I had to sign up for a website in order to take a quiz to tell me if I'm a Nerd, Dork, or Geek (oh, like you're so busy and important) so obviously I picked this username. The best part is, I had to add a 1, meaning someone else had the same idea. GREAT MINDS OBVIOUSLY.
See today's Pajiba Love for the quiz. I got Modern, Cool nerd, which I think means I'm not a nerd at all? I don't know, I'm not a doctor.
Showing posts with label nerd alert. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nerd alert. Show all posts
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Friday, March 25, 2011
True story: when we watch Fringe, I spend most of the time talking about how dreamy Joshua Jackson is.
When I was a tween, one of my most serious hobbies was collecting BOP and Tiger Beat magazines. My friends and I would go to the drug store and sit in the magazine aisle, leaf through these bubblegum rags, and agonize over our purchases. My weekly allowance would only support my habit up to a point, so I had to be careful if I wanted to get my money’s worth. Sometimes the magazines had only so-so heartthrobs on the cover, but if there was a magazine with a full-size pullout poster of Jonathan Taylor Thomas (JTT!!!), well, obviously that was money well spent.
Some of my friends were already starting to go on dates around this time, even though most of us hadn’t even started our periods. I was shy and socially awkward around most people, and even more so around boys. I had no interest in them and didn’t anticipate ever wanting to have anything to do with them. I mean...I had books, I had my friends, I had my bike, honestly, what else did I need?
Maybe I wasn’t maturing as quickly as my friends, I don’t know, but I didn’t see the appeal of dating. Frankly, what little dating information I’d been able to gather (mostly from old episodes of Saved by the Bell) terrified me. My friends and I often discussed the perfect age to start dating. Most of my friends insisted that, at 12, we were the perfect age to date all we wanted, and you wouldn’t believe the heavy silence that fell when I suggested that maybe 18 was a better age.
I had no real interest in any of the boys in my life but was obsessed with collecting glossy pictures of my favorite teen actors. My room was plastered with the posters and pages I’d torn from teen magazines. I taped them on my bedroom walls like wallpaper. I lived in my head and my head was full of these Hollywood pretty boys. It was easier to pretend that if I should ever meet one of these actors, they’d fall deeply in love with me, and I’d never need to go through the painful dating process. I weaved intricate fantasies around these meetings, based on information gleaned from all the generic magazine articles I’d read about them. JTT liked ice cream. I liked ice cream! Joshua Jackson liked animals! I LOVED animals! Andrew Keegan liked to hike and, well, I liked to walk? Oh the fun we’d have, JTT, Andrew, Josh (yeah, I call him Josh) and I, eating our double-decker ice cream cones while we hiked through the woods and tried to catch wild animals WITH OUR BARE HANDS.
Obviously, these fantasies never became reality, and I (sort of) overcame my fear of boys and dipped my toe into the dating scene. I still spend most of my time in my head, but I eventually outgrew these magazine heartthrobs. Although, if I didn't think Joe would mind, I might still plaster the walls of our house with pictures of Joshua Jackson.
PACEY 4EVA!!1!!11!
Some of my friends were already starting to go on dates around this time, even though most of us hadn’t even started our periods. I was shy and socially awkward around most people, and even more so around boys. I had no interest in them and didn’t anticipate ever wanting to have anything to do with them. I mean...I had books, I had my friends, I had my bike, honestly, what else did I need?
Maybe I wasn’t maturing as quickly as my friends, I don’t know, but I didn’t see the appeal of dating. Frankly, what little dating information I’d been able to gather (mostly from old episodes of Saved by the Bell) terrified me. My friends and I often discussed the perfect age to start dating. Most of my friends insisted that, at 12, we were the perfect age to date all we wanted, and you wouldn’t believe the heavy silence that fell when I suggested that maybe 18 was a better age.
I had no real interest in any of the boys in my life but was obsessed with collecting glossy pictures of my favorite teen actors. My room was plastered with the posters and pages I’d torn from teen magazines. I taped them on my bedroom walls like wallpaper. I lived in my head and my head was full of these Hollywood pretty boys. It was easier to pretend that if I should ever meet one of these actors, they’d fall deeply in love with me, and I’d never need to go through the painful dating process. I weaved intricate fantasies around these meetings, based on information gleaned from all the generic magazine articles I’d read about them. JTT liked ice cream. I liked ice cream! Joshua Jackson liked animals! I LOVED animals! Andrew Keegan liked to hike and, well, I liked to walk? Oh the fun we’d have, JTT, Andrew, Josh (yeah, I call him Josh) and I, eating our double-decker ice cream cones while we hiked through the woods and tried to catch wild animals WITH OUR BARE HANDS.
Obviously, these fantasies never became reality, and I (sort of) overcame my fear of boys and dipped my toe into the dating scene. I still spend most of my time in my head, but I eventually outgrew these magazine heartthrobs. Although, if I didn't think Joe would mind, I might still plaster the walls of our house with pictures of Joshua Jackson.
PACEY 4EVA!!1!!11!
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
This place is a tomb. I'm going to the nut shop where it's fun.
When I was a kid, I read all the time. Like, ALL THE TIME. A few months ago, my mom was telling me a story about how she was in a waiting room, quite obviously deeply involved with her book (dirty), and someone wouldn't stop trying to have a conversation with her. I was all, "MOM. You used to do that to me all the time!" and she was like, "Well, JENNIE, if I didn't talk to you while you were reading, I'D NEVER HAVE GOTTEN TO TALK TO YOU," because that's how much I read, you guys. TRUTH.
Anyway, I also had this problem in that I thought everything I read was true. I mean, I think I knew that I couldn't really travel to Narnia through a wardrobe and that Ramona Quimby (age 8) was not actually a real person. It was more like I wanted the real world to be more like books, all the time. I wanted to write to Mr. Henshaw and I wanted to run around with Maniac McGee and I dearly, dearly wanted to go to Wayside School, even though it was falling down.
Mostly, though, I wanted to be in The Baby-sitters Club. I went back and forth between which character I wanted to be. Sometimes it was Claudia, with her "keen" fashion sense, but I didn't want to have her mean sister. I did try that thing she did, where she hid food all over her room so she could have fun snacks any time she wanted, but it turns out if you do that in real life, your parents catch you and get mad at you because when they asked you where all the snacks were going, you told them your sister was probably eating them and that, my friends, is called lying and I guess parents don't really like lying or something. But I digress.
