The New PostSecret Book
11 years ago
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Rock you like a hurricane?
I haven't blogged. And I am tense waiting for the last hour and a half of work to pitter out. So, here are things I hate, because I am full of sunshine and joy.
I hate the term full of piss and vinegar. Has anyone heard that? Its gross. I don't think anyone is full of piss and vinegar. That would smell. Like Beyonce.
Currently, at my office, I am listening to two different, though equally terrible, radio stations. My left ear wants to kill itself because it is hearing White Snake's Here I go again on my own. My right ear is feeling bored with Stevie Nicks' (or is it Fleetwood Mac?) Rhiannon. Which was almost my name. All day long, my poor ears. Its like being assulted. And then I will find myself struggling to hear what is on one station, and the other one will be just slightly louder. This is really inconsiderate of my office mates. Also, that Taylor Swift song that I love is on way too much. I will hate it soon after I return from my vacation.
I hate the "term" LOL. Seriously. I know that I have probably been guilty of typing this, and I regret every time. Its awful. I mean, if someone says something funny, can't they have enough faith in your sense of humor (or their own) to assume that you are in on the joke and will, indead, laugh out loud. Also, I KNOW that sometimes people write LOL when, in fact, they DID NOT LOL. A simple ha ha is always comforting to those who need to feel like they are a freaking comedian. I also hate when people who are older than 40 use the term. Like, you are not on instant messenger, you probably never have been, you can't text with your arthritic fingers and your kids will never think you are cool. Deal with it.
I also hate when people don't type out full words in text messages. Ur, r, k, r u. I actually recieved a text that said "cing that ur" for "seeing that you are." Use T9. And, if we are no longer phone-conversation friends, at least have the decency to take the extra thirty seconds to spell out actual words to me. If you are a boy, don't use emoticons. If you are a girl, only use them to manipulate. (sad face).
I hate the term full of piss and vinegar. Has anyone heard that? Its gross. I don't think anyone is full of piss and vinegar. That would smell. Like Beyonce.
Currently, at my office, I am listening to two different, though equally terrible, radio stations. My left ear wants to kill itself because it is hearing White Snake's Here I go again on my own. My right ear is feeling bored with Stevie Nicks' (or is it Fleetwood Mac?) Rhiannon. Which was almost my name. All day long, my poor ears. Its like being assulted. And then I will find myself struggling to hear what is on one station, and the other one will be just slightly louder. This is really inconsiderate of my office mates. Also, that Taylor Swift song that I love is on way too much. I will hate it soon after I return from my vacation.
I hate the "term" LOL. Seriously. I know that I have probably been guilty of typing this, and I regret every time. Its awful. I mean, if someone says something funny, can't they have enough faith in your sense of humor (or their own) to assume that you are in on the joke and will, indead, laugh out loud. Also, I KNOW that sometimes people write LOL when, in fact, they DID NOT LOL. A simple ha ha is always comforting to those who need to feel like they are a freaking comedian. I also hate when people who are older than 40 use the term. Like, you are not on instant messenger, you probably never have been, you can't text with your arthritic fingers and your kids will never think you are cool. Deal with it.
I also hate when people don't type out full words in text messages. Ur, r, k, r u. I actually recieved a text that said "cing that ur" for "seeing that you are." Use T9. And, if we are no longer phone-conversation friends, at least have the decency to take the extra thirty seconds to spell out actual words to me. If you are a boy, don't use emoticons. If you are a girl, only use them to manipulate. (sad face).
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
A dog's world
Brandon:
I am putting this essay up, really only so that you and everyone of my friends will love my mom so much more.
I twisted the key into the lock of my front door and it swung open. Rocky, my Pit Bull, galloped towards me, sounding horse like. The sides of his face were dimpled, as if someone stapled his cheeks into a grin. But something was different.
The red bandana that usually surrounded his neck was replaced with strands of pearls. Rocky shook his head proudly, showing off his new gems.
