I refuse to participate in a blog this horrifyingly ugly.
Goodbye.
Showing posts with label wtf. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wtf. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Monday, May 19, 2008
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.
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
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.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
The Duathalon.
What an awkward mess of an evening. There is nothing funny about this post except for the absurd circumstance of the night.
That morning, Billy ran a 5K and biked over 50 miles and was exhausted and sore. Kaitlin was confused and thought the two were related in some sort of Duathalon. That's when I thought of our every weekend Duathalon: drugs and alcohol.
Erin's house party in Allston was definitely a bust. There was no one there. Once again, we brought the party. I don't know why people even have parties if we aren't there. Useless wastes of time. There were a few people there (like 5) but they were all friends from the Warped Tour and/or in Big D and the Kids Table. Srs :rolleyes:. They wanted nothing to do with us and we wanted nothing to do with them. The only thing we could do to enjoy ourselves while we waited until the cookies kicked in was drink and dance. I didn't even dance much because there were too many lights on and it was just various groupings of the 4 of us in the center of the living room. It was like being on display. I hate those kinds of parties. So, in an attempt to win the Duathalon, I just drank. And I was good at that.
The myspace date was the bigger disaster though. He sort of flaked out on coming and I convinced him it would be fine if he came because it was a shitty party anyway. I was on the porch when he arrived and I saw him through the kitchen window and I knew immediately the whole thing was a mistake. He wasn't attractive like his pictures AT ALL. At least I look like my pictures!!! And when he came out on the porch, he was clearly gay. Gay like homosexual. It's sad he doesn't know it. Then he rolled a cigarette (gross) and sat in a chair with his arm across his chest like how fat girls sit with pillows on their laps. He was extremely uncomfortable the entire night. I was in another state of mind honestly. And I was comfortable there, so I couldn't relate to this guy. And by relate I mean I barely talked to him and wanted to get away from him every time I went out on the porch to try to talk to him again. It was really awful and I made sure I got good and wasted before we went to a party on Mission Hill.
That party wasn't good either. And we got there after 2 which is not too late for a Mission Hill party, but a lot of people had already left. There was cake though and it was a welcome taste in my mouth. I can really only remember how it felt squishing in my mouth and it was awesome. Then we went to get pizza which was another surprise to my taste buds. I have never loved cake and pizza more than last night. On the way home, KT, Billy, Em, Mary and me sang/screamed along to Hero, All By Myself, End of the Road, and Don't Want to Miss a Thing. Nothing says wasted like a Mariah Carey/Celine Dion/Boyz II Men/Aerosmith sing-a-long. The best part was I had my eyes closed the whole time. That's right, I was singing with my eyes closed.
Going to bed was the best thing I did last night. I think, in the end, no one wins the Duathalon.
That morning, Billy ran a 5K and biked over 50 miles and was exhausted and sore. Kaitlin was confused and thought the two were related in some sort of Duathalon. That's when I thought of our every weekend Duathalon: drugs and alcohol.
Erin's house party in Allston was definitely a bust. There was no one there. Once again, we brought the party. I don't know why people even have parties if we aren't there. Useless wastes of time. There were a few people there (like 5) but they were all friends from the Warped Tour and/or in Big D and the Kids Table. Srs :rolleyes:. They wanted nothing to do with us and we wanted nothing to do with them. The only thing we could do to enjoy ourselves while we waited until the cookies kicked in was drink and dance. I didn't even dance much because there were too many lights on and it was just various groupings of the 4 of us in the center of the living room. It was like being on display. I hate those kinds of parties. So, in an attempt to win the Duathalon, I just drank. And I was good at that.
The myspace date was the bigger disaster though. He sort of flaked out on coming and I convinced him it would be fine if he came because it was a shitty party anyway. I was on the porch when he arrived and I saw him through the kitchen window and I knew immediately the whole thing was a mistake. He wasn't attractive like his pictures AT ALL. At least I look like my pictures!!! And when he came out on the porch, he was clearly gay. Gay like homosexual. It's sad he doesn't know it. Then he rolled a cigarette (gross) and sat in a chair with his arm across his chest like how fat girls sit with pillows on their laps. He was extremely uncomfortable the entire night. I was in another state of mind honestly. And I was comfortable there, so I couldn't relate to this guy. And by relate I mean I barely talked to him and wanted to get away from him every time I went out on the porch to try to talk to him again. It was really awful and I made sure I got good and wasted before we went to a party on Mission Hill.
