(Yes, this officially makes it 3 posts in a row).
THESE STUPID SPAM COMMENTS ARE DRIVING ME NUTS.
I just discovered Blogger allows "word verification" for comments. I just enabled it (1 comment too late though). What's word verification? You know when you're going to subscribe for something or want to purchase an item online, and before checkout it says: Type the following word:
SGJDTHISISNOTAWORDSDFDF (but in reality, only like five letters)
That's word verification. So now if you want to comment you have to do that. Just so these dumb spammers will leave my blog alone.
I apologize in advance for the minority of you readers who sometimes comment. First, thank you to those who comment! I LOVE LOVE LOVE comments. It reminds me that people do read this sometimes!
Thursday, September 29, 2005
dumb luck.
Just to have two posts in a row with the word "dumb" in them.
Yesterday I lost my cell phone. Straight up, fell out of my jacket pocket lost it. Given my absent mindedness, I was shocked to realize this is the first time I've lost a cell phone. For any of you who have lost one before, I feel your pain. I felt totally disconnected from the world. And, as one is wont to do when something like this happens - I convinced myself that everyone and their mother would be trying to call me. Here's what went through my head:
"Oh my god! My cell phone is gone! I have to find it. Or get a new one ASAP. How will the world go on if I am unreachable? My parents must be freaking out. My roommate from nerd camp in 7th grade is probably freaking out. Granted we haven't spoken in 13 years, but I bet NOW THAT I LOST MY PHONE, she is trying to get in touch with me. I can't believe I lost my cell phone. THE WORLD IS GOING TO END!"
Don't judge. If I didn't create this drama for myself, my life would be that much less interesting. And people, we're at the bottom of the barrel here in terms of interesting things going on in my life.
The good news? Someone found my phone! The better news? This kind soul had the prescience to go through my phone book. He found the entry for "Dad Cell" and called my Dad to let him know that he found the cell phone belongining to his electronic-gizmo losing child. This kind person also deposited the phone at the security desk of the place where I lost it, so that I can pick it up whenever it's convenient for me.
Nice people do exist! And they cover my bumbling butt!
Yesterday I lost my cell phone. Straight up, fell out of my jacket pocket lost it. Given my absent mindedness, I was shocked to realize this is the first time I've lost a cell phone. For any of you who have lost one before, I feel your pain. I felt totally disconnected from the world. And, as one is wont to do when something like this happens - I convinced myself that everyone and their mother would be trying to call me. Here's what went through my head:
"Oh my god! My cell phone is gone! I have to find it. Or get a new one ASAP. How will the world go on if I am unreachable? My parents must be freaking out. My roommate from nerd camp in 7th grade is probably freaking out. Granted we haven't spoken in 13 years, but I bet NOW THAT I LOST MY PHONE, she is trying to get in touch with me. I can't believe I lost my cell phone. THE WORLD IS GOING TO END!"
Don't judge. If I didn't create this drama for myself, my life would be that much less interesting. And people, we're at the bottom of the barrel here in terms of interesting things going on in my life.
The good news? Someone found my phone! The better news? This kind soul had the prescience to go through my phone book. He found the entry for "Dad Cell" and called my Dad to let him know that he found the cell phone belongining to his electronic-gizmo losing child. This kind person also deposited the phone at the security desk of the place where I lost it, so that I can pick it up whenever it's convenient for me.
Nice people do exist! And they cover my bumbling butt!
Friday, September 23, 2005
things that are dumb
Let's play $100,000 pyramid in reverse. You know the categories. Here are the clues:
- Clear strap bras. Just because the strap is made of clear plastic, it doesn't mean I can't still see it! I saw a girl in a tube top wearing one of these. I can see the straps! What is the point of a saran wrap bra? Good lord. I bought one of these once, a long time ago. To wear under tank tops. I quickly realized it looked worse than just showing a normal bra strap. Stop the madness!
- Cell phone ring tones that sound like animals. Among others, my cell phone has options for "bird" and "cat." At work the other day a woman's cell phone started barking. Actually, I hate ALL ring tones. I keep my phone on vibrate because there is no good option for a cell phone ring.
