I'm writing this at work (shame!) and under the influence of music. Horrid, I know, because not only will I be prone to making frequent stops so as to assuage my guilty conscience, but I will also be making periodic, rather nonsensical insertions of music lyrics.
Such as this: When marimba music starts to play, hold me close, make me sway.
Which actually has something to do with what I wanted to say. Which is, simply, make me sway. Well, music does that, as does dancing in general, because I love dancing. I was at an institute function on Friday where there was dancing. I was entirely set on going home as soon as the music started, having had a couple of bad experiences with the type of music (it's just hard to dance to, it's not bad) that is often played at those types of circumstances. However, after the music had started, there was a spirit of frivolity and enjoyment that I just could not neglect. And so I merrily joined in with those people who were shaking themselves about in a wee little jig, and I discovered that I still love dancing. Almost to the passionately stage, but not quite. It's a little bit before passionate and a little past indifferent interest. It's an indifferent passion. I love oxymorons!
The holding of members of the opposite sex, no matter how contrived or practically meaningless it may be, is something of delight. I mean, of course, that hugs, snuggling, cuddling, massage giving, hand holding, etc, are all wonderful experiences. Dancing definitely is included in this list. Yep, definitely.
I've reached an interesting stage of life. I think most people go through stages, and I find myself on the brink of a new one. One of my friends (actually two of them) stated in quite a state of vexation that they were ready to be engaged. I refrained from pointing out that they're not in a serious relationship at the moment because, well, I didn't want to get my eyes poked out, I value their friendship, and let's face it, we live in Utah, and when has not being in a serious relationship stopped anyone from getting engaged within a month? Life is crazy.
Don't think for a moment that I'm saying that I'm ready to be engaged. Because, when I think about that, I most definitely am not. First off, I wouldn't have any idea how to ask the question, I have no experience with not flirting (I have been referred to many times as a constant flirt, I have become somewhat consigned to it), and more importantly the idea of me being engaged is just weird.
The thing is this: I feel open to the possibility of a more dedicated relationship. I think I've been afraid of girls in general for most of my life, so this is a big step for me, just being open to the idea. Having observed my friends and such, now is the time when lost of problems will arise, I will be in a constant stage of vexation, either because things are going poorly in the relationship sector or because they are going well.
Humans are so weird.
And, now, see, I have posted, and can get back to my guilt free monotonous work. Viva Vexation!
Monday, January 19, 2009
Sunday, December 7, 2008
A marble, a song, and a story.
Returning to one's blog, in order to begin afresh and find joy once again in the art and action or writing can be an interesting challenge. After all, I am accustomed to being of a witty disposition and a charming display of character in writing. Now, the problem becomes how to portray that once again when I am so very much out of practice. I admit that I wondered if I should open with a blatently bad pun, a horribly concieved joke, or a simple reference to a rather humorous situation, such as is common among those people who are in the dating phase of life.
But, in this case, I desist, because this blog is about the Christmas Spirit that is so much talked of.
I've heard that the Christmas Spirit can be defined as a lot of things. The pure love of a child, the accepting and giving feeling that comes from giving the perfect gifts to family and friends alike, the joy felt by so much sharing in music, the laughter of parties with friends and family, the happiness and peace of the time all are things that have been said to be the Spirit of Christmas. I discovered a little bit more of what Christmas is like, and I wanted to share it with as large a group as possible.
The story is really what portrays the Christmas Spirit, because it ties in the marble and the song. These past couple of weeks the Ogden LDS Institute performing groups have been preparing to present their christmas show, "Where Are You Christmas." The show is about a young mother who is trying to do a million and one things, and on top of that she decides to do a christmas pageant. She works hard at it, and eventually becomes discouraged, realizing that she has lost the true spirit of Christmas and the peace that Christ gives us. In a peaceful realisation she comes to know that Christ loves her, accepts her, and she finds once again the spirit of Christmas.
For this show I played the part of the rather frustrated husband who can't understand why his wife wants to do so much. It was a fun part, if only because I got to scream in frustration, and then have people laugh at me. It's a lot more fun to have people laugh at you then you think. Anyway, there is one scene where I'm carrying an exercise bike (so my 'wife' can do exercise during rehearsal of the christam pageant) and I set it down in frustration. During the last performance, though, a marble popped out of the handle of the exercise bike. I'd done this scene plenty of times before, and I've never had the marble experience, so I thought that was kind of random.
