an open letter to

Dear "Real Teacher",

Hello, it's me, "The Substitute". No, we've never actually met, but I've heard a lot about you and I have played with everything in the top drawer of your desk. I've also learned that the password to your computer isn't "worksucks", "iamsobored", "happyhour", "nsync" or "ilikecats". Honestly, the first four were more about me than about you, but I was really shocked that the one about cats didn't work. I'm going to keep trying to crack it though, because you didn't leave me any lesson plans and I dismissed the kids shortly after taking attendance, but I don't get paid unless I stay until 3.

You're an asshole, "Real Teacher".

Sincerely,
Your Sub

i have so many posts to...well, post

but no desire to write them out.


every day is a wfi for me since i began substitute teaching.

basically, kevin, you were right.

if only i had a copy of the note i left the kindergarten teacher of the class i subbed for on halloween... i believe it read something like this:

"re: your lesson plans; non functional. no one listens to me. i don't know why because i'm bigger than they are. i will never come back. ps, holy cow."

Halloween '08

vietnamese friend:
i will be a graduated cylinder at some point in my life
i swear it
i would wear a cylinder with a graduation cap
tell me that is not the most genius idea ever

whiitethrash:
oh wow
yeah
also
you found a way to make halloween
not fun

a conversation with Rose via text message

Rose: Hi stinkie. My 5th grade teacher just asked to be my friend on facebook. what the F U C K

Lewis: HAHAHA who???

R: Miss Smith!! Or...Linda. Whatever.

L: Oh man, so random.

R: Yeah. A part of me just died inside.

L: Well maybe it's a nice thing?? You were a special favorite!

R: She only has ten friends that include [classmate], [classmate], [classmate], [classmate] and me.

L: Oh, god. I love this.

OMG!

Sandra Bullock movie weekend on ABC family!!!

letters of rec update

i got my letter of rec from professor x.

the letter included a sentence along the lines of "i recommend Lewis for the position of substitute teacher", and then some typos.

i replied with:

dear x

typos? oh, and thanks for the inclusion of the words "substitute teacher" so that i can't use this to apply for any other "credible" positions.

-s

WFI - Dad the Lawyer

My dad got a speeding ticket on his way back from the casino the other night.

He is going to fight it because he thinks it was malicious. And because he has a radar detector in his car and it didn't go off, so he believes the officer is making everything up.

I am siding with the officer.

Anyway, my dad has been buying law books. Law dictionaries, law for dummies, and, the book he is most wild about, some piece of shit by Alan Dershowitz.

He doesn't read the books though. They just sit on the table.

Oh well.

So I asked a professor for a letter of rec...

Either way though, she agreed to write it for me. Especially after I reminded her that I wasn't applying for a TEACHING position, but rather a SUBSTITUTE teaching position.

"Oh, well you're totally good at wielding power!" She said.

New Summer Games

whiitethrash
the othe rday we were so bored
sarah wanted to play the benadryl game
where we each take a benedryl and see who can stay awake the longest
hahaha
i said no.

jenni
hahaha
oh shit that sounds like my friend
but it's the nyquil game
and she plays it every day, by herself

house sitting.

On July 5th, my parents took off for Florida. A relative had died recently and my mom was the lucky one put in charge of doing all sorts of estate things; shipping furniture, renting out the apartment, selling the car etc. "10 days!" They told me. "Ten days and we'll be back!"


Well, it is now July 26th. And they are not home. Do you see that empty spot on the couch? That has been my life for the last 21 days. Me and those guys. Just us. 21 days. And counting.


There is no WFI here. I am not allergic to dogs.

Having a good summer.

gemath y: just watched asian porn
gemath y: thought of you
gemath y: hope you're having a good summer

vietnamese babies.

Vietnamesefriend:
im an aunt!
for some reason i really dont like the word aunt
it sounds too much like an old antique that sits in the attic

whiitethrash:
what's her name?
tha?
the?
tho?

Vietnamesefriend:
grace

whiitethrash:
thy?
oh.
hahaha
how racist of me!


Vietnamesefriend:
asshole

whiitethrash:
i take it all back!


Vietnamesefriend:
my dads name is tho
asshole

whiitethrash:
i dont know about you
but i'm laughing pretty hard over here.

Miss America 2009

Here I come!

friend says wha?

whiitethrash
you know about nathan right?
my friend nathan?
he's like my male sarah
i never understand
and i have never understood
a damn fucking word that comes out of his mouth on the telephone.
so when we make plans
i'm never positive what they are
or if i am picking him up
or if he is picking me up
or if it's something i even want to do
or is even legal!
i just kinda go over to his house and hit the bong.

gemath y:
and?

whiitethrash
well, to buy time
until i hear what the next move is
and then i usually say i dont want to do that
and he is always like, but you just said you would
and i have no idea, obviously.
i am telling you this because i just ignored his phone call
because i dont want any surprises tonight.

suicide note.

gemath y
aw
my cat just ran up
swatted me on my feet
and then ran and hid under the bed
then poked her head around the corner of the room and slowly tip toed to the hallway
and then took off running
it was hilarious
actually.
this is sad
I am telling cat stories.
if I kill myself today
this conversation should be considered my note.
whiite thrash
hahaha
...wfi!

a bad egg. a very, very bad egg.

Dear Kevin,

RE: Your wall post on my Facebook

It was a BFI overall. However my response was a WFI, as it has left me regretful. You know that Seinfeld episode where George comes up with the "jerk store" comeback long after the insult, and then tries to recreate an opportunity to use it? It's like that. I would love to get fired all over again.

See, I have been working for this restaurant (a chain throughout Arizona) since the first week in January. I always preferred serving breakfast and lunch as opposed to dinner or cocktailing because I would rather go to work at 5am and be done at 2, then go to work at 4 and be done at 11. Or whatever. I like getting up early, and even more than that, I absolutely love having an excuse as to why I can't go out at night. You see, "Oh, I'd love to but I have to be up at 4 for work tomorrow! Oh shoot!" is not only easier [read: less embarrassing] to say to your alcoholic friends, but they also mock you less than with other truths made up excuses like, "Oh I'm not a big drinker...", or "But there's a Degrassi marathon on tonight!", or, the worst, "But they're rerunning Lisa Ling produced documentaries on PBS all evening! You remember Lisa Ling, right? She used to be on The View, that show with Barbara Walters and all those kooky women! I mean, I totally hate Elisabeth as much as the next Liberal Jew, but Rosie really brought that show alive, and I'm a huge Whoopi fan. No, I know neither of them were on the show when Lisa was but still - no thanks, I don't drink, but that's nice of you to offer. No, really, I'm driving anyway. What? You don't even know my mom. Okay, I mean, just one. Is this a double? What does that even mean - oh it doesn't have more alcohol? Are you sure? Really? Okay...But just this one..."... So, when I moved from Tempe back to Tucson to live with my parents - which is a whole separate WFI for another day - I decided to try my hand at transferring from the Scottsdale location to one of three Tucson locations.

