Sunday, February 27, 2005

Jake Gyllenhaal - you're hot, and almost as hot as your sister.
Johnny - the teeth? What the hay?
Drew B. - can we be best girlfriends? meet for coffee with Scarlett and send each other IMs on our Sidekicks?
P-Diddy - You are a mighty hot specimen. I forgive you for the Led Zeppelin song you destroyed in the late 90s.
Kathy Griffin - I can't watch you on a full bladder. My mom would kill me for ruining her couch.
Oprah - DAMN, Gina.
Chris (Noth, aka Mr. Big) - Where were you!
Laura Linney/Kate Winslet/Gwenyth Paltrow - Can I just be you for a day?
Carlos Santana - Way to sport the Che Guevara t-shirt. That kind of reminds me of guys sitting at coffee shops with their laptops in college towns.
Leonard DiCaprio - Nice skin. You should be the next Proactiv spokesman, seeing as how Jessica Simpson was recently exposed as a coke addict after Paris Hilton's text messages from Lindsay Lohan became public recently. (I'm a shameless Hollywood gossip!)
Orlando Bloom - I applaud your decision to use spray-tan as an alternatvie to the dangerous and skin-cell-damaging tanning beds.
Clive Owen - Where the hell have you been my whole life?

Tuesday, February 15, 2005

I feel only slightly bad saying this, but WHAT THE FUCK! Why do I ALWAYS pick the machine at the gym (like how I throw that in there? like I work out allllllll the time, riiight) where the smelly farty guy is in front of me? So every time he farts :::queue, hot guy walking by::: it seems like I could be the guilty party. I try to make pleading eyes but I think that only incrimiates me more. Don't get me wrong, everyone farts, this I know. I fart. But I don't fart at the gym, especially when they're deadly.

Which kind of but not really reminds me of 10th grade chemistry class and learning about molecules and my teacher Mrs. Zande (who, coincidentally, would light a match randomly during class, and answer to our puzzled looks, "I just farted, that's all.") told us that when someone puts lotion on and you can smell it across the room, that the molecules are actually like floating around the room and you are ingesting them into your system. That's how smelling works. Or something equally as scientific-sounding.

Which then led the class loudmouth and not-afraid-to-be-crude-in-a-Catholic-high-school girl to blurt out "So when you go into the bathroom right after someone's taken a shit, you're actually like eating it?"

We all wanted to die right then and there. I still do. Shudder.

Which then reminds me of another high school memory, in which I signed up for Women in Lit, with reserve. Marian was already "feminist" enough for me, the last thing I wanted was to have to read Charlotte Bronte or Emily Dickens or OH MY GOD CAN YOU TELL I HAVE NO IDEA WHO I'M TALKING ABOUT. IS THERE EVEN AN EMILY DICKENS. So anyway, we ended up with this really fucking cool teacher who was only there for 1 semester, sort of in a temporary job to help the school out. The Grammys had been on the night before, and it was the year Jennifer Lopez wore that green dress that tied down near her girlie bits.

My teacher, who told us to call her Patty, was floored. She was just raving on and on about what must have been going through her head when she wore that and knew that there were girls like us watching, who, no, we didn't have J-Lo posters and weren't the "young impressionable 13 year old crowd" that all the FCC and whoever worries about with Britney and Christina and JLo being the ho's that they are. No, we were the kind that were 17, 18, just growing into our sexuality and realizing the more subtle societal pressures of dressing one way or doing something for a man or just being someone you're not. ANYWAY, point of my story, she all of a sudden just blurted out, "It's like she put that dress on and just wanted to say 'FUCK ME!'" and we all just about died.

The looks on our faces... yeah we were in high school, and said "fuck" on a regular basis, but in the confines of that parochial school, we were pretty prude. It was such an awesome moment, an adult talking to us like the adults we were about to become. She was a cool teacher, I wonder if she still swears in front of teenagers and ponders what pop stars think when they wear things during award ceremonies.

Well now, I've done and made myself look about 10 IQ points stupider with this one, I'll admit. My parents are in Florida and called me at work from the beach today, saying it was eighty. Jerks. It's nice to be home alone, but it does get a little boring. The dog is like killing me with her loneliness, she walks around the house practically sobbing that her family left her. I'm not even joking.

Okay, I leave you now (I promise!) with a joke, I heard on 89x. I figure, I'm already crude as hell with this one, just take it full circle and deliver.