Part of the show is that there was a little kid who acted as our child. During the last perfomance, he bonked his head while playing around. Bonked it pretty good, too, because he had a monster goose egg afterward. However, he was pretty upset, and that's not that great. Turns out that he likes marbles. A lot. So I gave him the marble that had popped out of the exercise bike to play with. It calmed him down and distracted him from the pain.
And then came nearly the final scene, where Jennifer (my 'wife') sings to the Christ child in a nativity. It's a moving scene, and has always been a favorite of mine. The song is a mix between "Who is this Child" and "What Child is This." During that song, I realized that it wasn't so random that the marble had popped out of the bike. It popped out of the bike on precisely that night because Jesus, of who they were singing "This, This is Christ the King" loved that little boy, and wanted him to be happy. I contemplated on all the things that Christ has done to make me comfortable, and to forget pain, and I realized that that was the Spirit of Christmas. The very personal love of Christ in my life making me want to be a better person. More like Him.
And so, Merry Christmas to all! May the Spirit of Christmas find you this season.
But, in this case, I desist, because this blog is about the Christmas Spirit that is so much talked of.
I've heard that the Christmas Spirit can be defined as a lot of things. The pure love of a child, the accepting and giving feeling that comes from giving the perfect gifts to family and friends alike, the joy felt by so much sharing in music, the laughter of parties with friends and family, the happiness and peace of the time all are things that have been said to be the Spirit of Christmas. I discovered a little bit more of what Christmas is like, and I wanted to share it with as large a group as possible.
The story is really what portrays the Christmas Spirit, because it ties in the marble and the song. These past couple of weeks the Ogden LDS Institute performing groups have been preparing to present their christmas show, "Where Are You Christmas." The show is about a young mother who is trying to do a million and one things, and on top of that she decides to do a christmas pageant. She works hard at it, and eventually becomes discouraged, realizing that she has lost the true spirit of Christmas and the peace that Christ gives us. In a peaceful realisation she comes to know that Christ loves her, accepts her, and she finds once again the spirit of Christmas.
For this show I played the part of the rather frustrated husband who can't understand why his wife wants to do so much. It was a fun part, if only because I got to scream in frustration, and then have people laugh at me. It's a lot more fun to have people laugh at you then you think. Anyway, there is one scene where I'm carrying an exercise bike (so my 'wife' can do exercise during rehearsal of the christam pageant) and I set it down in frustration. During the last performance, though, a marble popped out of the handle of the exercise bike. I'd done this scene plenty of times before, and I've never had the marble experience, so I thought that was kind of random.
Part of the show is that there was a little kid who acted as our child. During the last perfomance, he bonked his head while playing around. Bonked it pretty good, too, because he had a monster goose egg afterward. However, he was pretty upset, and that's not that great. Turns out that he likes marbles. A lot. So I gave him the marble that had popped out of the exercise bike to play with. It calmed him down and distracted him from the pain.
And then came nearly the final scene, where Jennifer (my 'wife') sings to the Christ child in a nativity. It's a moving scene, and has always been a favorite of mine. The song is a mix between "Who is this Child" and "What Child is This." During that song, I realized that it wasn't so random that the marble had popped out of the bike. It popped out of the bike on precisely that night because Jesus, of who they were singing "This, This is Christ the King" loved that little boy, and wanted him to be happy. I contemplated on all the things that Christ has done to make me comfortable, and to forget pain, and I realized that that was the Spirit of Christmas. The very personal love of Christ in my life making me want to be a better person. More like Him.
And so, Merry Christmas to all! May the Spirit of Christmas find you this season.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
The Problem
Once again we return to the subject at hand and heart. Okay, mostly heart, because that's the organ associated with feeling, and sometimes feelings are so interesting that they must be discussed to the most minute detail, that the things of life may be displayed in their true color. No, not pink, not black: yellow.
Actually, I thought I'd just share a little thought that I had. I've discovered my one and only problem with the love shared in fairy tales. I say fairy tales in general, because I can think of some exceptions to the idea that I'm about to present (Beauty and the Beast being one of them. I knew I liked that show for a reason), so it must be taken as a generic rule, with some specific exceptions. Indeed, it may be said that there will be disagreeing in the minds of many who meander along these words, with the same disinterested interest that one finds in a cat, interested in seeing where a bug will land. Ready for the kill, it waits, not interested in where the bug flies, but interested in where it will land.
Um, yeah.