Sometimes I wanted to be Mary Anne, but I was already desperately shy and bookish, so that was no good. And sometimes I wanted to be Stacey, but not really because man, she was a Grade-A beeyotch if there ever was one, right? Mostly, I wanted to be Dawn, but only because of her beautiful, long hair and the fact that she lived in a house with SECRET PASSAGEWAYS. I knew our house wasn't anywhere near as old as Dawn's house, but that didn't stop me from searching for secret tunnels in the basement.
But the Club sounded fun, no matter which member you were. Probably because there was absolutely no adult supervision and parents had no problem sending ALL the neighborhood kids off on adventures with 13-year-olds, like remember that one time they all got shipwrecked on an island? I mean, they weren't there long enough for it to get all Lord of the Flies, but still...who sends their kid off on a boat with a 13-YEAR-OLD?!
Unfortunately, I didn't have a boat, but I still thought I'd be a good member. Screw that Red Cross Baby-sitting class I took, I learned way more from The Baby-sitters Club. True story. OK, not really, but they did have those super awesome Kid Kits, full of all sorts of fun stuff to keep little ones occupied. I COVETED those Kid Kits, which I know is a sin or something but there are worse sins so just be glad I'm not out there murdering people or building shrines to the Flying Spaghetti Monster or whatever.
I still sometimes wish that real life was more like books. Less work, more play. Adventures that last pages and pages. Kid Kits. But last night, as I was getting my bag ready for volunteering, I rummaged through some of the stuff I'd collected for it. Stickers. Markers. Play-Doh. Bubbles. And wouldn't you know it? It turns out I'd made my very own Kid Kit, albeit about 15 years late. Maybe this real life thing isn't so bad after all.
Anyway, I also had this problem in that I thought everything I read was true. I mean, I think I knew that I couldn't really travel to Narnia through a wardrobe and that Ramona Quimby (age 8) was not actually a real person. It was more like I wanted the real world to be more like books, all the time. I wanted to write to Mr. Henshaw and I wanted to run around with Maniac McGee and I dearly, dearly wanted to go to Wayside School, even though it was falling down.
Mostly, though, I wanted to be in The Baby-sitters Club. I went back and forth between which character I wanted to be. Sometimes it was Claudia, with her "keen" fashion sense, but I didn't want to have her mean sister. I did try that thing she did, where she hid food all over her room so she could have fun snacks any time she wanted, but it turns out if you do that in real life, your parents catch you and get mad at you because when they asked you where all the snacks were going, you told them your sister was probably eating them and that, my friends, is called lying and I guess parents don't really like lying or something. But I digress.
Sometimes I wanted to be Mary Anne, but I was already desperately shy and bookish, so that was no good. And sometimes I wanted to be Stacey, but not really because man, she was a Grade-A beeyotch if there ever was one, right? Mostly, I wanted to be Dawn, but only because of her beautiful, long hair and the fact that she lived in a house with SECRET PASSAGEWAYS. I knew our house wasn't anywhere near as old as Dawn's house, but that didn't stop me from searching for secret tunnels in the basement.
But the Club sounded fun, no matter which member you were. Probably because there was absolutely no adult supervision and parents had no problem sending ALL the neighborhood kids off on adventures with 13-year-olds, like remember that one time they all got shipwrecked on an island? I mean, they weren't there long enough for it to get all Lord of the Flies, but still...who sends their kid off on a boat with a 13-YEAR-OLD?!
Unfortunately, I didn't have a boat, but I still thought I'd be a good member. Screw that Red Cross Baby-sitting class I took, I learned way more from The Baby-sitters Club. True story. OK, not really, but they did have those super awesome Kid Kits, full of all sorts of fun stuff to keep little ones occupied. I COVETED those Kid Kits, which I know is a sin or something but there are worse sins so just be glad I'm not out there murdering people or building shrines to the Flying Spaghetti Monster or whatever.
I still sometimes wish that real life was more like books. Less work, more play. Adventures that last pages and pages. Kid Kits. But last night, as I was getting my bag ready for volunteering, I rummaged through some of the stuff I'd collected for it. Stickers. Markers. Play-Doh. Bubbles. And wouldn't you know it? It turns out I'd made my very own Kid Kit, albeit about 15 years late. Maybe this real life thing isn't so bad after all.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
WORST. DAY. EVER. Week
Earlier this week, Heather Anne proclaimed a state of emergency and by state of emergency I mean "WORST. DAY. EVER. Week." It's been a while since we've had one, and I think this week qualifies. I didn't want to believe it. I'm pretty good at denial, but things have stacked up and yep . . . it is now officially "WORST. DAY. EVER. Week." I understand this may not be affecting you all, but for those of you who have been affected . . . I'm sorry. But at least it's almost over, yes? Yes.
That's not to say it's been all bad. Sure, work has sucked donkey balls (two words: SOFTWARE CONVERSION) every day so far, but today I get to do detective work and fix things, and that's sort of fun BECAUSE I'M A NERD. And I had to go to the gyno on Monday, but that gave me something to blog about, and who doesn't love hooha talk? Also, there was a big, dumb ice storm on Tuesday (not like the movie, though, with the swingers and the itty, bitty Frodo and the tween sex), but it was practically melted by Wednesday morning. And my cell phone charger broke, meaning my phone was quickly dying, but then I realized it was time to UPGRADE and so UPGRADE I did. I think my new phone and I will be very happy together.
Oh yeah, my mom called me yesterday and told me they were taking my grandma to the hospital with what, to me, sounded like a stroke, but it turned out she was fine. And, you know, it gave me a chance to spend some quality time with my parents and some dude with a puke bucket in the ER waiting room.
Anyway, this week has been a bit of a disaster, but like I said, it's almost over. And I have nothing to do tonight but some Christmas shopping and TV watching, AND AWESOME TV WATCHING at that. Thank you, TiVo, for recording the Muppets. They can fix everything. And if, for some reason, they can't, then I'm sure those Christmas cookies my mom gave me will do the trick.
That's not to say it's been all bad. Sure, work has sucked donkey balls (two words: SOFTWARE CONVERSION) every day so far, but today I get to do detective work and fix things, and that's sort of fun BECAUSE I'M A NERD. And I had to go to the gyno on Monday, but that gave me something to blog about, and who doesn't love hooha talk? Also, there was a big, dumb ice storm on Tuesday (not like the movie, though, with the swingers and the itty, bitty Frodo and the tween sex), but it was practically melted by Wednesday morning. And my cell phone charger broke, meaning my phone was quickly dying, but then I realized it was time to UPGRADE and so UPGRADE I did. I think my new phone and I will be very happy together.
