SHA-BOOM
this is a list of the things i hate
enjoy
the word moist (or "moist towelettes" ugh)
guys that gel their hair
girls that have "going out tops"
people who don't tip well
wrigleyville
ace bandages
audi tt's
waking up and knowing you are late for something
reality television
people who talk in abbreviations
curly hair that looks wet even though it's not
people who touch me at work (see 2-4)
bad commercials
tyra banks
oprah
when doofus #1 asks me questions as soon as i walk in the door
small cups of water
sydney crosby
toenail clippings
ed hardy/affliction/any douche bag clothing (see 2)
hard butter
that fact that crocs aren't socially acceptable
voicemails (unless they are funny, that makes up for the fact that i had to listen to it)
PCs
black comedy (just movies and tv shows)
gary coleman
the notebook
people that are so hipster it hurts
those nylon drawstring backpacks
people who steals
ruby tuesday's
musicals
fat people who need motorized wheelchairs just because they are fat
folding clothes
hot change (like sweaty coins)
tourists when im not one
tangled headphone wires
unibrows
twitter
centipedes
cats
people who own cats (more than 2 is just fucked up)
papers that i feel i need to keep even though i never will need them again
Flint, MI
guys who dip
being told to do something that im currently doing
girls that bring their camera to every bar they go to, take the same pictures and then post them by date on facebook
decorative pillows
living rooms that don't get used
the puff of air they blow into your eyes at the eye doctor
Entourage
im an awful person
you should try it sometime
SHABOOM
guys that gel their hair
girls that have "going out tops"
people who don't tip well
wrigleyville
ace bandages
audi tt's
waking up and knowing you are late for something
reality television
people who talk in abbreviations
curly hair that looks wet even though it's not
people who touch me at work (see 2-4)
bad commercials
tyra banks
oprah
when doofus #1 asks me questions as soon as i walk in the door
small cups of water
sydney crosby
toenail clippings
ed hardy/affliction/any douche bag clothing (see 2)
hard butter
that fact that crocs aren't socially acceptable
voicemails (unless they are funny, that makes up for the fact that i had to listen to it)
PCs
black comedy (just movies and tv shows)
gary coleman
the notebook
people that are so hipster it hurts
those nylon drawstring backpacks
people who steals
ruby tuesday's
musicals
fat people who need motorized wheelchairs just because they are fat
folding clothes
hot change (like sweaty coins)
tourists when im not one
tangled headphone wires
unibrows
centipedes
cats
people who own cats (more than 2 is just fucked up)
papers that i feel i need to keep even though i never will need them again
Flint, MI
guys who dip
being told to do something that im currently doing
girls that bring their camera to every bar they go to, take the same pictures and then post them by date on facebook
decorative pillows
living rooms that don't get used
the puff of air they blow into your eyes at the eye doctor
Entourage
im an awful person
you should try it sometime
SHABOOM
i know life is unfair, but this is fucking ridiculous
there comes a point in time in life where you either accept whatever you're doing and just exist, or stop talking about what you used to be and do something completely different.the silence on your part really sucks. just thought you should know.
fib fable forgery fiction fabrication falsity
so, i have to admit something.
i'm a liar. i love to lie, and in doing so it gives me joy.
i lie about what i'm doing, where i'm going, who i'm with, or i lie just so i can stay in bed all day.
it's not that i lie about important things. i just lie about the meaningless bullshit throughout the day, just to give myself a bit of a chuckle.
and i've asked myself why i lie. i lie to people that don't matter, and i lie about things that don't matter. i make slight exaggerations to just about everything.
why?
because i like to pretend that what i do and say actually matters to other people, enough to be called out on my lie. i want to test people, to see if they have truly been paying attention. i lie to hide who i actually am.
and most of all, it's fun.
i'm a liar. i love to lie, and in doing so it gives me joy.
i lie about what i'm doing, where i'm going, who i'm with, or i lie just so i can stay in bed all day.
it's not that i lie about important things. i just lie about the meaningless bullshit throughout the day, just to give myself a bit of a chuckle.
and i've asked myself why i lie. i lie to people that don't matter, and i lie about things that don't matter. i make slight exaggerations to just about everything.
why?
because i like to pretend that what i do and say actually matters to other people, enough to be called out on my lie. i want to test people, to see if they have truly been paying attention. i lie to hide who i actually am.
and most of all, it's fun.
life hurts more than death
i've had an overwhelming amount of people tell me they read this, and even like this!
so thank you.
what not to wear
as soon as i walked in the door tonight, i heard the strain in my roommate's voice as she talked on the phone (not nyquil lover, the other doofus) i sat quietly in the living room with the t.v. low, and eavesdropped on the conversation, while i tried to look as though i was just being courteous. when she finally hung up the phone, i could tell she was upset, angry, and definitely drunk. i snuck a peek at the bottle of wine on the table, trying to see around the label to gauge just how drunk she really was as she stumbled into the restroom.
i heard the door open, and i clicked the volume up to normal listening levels, trying to ward off the impending story i know she was about to tell me. i go a bit higher, just in case. just as i sat the remote down, she starts to spill. i heard words like lawsuit, mini horses, "that bitch", mom, and some website, all while she's talking to the back of my head. just as i'm about to reach for the remote, my ears prick up.