I loved where I worked in Scottsdale. Not only was everyone awesome in their own way, but everyone there knew how important their job was: not at all important!!! The restaurant was a transition place for these servers; people were working there in order to get somewhere else. Saving up to travel, paying for college, buying pot (important!), opening up a private practice, etc. etc. etc. They didn't live to be waiters, they waited to live!!!!! ...Not to mention I was well respected and appreciated and people laughed at my jokes there... But this Tucson location! Oh Tucson! With your recovering meth addicts, ex cons, strippers, and community college drop outs. I mean, not that I hold anything against people who are recovering addicts - I mean, good for you! Awesome! Ex cons getting their life back in order? Great! High schoolers - hey, make money money! But...zero aspirations?? Shit! With the exception of a few servers, barely anyone talked to me and when they did they were telling me what I was doing wrong and how I needed to "smile more, SERIOUSLY, IT'S A BIG DEAL", or "walk faster or you'll never make it in this business!" or "blahblahblahstupidblah". Give me a fucking break... I used the wrong size kids cup once and had a serious talking to - that began with "what the hell are you doing!!?" - in the kitchen about it. This place was a nightmare. And I was planning to quit in a couple days anyway.

But the incident! I knew something was wrong when the
manager, a big man with a goatee who looked like he should be running a nightclub and not a family breakfast restaurant, was standing outside talking to one of my customers as they were leaving. Customers that left a shitty tip... I had no idea what the problem could be though. This man had been on my back constantly for my "lack of smiling", so I figured maybe she said something about that. [The irony behind that is that I would often go up to my table and joke around about how the manager doesn't think I smile enough and warn them about how if I looked crazy it was his fault! It was a home run of a joke!] Turns out, that wasn't the problem...

What this bitch of a lady harpie was saying was that she heard me tell another table that the restaurant was a "Shit hole" and how I couldn't wait to get out of there.


WOAH WOAH WOAH. Is that lady a mind reader or WHAT!!1 But seriously...


Why would I say that to a table??? Why wouldn't the table I said that to tell the manager?? This lady is just a tattle tale! But even worse, she is a maker-upper of things to tattle!!

I was taken out to the back parking lot where the manager proceeded to cuss at me and pull the little man's complex on me. "THIS IS MY FUCKING RESTAURANT HOW DARE YOU FUCKING SAY THAT. BLAHBLAH CURSING CURSING I AM UGLY BLAHBLAH TALK DOWN TO YOU TALK DOWN TO YOU. I CAN FIRE YOUR ASS WHENEVER. I OWN YOU BLAHBLAH." And all I could say back was... "But I didn't say that?!" or... "Yeah but still, I didn't say that?!" Seriously, with the inflection of a question. It was just such a ridiculous accusation. This woman had no reason to lie, he kept telling me. And I kept telling him that maybe she wasn't lying, but she definitely misheard me, or misread my lips or something because that is just out of the question! He didn't care. My argument about how I don't even use the word "shit hole" didn't go over well either. Which is true! But the REAL truth was that I was talking to an Indian guy I knew in high school who randomly came in and his name, seriously, from afar, when coming out of one's mouth, could be confused for the words "shit" and "hole"! I AM NOT KIDDING.

I should have walked out right there. That is what I regret the most. I should have called him a fucking loser, told him his restaurant was a shit hole, and gone home right there; after all we were in the rear parking lot. My car was twenty feet away. But I thought that that would all look quite silly when I had to walk back to restaurant and go inside to the front register to get my keys. And then come back a couple hours later at 2pm to get my paycheck. Things just didn't work in my favor in that regard. Then after I went back inside and WENT BACK TO WORK I thought...why am I not throwing a fit? I should have yelled at that man, gone back inside and made sure he was scolding me in front of customers. Or perhaps said something to which he would respond with "YOU'RE FIRED GET OUT NOW" and then gone back to a table, and told them that I had just been fired for saying something I didn't say, and point at the manager, who would inevitably be watching me with fiery eyes, and let them know that he had just cussed me out and yelled at me for something I didn't even do and that I was sorry I wouldn't finish up taking care of them and to please tip their server! That would have stuck it to the man! "See that guy? With the bad earrings and spiky hair?? He just fired me cuz some old harpie told him I called this place a shit hole! Can you believe that? A SHIT HOLE. Hey, also, he used to be in prison for dealing firearms and drugs! FUCKING GUNS AND DRUGS. SHIT HOLE SHIT HOLE!"

But I didn't. And I'm left wishing for one more shot at the establishment. At that man. It would have made a much bigger statement than the "no call no show" I pulled over the weekend.

So, the BFI = I don't ever have to go back. The WFI = I didn't stand up for myself and I let a man get away with treating me like shit.

But at least I have my paycheck. [And I didn't declare my tips for that day...!]


Job hunting soon omg byob bbq bff lolz!!111!!!!,

Lewis

WFI: hotlinking!

I've been riding my bike.

For two weeks, I've taken the Southwest Corridor to work. I really like riding my bike and all the fears I had surrounding riding in the city are gone. It takes between 15 and 20 minutes to get to work, which is much faster than the train. On very hot days, riding is a cool breeze. At night, it keeps me from the temptation of taking a cab home. So, riding my bike: BFI.

I've gotten so used to the speed of getting around. A ten minute walk takes 2 or 3 minutes on the bike. So, after my 8 am doctor's appointment (you can guess the kind...) and trying to fit 40 minutes of cardio intensity into 30 minutes at the gym, I got ready like lightning and hopped on my bike like the wind. I always follow traffic laws. I haven't done a lot of research on biking rules or anything, but when in doubt, I always imagine I am a car and think, WWJD? If he was driving a car, that is. But on Thursday, I was running late to work.

Consider this map for a moment: MAP See where it says Newbury St? Find Berkeley St. Now Find Commonwealth Ave.

