They Should Be Turned In

I have a headache.
Anna gave piano lessons today because she has to work ten hours tomorrow and didn't feel like giving piano lessons after that.
Daisy shredded a bunch of stuff all over the floor in this room and all over our couch.
I took down the Christmas tree. I think there were more ornaments on the floor than left on the tree.
Jana, you have be severely neglecting your blog, and I will not stand for it (though, I might sit for it).
Today while I was in the office, I was privileged to hear Bobbie rant to Patsy for at least half an hour. The general thesis of Bobbie's argument was that this is the worst place she has ever lived, and she wants her niece to move her down to Louisville. Her supporting points were that George and Katie are disgusting, Katie slams doors at all hours, Katie can actually hear ("She can hear just fine, I tell you. Don't tell me she can't."), the apartments are owned by the Salvation Army, other residents ask her for quarters, people leave old stuff out in the Community Room for other people to take if they want it (and apparently those who take it, keep it to sell in garage sales, and "they should be turned in" for that), and Mildred's grandson eats a lot. Poor Patsy asked Bobbie how she knew it was Katie slamming doors ("Because Whatchamacallit said so"). Patsy was just waiting for a ride from her daughter. You could hear the relief in Patsy's voice as she announced to Bobbie that her daughter had arrived. As she walked out, she turned to me and mouthed "She's crazy."
Cheef. It's what's for dinner.
I had really crazy dreams the other night, but I can't remember them at the moment. I think I was shot in one of them though.
Getting shot is a relatively common theme in my dreams.
I also dream a lot about being back on the high school wrestling team.
Anna has to be at work at five tomorrow morning. I hope she doesn't die.
I want hot wings.
Did you know that the diagram of the human tongue, you all grew up with, displaying the different regions of taste is a lie? Yes, your text books lied to you. You can taste different tastes on all parts of the tongue, with some areas being more sensitive than others depending on the person.
Textbooks also lie about how wings(as in lift and flight) work.
My right ear canal itches, but I'm wearing headphones. How can I solve this quandary?
My head still hurts. I took Excedrin almost two hours ago.
My right knee itches.
Now everything itches.

The Second Pick

For Christmas, I gave Anna "Just Dance 2" for Wii. Did I mention that Anna got a Wii from her mother for Christmas (though true to her families' tradition, Anna was allowed to have her present over a month ahead of time)? I think I got her other things that had to do with the Wii as well, but that was so long ago, I forget what was for Christmas and what wasn't.
She got me a good pair of headphones, and she lets me play with the Wii.
Anna's parents gave me a .50 caliber muzzle-loading rifle.
I don't have any AriZona Pomegranate Green Tea.
Yesterday, Anna volunteered us to help transport some rescue dogs to their final destination. The dogs started in Tennessee. Anna and I drove them from Columbus to Lafayette.
Tebow throws an awfully goofy looking football, but he's exciting. I'm just worried that starting Tebow next year will be premature and cost us games Orton could help win.
I hope the Broncos don't hire a huge name like Gruden or Cowher.
Dark blue and white striped boxer briefs.
Anna had to work on New Years Day, so she couldn't stay up that late on New Years Eve. She was sleeping when it hit midnight, so I just kissed her and let her sleep.
You'd think Christmas and New Years would provide more to talk about.
I resolve to break all of my resolutions.
I keep gently tapping my keyboard, hoping it will magically produce something interesting.
Screw this.
Oh yeah. Anna's dad had to work on the Sunday after Christmas, so I filled in preaching. When we woke up that morning to get ready for church, we discovered that Daisy had puked all over the apartment. And I mean all over. I looked at what she had done on the couch and thought "how can this dog have held this much puke?" Then I found all the puke on both her beds and in other random spots. So instead of getting ready for church, I cleaned up puke. When I was done, she puked all over the apartment again. She must have puked her bodyweight. I guess she overindulged on Christmas.
Now, screw this.