I need my own material.
Please. Someone. Help my layout. It's appalling.
If one more person uses a pointless meme or quiz or lyrics that are insanely long, I'll beat them with a wet noodle. At least let me teach you the wonders of an lj cut so all our eyes are spared. Thanks, I love you.
My last day free was wonderful. My whole break was wonderful. The Cape and Job Lot, beaches, work visits, bowling (I let you all win. And I left my clock at the alley. Damn.), movies, breakfast, driving, twister, Radio, way too many visits to the Tavern.
For the record, that place sucks. Any proprietors who read my humble scratchings may want to invest in a decent place to hang out at in Kingston, besides the mall. I detest the mall. The place has been overtaken by tween Hot Topic robots. But I digress.
I hadn't heard from my old roomate Sydney for the longest time, and I found out it was because the poor thing was in the hospital for a while with stomach ickies. Children's in Boston is not a fun place to be, for any length of time. Bah.
I've been learning the women's lyrics to the Dirty Glass by DKM, in fleeting hopes that during the concert, they'll need a young irish girl to fill in up on stage. Don't look at me like that.
This book I'm currently sporting, Me Talk Pretty Someday by David Sedaris, is quite sprightly. Here's an amusing passage. The ultra-conservative beware, but otherwise I figured it was pretty G rated. The author moved to Paris for a while and obviously wanted to learn the language. In class, an interesting interrogative came up. You have to assume all dialouge was originally in French...
The Italian nanny was attempting to answer the teacher's latest question when the Morrocan student interrupted, shouting, "Excuse me, but what's an Easter?"
It would seem that despite having grown up in a Muslim country, she would have heard it mentioned once or twice, but no. "I meant it," she said. "I have no idea what you people are talking about."
The teacher called upon the rest of us to explain.
The Poles led the charge to the best of thier ability. "It is," said one, "a party for the little boy of God who call his self Jesus and...oh shit." She faltered and her fellow country-man came to her aid.
"He call his self Jesus and then he be die one day on two...morsels of...lumber."
The rest of the class jumped in, offering bits of information that would have given the pope an aneurysm.
"He die one day and then he go above of my head to live with your father."
"He weared of himself the long hair and after he die, the first day he come back here to say hello to the peoples."
"He make the good things, and on the Easter we be sad because somebody makes him dead today."
"He nice, the Jesus."
I need book suggestions. I went to the library for the first time since POGs have been out of style, and I knew nothing. I know not of any great authors.
Pray, or if that's not your thing send some good vibes towards some friends who lost thier grandmother, a sick mum, a sick college student, another sick gram, a busted up love life, Sydney, those who are confused, those feeling left out, the college bound, and anyone else who doesn't feel they have people to pray for them.
And for my math test tomorrow. It ain't gonna be pretty I reckon.
If one more person uses a pointless meme or quiz or lyrics that are insanely long, I'll beat them with a wet noodle. At least let me teach you the wonders of an lj cut so all our eyes are spared. Thanks, I love you.
My last day free was wonderful. My whole break was wonderful. The Cape and Job Lot, beaches, work visits, bowling (I let you all win. And I left my clock at the alley. Damn.), movies, breakfast, driving, twister, Radio, way too many visits to the Tavern.
For the record, that place sucks. Any proprietors who read my humble scratchings may want to invest in a decent place to hang out at in Kingston, besides the mall. I detest the mall. The place has been overtaken by tween Hot Topic robots. But I digress.
I hadn't heard from my old roomate Sydney for the longest time, and I found out it was because the poor thing was in the hospital for a while with stomach ickies. Children's in Boston is not a fun place to be, for any length of time. Bah.
I've been learning the women's lyrics to the Dirty Glass by DKM, in fleeting hopes that during the concert, they'll need a young irish girl to fill in up on stage. Don't look at me like that.
This book I'm currently sporting, Me Talk Pretty Someday by David Sedaris, is quite sprightly. Here's an amusing passage. The ultra-conservative beware, but otherwise I figured it was pretty G rated. The author moved to Paris for a while and obviously wanted to learn the language. In class, an interesting interrogative came up. You have to assume all dialouge was originally in French...
The Italian nanny was attempting to answer the teacher's latest question when the Morrocan student interrupted, shouting, "Excuse me, but what's an Easter?"
It would seem that despite having grown up in a Muslim country, she would have heard it mentioned once or twice, but no. "I meant it," she said. "I have no idea what you people are talking about."
The teacher called upon the rest of us to explain.
The Poles led the charge to the best of thier ability. "It is," said one, "a party for the little boy of God who call his self Jesus and...oh shit." She faltered and her fellow country-man came to her aid.
"He call his self Jesus and then he be die one day on two...morsels of...lumber."
The rest of the class jumped in, offering bits of information that would have given the pope an aneurysm.
"He die one day and then he go above of my head to live with your father."
"He weared of himself the long hair and after he die, the first day he come back here to say hello to the peoples."
"He make the good things, and on the Easter we be sad because somebody makes him dead today."
"He nice, the Jesus."
I need book suggestions. I went to the library for the first time since POGs have been out of style, and I knew nothing. I know not of any great authors.
Pray, or if that's not your thing send some good vibes towards some friends who lost thier grandmother, a sick mum, a sick college student, another sick gram, a busted up love life, Sydney, those who are confused, those feeling left out, the college bound, and anyone else who doesn't feel they have people to pray for them.
And for my math test tomorrow. It ain't gonna be pretty I reckon.