The food pyramid lacks a level for Coca-Cola. Weird.
Katrina completely ruined any chance I had of getting a tan today. What an attention-grubbing b**ch!
Last Wednesday, I spent more time getting ready for the Archbishop's Mass than I ever have getting ready for a date. I suspect there's something horribly wrong with that.
I have to take the GRE. I have to ask for letters of recommendation. I have to apply to grad school. Before I am able to do any of these things, I have to do at least a little growing up. What I WANT to do?--TP a house, kinda. That's something I never did in my heyday.
This weekend lacked the sleepfest I desired. Friday J, Kelly and I went to see "The 40 Year Old Virgin" (which we ceremoniously dubbed "Michelle in 18 Years"), which was unexpectedly poignant; J and I followed it up with "The Brothers Grimm," which unexpectedly blew. (Also on to-do list: start talking like a f**king lady.) I trode home alone, got an invitation to a party, almost went with Kelly, and ran into some of Leslie Smith's friends who are living two doors down. We returned home--weird, home. Hrm. Let's not play with that one--where we and Jason discussed politics, video games and 'the deed' until 2:30 in the morning.
...because you aren't me, that information probably strikes you as very bland. Let me assure you, it was much more random and surprising than you know. You just can't know, you know?
(What I know, from context, is that I need to stop typing, and very soon. The N. Sparks is coming out!)
What I would most like to have in my room right now: the CDs that come with the "Poetry Speaks" book, which include recordings of Walt Whitman reading excerpts from "Leaves of Grass." (Big swoon.) What is readily available in my room: the sponge that fell in the toilet before I flushed. (Cleaning will never be the same.)
Last Wednesday, I spent more time getting ready for the Archbishop's Mass than I ever have getting ready for a date. I suspect there's something horribly wrong with that.
I have to take the GRE. I have to ask for letters of recommendation. I have to apply to grad school. Before I am able to do any of these things, I have to do at least a little growing up. What I WANT to do?--TP a house, kinda. That's something I never did in my heyday.
This weekend lacked the sleepfest I desired. Friday J, Kelly and I went to see "The 40 Year Old Virgin" (which we ceremoniously dubbed "Michelle in 18 Years"), which was unexpectedly poignant; J and I followed it up with "The Brothers Grimm," which unexpectedly blew. (Also on to-do list: start talking like a f**king lady.) I trode home alone, got an invitation to a party, almost went with Kelly, and ran into some of Leslie Smith's friends who are living two doors down. We returned home--weird, home. Hrm. Let's not play with that one--where we and Jason discussed politics, video games and 'the deed' until 2:30 in the morning.
...because you aren't me, that information probably strikes you as very bland. Let me assure you, it was much more random and surprising than you know. You just can't know, you know?
(What I know, from context, is that I need to stop typing, and very soon. The N. Sparks is coming out!)
What I would most like to have in my room right now: the CDs that come with the "Poetry Speaks" book, which include recordings of Walt Whitman reading excerpts from "Leaves of Grass." (Big swoon.) What is readily available in my room: the sponge that fell in the toilet before I flushed. (Cleaning will never be the same.)