there are some things i have to say. i've been having a lot of "the feelings" lately, mainly about inconsequential things. like real human emotions. i'm not quite sure what to do with myself. so, to deal this influx of humanity, i've been watching a lot of dexter and eating a lot of quesadillas as i furtively check the weather reports in hopes that we'll get a snow day and i can sleep in and wallow in my own squalor instead of getting up and facing twenty shining faces of kids who literally cannot control their little bodies and their excitement for the impending holiday. shit's whack. they're all looney tunes these days, and it's rubbing off on me. OMG i'm off track. THE POINT IS, I HAVE FEELINGS. THEY ARE:
1. devastation. i am absolutely (and completely irrationally) wracked with despair and desolation over the heartbreaking split of michael c. hall and jennifer carpenter. like, i actually had a coronary when EW first reported the news. i gasped and clutched my chest and bemoaned the end of this brief but adorable romance. it doesn't help that i've been re-watching dexter on netflix, so their faces are fresh in my mind. but whyyy, guys? i mean you beat cancer together but you can't beat a little "irreconcilable differences"?? i just honestly have no words. this break-up has just been a knife to my heart. they just seemed happy! and i have a weird penchant for real life couples who are on the same show (in case you were wondering, i believe there are now currently 5 -- yes, i listed in my bereavement). i know i get way too attached to celebrity couples, but the past few weeks have really sent me into a tailspin, and this was just the cherry on the shit sundae.
2. hope. GUYS. i recently heard a radio interview with the love of my life, sir matthew gray gubler. HE IS SINGLE!!!!!1 I didn't even know this. based on some internet stalkage I have done, i kind of thought he was in a relationship with some beezy model who is even two years younger than i am which would give them a whole decade of age difference, BUT!!!!!! seriously i am squealing just thinking about it. the interview was conducted on Nov. 13, 2010 and mgg said, and i QUOTH, "a nice, friendly, well intentioned lady, i would not be averse to." L:FKSH:HL:KDHGSDF:JK EXCUSE ME!!! i am all of those things. well, i'm nice in real life. the anonymity of the internet just lures me into going all bitchy on certain people (miley, stephanie "vamp" moyer, etc.) i can't help myself, i'm an addict. the point is, in real life, i am (though still delightfully sardonic), nice. and friendly. i'm a goddamn 2nd grade teacher. they PAY me to be friendly. (oh wait, no they don't. i pay them to be friendly since getting your masters is not exactly a mo' money mo' problems situation. just the mo' problems part). the POINT IS, i can really crank up the sunshine until it's shining out of my ass. you are welcome for that visual. AND, i think anyone would has ever read this blog (so, two people) would know that my intentions re: the delectable dr. reid are nothing less than WELL. i mean, i want to sex him up, move into an artistically decorated apartment with him, bake him cookies and meet his coworkers, and eventually marry and reproduce with him. lovingly. can you think of any better intentions?!?! SO, this holiday season, there's a lot to be hopeful for. i can feel it in my bones that 2011 is the year of me + mgg.
sexually deprived. i'm going through a spell. a dry one. it is not great, and i see no end in the vicinity. can i just say HOW annoying is it that in order to be "respectable" and "classy" and all that other bullshit, you have to put in a goddamn metric ton of effort?! so, FIRST of all you have to find a boy. one who preferably doesn't repulse you in any way. this is more difficult than one might think. THEN, you have to put in a lot of face time and act all annoyingly flirty and you have to talk about your interests and your goals and your hobbies and it's just all so dumb. PLUS, you have to pretend to be interested in hearing all of those things about him, when really your end goal is just to get off, not get a boyfriend. frankly, it's exhausting. THEN, you have to put in a few make out sessions and blow jobs. ugh. if i were queen of the word, i would outlaw blow jobs except for maybe one day a year. or, whenever i felt like giving one. ANYWAY, THEN you have to get your lady parts all ready for business. i'm not going to lie -- mine have closed up shop. but you have to make sure you're looking fly. and then, FIIIIINALLY, lightyears later, you're finally DTP. But like, why does it have to be such a process? i just wish it was socially acceptable to skip all those incessant steps and get right on to the main event. i blame the puritans. motherfucking prudes.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Sunday, December 5, 2010
i've always known how i would die. and not in the emo-macabre way that it immediately sounds, because i hate emo more than anything. Genuine human emotions make me want to vom, let alone an excess of them, so i promise i'm not being emo. it's just -- i know how i'm going to die. the exact details are still a little hazy and open-ended, but i am fairly confident in the fact that i will meet my maker in a way that would really only be plausible on some sort of ridiculous television show, like the reverse of "I survived!" on TLC. Basically, I believe death will come to me after a series of bizarre accidents that have like a one in a million chance of actually occurring, nevermind in a consecutive sequence and to one human bean.
I'm not actually very clumsy, which might be startling. i'm just mildly retarded. I have actually had a few graceful moments in my life but they are always tempered by my inability to actually function as a legitimate human; my fourth-grade ballet recital springs to mind. i ripped that stage to shreds with my perfectly executed pirouettes. brimming with pride and ego, i pranced off stage and immediately slammed my body into a large pillar, stumbled backwards, and took out three of my peers. So it's like my body can't decide if it's human, and therefore whether or not it wants to behave accordingly or if it's a malfunctioning corporeal body. frankly, it's irritating and results in injuries both to my person and my ego.
