Stupid York City

Either I have the great misfortune of running into a lot of dumb people, or this city is home to a special collective of the intelligence-challenged. My displeasure the life on this island comes at a very inopportune time, as I am supposed to write an essay within the next week, rhapsodizing about the brilliance of Manhattan. If anyone has any ideas on how to tackle this, I'm all ears.

Keys and Parrots

I don't really have much to say, but I want to avoid doing my work for as long as possible. So far, I have done laundry (ugh), read half of a book (smartypants), gone to the gym (must! lose! weight!) showered (eh), painted my nails (vamp), watched an hour of "the office"(hilarity), eaten everything in my house (must! gain! weight!), and picked the fuzz out of my hairbrush (OCD). I bet I will find more things to do after I finish writing this.

Let's see. I have two job interviews on Thursday, and I am not the least bit sorry for being proud of myself. I am so nervous, but also quite excited to have some prospects. I am also PMS-ing, which means after the interviews, I will either laugh, cry, or get arrested. I would love to get this job, as it has been my dream since I burst forth from my mother's womb.* I often wonder where my love of television comes from. Is it from all of those hours spent watching PBS while the parental units were in the hospital with Seth? Am I too much of a loser/loner/smelly kid to hang out with real people? I'm not sure. What I can tell you is that television is something that never fails to satisfy. I have complete control over it, turning it on and off, from topic to topic at will. Find me someone who is as satisfying and easy to be with as My Television, and I will happily re-enter society

I guess that's all for now. I should go do some homework. And by homework, I mean picking the bubble gum off of my nose, where it is now stuck following a colossal bubble.

*Actually, there was no bursting. I refused to exit, and the doctors had to grab my face with what have been described to me as giant salad tongs. They squished my face in the process, which is why one of my eyes is always more closed than the other (it gets worse when I am tired, which is why I look like am winking at everyone between the hours of 11pm-9am). It was also later revealed that the doctor that did this to Fetus Me was stoned out of his gourd at the time, popping pain pills like they were Nerds until the state finally yanked his license. Last we heard, he was enjoying some R&R with Betty Ford.

My latest project!

Hi muffins. Here it is, my latest attempt to be a journalist. Enjoy!

A handy relationship chart for your edification

Subject	Month 1	Month 3	Month 5
Sprained ankle	“Oh my god, are you ok? What can I do for you?”	“Wow that sucks. I’m sorry.”	“Walk it off”
Making plans	“I am busy until 12, but I will see if I can leave at 11:45. I really want to see you!”	“I’ll call you, but it will be late.”	“Can’t. Busy. Sorry.”
Where to eat	“What do YOU like?”	“That’s fine.”	“How many times do I have to tell you? Tuesday night is pizza night. Jesus.”
His career	“He’s a musician!”	“He waits tables, but he is also in a band.”	“He’s poor.”
Friends	“Can’t wait to meet them! They sound so fun!”	“They are okay, just a little crude.”	“Tell the fat pervert to shut his trap.”
Phones	“I am so sorry I missed your call!”	“Sorry, I think my phone was on silent.”	“No, it works, but CSI was on.”
How was your day?	“Great!”	“Okay. The usual.”	“I’m sorry…were you speaking to me?”

Important Lesson #6746

Never, ever eat a large Indian meal, composed of spicy curry and lentils (plus a host of other items) then go exercise. This is definitely one for the "My Bad Ideas" file. Oh, the nausea! I waited a good forty minutes after eating enough food to feed a moderately-sized village before enthusiastically getting on the elliptical. Apparently, this was not an adequate amount of time. I spent the entire duration of my workout waging holy war with my stomach and making vomit contingency plans. You know exactly the plan I'm talking about, too- the "I-am-going-to- barf-in-this-very-public-place-how-can-I-do-this-discreetly" plan. First, you scope out the locations of all of the trash cans, estimating how much time you have to get to each one. Just in case you have the great misfortune of speedy puke and not-so-speedy legs, you decide on an alternative barfing option (hands, water bottle, etc). It's like that fuzzy piece of gum at the bottom of your bag: you hope you don't have to chew it, but in a pinch, it's there.

In other news, I just spent the last minute trying to adjust the volume on my computer with my tv remote. And when I say minute, I do mean a full 60 seconds were devoted to this endeavor. My mental capacities are clearly quite limited at the moment, so I suppose spring break has arrived just in time.

At least I didn't marry K-Fed

I think I need to start putting myself together a bit more. I don't mean more showers, although that couldn't hurt the cause. I mean doing things to, you know, make myself look sparkly-perky-cute. On the whole, I consider anything more than brushing my teeth a total nuisance. Even then, some days are Listerine days. I promise I am not gross, just incredibly lazy.* I put on the business-wear for the job. But if you think those pants have ever been washed, you are sorely mistaken (I do wash my sweaters and shirts with regularity). I rarely fix my hair, instead opting for bobby pins/headbands/rubber bands/pencils to do the work for me. I just don't care! Sure, I feel a little bad next to people who bother to look presentable, but hey, I got an extra 30 minutes of sleep while you were busy being prissy! (That still doesn't help the dark circles under my eyes, though, which I refuse to cover with makeup.) Nevertheless, I think I need to start making an effort.

So I am sure you are wondering what caused this revelation. Or not. But I am going to tell you anyway! I was standing in line at Walgreens, waiting for the lady to fill my order of crazy pills. As I waited, I picked up a copy of People so that I may avail myself of the current issues plaguing the world. On the cover was the incomparably nutty Britney Spears. The gentleman next to me, who appeared to have several open sores and half as many teeth, tapped the cover of the magazine. "She's almost as cute as you," he whispered. So, why do I need to putting a little more effort into my looks?



That's why.


*I should petition the university to graduate me in May with a Bachelor of Arts in Completing the Bare Minimum Yet Still Managing To Succeed (Sort Of).