That party wasn't good either. And we got there after 2 which is not too late for a Mission Hill party, but a lot of people had already left. There was cake though and it was a welcome taste in my mouth. I can really only remember how it felt squishing in my mouth and it was awesome. Then we went to get pizza which was another surprise to my taste buds. I have never loved cake and pizza more than last night. On the way home, KT, Billy, Em, Mary and me sang/screamed along to Hero, All By Myself, End of the Road, and Don't Want to Miss a Thing. Nothing says wasted like a Mariah Carey/Celine Dion/Boyz II Men/Aerosmith sing-a-long. The best part was I had my eyes closed the whole time. That's right, I was singing with my eyes closed.
Going to bed was the best thing I did last night. I think, in the end, no one wins the Duathalon.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
WFI: Peeing on other people.
So I went to a party last night. A bike messenger party. After a race. In 90 degree heat. I think everyone was delirious and drunk and wet with sweat. We went for a dance party, but there were other ideas in other minds.
We arrive to the loft space and wait in a line 6 deep to pee in a bathroom with no toilet paper. Thank god for coffee filters!
I've only been in a comparably grimy bathroom in rest stops in Jersey. Also, they do their dishes in the bathroom sink. Ew.
Moving into the larger dance space filled with about 100 sweaty, barely clothed, well tattooed, long haired boy bike messenger bodies, we are all in the dark. I am alone then looking for Mary or Emma or Lola or Craig or just anyone I know. The music has stopped. There are minutes of nervous confusion walking through the steamy room thick with pot odor and beer sweating of all the boys, groping everyone to find people I knew. Suddenly, the lights are back on and a babe with a megaphone is announcing the drinking contest. The rules: You must drink a can of PBR in the allotted amount of time while everyone holds a shiny tarp above their heads. When the megaphone announces NEW BEER, you drink another. If you haven't finished your last one you are out. Last one standing wins $500. P.S. You must clean your own piss or puke. When it starts, it is mayhem. I run to Mary in the corner. All the boys are going crazy, yelling, drinking, throwing beer cans, stepping on them, spraying beer everywhere. It lasted about 15 minutes. That's like 15 beers. When there is a final winner, everyone who has a beer dumps it on the poor/rich guy. There is beer raining everywhere in the room and a half inch of liquid pooling on the floor. WE WERE HAVING SO MUCH FUN!!!!!!
Then the WFI/greatest thing happened. Amidst the mayhem, there is a guy in the center of the crowd who whips his dick out and starts peeing straight up in the air peeing on everyone in sight. Mary and I run into a corner and hide behind two other boys. This guy's bladder was bottomless. He just peed on everyone everywhere. Then someone pushes him away and yells at him and he stops peeing. Only moments later he begins peeing again. Suddenly a large, sexy black man runs across the room like a dark knight in shining armor and punches the kid in the face three times knocking him into the speakers and dropping the speaker into the dj table. WE WERE HAVING SO MUCH MORE FUN!!!!! Dude fucking deserved it! DON'T PEE ON PEOPLE!!!! I was nervous we were going to have a fight club moment, but Babe With a Megaphone goes over to calm down Sexy Black Guy and the crisis is averted.
After the owner of the loft mopped up the pee and beer and sweat, the lights were off again and the dance party was back on. We danced like we had never danced before. People trickled out of the room and we were soon the owners of the dance floor. We were maniacs. Maniacs on the floor. We were dancing like we never danced before. When we gave up hours later, the fun was officially over. We ARE the party and we were leaving.
Out on the street trolling for dirty, drunk boys to take home (the good ones were gone already), we met a girl named Padmani which looks nice and all but sounds like Pudmoney. She was a wasted riot. I fell asleep in the car and woke up to a dehydrated headache.
WFI: Peeing on people. BFI: Having the most fun friends.
We arrive to the loft space and wait in a line 6 deep to pee in a bathroom with no toilet paper. Thank god for coffee filters!
