The granola bar I’m eating tastes the same way that a hamster smells. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
This, of course, has absolutely nothing to do with anything related to this blog. In fact, I’m only eating this because tonight’s finale of the always amazing Doctor Who played with my emotions in the worst way because Steven Moffat is the son of Satan and I just can’t cope with what he put me through with that episode. Son. So many emotions. The freakin’ feels. I can’t even go into what just had me screaming with fangirlish giddiness and shouting obscenities at my computer screen because, well
But, listen. It was great and I’m going to subject myself to the torture when it premieres here in the US in about an hour.
So anyway, I’m eating, or at least I’m trying to. I’m not quite sure what’s going on in my mouth right now. I mean, the package says that it’s a peanut butter granola bar, but all my brain is registering is that the scent emanating from the back corner of every kindergarten classroom in America is dancing across my tongue. My taste buds and I are confused. What the hell, Nature Valley?
Actually, what the hell, Moffat? This is all your fault.
Ahem. Moving on.
I think the first thing you need to know about me is that I aintshit. Not that I’m not working on that, of course. I am. But as of right now? No. I aintshit at all and, as far as I’m concerned, that’s perfectly fine.
I’m getting ahead of myself, though.
My name is LauRenand this is a chronicle of a life lived just a bit more (infamously) than you may be use to. What does that mean exactly and why do I insist upon putting all deviations of the word “infamous” in parentheses? I mean, I could tell you now, but where’s the fun in that? Divulging those particular details at this point would be like eating dessert before dinner—everything that comes after it pales in comparison.
And we can’t have that now can we?
So, yeah. Sit back, relax, catch a contact and join me as I try to balance my high minded ideals with my somewhat low morals.