Here are a few things that have happened since I've last posted:
. The Democrats took control of the House and the Senate.
(Yippee! I am looking forward to Nancy Pelosi making Bush's last two years...interesting...)
. The congressional candidate I was working for lost the election.
(So unfortunate, because the woman who beat her is a pirate hooker.)
. The election is now over, so I can have my life back.
(Hello, life! What is up? It's been so long since last we met!)
. In what proves to be a most stupid decision, I've been all-too-frequently making out with boys after indulging in adult beverages.
(Hello, boys! Oh, wait, nope - I don't actually like you after all. Now I must phase you out...)
. I have decided to throw a most fantastic Christmas party and I can't wait.
(Goodbye, PC, non-denominational "Holiday Party" nonsense!)
. This blog experienced its one-year anniversary.
(Happy Birthday, Awritinglife! May your next year be filled with ever better writing. Or some writing at all, since that seems to be the main problem lately...)
. I have experienced the joy of painting my fingernails black in a show of rebellion that is rearing its moody, teenaged head eight years too late.
(Hello, age 13, how nice to see you. It seems that your hair is looking much better these days, also.)
. I have decided that I am going to embark upon a new project, to be detailed in a later post.
(And by "later post" I mean a post that I am going to type right now, immediately following this post, so that A. I don't forget to type it, and B. I mostly want it to be a separate post so that this new project post is not cluttered up by this extremely cluttery and random post. Anal retentive, party of one? Hey, my table is ready!)
Showing posts with label Digressions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Digressions. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Monday, September 25, 2006
Thoroughly Disgusted
There are the people who wank off on airplanes. There are the people who touch everything they can get their hands on. There are people who pick their noses while on the bus in the morning. There are people whose mothers never taught them what proper behavior is while in the public eye, and these people? The ones I just mentioned? These people are those people, with those mothers, who are now either mortified that their son or daughter was noticed and pointed out as being one of those gross people. Or, they are those mothers, who are also picking their noses in public. It's hard to tell.
But I am here to tell you, Internet, that I have witnessed the weirdest and most disgusting personal habit ever. In public. And I am so disgusted that I feel compelled to share this with someone, anyone - even if I also feel compelled to vomit while I type this.
I just sat through an hour long class, and the guy in front of me was clicking his ballpoint pen. Click. Click-click. Click. Click-click. Over, and over, and over. Naturally, being as high-strung as I am, I went from zero to annoyed after the second click. I shifted around to see what was with all the clicking when I saw him using the tip of his ballpoint pen to scratch the top of his head, then click it open to clean it off (apparently he has some sort of head debris?) and then do it again...and again. For the entire hour.
I am speechless with disgust.
If this is something he learned from his mother, somebody better be calling Social Services pronto.
What's the weirdest thing you've ever seen anyone do in public?
But I am here to tell you, Internet, that I have witnessed the weirdest and most disgusting personal habit ever. In public. And I am so disgusted that I feel compelled to share this with someone, anyone - even if I also feel compelled to vomit while I type this.
I just sat through an hour long class, and the guy in front of me was clicking his ballpoint pen. Click. Click-click. Click. Click-click. Over, and over, and over. Naturally, being as high-strung as I am, I went from zero to annoyed after the second click. I shifted around to see what was with all the clicking when I saw him using the tip of his ballpoint pen to scratch the top of his head, then click it open to clean it off (apparently he has some sort of head debris?) and then do it again...and again. For the entire hour.
I am speechless with disgust.
If this is something he learned from his mother, somebody better be calling Social Services pronto.
What's the weirdest thing you've ever seen anyone do in public?
Sunday, July 02, 2006
Seven minutes of deep introspection
They say that a smoker loses seven minutes of life every time they smoke a cigarette. One cigarette equals seven minutes. For most people, this is probably not a big deterrent. Really, their last seven minutes will probably be just like the seven minutes before it: sitting there, cursing themselves for not listening to their kids when they told them smoking would kill them, trying to drown out the sound of the oxygen tank or the ventilator or whatever. It's only seven minutes.
What if, though, in your last seven minutes, you were actually doing something you loved? What if you were completely healthy and cigarettes did no damage but subtract time? What if you were painting, making love, or eating a really great sandwich? For the rest of eternity, would you most regret the unfinished work, the kiss you would never feel, the delicious combination of turkey and sprouts that would never be eaten? I am willing to bet that if a person was not sick, they would keenly feel the loss of those last seven minutes, even thinking about their last cigarette and blaming it and it alone for their wasted sandwich.