Oh yeah, my mom called me yesterday and told me they were taking my grandma to the hospital with what, to me, sounded like a stroke, but it turned out she was fine. And, you know, it gave me a chance to spend some quality time with my parents and some dude with a puke bucket in the ER waiting room.
Anyway, this week has been a bit of a disaster, but like I said, it's almost over. And I have nothing to do tonight but some Christmas shopping and TV watching, AND AWESOME TV WATCHING at that. Thank you, TiVo, for recording the Muppets. They can fix everything. And if, for some reason, they can't, then I'm sure those Christmas cookies my mom gave me will do the trick.
Saturday, November 08, 2008
I want to live in Effington
I feel like I've been so productive today. And it's only three! What other productivity lies in store for me today? No one knows! Except I do. Here is what I've done so far:
The market was way fun. We had pancakes and coffee. See:
The pancakes were free! With donation, anyway. Which is basically free. Then we saw a guy spinning pots. See:
It was very cool and I could have stood there all day and watched him, only then I wouldn't have gotten anything else done.
Then. THEN we went to the book fair. You guys, it was in this giant auditorium filled with tables! And the tables were filled with books! I would have taken a picture, only at first I was too excited and after a while my arms were too full of books to get my phone out. I sort of want to go back, because I feel like I missed buying a bunch of stuff I should probably buy. Like, right now I'm regretting not buying all of those old Berenstein Bears books. Sigh.
- Went to the market for breakfast
- Went to a book fair
- Got my hair cut
- Worked out
showered
The market was way fun. We had pancakes and coffee. See:
The pancakes were free! With donation, anyway. Which is basically free. Then we saw a guy spinning pots. See:
It was very cool and I could have stood there all day and watched him, only then I wouldn't have gotten anything else done.
Then. THEN we went to the book fair. You guys, it was in this giant auditorium filled with tables! And the tables were filled with books! I would have taken a picture, only at first I was too excited and after a while my arms were too full of books to get my phone out. I sort of want to go back, because I feel like I missed buying a bunch of stuff I should probably buy. Like, right now I'm regretting not buying all of those old Berenstein Bears books. Sigh.
Monday, November 03, 2008
Dwight thinks it's Friday...so keep that going
I had this plan all worked out today, to use the time change to my advantage and miss work. See, I was going to SAY I came in at 7, which I thought was 8, and when I saw that no one was there, I assumed it was Sunday and went home. And THEN I was going to sleep in and call work around, say, 11? And tell them I thought it was Sunday THEREFORE, I'd be in whenever I goddamn well felt like it. I was informed that this was a bad plan, as my boss would think I was either A) a liar or B) really, really dumb and I think I'd get fired in either case.
Whatever, I slept the crap out of that extra hour, so I guess I got everything out of Daylight Savings Time that I'm going to. Hey! Guess what? I've decided I love NaBloPoMo. Not because I have to write some crap everyday, but because OTHER people have to write some crap every day. This means my Google Reader is never empty. Not that my Google Reader is EVER empty, but let's ignore that part.
OHMYGODYOUGUYS. Guess what tomorrow is! I'm not sure why I'm so excited about tomorrow, given my track record. Never have I ever voted for a winning president. It's enough to make a girl to vote for McCain tomorrow. That's crazy talk, of course. I'm trying not to be superstitious, but I can't help it. I'm afraid to be optimistic on account of, um, the past two presidential elections. I thought about voting early, but Heidi did and waited FOUR HOURS in order to vote. She's such a good citizen. I find it incredibly uplifting that so many people are voting early. In the end, I decided not to vote early because I like to vote on election day. MOSTLY so I can wear my "I Voted" sticker around all day like a big nerd. After the voting is all over, we're gathering at a bar to watch the results come in. My thoughts are, if Obama is winning, I'll need a celebratory drink and if McCain is winning, well . . . I'll just need to be drinking period. Sigh.
Moving on. Because I am incredibly open to suggestion, I purchased this, after I read about it on some blogs. People were all, "this is so hard!" and I was all, "that's what she said!" and then I bought it. And you guys? It is so hard. That's what she said. I did it on Saturday (that'swhatshesaid) and I am still sore (that'swhatshesaid). It's a good thing I bought it, though, because this is what I ate this weekend:
Cousin Vinny's Pizza
Sonic
Spaghetti Warehouse
Penn Station
Clancy's
We went to Clancy's last night for dinner, and Heidi ordered us some deep fried cheese. Because, see, they were out of deep fried pickles. And then I got some Buffalo Balls (boneless buffalo wings) with hot sauce, and they were pretty spicy so I had to wash them down with some Miller Lite. Then my tummy kind of hurt for the rest of the night. And that is why today I am not going to eat anything deep fried. Tomorrow, though, that depends on the election results. I may be drowning my sorrows in more than just a pitcher of beer.
Whatever, I slept the crap out of that extra hour, so I guess I got everything out of Daylight Savings Time that I'm going to. Hey! Guess what? I've decided I love NaBloPoMo. Not because I have to write some crap everyday, but because OTHER people have to write some crap every day. This means my Google Reader is never empty. Not that my Google Reader is EVER empty, but let's ignore that part.
OHMYGODYOUGUYS. Guess what tomorrow is! I'm not sure why I'm so excited about tomorrow, given my track record. Never have I ever voted for a winning president. It's enough to make a girl to vote for McCain tomorrow. That's crazy talk, of course. I'm trying not to be superstitious, but I can't help it. I'm afraid to be optimistic on account of, um, the past two presidential elections. I thought about voting early, but Heidi did and waited FOUR HOURS in order to vote. She's such a good citizen. I find it incredibly uplifting that so many people are voting early. In the end, I decided not to vote early because I like to vote on election day. MOSTLY so I can wear my "I Voted" sticker around all day like a big nerd. After the voting is all over, we're gathering at a bar to watch the results come in. My thoughts are, if Obama is winning, I'll need a celebratory drink and if McCain is winning, well . . . I'll just need to be drinking period. Sigh.