The part of fairy tale love, the thing that is most difficult to get my head around, and in the end the thing that makes fairy tales not like real life is one thing, and one thing only. I personally think that certain types of people (and in many cases certain specific people) cross paths because of how happy they would make each other. I also think it entirely possible that these people would be attracted to each other at some stage. I also think that "happy ever after" is a distinct possibility, as long as it's understood that happily ever after is not a naive thing, and that anything that isn't naive feels pain at times, though in many cases these pains do not detract, indeed may add, to a deeper more genuine happiness.
So far, I believe in fairy tales. Here is the part that I am incapable of reconciling myself with. The idea of love as a force so powerful that it transcends agency. This idea of a love as almost an external force that drives men and women to do things that, quite frankly, they would ordinarily not do, is a little hard for me to swallow.
Case in point: what would have separated Cinderella from the other girls presented to Prince Charming that night? He had not spoken to her, had only had the chance to see Cinderella to make the decision that she was the one, over all the other girls. Now, I'm not a girl so I can't say this with total conviction, but I'm pretty sure that girls don't want a guy who is going to judge them purely on their looks. Because, if you don't think it was a looks based thing, then it had to be some sort of external force working on Mr. Charming. I have a hard time thinking that an external force could do that, transcend decision.
The problem in my mind is that the minute that the true love is found, the decision is made. There's no struggle. There's no inner battle between opposing forces, there's no decision made. I understand that some people actually make decisions in the moment, but it seems like most of the people who are like that go on making new decisions every minute. I think it would be tiring to be finding your one soul mate every other day. Just imagine how tired your singing voice would get. True love's kiss would definitely no longer be the most powerful force in the universe.
And here's a random question: If Giselle had kissed Prince Edward whiles still in Malaysia (or whatever the place was called), would it have been true love's kiss? Because if it wouldn't have been, does that make you nervous about the person you're dating right now? Imagine the implications for married people. But if it were, what would that say? Random, I know, but there you go.
Yeah, that's basically the problem that I say. Fairy tales in a general sense seem to hover around this idea of an external force that both transcends choice and circumstance (true love will always make the way in fairy tales. It's never actual people making the way).
Personally, I worry about the fact that I'm even taking the time to point out that actual love (real true love) isn't a chance thing. It's not something you win or receive, like the end of a betting routine. If that were true, I'd be worried. There's only one hero and one heroine that end up truly in love in the fairy tales, even though there's a lot of characters. Love is a choice, something you have to take a chance on. Something you have to decide.
We have to choose love? Spooky.
Happy Halloween!
Actually, I thought I'd just share a little thought that I had. I've discovered my one and only problem with the love shared in fairy tales. I say fairy tales in general, because I can think of some exceptions to the idea that I'm about to present (Beauty and the Beast being one of them. I knew I liked that show for a reason), so it must be taken as a generic rule, with some specific exceptions. Indeed, it may be said that there will be disagreeing in the minds of many who meander along these words, with the same disinterested interest that one finds in a cat, interested in seeing where a bug will land. Ready for the kill, it waits, not interested in where the bug flies, but interested in where it will land.
Um, yeah.
The part of fairy tale love, the thing that is most difficult to get my head around, and in the end the thing that makes fairy tales not like real life is one thing, and one thing only. I personally think that certain types of people (and in many cases certain specific people) cross paths because of how happy they would make each other. I also think it entirely possible that these people would be attracted to each other at some stage. I also think that "happy ever after" is a distinct possibility, as long as it's understood that happily ever after is not a naive thing, and that anything that isn't naive feels pain at times, though in many cases these pains do not detract, indeed may add, to a deeper more genuine happiness.
So far, I believe in fairy tales. Here is the part that I am incapable of reconciling myself with. The idea of love as a force so powerful that it transcends agency. This idea of a love as almost an external force that drives men and women to do things that, quite frankly, they would ordinarily not do, is a little hard for me to swallow.
Case in point: what would have separated Cinderella from the other girls presented to Prince Charming that night? He had not spoken to her, had only had the chance to see Cinderella to make the decision that she was the one, over all the other girls. Now, I'm not a girl so I can't say this with total conviction, but I'm pretty sure that girls don't want a guy who is going to judge them purely on their looks. Because, if you don't think it was a looks based thing, then it had to be some sort of external force working on Mr. Charming. I have a hard time thinking that an external force could do that, transcend decision.