Of course, many smokers are probably like me and they are A) bad at math, and B) don't like thinking about all those seven-minute segments, added up, because that would lead them to C) many years they will never get to live. And D) think, well, it is only seven minutes.
What would you do in your last seven minutes?
What if, though, in your last seven minutes, you were actually doing something you loved? What if you were completely healthy and cigarettes did no damage but subtract time? What if you were painting, making love, or eating a really great sandwich? For the rest of eternity, would you most regret the unfinished work, the kiss you would never feel, the delicious combination of turkey and sprouts that would never be eaten? I am willing to bet that if a person was not sick, they would keenly feel the loss of those last seven minutes, even thinking about their last cigarette and blaming it and it alone for their wasted sandwich.
Of course, many smokers are probably like me and they are A) bad at math, and B) don't like thinking about all those seven-minute segments, added up, because that would lead them to C) many years they will never get to live. And D) think, well, it is only seven minutes.
What would you do in your last seven minutes?
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Gluttony in the worst way
I realized that this blog is sometimes all about what I eat, which I'm cool with, but I don't know if people really want to read about that. But when you eat like I do, it's hard not to want to talk about it because a) it just tasted so good, I want to share, or b) it tasted so good, and it probably shouldn't - is that normal?
An example: yesterday, while at work, I was really busy testing the fax machine and talking to my coworker when we realized that there was ice-cream and toppings in the back freezer. And not just toppings, but toppings, the good stuff, like multi-colored sprinkles, maraschino cherries, caramel sauce and all.
However, I then had realization number two: I already made a date with LP to go to Cold Stone later that night. So clearly, I couldn't eat a whole bowl of ice-cream at work, go shopping and then go to Cold Stone and eat more ice-cream with a clear conscious. I mean, shopping for hot shirts is a little bit of cardio, but not enough for even me to delude myself.
But wait, what's that rule about ice-cream...? Ah yes, I remember now.... If you eat it out of the tub it doesn't count...? Yep, that is definitely the rule. Thank goodness I remembered!
If you scoop up some ice-cream, dip the spoon into the jar of caramel sauce, and then roll it in sprinkles, well, it's pretty much better than sex, amaretto sours and the shoe section at Barney's combined.
Five spoonfulls of better than sexsourshoes later, I felt energized enough to go back to working. Or something.
And yes, I did go to Cold Stone.
An example: yesterday, while at work, I was really busy testing the fax machine and talking to my coworker when we realized that there was ice-cream and toppings in the back freezer. And not just toppings, but toppings, the good stuff, like multi-colored sprinkles, maraschino cherries, caramel sauce and all.
However, I then had realization number two: I already made a date with LP to go to Cold Stone later that night. So clearly, I couldn't eat a whole bowl of ice-cream at work, go shopping and then go to Cold Stone and eat more ice-cream with a clear conscious. I mean, shopping for hot shirts is a little bit of cardio, but not enough for even me to delude myself.
But wait, what's that rule about ice-cream...? Ah yes, I remember now.... If you eat it out of the tub it doesn't count...? Yep, that is definitely the rule. Thank goodness I remembered!
If you scoop up some ice-cream, dip the spoon into the jar of caramel sauce, and then roll it in sprinkles, well, it's pretty much better than sex, amaretto sours and the shoe section at Barney's combined.
Five spoonfulls of better than sexsourshoes later, I felt energized enough to go back to working. Or something.
And yes, I did go to Cold Stone.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
No, YOU back that ass up
It has recently been drawn to my attention that I have an ass. You'd think this wouldn't come as a surprise, but for someone who spends a lot of time dealing with the largesse of other body parts, the knowledge that I have a double-wide trailing behind me ALL THE TIME has escaped me until now.
I exaggerate. A little.
While standing in my choir dress waiting to go onstage last night a friend of mine and I started talking about asses. She claimed she didn't have much of one, and oh woe is her, and then, before you know it hey! somehow, Hilary's ass is all kinds of involved in this conversation! She turned me around and triumphantly said to anyone who could hear, which was everyone, "Now that - that, is an ass."
And, to my shock and awe, it was, indeed.
Not to toot my own horn (or trunk, as the case may be) but after it was stared at and complimented by many a choir boy and girl, I decided that, for once, my Italian genes had come through for me, and instead of cursing my wide hips or very Italian nose, I could just get over myself and enjoy my body, which is so bootylicious.