I've only been in a comparably grimy bathroom in rest stops in Jersey. Also, they do their dishes in the bathroom sink. Ew.Moving into the larger dance space filled with about 100 sweaty, barely clothed, well tattooed, long haired boy bike messenger bodies, we are all in the dark. I am alone then looking for Mary or Emma or Lola or Craig or just anyone I know. The music has stopped. There are minutes of nervous confusion walking through the steamy room thick with pot odor and beer sweating of all the boys, groping everyone to find people I knew. Suddenly, the lights are back on and a babe with a megaphone is announcing the drinking contest. The rules: You must drink a can of PBR in the allotted amount of time while everyone holds a shiny tarp above their heads. When the megaphone announces NEW BEER, you drink another. If you haven't finished your last one you are out. Last one standing wins $500. P.S. You must clean your own piss or puke. When it starts, it is mayhem. I run to Mary in the corner. All the boys are going crazy, yelling, drinking, throwing beer cans, stepping on them, spraying beer everywhere. It lasted about 15 minutes. That's like 15 beers. When there is a final winner, everyone who has a beer dumps it on the poor/rich guy. There is beer raining everywhere in the room and a half inch of liquid pooling on the floor. WE WERE HAVING SO MUCH FUN!!!!!!
Then the WFI/greatest thing happened. Amidst the mayhem, there is a guy in the center of the crowd who whips his dick out and starts peeing straight up in the air peeing on everyone in sight. Mary and I run into a corner and hide behind two other boys. This guy's bladder was bottomless. He just peed on everyone everywhere. Then someone pushes him away and yells at him and he stops peeing. Only moments later he begins peeing again. Suddenly a large, sexy black man runs across the room like a dark knight in shining armor and punches the kid in the face three times knocking him into the speakers and dropping the speaker into the dj table. WE WERE HAVING SO MUCH MORE FUN!!!!! Dude fucking deserved it! DON'T PEE ON PEOPLE!!!! I was nervous we were going to have a fight club moment, but Babe With a Megaphone goes over to calm down Sexy Black Guy and the crisis is averted.
After the owner of the loft mopped up the pee and beer and sweat, the lights were off again and the dance party was back on. We danced like we had never danced before. People trickled out of the room and we were soon the owners of the dance floor. We were maniacs. Maniacs on the floor. We were dancing like we never danced before. When we gave up hours later, the fun was officially over. We ARE the party and we were leaving.
Out on the street trolling for dirty, drunk boys to take home (the good ones were gone already), we met a girl named Padmani which looks nice and all but sounds like Pudmoney. She was a wasted riot. I fell asleep in the car and woke up to a dehydrated headache.
WFI: Peeing on people. BFI: Having the most fun friends.
Friday, September 7, 2007
WFI = Changing Doctors
So my old doctor/pediatrician/my mother's good friend had to go when i turned 22. well, she didn't HAVE to by law or anything, but she had to for me to be sane. because in case you didn't read what i just wrote she was a pediatrician and my mother's good friend. And i was 22. and shouldn't be hanging out in a waiting room with dinosaurs painted on the walls and a Playskool kitchen set in the corner while my mom's dinner and a movie buddy runs her hands all over my body. no thank you! also, you know, since she's my mom's friend, every time she asked me anything with the words "sex" or "drugs" in the question i just automatically had to answer nonsense!!!!
so new doctor time!
and my first appointment was yesterday.
I answered all their silly questions about family history (most of which i think i guessed on...because as it turns out, i don't know anything about my family at all!). Even on my OWN PERSONAL HISTORY. "So, you mention you see a cardiologist, what conditions do you have?" "Well, i don't remember the name of it but it has to do with like, something in my chest not working right and then a family history of something involving elevated levels of stuff i shouldn't have in my body."
specific.
"mmhmmm..." says the doctor lady. "well if you were taking this medication, then i'm assuming you had ::insert name of some problem::." "i think i've heard that before. i have that. yeah. that's the heart thing." (by the way, it's not, i later found out)
anyway, then she says, "and how about pap smears. are you regular on those??"
GET OUT OF TOWN. NO. STOP.
"let's do one right now!"
"no."
i dont think this woman has ever been told no before. she was so confused. her eyes screamed, "no? what? but the speculum is out already! and i just put on this glove!"
"no, we can skip that today. i'm not really interested in having that done."
silence.
"so...is that it?" i asked her.
and no. she took her glove off and asked me if she could "at least" do a breast exam.
