beer and little debbies
* Often I come up with stuff I want to write in here but I get distracted and forget to write it down and then I'm left with no material. Dammit.
* My boss wants me to write a prototype for a regular column, which is great and all, except that having it assigned sort of stifles the creative urge. I'm an artist, after all. I realize I essentially write columns here all the time, but I don't know if I can appeal to both the twentysomethings and the thirtysomethings and I'm not sure why I asked to do it anyway, because all I can write about is my own ridiculousness and while there's no shortage of that, I'm not sure it's relatable.
* Last week I was shooting beauty products for my style page in a makeshift studio (actually two large pieces of foamboard, one of which I accidentally put my heel through) that I set up behind my desk. I stretched out on my tummy to get detailed shots, then started to get up. The problem was, I couldn't.
My lightning-fast brain raced and I realized that I had wedged my shoe under my rolling chair and I was now stuck. Furthermore, I was in a position that made it impossible for me to roll over and lift the chair or to get on my hands and knees and kick the chair off. Instead, I flopped around like a trout, cackling at my predicament.
Finally, CK got up from his desk to get a stack of pages to proof and stopped short, staring at me in wonder. "Are you - are you stuck?"
I flailed, laughing hysterically.
"Are you stuck under your chair?"
Laugh, snort, snort, nod.
He just leaned against the wall to watch the show.
If I had been in the wilderness and the chair had been a log, I would've had to chew my foot off.
At last, my one true friend got up and lifted the chair so I could get free. I really don't know how I manage to walk upright.
* One nice thing about being an adult is that I can eat a hot fudge sundae for dinner and no one can tell me no.
* One bad thing about being an adult is that I can eat a hot fudge sundae for dinner and no one can tell me no.
* What if I lose the weight I want to and it turns out I really don't have a pretty face?
* That's the most backhanded, bitchy "compliment" anybody can get. "You have such a pretty face." That's like getting the home edition of the game when the other players walk off with trips and Rolexes. The next time somebody tells me I have a pretty face without following it up by pointing out my amazing rack or shapely legs, I'm going to put my big ring on my right hand and punch them right in the eye.
* Unless, of course, the pretty face thing is legit and doesn't have the unspoken "...too bad you're fat" part. I mean, because I do. I think.
* I hate that the older I get, the less credible I am when it comes to the UFO documentaries and conspiracy theories I once loved. I still watch them, but I scoff a lot more. Not that I ever entirely believed any of it, I just had an easier time suspending my disbelief when I was younger. I still totally buy Mothman, though. He's out there.
* I think it's fascinating that the porn spam that clogs my inbox seems to go in cycles. For a while there, it was all about the ass. Butt sex! See Sindee taste her own rear! Hot beginners take it in the a$$! and so forth. Then it was MILF MANIA! Then nude celebrities, then hot college virgins getting banged for the 1st time!!!!, then first timers giving BJs, then back to the MILFs. Perfectly aged, says the spam. Eww.
To be frank, I'm less bothered by the subject matter than I am by the atrocious spelling and the excessive exclamation! points! Which I recently discovered I hate! Because they tend to make the writer look like an overly excited 15-year-old!!!!!!!!!!!!! Moderation please!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
* I'm deeply, serious, dangerously addicted to Amy's Organic frozen dinners.
* My boss wants me to write a prototype for a regular column, which is great and all, except that having it assigned sort of stifles the creative urge. I'm an artist, after all. I realize I essentially write columns here all the time, but I don't know if I can appeal to both the twentysomethings and the thirtysomethings and I'm not sure why I asked to do it anyway, because all I can write about is my own ridiculousness and while there's no shortage of that, I'm not sure it's relatable.
* Last week I was shooting beauty products for my style page in a makeshift studio (actually two large pieces of foamboard, one of which I accidentally put my heel through) that I set up behind my desk. I stretched out on my tummy to get detailed shots, then started to get up. The problem was, I couldn't.
My lightning-fast brain raced and I realized that I had wedged my shoe under my rolling chair and I was now stuck. Furthermore, I was in a position that made it impossible for me to roll over and lift the chair or to get on my hands and knees and kick the chair off. Instead, I flopped around like a trout, cackling at my predicament.
Finally, CK got up from his desk to get a stack of pages to proof and stopped short, staring at me in wonder. "Are you - are you stuck?"
I flailed, laughing hysterically.
"Are you stuck under your chair?"
Laugh, snort, snort, nod.
He just leaned against the wall to watch the show.
If I had been in the wilderness and the chair had been a log, I would've had to chew my foot off.
At last, my one true friend got up and lifted the chair so I could get free. I really don't know how I manage to walk upright.
* One nice thing about being an adult is that I can eat a hot fudge sundae for dinner and no one can tell me no.
* One bad thing about being an adult is that I can eat a hot fudge sundae for dinner and no one can tell me no.
* What if I lose the weight I want to and it turns out I really don't have a pretty face?
* That's the most backhanded, bitchy "compliment" anybody can get. "You have such a pretty face." That's like getting the home edition of the game when the other players walk off with trips and Rolexes. The next time somebody tells me I have a pretty face without following it up by pointing out my amazing rack or shapely legs, I'm going to put my big ring on my right hand and punch them right in the eye.
* Unless, of course, the pretty face thing is legit and doesn't have the unspoken "...too bad you're fat" part. I mean, because I do. I think.
* I hate that the older I get, the less credible I am when it comes to the UFO documentaries and conspiracy theories I once loved. I still watch them, but I scoff a lot more. Not that I ever entirely believed any of it, I just had an easier time suspending my disbelief when I was younger. I still totally buy Mothman, though. He's out there.
* I think it's fascinating that the porn spam that clogs my inbox seems to go in cycles. For a while there, it was all about the ass. Butt sex! See Sindee taste her own rear! Hot beginners take it in the a$$! and so forth. Then it was MILF MANIA! Then nude celebrities, then hot college virgins getting banged for the 1st time!!!!, then first timers giving BJs, then back to the MILFs. Perfectly aged, says the spam. Eww.
To be frank, I'm less bothered by the subject matter than I am by the atrocious spelling and the excessive exclamation! points! Which I recently discovered I hate! Because they tend to make the writer look like an overly excited 15-year-old!!!!!!!!!!!!! Moderation please!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
* I'm deeply, serious, dangerously addicted to Amy's Organic frozen dinners.