I exaggerate. A little.
While standing in my choir dress waiting to go onstage last night a friend of mine and I started talking about asses. She claimed she didn't have much of one, and oh woe is her, and then, before you know it hey! somehow, Hilary's ass is all kinds of involved in this conversation! She turned me around and triumphantly said to anyone who could hear, which was everyone, "Now that - that, is an ass."
And, to my shock and awe, it was, indeed.
Not to toot my own horn (or trunk, as the case may be) but after it was stared at and complimented by many a choir boy and girl, I decided that, for once, my Italian genes had come through for me, and instead of cursing my wide hips or very Italian nose, I could just get over myself and enjoy my body, which is so bootylicious.
Oh those funny engineers!
The punchline to a joke that I don't get:
"But it was an alloy!" (insert ridiculous laughing and snorting *here*)
Engineers have jokes about alloys, music kids have jokes about fermatas. I'm just waiting for a geeky joke about William Randolph Hearst to come my way.
Although I do know a really funny one about Final Cut Pro...
"But it was an alloy!" (insert ridiculous laughing and snorting *here*)
Engineers have jokes about alloys, music kids have jokes about fermatas. I'm just waiting for a geeky joke about William Randolph Hearst to come my way.
Although I do know a really funny one about Final Cut Pro...
Monday, April 24, 2006
Confessions
1. Last night (oh, and right now. I can't lie to the internet) I am eating a chocolate bunny in the most chocoholic way possible - that is, with complete greed and utter lack of modesty. If you've long been a reader of this blog, you will know that the dark devil and I go way back. I'll admit, some days I still struggle, but the fact that I am clutching the tail of a hollow, milk chocolate Easter bunny and knawing on its ears disgusts even me. Unfortunately, not enough to keep me from continuing to eat it.
2. I also just drank a soda. You can actually see the imprints of both bunny and beverage on my ass when I stand. This will be my motivation for going to the gym...later...perhaps...if I'm not too tired.
3. I am currently reading "A Million Little Pieces" by James Frey. However, the knowledge that even part of his book is fabricated cuts to the core of my uppity, journalistic integrity - so much so that I have now disregarded the entire novel as fiction. This is sad, because his book will resonate with so many addicts and give them hope that they too can get better. Unfortunately, now James Frey is not addicted to crack, he is addicted to his own fame. If I am ever addicted to something (besides chocolate) I would rather the crack. At least I'll still have my dignity.
4. I love fresh lilacs. Every year when they bloom, the smell of them reminds me of all the springs before it, and I can remember each individual spring since I was five because my mom and I pick lilacs every year. This year, she sent them to Ft. Collins so I could have them in my room. What's to be guilty about? The fact that when this bouquet dies, I fully intend on shearing off some lilacs from outside the engineering building. I like to think of it as pruning. I'm helping the landscapers.
5. I borrowed season four of "Sex & The City" from Jess C. the other night because I was THAT desperate to finish my quest. The girls have missed me, and I them. And now, I have to go to bed, because I have an early deadline in the morning and I'm supposed to be meeting Charlotte and Miranda for coffee on the upper East side.
2. I also just drank a soda. You can actually see the imprints of both bunny and beverage on my ass when I stand. This will be my motivation for going to the gym...later...perhaps...if I'm not too tired.
3. I am currently reading "A Million Little Pieces" by James Frey. However, the knowledge that even part of his book is fabricated cuts to the core of my uppity, journalistic integrity - so much so that I have now disregarded the entire novel as fiction. This is sad, because his book will resonate with so many addicts and give them hope that they too can get better. Unfortunately, now James Frey is not addicted to crack, he is addicted to his own fame. If I am ever addicted to something (besides chocolate) I would rather the crack. At least I'll still have my dignity.
4. I love fresh lilacs. Every year when they bloom, the smell of them reminds me of all the springs before it, and I can remember each individual spring since I was five because my mom and I pick lilacs every year. This year, she sent them to Ft. Collins so I could have them in my room. What's to be guilty about? The fact that when this bouquet dies, I fully intend on shearing off some lilacs from outside the engineering building. I like to think of it as pruning. I'm helping the landscapers.
5. I borrowed season four of "Sex & The City" from Jess C. the other night because I was THAT desperate to finish my quest. The girls have missed me, and I them. And now, I have to go to bed, because I have an early deadline in the morning and I'm supposed to be meeting Charlotte and Miranda for coffee on the upper East side.