“This is new,” I thought to myself as I yelled for my mother.
“I’m up here,” she yelled from her bedroom.
I walked up the stairs and entered my mom’s room to find her sitting on her bed, also bedazzled with various strands of gold, silver, beads, and pearls. She looked like a child who got into her mother’s jewelry box.
“Oh, we were a little bored tonight,” she said. She looked sheepish and slowly began unclasping the costume jewelry.
My cat, Abby, rubbed against my leg looking helpless and pissed off. She also had an onyx beaded bracelet clasped around her neck.
My mom and Rocky have a strange connection. She is the most unlikely owner of a Pit Bull. The fact that she owns one shocks people more than if she had revealed that she was abandoning her job as a purchasing agent to be a professional wrestler. She has a slight build and short red hair. She smiles at strangers and pays all her taxes on time. She doesn’t seem like the rebel who would own a dog with a nasty child mauling reputation.
Our old dog, Boots, resembled a carpet with her lack of motivation to do little else besides lie in front of the fireplace or lick herself. She was sweet and small. Her presence wasn’t really visible until someone tripped over her.
Rocky replaced Boots a year or so after she died. This dog is no carpet, he rules the house gallantly. He is always rambunctiously chewing on soda cans he pilfers from the trash or growling at his nemesis, the vacuum cleaner. His other favorite pastimes included chase the kitty, hump the stuffed Rottweiler and beg for food.
But, like some odd canine transvestite, Rocky has a more feminine side. Each morning while my mom applies her makeup, Rocky grows impatient. He will whine and paw at her until she puts his face on. She pretends to coat his massive, drool harboring mouth with champagne colored lipstick. She air sweeps blush onto his fawn colored jaw and pretends to dust gray eye shadow over his batting eyes.
The makeover ends with her blow drying the length of his 75 pound muscular frame. He moves his giant mouth against the air is it is forced in his face as if it will contain a ball he is trying to catch. If she gets selfish or late and doesn’t perform his beauty ritual, he will bark at her. When she scolds him for barking, he will throw his body down on the ground like a three-year-old having a temper tantrum and sulk.
Rocky returns to his normal, Alpha dog ways when it is time for his walk. My mom gives him pep talks before they exit the house.
“We’re going for a walk, Buddy. There will be no running, no pulling. We are walking,” she’ll say. Rocky cocks his head and gets a boner.
Rocky exits the front door like a thoroughbred ready to win the Kentucky Derby. His stocky build pulls close to the ground, making him resemble an iguana. This gives him more leverage and my mom’s arms and legs flail behind him. She will yank on the medieval looking pinch collar she had to buy for this very reason. It doesn’t slow Rocky down.
My mom took Rocky to an obedience school to teach him how to walk on a leash. Rocky was promptly expelled for picking on a Yorkie. The instructor did tell my mother that female dog owners should lower their voice when disciplining their dogs. My mom took this tip and shouts at the dog with a dramatically lowered voice. It sounds like a vocal marriage of Darth Vader and Mr. T...telling something on four legs it is time for potty.
On one of their routine strolls, my mom and Rocky bumped into Lulu, neighbor’s Pit Bull who had escaped the confines of her fence. Rocky had made it another one of his daily chores to taunt Lulu. He would strut past her fence, look in her doggy eyes and piss on her owner’s oak tree. Now Lulu was out from behind bars and seeking revenge.
Littler than Rocky, Lulu took a cheap shot. She rushed Rocky and jumped onto his back, biting his ears. Rocky shook her off and began to twist his hips, batting off her attacks. My frightened mother started screaming for help as the two massive dogs snarled and gnashed their teeth at each other. Rocky, more of a poodle than a Pit Bull was getting his make-up wearing ass kicked by the smaller dog.
My mom, seeing the plight of her precious dog, jumped in the middle of the dog fight and began kicking and pulling. Finally, with the help of a brave neighbor, she broke them apart. She drug Rocky home. He was bleeding a bit and missing patches of fur along his face and neck.