- Chalkboard and chalk. I started teaching another class for BehemothTestCompanyInc. During the last course, I taught in a room with a big beautiful white board and colorful dry erase markers. This time, I am in a shoddy classroom with old blackboards. And white chalk. Since I think colors are really important for visual stimulation, I went out and bought colored chalk to use in my lessons. Monday was my first class. It went well. Except for the WHITE DUST CLOUD that settled on my hair, my sweater, my black pants and my backpack. I looked like I had jumped into a bin of flour and was about to be deep fried. Oh, and chalk? As difficult to get out of clothing as deodorant marks (ya'll know what I'm talking about).
- People who do not crowd into subway cars. I've noticed that in Boston, the middle of the subway cars are conspicuously spacious. During rush hour, nobody crams into the middle. People huddle near the doors. So when the train comes to your station, you cannot board. Even though there would be enough room if people smushed into the middle. This would not fly in NYC. People would push you until you are basically sitting in someone's lap. But in Boston? Noooo. It's civilized here. We would never force someone into the middle of the subway car. You'll just have to wait for the next train, sucka.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
canon
I have a strange obsession with Pachelbel's Canon in D. Everytime I hear it I almost start crying. I think of weddings and meadows and clouds (oh my!). During my senior year of college, I took a class on Chamber Music. We learned music theory - chords, fifths, gins, tonics (heh).
One thing I must admit: I do not have an artistic brain. Not even close. I can't draw, play music, or create anything that has not yet been created. I forgot everything I learned in that music class. Now, all I can tell you about Pachelbel's Canon is that it makes me happy. So happy that I remember being frozen when a high school chamber music quartet in Grand Central Station began to play the piece. I was not alone - a large crowd gathered. I even put money into the cellist's case ... because damned if that did not make me forget that I was on the way to a very boring job encased in a very boring life. Five minutes ago, Canon came on as I listened to my iPod. And I just sat there, momentarily forgetting that my job is still boring as is my life.
*~*~
A NY Times article yesterday announced: "Many Women at Elite Colleges Set Career Path to Motherhood ." The writers cited interviews with women currently attending or who had graduated from prestigious schools: i.e. Yale, Harvard Business School, etc. The results indicated that most of these smart women want to have babies and be good moms. Even if that means putting their careers on the backburner. My reaction? Well, duh.
Based on my interactions with some of my closest girlfriends (who happen to be Harvard alums), I could have told you that most of us really want to have families. Smart women want careers. Intellectual stimulation and success are paramount for establishing a strong sense of self. But I think all of us recognize that professional success does not translate into personal happiness. A good home life does. Good parents, spouses and children do. So is it really that shocking to think that these "smart" women realize that life means having to compromise and ultimately be true to yourself?
I forwarded the article to some of my friends with the caption:
Now there's an article I would find interesting.
One thing I must admit: I do not have an artistic brain. Not even close. I can't draw, play music, or create anything that has not yet been created. I forgot everything I learned in that music class. Now, all I can tell you about Pachelbel's Canon is that it makes me happy. So happy that I remember being frozen when a high school chamber music quartet in Grand Central Station began to play the piece. I was not alone - a large crowd gathered. I even put money into the cellist's case ... because damned if that did not make me forget that I was on the way to a very boring job encased in a very boring life. Five minutes ago, Canon came on as I listened to my iPod. And I just sat there, momentarily forgetting that my job is still boring as is my life.
*~*~
A NY Times article yesterday announced: "Many Women at Elite Colleges Set Career Path to Motherhood ." The writers cited interviews with women currently attending or who had graduated from prestigious schools: i.e. Yale, Harvard Business School, etc. The results indicated that most of these smart women want to have babies and be good moms. Even if that means putting their careers on the backburner. My reaction? Well, duh.
Based on my interactions with some of my closest girlfriends (who happen to be Harvard alums), I could have told you that most of us really want to have families. Smart women want careers. Intellectual stimulation and success are paramount for establishing a strong sense of self. But I think all of us recognize that professional success does not translate into personal happiness. A good home life does. Good parents, spouses and children do. So is it really that shocking to think that these "smart" women realize that life means having to compromise and ultimately be true to yourself?
I forwarded the article to some of my friends with the caption:
Big surprise. The real story should read "Women at elite colleges want to be mothers but can't find decent guys to have babies with."
Now there's an article I would find interesting.
Sunday, September 18, 2005
a manicure and a what?
