Friday, October 15, 2010


if there is one phrase that I possibly overuse, it is this:

I. am. stressed.

Or any other sort of variation. That stresses me out. I'm stressin. Mostly I'm kidding, but enjoy making things semi-awkward and uncomfortable.

This week, midterms stressed me out. But not as much as they normally do because I am beginning to not care. I just need a job.

Two nights ago, I could not stop watching the show Hoarders: Buried Alive. These people are crazy, and watching them live in these types of conditions stressed me out. I spent the entire day cleaning.

Midterms ended, I stopped staying up late to watch stressful television, and woke up and started watching TLC's A Baby Story, and I Didn't Know I was Pregnant.

What the freak?

Like I wasn't terrified enough already of growing a person inside myself, people go on national television to share their awful, stressful experiences. These people are crazy.

All of this stress has caused me to become sick. Which is how I'm going to spend the rest of my fall break from school. Awesome.

At least my room is clean, I'm not pregnant, and I dominated my midterms.

Wednesday, October 13, 2010


sometimes, I surprise even myself.

between me, Meggers, Bertolli and Richelle, the last thing we need is an excuse not to date somebody. Seinfeld said it best:

She had man hands.

He's a regifter.

She's a two-face.

She's got the jimmy legs.

She's a virgin.

She just took credit for my salad.

She's one of these low-talkers.

He's a high talker.

He's a bit of a close talker.

She's bald.

She went out with Newman?

She's too tan.

She's too good.

She wasn't my type.

and we can definitely add our own to the list.

he wears gloves. he's not funny. he has weird friends. he made me eat vegetables. he made a double comeback. his heart just isn't in it. he likes bad music. he had a booger in his nose. He won't chew gum. He wears gargoyle shirts. He has baby hands. He has a weird laugh. He only wears free t-shirts.

But recently, I've grown.

Me: I hate his jeans.
Richelle: Jeans are fixable.
Me: You're right.
Richelle: How bad are they?
Me: Awful.
Richelle: Yikes.
Me: I've met plenty of guys with good jeans and bad attitudes.

Maybe there's hope for me after all.