When she retold the story to me, I examined the wounds. I said, ‘Well, it’s nothing a little foundation can’t fix, right?" And my mom, looking at her precious mangled dog, who she loved as much as her human children, looked like she considered it.
I am putting this essay up, really only so that you and everyone of my friends will love my mom so much more.
I twisted the key into the lock of my front door and it swung open. Rocky, my Pit Bull, galloped towards me, sounding horse like. The sides of his face were dimpled, as if someone stapled his cheeks into a grin. But something was different.
The red bandana that usually surrounded his neck was replaced with strands of pearls. Rocky shook his head proudly, showing off his new gems.
“This is new,” I thought to myself as I yelled for my mother.
“I’m up here,” she yelled from her bedroom.
I walked up the stairs and entered my mom’s room to find her sitting on her bed, also bedazzled with various strands of gold, silver, beads, and pearls. She looked like a child who got into her mother’s jewelry box.
“Oh, we were a little bored tonight,” she said. She looked sheepish and slowly began unclasping the costume jewelry.
My cat, Abby, rubbed against my leg looking helpless and pissed off. She also had an onyx beaded bracelet clasped around her neck.
My mom and Rocky have a strange connection. She is the most unlikely owner of a Pit Bull. The fact that she owns one shocks people more than if she had revealed that she was abandoning her job as a purchasing agent to be a professional wrestler. She has a slight build and short red hair. She smiles at strangers and pays all her taxes on time. She doesn’t seem like the rebel who would own a dog with a nasty child mauling reputation.
Our old dog, Boots, resembled a carpet with her lack of motivation to do little else besides lie in front of the fireplace or lick herself. She was sweet and small. Her presence wasn’t really visible until someone tripped over her.
Rocky replaced Boots a year or so after she died. This dog is no carpet, he rules the house gallantly. He is always rambunctiously chewing on soda cans he pilfers from the trash or growling at his nemesis, the vacuum cleaner. His other favorite pastimes included chase the kitty, hump the stuffed Rottweiler and beg for food.
But, like some odd canine transvestite, Rocky has a more feminine side. Each morning while my mom applies her makeup, Rocky grows impatient. He will whine and paw at her until she puts his face on. She pretends to coat his massive, drool harboring mouth with champagne colored lipstick. She air sweeps blush onto his fawn colored jaw and pretends to dust gray eye shadow over his batting eyes.
The makeover ends with her blow drying the length of his 75 pound muscular frame. He moves his giant mouth against the air is it is forced in his face as if it will contain a ball he is trying to catch. If she gets selfish or late and doesn’t perform his beauty ritual, he will bark at her. When she scolds him for barking, he will throw his body down on the ground like a three-year-old having a temper tantrum and sulk.
Rocky returns to his normal, Alpha dog ways when it is time for his walk. My mom gives him pep talks before they exit the house.
“We’re going for a walk, Buddy. There will be no running, no pulling. We are walking,” she’ll say. Rocky cocks his head and gets a boner.
Rocky exits the front door like a thoroughbred ready to win the Kentucky Derby. His stocky build pulls close to the ground, making him resemble an iguana. This gives him more leverage and my mom’s arms and legs flail behind him. She will yank on the medieval looking pinch collar she had to buy for this very reason. It doesn’t slow Rocky down.
My mom took Rocky to an obedience school to teach him how to walk on a leash. Rocky was promptly expelled for picking on a Yorkie. The instructor did tell my mother that female dog owners should lower their voice when disciplining their dogs. My mom took this tip and shouts at the dog with a dramatically lowered voice. It sounds like a vocal marriage of Darth Vader and Mr. T...telling something on four legs it is time for potty.
On one of their routine strolls, my mom and Rocky bumped into Lulu, neighbor’s Pit Bull who had escaped the confines of her fence. Rocky had made it another one of his daily chores to taunt Lulu. He would strut past her fence, look in her doggy eyes and piss on her owner’s oak tree. Now Lulu was out from behind bars and seeking revenge.