So, I ALWAYS ride down Berkeley (a one-way), take a right on Comm Ave, and another right onto Arlington (a one-way), so I can get onto the sidewalk in front of the former Ritz, which is now The Taj, and park my bike in front of work. This is the way Jesus driving a car would go. But you know, I notice a lot of people riding up Newbury St. the wrong way as a short cut. I know this is wrong. I know. But, A LOT of people do it. Every day, a lot of people break the law and I see them and they look like nice, happy people. So, the day I was going to be late to work, I decided, I would be less like Jesus and more like nice, happy people and go the wrong way up Newbury St, a one-way street. This is where the BFI becomes the WFI.

After about two car lengths of breaking the law, a woman I'd guess is in her early 40's, stepped out from between two cars to cross the street and just so happened to be right in front of me. I screamed, "WHOA" and swerved to miss her. Due to her inaction, we collided and I fell directly on my knee and ankle, ripping my jeans, scraping my knee, and spraining my ankle. When I looked over, she was on the ground as well. Before I could say, "Are you ok?" she started yelling at me. "Just WHAT were YOU doing riding the WRONG way down a ONE WAY street?!!?" I just stared at her, shocked, and said, "What were you doing not in a crosswalk." She didn't say anything. I noticed the rip in my jeans and the blood as I got up. I said, "We are both wrong. Leave it at that. I'm sorry. I have to go to work now." And started walking off in a daze. She followed me yelling YOU SHOULD GET A TICKET!!! In an unusual coincidence, there happened to be a motorcade of state troopers on the block at that moment. A mustachioed, aviator wearing cliche of a trooper walked up to me and asked if a car hit me. I said no, a lady walked in front of me and I fell. He seemed satisfied with that until whatshername huffed and puffed her way over and said to him, "She was going the wrong way down a one way street!!! I think she should get a ticket!" She was seeking justice, that's for sure, straight from the law enforcement themselves. The officer looked at me, the bike, me again and back at her and shrugged, "It's not a very fast bike." "Don't you think she should get a ticket?!" Then he snapped into action, "You know. You're not supposed to do that, you know. It's not a fast bike and you're not a messenger, but if you were going fast, you could really hurt someone." "Oh, I know. I'm sorry." "Don't you think she should get a ticket?!" The woman wouldn't let it go. He just looked at her and deadpanned, "Are you alright." It was not as lost on me as it was on her. She began to answer with her voice all quivery, "Oh, I'm fine. I'm a little shooken up is all. I'll feel this tomorrow." To which the officer answered with a, "Wellp." And we all walked away from each other.

So, I ruined her day by doing something I wasn't supposed to do. She ruined my day by doing the same. We were even. It was all pretty shitty though. Especially the swelling and bruises on my foot and the oozing road rash on my knee. My friend couldn't come get me from work cause his car was broken. Waiting for a minivan cab took an hour and a half and cost me five extra dollars. Nothing good came from being less like Jesus.

Halfway through my first client, I realized I also lost my phone in the ordeal. So, goodbye all those phone numbers I had but rarely used! I'm currently trying to track down the person who found it and is calling a bunch of people. They can keep the phone. I just want my numbers. Seems like the person who found it has a lot of spanish speaking friends, so my guess is one of the construction workers at Brooks Brothers found it since it happened right out front. Or maybe I left it at the gym and the cleaning ladies found it and don't want to return it. Either way, I feel disconnected and as if time does not exist. In other words, lonely.

To take care of any bad karma accrued because of the incident, I have decided to be a monthly donor to Greenpeace. Perhaps stopping to talk to those crazy solicitors on the corners of Starbucks is going to bite me in my butt, but at least I'll help save some indigenous people of the forests up in Canada from having their land clear cut by Kimberly Clark. Perhaps it's another WFI. We'll see how long it lasts.

So, anyway. I haven't been riding my bike anymore.

but mandy moore IS pretty!!!!

sarah: my dad doesn't think mandy moore is pretty.
me: so?
sarah: my dad thinks I'M pretty!!! what does that say!!!!

i graduated from college and all i got was this lousy trip...

So Jackie has decided to attend a university in Georgia for grad school. And, since I plan on continuing my role as "Jackie's best friend" well into the future, this is absolutely not my first grad school pick for her because now I'll obviously be making semi annual trips to...ATHENS GEORGIA!!!!... instead of, say, San Francisco or Boston, or Austin, or New York City, or god forbid, New Jersey and basically anywhere else (although I guess I'm glad she decided against that school in wisconsin, eh eh eh??).

Jackie's initial invite out to GA involved saying something along the lines of, "my parents want to know if you will come out and help me interview roommates when I move into my house" which in Jackie language means, "I don't know how to make friends. Will you please come make them for me??" And you know what? I will admit, this makes me a little nervous because not only I have had a constant revolving door of shitty friends during my own life that I have chosen for myself throughout the years, but when it comes to my very best friends and THEIR friends/boyfriends/pets* I turn into some crazy jealous beast wreck of a friend. Like woah. So I mean, obviously I will only be making friends with huge losers and people who she cannot possibly like, respect or appreciate more than she does me. LET'S BE REASONABLE, PEOPLE. (*just kidding about the pets...but the rest = HONESTY)

Now, the only really nerve wracking part of all this is that when I asked her how long I should plan to stay with her she said, "as long as you want!". Yeesh. And although I know what the correct response ISN'T - and what the WFI is (srsly? i'll stay forever! i'm clingy and you're my best friend and i never want you to become less dependent on me because i will not become any less dependent on you!!! text me pls!!!!) I don't think I know what the correct response IS and what isn't a possible WFI (staying TOO long or not staying long enough!). This decision could ruin everything!!! And I'm still working that part out. The dates wouldn't even be that important except that... When I'm done at Jackie's I'm heading out to Boston to visit Gem!! And she absolutely wants me in Boston on September 4th to attend the greatest dance party in the history of Jamaica Plain.


whiite thrash: I' ll have nothing to wear!
gemath y: I like to wear jeans and flip flops with a tshirt that I've probably worn and slept in for 3 days
gemath y: can you pull off something like that
whiite thrash: thats ALL i can pull off.


That is the WFI you will have to wait for.

reason why i hate myspace #865:

like tom selleck, but different!

The Great Jalapeno Disaster of '08.

Friday night, I came home fired up to clean the kitchen. First, though, I wanted to eat something, but man, if I got into cooking, I'd get all sidetracked and lazy and not do a damn thing. The only solution was to eat Mary's half mini bag of jalapeño and cheddar chips.

