I did a marathon of work and kid stuff over the last 36 hours. Its time for:
Days of our Lives
If only I was speaking of me… but no, I have to give credit where credit is due, and today, it is to the creator(s) of the pretzel necklace.
This evolutionary miracle is evidently a product of beer festivals around the world. Simple in nature, yet oddly stylish, the pretzel necklace not only provides convenient nourishment, but also a fashion statement that says, “Hey, I’m drinking beer!”
At the NoVa Summer BrewFest, I saw several of these necklaces… some were worn by the Cornhole players, some were just randomly adorning the necks of Stepford’s finest. It went a little like this:
Why is that guy wearing pretzels around his neck? Wait, I’m a little hungry. I love pretzels. I wonder what he would do if I just ran up to him and nibbled a pretzel off his neck. Could this be the next advance in speed dating? Everyone could wear their favorite food and have some bizarre food-mating ritual. This is pure genius!
What if I wore pretzels like a tiara, or an ankle bracelet. A belt? A CHASTITY BELT!
Then, I saw more pretzel necklaces and realized that I obviously don’t get out enough. First Cornhole, now this.
Something tells me the upcoming Stepford block party just got a whole lot more interesting. Awwww yeah.
Having finished up some work, about to head off to the dentist and run errands and thinking about a reading I gave myself earlier that either indicates I am holding myself back out of fear of failure, things are just going to magically work out so I should STFU or I really just want someone to pay my damn bills, I have taken on a new mantra:
I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.
Now, you know.
Not that this has ever happened to me, because I’m perfect… so I hear. But, we’ll pretend that it has happened, that someone has posted a statement, written a blog or said something while thinking I was out of earshot about what a bitch I am.
I could blog out a response, I could call or text, but, meh. I don’t have time and really, you’ll be fine. Go grab a waffle.
In other news, today marks day six of summer vacation, and I’m ready send the children off to the ice cream truck with suitcases and notes pinned to their clothing that beg for a ride to an ice cream cone-making sweat shop.