(no subject)
I hate when I stick my foot in my mouth and make an idiot of myself in front of my friends. I was talking to Heather and Jen about how Steve & Barry's is closing, so I went to the mall this weekend to stock up on some things because they are the only place I'll buy clothes from. Here is a transcript:
Me: Things are already fairly picked over. I went to get some jeans, and apparently life now starts at size 34. Well I'm sorry, fatty fats! I can't wear a 34! Unless I want my ankles to be the only part of me covered. I hate society catering to fatties.
Heather: ...I wear a 38.
Me (internally): GOD FUCKING DAMN IT. Wait! She's a girl! Maybe she means girl sizes! Thirty-eight might be smaller there! Say so!
Me: A 38 in men's? No, I meant men's.
Heather: Me, too. I wear a 38 in men's clothes.
Me (internally): JESUS FUCK CHRIST SHIT. STOP TALKING. NOTHING CAN HELP NOW. ABORT.
Me: No! What? No! That can't...No! I don't believe that....there's no way. No! No! That's not even possible! I wear a 30! You can't be a 38! Not even...no!
Me (internally): This is the opposite of stop talking.
I had a fairly productive-ish Labor Day! I cleaned my apartment. Dust-wiping and vacuuming! Dishes! Re-organizing. lots of re-organizing. I bought my dad a laundry basket to put his dirty clothes in, and hide them next to the couch. We really need a bigger living space. It's cramped, and I feel vaguely hindered by it and depressed that I live in a two-bedroom apartment with my dad, but at the same time, I would not trade it in ever.
My dad and I lost so much time together in my life, and I am really grateful every day that we managed to remedy things in the last few years. He's absolutely my best friend now. He gets on my nerves sometimes by talking to me when I want to write or be left alone, and the smoking is a godawful pain in my neck, but he's a lot of fun, and I'm really glad he and I got to recoup the years together. We never spent much time together growing up. I'd see him every other weekend or so in my early early teens (like, 10-14 or so), but that was really it. I'm really proud of everything he's been through and how he got where he is today.
And I love kicking his ass at Dragon Ball Z Budokai 3.
I feel that I don't express that enough, and that sometimes I am not...I dunno...nice enough. He's so fun and cheerful and silly usually, and I'm so emo and lonerly (I made that up. Also, Firefox says Emo isn't a word. ILU, Firefox, for that). I usually just want to be left alone and barely acknowledge when he asks if the squirrels are hopping around outside. I keep meaning to work on that, but he never seems to mind. I just need to quit being such a mopey brat these days. I've been really bad about it.
Speaking of all this, I need to go amuse him by watching ECW with him. I was GOING to talk about my Labor Day here, but I got sidetracked.
My dad is such my favorite person ever.
Me: Things are already fairly picked over. I went to get some jeans, and apparently life now starts at size 34. Well I'm sorry, fatty fats! I can't wear a 34! Unless I want my ankles to be the only part of me covered. I hate society catering to fatties.
Heather: ...I wear a 38.
Me (internally): GOD FUCKING DAMN IT. Wait! She's a girl! Maybe she means girl sizes! Thirty-eight might be smaller there! Say so!
Me: A 38 in men's? No, I meant men's.
Heather: Me, too. I wear a 38 in men's clothes.
Me (internally): JESUS FUCK CHRIST SHIT. STOP TALKING. NOTHING CAN HELP NOW. ABORT.
Me: No! What? No! That can't...No! I don't believe that....there's no way. No! No! That's not even possible! I wear a 30! You can't be a 38! Not even...no!
Me (internally): This is the opposite of stop talking.
I had a fairly productive-ish Labor Day! I cleaned my apartment. Dust-wiping and vacuuming! Dishes! Re-organizing. lots of re-organizing. I bought my dad a laundry basket to put his dirty clothes in, and hide them next to the couch. We really need a bigger living space. It's cramped, and I feel vaguely hindered by it and depressed that I live in a two-bedroom apartment with my dad, but at the same time, I would not trade it in ever.
My dad and I lost so much time together in my life, and I am really grateful every day that we managed to remedy things in the last few years. He's absolutely my best friend now. He gets on my nerves sometimes by talking to me when I want to write or be left alone, and the smoking is a godawful pain in my neck, but he's a lot of fun, and I'm really glad he and I got to recoup the years together. We never spent much time together growing up. I'd see him every other weekend or so in my early early teens (like, 10-14 or so), but that was really it. I'm really proud of everything he's been through and how he got where he is today.
And I love kicking his ass at Dragon Ball Z Budokai 3.
I feel that I don't express that enough, and that sometimes I am not...I dunno...nice enough. He's so fun and cheerful and silly usually, and I'm so emo and lonerly (I made that up. Also, Firefox says Emo isn't a word. ILU, Firefox, for that). I usually just want to be left alone and barely acknowledge when he asks if the squirrels are hopping around outside. I keep meaning to work on that, but he never seems to mind. I just need to quit being such a mopey brat these days. I've been really bad about it.
Speaking of all this, I need to go amuse him by watching ECW with him. I was GOING to talk about my Labor Day here, but I got sidetracked.
My dad is such my favorite person ever.