Seriously. I like cutesy kitschy crap. I still give in to the urge to buy My Little Ponies once every few years.
And every time, I find myself bullshitting some tale about yes, yes, I totes have a little girl just waiting out in the car with Daddy while I pick up a few things, because the last time I said, "No, I'm buying this for me," I got SO MANY disgusted/perplexed looks from the cashier and other folks in line it was incredibly unnerving. (GEEZ, I'M SORRY MY UTERUS IS BEING SUBVERTED FROM ITS ORIGINAL BIOLOGICAL PURPOSE, MMK? But you wouldn't want to leave a kid in my care anywaySame for the BF when he saw some itty bitty clips that would look cutesy on the dogs. Wound up BSing about having a four year old named Esmeralda
( ... )
I know! Hence my complete not-caring-ness when buying anything else. Like Ursula, it's this ONE THING that really bothers me. I try always to be pleasant to whoever is at the till. I can't even imagine the crap you must have to put up with at such a job.
Interestingly, I've had to deal with far more abuse as phone-in tech support than I ever did as a till monkey. 'Course, most folk are less inclined to lip off to a nigh 300 pound hairy gorilla when they are within arm's reach of him. ;)
Meh, latch-hook's ok as long as you do your own thing with it. (For several years I either got that, bath soap or bibles from a couple of relatives. Believe me, after a while I really started looking forward to the latch-hook.) I never followed the patterns and started making my own. One of which I made and ended up burying before my dad had me committed or something.
But my whole point in commenting was to really say that I could never imagine you as a scrap-booking soccer mom. On the other hand I can imagine you kicking a scrap-booking soccer mom's ass. Maybe not one of those deb-cheerleader mom's though. Those are some vicious...people right there.
Cujo ripping off...well, it was supposed to be an arm. I won't mention who's arm but it was supposed to be an arm.
It just really didn't look like an arm.
Did I mention I was like 10?
I also did one that was based off of the tell-tale heart but since I didn't know what an actual heart looked like at the time I managed to keep that. (I got into the anatomy books about six months later and ended up yelling out dammit. And got my mouth washed out and my butt blistered. I was possibly a very disturbing child.)
You sound normal to me. I've loved A&P and human medicine since I was old enough to drool over the anatomy transparencies in the World Book.
I made my own Red Death costume for Halloween when I was 8. A big chunk of fake skin plopped into my best friend's little brother's candy bag, and Mom made me take all the makeup off when he screamed. I still has a sad.
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Seriously. I like cutesy kitschy crap. I still give in to the urge to buy My Little Ponies once every few years.
And every time, I find myself bullshitting some tale about yes, yes, I totes have a little girl just waiting out in the car with Daddy while I pick up a few things, because the last time I said, "No, I'm buying this for me," I got SO MANY disgusted/perplexed looks from the cashier and other folks in line it was incredibly unnerving. (GEEZ, I'M SORRY MY UTERUS IS BEING SUBVERTED FROM ITS ORIGINAL BIOLOGICAL PURPOSE, MMK? But you wouldn't want to leave a kid in my care anywaySame for the BF when he saw some itty bitty clips that would look cutesy on the dogs. Wound up BSing about having a four year old named Esmeralda ( ... )
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No, really.
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But my whole point in commenting was to really say that I could never imagine you as a scrap-booking soccer mom. On the other hand I can imagine you kicking a scrap-booking soccer mom's ass. Maybe not one of those deb-cheerleader mom's though. Those are some vicious...people right there.
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I am now immensely curious.
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It just really didn't look like an arm.
Did I mention I was like 10?
I also did one that was based off of the tell-tale heart but since I didn't know what an actual heart looked like at the time I managed to keep that. (I got into the anatomy books about six months later and ended up yelling out dammit. And got my mouth washed out and my butt blistered. I was possibly a very disturbing child.)
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I made my own Red Death costume for Halloween when I was 8. A big chunk of fake skin plopped into my best friend's little brother's candy bag, and Mom made me take all the makeup off when he screamed. I still has a sad.
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