Saturday, April 22, 2006
H is for Hangover...
I went to my friend (and also my new roommate!) Lindsay's house last night to hang out with the people I work with. The equivalent of more than 10 shots of vodka later, we were eating "Sex Mix" (known to real people as "Chex Mix") throwing things at each other, and whining about how much we wanted pizza. Well, the pizza thing was pretty much me.
Also, things got a little crazy in the office romance department, because I think two people may have had a little sex mix of their own. BUT IT WASN'T ME! And I absolutely mean that. I did end up staying the night, though. On the couch. By myself. Ordinarily I'd prefer that someone sleep with me, just for the spooning benefits, but this time, I'm glad that I was A to the L-O-N-E. You just don't want to spoon within the office.
So, in a very classy manuever we like to call NOT taking the walk of shame the next morning, and as part of another manuever we like to call NOT being present when the happy ( and awkward) couple comes up the stairs the next morning, I left - in my car - at 7:00 a.m.
And now, in a manuever passed down from all the sorority girls before me, I'm going back to bed. And sleeping until noon. After all, sleeping in your own bed, by yourself, is the classiest manuever of all.
Also, things got a little crazy in the office romance department, because I think two people may have had a little sex mix of their own. BUT IT WASN'T ME! And I absolutely mean that. I did end up staying the night, though. On the couch. By myself. Ordinarily I'd prefer that someone sleep with me, just for the spooning benefits, but this time, I'm glad that I was A to the L-O-N-E. You just don't want to spoon within the office.
So, in a very classy manuever we like to call NOT taking the walk of shame the next morning, and as part of another manuever we like to call NOT being present when the happy ( and awkward) couple comes up the stairs the next morning, I left - in my car - at 7:00 a.m.
And now, in a manuever passed down from all the sorority girls before me, I'm going back to bed. And sleeping until noon. After all, sleeping in your own bed, by yourself, is the classiest manuever of all.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
Quack Attack
I think the sight of it might have scarred me for life, and yet I couldn't turn away.
You know when you're watching Discovery Channel and the cheetah is about to take that zebra down and you don't want to see it, but you can't close your eyes? It was like that. And if you don't watch Discovery Channel, trust me - you wouldn't be able to look away either.
LP and Stella and I were at the park last night. Spring makes me antsy and I really needed to expend some energy so we decided to take a walk. Stella had just had her nails done, so she was all "Do we have to go to the park?" and I was all, "You're a dog, so you have to do what we say - we're going to the park." Plus, she weighs four pounds, so we just picked up her manicured self and away we went.
As we were walking around the lake, we saw some ducks come in for a landing near where we were standing. I am always a little taken aback by birds, given my history with them, but they were far enough away that I could just look at them.
They were splashing around, doing their duck thing, having a good time, when all of a sudden these two boy ducks came up to an innocent girl duck, and well...you know. I'm not one much for PDA anyway, but it was the way they did that it was horrible! First one would hop on while the other pecked at her face! Then the other one got on, and I guess he weighed more because the weight of him held her under water! The girl duck couldn't breathe! She was being drowned while forced to have sex! If I am ever reincarnated, I sure hope I don't come back as a duck because NO ME GUSTA!
We watched her struggle, not knowing what we could do for a fellow female in need. I tried to tell those boy ducks that NO MEANS NO! but I don't think they heard me in the heat of the moment. We also threw sticks at them, but to no avail. They were very persistent.
Anyway, it was finally over when some other, more well-intentioned boy ducks came over and shooed away the rapist ducks. The female looked grateful, and also a little frantic. As they swam away together, I would like to think they went to the Victim Assistance Team clinic right away.
And then Stella was all, "This totally depresses me, can we go home now?" And I had to agree with her, so we picked up her manicured self and away we went.
You know when you're watching Discovery Channel and the cheetah is about to take that zebra down and you don't want to see it, but you can't close your eyes? It was like that. And if you don't watch Discovery Channel, trust me - you wouldn't be able to look away either.
LP and Stella and I were at the park last night. Spring makes me antsy and I really needed to expend some energy so we decided to take a walk. Stella had just had her nails done, so she was all "Do we have to go to the park?" and I was all, "You're a dog, so you have to do what we say - we're going to the park." Plus, she weighs four pounds, so we just picked up her manicured self and away we went.
