31 January 2007
♥ ...you're joking, right?
Come on. This is pretty much the longest, most inane Spanish project ever. I doubt the teacher could actually speak this much Spanish. In fact, I don't even know if she knows this many words. This is ridiculous. And I don't even know what language it's supposed to be in. Please.
1/31/2007
30 January 2007
♥ for what it's worth, i'm sorry.
I'm sorry I'm a bitch. I'm sorry I hurt your feelings. I'm sorry I've been so awful.
As much as I don't always like you, you probably don't quite deserve this. And so, for what it's worth, I'm offering an apology.
You can take it or leave it.
As much as I don't always like you, you probably don't quite deserve this. And so, for what it's worth, I'm offering an apology.
You can take it or leave it.
1/30/2007
24 January 2007
♥ feigning a fifteen.
I think this fifteen deserves a disclaimer. First of all, it's important to note that I simultaneously love and hate the fifteen. It is petty and childish, but it feels good. The fifteen is everything I want to say and am not sure how to tell you. I guess these fifteen are probably the most pivotal I've posted, and I say that with the utmost regret. Maybe I'm just in an emo sort of mood today, or maybe I'm in a pivotal time of my life. I can't tell you--no, not even you--who they are right now, because I'm not even sure if I believe them myself. There are a few exceptions, but several of these apply to multiple people, and more still apply to the same person more than once. Ready, go.
1. Now I understand why you did it. Sometimes we need a little detox.
2. I'm already jealous of you.
3. I don't want it to end that way, but I think it's going to. For your sake (and even more for someone else's), I really hope it doesn't.
4. But don't forget: you loved her once.
5. You're being selfish.
6. If it came down to it, I know what you would choose.
7. I'm afraid you're going to forget.
8. Well, here we are. It's time for you to grow up.
9. You're wasting away without him, aren't you? You can hardly go two days. I'm not sure if I think you're pathetic or if I admire you.
10. I want to get to know you, but I'm afraid to go down that road again. I know I will end up somewhere I don't want to be, and I don't know what choice I will make when I get there.
11. I think you're wrong about this, but in admitting that, I feel like I've betrayed you. Is it okay to disagree with you?
12. It's okay, you know. You gave it a shot. There are plenty more fish in the sea. And don't forget, I love you no matter what.
13. I started out with nothing but the utmost admiration and respect for you, but now you're making me wonder if this is worth it.
14. I'm not sure if I think you're doing the right thing.
15. Was it always you?
I hope you don't think I'm a morose intellectual. I hope you don't fall in love too fast. I hope you don't let this get to you. I hope you don't think I'm a terrible friend. I hope you need me like I need you. I hope I know more about you than you think I do. I hope I get a chance to say everything I've been thinking right to your face. I hope I can clean up my act.
I hope you stick with me, because now is when I need you the most.
That's one hope for every year I've known you.
1. Now I understand why you did it. Sometimes we need a little detox.
2. I'm already jealous of you.
3. I don't want it to end that way, but I think it's going to. For your sake (and even more for someone else's), I really hope it doesn't.
4. But don't forget: you loved her once.
5. You're being selfish.
6. If it came down to it, I know what you would choose.
7. I'm afraid you're going to forget.
8. Well, here we are. It's time for you to grow up.
9. You're wasting away without him, aren't you? You can hardly go two days. I'm not sure if I think you're pathetic or if I admire you.
10. I want to get to know you, but I'm afraid to go down that road again. I know I will end up somewhere I don't want to be, and I don't know what choice I will make when I get there.
11. I think you're wrong about this, but in admitting that, I feel like I've betrayed you. Is it okay to disagree with you?
12. It's okay, you know. You gave it a shot. There are plenty more fish in the sea. And don't forget, I love you no matter what.
13. I started out with nothing but the utmost admiration and respect for you, but now you're making me wonder if this is worth it.
14. I'm not sure if I think you're doing the right thing.
15. Was it always you?
I hope you don't think I'm a morose intellectual. I hope you don't fall in love too fast. I hope you don't let this get to you. I hope you don't think I'm a terrible friend. I hope you need me like I need you. I hope I know more about you than you think I do. I hope I get a chance to say everything I've been thinking right to your face. I hope I can clean up my act.