"What's the difference between a pizza and Courtney Love?"

"Guys want to eat a pizza."

Monday, February 7, 2005

Diary, Part I

I've been reading through old journals lately, you know the kind where you write with a pencil on lined paper and maybe when you were five it had a little lock on it and you kept the key in your sock drawer?

Well anyway, some of them are so fucking hilarious. Like this one, which I'll keep undated so you don't know just how old I actually was when I wrote it:
I have such mixed emotions. I'm crying because I'm embarassed. I rented an "R" movie at Blockbuster & Dad came in and told them I couldn't see R movies. I'm feeling good because I did the Aid to Aids walk today. I'm scared because I go to high school in less than 2 months. I'm sad I only have 3 days of school left. I'm crying because Melissa ran away to Gary, Indiana and Aunt Kathy sent her to a forest military survival camp in Utah. I'm craying cuz I'm heavy and weigh 122 lbs. I hate my family. I love my friends. I hate put-putting.

Shit, that shit is funny. The military survival camp in Utah? Side-splitting. Obsessed with my weight at age 13? Fucking hilrious. The last line? What the hell??
(Yeah, so maybe you did find out that I was in 8th grade when I wrote that one. GOSH!)

Here's another:
omg i'm at beaners and there are 2 girls next to me. one is telling the other she is concerned that she is drinking and hopes that she will walk the path of christ and will be found again soon. I want to take her by the shoulders and shake her. maybe a brisk slap or two on the cheek too. she told her "i've been praying for you and i hope that you realize how much God loves you" yadda yadda. I feel bad for the other girl. - she's just sitting there mumbling and i can tell she likes going out and drinking CUZ IT'S FUN but at the same time I want her to stand up for herself and say "hey! I can love jesus and love tequila too!" These crazy crusaders. All that comes to mind is crazy Annie from study abroad, who read the Bible and didn't drink, and was almost engaged, but then attempted to give Greg a blowjob and made out with him. Whatever! So St. paddy's day i went to the post w/rox and Melisa met us there. I met this guy David, gave him my number.

That's the end of that "entry." I kid you not. I go from talking about this hilarious situation happening next to me to crazy Annie who was into the oral and also (I didn't write this part in my "diary" but it's true and I'm still not over it) stole my shirt and outed my best friend on the trip. Then randomly mention I gave a guy my number? Was I trying to impress my future self? That I gave someone my number? i shake my head at the lindsay of two-years-ago.

Okay, I'm going to rummage to find one more. Maybe one that doesn't make me look like a fucking moron. Um, still looking.
My head has been moving at a crazy pace recently... I can't stop thinking about him. I think it started when I saw him a couple times, then saw him like 3 times after that. One of the times I talked to him and he told me he was likely getting engaged soon - and I felt a twinge in my chest - jealousy/ heartbreak maybe both - and I congratulated him. I wonder if it sounded as fake to him as it did to me, or if he could see my heart beating through my shirt cuz let me tell you, it was dying inside of me. I wonder if he even thought of what I'd think when I heard that.

Let's try this one:
okay it's now 2pm... lunch sucked. of course, noon rolls around and i'm off to lunch by myself... sweet. About 1/2 of my time was spent driving around Fort Wayne... let me just say that one-way streets can kiss my ass. I went downstairs to see if Gene [the bossman] needed any help, but he wasn't there. Joe, a guy who did the 6-sigma co-op before, signed me on to his name so now at least I can do a little bit of work. Stress little bit. I've counted the days I have to work... 90 total, but w/2 days off. 88 total. 1 down so far.

Um, yeah. I think that's definately enough for now. Now you all know what I did on my first day of work at GE... counted down the remaining days. I'm surprised I didn't bust out the calculator and give a minute-by-minute countdown. I wouldn't have put it past me.

Now you also know what kind of nerd 8th grader I was... crying because her dad marched back into Blockbuster and made me feel stupid for trying to rent a rated R movie (it was Basketball Diaries. I never remember shit like that!!)

And my first sort of heartbreak (is it heartbreak if you don't actually give your heart away?), and just one of my many exciting Beaner's trips. There really isn't good stuff in these old journals i've found... really only sentances here, snippets there. I plan on ceremoniously burning them, I think. There's a lot of negativity that I didn't even know I had back then and I just don't need that right now.

But, for the sake of my 3 blog readers I thought I'd weed out a couple of what I considered funny ones. Be a dear, tell your mom you love her.