As we were walking around the lake, we saw some ducks come in for a landing near where we were standing. I am always a little taken aback by birds, given my history with them, but they were far enough away that I could just look at them.
They were splashing around, doing their duck thing, having a good time, when all of a sudden these two boy ducks came up to an innocent girl duck, and well...you know. I'm not one much for PDA anyway, but it was the way they did that it was horrible! First one would hop on while the other pecked at her face! Then the other one got on, and I guess he weighed more because the weight of him held her under water! The girl duck couldn't breathe! She was being drowned while forced to have sex! If I am ever reincarnated, I sure hope I don't come back as a duck because NO ME GUSTA!
We watched her struggle, not knowing what we could do for a fellow female in need. I tried to tell those boy ducks that NO MEANS NO! but I don't think they heard me in the heat of the moment. We also threw sticks at them, but to no avail. They were very persistent.
Anyway, it was finally over when some other, more well-intentioned boy ducks came over and shooed away the rapist ducks. The female looked grateful, and also a little frantic. As they swam away together, I would like to think they went to the Victim Assistance Team clinic right away.
And then Stella was all, "This totally depresses me, can we go home now?" And I had to agree with her, so we picked up her manicured self and away we went.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Also, you can blow them up in the microwave
I saw something interesting on campus today. A young woman was wearing pink sunglasses, a pink Juicy Couture velour track suit with the hood up, pink crocs (a separate offense altogether) and carrying a pink bag.
I couldn't decide if she was a pink Telletubbie or a large marshmallow Peep. After long deliberation, I decided she was a Peep - how festive.
Now, I like pink as much as the next girl, but I think this girl missed the memo. "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy." How true that is. But part two of that old adage, the part you never hear about, is that "all pink and nothing else makes Marge a very ugly marshmallow."
Someone should really tell her.
I couldn't decide if she was a pink Telletubbie or a large marshmallow Peep. After long deliberation, I decided she was a Peep - how festive.
Now, I like pink as much as the next girl, but I think this girl missed the memo. "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy." How true that is. But part two of that old adage, the part you never hear about, is that "all pink and nothing else makes Marge a very ugly marshmallow."
Someone should really tell her.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Save the pandas! (and Noam Chomsky)
"Human beings like to rescue cute, fuzzy little things - like baby pandas. They're very charismatic, the pandas."
I quote directly from one of my professors. This is also the same man who refers to Noam Chomsky as "The Noamster."
Make of it what you will.
Monday, March 06, 2006
Mullet Tales: part 2
Because I was the (not so) proud owner of a mullet from the ages of 4 to 6, I have spent a majority of my life devoted to a study of this strange phenomenon in hair. There are so many varieties, it's difficult to cover them all, but in my exhaustive research, I think I've found the Big Three:
The Standard
Business in the front, party in the back - what a classic. The clipped man-bangs, the closely cropped feathers, and the long locks that range from shoulder length to (eww) longer. The permed back portion was also a popular variation on a traditional favorite. Hip from 1988 until approximately 1993, this style of mullet will never die.
The Fe-mullet
Mullets aren't just for men anymore! While similar to the male mullet, the fe-mullet differs in a few ways. For one, the height requirement is often more stringent; fe-mullets are usually at least 6 inches from the scalp, especially if that scalp is partying like it's 1991. Often teased, usually hairsprayed to death, and with wings that rival Farrah Fawcett's (except all the way around!) the fe-mullet is often popular with older moms, people who work at Jo-Anne Fabric, and those who still think that Zack Morris and snap bracelets are hot.
The Euro Mullet
I have saved the best for last. The Euro Mullet is my personal favorite, mainly because I've had such close encounters with it. Por exemple, I went to a wedding this past summer. The wedding took place in the backwoods of Virginia (a place deserving of a post all its own) and the bride's four Swedish cousins were flying in. The fact that the Swedish cousins did not know any English was ancillary, because once I saw their hair, their words were the furthest thing from my mind. That's right, the Euro mullet. On all of them. It was a sight to behold: mother, father, sister, brother all had shaggy on top, tapered at the bottom, flipped out at the ends mullets that would do Sweden proud. With their blue suits and loafers they were like the second coming of ABBA, or perhaps half a Brady Bunch. But with mullets, which was the best part. The second best part was when they got lost and missed the entire wedding. I guess that language barrier was a problem after all...!