They were good. Too spicy for me to purchase on my own, but a fun taste excursion nonetheless. I washed it down with some diet pepsi I keep at my house for when my mom visits. No one reading this knows my food habits, but chips and soda are the least likely things for me to eat, like, ever. Unless there's alcohol involved. That's just how I get down.

So, maybe it's the white trash thing to do or my chip eating inexperience, but there were those bits of chip shrapnel at the bottom of the bag and the only logical thing was to pull at the bag to create a nice crease so as to create a virtual chute to pour chip crumbs directly into my mouth, eliminating the need for a middle man/hand usage. After this, I'd get right down to cleaning the kitchen.

However. When pouring the chips into my mouth like a lazy, overweight, starved lonely, single white girl child, a jalapeño laden particle ambushed my poor left eye. In a panic, I began blinking because I knew the searing pain that was about to take place. Immediately after the realization that jalapeño oil was about to burn my eyeball, it did, in fact begin burning.

There are times in my life when imaginary life-threatening events take place and I am wracked with anxiety over how I will handle myself in those situations. Walking home at nighttime, for instance. Riding the train. Dreams. Will I be able to fend off a mugger? Is someone on the train planning to rape and murder me when we get off at the same stop? Would I actually RSVP yes to Pete Wentz and Ashlee Simpson's wedding*? But who knows what life actions to take to prepare oneself for pouring jalapeño chips into one's own eye?

My first action was to turn on the sink and begin throwing water at my face, blinking all the while. This helped, but with every blink, I was reminded of my contact floating around in there, jalapeño chip bit trapped underneath. Thoughts of corneal abrasions, blindness, the possible admission to whatever eye professional that I have been wearing this same pair of contacts for months...a year? longer? I don't know!!!!...began exploding in my brain. I rinsed my greasy fingers underwater and made the executive decision that soap wasn't necessary. Pshhhh, water cleans oil all the time. :rolleyes: I jabbed at my eye and fished my contact out of the water/mascara/jalapeño abyss my eye had become only to experience a second round of more intense burning. With my contact safely on a paper towel, drying to a crisp, I grabbed a small glass, filled it with water, held it to my eye, and threw my head back with all the finesse of a 20 year old on spring break doing tequila shot #10.

Oh sweet relief. My relationship with water has always been a loving, successful, and supportive friendship. Never before Friday had I needed water so much and never before then had it come through so valiantly.

With one swollen, bloodshot eye and a drippy nose, my first thought in the moment's respite following the entire ordeal: I'VE GOTTA GET PICTURES OF THIS. Battery's dead. Where's my charger? Call Mary! Use hers! Head-related injuries must cause rampant nonsensically frantic behavior.




Photo shoot over and done with, I vow to never eat those chips again. And to also close my eyes when I'm too lazy to use my hands to eat.


*The life-threatening aspect here being my eventual suicide from perpetual nausea and/or sheer embarrassment.

A short message of advice.

Do not, for a moment, think that anything involving dairy will make you feel better after eating something greasy that has made you feel ill.

Last week: french toast, frites, mimosa breakfast illness followed by m&ms (a pretzel) and some ice cream.

This week: chicken ranchero quesadilla with extra picante illness followed by peanut butter and banana smoothie.

Fool me once, dairy, 12 hour sleep it off session. Fool me twice? Blog about it.

attribute specifics!!!!!! (that's an order!!)

whiitethrash: you must see lars and the real girl.

vietnamesefriend: my friend just saw it the other day and said it was terribly depressing

whiitethrash: no!! it was heartwarming!

whiitethrash: your friend is autistic!

dear everyone who drives a smart car,


you look like idiots and i haaaaaaaaaaaaaate you.!.!

my best,
Lewis

temporary tattoos!

ah, passover week! aka, my birthday week! an entire week! well, no, but passover began on the 19th of april, as did my venture into My 24th year. Yes, i turned 23. and yes, i randomly punctuated some of those Letters. my mom demanded that i drive two hours down to my parents' house for seder. and, after telling her how much i didn't want to do that and how much it would totally ruin my birthday plans (of which i actually had none...), i succumbed. i caved. i went. and i brought a shiksa named jacqueline.

mother said the whole family would be there! and the whole other family we "celebrate" with would be there! and my parents' best friend from college and his girlfriend, neither of which i had met, would be there, and my mom really really wanted the whole family to be together and for me to meet the friends!!! yay!!!

turns out, my brother didn't get off work (which means his totally awesome girlfriend, who is also my totally awesome friend wouldn't be in attendance), my creepy uncle chose to spend the evening by himself (no loss really, but i had been telling jackie how creepy he was and i think a part of me wanted her to experience the weirdness for herself, but alas, another time...), their daughter didn't get off work, and i have met her friend, paul, and his girlfriend, fran, NUMEROUS TIMES. a ton! A SHIT TON. a lot!

thusly, dinner was me, jackie, my parents, paul and fran, and lynn and cliff from the other family.

i am the only jew jackie, a product of private catholic schooling and a right wing family, knows. so, naturally, everything was a little awkward. but i introduced her to matzo ball soup and maneschewitz wine so all was well.

i wore short sleeves by the way. remember this?? my parents had yet to see it. i was hiding it very well. but on this night, which is unlike other nights (joke for all y'all jews out there!!), i wore short sleeves.

and i showed it to my parents.

"here is my tattoo!"

WTF!!!Q!!!@#$#$WERASSE#WS#@#%R$%#T^U

they were not happy!!! i thought they would sigh and roll their eyes and figure what's done is done, and it was my 23rd birthday so they can't tell me what to do I'M FUCKING TWENTY THREE BITCHES!!! and i had a guest with me - you can't have family arguments with a guest! (jackie is well aware that my timing was NO coincidence - but she also thinks my mom was pretty drunk and my dad has a tendency to forget absolutely everything so...you know, maybe it all wasn't/won't be SUCH a big deal??).

in a panic - or maybe, MAYBE, in a moment of brilliance [read: another WORST FUCKING IDEA] -

i told them it was a new form of temporary tattooing! and it would be off within TWO WEEKS.


did i mention i am moving back into my parents' house in SIX WEEKS.


oh goodness!!!!!!


lord help us all!!!


and yes - that is a real picture of my father!!!

For Example...