Littler than Rocky, Lulu took a cheap shot. She rushed Rocky and jumped onto his back, biting his ears. Rocky shook her off and began to twist his hips, batting off her attacks. My frightened mother started screaming for help as the two massive dogs snarled and gnashed their teeth at each other. Rocky, more of a poodle than a Pit Bull was getting his make-up wearing ass kicked by the smaller dog.
My mom, seeing the plight of her precious dog, jumped in the middle of the dog fight and began kicking and pulling. Finally, with the help of a brave neighbor, she broke them apart. She drug Rocky home. He was bleeding a bit and missing patches of fur along his face and neck.
When she retold the story to me, I examined the wounds. I said, ‘Well, it’s nothing a little foundation can’t fix, right?" And my mom, looking at her precious mangled dog, who she loved as much as her human children, looked like she considered it.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
This is not your year.
14 random things:
This is a blog thing. You have to write 14 random things about yourself.
1. I have dreams once a week about riding the airport tran to the gate to go to Japan. I am always unprepared for it. Maybe I haven't pack any clothes, don't have enough money for a ticket or don't have a passport. But, I always wake up, stressed about not getting there. Its starting to creep me out. I really have no desire to go to Japan. I don't even think Hello Kitty is that cute.
2. I can not name all fifty states. Once, someone bet me that I couldn't, so I tried to write them all down. I fell short at 47. Sorry, Nebraska, Oklahoma and Vermont. You are just not that important.
3. I am obsessed with Q-tips and wax free ears. I candled my ears once. Flames get really really close to your hair. I wouldn't advise doing it alone.
4. When I was a teenager, I had a guinea pig named Callie. She loved me and would go to sleep inside of my hoodie, doing an odd sort of purring. My aunt's German Shepherd thought she was a toy when she was visiting and got in my room. I found Callie lifeless on a pile on clothes, shaken to her little piggy death. My family gave her a Greek burial, making a funeral pyre and shipping her off into the river. I didn't attend. I still have dreams that she is running loose in my old bedroom.
5. I am incapable of thinking that people are all bad, even if I really dislike them.
6. My dad was a pilot and had his own 4-seat Cessna. I have flown a plane. Not take off or landing, but once in the air, I was allowed to co-pilot and do zig zags through the sky.
7. I am a terribly messy person. Not unclean, just sooo messy. Any place I have ever lived always has dozens of clothes strewn about.
8. Doing this 16 random things thing has made me realize what a true narcissistic nancy I am. I hope you guys will join me.
9. I can't ever make up my mind of how I want life to be. If I visit a city, I want to live there. Or the country, I can see myself sitting on a wrap around porch and riding horses all day. If I am around children, I want them, but thinking about actually having that responsibility makes me cringe. This makes me either extremely flighty or highly adjustable. Or a victim of my surroundings. Easily swayed.
10. When I was in college, the writing department encouraged us to write freely and honestly about our lives: sexual encounters, drug use etc. I did and was good at it. Re-reading old essays, I am completely shocked at myself that I wrote so freely about that. Part of me is embarrassed, part of me wishes I still had that brazen I-don't-care-what-you-think, this-happened attitude.
11. I talk to my cat. I just asked her if she knew where my white shirt was. Its kinda scary.
12. I used to hide that I still played Barbies at age 11 from my family. I wanted to grow up so fast and was worried they would judge me.
13. When I was little, I used to collect music boxes, snowglobes and porcelain dolls. When I wanted to scare myself, I would wind them all up and sit in the dark, listening to all the strange music it made. Then I would run and sleep in my brother's room. He had two twin beds, because I didn't like to ever sleep in my own room. I was sure that ALF lived under my bed and would take leaps off of it, so he couldn't grab me and pull me under.