One of my favorite TV shows is Law & Order SVU. If you don't watch it, I highly recommend it. Plus, I love Mariska Hargitay. The show is about sexually based crimes and the cops who investigate them. I'm trying from memory, but the opening dialogue is something like:
"In the criminal justice system, sexually based offenses are considered especially heinous. These crimes are investigated by an elite squad known as the Special Victims Unit. These are their stories. Dun-dun."
Anyway, last night I was hanging out with my folks watching an episode of SVU in their room. This particular episode was about a man who had kidnapped and raped a little girl.
During the commercial, I was talking to my mom about what I wanted to do tomorrow (well, that means today since this conversation happened last night.)
I pointed at my feet and said to my mom:
"Wake me up early tomorrow. I want to go get a pedophile."
"In the criminal justice system, sexually based offenses are considered especially heinous. These crimes are investigated by an elite squad known as the Special Victims Unit. These are their stories. Dun-dun."
Anyway, last night I was hanging out with my folks watching an episode of SVU in their room. This particular episode was about a man who had kidnapped and raped a little girl.
During the commercial, I was talking to my mom about what I wanted to do tomorrow (well, that means today since this conversation happened last night.)
I pointed at my feet and said to my mom:
"Wake me up early tomorrow. I want to go get a pedophile."
Friday, September 16, 2005
good peeps.
My roommate L. is so kind-hearted. I think that's a description rarely used to describe people these days, and that's too bad. Kind-hearted people remind you that there is good out there.
Yesterday, we walked to the local market to pick up some milk. There is a homeless man who is usually camped outside this mart. As we walked, L. asked him if he was hungry. He shook his head. We walked a bit more, and then he said "Well, yeah..."
And you know what she did? She asked him: "OK. Are you a vegetarian?"
Inside, she bought him a ham and cheese sandwich. As we paid for the milk and sandwich, she laughed and said "Only in Boston would I think to ask a homeless person if they are a vegetarian."
Kind hearted. We should all learn from her. I'm not saying we should go and give all of our wordly possessions to the needy. But we should aim for moments of true selflessness.
Yesterday, we walked to the local market to pick up some milk. There is a homeless man who is usually camped outside this mart. As we walked, L. asked him if he was hungry. He shook his head. We walked a bit more, and then he said "Well, yeah..."
And you know what she did? She asked him: "OK. Are you a vegetarian?"
Inside, she bought him a ham and cheese sandwich. As we paid for the milk and sandwich, she laughed and said "Only in Boston would I think to ask a homeless person if they are a vegetarian."
Kind hearted. We should all learn from her. I'm not saying we should go and give all of our wordly possessions to the needy. But we should aim for moments of true selflessness.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
the worst of both worlds.
I often joke that I inherited the inferior gene for a trait from either parent. I.E:
- Mom has green eyes (Yes, I know my inheriting green eyes is genetically impossible unless someone in my dad's family had green eyes too. But still. I'd rather have green eyes. From God and not from Johnson and Johnson).
- Mom is short. Dad's not. I am short.
- Mom is very fair. Can't tell she's Indian type fair. My Dad sports the Deccan Tan, as do I. (Pass the Fair 'N Lovely, please!)
- Dad's allergies
- Dad's hirsutism. (True story, once while getting my legs waxed at the salon, my Columbian beautician got frustrated and said "Aiiie! Sophia! Must get daddy pay for this thas where you get it!)
- Chicken legs (will refrain from telling you which parent)
- I can go on, but I won't.
I got some good ones too though, I can't complain. I must admit I'm quite content with my nose, as it's my Dad's and his mom's and shared by most of the women in his family.
What's my point? Good question. I'm standing at a crossroads where which gene I inherited could make a big difference.
I've been noticing some white hairs recently. Their numbers are increasing. My hair is jet black, so the few strands are prominent. As of now, I've been cutting them as I see them. Though one day the Sharpie marker did seem a bit intriguing. But anyway. Here's the deal:
My dad had jet black hair until very recently. No baldness, but now he's getting the distinguished gray that comes from supporting kids in their mid-twenties when he thought he'd have granddkids by now.
Mom ... mom ... Jet black hair also. Until she was around 30. I am almost 26. What will happen in the next four years? Am I going to have to start dyeing my hair? Maybe I'll go real old school and dye it with Mehendi like our mom's did in the 70s. Everyone loves a redhead, right?