The problem in my mind is that the minute that the true love is found, the decision is made. There's no struggle. There's no inner battle between opposing forces, there's no decision made. I understand that some people actually make decisions in the moment, but it seems like most of the people who are like that go on making new decisions every minute. I think it would be tiring to be finding your one soul mate every other day. Just imagine how tired your singing voice would get. True love's kiss would definitely no longer be the most powerful force in the universe.
And here's a random question: If Giselle had kissed Prince Edward whiles still in Malaysia (or whatever the place was called), would it have been true love's kiss? Because if it wouldn't have been, does that make you nervous about the person you're dating right now? Imagine the implications for married people. But if it were, what would that say? Random, I know, but there you go.
Yeah, that's basically the problem that I say. Fairy tales in a general sense seem to hover around this idea of an external force that both transcends choice and circumstance (true love will always make the way in fairy tales. It's never actual people making the way).
Personally, I worry about the fact that I'm even taking the time to point out that actual love (real true love) isn't a chance thing. It's not something you win or receive, like the end of a betting routine. If that were true, I'd be worried. There's only one hero and one heroine that end up truly in love in the fairy tales, even though there's a lot of characters. Love is a choice, something you have to take a chance on. Something you have to decide.
We have to choose love? Spooky.
Happy Halloween!
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Light
I wrote a poem today, and I liked it enough that I thought I would post it here, seeing as otherwise most of you would never see it. Once again, I enjoy it when people tell me what they think the poem is about, and if anyone guesses it right I'll tell you.
Light.
The colors are dancing,
The light reflecting and refracting
As playfully it meets the water
racing on, never retracting.
Cool and clean, the water leaps
from rock to rock, and sings
as he bounds along his way; his quiet
song the talk of bards and kings.
Rushing forward, he comes to a plain
of slow moving land, and feels
to come, nearly, to stopping, where time
moves so quietly it seems to steal.
A wooded glade, a nearly small pond
Where peace and quiet abound
and everything moves slowly,
even tranquility resounds.
The water, though, can't be content
to stay and stay in that glade;
For water still is never clean,
but with such a wait turns a nasty shade.
Passing by the dam
that slows the water so,
he accelerates, exhilarated
to once more easily flow.
He continues his race, being joined now
by other waters, who follow the same course;
gaining speed and strength, they rush on,
following the way without remorse.
A moment before the plunge,
when the path falls away to leave water free,
affected by glade, by rocks, by dam
water is what he is, while the whole path he can see.
The colors are dancing
the light reflecting and refracting;
as playfully it meets the water,
he continues on, never retracting.
As an addendum, I didn't pay particular attention to punctuation, grammar, or capitalization, and mostly just focused on the affect that I wanted the words to have, or the sort of feel that I wanted to give to the poem. I hope you enjoyed!
Light.
The colors are dancing,
The light reflecting and refracting
As playfully it meets the water
racing on, never retracting.
Cool and clean, the water leaps
from rock to rock, and sings
as he bounds along his way; his quiet
song the talk of bards and kings.
Rushing forward, he comes to a plain
of slow moving land, and feels
to come, nearly, to stopping, where time
moves so quietly it seems to steal.
A wooded glade, a nearly small pond
Where peace and quiet abound
and everything moves slowly,
even tranquility resounds.
The water, though, can't be content
to stay and stay in that glade;
For water still is never clean,
but with such a wait turns a nasty shade.
Passing by the dam
that slows the water so,
he accelerates, exhilarated
to once more easily flow.
He continues his race, being joined now
by other waters, who follow the same course;
gaining speed and strength, they rush on,
following the way without remorse.
A moment before the plunge,
when the path falls away to leave water free,
affected by glade, by rocks, by dam
water is what he is, while the whole path he can see.
The colors are dancing
the light reflecting and refracting;
as playfully it meets the water,
he continues on, never retracting.
As an addendum, I didn't pay particular attention to punctuation, grammar, or capitalization, and mostly just focused on the affect that I wanted the words to have, or the sort of feel that I wanted to give to the poem. I hope you enjoyed!
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Socially Backward
Fridays. Or Saturdays. Fridays and Saturdays. People, we need to rethink this. In the culture that I'm used to, getting married to the right person is given as much stress, maybe even more, than getting a good education, good job, or even a good TV set. So, I've come to an interesting question.
Why the heck do we wait until the end of the week for to go on dates?