14. My mom is the coolest, most unconventional mother ever. Of her acomplishments, she found a baby raccoon and kept it as her pet, would dream up the worst hangover punishments when I got caught drinking at a young age (scrubbing the floor with a toothbrush, etc.), took care of my dying father in his own bed, as he wished, with unswerving strength and a steady hand. She somehow made us believe that it was all going to be okay and showed the most unselfish dedication to making sure her husband's dignity was preserved. At age 50, she took a job that I would be afraid to take now, traveling with a crew of ruffians all over the country, and holds court over them, making them both fear her wit and respect her tenacity. She takes the crazy lady, who lives up the street and screams at god in a lawn chair in the middle of the street, food and has the most unabashed sense that she has been through it all and doesn't care what you think of her attitude I have ever seen, even if I know that is not the case. She backs me up, no matter what poor life choices I am making and can make me laugh harder than anyone I know. Whew.
So I am supposed to tag people to do this. I tag CHRIS!!!!!!!! BRANDON, RAMIE, STEVE, THE JEFFS, JASON and anyone else who stumbles on this blog. Do it.
This is a blog thing. You have to write 14 random things about yourself.
1. I have dreams once a week about riding the airport tran to the gate to go to Japan. I am always unprepared for it. Maybe I haven't pack any clothes, don't have enough money for a ticket or don't have a passport. But, I always wake up, stressed about not getting there. Its starting to creep me out. I really have no desire to go to Japan. I don't even think Hello Kitty is that cute.
2. I can not name all fifty states. Once, someone bet me that I couldn't, so I tried to write them all down. I fell short at 47. Sorry, Nebraska, Oklahoma and Vermont. You are just not that important.
3. I am obsessed with Q-tips and wax free ears. I candled my ears once. Flames get really really close to your hair. I wouldn't advise doing it alone.
4. When I was a teenager, I had a guinea pig named Callie. She loved me and would go to sleep inside of my hoodie, doing an odd sort of purring. My aunt's German Shepherd thought she was a toy when she was visiting and got in my room. I found Callie lifeless on a pile on clothes, shaken to her little piggy death. My family gave her a Greek burial, making a funeral pyre and shipping her off into the river. I didn't attend. I still have dreams that she is running loose in my old bedroom.
5. I am incapable of thinking that people are all bad, even if I really dislike them.
6. My dad was a pilot and had his own 4-seat Cessna. I have flown a plane. Not take off or landing, but once in the air, I was allowed to co-pilot and do zig zags through the sky.
7. I am a terribly messy person. Not unclean, just sooo messy. Any place I have ever lived always has dozens of clothes strewn about.
8. Doing this 16 random things thing has made me realize what a true narcissistic nancy I am. I hope you guys will join me.
9. I can't ever make up my mind of how I want life to be. If I visit a city, I want to live there. Or the country, I can see myself sitting on a wrap around porch and riding horses all day. If I am around children, I want them, but thinking about actually having that responsibility makes me cringe. This makes me either extremely flighty or highly adjustable. Or a victim of my surroundings. Easily swayed.
10. When I was in college, the writing department encouraged us to write freely and honestly about our lives: sexual encounters, drug use etc. I did and was good at it. Re-reading old essays, I am completely shocked at myself that I wrote so freely about that. Part of me is embarrassed, part of me wishes I still had that brazen I-don't-care-what-you-think, this-happened attitude.
11. I talk to my cat. I just asked her if she knew where my white shirt was. Its kinda scary.
12. I used to hide that I still played Barbies at age 11 from my family. I wanted to grow up so fast and was worried they would judge me.
13. When I was little, I used to collect music boxes, snowglobes and porcelain dolls. When I wanted to scare myself, I would wind them all up and sit in the dark, listening to all the strange music it made. Then I would run and sleep in my brother's room. He had two twin beds, because I didn't like to ever sleep in my own room. I was sure that ALF lived under my bed and would take leaps off of it, so he couldn't grab me and pull me under.
