Candles, rabbit food, and bedrooms

Candles rock. Every guy in the world right now is sighing and saying, "what IS it with girls and candles." Well, I don't know. But I know what's with *this* girl and candles. Fire is friggin' cool. It changes. If you stare at it for 5 minutes, you will never see the same thing twice. Ever. Think about that. And it's something that can be used for forces of good (cooking, heat) and evil destruction. You have to respect fire. Fire absolutely demands it. Candles smell good. In the words of the comic genius Robert Dubec, "Women light a candle to enjoy a pleasant fragrance, men light a candle to mask an unpleasant one."

But where was I with this? Oh, yeah. Candles. I started working here almost two years ago. I brought candles in. My theory was that I was gonna burn them until someone told me that I couldn't, which I figured would be soon b/c I have papers everywhere and it's really just a fire waiting to happen. An unintentional fire, not the intentional one in the candle holder. And when that happened, I'd pull the "oh, I'm new here." But no one ever told me that. So I just kept going. After about a year, another lawyer started burning candles. Then another one. About three of four months after THAT, one of the staff goes up to the Managing Partner and asks if staff can burn candles too. (He said yes, as long as they weren't fart smells. I kid you not.) Anyway, so now there are about a dozen people in the office who all burn candles - because I was just waiting for someone to tell me no.

And Fiber One tastes like rabbit food. Or what I anticipate rabbit food tasting like. I've never actually tried it before. Just my two cents on that cereal.

And speaking of rabbits, I was moving my lawn yesterday (a story in itself, and the reason Jen had to open this Blog for me b/c I have to share it and not have someone say "Stephanie.I.don't.care." Bastard.) Anyway, I'm mowing the lawn and I have a hole in my yard. So I go over the hole, don't step in in b/c I don't want to trip (and am proud of myself b/c I manage not to.) Later I see all this fur over it, so I assume it's just stuck in this hole. You know, blowing in the wind and all that stuff? So anyway, I kick at the fur - and it starts to move! It's a little baby bunny, smaller than my palm! I felt so awful! I probably have the world's only deaf bunny living in my yard now! I felt awful. Later I went and saw the fur put back properly. Mommy must have taken care of it. But you know she is thinking, "crazy human..."

Finally, I've decided after five nights in my new house that I, in fact, dislike the light yellow color of my new bedsheets (although I've become a fan of the 400 thread count. Whatever that means. They are super soft. End result.) I don't want a pale yellow bedroom! And the bedspread is this maroon color with black and yellow plaid - not as hideous as it sounds, but not what is "me." I guess that's what happens when you let random Republican boy decide the color of your bedsheets. I already *know* he lacks taste and intellect. What am I doing letting him pick important things like my bedsheets?!? Look what he does with responsibility like the presidency? Sigh. Not one of my finer moments. I meant the colors of the bedsheets, but it can equally apply to the Republican...