Things I Learned This Weekend:

• Old ladies from church do not like tattoos or nose piercings.
• Old ladies from church are not sure what to think of me now that they know about my tattoo.
• Old ladies from church sure do like to talk about dogs.
• Old ladies from church are blind and should not be making jewelry.
• Making jewelry at 9 a.m. on a Saturday is less fun than making jewelry at 9 p.m. on a Saturday.
• Saturday mornings without cartoons are STUPID.
• Breakfast pastries do wonders to improve my mood.
• Some boys think I have a nice butt.
• Compliments also do wonders to improve my mood.
• I am extremely paranoid that the old ladies will (a) find out that I talk to boys and (b) ban me from church.
• Writing a bullet point about my butt between bullet points about church members makes me extremely uncomfortable.
• New subject: my fish is still alive.

She is dying of cancer, and I am terrified that I won't cry at her funeral. Meanwhile, I still weep when I think about that last hour with my cat.

I subscribed to his blog's RSS feed from my phone, so he won't know how often I check for updates while I'm out and about.

Sometimes, I pretend not to listen because it's easier than dealing with what I think I'm hearing.

I did not brush my teeth last night.

From birth, fingernail clippers are sensitive creatures. They arrive in stocking stuffers on Christmas morning, disguised as riders in black. Each family member receives a pair, which he or she uses for maintenance purposes after several hours of opening wrapped gifts. After this initial bonding ritual, the clippers are left on bedroom floors to be stepped on while the new toys and goodies receive days and weeks of praise and adoration. Feeling neglected and unloved, the fingernail clippers inch their way toward the suitcases in the basement, their absence undetected until the arrival of Señor Hangnail. When this villain appears, the family members cry out in distress. But the fingernail clippers refuse to return. Instead, they burrow deep into the tunnels of the Misty Mountains, stashing themselves in secret pockets of your carry-on luggage, waiting to jump into the loving hands of the airport security guard, who then whisks the orphaned instruments away to safety, tucking them into their little matchstick box beds and singing them to sleep. Meanwhile, you are labeled a disturber of the peace and are sentenced to two hangnails a month for eleventy-one years. Fool of a Took.

Note: While watching Lord of the Rings is a proven distraction from hangnails for some, side effects may include crazy blog entries, spontaneous quoting, and an overwhelming desire to kiss Frodo Baggins. Please consult your doctor before trying this at home. It is probably safer to just buy another pair of fingernail clippers.