I hope you stick with me, because now is when I need you the most.
That's one hope for every year I've known you.
1/24/2007
21 January 2007
♥ this would be my 100th post.
Just, you know, for the record. Yay! Happy postday to me.
1/21/2007
♥ dating for dummies.
Well, turns out we're even weirder than I thought. In case you're ever unsure of what to do on a date, try pretending to shop for furniture at American Furniture Warehouse. Here are some tips to get you started:
That's about all the tips I can muster. I think the rest is all just stuff you're going to have to learn for yourself. Oh, and just so you know, they don't put balls in the foosball tables. Probably because of people like us.
- Don't set your sights too high. We started out with a plan to sit on every couch in the joint. Okay, well, you would not believe how many freaking couches there are. This place is HUGE. We started out sitting on every couch in the little alcove near the front, but when we got into the main warehouse, we realized that unless we were willing to stay there for several days, that was a somewhat unrealistic goal. Maybe try... all the leather couches, all the patterned couches, all the red couches (there are more than you'd think), etc. You'll have to make several trips to complete all that couch sitting. (Below: That's really more of a tiny chair than a couch. You have to be more discriminating.)
- Bring sustenance. It sounds like overkill, but it's really easy to get lost in there. I bet we walked ten miles in that place last night. You're going to get really thirsty. You might also want to bring a power bar. (Below: Hey! There's only oxygen in this pitcher... where is the WATER?!)
- Don't ask too many questions or exaggerate your shopping purposes. They catch on if you start loudly asking your shopping partner whether they think this will fit in the game room. They also don't like it if you ask if they have this couch in a darker color. (Below: "Why is there a pillow in this giant vase?" is not an appropriate question to ask your friendly AFW salespeople.)
- Leave a trail. Bread crumbs, marbles, whatever: you're not going to want to take a wrong turn. Before you leave an area of the warehouse, be sure to familiarize yourself with your surroundings, because chances are you'll be going in circles and find yourself right back where you started. Eventually you'll start using your most basic animalistic instincts--like sniffing couches to see if your scent is already there--to find your way out. (Below: AN EXIT!)
- Don't put your feet on the footrests. For some reason, even though that's what they're for, the salespeople give you dirty looks when you put your feet up. How am I even supposed to know if I want this couch if I don't know whether it's comfy? (Below: Sacking out on the beds is also frowned upon.)
- Act like you belong there. Being nervous and giggly will make them suspicious. If you talk about color schemes in the office / sitting room, they'll leave you alone. Stick to "We're just browsing now, but we'll come find you if we need help!" they think you're for real. When you start taking pictures of yourselves pretending to read the decorative books, they tend to think you're just a bunch of freaks. Who are spending a Saturday night at the furniture emporium. Wow. (Below: See? We're in here studying all the time!)
- Learn the lingo. No, that's not an "L-couch," it's a "sectional." Using words like "mauve" instead of "purple," "taupe" instead of "tan," and "steel" instead of "gray" will add to your credibility. Also, give each of your rooms really pretentious names, like "sitting room" rather than "living room," "home entertainment center" instead of "den," and "home office" rather than "study." They love stuff like that. (Below: Just call this "the master suite.")
- To touch or not to touch? Many of the desks have fake computer monitors on them, I guess to give you a feel for whether yours would look classy there. However, a few of the desks actually have real computers, and while they may seem somewhat out of place, they're actually for sales representatives to lay out floor plans for customers who are actually there to buy furniture. They don't seem to appreciate it if you sit down and start typing. They also give you funny looks when you get excited over what's on the fake TVs. (Below: This horse race sure is exciting!)
That's about all the tips I can muster. I think the rest is all just stuff you're going to have to learn for yourself. Oh, and just so you know, they don't put balls in the foosball tables. Probably because of people like us.
1/21/2007
19 January 2007
♥ pathetic? no, i don't really think so.
You know how it's supposed to be lame to be home all by yourself on a Friday night?
Well, actually, I'd forgotten how fun it can be.
My phone's off, I'm watching a movie I've never seen, I'm eating Top Ramen [finally!], and I couldn't be happier.
It's kind of nice to just sit in your jammies and... relax for once.
Well, actually, I'd forgotten how fun it can be.