This post used to have a very long, terribly unfunny, overly personal story about poor communication among friends. And since the internet is not for talking about personal things, this post needed to be edited for content. Below you'll find the only good things about the previous form of the entry:




I was unhappy. So I wrote this brilliant gem of a txt: Thank you for inviting me out tonight. Unfortunately, I'm starring in a brand new hit tv show called Party Of One: The Lonely Years. Hope you can still have fun without me.

No response.

absolute truth.

i made this chart today to explain why text messaging has lessened the amount of face to face confrontation while at the same time increasing the amount of hostility in a relationship. truf.

then i posted it up to the bulletin board at work. the bulletin board is where everyone stands while they text message all the people they'd rather be with.

fortunately this little creative endeavor reminded me of this site. which has always been brilliant.

also, in the last few weeks i have spent about $50 on powerball tickets.

and i have won no money. but i think tonight is the night.

friend emily: i purposely tell my boss wrong names of people on hold

friend emily: so she looks stupid when she is like "hii laura its sue"

friend emily: and her name is like lisa

Being straight is so hard.

While Sasha was busy getting ripped off, I was busy getting ripped on.

Last night after seeing Penelope with KT and MLE, we went to Zuzu to see Ryan dj. Last time I saw Ryan at Zuzu, there was no one there. The following time, when I didn't go, the place was full and a lot of my friends went and didn't tell me they were going. To be fair to them, we're more the type of friends who just see each other out rather than invite each other out. Still. So, I imagined last night would be a melding of the two other times and going to Zuzu would be fun. However, there was only a few people there and it was a fairly awkward time all around. Ryan's friend Jake was there. I've met him a few times and he was nice and chatty, which I also thought was nice because I don't know him very well. He was nice until I realized he was mostly drunk and when he asked 'did you guys come all the way from JP?' he wasn't really interested in a conversation, but more looking for a ride home which he made more clear later on when I said 'everyone's leaving! must be curfew' and he said 'hey I'll stay as long as you give me a ride home' and proceeded to complain about how much a cab would cost, inflating the price about $10. Then Emily actually offered a ride home to everyone, which prevented some awkwardness as I think Jake had already assumed the ride. So we, Mary + Ryan + Jake + and me and Emily of course, get in to the car and Emily, iPod music director, puts me in charge of iPod playing duties for the ride home. At one point, I chose the Kryptonite Pussy song by Yo Majesty.

Ryan said: Hey Meghan, do you feel a connection with these girls cause they're lesbians?
I said: NO. WHY.
Ryan said:
Mary said (referencing a conversation earlier that day about what I would do in art school): Yeah, something something fiber arts lolz
I said:
Ryan said:
Emily said:
Jake said:

After playing a few more gay-centric songs (Missy!), Em dropped Jake home at the rest of us at our house and I txted Emily "Does Ryan really think I'm a lesbian?" and she said "Unclear, but it did sound like it." Today, I txted Mary, "So, does Ryan really think I'm a lesbian?" thinking she would know if he did or at least have told him the fiber arts story. She responded, "No. Why would you think that? Did he say something about it? If he did, I'm sure it was a joke." So, apparently Mary wasn't in the car. After a little back and forth, she doesn't have any ideas why he would think that so I don't think she told him the art school fiber arts story and that he decided on his own that I am gaygaygay.

Once again, Sasha and I have similar lives. Why does mine seem more embarrassing?

Dear Thugs,

Dear Thugs,

Yeah, you guys. You fucking, pieces of shit bitch guys. You dirty ass stupid kids who broke into my car last night while I was on the couch watching Amy Adams on SNL. You guys. You suck. Yeah, I know I left my car unlocked - but seriously - who the hell do you think you are walking up my LIGHTED driveway into my LIGHTED carport and rummaging through my smoking sexy 03 Honda Element?? And did you even hear my dog barking at you?? She is on to your scent now. You're just lucky that SNL suddenly decided to become funny again so that i was too busy to get off the couch and look out the window to check what she was barking at! So next time, because I'm pretty sure SNL will never be funny again - you better watch your backs because i have every intention of getting up and looking!

And I WILL catch you.
So now, let's discuss the things you took. Yeah, you took my ipod. But it's like, two years old. And a nano. So not only will all your thug friends that you try to sell it to think you're the biggest faggot in the world for having stealing a nano in the first place, but it's also valued around $25. In fact, the imported Best Of the Cardigans album that you overlooked on the dashboard was worth more than that nano. Actually, all my CDs that I had in the car were worth way more than that. And i'm a little offended that you weren't interested in them at all... And you took my old passport? Yeah, now you have my social security number - but i've already destroyed my credit so i don't think it will do you much good. And my car registration? i don't know what you're planning on doing with that, but i DO know that i'll have it replaced by tomorrow afternoon.

Although I applaud your decision to steal my caselogic zipper of cds, i will say that i am completely over that hip hop phase so i'm not even all that bummed out about it.

And lastly, just so you know, you missed out on the following:

•$180 in cash stuffed in a check presenter sitting in the center console
•dkny glasses, burberry sunglasses and christian dior sunglasses
•a really great mix cd i made in November before my disc drive broke on my laptop
•$4 in nickels and dimes in my cup holder

so....WHO SUCKS NOW??? HUH?!?!?!?! HUH?!?!?!?!


Fuck you!!!

-Sasha - but you knew that, because you have my passport.

2008: The Year of Lust LOVE!!!!

gemathy:
I've decided that I want to fall in love
and I think you should too
and that should be what we do this year
I guess that's a wfi already
isn't it

whiitethrash:
sooo...should i blog that or should you...

printmaking student association!

Although a printmaking major I am, I don't think I was ever OFFICIALLY a part of the Printmaking Student Association at my university, yet somehow I regularly attend meetings, participate in their annual show and print sale, and receive all their e-mails (read: Jackie is involved with the group, so I end up going to the meetings and tricked suckered into being part of the shows and sales!).


And sometimes Jackie volunteers for me things - like making posters for PSA events. This specific event revolving around t-shirts (because perpetuating the popular-yet-wrong idea that printmaking is just 'making shirts and stuff' is a fabulous idea...), it was dubbed the PSA "T-Party". Rather than bitch and complain* about her volunteering me to take part in an event that a) I don't care about, b) I think is a waste of time, and c) I don't even have the time for, I created the following masterpiece:




I didn't even get it approved by the people in charge of PSA and the event. Instead I just giggled at it and showed it to Jackie and e-mailed it to the higher-ups at 12:30 am. Jackie approves by the way.