My mom says white hair is caused by stress. I'm hoping that's the case because I can attempt to control that. If it's genetic though ... man ... let's just hope I got the good gene. Because the last thing I need is to have my future colorist say "Aiieee Sophia! You get your mommy pay for this all her fault!"
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
10 reasons why friendster pisses me off.
1) Try explaining what friendster is to a person who has never used it before. I'm serious. It's virtually impossible to do without making it sound like a weird cult.
2) Two words. Status: Single.
3) You have a new message from [Insert Desi Guy Name]:
"hello you look sexy nice profile like to meet you i nice guy."
4) Interested in meeting people for ... Well, I don't know. I'm not really looking for friends. If someone wrote me and said "You seem cool, let's meet up, I'd like to make some new friends." I would think "This person is a freak." And then I would complain about how difficult it is to meet nice, new people.
5) If I look at one more person's picture and the caption says something like "Annie and I at my friend's wedding" I am going to have a conniption. They should call it peoplewhosegrammarsuckster.
6) Wait, Angela, you know my friend John's cousin Bob? How did I never know this? Oh my god! What a small world!!! We all have to hang out sometime!
7) There are some people I really wish had no way of tracking me down or knowing where I am and what I'm up to.
8) You can never just "look" at friendster. It sucks you in and turns into an hour diversion, at least.
9) Friendster can turn even the most level headed person into a stalker. Jake is still single as of last week. He signed in yesterday? Well he obviously has access to the internet. But for some reason he can't return my e-mail. Just greeeaaat.
10) Oh who am I kidding. Friendster rocks. Some person's profile I once looked at said he was affiliated with "friendswithbenefitster." Hilarious.
2) Two words. Status: Single.
3) You have a new message from [Insert Desi Guy Name]:
"hello you look sexy nice profile like to meet you i nice guy."
4) Interested in meeting people for ... Well, I don't know. I'm not really looking for friends. If someone wrote me and said "You seem cool, let's meet up, I'd like to make some new friends." I would think "This person is a freak." And then I would complain about how difficult it is to meet nice, new people.
5) If I look at one more person's picture and the caption says something like "Annie and I at my friend's wedding" I am going to have a conniption. They should call it peoplewhosegrammarsuckster.
6) Wait, Angela, you know my friend John's cousin Bob? How did I never know this? Oh my god! What a small world!!! We all have to hang out sometime!
7) There are some people I really wish had no way of tracking me down or knowing where I am and what I'm up to.
8) You can never just "look" at friendster. It sucks you in and turns into an hour diversion, at least.
9) Friendster can turn even the most level headed person into a stalker. Jake is still single as of last week. He signed in yesterday? Well he obviously has access to the internet. But for some reason he can't return my e-mail. Just greeeaaat.
10) Oh who am I kidding. Friendster rocks. Some person's profile I once looked at said he was affiliated with "friendswithbenefitster." Hilarious.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
what is this strange feeling?
I am disconcerted. This weekend I felt ... content. Things were chill. And fun. No drama or stress. Laughter was in abundance. The primary reason for this contentment:
My roommates rock. As I've been complaining about my living situation for quite some time, it's nice to finally boast about it. My fun roommate returned from her study abroad a few weeks ago. Two new roommates moved in this month, and they are both great. Quick synopsis:
Roommate #1. ME! Little. Brown. Different. (heh)
Roommate #2: Fabulous. Drama student, but not dramatic. Puerto Rican and loves life.
Roommate #3: Law student. From California. He's awesome and he deals with our landlord like nobody's business. Unlike me who stammers and is easily bullied into letting our lock stay broken for days.
Roommate #4. I just met him. Quite possibly the funniest person I have ever met. I have not laughed this hard in as long as I can remember. Stitch in your side type funny.
So yes. CONTENT. We painted the apartment. We furnished our gorgeous porch (heretofore unused). We light candles and always play music. We made brunch today - pancakes, eggs, mimosas and cinnamon buns. Roommate #1's friends came over, and we got to know each other. Brunch went from 4:00 PM (yes, I know, it should be linner) to 7:00 PM. I sit in the living room to work instead of locked in my room.
I hope this lasts as long as it can. Because it feels SO GOOD to not dread coming home. It's the first time I've called my apartment home.