My phone's off, I'm watching a movie I've never seen, I'm eating Top Ramen [finally!], and I couldn't be happier.
It's kind of nice to just sit in your jammies and... relax for once.
1/19/2007
♥ ...and speaking of feeding my ego,
I think it's kind of sad when you're ecstatic over realizing that your MySpace has just received its 500th viewing.
1/19/2007
♥ who needs self-help books when you've got the flu?
I hate being sick because it reminds me of all the things I don't like about myself. When I'm stuck at home by myself with nothing to do except watch reruns of VH1's "100 Hottest Hotties" (What the hell is Fergie doing on that list?), I can't help but do some angsting.
For example, I dislike that I'm a petty bitch. I whine about getting dirty looks from my friends' girlfriends, but the truth is, I'd be lying if I said I'd never gone out of my way to make them jealous. On the flipside, who hasn't done that? Then again, it's not exactly a winning quality, pettiness. So from now on, I'm over it. Okay, I don't like your girlfriend. I think you could do way better, I think she's a stupid jealous bitch, I think you're just being desperate. But if I'm going to be a good friend, I'm going to have to stop making it worse.
That brings me to my next point: I'm a terrible friend. For the last... what is it, like eight months? In any case, I've been so wrapped up in myself and my own meaningless problems that I haven't paid nearly enough attention to the things that actually matter. I guess it's time for me to stop whining and feeling sorry for myself for being fucked up and start thinking a little more about everyone else. I could stand to be a little more empathetic, a little more compassionate, a little less cold.
And another thing: I'm too sensitive. I read into everything everyone says. All it takes is one snide comment to completely trash my day. Alright, okay, everyone's not always going to like me. Maybe I need to stop feeding my ego and assuming everyone's out to get me. The truth of the matter is, like it or not, most people probably spend less than a tiny fraction of their day thinking about me. No one devotes entire days to thinking "How am I going to piss her off this time?" or, on the flipside, about how they'll be delighting me with a lovely Kwanzaa surprise. I'm pretty inconsequential in most people's realities, I would imagine. This probably means that very few of what I've considered to be cruel and unnecessary insults actually meant anything more than "Hey, you should fix your necklace. The clasp is showing" kind of thing.
Alright, I guess that's enough self-improvement for one day. I think I should get some credit for realizing that all these things are annoying about me, right?
Mmm... I wish we had some Ramen noodles here. I could really go for some Ramen right now.
For example, I dislike that I'm a petty bitch. I whine about getting dirty looks from my friends' girlfriends, but the truth is, I'd be lying if I said I'd never gone out of my way to make them jealous. On the flipside, who hasn't done that? Then again, it's not exactly a winning quality, pettiness. So from now on, I'm over it. Okay, I don't like your girlfriend. I think you could do way better, I think she's a stupid jealous bitch, I think you're just being desperate. But if I'm going to be a good friend, I'm going to have to stop making it worse.
That brings me to my next point: I'm a terrible friend. For the last... what is it, like eight months? In any case, I've been so wrapped up in myself and my own meaningless problems that I haven't paid nearly enough attention to the things that actually matter. I guess it's time for me to stop whining and feeling sorry for myself for being fucked up and start thinking a little more about everyone else. I could stand to be a little more empathetic, a little more compassionate, a little less cold.
And another thing: I'm too sensitive. I read into everything everyone says. All it takes is one snide comment to completely trash my day. Alright, okay, everyone's not always going to like me. Maybe I need to stop feeding my ego and assuming everyone's out to get me. The truth of the matter is, like it or not, most people probably spend less than a tiny fraction of their day thinking about me. No one devotes entire days to thinking "How am I going to piss her off this time?" or, on the flipside, about how they'll be delighting me with a lovely Kwanzaa surprise. I'm pretty inconsequential in most people's realities, I would imagine. This probably means that very few of what I've considered to be cruel and unnecessary insults actually meant anything more than "Hey, you should fix your necklace. The clasp is showing" kind of thing.
Alright, I guess that's enough self-improvement for one day. I think I should get some credit for realizing that all these things are annoying about me, right?
Mmm... I wish we had some Ramen noodles here. I could really go for some Ramen right now.
1/19/2007
16 January 2007
♥ why, that's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me!
"My life is an empty barrel of monkeys without you!"