But anyway, this poster is either the best idea ever - because kids on campus will be intrigued and excited about the possibilities of the T-Party!!! Or the worst fucking idea, because it is gross and perverted and PSA will realize I never actually paid my $10 member fee and can no longer participate in their print sales where I pocket 100% of my sales rather than splitting it 50/50 with the association!


Sigh.



*I actually did a lot of complaining about it. Duh.

curbing my cursing, or: things i still can't say to my best friend's face because she is too nice for that sort of thing

from a conversation i had ten minutes ago with roommate kirsten.

whiite thrash: i told jackie the story about [name withheld!]
whiite thrash: but i couldn't bring myself to say
whiite thrash: "titty fuck" in front of her
whiite thrash: so i just said he "blew a load on her face"...
whiite thrash: i'm not sure if that was any better.

Don't let mice sleep with your boyfriend.

So, we have mice. We have had mice, rather. It's been months and months. And we don't do anything about it cause...who cares? It's winter. Mice happen. We're not home mostly anyway and mice just want to eat and scurry all day long. I don't feel they have malicious ideas in mind. Despite threats of disease and plague, we wait. Plus they're tiny and cute.

But, when they are in my room I just hate it. The scratchy patter on the wood floors is like nails on a chalkboard. I entertain the thought that it's good I have so many clothes on my floor or else I'd never sleep. And now that most of the heavy objects near my bed (books, shoes) have been hurled across my room at faint noises behind my dresser and radiator, I've felt unprotected and nervous that they're gonna hang out on my bed while I sleep.

This became a reality. I think. I can't be sure, but I woke up a little while ago to rustling and couldn't pinpoint the exact location of the sound. I sleep with what I call my boyfriend (clothes and magazines, anything that somehow doesn't make it from the left side of the bed to where it actually belongs) and I am freaked out that it was nestling where I nestle!!

So, I've just had enough. I googled mousetraps and found some interesting ideas.

This one, in particular seems very easy, not to mention quite sneaky. Mice are never thinking about how, in a co-existing world, the humans never get to be sneaky back. I'm about to rectify this. Fight fire with fire, I guess. Only, in my version of Topple Bottle, there will be delicious poison at the bottom of the bottle. I've given this mouse everything: a warm home, nestling materials, vast spaces to scurry across, and most of all plenty of food. I just can't give it my bed, for reasons clear to most everyone else.

So, I fell asleep around 2:30am, woke around 4:40, and have been up since. First it was the mousetraps, then I youtubed, and settled in with American Idol auditions laughing out loud at this and this and this and this before crying over all the sad auditions. Some girl's dad died 2 days before the audition. This other girl was a meth addict. Oh wait, I laughed at that one.

Then I watched this Carrie Underwood video and CRIED.

But, oh, why stop there? Why don't I watch Connie Talbot?

Blame it on lack of sleep, I guess. Blame it on the mouse. I'm exhausted, emotional. Now, I'm going to watch Dolly Parton videos and fall asleep.

Sasha. Don't.

whiitethrash: hi.
gemath y: hi
whiitethrash: if i did
whiitethrash: the screen print of your dreams
whiitethrash: what would it be.
gemath y: your face
gemath y: nose deep
gemath y: in vag
whiitethrash: oh man.
whiitethrash: just stop.
whiitethrash: i think i want to draw a goat.

Don't ask me for ideas. I'm fresh out.

Oh shit.

Which is worse?:

1) The speeding ticket I got in the beginning of January
2) The speeding ticket I got at the end of January
3) The speeding ticket I got in the beginning of February


??????

...let's continue yesterdays WFI...

Yesterday's WFI can be found here, you lazy bastard that refuses to scroll down.


And just this very moment I received a text message from Ta.

"Hey you big homo. Jew jokes today at work."


I only work weekends, so, with today being a Monday, I wasn't around to partake in the Jew jokes.


No one there thinks I'm Jewish, but they allllllllll think I'm gay.


Also, I just googled "gay jew" to find a good picture for this post, and not only were the results not offensive, but they were also just boring. So, no picture!

Comment Card

Long story short, the restaurant closes at 2:30pm. Six, horrible twenty year olds walk through the door at 2:15 and sit in my section. They order complicated things with special requests and are rude about it and just overall ugly. The floors are being vacuumed, windows are being washed, servers are sitting at tables, there is trash on the floor that is in the process of being swept elsewhere etc and we are obviously, CLOSING, but they do not care. So, I make a few bad jokes, openly dislike them, and eventually bring out their food. I dislike them so much in fact, that I bring out a super duper hot plate and I hand it to the girl at the end of the table, whose birthday it was, and say nothing about the dangers of the hotness. DROPS IT. And I laugh. "Woops! Probably should have told you that was hot!" She = not amused.

Then of course they needed sides of this and extra that (all things that require me to go back into the freezer and re-open) and a bowl of this and the fruit is bad and the omelet is ROTTEN. Seriously, this loser guy sends back his omelet - containing nothing but mozzarella cheese - back. TWICE. The manager came over and tried it and said it was fine. He said it was rotten and smelled rotten. I said, "Weird, it's almost like you've never had mozzarella cheese before". He responded with, "If I get sick because you fed me rotten food then I will be back tomorrow and in your face!" Keep in mind - all the omelets are made from the same egg mix, which was being eaten by everyone else at the table, and they were not complaining...

Then one of the ugly girls says..."Can I borrow your pen..."

There are comment cards on all the tables, by the way.

"Sure, but just so you know, I bus my own tables, so I'm just going to throw your comment card away." And I gave her my pen.

It's amazing that I have a job at all, sometimes.

Here are some card highlights:

handwritten across the top: This was a bad experience. Our server was so rude!

Restaurants Overall Cleanliness: POOR
Your Server Was Well Groomed: FAIR


The manager ended up keeping the card...which makes me a little worried. But they were rude to him too, so it shouldn't end up being a big deal.

Anyway, that's the end of my story. I have to actually do homework now.

A SOURed Relationship.

Dear Tongue,

Oh sweet, innocent, unwitting Tongue! I have to apologize for the way I acted tonight. After the can of pineapple and box of peas appetizer, I forced you to eat that sorry excuse for Mexican food. It's been almost 24 years, this partnership we have. And I know we've had our ups and downs. Salmon, for instance. Meatloaf, mushrooms. The list goes on, I know. But tonight, I went too far. I let my thoughts get all jumbled up in the mix.