One would think that by this time in my life, i'd be immune to humiliation. i mean, i've been publicly mortified in pretty much every way humanity has come across in the history of the world. i've slipped on ice and landed ass-up in front of crowds of people. i've peed my pants in public. (true story. i have really poor bladder control, and sometimes the combination of copious amounts of southern comfort + a rap battle between two of the whitest people i know is just too much. i thought i was going to throw up i was laughing so hard, but instead i crumbled into a little heap on the ground, and wheezed, "i'm peeeeeeeeeing!" i was. luckily, i was wearing a skirt, and being the classy girl i am i just...well, i discarded my undergarmets in a downtown trash can and continued to live my life, girl. in retrospect, not a proud life moment. WOW longest parentheticals evAR). the POINT IS, judging by my past indiscretions, i should truly have no shame. and yet, somehow, like a raccoon in the night, it keeps creeping back.
now that i've established that i have little to no control over my own body (functions and otherwise), and embarrass myself easily in public, i think you can see how i would come to the likely conclusion that i will die in a series of unfortunate events, accidentally, and through no fault other than my own. the reason why this thought has come jarring back into my mind is because i actually almost died in a startlingly similar fashion just today. i was on campus, walking home from the education department. i was by myself, but there were plenty of people out and about, milling around, being collegiate assholes and whatnot. all of a sudden, my foot hit a stick on the path. I skidded on the stick for a second, regained my footing, and metaphorically wiped the sweat of my brow. NOT FOUR SECONDS LATER did my other foot hit a divot in the sidewalk. down i went, but it wasn't just a typical fall. My huge, heavy bag swung around off my shoulder and slammed into my hip (where, coincidentally, i already have a large bruise from when i walked straight into the corner of our (wooden) futon frame. in broad daylight. with my eyes open), and i went down on my stomach, the knitting needle in my bag merely an inch from my jugular. like, REALLY world? reeeeally?
so, long-windedness aside, if you ever see an obituary that involves a tramautic fall, a rusty can opener, flailing body limbs, black ice, and seems altogether unbelievable, i've departed this dear world. and obviously, i've done it in high fashion. if you come to my funeral, you can expect ample cat stevens music, absolutely no prayers other than those sung by sir bon jovi, and a superfluous amount of alcohol that my family is inhaling under the guise of grief and self-medication. enjoy!
I'm not actually very clumsy, which might be startling. i'm just mildly retarded. I have actually had a few graceful moments in my life but they are always tempered by my inability to actually function as a legitimate human; my fourth-grade ballet recital springs to mind. i ripped that stage to shreds with my perfectly executed pirouettes. brimming with pride and ego, i pranced off stage and immediately slammed my body into a large pillar, stumbled backwards, and took out three of my peers. So it's like my body can't decide if it's human, and therefore whether or not it wants to behave accordingly or if it's a malfunctioning corporeal body. frankly, it's irritating and results in injuries both to my person and my ego.
One would think that by this time in my life, i'd be immune to humiliation. i mean, i've been publicly mortified in pretty much every way humanity has come across in the history of the world. i've slipped on ice and landed ass-up in front of crowds of people. i've peed my pants in public. (true story. i have really poor bladder control, and sometimes the combination of copious amounts of southern comfort + a rap battle between two of the whitest people i know is just too much. i thought i was going to throw up i was laughing so hard, but instead i crumbled into a little heap on the ground, and wheezed, "i'm peeeeeeeeeing!" i was. luckily, i was wearing a skirt, and being the classy girl i am i just...well, i discarded my undergarmets in a downtown trash can and continued to live my life, girl. in retrospect, not a proud life moment. WOW longest parentheticals evAR). the POINT IS, judging by my past indiscretions, i should truly have no shame. and yet, somehow, like a raccoon in the night, it keeps creeping back.
now that i've established that i have little to no control over my own body (functions and otherwise), and embarrass myself easily in public, i think you can see how i would come to the likely conclusion that i will die in a series of unfortunate events, accidentally, and through no fault other than my own. the reason why this thought has come jarring back into my mind is because i actually almost died in a startlingly similar fashion just today. i was on campus, walking home from the education department. i was by myself, but there were plenty of people out and about, milling around, being collegiate assholes and whatnot. all of a sudden, my foot hit a stick on the path. I skidded on the stick for a second, regained my footing, and metaphorically wiped the sweat of my brow. NOT FOUR SECONDS LATER did my other foot hit a divot in the sidewalk. down i went, but it wasn't just a typical fall. My huge, heavy bag swung around off my shoulder and slammed into my hip (where, coincidentally, i already have a large bruise from when i walked straight into the corner of our (wooden) futon frame. in broad daylight. with my eyes open), and i went down on my stomach, the knitting needle in my bag merely an inch from my jugular. like, REALLY world? reeeeally?
so, long-windedness aside, if you ever see an obituary that involves a tramautic fall, a rusty can opener, flailing body limbs, black ice, and seems altogether unbelievable, i've departed this dear world. and obviously, i've done it in high fashion. if you come to my funeral, you can expect ample cat stevens music, absolutely no prayers other than those sung by sir bon jovi, and a superfluous amount of alcohol that my family is inhaling under the guise of grief and self-medication. enjoy!
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