1/16/2007
♥ it looks uncomfortable
The new one is very different than Andrea. She's much... judgier. She tries not to give me any real answers, but I can see the sort of concerned pity when I tell her something I know I'm going to regret. I could have told Andrea any of this. This one, Jen, doesn't seem to get it. She's very nervous and always looks as if she's about to cry. She says "sleep with" instead of "have sex" and she doesn't like how often I say "probably." She says I'm too guilt-ridden and worries that I'm in deeper than I should be in just about every aspect of my life. She's pretty, but she shouldn't wear so many turtleneck sweaters.
1/16/2007
15 January 2007
♥ wow... she doesn't fool around with this whole fooling around thing, does she?
What a bizarre and unexpected turn of events.
1/15/2007
13 January 2007
♥ full-frontal fifteen.
No lyrics this time--too lazy. Enjoy.
- Ohhh... all we needed was time. Things are definitely getting better now, aren't they?
- So it really doesn't bother you? I think it does. I think it bothers you a lot more than you're letting on. I bet it feels weird to have the roles totally reversed. [You've got her completely whipped.]
- I guess you're quite capable of being an asshole sometimes, but for some reason I'm really drawn to you. Maybe it's the connection with him.
- Are you still hot when you talk? Actually... do you talk?
- You're the most annoying person in the world. We work quite nicely together, don't we? I guess I like you more than I'd anticipated.
- The whole mixed messages thing could get old pretty quickly, just so you know. It's sweet now, but it's not going to last. We're going to end up somewhere neither of us wants to be.
- I don't know who did this to you, but I hate them for it. It took her and now it's slowly getting to you, too. Only one more semester... stick it out? [I need you more than you think.]
- You're so... nice and normal now. Seriously... what do you want?
- I want someone to tell you what's going on. I don't want to ruin things with the two of you, but this can't go on forever.
- How can you still act like everything's just peachy keen?! You're her best fucking friend!
- You're a little more human than I think I gave you credit for. Turns out I like you just fine.
- Totally didn't see this one coming.
- You're more beautiful than you think.
- If it's too much, just say so. He'll understand.
- You need a sense of humor or you're never gonna make it through this. I really don't like you.
1/13/2007
♥ resolution #3.
I know this is really obnoxious, but I would just like to take this opportunity to inform everyone that I've officially met my New Year's resolution to ace my history final.
Because I so got a 9.
What's that? Oh, I'm sorry, did you say A 9?!?!?!!?
Yeah, that's right a freaking 9.
999999999
NIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNEEEEEEEE.
Hehe. 9. I got a 9.
Because I so got a 9.
What's that? Oh, I'm sorry, did you say A 9?!?!?!!?
Yeah, that's right a freaking 9.
999999999
NIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNEEEEEEEE.
Hehe. 9. I got a 9.
1/13/2007
09 January 2007
♥ musings of a recovering sociopath.
My shrink's office is in a big, pretentious building with lots of windows. When you walk through the main doors, it feels like you've just stepped into an airport, and I always half-expect a big bald man in security garb to yell at me to remove any liquids from my purse.
Anyway, I check in at Behavioral Medicine. The name of this department always makes me feel like I'm on some nature show with Nigel-the-Safari-Guide narrating my mating habits and scavenging techniques, in a nasally British accent, to his eager and adoring viewers.
Because the clinic was designed by someone who had never had to visit a shrink in Behavioral Med, my wing is in the very back of the clinic, so you have to walk through three other departments to get to it. By the time you've gotten through Optometry, everyone knows you're not there to get your eyeglass prescription updated. They know you're heading to the land of the whackjobs. Of course, there are, on any given day, any number of well-dressed middle-class mothers escorting their children to their little well-kid checkups and wanting to shield little Robby's eyes when one of the psych ward patients strolls through. This is the part where I hope they all think I'm on crack.
In any case, the sign hanging above the reception desk says:
Anyway, I check in at Behavioral Medicine. The name of this department always makes me feel like I'm on some nature show with Nigel-the-Safari-Guide narrating my mating habits and scavenging techniques, in a nasally British accent, to his eager and adoring viewers.