14. My mom is the coolest, most unconventional mother ever. Of her acomplishments, she found a baby raccoon and kept it as her pet, would dream up the worst hangover punishments when I got caught drinking at a young age (scrubbing the floor with a toothbrush, etc.), took care of my dying father in his own bed, as he wished, with unswerving strength and a steady hand. She somehow made us believe that it was all going to be okay and showed the most unselfish dedication to making sure her husband's dignity was preserved. At age 50, she took a job that I would be afraid to take now, traveling with a crew of ruffians all over the country, and holds court over them, making them both fear her wit and respect her tenacity. She takes the crazy lady, who lives up the street and screams at god in a lawn chair in the middle of the street, food and has the most unabashed sense that she has been through it all and doesn't care what you think of her attitude I have ever seen, even if I know that is not the case. She backs me up, no matter what poor life choices I am making and can make me laugh harder than anyone I know. Whew.
So I am supposed to tag people to do this. I tag CHRIS!!!!!!!! BRANDON, RAMIE, STEVE, THE JEFFS, JASON and anyone else who stumbles on this blog. Do it.
Monday, December 22, 2008
The day breaks, your mind aches.
It is quite possible that I will delete this by the time I roll out of bed in what is sure to be the afternoon. Nothing good can come out of a directionless blog written during a bout of insomnia. I did try really hard to go to bed early, which makes me all the more annoyed. At two, I decided that I would watch some movie with Jake Gyllenhall and cutie pie Reese Witherspoon. You'd think that was a romantic comedy, right? Well, without my glasses, I didn't bother to read, and just turned it on, hoping it would bore me into sleep submission. Nope. Huge drama about a women whose husband is taken by our government on suspected terrorism to another country to be tortured. I totally forget what this movie is called now, even though I literally just finished watching it. Retribution, maybe? Whatever, Reese is running around Washington DC in her third trimester and terrorists are plotting jihad. Now, when I try to go to sleep, I just picture a bunch of scary men who hate us and scary governments who don't know what to do so they torture people on any sort of suspicious activity. Its why I hardly pay attention to any sort of war talk. It stresses me out so bad, I can't sleep.
So, chamomile tea is making me have Gwen Stefani play in my head. Terrorists and Gwen. Minds are so weird. Especially when really really tired.
Christmas is like three days away and the Christmas spirit has not even begun to sneak up on me. Not at all. I was thinking earlier about how happy I was that Ramie had me over to decorate her Christmas Tree. (Thanks Rams) It kept it from this being the first year of my life that I didn't decorate one. Although, the fact that I don't have one in my house, kind of makes me feel like a 28 year old version of my grandma that brandon loves so much. Except I don't have a cause. I just don't have any desire to have a tree. and society can't make me. In good news though, I currently have, in my office, enough chocolate and candy to wipe out a large colony of diabetics. Funeral homes just keep sending them to my department and its really nice. But there is soooo much! If any one needs a few pounds, let me know.
Hmm, what else can I bore you with? This should really just be an email to someone. Then I am only affecting one sorry soul instead of all of you (or three of you). My first boyfriend made national news today. His house was raided. In it, they found cocaine, a whole weed growing operation, mushrooms, 88 guns (automatic and...manual?). They said he was responsible for delivering 50 kilos of cocaine to Western PA over four years. I think that is a lot. Man, I used to know how to pick 'em. You know those movies about kids and in the end they say what happened to them when they grew up. Like Stand By Me? Sometimes I look back on people I used to know, and its astounding what happens to them and I wish I would have written the story and these wouldn't have been the final results. Like, how on earth do you go from being an 8th grade kid to that? Its a good read. http://www.pittsburghlive.com/x/tribunereview/search/s_603803.html
Also, today was the first day of winter. I just learned this, because I personally thought it has felt like it since September. I keep making promises to myself when I walk outside into 2 degree weather that this will be my last north eastern winter. I even further kid myself by meandering around the Nashville craigslist looking at apartments (which are so cheap and nice) and jobs. But, I know myself, I'm going to be making these promises every year until I am 80. Then its Tennessee for sure.
