The freeing feeling of driving cross-legged. My spirits were only dampened when I was halfway through running a red light and remembered why people sometimes use feet to drive.
And then I took a picture, which for some reason didn't improve my driving any.
"Why do the elderly drive slowly?" I asked myself, seriously.
And then it came to me: The elderly drive slowly to stick it to the world. When I'm old, I'm going to drive at a painstaking pace with a big wrinkle-enhancing smile across my face so that my posterity may experience the same traffic-exasperations I have experienced. Why wouldn't our own grandparents do us the same service?
What a fantastic rite and privilege we have to look forward to.
I welcome prunes and dentures like an ELang major might welcome bad metaphors.
The moment when you pass someone attractive you met last night and realize you're wearing the same outfit as yesterday (come now, a perfectly good outfit combo shouldn't be wasted, and you do it too) and your mouth is full of chicken taco and you blog about it on your way to work and take a raptor-esque picture of your day-2 outfit and finish an unacceptably lengthy sentence. At least there's an awkward and sideways picture for you and your poor, annoyed, OCD souls.
"If no one makes me a good breakfast, I'm going to fail the AP test. But it doesn't matter because I'm not going to college."
"Mom, can you buy me some overalls? I'm letting myself go."
"I'm going to commit suicide . . . why are you guys laughing?"
"Why did I cut off my hair? I look 'ideous."
"Mom, can you buy me some overalls? I'm letting myself go."
"I'm going to commit suicide . . . why are you guys laughing?"
"Why did I cut off my hair? I look 'ideous."
In other news, if I were to define my "6-pack" today, I would definitely do so softly.
I guess that means I met my goal.
Go team.
Lilies and Ranunculus.
My favorites.
Has there been a better birthday? I submit that there has not.
One awesome thing about Blogger is that it allows you to see how people have stumbled upon your blog. This week I was delighted to see that somebody had been directed here after Googling "Dating a Simpleton." I figure I should be as helpful as possible to my friends on the World Wide Web, so if you are seeking advice on how to woo a Simpleton, you have come to the right place. Because as evidenced by this picture, I know what I'm talking about. (This picture actually doesn't mean anything, except that I really need to get over this heinous obsession with neons.)
1. Aroma up. Anything will do (although Axe is somewhat distastefully cliche). We Simpletons won't know the difference between Gucci and sap from a straight-up pine forest, we just want a whiff of manly when we catch your downdrift as you walk by. Catch my drift?
2. Be nice. Teasing insults worked in the 8th grade, but now you have to work your wily wit into compliments (yikes!) if you really want to woo and win a woman. Not quite so easy, is it? You poor soul. Take luck.
3. Get skills. Harmonica skills, baby-whispering skills, mashed potato sculpting skills . . . Simpletons only want manfriends with bizarre skills.
4. Belt out tunes in the octave above falsetto. Own it. You might get punched, but the truest Simpletons will secretly think you're funny the first two times you do this.
5. Cold. Cereal. Picnic. BOOM. 80 points to Gryffindor.
This is all assuming you want to catch yourself a lady-Simpleton. If you want to know about dating a Y-chromosomal Simpleton, I have 3 rules for you: hair down, lotion up, and smile unceasingly. Dudes are simple like that.
2. Be nice. Teasing insults worked in the 8th grade, but now you have to work your wily wit into compliments (yikes!) if you really want to woo and win a woman. Not quite so easy, is it? You poor soul. Take luck.
3. Get skills. Harmonica skills, baby-whispering skills, mashed potato sculpting skills . . . Simpletons only want manfriends with bizarre skills.
4. Belt out tunes in the octave above falsetto. Own it. You might get punched, but the truest Simpletons will secretly think you're funny the first two times you do this.
5. Cold. Cereal. Picnic. BOOM. 80 points to Gryffindor.
This is all assuming you want to catch yourself a lady-Simpleton. If you want to know about dating a Y-chromosomal Simpleton, I have 3 rules for you: hair down, lotion up, and smile unceasingly. Dudes are simple like that.
"If you marry him, you will NOT be getting the giant box of baby clothes I've been building up."
After returning home from a shopping excursion during which three middle-aged women walked in on my favorite outfit combination in the fitting room (Le Birthday Suit--Macy's really should invest in some quality door locks), I discovered that my new pinstriped scarf was crafted for feminine men only and my new leather jeggings are . . . leather jeggings.
Tomorrow's Afternoon Forecast: Back to Forever XXI. Maybe I'll exchange for a color-blocked bandeau and some studded ankle-socks.
Hallo friends. Just blogging on my blog. From my golden phone. In my bed. And adding pictures (hallelujah!). Taken with my phone. From my bed. And listening to coldplay on Pandora. On my phone. In my bed.
This may be a bad-news-bears situation. Oh hey Laura. I see you are no longer trapped in the year 2004. That's fine. Just please don't forget your beloved boy-bands.
That's all. Auf wiedersehen.
This may be a bad-news-bears situation. Oh hey Laura. I see you are no longer trapped in the year 2004. That's fine. Just please don't forget your beloved boy-bands.
That's all. Auf wiedersehen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)