Because the clinic was designed by someone who had never had to visit a shrink in Behavioral Med, my wing is in the very back of the clinic, so you have to walk through three other departments to get to it. By the time you've gotten through Optometry, everyone knows you're not there to get your eyeglass prescription updated. They know you're heading to the land of the whackjobs. Of course, there are, on any given day, any number of well-dressed middle-class mothers escorting their children to their little well-kid checkups and wanting to shield little Robby's eyes when one of the psych ward patients strolls through. This is the part where I hope they all think I'm on crack.
In any case, the sign hanging above the reception desk says:
DEPARTMENT OF BEHAVIORAL MEDICINE
- MENTAL HEALTH
- CHEMICAL DEPENDENCY
- EATING DISORDERS
So right away when you get there everyone knows there's something wrong with you, but that's okay, because they're all screwed up too.
It's the waiting room at this place that really gets my little wheels turning. If you're there you must either be a druggie or a barfer or just plain crazy, right? I like guessing who belongs to which category, and sometimes I have trouble stifling a gasp when I end up being completely and totally off the mark. I love it when I'm right (I usually am) but I enjoy it even more when they've sent me a surprise attack.
Anyway, all this guessing gets me to wondering--which do they think I am? Do I look like a bipolar patient or an eating disorder case?
I hope they all thing I'm a druggie. Yeah, that's right, you all think I starve myself? Ha!
I try to look like a hardass. I might be wearing a cute little sweater and a pair of khaki cords, but that's just because I'm an addict with class. Any minute now a cop will march in and say, "Gig's up, little lady!" and march me off to the slammer, where I'll inspire a washed-up old English-professor-turned-dealer to turn his life around and write a bestselling novel about me.
Or maybe a fight will start in the lobby and I'll have to use my street cred to break it up. (I've got some kind of badass name on the streets, you know, it comes with the territory.) "Knock it off, guys," I'll say, and one of my sleeves will get all jostled in the commotion, revealing a telltale scar on my left wrist, which I garnered in an especially rough encounter with a rapper whom I can't name at the moment due to his pending legal situation. Anyway, one of these punks will notice it and say, "Sweet Jesus Mary and Joseph! It's Lady X!" and the other will stutter in awe (I'm really badass, you have to understand) and finally say, "You won't get any more trouble from us!"
Or maybe this will be the breakthrough session where my shrink will finally fully comprehend my notoriety and send me on a sensitive sting operation to the Golden Hours Motel on East Colfax--you know the place--where I'll put a stop to a dangerous mid-western crack ring once and for all, saving countless adorable puppies and burros from unfortunate destinies as inadvertent smugglers.
I sit in the waiting room and hope that everyone realizes how freaking badass I am, because I always forget my magazing when I go there and all they have is the June 2004 issue of the Ladies Home Journal, which I've read six times now. I wish I could be one of those tough-to-crack cases like in B-grade movies, where I ask questions like "But why are you here, Dr. Kensington?" and the shrink loses sleep trying to figure you out.
But I love talking about myself (anyone who doesn't is actually lying), so that's probably not going to happen. Though I haven't nearly the willpower to be a difficult CD patient, I thoroughly enjoy the idea that when I step into the hallway and close the door to the lobby, the waiting room releases a collective sigh, knowing that at least for my 45-minute session, the world is safe from a hardened criminal.
It's the waiting room at this place that really gets my little wheels turning. If you're there you must either be a druggie or a barfer or just plain crazy, right? I like guessing who belongs to which category, and sometimes I have trouble stifling a gasp when I end up being completely and totally off the mark. I love it when I'm right (I usually am) but I enjoy it even more when they've sent me a surprise attack.
Anyway, all this guessing gets me to wondering--which do they think I am? Do I look like a bipolar patient or an eating disorder case?
I hope they all thing I'm a druggie. Yeah, that's right, you all think I starve myself? Ha!
I try to look like a hardass. I might be wearing a cute little sweater and a pair of khaki cords, but that's just because I'm an addict with class. Any minute now a cop will march in and say, "Gig's up, little lady!" and march me off to the slammer, where I'll inspire a washed-up old English-professor-turned-dealer to turn his life around and write a bestselling novel about me.
