The next person who attempts to disparage my (assumed) eating habits had better do so in a way that is grammatically correct, because the phrase “eating healthy” is wrong unless the word “healthy” is followed by a noun.
Because adjectives don’t modify verbs, people.
The phrase you’re looking for is “eating healthily,” using the correct adverb form of the word. Or even “healthy eating,” because in that context “eating ” is a noun.
I don’t mean to be pedantic (except, of course, I really do), but this is basic grammar. Basic. And it’s true that I have also been shamed for being an “elitist” for my grammatical tirades, but there’s nothing wrong with using correct speech or good manners. Neither my grammar nor my manners are perfect, but I will always strive to correct these shortcomings.
If that makes me a monster, then fuck it. I’m a monster.
A monster who knows the difference between an adjective and an adverb.
*Title is unrelated to post, although as a coulrophobe, I really do support the ban of all clowning activities.
Chosen at random from within the break room fridge, this can says it all. Accurately.
I also appreciate that Coke Zero looks at home in the hand of a Sith Lord.
I’ve eaten at a specific restaurant in our neighborhood at least 100 times through the years (literally), and have always wondered where the stairs to the upper level were. They mainly use it as a banquet space, so I have never had occasion to see it, and I had never seen the stairs.
Today, after leaving the restroom, I finally noticed the glass front door next to the ladies’ restroom, clearly marked “stairs,” with a staircase also clearly visible behind.
Considering that I’ve used that restroom 25 times at a bare minimum and never noticed the staircase until today, you can imagine that my powers of observation are spotty at best.
It reminded me of that time in college when my best friend dyed her hair a completely different color and it took me six weeks to notice, despite seeing her every day.
I’ll never be Sherlock, that’s for sure.
I’ve been playing a Japanese game called Neko Atsume (or maybe that’s one word? I’m not sure; it’s all in Japanese) where you lure cats into your virtual yard with food and toys, then photograph them to “collect” them. There are a bunch of regular cats — and some special fancy cats, too.
And I’ve already collected them all.
I am a champion, at last.
I think I stopped blogging partially because I made my website so boring and ugly that I didn’t want to deal with it anymore. So I gave the site a makeover in hopes that I would be inspired.
I do still have things to say that don’t fit on Twitter, so I’m going to give this another go.
Someone believing me to be a different Sarah Crowder followed me on Instagram a while back. I know because I have gotten misdirected e-mail from the same person. And here’s the thing: I post selfies. She knows I’m a different Sarah Crowder.
But she hasn’t unfollowed me, and occasionally “hearts” my photos.
I guess because I’m just that awesome?
That’s right, other Sarahs. I’m in ur Instagrams, stealing ur friends.
Save for a few bands and a very few fashion trends, I have never been in on trends early. I’m not one of the cool kids. I’m too cheap to worry about new tech, too old too care about cutting edge anything, and very, deeply weird. I am an eccentric’s eccentric.
So how the hell did I end up on Ello?
I’ve never been on Facebook (mostly out of curmudgeonly stubbornness), and though I love Twitter with all of my creepy heart, I fear that it is slowly morphing into something…less fun. Then Ello starting blowing up (like yesterday, I guess?), and I thought: Why not?
Almost no one I know is on there, so I’m just shouting nonsense into the void. It has a weird interface. There are almost no non-white tech dude people on there. It’s probably not my bag, and may well slide into obscurity, just another momentary internet fad. (I don’t believe their ad-free integrity will last long, for instance. Somebody is paying for any “free” service you use.)
But I wanted to be first at something, just this once.
So feel free to follow me (codenamesarah) there, if you are so inclined.
Our new downstairs neighbor is just about as obsessed with farming Monarch butterflies as Jame Gumb was with Death’s Head moths.
I’m starting to wonder if she’s got a fat girl in a well down there.