What's the best mullet you've ever seen? Or, more importantly, do you still wear one? (If the answer to the second question is "yes" I want pictures, and I also want you to again think about why you don't have a girlfriend...)
Sunday, February 19, 2006
All she wants to do is pants, pants, PANTS!
My entire weekend can be summed up with the asking of one of life's greatest questions: should I or should I not wear real pants? To define this a little further: pants that are "real" are jeans, dress slacks, khakis or any others that you couldn't possibly get cozy in. Anything that you could nap or even full-on sleep in, i.e. terrycloth, sweats, PJ pants, the pants you wore to the gym (you don't judge me, I don't judge you) or any of their other comfy pants compatriots are not real.
Let's back up a little.
Friday night was freezing cold. I know I said earlier that I was liking the cold, but I lied. Also, I was in a better mood then than I am right now, and when I am in a good mood, I am inclined to like things more. (This should be noted in case you ever want me to tell you that I like your new dress/shoes/tattoo. Catch me on a good day.) Anyway, Friday was cold, I was feeling fussy and didn't want to go out under any circumstances. But, since having a candle party for one in my room wasn't the most appealing of options, I decided to call the best friend. Best friend is usually up for most anything, which is why I like her. However, she has never said "no" to a night in either, which is really why I like her. After a trip to get some beverages, we settled in for a romantic evening of "Grey's Anatomy" and "Troy" just the two of us. We went to sleep at midnight, (again, quit judging!) woke up at noon the next day and went to IHOP in our non-real pants.
Pants pointage: real pants: 0, faux pants: 2 (sweats, and long underwear with race cars on them. Don't ask.)
Saturday came and went with much napping and also much painting of the toenails. And perhaps a candle... After going to the gym, I took a nap, then took a shower, then put some more fake pants on, and then did homework. There was also a party in there somewhere, but I was for sure not wearing pants to that!
Pants pointage: real pants: 0, faux pants: 3 (gym pants, pajama pants, other pajama pants.)
Today, went to the gym, then shower, nap, repeat.
Pants pointage: real pants: 0, faux pants: 2 (other gym pants, more sweats.)
You might ask why anyone needs to wear seven pairs of pants over the course of three days. I might ask you why you even care?
Total pants pointage for the weekend: real pants: 0, faux pants: 7.
It's a good life.
Let's back up a little.
Friday night was freezing cold. I know I said earlier that I was liking the cold, but I lied. Also, I was in a better mood then than I am right now, and when I am in a good mood, I am inclined to like things more. (This should be noted in case you ever want me to tell you that I like your new dress/shoes/tattoo. Catch me on a good day.) Anyway, Friday was cold, I was feeling fussy and didn't want to go out under any circumstances. But, since having a candle party for one in my room wasn't the most appealing of options, I decided to call the best friend. Best friend is usually up for most anything, which is why I like her. However, she has never said "no" to a night in either, which is really why I like her. After a trip to get some beverages, we settled in for a romantic evening of "Grey's Anatomy" and "Troy" just the two of us. We went to sleep at midnight, (again, quit judging!) woke up at noon the next day and went to IHOP in our non-real pants.
Pants pointage: real pants: 0, faux pants: 2 (sweats, and long underwear with race cars on them. Don't ask.)
Saturday came and went with much napping and also much painting of the toenails. And perhaps a candle... After going to the gym, I took a nap, then took a shower, then put some more fake pants on, and then did homework. There was also a party in there somewhere, but I was for sure not wearing pants to that!
Pants pointage: real pants: 0, faux pants: 3 (gym pants, pajama pants, other pajama pants.)
Today, went to the gym, then shower, nap, repeat.
Pants pointage: real pants: 0, faux pants: 2 (other gym pants, more sweats.)
You might ask why anyone needs to wear seven pairs of pants over the course of three days. I might ask you why you even care?
Total pants pointage for the weekend: real pants: 0, faux pants: 7.
It's a good life.
Friday, February 17, 2006
Implement THE HOOK
"Man, I wish I had a real hook...hands are just so overrated."
We found a plastic pirate hook at my place of employment yesterday.
Work has become exponentially more fun since then.
I love my job.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Things that scare me:
Monday, February 13, 2006
Hilary's Anatomy: Kiss my ass
Well, I'm pretty mad. Nothing new there, as righteous indignation is one of my favorite emotions, but REALLY. All I asked was for someone to tape "Grey's Anatomy" for me last night. I even stuck in the tape. Out of all the people I live with, I thought it could be done. We've taped things before, and it's not even TiVo - how hard could it be?