Or maybe a fight will start in the lobby and I'll have to use my street cred to break it up. (I've got some kind of badass name on the streets, you know, it comes with the territory.) "Knock it off, guys," I'll say, and one of my sleeves will get all jostled in the commotion, revealing a telltale scar on my left wrist, which I garnered in an especially rough encounter with a rapper whom I can't name at the moment due to his pending legal situation. Anyway, one of these punks will notice it and say, "Sweet Jesus Mary and Joseph! It's Lady X!" and the other will stutter in awe (I'm really badass, you have to understand) and finally say, "You won't get any more trouble from us!"
Or maybe this will be the breakthrough session where my shrink will finally fully comprehend my notoriety and send me on a sensitive sting operation to the Golden Hours Motel on East Colfax--you know the place--where I'll put a stop to a dangerous mid-western crack ring once and for all, saving countless adorable puppies and burros from unfortunate destinies as inadvertent smugglers.
I sit in the waiting room and hope that everyone realizes how freaking badass I am, because I always forget my magazing when I go there and all they have is the June 2004 issue of the Ladies Home Journal, which I've read six times now. I wish I could be one of those tough-to-crack cases like in B-grade movies, where I ask questions like "But why are you here, Dr. Kensington?" and the shrink loses sleep trying to figure you out.
But I love talking about myself (anyone who doesn't is actually lying), so that's probably not going to happen. Though I haven't nearly the willpower to be a difficult CD patient, I thoroughly enjoy the idea that when I step into the hallway and close the door to the lobby, the waiting room releases a collective sigh, knowing that at least for my 45-minute session, the world is safe from a hardened criminal.
1/09/2007
07 January 2007
♥ time to upgrade?
Alright, so I'm sitting at my kitchen table eating my delicious Yogurt Burst Cheerios (strawberry, of course--try it, they'll change your life) and flipping through the mail, right? And suddenly I come across this box of tampons. Now, first of all, I'm somewhat appalled by the idea of getting tampons in the mail. Sample tampons?! How do I even know where these come from? If I'm going to be sticking ANYTHING up there, I better know where it came from and where it's been. Anyway, I'm scrutinizing this box of bitch supplies and I realize that it's actually more offensive than I'd realized initially.
First of all, the Brady Bunch-era writing on the front says "Time to Upgrade?" in the most obnoxious orange imaginable. Underneath is a picture of a pensive-looking little blond twentysomething, and in her little thought bubble is a befuddled-looking, fat boyfriend holding a six-pack of cheap beer and a bucket of fried chicken. "Hmm," I think to myself, "Just what I don't want when I'm on my period." This all seems reasonable so far, though I think having to look at this unfortunate-looking fellow while my uterus lining falls out would be enough to make me vomit.
Anyway, when you open the little flap, you see the same girl again, though this time she's wearing a considerable cheerier expression. ["Maybe her period's over," I think to myself, "That would be an upgrade!"] No, no. She's still bleeding away, but this time the thought bubble boyfriend is much cuter and better dressed, and he's carrying flowers and a bottle of champagne. "Classy," I say, and then it hits me: What. The. Hell.
Okay, if you're telling me these tampons are such an upgrade, there better be something really great about them. I want freaking silk tampons for the price of this TampaxPearl nonsense, and these suckers are no more helpful than if you used a wad of Kleenex. And if they're such a freaking upgrade, why don't they do something really spectacular, like make your period shorter or have you bleed liquid gold or something?
But wait, they DO apparently do somthing spectacular: stick one of these babies up your yoo-hoo and you'll land yourself a cuter manslave! Um... what? First of all, I don't think anyone even knows what kind of *ahem* sanitary supplies I'm using, and second, what guy goes, "Wow, she's not much of a looker, but she uses TampaxPearl? Classy, sign me up for that!" I mean, come on. Most guys don't want to hang out with their girlfriends during the monthly nightmare anyway, let alone if they actually SEE box of tampons sitting out as evidence. It's very frightening to them.
In any case, moral of the story: TampaxPearl tampons are stupid and overpriced. Don't support their retarded campaign.
First of all, the Brady Bunch-era writing on the front says "Time to Upgrade?" in the most obnoxious orange imaginable. Underneath is a picture of a pensive-looking little blond twentysomething, and in her little thought bubble is a befuddled-looking, fat boyfriend holding a six-pack of cheap beer and a bucket of fried chicken. "Hmm," I think to myself, "Just what I don't want when I'm on my period." This all seems reasonable so far, though I think having to look at this unfortunate-looking fellow while my uterus lining falls out would be enough to make me vomit.