I cooked again recently. Very simple this time though - some pasta. But it came out good. I don't know what is happening to me. I feel like cooking more often. I feel like working out regularly. But this is not me. Shouldn't I be angry and brooding and pretending that things are worse than they really are?
Did anyone see the Adams Family Part II? If you didn't, good for you because it sucked. But if you did, remember when the camp forces Wednesday and Pugsley (hah, Pugsley is a funny name) to watch Disney movies in the cabin? Wednesday comes out and painfully cracks a smile. One of the campers shivers and says "I'm scared!" That's what I feel the reaction to this bizarre contentment of mine should be. Be afraid. Be very afraid. Or not. Why don't we all join hands and make s'mores and tell each other what we like about each other? I like you, dear reader, because the kindness of your soul shines through your internet connection to my site.
My roommates rock. As I've been complaining about my living situation for quite some time, it's nice to finally boast about it. My fun roommate returned from her study abroad a few weeks ago. Two new roommates moved in this month, and they are both great. Quick synopsis:
Roommate #1. ME! Little. Brown. Different. (heh)
Roommate #2: Fabulous. Drama student, but not dramatic. Puerto Rican and loves life.
Roommate #3: Law student. From California. He's awesome and he deals with our landlord like nobody's business. Unlike me who stammers and is easily bullied into letting our lock stay broken for days.
Roommate #4. I just met him. Quite possibly the funniest person I have ever met. I have not laughed this hard in as long as I can remember. Stitch in your side type funny.
So yes. CONTENT. We painted the apartment. We furnished our gorgeous porch (heretofore unused). We light candles and always play music. We made brunch today - pancakes, eggs, mimosas and cinnamon buns. Roommate #1's friends came over, and we got to know each other. Brunch went from 4:00 PM (yes, I know, it should be linner) to 7:00 PM. I sit in the living room to work instead of locked in my room.
I hope this lasts as long as it can. Because it feels SO GOOD to not dread coming home. It's the first time I've called my apartment home.
I cooked again recently. Very simple this time though - some pasta. But it came out good. I don't know what is happening to me. I feel like cooking more often. I feel like working out regularly. But this is not me. Shouldn't I be angry and brooding and pretending that things are worse than they really are?
Did anyone see the Adams Family Part II? If you didn't, good for you because it sucked. But if you did, remember when the camp forces Wednesday and Pugsley (hah, Pugsley is a funny name) to watch Disney movies in the cabin? Wednesday comes out and painfully cracks a smile. One of the campers shivers and says "I'm scared!" That's what I feel the reaction to this bizarre contentment of mine should be. Be afraid. Be very afraid. Or not. Why don't we all join hands and make s'mores and tell each other what we like about each other? I like you, dear reader, because the kindness of your soul shines through your internet connection to my site.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
are you ready for this?
Da ra ra ... (cue flashing lights and cheerleaders). I bought the Jock Jams! CD in 1995 for this song. And also for Whoomp There It Is!
1995 was 10 years ago.
I just got an e-mail asking: "Class of 2001? Are you Ready?"
It's the first e-mail about my fifth year college reunion. My answer: No, I'm not ready. As the peppy class committee so eagerly wants to remind me, college finished almost five years ago. And where am I? Applying to medical school, alongside current college seniors. That's right. Class of 2006, are you ready for this? This being the jaded old fart who is going to be your lab partner in Anatomy class while having flashbacks to playing "Operation" as a kid. Class of 2006 probably doesn't even know what Operation is. They played Super Gamefighter Grand Theft Power X2 v. 9.6. Holla back if you miss Contra and the old school Legend of Zelda.
No parties for me during the Labor Day weekend. It was very suburban. On Saturday, my parents and I headed to the mechanics to get two of our cars fixed. My parents drove in one car. I followed. My dad, being, well, my dad, refused to give me directions to the place and said "Just follow me." Two problems: 1) My dad is a very aggressive driver and 2) I'm not. He ran through yellows and made u-turns that made my stomach drop. I'm surprised I was able to make it.
The good news is I made some real progress on my applications, so I am getting close to finishing those up. I was invited to interview at a school in the Midwest. My parents want to come. No kidding! When I was applying to college they couldn't care less about accompanying me to visit schools or interview (OK, granted my Harvard interview was like 10 minutes from my house). I love the irony: The entire crux of my application is that I am a well-rounded, mature individual who has had real life experience that is invaluable. And then I come to my interview with my Mommy.