Moving on. Because I am incredibly open to suggestion, I purchased this, after I read about it on some blogs. People were all, "this is so hard!" and I was all, "that's what she said!" and then I bought it. And you guys? It is so hard. That's what she said. I did it on Saturday (that'swhatshesaid) and I am still sore (that'swhatshesaid). It's a good thing I bought it, though, because this is what I ate this weekend:
Cousin Vinny's Pizza
Sonic
Spaghetti Warehouse
Penn Station
Clancy's
We went to Clancy's last night for dinner, and Heidi ordered us some deep fried cheese. Because, see, they were out of deep fried pickles. And then I got some Buffalo Balls (boneless buffalo wings) with hot sauce, and they were pretty spicy so I had to wash them down with some Miller Lite. Then my tummy kind of hurt for the rest of the night. And that is why today I am not going to eat anything deep fried. Tomorrow, though, that depends on the election results. I may be drowning my sorrows in more than just a pitcher of beer.
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Ben Franklin, do you wear boxers, briefs, or pantaloons?
Last night, I tried to be Ben Franklin and go running in an almost-thunderstorm with a key tied around my waist. You see, none of my shorts have pockets, so I tie the key to the drawstring and then double-knot it so it won't fall off when I'm running. How much would that suck? You get home from a long, exhausting run and you're locked out? No thank you to that. Anyway, when I got home from work yesterday, I put on my running clothes and then sat around reading Entertainment Weekly for a while, but when the sky got all thundery, I thought maybe I should go squeeze in a run before the torrential downpours and tornadoes started again. Not my best idea, considering the lightening started toward the end, at which point I sprinted inside.
FYI, it was like the worst run ever, because it is so humid here that the air is practically water, so when I got home it looked like I had just gotten out of the shower. DISGUSTING. Luckily, Bernard and Sebastian weren't outside. Did I tell you the Hot Guys got another roommate? We haven't named him yet. I think I'll call him Ishmael. Also, one of them got a motorcycle, but we can't tell which one. Although, on Sunday? Motorcycle Hot Guy was outside with no shirt on, messing around with his motorcycle, and then his hot friends came over with THEIR motorcycles and they all rode off together. They were like rebels WITH a cause, and their cause was . . . I don't know, being hot and not wearing shirts.
That wasn't even the best thing that happened this weekend. Oh, no. Nancy, Heidi, and I went to see Sex and the City (meh) and, even though we had just finished dinner, we got in line to get snacks. That's when Nancy saw this:
That is the 123 GoBox. You get to pick a drink (icee, juice box, or soda) and a snack (plain or peanut M&Ms, granola bites, or Skittles) PLUS ALSO you get a small popcorn. AND BEST OF ALL, it comes in that sweet, little box that has a handle so you don't spill anything. In case you're interested, I got a cherry icee, popcorn with butter, and peanut M&Ms. We thought maybe this sweet deal was only for kids (lucky bastards), but NO, it's for EVERYONE. Oh, and also, that whole happy meal thingie only costs $5.75. Yeah, you read that right. Add that to the fact that I used my eight year old college ID to get a discounted ticket and it was the cheapest movie experience ever. You know, except for when I was little and my parents paid for everything. I miss that.
FYI, it was like the worst run ever, because it is so humid here that the air is practically water, so when I got home it looked like I had just gotten out of the shower. DISGUSTING. Luckily, Bernard and Sebastian weren't outside. Did I tell you the Hot Guys got another roommate? We haven't named him yet. I think I'll call him Ishmael. Also, one of them got a motorcycle, but we can't tell which one. Although, on Sunday? Motorcycle Hot Guy was outside with no shirt on, messing around with his motorcycle, and then his hot friends came over with THEIR motorcycles and they all rode off together. They were like rebels WITH a cause, and their cause was . . . I don't know, being hot and not wearing shirts.
That wasn't even the best thing that happened this weekend. Oh, no. Nancy, Heidi, and I went to see Sex and the City (meh) and, even though we had just finished dinner, we got in line to get snacks. That's when Nancy saw this:
That is the 123 GoBox. You get to pick a drink (icee, juice box, or soda) and a snack (plain or peanut M&Ms, granola bites, or Skittles) PLUS ALSO you get a small popcorn. AND BEST OF ALL, it comes in that sweet, little box that has a handle so you don't spill anything. In case you're interested, I got a cherry icee, popcorn with butter, and peanut M&Ms. We thought maybe this sweet deal was only for kids (lucky bastards), but NO, it's for EVERYONE. Oh, and also, that whole happy meal thingie only costs $5.75. Yeah, you read that right. Add that to the fact that I used my eight year old college ID to get a discounted ticket and it was the cheapest movie experience ever. You know, except for when I was little and my parents paid for everything. I miss that.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
It's like a cow's opinion. It just doesn't matter. It's moo.
We haven't talked about TV in a while, have we? Does that scare you? I mean, I used to have a lot of thoughts and opinions about TV but now? Not so much. To be honest with you, Internets, I haven't really been watching that much TV. The strike, it hath cured me of my addiction! All hail the strike!
I'm kidding. But I haven't been watching as much TV as I used to. And I'm not as invested in the shows I do watch. Used to be, when a show like, say, LOST was on? I had to have complete silence and no one was allowed to talk to me during the entire hour and during the commercials, I'd sit on the sofa clutching my heart because OH MY GOD WHAT IF SAWYER DIES? Also, I didn't want to miss any of the parts where Jack and Kate are making kissy faces. Unless Jack was acting like a big, stupid doody-head, which is a lot of the time, like when he tries to take his own appendix out (wtf, Jack?), and also why does Hurley have to be so sad all the time? Dude. I love Hurley. Um. Yeah. Anyway, now I'll get up and actually do stuff during commercials. Although, I still feel a little ragey when someone talks to me while the show is on. I can't help it. I'm not very smart, so I need to really pay attention to everything or else I'll have absolutely no idea what's going on.
But then came Top Chef and now I find myself emotionally invested in a reality show but I DON'T CARE, because I freaking LOVE this show. I love watching people cook, so Top Chef is sort of like food porn. I got way, way angry last week when Dale got kicked off (um, spoiler alert) but last night's episode was sweet, sweet revenge, because the douchiest douche to have ever douched finally, FINALLY, packed his stupid douchey knives and went home. Douche. We hates him, precious*. All that needs to happen now is for Greasy Lisa to lose and then I don't care who wins. But I hope it's Stephanie. And not just because she looks JUST LIKE this girl I went to college with, who we called "Pledge," because . . . I don't remember, but whatever, MY POINT IS, Spike is gone and it was awesome. Truth.