Anyway, when you open the little flap, you see the same girl again, though this time she's wearing a considerable cheerier expression. ["Maybe her period's over," I think to myself, "That would be an upgrade!"] No, no. She's still bleeding away, but this time the thought bubble boyfriend is much cuter and better dressed, and he's carrying flowers and a bottle of champagne. "Classy," I say, and then it hits me: What. The. Hell.
Okay, if you're telling me these tampons are such an upgrade, there better be something really great about them. I want freaking silk tampons for the price of this TampaxPearl nonsense, and these suckers are no more helpful than if you used a wad of Kleenex. And if they're such a freaking upgrade, why don't they do something really spectacular, like make your period shorter or have you bleed liquid gold or something?
But wait, they DO apparently do somthing spectacular: stick one of these babies up your yoo-hoo and you'll land yourself a cuter manslave! Um... what? First of all, I don't think anyone even knows what kind of *ahem* sanitary supplies I'm using, and second, what guy goes, "Wow, she's not much of a looker, but she uses TampaxPearl? Classy, sign me up for that!" I mean, come on. Most guys don't want to hang out with their girlfriends during the monthly nightmare anyway, let alone if they actually SEE box of tampons sitting out as evidence. It's very frightening to them.
In any case, moral of the story: TampaxPearl tampons are stupid and overpriced. Don't support their retarded campaign.
1/07/2007
03 January 2007
♥ *sigh*
I can't even tell you how much I don't want to go to work today. And I have to make a Blockbuster run somewhere in there.
And Kayla, I'm adding him to the list of potential prom dates. Now we don't even need to care if she cares! Wow drama. Consider me perplexed.
And Kayla, I'm adding him to the list of potential prom dates. Now we don't even need to care if she cares! Wow drama. Consider me perplexed.
1/03/2007
01 January 2007
♥ so this is the new year...
And for once, I do feel kind of different. I was looking forward to last night all along, though I'm not entirely sure what I was expecting. Of course, by all rights, it should have been--it's all people I like and people they like. And you know what? It was fun. For the first time in a long time, I just kind of didn't worry. I didn't worry about curfew or having to drive home or missing the one I've been thinking of. For the first time in a long time, everything was just about perfect. And for the first time ever, I thought New Year's was kind of a cool holiday. [This is exaggerated by the fact that I don't have to work today.]
In keeping with my new spirit of excited New Year'siness, I made some resolutions this year. I find it's easiest for morale to make only a few resolutions, that way you don't feel as bad when you break most of them, because "most of them" is only two or three. I also prefer to have a couple of "continuous" resolutions in there, because it makes me feel a little better if they're not all bad habits to break. I can encourage myself by reminding myself of all the nice things about me! It also helps to use resolutions that anyone can benefit from, such as "drink more water." Anyone can drink more water, because it's free! Also, it helps to rid us of all those pesky antioxidants. Anyway. Here goes:
1. Keep not smoking.
2. Make a new friend.
3. Ace European History final.
4. Quit my stupid job.
5. Haha, just kidding, Branden. Don't get your hopes up, buddy.
6. Finish that list. I guess it doesn't all have to get done this year. Make some serious progress on that list. [You can go ahead and get your hopes up for that one.]
In keeping with my new spirit of excited New Year'siness, I made some resolutions this year. I find it's easiest for morale to make only a few resolutions, that way you don't feel as bad when you break most of them, because "most of them" is only two or three. I also prefer to have a couple of "continuous" resolutions in there, because it makes me feel a little better if they're not all bad habits to break. I can encourage myself by reminding myself of all the nice things about me! It also helps to use resolutions that anyone can benefit from, such as "drink more water." Anyone can drink more water, because it's free! Also, it helps to rid us of all those pesky antioxidants. Anyway. Here goes:
1. Keep not smoking.
2. Make a new friend.
3. Ace European History final.
4. Quit my stupid job.
5. Haha, just kidding, Branden. Don't get your hopes up, buddy.
6. Finish that list. I guess it doesn't all have to get done this year. Make some serious progress on that list. [You can go ahead and get your hopes up for that one.]
1/01/2007