AT LEAST.
like, oh man, if i can't et you to take your pants off can i puh leeeez unhook your bra! she actually did ask if she could unhook it for me. like, helping me out style i think. but nonetheless, no. i've been unhooking my bra since i was 12. yeah. TWELVE MOTHER FUCKERS. WHAT'S IT TO YOU.
and then you know, she starts doing her job, making conversation, telling me what she is doing...and then...
"so do you prefer men or women??"
wait what? did you seriously just ask me that while rubbing your fingers in a circular motion around my nipples? wait, come again?
the question was also on the initial questionnaire i had to fill out (with a check mark right next to MEN). which i definitely found a little weird - had they not changed their question sheet since the 1980s? but anyway...
what a weird time to ask me. and before i could even answer her -
"you know, because you don't want the pap smear, is it because you think girls cant transmit disease to other girls? so you don't think you have anything to worry about?" she continued...
"i just don't want to take my pants off today..." actually, i said it more like, "i just don't want to take my pants off today??"
and that was pretty much it. she told me next time we should do the "thing i didn't want to do". i said, "oh definitely."
there really wont be a next time though. not anytime soon at least...
so yeah. worst fucking idea? new doctors. did i mention she is also my mom and dad's doctor? i dont think i can talk to her either...
BTW, she is a good doctor, i just make every situation more and more awkward with my horrible interpretations of the world around me. please don't sue me doc!
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Sunday, July 22, 2007
THE WORST FUCKING IDEA PLAY
twenty hours ago, attending someone's contemporary dance recital sounded like the worst fucking idea. because that shit is boring and i am only in LA for two nights. and yet twelve hours ago, as i sat disturbed and bewildered in the back of what can only be described as a makeshift-bunker-sorry-excuse-for-a-theater theater, contemporary dance was looking pretty effing good...
basically, you don't know now nor will you ever understand what exactly it is that i have just been through. you don't. i can't even put it into words to explain it to you. but i sure as hell am going to try.
thanks in part to a delayed birthday present from the folks (and a loan from wells fargo!) i was able to spend the weekend in LA with my friend Christopher. i am still in LA right now, actually. and instead of sleeping at 8 am, i am writing this down because it is just that important that i get it out of my system.
okay so, christopher and i have another friend here, kathryn, who invited us to go see her friend's dance recital saturday night, we obviously said no to that, and instead went to see a play featuring one of chris's friends from high school. now this friend, liz, chris has not seen in about four years, so it was to be an exciting night (we all went to high school together actually, but i wasn't friends with her). did i mention she and chris were theater kids? they were. that's important to know.
oh, PS, liz
so what is the play called? oh, it's called, "ubu the shit".
no. wait. what?
yeah, you read that right. the play was called "ubu the shit". I KNOW. RED FLAG.*
okay, forget the fact that chris and i rushed there, forget the fact that we each ate an entire sandwich in about 10 seconds because we went out to dinner and didn't even check the time, forget the fact that we valeted the car at the entrance cuz we just could not be late, forget the fact that it was fifteen bucks a piece for a ticket and forget the fact that the set was constructed out of butcher paper, masking tape and one spray painted toilet. forget it. because it doesn't matter. it doesn't fucking matter.
remember the movie "she's all that"? when laney takes zack to the performance theater thing and it was weird and they were all in spandex birthing themselves or something? that little performance deserves no less than eight thousand tony awards.
i honestly don't even know where to start with this thing. oh wait, how about here: the main character has a giant penis dangling between his legs the entire show. is that a good starting point? it was about a foot long, green, and bumpy. he strokes it, fucks his dinner with it, rapes people with it (who are puking in the toilet at the same time), slaps his wife with it, and puts it in various mouths. and i believe this all happened in the first three scenes. how many scenes were there? oh, just twenty. WTFWTFWTF.
this production was andy dick (the most worthless, vulgar, disgusting and pathetic person on the planet) meets multiplicity (you know, that michael keaton movie? but imagine it with andy dick) meets the toilet in the movie "trainspotting" (absolutely grotesque) meets the holocaust (the worst thing to happen to people by other people ever). does that explain it well enough? maybe.
but in all honesty, no, it doesn't.
