You're not saying anything we haven't heard before.
I give in...I'll do it too:
http://kevan.org/johari?name=BaTGiRL20
http://kevan.org/nohari?name=BaTGiRL20
go, bitches.
Yesterday was possibly the best Sunday ever...ok not ever, but it was cool...and cold - really. fucking. cold.
11am-ish - The wife and I make fantastic scrambled eggs with ham & onion & cheese, and play the Ghostbusters record on my fancy-pants record player I finally released from my father's grasp.
1pm-ish - We drive to College Ave singing obnoxiously and hilariously to Against Me!'s "Don't Lose Touch" and nearly hit a stupid pigeon. We hang around Vorhees Mall for a while before having wax, latex, and war paints slathered across our faces.
latex or shaving cream?
partial-zombie love
after I fucked up my wax wound...SKULL
*wink*
I don't care what anyone else says, I swear that blood tasted like bland cookies. Also, the eye blood you're supposed to be able to see in this picture was really freaking Dan out in the funniest ways possible.
Jason = special FX + warmth
we were all a little out of it after the first few takes and a good 40 minutes in the tundra waiting for direction.
It was so cold, Dan died.
can you scare zombies?
holy shit what a fucking trooper. Jeff laid in a hole in the dirt wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, covered in wetness and pig intestines in the freezing cold, just to get eaten alive by a couple of flirty zombies.
pride.
this is what it looks like when zombies go out on dates.
...and when they're cold.
5pm-ish - We scrub our faces with toilet paper in a vain effort to clean some of the gook off our faces so we can go out for pizza with the crew, only to find that they've gone without us, leaving nothing but an empty bucket that used to hold pig guts, and a cranberry juice jug with a little bit of what was definitely not cranberry juice. Shoot over...I pick up a music book I left at work and get a couple of confused looks from my co-workers. I think I spent an easy 45 minutes in the shower scrubbing my face and chest and washing the blood from my hair.
7pm-ish - Joe's a little late, but that's fine because it took me a fucking long time to clean up & make myself pretty. Fuck I was cute. Elyse gave me a 7/10 on cute points. We drove around, ate huge burritos, and he distracted me on the phone with my mother. We picked up Shaun of the Dead and The Devil's Rejects at Blockbuster. If I didn't have shit to do tonight I'd be watching the bonus features right fucking now.
We picked up some Cold Stone - I think my coworkers were surprised to see how well I cleaned up. I might have been a little full of myself last night, but fuck it. Desperate Housewives was not on last night, which upset Elyse a great deal, but made it much easier to steal the TV to watch movies all night and eventually coerce Joe into staying over again - cause you know, that's so hard to do. Fucker had to leave for class at 7am.
I wish I had the motivation he does to just do the shit he's supposed to do. I don't though, so I end up sitting here writing about being a zombie and wasting (academically speaking) my entire day away yesterday, and effectively continuing the procrastination. I have THREE one-page essay responses due at 4:30 today on a reading assignment I haven't done, and it's 4:12 and I'm thinking more about what I need to cover at tonight's executive staff meeting than how the fuck I'm going to weasel my way out of a late grade. I'm so over classes and I don't even want to be. I've been bullshitting my way through late assignments for years now, and I'm having a fuck of a time figuring out how to break the habit. But how far will I really get the way I'm going? I run my radio station, but I'm a pretty mediocre GM. It sounds impressive, but it should be easier than I make it for myself. I end up trying to live up to this martyrdom, this "look at what I'm willing to sacrifice" for what? for a college radio station that means the world to a select few, and is a weekly annoyance to others, to people who REALLY give a shit about their GPA or really don't. I only care when it's staring me in the face, and I can't figure out how to make it stick in my head: YOU NEED TO DO THIS. NOT JUST GET THROUGH IT. YOU NEED YOUR FUCKING EDUCATION AND YOU NEED TO MAKE THE MOST OF THE OPPORTUNITY YOU HAVE. But I don't. I spend more time worrying about the station or planning my tattoo or daydreaming or lying around in bed than I do sitting down with my books and figuring out the things I'm having trouble with, or going to my professors' office hours for help or advice, or visiting my Dean to figure out if I can even fucking apply for a major at this point. My academic career is in the fucking toilet, not because of what I've done or can do, but because of what I haven't done and will continue to ignore if nothing fucking changes. I was having a really hard time seeing past my personal issues for a while, and it was my own fault. I need to stop this shit.
rant. over.