Apparently, real hard. Because instead of a tape of "Grey's Anatomy," I got a tape of WB2 News at 9. If anyone would care to fill me in on what happened, I'd be much obliged. And if anyone has a tape, I'd be even further obliged, perhaps to the point of all the chocolate in my posession and sexual favors. Yeah, it's that important.
Apparently, real hard. Because instead of a tape of "Grey's Anatomy," I got a tape of WB2 News at 9. If anyone would care to fill me in on what happened, I'd be much obliged. And if anyone has a tape, I'd be even further obliged, perhaps to the point of all the chocolate in my posession and sexual favors. Yeah, it's that important.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Purple is the new pink is the new black
I have discovered a disturbing trend. Okay, actually I guess it can't be considered a trend yet. According to Esquire magazine, there have to be three of something in order for it to be considered a trend (as in BOTH Olsens AND Nicole Ritchie wearing whatever is ugly right now!) But I am officially going to be the first to jump on the "Trend of Two" bandwagon and say that I think I'm on to something here: Men in purple.
I know, sounds crazy, but I saw it twice within five minutes today. The first mauve-sporting male was seen outside the Natural Resources building. Granted, the NR kids are not generally known for their high-stylin' ways (sorry Lindsay) but this man was wearing a large, hooded ski jacket, and it was definitely purple.
Second sighting happened just moments later, in my Media Effects class, when my professor waltzed in (and it was a waltz) wearing pants with a distinctly purple tint. While I can't say they were quite Barney the Dinosaur in coloring, they leaned a little closer to mulberry than I've seen in awhile.
All in all, I would say that Queer Eye is doing a fine job metrosexualizing the nation. Either that or today's man just really likes purple. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
I know, sounds crazy, but I saw it twice within five minutes today. The first mauve-sporting male was seen outside the Natural Resources building. Granted, the NR kids are not generally known for their high-stylin' ways (sorry Lindsay) but this man was wearing a large, hooded ski jacket, and it was definitely purple.
Second sighting happened just moments later, in my Media Effects class, when my professor waltzed in (and it was a waltz) wearing pants with a distinctly purple tint. While I can't say they were quite Barney the Dinosaur in coloring, they leaned a little closer to mulberry than I've seen in awhile.
All in all, I would say that Queer Eye is doing a fine job metrosexualizing the nation. Either that or today's man just really likes purple. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Feeling guilty...
. For liking the smell of cigar smoke.
. For ditching out four minutes before midnight on my best friend's 21st birthday because I was THAT tired.
. For not having a boyfriend and being secretly OK with it.
. For having my entire wedding planned out, despite the above statement.
. For loving opera, but hating music majors because those kids are so fucking weird.
. For ditching out four minutes before midnight on my best friend's 21st birthday because I was THAT tired.
. For not having a boyfriend and being secretly OK with it.
. For having my entire wedding planned out, despite the above statement.
. For loving opera, but hating music majors because those kids are so fucking weird.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
How to annoy me: vol. 2
. Don't hold the door.
. Force me to learn an entire opera in GERMAN in two weeks' time.
. Wear obnoxious, distracting pants and squat around the gym while other people are innocently working out...
. Have smelly feet, know that you have smelly feet, and wave them around in complete disregard for my nose, which is not so far away. You know who you are.
. Get a bad haircut, forcing me to be significantly less attracted to you. For shame.
. Assign homework.
. Force me to learn an entire opera in GERMAN in two weeks' time.
. Wear obnoxious, distracting pants and squat around the gym while other people are innocently working out...
. Have smelly feet, know that you have smelly feet, and wave them around in complete disregard for my nose, which is not so far away. You know who you are.
. Get a bad haircut, forcing me to be significantly less attracted to you. For shame.
. Assign homework.
Friday, January 20, 2006
Ach nein!
Life is so humorous. Like today, for example: in my state and local politics class, the girl who was sitting in front of me is from Germany (I am a shameless eavesdropper - let it go.) We were talking about the man who was caught with marijuana and the D.A. threw out his case because of the Safe Pot initiative in Denver. All of this was fine, until the girl pronounced marijuana as "merry-a-huana." Yes, you did read that correctly. And for the rest of the class, I was half-paying attention to my professor and half-figuring out how I was going to spell that later.
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