- Stephanie [small plastic bag in hand]: Look at this! This was still in my purse. Can you imagine if the cops pulled me over? [licks inside of bag]
- Me: What was in it?
- Stephanie: Crack-cocaine, hahah! No, kidding. Cocaine.
- (Sometimes I feel like every funny-situation I tumbl about is a had-to-be-there. Oh well, this tumblr is more for me than for you anyways. I'm going to FIGHT you.)
Here’s a fun game to play if you are bored: type in “[your name] needs” into google and look at the results.
This was QUITE an amusing break for me today.
Sarah needs a cold shower, self-esteem
Sarah needs your manly vote
Sarah needs to kick him in the nuts
Sarah needs to reorganize her life
Sarah needs a video channel
Sarah needs a pink blog (oh hell no)
Sarah needs her panties
Josh needs a replacement tray so his daughter can dine in NEST style.
Josh needs support to learn how to express his anger appropriately
Josh needs to continue to add muscle so that he can bang underneath with big men.
Josh needs a holiday or just a cuddle.
Josh needs a new bicycle.
Josh needs you!
Josh needs our help and prayer.
Lee needs more support (relating to cricket)
Lee needs bailing
Lee needs to get a life!
Lee needs a vocalist
Lee needs a boy (silly girls who spell their name like I do)
Lee needs to grow up
Caragh needs fixin’ again.
Caragh needs to step up her dancing! LOL!
Caragh needs to get her bite on.
Caragh needs to go into Monash university, so we will do that also
Some days I want to dress really gangster, with a bronx accent and my hair in cornrows and give no one an explanation.
This is one of those days.
Is it just me or have The Simpsons gotten a lot sillier this season? This week I’ve watched three or four episodes from late-ish in the 19th season (after hearing rumors it was pretty good again) and enjoyed most of them. I just feel like it’s silly now. In a good way.
Maybe it was just the ones I watched.
(That’s my way of saving face if no one agrees with me.)
I don’t know what happened to me over the past couple years, but all of a sudden I don’t find tattoos attractive. In fact, pretty often I find them unattractive.
Except Ami from Miami Ink. Oh, boy, is he hot with those tattoos. And anger.
- Me: Oh look, there's Showalter and Eugene! Look, it's like a gang. It's like Entourage! [They were wearing puffy jackets with fur-lined hoods and had about 5 other people with them as they walked past us]
- Becca: Wait, are you going to blog that or should I? We shouldn't blog the same thing.
- Me: Whoever does it first. Wait, should I blog this conversation or are you?
- It's even sadder when I admit we probably had this same conversation 8 years ago when we had diaries at teenopendiary.com.
Tearing the Veil of Maya made a little field trip to Boston’s MFA so Becca and I attended because we enjoy laughing.
This dude, Sal Lupo, came out and I think that the five or ten minutes he was up there was probably in my Top 5 Comedy Viewing Moments. For a minute I honestly had no idea if it was a character or an actual person and everytime I laughed I involuntarily mouthed the word “WHAT?!”
Yeah, I just googled him. Turns out it’s Larry Murphy. Turns out I’m an idiot because I’ve seen Larry Murphy perform before and didn’t recognize him at all.
Greg Johnson also performed and Michael Showalter hosted. I have such a major crush on Michael Showalter and I always have a fear that one day he will recognize me and my friends and think it’s very creepy that we are always very close to the stage. You know, because my friends and I are the only people in existence that see Michael Showalter everytime he comes to their town. Also because he is well-known for his acute memory of every audience he performs for.
Also, Jon Benjamin was there. I was kind of peeing my pants in excitement before he came out. Coach McGuirk and Ben are probably the two greatest cartoon characters ever created.
Last night I met someone who a friend of mine was interested in and he was very nice (and handled meeting two friends-of-the-girl at once quite unawkwardly!) and I hope he makes her very happy, but when he was looking at her passport he asked “So where can you go with this?” Anywhere. “Anywhere in the world? Just with this book?”