PS - why is this record 45rpm if it's a 12"?
http://kevan.org/johari?name=BaTGiRL20
http://kevan.org/nohari?name=BaTGiRL20
go, bitches.
Yesterday was possibly the best Sunday ever...ok not ever, but it was cool...and cold - really. fucking. cold.
11am-ish - The wife and I make fantastic scrambled eggs with ham & onion & cheese, and play the Ghostbusters record on my fancy-pants record player I finally released from my father's grasp.
1pm-ish - We drive to College Ave singing obnoxiously and hilariously to Against Me!'s "Don't Lose Touch" and nearly hit a stupid pigeon. We hang around Vorhees Mall for a while before having wax, latex, and war paints slathered across our faces.
latex or shaving cream?
partial-zombie love
after I fucked up my wax wound...SKULL
*wink*
I don't care what anyone else says, I swear that blood tasted like bland cookies. Also, the eye blood you're supposed to be able to see in this picture was really freaking Dan out in the funniest ways possible.
Jason = special FX + warmth
we were all a little out of it after the first few takes and a good 40 minutes in the tundra waiting for direction.
It was so cold, Dan died.
can you scare zombies?
holy shit what a fucking trooper. Jeff laid in a hole in the dirt wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, covered in wetness and pig intestines in the freezing cold, just to get eaten alive by a couple of flirty zombies.
pride.
this is what it looks like when zombies go out on dates.
...and when they're cold.
5pm-ish - We scrub our faces with toilet paper in a vain effort to clean some of the gook off our faces so we can go out for pizza with the crew, only to find that they've gone without us, leaving nothing but an empty bucket that used to hold pig guts, and a cranberry juice jug with a little bit of what was definitely not cranberry juice. Shoot over...I pick up a music book I left at work and get a couple of confused looks from my co-workers. I think I spent an easy 45 minutes in the shower scrubbing my face and chest and washing the blood from my hair.
7pm-ish - Joe's a little late, but that's fine because it took me a fucking long time to clean up & make myself pretty. Fuck I was cute. Elyse gave me a 7/10 on cute points. We drove around, ate huge burritos, and he distracted me on the phone with my mother. We picked up Shaun of the Dead and The Devil's Rejects at Blockbuster. If I didn't have shit to do tonight I'd be watching the bonus features right fucking now.
We picked up some Cold Stone - I think my coworkers were surprised to see how well I cleaned up. I might have been a little full of myself last night, but fuck it. Desperate Housewives was not on last night, which upset Elyse a great deal, but made it much easier to steal the TV to watch movies all night and eventually coerce Joe into staying over again - cause you know, that's so hard to do. Fucker had to leave for class at 7am.
I wish I had the motivation he does to just do the shit he's supposed to do. I don't though, so I end up sitting here writing about being a zombie and wasting (academically speaking) my entire day away yesterday, and effectively continuing the procrastination. I have THREE one-page essay responses due at 4:30 today on a reading assignment I haven't done, and it's 4:12 and I'm thinking more about what I need to cover at tonight's executive staff meeting than how the fuck I'm going to weasel my way out of a late grade. I'm so over classes and I don't even want to be. I've been bullshitting my way through late assignments for years now, and I'm having a fuck of a time figuring out how to break the habit. But how far will I really get the way I'm going? I run my radio station, but I'm a pretty mediocre GM. It sounds impressive, but it should be easier than I make it for myself. I end up trying to live up to this martyrdom, this "look at what I'm willing to sacrifice" for what? for a college radio station that means the world to a select few, and is a weekly annoyance to others, to people who REALLY give a shit about their GPA or really don't. I only care when it's staring me in the face, and I can't figure out how to make it stick in my head: YOU NEED TO DO THIS. NOT JUST GET THROUGH IT. YOU NEED YOUR FUCKING EDUCATION AND YOU NEED TO MAKE THE MOST OF THE OPPORTUNITY YOU HAVE. But I don't. I spend more time worrying about the station or planning my tattoo or daydreaming or lying around in bed than I do sitting down with my books and figuring out the things I'm having trouble with, or going to my professors' office hours for help or advice, or visiting my Dean to figure out if I can even fucking apply for a major at this point. My academic career is in the fucking toilet, not because of what I've done or can do, but because of what I haven't done and will continue to ignore if nothing fucking changes. I was having a really hard time seeing past my personal issues for a while, and it was my own fault. I need to stop this shit.
rant. over.
PS - why is this record 45rpm if it's a 12"?