*new low, Jennie
I'm kidding. But I haven't been watching as much TV as I used to. And I'm not as invested in the shows I do watch. Used to be, when a show like, say, LOST was on? I had to have complete silence and no one was allowed to talk to me during the entire hour and during the commercials, I'd sit on the sofa clutching my heart because OH MY GOD WHAT IF SAWYER DIES? Also, I didn't want to miss any of the parts where Jack and Kate are making kissy faces. Unless Jack was acting like a big, stupid doody-head, which is a lot of the time, like when he tries to take his own appendix out (wtf, Jack?), and also why does Hurley have to be so sad all the time? Dude. I love Hurley. Um. Yeah. Anyway, now I'll get up and actually do stuff during commercials. Although, I still feel a little ragey when someone talks to me while the show is on. I can't help it. I'm not very smart, so I need to really pay attention to everything or else I'll have absolutely no idea what's going on.
But then came Top Chef and now I find myself emotionally invested in a reality show but I DON'T CARE, because I freaking LOVE this show. I love watching people cook, so Top Chef is sort of like food porn. I got way, way angry last week when Dale got kicked off (um, spoiler alert) but last night's episode was sweet, sweet revenge, because the douchiest douche to have ever douched finally, FINALLY, packed his stupid douchey knives and went home. Douche. We hates him, precious*. All that needs to happen now is for Greasy Lisa to lose and then I don't care who wins. But I hope it's Stephanie. And not just because she looks JUST LIKE this girl I went to college with, who we called "Pledge," because . . . I don't remember, but whatever, MY POINT IS, Spike is gone and it was awesome. Truth.
*new low, Jennie
Monday, May 05, 2008
apostrophe catastrophe!
In going through my pictures from Philly, I noticed I have more pictures of pigeons and a duck than I do of anything else. I don't know why. However, I did run across this picture:
It makes my head explode a little. It also made me remember that last night I had a dream that I got in a physical confrontation with someone based on a disagreement about grammar. Please don't judge me.
It makes my head explode a little. It also made me remember that last night I had a dream that I got in a physical confrontation with someone based on a disagreement about grammar. Please don't judge me.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
turn around, bright eyes
Last night around 9, I was just sitting and thinking that I was sure there was something I was supposed to be doing. That's when Heather (through text messaging medium) was all, "This eclipse is so cool!" and that's when I was all, "OH. MY. GOD. I'M. MISSING. IT."
And I jumped up and put on my galoshes (shut up, they were the closest) and grabbed my peacoat and ran outside even though I was wearing Strawberry Shortcake pajama pants because the moon was playing hide and seek and OH MY GOD I WAS MISSING IT.
And then I looked all around and found the moon and it looked like someone had taken a giant bite out of it and I jumped up and down and pointed and no one else was outside looking and OH MY GOD THEY'RE MISSING IT.
So I ran back inside and called my parents and my sister answered and I said, "I need to talk to mom and dad," and she was all, "about what?" and I said, "THE MOON" and then I heard her yell, "Jennie needs to talk to you," and my mom was all like, "about what?" and my sister was like, "the moon," and my mom finally picked up and I shouted, "DID YOU SEE THE MOON?" and she said, "Dad said it's not in full effect til 10 or 10:30," and I was like, "but you can see it now!" and she was like, "I'll look at 10 when I let the dog out," and I said, "BUT YOU CAN SEE IT NOW!" and she very calmly asked if that's all I'd called for thank you and goodnight and OH MY GOD THEY'RE MISSING IT.
It reminded me of that time Heidi, Steve and I went to a bar or something and on the way home I remembered that there was a meteor shower that night, only it turned out it was the night before or something and everyone was sad that OH MY GOD THEY MISSED IT.
_____
Today on The Collective, it's the Chronic(what?)cles of Narnia.
And I jumped up and put on my galoshes (shut up, they were the closest) and grabbed my peacoat and ran outside even though I was wearing Strawberry Shortcake pajama pants because the moon was playing hide and seek and OH MY GOD I WAS MISSING IT.
And then I looked all around and found the moon and it looked like someone had taken a giant bite out of it and I jumped up and down and pointed and no one else was outside looking and OH MY GOD THEY'RE MISSING IT.
So I ran back inside and called my parents and my sister answered and I said, "I need to talk to mom and dad," and she was all, "about what?" and I said, "THE MOON" and then I heard her yell, "Jennie needs to talk to you," and my mom was all like, "about what?" and my sister was like, "the moon," and my mom finally picked up and I shouted, "DID YOU SEE THE MOON?" and she said, "Dad said it's not in full effect til 10 or 10:30," and I was like, "but you can see it now!" and she was like, "I'll look at 10 when I let the dog out," and I said, "BUT YOU CAN SEE IT NOW!" and she very calmly asked if that's all I'd called for thank you and goodnight and OH MY GOD THEY'RE MISSING IT.
It reminded me of that time Heidi, Steve and I went to a bar or something and on the way home I remembered that there was a meteor shower that night, only it turned out it was the night before or something and everyone was sad that OH MY GOD THEY MISSED IT.
_____
Today on The Collective, it's the Chronic(what?)cles of Narnia.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
time is so not on my side
I was going to write a real post today, but today is almost over and anyway, I just watched this and now I'm in a Mr. Darcy coma.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
I've got the thingie. Half in English, half in squibbly.
Oh my god, you guys (heh), I'm super tired today. This might have something to do with not having slept well in, oh yeah, my ENTIRE LIFE, but ALSO some people were very bad influences on me last night and I stayed up way too late.
And when I tell you what I stayed up late doing, you are going to think, "oh my god, Jennie is an even bigger dork than I suspected AND I DIDN'T THINK THAT WAS POSSIBLE." Because, you see, I stayed up late playing Scrabble.
Oh, shut up. I mean, as if Facebook wasn't addicting enough, now you can play SCRABBLE? What are they doing to me? Last night, I was going to go to bed after Kat! and Mysterygirl! finished kicking my ass in TWO separate games, but then another game started and I was all, "who needs sleep?" Well, it turns out, I do. Actually, you know what? That's a lie. A big one. I'm not any sleepier today than I normally am, so screw trying to go to bed at a reasonable hour. From now on I'm just going to stay up until I'm so exhausted I just fall over and go to sleep wherever I happen to be standing at the moment. And if I land on Phoebe, well, that just means she needs to work on her speed and agility.