Something very bizarre happened yesterday. I had the desire to cook. Really cook. There is a dinky Indian grocer near where I live, so I went and picked up ingredients to make a chicken curry. I called my mom and asked her what to do. I made the curry -- an event which seriously should have been videotaped, if, you know, America's Stupidest Home Videos still existed or something. Anyway, given that I don't cook, I didn't think things through. I started to fry the onions before realizing I had to use a can opener to open the tomato paste. Oops. And then while I'm throwing ingredients in there, it hit me that I forgot to defrost the chicken. Double oops. But everything sort of worked out. And by sort of, I mean that all the ingredients mixed in and the curry actually started to smell good. I took a little taste ... and BAM. My mouth was on fire. I misunderstood how much chili powder I was supposed to put in. Actually I think I bought chili powder instead of curry powder. I put in a heaping tablespoon, which probably had enough fire in it to melt through the pot. Triple Oops.
Aside from the heat, though, the curry tasted quite good. See, I accomplished something in the last five years. Class of 2001, are you ready for this?
1995 was 10 years ago.
I just got an e-mail asking: "Class of 2001? Are you Ready?"
It's the first e-mail about my fifth year college reunion. My answer: No, I'm not ready. As the peppy class committee so eagerly wants to remind me, college finished almost five years ago. And where am I? Applying to medical school, alongside current college seniors. That's right. Class of 2006, are you ready for this? This being the jaded old fart who is going to be your lab partner in Anatomy class while having flashbacks to playing "Operation" as a kid. Class of 2006 probably doesn't even know what Operation is. They played Super Gamefighter Grand Theft Power X2 v. 9.6. Holla back if you miss Contra and the old school Legend of Zelda.
No parties for me during the Labor Day weekend. It was very suburban. On Saturday, my parents and I headed to the mechanics to get two of our cars fixed. My parents drove in one car. I followed. My dad, being, well, my dad, refused to give me directions to the place and said "Just follow me." Two problems: 1) My dad is a very aggressive driver and 2) I'm not. He ran through yellows and made u-turns that made my stomach drop. I'm surprised I was able to make it.
The good news is I made some real progress on my applications, so I am getting close to finishing those up. I was invited to interview at a school in the Midwest. My parents want to come. No kidding! When I was applying to college they couldn't care less about accompanying me to visit schools or interview (OK, granted my Harvard interview was like 10 minutes from my house). I love the irony: The entire crux of my application is that I am a well-rounded, mature individual who has had real life experience that is invaluable. And then I come to my interview with my Mommy.
Something very bizarre happened yesterday. I had the desire to cook. Really cook. There is a dinky Indian grocer near where I live, so I went and picked up ingredients to make a chicken curry. I called my mom and asked her what to do. I made the curry -- an event which seriously should have been videotaped, if, you know, America's Stupidest Home Videos still existed or something. Anyway, given that I don't cook, I didn't think things through. I started to fry the onions before realizing I had to use a can opener to open the tomato paste. Oops. And then while I'm throwing ingredients in there, it hit me that I forgot to defrost the chicken. Double oops. But everything sort of worked out. And by sort of, I mean that all the ingredients mixed in and the curry actually started to smell good. I took a little taste ... and BAM. My mouth was on fire. I misunderstood how much chili powder I was supposed to put in. Actually I think I bought chili powder instead of curry powder. I put in a heaping tablespoon, which probably had enough fire in it to melt through the pot. Triple Oops.
Aside from the heat, though, the curry tasted quite good. See, I accomplished something in the last five years. Class of 2001, are you ready for this?
Friday, September 02, 2005
shut up before i punch you
I just got off the subway and came into work. This may have been the most excruciating 15 minutes of my life, ever. And that includes all those times I had my ugly braces tightened.
In the seat next to me were the two biggest losers I have ever encountered in my life. I must paint you a picture. The boy: twenty something. a spitting image of Napoleon Dynamite. Red curly white boy fro and everything. The girl (if I can even venture to call her that): a tortoiseshell glasses wearing, baggy t-shirt (with a picture of John Lennon, worn, oh so painfully sans bra) cargo pants sporting embodiment of wannabe hip but so awfully uncool. Oh my god. I am wretching.