Thanks for reading this mess if you got through it. Its 4:46 and think I will go organize closets or something. Also, I might think its funny in a few hours to give some of you wake up calls. And I might guesstimate what time you actually set your alarms, so you may get to wake up early and get a jump start on your days. You can thank me later. I picture Ramie just jumping through the receiver at me.
And, I think Jim Croce slays. Yes, SLAYS. Operator is such an underrated song.
So, chamomile tea is making me have Gwen Stefani play in my head. Terrorists and Gwen. Minds are so weird. Especially when really really tired.
Christmas is like three days away and the Christmas spirit has not even begun to sneak up on me. Not at all. I was thinking earlier about how happy I was that Ramie had me over to decorate her Christmas Tree. (Thanks Rams) It kept it from this being the first year of my life that I didn't decorate one. Although, the fact that I don't have one in my house, kind of makes me feel like a 28 year old version of my grandma that brandon loves so much. Except I don't have a cause. I just don't have any desire to have a tree. and society can't make me. In good news though, I currently have, in my office, enough chocolate and candy to wipe out a large colony of diabetics. Funeral homes just keep sending them to my department and its really nice. But there is soooo much! If any one needs a few pounds, let me know.
Hmm, what else can I bore you with? This should really just be an email to someone. Then I am only affecting one sorry soul instead of all of you (or three of you). My first boyfriend made national news today. His house was raided. In it, they found cocaine, a whole weed growing operation, mushrooms, 88 guns (automatic and...manual?). They said he was responsible for delivering 50 kilos of cocaine to Western PA over four years. I think that is a lot. Man, I used to know how to pick 'em. You know those movies about kids and in the end they say what happened to them when they grew up. Like Stand By Me? Sometimes I look back on people I used to know, and its astounding what happens to them and I wish I would have written the story and these wouldn't have been the final results. Like, how on earth do you go from being an 8th grade kid to that? Its a good read. http://www.pittsburghlive.com/x/tribunereview/search/s_603803.html
Also, today was the first day of winter. I just learned this, because I personally thought it has felt like it since September. I keep making promises to myself when I walk outside into 2 degree weather that this will be my last north eastern winter. I even further kid myself by meandering around the Nashville craigslist looking at apartments (which are so cheap and nice) and jobs. But, I know myself, I'm going to be making these promises every year until I am 80. Then its Tennessee for sure.
Thanks for reading this mess if you got through it. Its 4:46 and think I will go organize closets or something. Also, I might think its funny in a few hours to give some of you wake up calls. And I might guesstimate what time you actually set your alarms, so you may get to wake up early and get a jump start on your days. You can thank me later. I picture Ramie just jumping through the receiver at me.
And, I think Jim Croce slays. Yes, SLAYS. Operator is such an underrated song.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Little love
I don't know why I was thinking about the celebrity crushes I have had in my lifetime today. Okay, yes I do. I was driving to work and listening to Queens of the Stone Age. I had the biggest crush on Josh Homme for a good year after Lullabies to Paralyze came out. Now, I listen to his lyrics, "I know you're dying to be free, so kill yourself," and I think he is a bit insensitive. And doesn't have a whole lot of eyelids.
Its amazing how my tastes change. It really makes me feel like I am schizophrenic with my choices.
My first celebrity crush was very unlikely. I was five or six years old. Every Sunday, while my family was watching M*A*S*H and ignoring me, I would play dress up with my mom's clothes. Dressed with my mom's slip pooling around my feet, which were swimming in light pink heels, a fur drapped around my neck, I had makeup just dripping off my face. My brother, who is four years older than me, started making fun of me. Brutally. I said, "Shut up, I am getting ready for my date with Webster." That's right. My first ever crush was on the little guy who played Webster on the TV series.
I don't think I have ever recovered.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