Aaaaanyway, I was late to work this morning, but I'm placing the blame squarely on snow's shoulders. Which is FOOLHARDY because what if snow's shoulders melt? WHAT THEN? So yeah, it snowed like two inches and then started sleeting, which really hurts when it hits your bare skin. It's sort of like God is throwing tiny ice pebbles at your face. Which . . . rude. As I was getting ready, I took the time to sit on my bed and watch the school and business closings scroll along the TV, allowing myself to hope that I might see my company's name on the list. I don't know what I was thinking, my company didn't even close the building last February when there was NO HEAT. Luckily, I didn't start until March so I missed February's Frostbite Friday. But whatever, I still maintain that if it's too dangerous for all the children in the area to go to school, it's too dangerous for me to drive to work. TRUE STORY.
So, back to Scrabble. I CAN'T HELP IT I'M ADDICTED. I'm wondering what the proper etiquette is for when the game is finished. Is there a set amount of time you should wait before you challenge that same person to a new game? Because I want to challenge them immediately. Like, the second the game is over. Kat and I thought that might be kind of slutty, but I'm OK with that.
_____
Today on The Collective, Abigail makes me want a burrito real bad.
And when I tell you what I stayed up late doing, you are going to think, "oh my god, Jennie is an even bigger dork than I suspected AND I DIDN'T THINK THAT WAS POSSIBLE." Because, you see, I stayed up late playing Scrabble.
Oh, shut up. I mean, as if Facebook wasn't addicting enough, now you can play SCRABBLE? What are they doing to me? Last night, I was going to go to bed after Kat! and Mysterygirl! finished kicking my ass in TWO separate games, but then another game started and I was all, "who needs sleep?" Well, it turns out, I do. Actually, you know what? That's a lie. A big one. I'm not any sleepier today than I normally am, so screw trying to go to bed at a reasonable hour. From now on I'm just going to stay up until I'm so exhausted I just fall over and go to sleep wherever I happen to be standing at the moment. And if I land on Phoebe, well, that just means she needs to work on her speed and agility.
Aaaaanyway, I was late to work this morning, but I'm placing the blame squarely on snow's shoulders. Which is FOOLHARDY because what if snow's shoulders melt? WHAT THEN? So yeah, it snowed like two inches and then started sleeting, which really hurts when it hits your bare skin. It's sort of like God is throwing tiny ice pebbles at your face. Which . . . rude. As I was getting ready, I took the time to sit on my bed and watch the school and business closings scroll along the TV, allowing myself to hope that I might see my company's name on the list. I don't know what I was thinking, my company didn't even close the building last February when there was NO HEAT. Luckily, I didn't start until March so I missed February's Frostbite Friday. But whatever, I still maintain that if it's too dangerous for all the children in the area to go to school, it's too dangerous for me to drive to work. TRUE STORY.
So, back to Scrabble. I CAN'T HELP IT I'M ADDICTED. I'm wondering what the proper etiquette is for when the game is finished. Is there a set amount of time you should wait before you challenge that same person to a new game? Because I want to challenge them immediately. Like, the second the game is over. Kat and I thought that might be kind of slutty, but I'm OK with that.
_____
Today on The Collective, Abigail makes me want a burrito real bad.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
whatever, I'm not ashamed
I've been working on How To articles all day, and when I say all day, what I really mean is I've been working on them ever since I got up at noon and then went to Wendy's with Heidi and then, OK, watched like three episodes of America's Next Top Model.
After finishing How to Apply Smoky Eye Makeup (which, let's face it, like the blind leading the blind) and reading the entire Internet, I went into Heidi's room to procrastinate some more.
Me: Blah blah blah.
Heidi: Blah blah blah.
Me: Blah dee bloo bloo?
Heidi: Bleh.
Me: Ooh! It's Jane Austen Sunday! I better go get my shit done!
Heidi: . . .
Me: Shut up.
After finishing How to Apply Smoky Eye Makeup (which, let's face it, like the blind leading the blind) and reading the entire Internet, I went into Heidi's room to procrastinate some more.
Me: Blah blah blah.
Heidi: Blah blah blah.
Me: Blah dee bloo bloo?
Heidi: Bleh.
Me: Ooh! It's Jane Austen Sunday! I better go get my shit done!
Heidi: . . .
Me: Shut up.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I did an original sin. I poked a badger with a spoon.
Heidi and I break a lot of stuff in our apartment. There was the oven knob incident, and the garbage disposal (twice), my toilet, our refrigerator, various light bulbs, our recliner, several coffeemakers, the dryer, the time I threw a coaster at the wall, and, very recently, Heidi's closet door, the patio door blinds, and our kitchen light. The beauty of renting, however, is that the apartment complex had to pay to fix most of this.
With our history of breaking shit, I wasn't too surprised yesterday evening when I broke the front door. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "Jennie, whatever, you did not break the front door." Well, shut up, yes I did. You see, for the past several weeks, Heidi and I have noticed that the lock on our front door was getting harder and harder to lock and unlock. So what did we do? We mostly ignored it. And when we weren't ignoring it, we complained about it. This was working well for us, you know, until yesterday.
So there I am, all tired from work and shivering on the front stoop, and I stuck my key in the hole, like I always do, but this time? When I tried to pull the key out? Part of the lock came with it. You know, the little cylinder part that has all the pins and crap in it? That little cylinder was just hanging there. A bit was still in the hole, but most was hanging out in the cold, cold, winter air.
"Hmm," I thought. "Perhaps I can shove it back in." So. I tried to shove it back in. Nothing.
"Hmm," I thought. "Perhaps I can simply turn the cylinder with the key and, even though it's not even connected to the door anymore, the door will unlock." So. I tried to turning the key. Nothing.
"Hmm," I thought. "Perhaps this is something I cannot fix myself and I should stop messing with it before I make it much, much worse and Heidi and I can never get back into the apartment and we have to live in an igloo next to the front porch." And so I got in my car and drove up to the apartment complex office.
Things were looking up as I walked into the office, for who should be working but Hot Guy Who Works In Our Apartment Complex Office (who I will now call . . . Bartleby). He is the one I have a tiny, baby, little crush on. Not in a real way, but in the junior high way where every time he talks to me, I start stuttering and my face gets red and I say stupid things. Well. Stupider than usual.
Bartleby: Hi, there. What can I do for you?
Me: I'm having a problem!
Bartleby: OK?
Me: I broke our front door and now the door won't unlock.
Bartleby: Um . . .
Me: Allow me to demonstrate.