You all know the type - in high school, she sat around wearing goth clothing and talked about the fakeness of everyone and doodled disturbing scenes on her binder cover. She worked at Blockbuster Video. The girl who rolled her eyes at everything and read the Marquis de Sade because she is soooo deep . The girl who secretly lusts for the blond blue eyed quarterback but sleeps with the balding phys ed teacher instead.
I digress. The girl was SO loud. I mean, her voice was irritating and just SO LOUD. As I entered, they were mid-conversation:
I was in so much pain that I had to do something. I noticed a woman across from me was trying her hardest not to laugh. I made eye contact with her then discreetly pretended to strangle myself. She started to giggle and had to look away.
Napoleon so wanted to get in Vomit Girl's pants. Man. I had a blueberry donut this morning (first try - thumbs up!). But I'm having some trouble keeping in down. I have a bagel with me but I can't eat it. I'm not joking, I am so nauseated by the loser fest that I was presented with this morning. Excuse me while I barf all over your faux intellectualism. Now stop pretending and go home and watch Desperate Housewives like you know you want to.
*~*~
Yesterday I went to the gym. I was on the buttblaster thingamajig when a sleazy looking man got on the machine next to me. Within a minute, I almost passed out. His BO was that bad. It was so bad that I had to get off the machine, walk around, and finally give up on the notion of finishing my work out because I needed to shower lest some of it landed on me.
On a much more realistic note, I cannot comprehend the Katrina disaster. It feels so surreal. As if this is happening in another country, far far away. New Orleans basically no longer exists. I cannot understand what these people must be going through. The death toll is now estimated to be in the thousands. It's a virtual anarchy there. I hope hope hope that things get better for everyone who was affected.
In the seat next to me were the two biggest losers I have ever encountered in my life. I must paint you a picture. The boy: twenty something. a spitting image of Napoleon Dynamite. Red curly white boy fro and everything. The girl (if I can even venture to call her that): a tortoiseshell glasses wearing, baggy t-shirt (with a picture of John Lennon, worn, oh so painfully sans bra) cargo pants sporting embodiment of wannabe hip but so awfully uncool. Oh my god. I am wretching.
You all know the type - in high school, she sat around wearing goth clothing and talked about the fakeness of everyone and doodled disturbing scenes on her binder cover. She worked at Blockbuster Video. The girl who rolled her eyes at everything and read the Marquis de Sade because she is soooo deep . The girl who secretly lusts for the blond blue eyed quarterback but sleeps with the balding phys ed teacher instead.
I digress. The girl was SO loud. I mean, her voice was irritating and just SO LOUD. As I entered, they were mid-conversation:
Vomit Inducing Girl
I mean, her job is to walk around France looking beautiful. Beautiful but tragic. But not tragic sad. It's beautiful. Like smoking cigarettes beautiful.
Napoleon's Twin
Yeah, she reminds me of a French movie. It's not a character, but more an ephemeral concentration of sentiment* (N.B. Verbatim. I made it a point to memorize that phrase because it was oh so incredulous).
Vomit Inducing Girl
Absolutely. It defines post-modern. But who knows what's happening in the world. They just released the Chasing Amy DVD. If that doesn't say something then I don't know what does.
I was in so much pain that I had to do something. I noticed a woman across from me was trying her hardest not to laugh. I made eye contact with her then discreetly pretended to strangle myself. She started to giggle and had to look away.
Napoleon so wanted to get in Vomit Girl's pants. Man. I had a blueberry donut this morning (first try - thumbs up!). But I'm having some trouble keeping in down. I have a bagel with me but I can't eat it. I'm not joking, I am so nauseated by the loser fest that I was presented with this morning. Excuse me while I barf all over your faux intellectualism. Now stop pretending and go home and watch Desperate Housewives like you know you want to.
*~*~
Yesterday I went to the gym. I was on the buttblaster thingamajig when a sleazy looking man got on the machine next to me. Within a minute, I almost passed out. His BO was that bad. It was so bad that I had to get off the machine, walk around, and finally give up on the notion of finishing my work out because I needed to shower lest some of it landed on me.
On a much more realistic note, I cannot comprehend the Katrina disaster. It feels so surreal. As if this is happening in another country, far far away. New Orleans basically no longer exists. I cannot understand what these people must be going through. The death toll is now estimated to be in the thousands. It's a virtual anarchy there. I hope hope hope that things get better for everyone who was affected.
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