"style makeover," she says, and i turned around. i apologized, my voice getting higher, and let her know i wasn't ignoring her, i just thought she was still on the phone. she repeated her sentence: "i want a style makeover." i jumped up from the couch and nodded vigorously. i tried to slow down, letting her talk. she tells me to just lay it all on her.
"you need a hair cut. you dress like a 42 year-old single mom. when did u buy that sweater? no one wears turtle necks anymore."
i pulled her upstairs, and it became a full-fledged episode of what not to wear. minus the 3-d mirror, i managed to have her try on a black acetate cardigan, a full length teal, blue and white halter polyester dress with a built in belt, and a pair of skinny, thick cordoruyed pants.
as she pulled the halter dress on, she staggered a bit. she told me even i will say this ones not bad. i pull her into my room in front of the full length mirror. she looks like a bad 90's nightmare.
i found a Rafaela pant suit from the 80's, a orange croqueted shrug that looks like something i would have found in my grandma's attic, and a lot of polyester abstract-printed tops.
as i flung one thing out after another, i realized i couldn't stop. my roommate was going to wake up to a mean hangover, a day full of problems not yet solved, and no clothes to wear. i finally forced myself to fling the tiny, gold and sparkley turtleneck in my hand across her room, and i was done.
maybe i shouldn't have taken advantage of this situation when she was upset, and highly intoxicated. at least she won't remember i told her that she looked like she got her clothes from Rainbow's on Ashland.
i heard the door open, and i clicked the volume up to normal listening levels, trying to ward off the impending story i know she was about to tell me. i go a bit higher, just in case. just as i sat the remote down, she starts to spill. i heard words like lawsuit, mini horses, "that bitch", mom, and some website, all while she's talking to the back of my head. just as i'm about to reach for the remote, my ears prick up.
"style makeover," she says, and i turned around. i apologized, my voice getting higher, and let her know i wasn't ignoring her, i just thought she was still on the phone. she repeated her sentence: "i want a style makeover." i jumped up from the couch and nodded vigorously. i tried to slow down, letting her talk. she tells me to just lay it all on her.
"you need a hair cut. you dress like a 42 year-old single mom. when did u buy that sweater? no one wears turtle necks anymore."
i pulled her upstairs, and it became a full-fledged episode of what not to wear. minus the 3-d mirror, i managed to have her try on a black acetate cardigan, a full length teal, blue and white halter polyester dress with a built in belt, and a pair of skinny, thick cordoruyed pants.
as she pulled the halter dress on, she staggered a bit. she told me even i will say this ones not bad. i pull her into my room in front of the full length mirror. she looks like a bad 90's nightmare.
i found a Rafaela pant suit from the 80's, a orange croqueted shrug that looks like something i would have found in my grandma's attic, and a lot of polyester abstract-printed tops.
as i flung one thing out after another, i realized i couldn't stop. my roommate was going to wake up to a mean hangover, a day full of problems not yet solved, and no clothes to wear. i finally forced myself to fling the tiny, gold and sparkley turtleneck in my hand across her room, and i was done.
maybe i shouldn't have taken advantage of this situation when she was upset, and highly intoxicated. at least she won't remember i told her that she looked like she got her clothes from Rainbow's on Ashland.
the planet is fine, the people are fucked
i dyed my hair today and had a flashback to 7th grade.when i was about 13, my mom volunteered to put blond highlights in my hair. (note: i am a naturally dark brunette) so we got a box, put this crazy cap on, and pulled some chunks through the holes in the cap. i looked like mickey rourke in the wrestler. i waited the allotted time, and washed the dye out. i got excited, thinking i was going to have this gorgeous head of perfect, blond highlights.
as i looked at myself in the mirror, i gasped. screaming "mom, mom, MOM!!!" i grasp at the 4" blond streak down the middle of my part on the top of my head. at this point in my life, i was a very, very, hormonal teenager. she burst into laughter, i burst into tears.
needless to say, i was dubbed "skunk" for the next 3 days my mom made me go to school before re-dyeing it (which turned it orange), and re-dyeing, and re-dyeing to return my hair
semi-normal looking.
i have always been cheap, dyeing my hair on my own. i can't warrant spending $70 to get my hair colored when i can do it myself for $7. and for all the times i've dyed my hair, you'd think i'd be pretty good at it by now.
let the re-dyeing begin.
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