So that was the highlight of my evening.
There is not a single photograph anywhere in existance that shows me giving the shocker.
The second to last sentence is the stuff too-clever dreams are made of.
I have some conflicting feelings about being hit on. Conflicting mainly because I think I might hate it, and I worry that that’s strange. I don’t like having some stranger creepin at me across the room; forgive me for thinking that’s horribly awkward. And I don’t really react well when they stop gawking and actually walk over to chat. I have the tendency to fold like an oragami swan and fall into a conversation that I have no interest in engaging in. Don’t wink at me, because I’ll panic and make some kind of weird ass facial expression back at you. Worst case scenario - I’m so caught off guard that I attempt to real quick throw a wink back at you. God knows that’s not going to come out right. Bottom line, I just don’t like it. Any of it. That may mean that I’m getting old or losing my touch, I’m not sure, but damnit I just don’t care for any of it. With that being said, there’s something that I need to get off my chest.
I went to the Post Office the other day to send some packages…standard Post Office going protocol. As Post Offices typically are, it was busy and the lines were long. I patiently waited all the while mentally jockeying myself for the employee that I believed to be the friendliest. Whenever I go to places such as the Post Office…grown up places…I always get a little nervous that I’m going to get all the way up there only to find out I messed something up or forgot something, and then they’ll kick me in the forehead and send a humiliated me down the slide of shame like in The Christmas Story. It’s a dreadful way to live, but I am who I am. Because of this paranoia, I always hope for the nicest employee. On this particular day, I got Ed. And Ed was nice. A little too nice if you know what I mean.
Remember how I said I don’t like being hit on? Well, let me multiply that by about 278 real quick to express how much I dislike being hit on at the damn Post Office. And while we’re in the spirit of crunching numbers, let’s go ahead and multiply that times 948; that should adequately portray the discomfort I felt in getting hit on by a 57 year old Post Office worker named Ed.
It wasn’t so much the flirting that was terrible, and believe you me, that was terrible. It was the long lines that wound behind me, harboring impatient and in a hurry package senders. And it was also the other people that were currently being helped, located directly on my left and on my right. AND it was the silence. The Post Office is not a rowdy place. They don’t play music. People don’t make casual conversation while they wait in line. It’s not noisy. It’s hear a pin drop quiet and it’s tight quarters, and Ed is relentless.
Was I nervously sweating as Ed told me inappropriate blonde jokes? Yes, yes I was. Was I clamming up as Ed gave me googly-oogly eyes as he taped my packages? I had clam hands for days. Was I dreaming of Harry Potter’s invisible cloak as Ed asked me to come back and see him often? Wishing and hoping my friends. But it didn’t stop there. No, no, Ed isn’t a half or nothing kind of man. So, when Ed loudly asked me to go on a date with him, “he’d pay”, and the man next to me could no longer stifle his laughter, do you think…do you think I ask you….that I was feeling pleased about being a female? No. I chalked up reason number 124 - why being a girl can be a bitch. Periods and child birth didn’t drag us down, so why not throw some pervs out there to make simple tasks like mailing miserable experiences for us.
I think I’ve beat this dead horse, let’s be honest. This is a lot of words to dedicate to such a trivial situation. Long story short, next time I go to the Post Office - more focus on my packages, less on yours. Preciate it.
There is some eyebrow-furrowing shit going on at the moment.
I dislike it when situations are like:
1. I can see the problem.
Which basically, if you can’t understand me in my imbalanced hormonal upset, means I know I’m not going to succeed, I just don’t know HOW I’m not going to succeed.
When the fuck is Heroes going to be back on?
I just realized that when I was in San Diego I made ZERO Whale’s Vagina references.
WHALE’S VAGINA WAS ALL I COULD THINK OF THE WEEK PRIOR TO TRAVELLING.