I can honestly say that by the end of the week I am exhausted. Not necessarily physically, because if I get the right amount of sleep I have about the same amount of physical energy every day, but mentally and emotionally I have had it by the weekend. I find myself yearning for quiet, for peace, and for a couple of hours just to think about the week. Now, if you take this exhaustion and add to it the fact that most serious social activity happens at the end of the week, when I'm already drained, I suddenly become somewhat of a socially backward person.
If you don't believe me, ask my friends who see me early on in the morning. In the morning I'm a bright, happy fellow who is chipper almost to the point of annoyance. However, come eleven o'clock at night I get very introverted, and I talk little. It's almost like a Jekyll and Hyde transformation, only I don't need drugs for it.
The same is true. Monday I'm bubbly and happy, but come Friday I just wander around, acting like my brain isn't really attached anymore and like I simply don't know what to do with myself. Emotionally, I'm spent.
It may be that this is just a phase, but I've been thinking: if during a date is when you're supposed to be getting to know people, it's not very fair that people are getting to know the Friday/Saturday me and not the Monday/Tuesday me. So, I've come up with a socially backwards plan for dating.
Why not have one day in the middle of the week off and one day at the beginning of the week? You know, like have Sunday off of work and school, and have Wednesday or Thursday off as well. That way you get one day at the end as well as one day in the middle.
I wonder if anyone will ever think about implementing my idea. . .
Why the heck do we wait until the end of the week for to go on dates?
I can honestly say that by the end of the week I am exhausted. Not necessarily physically, because if I get the right amount of sleep I have about the same amount of physical energy every day, but mentally and emotionally I have had it by the weekend. I find myself yearning for quiet, for peace, and for a couple of hours just to think about the week. Now, if you take this exhaustion and add to it the fact that most serious social activity happens at the end of the week, when I'm already drained, I suddenly become somewhat of a socially backward person.
If you don't believe me, ask my friends who see me early on in the morning. In the morning I'm a bright, happy fellow who is chipper almost to the point of annoyance. However, come eleven o'clock at night I get very introverted, and I talk little. It's almost like a Jekyll and Hyde transformation, only I don't need drugs for it.
The same is true. Monday I'm bubbly and happy, but come Friday I just wander around, acting like my brain isn't really attached anymore and like I simply don't know what to do with myself. Emotionally, I'm spent.
It may be that this is just a phase, but I've been thinking: if during a date is when you're supposed to be getting to know people, it's not very fair that people are getting to know the Friday/Saturday me and not the Monday/Tuesday me. So, I've come up with a socially backwards plan for dating.
Why not have one day in the middle of the week off and one day at the beginning of the week? You know, like have Sunday off of work and school, and have Wednesday or Thursday off as well. That way you get one day at the end as well as one day in the middle.
I wonder if anyone will ever think about implementing my idea. . .
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Just Because
Every once and awhile I need to hear this, and the only person who ever proffers it is myself. So, I'm going to say this right here and now for anyone who needs it.
Stop it! Okay, just stop!
That's it.
Stop it! Okay, just stop!
That's it.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Cookies!
I found the cookies. Yep, that's right, nothing will keep me and my stomache from becoming one for quite awhile now. Actually, nothing will keep my stomache and me from becoming one for as long as the cookies last. Which turns out to be about five seconds ago. (As a side note, the spell checker says that stomache is spelled stomach, but that looks so weird to me that I'm going to leave it as it is).
Sigh.
It's interesting how fast things we take for granted disappear. I really was looking forward to having cookies tonight. My mom made these really amazing peanut butter chocolate bars that are always delicious, and I found them earlier on today, to my delight. You might ask "to what lengths is Major Bubbles willing to go to get his cookies?" I answer for you, willing to go the impenetrable darkness, the unbreakable security, the outright shockingness of the cookie jar. Works out well that way, because that's where my mom always puts the cookies (weird, huh?).
I'm in a slightly reflective mood (something that is not really that odd for me) about those cookies, and about my life in general. I've been super busy of late, as reflected in the amount of writing I've done. Between a play, choir, school, trying to work thirty hours a week (not doing well so far), and also trying to be a good friend, I have what I like to refer to as an excess of life. Being that busy makes it hard to just stop and think, but every once and awhile I get a gem of time to think. Normally my thoughts at those moments revolve around girls or relationships (whether they be of the romantic or not varieties), in varying states of annoyance, happiness, hope, and destitution. That's not the only think I have, though.
