh man, I almost did the Angry dragon with my coffee it was so funny.  I have to say, I was astonished, amused and slightly disturbed.  I did learn a lot though.  Liek the Abe Lincoln.  Wow.  My friend Meg said the Bucking Bronco one was the funniest, but I mostly found that cruel and unusual.  I liked the Jelly Doughnut.  Hilarious.  Dirty Sanvhez.  So raunchy.

There's also a funny article filled in by Will something or another from SNL.  I forgot his name, but it was pretty funny too.  I like that mag.  Do they make a ladies version?  All my favorite mags are ladies-spinoffs of men's magazines, like Women's Health, or just regular ol men's magazines, like ESPN.  They should look into the womens market.

I'm heading home from downtown yesterday and I was in a funk.  Like, down in the dumps, things are crappy, i wanna sleep for a long time dumpy funk.  I had my hair cut, I swear it looks like th Hoff, I seriously injured my wrist doing something completely idiotic (yet so worth it) and it hurts like a bum, all gimped out in a an ace bandage, my knees are aching from working out, I've hit a plateau, WILL I ALWAYS BE 20 POUNDS OVERWIEGHT?!?! my Ma is too far away, i'm having man withdrawls and i'm about to cross the street to get to the dumb bus so I can go home and crash.

 there was this dude standing there holding up a small yellow sign.  i read it 'cause I'm nosy, and it turns out the guy is deaf AND blind and needs help crossing the street.  so I tap him and lead him across when the light changes.  he has to cross the other way too, so I take him over to the other side and jog back 'cause the stop is on the other side.  I kinda watch this dude with his cane wander down the sidewalk, weaving back and forth, avoiding trees and people.  He stops at the bus stop across the street and holds up another sign.  No one looks at him.  No one reads his sign.  I thought i was gonna cry.  I stood there staring, sending out little telepathic messages for someone to help the dude.  I was just imagining not being able to hear, or see and the only thing connecting you to the world and people is a small yellow sign explaining you can see or hear.  Leaving you home sanctuary and relying on good samaritans to help you throughout the day.  He knew people were around, he can feel the vibrations, smell them as the walk near, feel their breeze against his skin.  It was the saddest thing.  I wish I could've helped him, figure out where he was going and then hand deliver him to his destination.  How would he communicate where he was going?  He can't write, he might sign, but I don't.  The whole way home I just imagined all the stuff he would miss out on.  He can smell a lily, but never see it.  He could bear children, but never see their faces, hear them say his name, or giggle, or admire thier artistic talents, or marvels at thier physical feats.  So sad. 

I don't know how I'll make it through life with my softy-ness.  I can't even leave the gym in morning without paying the same homeless dude that i see every day for a Real Change newspaper.  WHERE IS MY DUDE WITH THE DOLLARS TO SUPPORT MY SOFTY-NESS! YOU!

i wrote a blog about saying good bye to a good friend of mine and about mornings and that fiona apple song cover of across the universe, but it was erased.  i'm not in the mood to re-write it and i've got to go to sleep.

today's gonna be one of those sitting on the peir watching life go by days.

My sisters have a pocket kite.  this made me think of Cavutto, you need a pocket kite Cavutto.  For when you feel the need to feel the wind beneath your nylon sails attached to twine, attached to you hand.  Those are moments you go with.

It's monday.  At 4:32am and this is about the only time I have to check my email.  I like mondays, they go by fast, but that mentality doesn't kick in until about 7:30 when I'm floatin down the street high as a kite on endorphins.  right now life sucks and my bed looks an awful lot like a sheetcake to fat: girl de-he-li-si-ous.  Damn.

anyone else amazed it's already august 7th?  what happened to the other 7 days of august?  i personally want the month of august to fly by fat girl on her way at doughnut sale, but you know it's the last month of summer.  doughnuts sound so good.  mmmmm. 

i'm going a Yankee/Mariner game at the end of this month.  it'll be sweet.  i'll be like a fat girl at the prom, just happy to be there 'cause Yanks are looking pretty destructive right now with that line-up they possess.

i'm boycotting fat girls today.  unless there's a doughnut sale. then i'll be flying by.

There is a mental block with the Mariners when it comes to those damn A's.  Everytime we face them we suck butt.  Todays was the second game we lost in the series to the A's, officially the 11 game in a row we have lost to the A's this year alone!  Proposterous!  I'm ashamed.

This month is a big month for my boys in blue.  We're going head to head with all the big boys: Yankees, Boston, Rangers, and right now the A's.  Dang.  I may be jumping out the window before the end of the month.

Friday night, do you know where you're b4m crew is?  Out boozing and schmoozing.  I'm sitting on my impossibly comfortable couch, eating turkey hotdogs watching what I am hoping will be the first Mariner win against Oakland in 10 games.  DAMN those A's!  I'm also eating a brown bag full of cherries because someone had to write a blog all about how delicious they are.  Sheesh.

After an exhaustingly long week, I'm an more than content to pass out on the couch and drool on the remote at about 8:30pm.  I am looking forward to it.  Ahhhhhh, the life of a 23 year old.  So many things to do, so liitle time.

One good thing, I have discovered ESPN radio online.  That is right my friends, I can listen the The Herd while working away at my desk.  Makes the time fly by and keeps me up to date on all the sports updates.  I even got myself a snazzy sport ticker for my desktop.  Now I know the scores of all professional sports IN REAL TIME!  I'm glad the NFL Hall of Fame shindig is over this weekend though, if I have to hear one more show about whether or not Madden is the most widely recognized coach because of his stupid videogame, I'm gonna go ape-shit.

Doesn't take much to make me happy.  I'm easy.  Easy like Friday night on Fox Sports Network.

I'm boycotting stupidity.  And drunk ladies in front of me in line at the AmPm. 

Some drunk lady at the local quikie mart asked me if I biked.  Quickly I did a mental check of my attire: bike shoes, check; messenger bag, check; wprkout gear, check, HELMET, check.  Bike: check.  Hmmmmm...good questions lady.  I actually wear this snazzy ensemble for shits and giggles.  That bike is a prop.  Impersonating a bicycler is the latest Seattle rage.  Rad!