And this is when I got my keys out and walked him over to the lock on his office door and imitated the whole lock coming out of the door while attached to my key thing.
Bartleby: Wow, I've never heard of that happening before.
Me: Super.
Bartleby: I'll call the maintenance guy.
While I waited, I was just going to sit in the lobby and read my book (after calling Heidi to tell her if she tried to go home, it would be a fruitless journey that would only end in tears and frustration), but Bartleby came out to talk to me! Yay!
Bartleby: Talk talk talk.
Me: Reply reply reply.
Bartleby: Ha ha ha!
Me: Ha ha ha! Oh, we are laughing!
And the whole time, I'm thinking, "Is he gay? I can't tell if he's gay. He seems sort of gay. It would totally be just my luck if he were gay," but then I said, "I hope I'm not keeping you," and he said, "No, I'm here til 6 anyway," and I said, "Oh, OK," and he said, "I really don't mind staying after 6, though," and I thought, "Score!" but then he said, "My fiance and I were just going to get some wings later anyway," and then I thought, "Fuuuuuuuuck you." True story.
So, apparently Bartleby and I are not meant to be. Unless he and his fiance break up, but it feels wrong to hope for such a thing. Luckily, Heidi and I still have Bernard and Sebastian, who may or may not be gay and who may or may not have another Hot Guy now living with them. New Hot Guy has glasses (heart) and a black car (irrelevant) and a purple lunchbox (um) and now all he needs is a name. And so I shall christen him . . . THADDEUS.
Oh, we eventually got back into our apartment. Like THAT'S the important part of the story. Sheesh.
_____
Today on The Collective, it's your turn to tell us our business.
With our history of breaking shit, I wasn't too surprised yesterday evening when I broke the front door. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "Jennie, whatever, you did not break the front door." Well, shut up, yes I did. You see, for the past several weeks, Heidi and I have noticed that the lock on our front door was getting harder and harder to lock and unlock. So what did we do? We mostly ignored it. And when we weren't ignoring it, we complained about it. This was working well for us, you know, until yesterday.
So there I am, all tired from work and shivering on the front stoop, and I stuck my key in the hole, like I always do, but this time? When I tried to pull the key out? Part of the lock came with it. You know, the little cylinder part that has all the pins and crap in it? That little cylinder was just hanging there. A bit was still in the hole, but most was hanging out in the cold, cold, winter air.
"Hmm," I thought. "Perhaps I can shove it back in." So. I tried to shove it back in. Nothing.
"Hmm," I thought. "Perhaps I can simply turn the cylinder with the key and, even though it's not even connected to the door anymore, the door will unlock." So. I tried to turning the key. Nothing.
"Hmm," I thought. "Perhaps this is something I cannot fix myself and I should stop messing with it before I make it much, much worse and Heidi and I can never get back into the apartment and we have to live in an igloo next to the front porch." And so I got in my car and drove up to the apartment complex office.
Things were looking up as I walked into the office, for who should be working but Hot Guy Who Works In Our Apartment Complex Office (who I will now call . . . Bartleby). He is the one I have a tiny, baby, little crush on. Not in a real way, but in the junior high way where every time he talks to me, I start stuttering and my face gets red and I say stupid things. Well. Stupider than usual.
Bartleby: Hi, there. What can I do for you?
Me: I'm having a problem!
Bartleby: OK?
Me: I broke our front door and now the door won't unlock.
Bartleby: Um . . .
Me: Allow me to demonstrate.
And this is when I got my keys out and walked him over to the lock on his office door and imitated the whole lock coming out of the door while attached to my key thing.
Bartleby: Wow, I've never heard of that happening before.
Me: Super.
Bartleby: I'll call the maintenance guy.
While I waited, I was just going to sit in the lobby and read my book (after calling Heidi to tell her if she tried to go home, it would be a fruitless journey that would only end in tears and frustration), but Bartleby came out to talk to me! Yay!
Bartleby: Talk talk talk.
Me: Reply reply reply.
Bartleby: Ha ha ha!
Me: Ha ha ha! Oh, we are laughing!
And the whole time, I'm thinking, "Is he gay? I can't tell if he's gay. He seems sort of gay. It would totally be just my luck if he were gay," but then I said, "I hope I'm not keeping you," and he said, "No, I'm here til 6 anyway," and I said, "Oh, OK," and he said, "I really don't mind staying after 6, though," and I thought, "Score!" but then he said, "My fiance and I were just going to get some wings later anyway," and then I thought, "Fuuuuuuuuck you." True story.
So, apparently Bartleby and I are not meant to be. Unless he and his fiance break up, but it feels wrong to hope for such a thing. Luckily, Heidi and I still have Bernard and Sebastian, who may or may not be gay and who may or may not have another Hot Guy now living with them. New Hot Guy has glasses (heart) and a black car (irrelevant) and a purple lunchbox (um) and now all he needs is a name. And so I shall christen him . . . THADDEUS.
Oh, we eventually got back into our apartment. Like THAT'S the important part of the story. Sheesh.
_____
Today on The Collective, it's your turn to tell us our business.
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Is it because he's always correcting people's grammar? "Whom! Whom!" Sometimes it's who!
I went to the eye doctor yesterday, because I haven't been in . . . oh, two years? At least. Also, I lost my last pair of contacts back in January. ACTUALLY, I lost them on New Years Eve Eve, but that's a long story and I'm trying to keep this short. Get it? GET IT? Anyway, so I've just been wearing my glasses or nothing since then. My eyesight isn't that bad. Just bad enough that I need glasses to drive. Or like, during meetings and stuff when I want to see the computer screen if someone is doing a power point presentation or something else equally lame and boring. I mean exciting. Totally exciting. I love my job.
The reason I finally made an appointment was because A) it's almost the end of the year and I wanted to get new glasses and contacts before open enrollment so I don't have to get vision insurance next year B) I wasn't wearing my glasses for reading or at the computer because it made my eyes feel funny so I thought maybe my prescription had gotten worse and C) I am vain and was tired of wearing my glasses all the time.
My first mistake was making the appointment at the LensCrafters in the mall, but I didn't know it was in the mall when I made the appointment. I thought it was just BY the mall, so I called them before my appointment to find out where by the mall they were, because it turns out there's a lot of shit down there.
Me: Hi, I have an appointment this afternoon and I know you're down by the mall but I'm not sure exactly where.
LensCrafters Lady: Um, we're by Elder-Beerman.
Me: . . .
