Save the Trees! Save the Trees!

On Saturday I woke up to the soothing sound of trees being murdered outside my window. Yes, my landlord decided to chop down every tree in the backyard (except for the one tree I actually WANTED him to cut down--the one that constantly pokes its big branches into my face as I try to walk through the gate).

Obviously, this man hasn't seen Avatar, or he would know that when you cut down trees, it causes great pain to blue people.

Obviously, this man hasn't seen Pocahontas, or he would know that every rock and tree and creature has a life, has a spirit, has a name.

Obviously, this man hasn't seen Ferngully, or he would know that cutting down trees leads to Tim Curry escaping and singing a cheesy song about pollution. And, really, who wants that?

I told my dear roommate that we should have gotten up really early and chained ourselves to the trees in a bold attempt at rescuing nature, but that might have caused some awkward tension between us and the landlord. Plus, that would have required getting up early.

Really, though. Isn't it a bit sacrilegious to chop down all of your trees right before Arbor Day?

BLOG!

I promised I would write about the Muse concert, and then I didn't. Once again, I have betrayed all 30 of my loyal followers.

I'm sure you have all been anxiously awaiting a new post from me. I'm just sure of it. I can see it now--all 30 of you hanging around your computer screen with blood-shot eyes, neglecting all of your responsibilities and yelling, "Blog, Jules. BLOG!!"

Well, friends, I'm back. Sorry it took so long for me to hear your cries. You see, my ears have been ringing all week, thanks to my Monday activities: going shooting with my dad and going to the concert. (For the record, I would definitely recommend ear plugs for both activities.)

All I have to say about the concert, really, is that it was amazing. I figure to give you a play-by-play would be incredibly boring--sort of like looking at pictures of someone else's cruise. "And this is where I was having the time of my life, while you were stuck at your dead-end job." Who wants that?

So, in short, if you have the chance to go to a Muse concert--take it. You won't regret it.

Nothing says "Happy Birthday" like the gift of a gun.

Happy Easter, everyone! Easter is so confusing to me. You'd think it would be our biggest holiday, due to the fact that it celebrates Christ's resurrection, which seems to me to be the most important event ever. But, it seems like no one really knows what to do with it. Uh, I guess we'll dye some eggs and, uh, fill this basket up with green plastic grass and toys?

Sure. That's a good way to celebrate the Atonement. OH! Don't forget to throw in the chocolate bunny so we can celebrate the fertility gods at the same time.

Our traditions are cool.

Speaking of traditions, it's my birthday this week. (Did you notice my pitiful attempt at transitioning smoothly into my next topic? Oh, my high school English teachers should be ashamed.) The thing about my birthday is that it comes at an awkward time of year: APRIL 7.

(Did you all get that? I SAID APRIL 7TH. I just thought I should randomly throw that date out for no apparent reason....)

There just always seems to be so much going on around that time. So, usually I get to celebrate my birthday over a bunch of different days. Hooray! Today was what we'll call my first birthday of the week. And I got a gun.

Watch out, world. I now own a gun. Yes, the girl who couldn't hit a pumpkin with a shotgun now owns an automatic rifle. (In my defense, the pumpkin was flying through the air. And I'm a better shot now....)

Happy birthday to me! Second birthday is tomorrow--MUSE CONCERT!! I'll let you know how it goes, so you can vicariously enjoy what is sure to be a fantastic show.

Ella is the perfect cure.

Whoever invented April Fool's Day deserves a big fat punch in the face from yours truly. In fact, I'm practicing my right hook, just in case I ever happen to run into the guy.

Call me crazy, but I don't find any joy in a day that celebrates people playing mean jokes on each other. And I REALLY don't appreciate having to go through an entire day of little children raising their hands in class, just to make some dumb comment and then laugh hysterically afterward, proudly yelling, "April Fool!" Yeah. That was old before it even started today.

Oh. And the lovely spawn of Satan in my class told me this week that he wanted to take a hammer and kill everyone. He is such a joy.

On a happier note, I've decided that Ella Fitzgerald is the perfect cure for a bad day. I bought this album today, and I highly recommend it. Go buy it. Now.

Is there a safe house for people who are in an abusive relationship with dessert items? Please leave the hotline number in your comment.

Confession: I love food, more than I love some people. (More than I love a lot of people, actually.)

Of course, if you're reading this blog, the above statement doesn't apply to you. *Jules bats her eyelashes and smiles innocently.*

We all know that sometimes we love things that aren't good for us. Take Samson and Delilah, for example. Or Romeo and Juliet. Or Brad and Angelina.

But, though we know that these couples aren't exactly the best match for each other, where would we be without them? Huh? I mean, what would the tabloids write about if Brad and Angelina never got together and never adopted 26 children of various nationalities?! WHAT?!

My point is that a little dysfunction in a relationship isn't necessarily a bad thing. *shifty eyes* So, when I decide to completely give up on my calorie counting at 9:30 at night, I'm just trying to bring balance to the world. *shifty eyes*

Okay, who am I kidding? I'm a weakling! I can't count calories. I've only been doing this for a week, and I'm going crazy. Seriously. One hand is shoveling chocolate chips into my mouth while the other hand is scooping peanut butter out of the jar, all while I'm trying to figure out a way to teach my feet how to peel a banana. (Those monkeys have it so easy.)

Don't judge.

I will say this, though. I love that moment when I decide to totally give up. It's just so wonderful when I think, "That's it! I don't care anymore. I'm eating 17 cream cheese-filled cookies, and then I'm going to order pizza and swim in chocolate ice cream! MWHAHAHA."

And then I have a big food hangover the next morning and feel sad inside.

I'm in an abusive relationship and I want out. It's intervention time, people. It's time to pry my fingers off the chocolate bar. Please.

I want to call your parents, but I don't think my cell phone plan covers calls to HELL.

"The soul is healed by being with children."

--Fyodor Dostoevsky

Now, I don't mean to disagree with the famous Russian author who brought as such classics as The Idiot and Crime and Punishment, but Fyodor was obviously not in my classes today. If he had been, his quote might be changed to:

"The soul is ripped to shreds by children."

Or something along those lines. Dah, Fyodor?

Okay, okay. Not all children have this effect. Most, in fact, are totally love-able. Take my preschoolers, for example. We get along splendidly. In fact, sometimes I think I should befriend more three and four year olds, simply because I have such a good rapport with them.

Fourth graders, on the other hand, make me break out in hives. And today, after one particularly charming punk told me he wanted to "slice my head off," I was quite sad that teachers are no longer allowed to paddle children. Quite sad, indeed.

I'm kidding, of course. (No I'm not. Not in the slightest, actually.)

If you'll excuse me, I'm going to try to patch my tattered soul back together. What does one use for that sort of activity? I'm thinking chocolate will be involved somehow....

Get Validated

You owe it to yourself to watch this movie, particularly if you're having a bad day. Seriously.

I'd write more, but you have a video to watch. (I'll just say that I owe endless tribute to Jarom for showing me this video. You rock.)