every possibly offensive word in the english language was used. and i don't just mean the boring four letter ones. i meant every single racial and derogatory slur and none of it was needed and none of it stood for anything. they just thought it was cool, or edgy, or funny. and it wasn't any of those things! and every single line in the play was YELLED AT YOU, there was no speaking, saying, reciting or ACTING WHATSOEVER involved!
forget the fact that i couldn't even follow the "story line".
right about the time they started playing the theme song to mortal kombat (which i believe came after the scene where they played the x-files theme song - god i wish i was making this up) i turned to chris and said, "i'd rather be hanging out with mischa barton right now". and i was dead serious. MORTAL KOMBAT. MISCHA BARTON.
i also told him that i don't care what he does with his life as long as he does not join that acting troupe. if chris were to have surgery to look like carrot-top, started dating janice dickinson and developed an addiction to opiates it would be a better idea.
the only funny parts of the entire two hour train wreck were when the cast members would give up. on stage. during scene. one guy took off his mask and started yelling at another guy about how he was bad at acting like a horse, and then shortly after that some girl looked out into the
now the whole time, christopher is sitting there wondering what the fuck he is going to say to liz after the show. i don't care if you're merryl fucking streep, you cannot act your way out of this. there will be no, "you were terrific!" there will be no "i loved it!" there will be no "great job!" there wont even be an "it was very interesting" because it wasn't fucking interesting!!! there will only be, "sasha we have to go NOW", during the 19th scene, while liz was hidden behind a sheet making shadow puppets and couldn't see us head for the exit.
we could not drive fast enough. we could not go far enough. we could not cleanse ourselves enough from the ugly bile we had just soaked up.
it would have been more mentally stimulating to puke on a rock and watch it bake in the hot arizona sun. for ten years.
i tried to make up a list of all the things i would rather do than sit through that again. but as the list was nearing 893,982 pages i figured that a simple summary would suffice: I WOULD RATHER DIE.
in fact it wasn't until after i had put some liquor into my body that i was comfortable being around chris again. you know how sometimes you just experience something so awful and horrific that it's embarrassing to be with the person you experienced it with? eye contact was out of the question.
feel free to google "ubu the shit". their myspace page will come up. but it won't get the point across. and i will not link to it because it's just too much. too much.
and don't for one second think i didn't take pictures and record video, because i most certainly did. but
UPDATE: all the images are courtesy of kevin over at kevinbabbles.blogspot, who saw the play after he heard my vicious rant in person. he has a review up to check out.
*christopher (pictured at right, doing his "sexaaay fayce!") did, during the "production", inform me that this apparently was a show based on an actual 19th century french play called "ubu roi" which apparently is really good and really important in the theater world because it was so raw and edgy and out there when it debuted, but this rendition was an absolute massacre. sheesh.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Stoned
i have decided to increase my illegal narcotic intake to make up for gem's sobriety. that might be a worst fucking idea in and of itself. but it sounds dreamy.
i cannot take credit for this idea, all the credit goes out to my stoner friend sarah, but i will say that my reaction to it went something like this:
"wtf? that's so dumb. no one is ever going to pay for that. except wait. that sounds kind of good. i would totally pay for one of those. i'd pay for two. do they come in big gulp sizes?"
that reaction was completely non verbal by the way. 100% facial expression. and it also lasted less than one second.
the idea?
water slushies. no flavor. no fruit. just fine ice.
i back it up completely. i even encouraged sarah to purchase a bicycle and a little freezer cart to hook on to the back. she can sell them around campus. COLLEGE DROPOUT MY ASS.
then the next night emily suggested something like, strawberry flavored rum. i told her it exists under the name "cough syrup". and that it's a bad idea.
i cannot take credit for this idea, all the credit goes out to my stoner friend sarah, but i will say that my reaction to it went something like this:
"wtf? that's so dumb. no one is ever going to pay for that. except wait. that sounds kind of good. i would totally pay for one of those. i'd pay for two. do they come in big gulp sizes?"
that reaction was completely non verbal by the way. 100% facial expression. and it also lasted less than one second.
the idea?
water slushies. no flavor. no fruit. just fine ice.
i back it up completely. i even encouraged sarah to purchase a bicycle and a little freezer cart to hook on to the back. she can sell them around campus. COLLEGE DROPOUT MY ASS.
then the next night emily suggested something like, strawberry flavored rum. i told her it exists under the name "cough syrup". and that it's a bad idea.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
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