Why I thought making a quesadilla with only beans and mozzarella was going to taste anywhere near good is really not on the table for discussion. In theory, someone (not me) could make that a fanTASTEical delight. The real question is why did I think adding a shit ton of garlic and black pepper was going to make up for the fact I have no salsa? Tongue, I don't know what to tell you. There's just no excuse or explanation for what I've done to you.

How will I ever repay you? Is there any forgiveness left in your buds? I know I don't need to remind you of our past. I know I don't need to recall memories of ketchup soaked french fries or all that pudding I ate on Sunday because of my sore throat. I'm sure you're aware of how often I order that salad you love from Corner Cafe (twice a week minimum). And I certainly don't need to rehash all those birthdays and holidays and various other special occasions that necessitate a slice of cake. Or two. And of our date night ritual, I know I only need to say those three little words: Digiorno, Cherry Garcia. I don't need to talk about these things because you already know what makes us meant for each other, what makes us work.

Next time I try to talk myself out of sliding into bed with a pudding cup to sing us to sleep to, instead, make a 'meal' out of what isn't moldy in the fridge, I'll remember this blog. I will. With you and me, pudding will always win, from now until forever.

I love you Tongue.

xoxo, M

Mandatory classes for graduation that take themselves too seriously.

ASU forces each art student to take a class about...stuff... before they graduate. Now up until this semester, the semester where i have to take it, the class has just been a one credit course involving you participating in an art show during the semester. you meet with the class maaaaaybe twice a semester. and basically it's all bullshit and way easy.

BUT THIS SEMESTER, although still one credit, the class meets once a week, every week, for the entire semester, and the teacher makes us write silly statements and resumes and essays. none of which i want to do, because i never want to do anything, and none of which i take seriously. because it's for one credit. and i consider myself friends with the guy who teaches it (meaning he would never actually fail me), who was a grad student here until he received his mfa last semester. now he is just "adjunct faculty".

anyway, our assignment for this week was to write an essay. topic? "what do you want to be when you grow up".

wait, what? my response? "i'm 22 you fucker!!!" jackie's response? "i'm 24 you jerk!" roommate kirsten's response? "a dinosaur!!!"

anyway, here are the essays i wrote. yes. two. one for me, and one for jackie (respectively).

I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. But I do know what I don’t want to be. And I think that’s worth just as much. Here is a short list of things I DON’T want to be. Ever. At all. Not even a little bit:

10.Thudong Monk in Bangkok
9. the 5th wife of a polygymist (4th wife is okay)
8. any insect
7. the Hardegrees
6. drug addict (recreational user does not an addict make!)
5. school librarian
4. Kirsten Rutherford
3. my mother
2. a hamburger
1. adjunct faculty at Arizona State University


So in conclusion…

don't ask me who the Hardegrees are.


My name is Jacqueline, and when I grow up I want to have twenty children of my own and a farm in the mountains in Utah. I want to be the 5th wife of a noble, well respected man who will allow me to have as many cats as I desire. If time allows, I may pursue art in the form of inked kitty paw prints on found objects and the scrap booking of important events in the lives of my children and the children of my sister wives. However, I do not believe time will allow for any of this, for I shall be too busy taking on the fulfilling tasks of laundering clothing, French braiding hair, and embroidering everyone’s initials onto their clothing. I will also be busy setting type for the church’s instructional pamphlets on how to be a good wife and live free from sin that are to be delivered to local schools and anywhere else there are pretty, young girls in need of guidance. I shall be in charge of delivering them as well, along with possibly the 4th wife, and maybe even the 3rd wife, but not with the 1st wife or the 2nd wife because pamphlet deliveries only take place on Tuesday mornings and on Tuesday mornings it will be their turn to drive the children to school because I will bring them to school on Mondays and Wednesdays.


is turning these in the WFI or the BFI?

i'm going with the latter, because i already turned them in. and i need to graduate.

oh, by the way, i dropped the chemistry class that i...NEED TO GRADUATE. so i guess i wont be graduating anyway!!

DON'T give family members your email address.

I have one email I use to give to family where they are free to send as many fwds as the inbox can handle and I am free to say "Oh really? You sent me something? I get sooo much spam in that thing I can hardly read it!" And it's worked for years. Meanwhile, I maintain the other email pristine and family free. Only mom was allowed to email me at that address until...DUN DUN DUHHHHHHHN! She gave it to my cousin!!!! Awfulosity. I opened the email and got scared, mad, and annoyed, in that order. All before becoming entirely indifferent to the actual email content, which is as follows, creatively titled hi it's joce:

Hey girl!! It’s joce,

You better put your name down for something, even if it’s something small… like a bullet.. hehehehe, or....... A Charlie brown xmas tree... I actually asked for a boyfriend, with blue eyes, and a dog that doesn’t poop in my house.. hahah! I amuse myself... . Anyways, I look forward to hearing back from you, and I hope you’re doing well, let’s go out some night!

Love you

joce

That was way back in December before Christmas. It was about not wanting to participate in the bullshit Secret Santa my family does every year. I still haven't replied. It made Christmas a little awkward. But to be in my family you have to be good at pretending, showing up without engaging in any sort of relating, and dodging questions by shoving food in your mouth. It's rude to talk with your mouthful, afterall. I'll never reply. Let's see what that does for next year's Christmas Awkward-o-meter.

In addition, I berated my mother accordingly.

Then there's the constant barrage from my father: Did you get that email I sent? I sent you a link to the article! Didn't you watch the video? No, dad, I didn't. Because my father is what I assume would be labeled a constitutionalist and an income tax protester he sends me emails from an income tax protesting email newsletter. Unfortunately, inboxes across America bounce them right into the spam folder. Burnsauce on www.861.info and LOL email clients! That's The Man for ya! To combat the sighs and groans, I gave him my real email under a solemnly sworn oath he would NEVER, EVER reveal it to another family member without my explicit permission to do so.

So, today I get this email from my father titled, Democracy?:

This quote says it all. We live in a democratic REPUBLIC! (supposedly)

"Damn democracy. It is a fraudulent term used, often by ignorant persons but no less often by intellectual fakers, to describe an infamous mixture of socialism, miscegenation, graft, confiscation of property and denial of personal rights to individuals whose virtuous principles make them offensive." Westbrook Pegler: New York Journal American, 1/25/51, entitled "Upholds Republic of U.S. Against Phony Democracy, Democracy in the U.S. Branded Meaningless"

First of all, the quote implies my father hasn't yet realized we've been entertaining an increasingly fascist administration acting under the guise of traditional American democracy for 6 years or so. That aside...MISCEGENATION? Ok, even if a majority of Americans would agree with the quote...MISCEGENATION?