LL: Across from Walden Books on the first floor.
Me: Oh, you're INSIDE THE MALL.
LL: Yes.
Me: Oh! OK, I'm so glad I called.
So they already knew I was stupid, which is good because it saved me time once I got there from making an ass of myself in another way BUT THAT DIDN'T STOP ME! HAHAHA!
Once I sat there for a while and filled out some paperwork, a technician took me back for "pre-screening." She asked me a bunch of questions, like if I ever had dry eyes or headaches and if I read a lot (um, you could say that) or if I spent a lot of time on the computer (um, you could say that) or liked to poke myself repeatedly in the eye with a sharp object. Then she asked if I had any hobbies.
Me: Oh! I just started running.
Her: Um. But no hobbies that really affect your eyes?
Me: Oh! Well, not unless I fall down on a stick or something.
Her: OK, moving along . . .
But what she DOESN'T know is that it's extremely likely that I might fall down and impale my eye on a stick. Sure, it hasn't happened yet, but it COULD.
Then the doctor came in and did the whole "is 1 better? or 2? 3 . . . or 4?" I hate those tests. I mean, there's no wrong answer but I'm always afraid I'm going to say the wrong thing. Like she's messing with me and really 1 and 2 and 3 and 4 are all the exact same thing and she goes back and says, "Ha! I got another one," to the other doctors who are all hanging out in the doctor break room. Then I got in trouble for cheating during the peripheral vision test. She told me to look into her eye and tell her when I saw her fingers on either side of my face and whenever I'd see her hand starting to move I'd look over at it and she'd be all "Jennie! Stop cheating!" I wasn't doing it on purpose though. If I see a hand coming up on the side of my face, I assume it's there to slap me or something so I just wanted to be ready to duck or cry or call for help.
Anyway, it turns out that the reason wearing my glasses was making my eyes feel funny is because my eyesight has actually gotten better. It's a Christmas miracle! Only it's November. So it's a Thanksgiving miracle!
The reason I finally made an appointment was because A) it's almost the end of the year and I wanted to get new glasses and contacts before open enrollment so I don't have to get vision insurance next year B) I wasn't wearing my glasses for reading or at the computer because it made my eyes feel funny so I thought maybe my prescription had gotten worse and C) I am vain and was tired of wearing my glasses all the time.
My first mistake was making the appointment at the LensCrafters in the mall, but I didn't know it was in the mall when I made the appointment. I thought it was just BY the mall, so I called them before my appointment to find out where by the mall they were, because it turns out there's a lot of shit down there.
Me: Hi, I have an appointment this afternoon and I know you're down by the mall but I'm not sure exactly where.
LensCrafters Lady: Um, we're by Elder-Beerman.
Me: . . .
LL: Across from Walden Books on the first floor.
Me: Oh, you're INSIDE THE MALL.
LL: Yes.
Me: Oh! OK, I'm so glad I called.
So they already knew I was stupid, which is good because it saved me time once I got there from making an ass of myself in another way BUT THAT DIDN'T STOP ME! HAHAHA!
Once I sat there for a while and filled out some paperwork, a technician took me back for "pre-screening." She asked me a bunch of questions, like if I ever had dry eyes or headaches and if I read a lot (um, you could say that) or if I spent a lot of time on the computer (um, you could say that) or liked to poke myself repeatedly in the eye with a sharp object. Then she asked if I had any hobbies.
Me: Oh! I just started running.
Her: Um. But no hobbies that really affect your eyes?
Me: Oh! Well, not unless I fall down on a stick or something.
Her: OK, moving along . . .
But what she DOESN'T know is that it's extremely likely that I might fall down and impale my eye on a stick. Sure, it hasn't happened yet, but it COULD.
Then the doctor came in and did the whole "is 1 better? or 2? 3 . . . or 4?" I hate those tests. I mean, there's no wrong answer but I'm always afraid I'm going to say the wrong thing. Like she's messing with me and really 1 and 2 and 3 and 4 are all the exact same thing and she goes back and says, "Ha! I got another one," to the other doctors who are all hanging out in the doctor break room. Then I got in trouble for cheating during the peripheral vision test. She told me to look into her eye and tell her when I saw her fingers on either side of my face and whenever I'd see her hand starting to move I'd look over at it and she'd be all "Jennie! Stop cheating!" I wasn't doing it on purpose though. If I see a hand coming up on the side of my face, I assume it's there to slap me or something so I just wanted to be ready to duck or cry or call for help.
Anyway, it turns out that the reason wearing my glasses was making my eyes feel funny is because my eyesight has actually gotten better. It's a Christmas miracle! Only it's November. So it's a Thanksgiving miracle!
Monday, July 23, 2007
I'm tired of thinking. It makes my brain cry.
Are you there, Internets? It's me, Jennie. I don't know if you've noticed, but there have been an awful lot of posts about Harry Potter lately. And the rest of the posts? Not good. Not good at all. That is because I have run out of things to talk about. True story.
Remember last March? It wasn't that long ago. Anyway, we played this game where you asked me questions and I answered them? Some of them? Because I have ADD (lies) and I forgot the game after like a month? UNTIL NOW. Note to self: answer the rest of those questions because it's rude not to and you hate to be rude HAHAHA stop laughing at me and pay attention. I have a point. I think.
Please tell me what to write about, Internets. I've got nothing. I'm out. Tapped. Toe up. THIS PARROT IS NO MORE. IT HAS CEASED TO BE. Um. Right. So, yeah. Tell me what to write about. I'll write about ANYTHING, even how awesome Dubya is. Ha! No, seriously, ha! OK, so maybe I won't write about anything, but I'll write about ALMOST anything.
Help me, Internets, you're my only hope.
Remember last March? It wasn't that long ago. Anyway, we played this game where you asked me questions and I answered them? Some of them? Because I have ADD (lies) and I forgot the game after like a month? UNTIL NOW. Note to self: answer the rest of those questions because it's rude not to and you hate to be rude HAHAHA stop laughing at me and pay attention. I have a point. I think.
Please tell me what to write about, Internets. I've got nothing. I'm out. Tapped. Toe up. THIS PARROT IS NO MORE. IT HAS CEASED TO BE. Um. Right. So, yeah. Tell me what to write about. I'll write about ANYTHING, even how awesome Dubya is. Ha! No, seriously, ha! OK, so maybe I won't write about anything, but I'll write about ALMOST anything.
Help me, Internets, you're my only hope.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)