I also like to think about me. Oooh, so humble! Of course, I don't have any material to work with that's so quite immediate as myself, so I think it's excusable. Today I'm thinking about me and cookies.
I like to eat cookies from the cookie jar. One, that's where they're supposed to be. Two, every time I eat a cookie I see how many are left. Three, every time I want a cookie I have to get up from what I'm doing and physically go to the cookie jar (I've thought about coming up with a song about skipping to the cookie jar, or maybe the happy cookie song, but so far I've got nothing). Four, when the cookie jar is empty, the cookies are gone. I may be sad, but I know that they're gone, and for the majority of the times I don't go looking for more.
Right now I have a question. Are life's cookies found in a cookie jar?
Another great thing about cookies is that you have to learn early on that you can't shove 'um down your mouth as fast as you want to. I tried that at an early age and found out that the Heimlich is not as fun to have done to you as it is to say. Yeah, my limit is about two at a time. Okay, my limit is really only one, but I eat it so fast you might easily be fooled that it's really two.
Are life's cookies found in a cookie jar?
My favorite cookie is the chocolate chip oatmeal cookie. My goodness, you'd almost be willing to sell your soul for a batch of those. My mom knows that they're my favorite, so she almost always makes an extra batch, because she knows how fast I go through them. I once ate fifteen (or more, I don't remember because I didn't count) cookies in one sitting. Granted, I had a rather nasty sugar rush and later headache afterwards, but man were those cookies good.
Are life's cookies found in a cookie jar?
While you think about it (or don't think about it. I'm not a mind reader, I can't tell you what you're thinking right now), I think I'm going to go and eat the very last peanut butter chocolate bar cookie thingy that my mom left. Yummmm. . .
Sigh.
It's interesting how fast things we take for granted disappear. I really was looking forward to having cookies tonight. My mom made these really amazing peanut butter chocolate bars that are always delicious, and I found them earlier on today, to my delight. You might ask "to what lengths is Major Bubbles willing to go to get his cookies?" I answer for you, willing to go the impenetrable darkness, the unbreakable security, the outright shockingness of the cookie jar. Works out well that way, because that's where my mom always puts the cookies (weird, huh?).
I'm in a slightly reflective mood (something that is not really that odd for me) about those cookies, and about my life in general. I've been super busy of late, as reflected in the amount of writing I've done. Between a play, choir, school, trying to work thirty hours a week (not doing well so far), and also trying to be a good friend, I have what I like to refer to as an excess of life. Being that busy makes it hard to just stop and think, but every once and awhile I get a gem of time to think. Normally my thoughts at those moments revolve around girls or relationships (whether they be of the romantic or not varieties), in varying states of annoyance, happiness, hope, and destitution. That's not the only think I have, though.
I also like to think about me. Oooh, so humble! Of course, I don't have any material to work with that's so quite immediate as myself, so I think it's excusable. Today I'm thinking about me and cookies.
I like to eat cookies from the cookie jar. One, that's where they're supposed to be. Two, every time I eat a cookie I see how many are left. Three, every time I want a cookie I have to get up from what I'm doing and physically go to the cookie jar (I've thought about coming up with a song about skipping to the cookie jar, or maybe the happy cookie song, but so far I've got nothing). Four, when the cookie jar is empty, the cookies are gone. I may be sad, but I know that they're gone, and for the majority of the times I don't go looking for more.
Right now I have a question. Are life's cookies found in a cookie jar?
Another great thing about cookies is that you have to learn early on that you can't shove 'um down your mouth as fast as you want to. I tried that at an early age and found out that the Heimlich is not as fun to have done to you as it is to say. Yeah, my limit is about two at a time. Okay, my limit is really only one, but I eat it so fast you might easily be fooled that it's really two.
Are life's cookies found in a cookie jar?
My favorite cookie is the chocolate chip oatmeal cookie. My goodness, you'd almost be willing to sell your soul for a batch of those. My mom knows that they're my favorite, so she almost always makes an extra batch, because she knows how fast I go through them. I once ate fifteen (or more, I don't remember because I didn't count) cookies in one sitting. Granted, I had a rather nasty sugar rush and later headache afterwards, but man were those cookies good.
Are life's cookies found in a cookie jar?
While you think about it (or don't think about it. I'm not a mind reader, I can't tell you what you're thinking right now), I think I'm going to go and eat the very last peanut butter chocolate bar cookie thingy that my mom left. Yummmm. . .
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