I responded:

This aint the 50's dad. Them races all be mixin! Your quote is cripplingly dated. Next time, make sure the people you send these sorts of things to are also as racist as you are.

In conclusion, DON'T give your family your email address.

gemath y
I keep thinking in a little while
heath ledger will be like SURPRISE!
and not be dead anymore
like all he needed was a little sleep

whiitethrash
I THINK THAT TOO
like it was a joke
or like
a marketing scheme
or a social experiment

gemath y
maybe
but I feel like someone will just like...
water him
or somehing
and then he'll wake up
like he's dried fruit or something
everyone keeps talking about it
and reading about it
and wanting to talk about it
and the drugs and stuff
and I don't participate
cause I'm just like...ohhh wait a few weeks!
he'll be back
stop worrying so much!


whiitethrash
i'm WFIng this PS
because i think we might get some hits off of
"heath ledger surprise"

gemath y
ha
haha
include that part

Precautions.

Nellie: I don't mean to gross you out but...I just pulled two tampons out of my body and I had no idea two tampons were inside of me. That is one deep vagina...

Remember When

Sasha said I signed up for an online personals site to get a WFI out of it? well, I got one. and it's soooooooooo WFI that I can't even post about it. The internet is not for talking about personal things, I've learned.

Every day of my life is an embarrassment.

sasha edits this post to say:


i wish gem would write about the event. but she refuses to. even though that's what this entire blog is about!!!!! so for those curious it involved:

•a yahoo personals profile
•really, really, REALLY funny yet mild trash talking
•someone distantly involved in the situation of trash talk completely and absolutely randomly coming across the profile and seeing it!
•a myspace message saying, "big secret!!"

man, i wish i could be more specific...

Jackie's Sister is a Racist

so obviously, at some point before christmas, i swiped a little - no bigger than 3" - toy doll from pottery barn kids. and it was just this little baby, wrapped in a blue blanket, and just really, really simple. a sphere for a head with two dots for eyes, and maybe a squiggly line for hair. we're talking minimalism. i think they were charging like, $6 for it too...but whatever. the doll was black by the way. well, brown TECHNICALLY, but totally black, you know?

so, jackie takes it from me to give to her sister for christmas. BTW her sister (and entire family...) hates me because i am not a racist.

but the true fun didn't begin until jackie asked me to write something to go along with the Orlando (yes, i named him Orlando). here's what i came up with...



Dear Consumer,

Thank you for your purchase! Here at Ethnic Baby Inc. we applaud your trivial decision to adopt a non-Caucasian, and we hope baby ORLANDO will eventually become a welcomed addition to your family! As Angelina Jolie once paraphrased, “Multicultural families are the rainbows of our society.” Really though, she didn’t say anything like that at all, however it is a well publicized fact that she does have three non-Caucasian children of her own who are all acculturating well! Therefore, we at Ethnic Baby Inc. feel pretty confident that she would definitely maybe say something like that. Or at least agree with it. To an extent. Perhaps. Brad Pitt would definitely say it though. Either way, here are two quick tips chosen at random from our book, 114 Ways To Fit In Despite Your Heritage, to help you and your non-Caucasian on the road to assimilation!

#3. Starbucks! There is no quicker way to becoming a true Caucasian American than a Starbucks blended Frappuccino. Try encouraging your new non-Caucasian baby to indulge in this delightful Anglo treat!

#87. Language matters! Do not tolerate foreign slang, and do keep contractions to a minimum. The consistent use of foreign slang is a perpetual ostracizer, and as my late grandmother used to say, “Ikh lern mikh zint eynem khoydesh Yidish.”, which crudely translates to, “One who cannot be careful about contractions cannot be trusted with your money.”

Once again, we at Ethnic Baby Inc. would like to thank you for opening up your hearts and your homes to a lovely child of questionable ethnicity. Happy Kwanzaa!

Sincerely,
Strom Thurmond
CEO and BabyDaddy; Ethnic Baby Inc.



i wrote the whole thing too. no help from gem!!! she was extra proud of me.


in the end, i am told both Orlando and the accompanying letter were a big hit. because they are racist.

WFI Does Hospice

vietnam friend:
did i tell you about my hospice lady
she and i play uno together
that is my job. i keep her company and we play games

whiitethrash:
i love uno.

vietnam friend:
so...i hadnt yet decided if a. she is senile b. doesnt know how to play uno or c. cheats

whiitethrash:
there's an episode of home improvement
where randy does hospice.
randy does hospice.
worst porn movie ever?

vietnam friend:
haha what?
im going to finish my story
okay
im not sure where porn fits into the mix here

whiitethrash:
debbie does dallas
randy does hospice.

vietnam friend:
ah
anyway. there really was no rhyme or reason
to anything she did before
she would just put cards down

whiitethrash:
oh
i thought we were talking about debbie
hahahahaha

vietnam friend:
so i was like ill roll with it, if she pauses then its my turn and ill follow the rules
except last wk
everytime i put a skip card or +4 card down she would ignore it
but whenever she would put one down, she would be like..thats a skip
or draw four
and then
at one pt
she put a blue 7 down
and then i put a blue 0
she starts drawing cards

whiitethrash:
so basically you're playing uno

vietnam friend:
she picks up about 4

whiitethrash:
with the worlds oldest
sickest

vietnam friend:
and then

whiitethrash
cheater.

vietnam friend:
she picks up
my blue 0
for about 3 seconds
and then puts it back down
and looks at me to go
and i was like...thats my card
and she said no, its mine

whiitethrash:
this is the best story
i am WFIing it.

vietnamfriend:
i was like
what
i seriously almost died laughing
but had to be professional?

whiite thrash:
this woman sounds like a blast.
is it her suggestion to play uno?

vietnam friend:
yes
i tried to teach her go fish once
but she has rather large hands that arent particulary adept and she couldnt hold all of them

whiitethrash:
play guess who!

vietnam friend:
she didnt understand that if you got a card you asked for you could ask again
she also didnt understand that if you didnt get the card you asked for you couldnt go again
she has a really really heavy jamaican accent
that i dont understand

vietnam friend:
guess who would be really unfortunate for me...
if you try to buy me guess who for my birthday ill kill you

oh gmail, you slay me!

for those that don't know, gmail scans your emails, and according to the words in them, places some sort of ad at the top that probably might interest you a little bit based upon the content it has come across...

so this is just awesome.