…but it could have been shit. I love her, don’t get me wrong, but I cringe when she calls. A. L. O. T. So, today, I bit the bullet and answered the phone. I may have hesitated, I may have thought of 200 reasons not to push that little button, but out of family obligation, I did it. So, here’s a transcript of the 30:33 phone call. GM: “Well, you ARE alive!” Me: Kinda, yeah. *Insert lame apology for not calling* GM: Blah blah blah blah blah blah blahblah blah blahblah...
Ironically, even if I’m blogging it, today I have sworn to take off from any sort of work. Blogging isn’t work, right? A few notes from my week: I had my eyebrows waxed a few weeks ago and, honestly, I wasn’t happy with the results. She asked me if they were ok, and I thought, “what are you going to do if I say, ‘no?’” Since then, I’ve had the recurring thought about what women do when they’re not happy with their bikini wax job. Please, put my...
I am about to say the most unthinkable statement that has ever come out of my head. Well, no, there have been plenty of these thoughts, but this is the one I choose to admit. Based on my blazing entry into fertility yesterday (just scroll down, k?), I have been walking around naked, wearing only a cock ring. Name that movie and the first celebrity I wanted to… oh fuck, I can’t take this. Oh, that wasn’t the unthinkable statement. I’m drawing out the anticipation, yo. My mind...
I. Need. A. Drink. I realize that nobody ever technically needs a drink, but I plan to make an exception in my own case. The irony is that I cannot have a drink because I’m in the midst of some freak intestinal issue (TMI, fuck off) that does nothing but make me wince and cry (in my Virgo way of not crying) when I move. Life is beautiful in Melialand this week. Gaah. So, I didn’t have a chance to blog about my weekend, but it was nice and quiet. Some shopping, some Rock Band and a birthday...
In my quest for journalistic integrity, I bring you the follow-up to When Cool Girls Go Stupid. I will admit that I’ve had a few forays into the world of the UCG (UnCool Girl). I’ve been prone to fits of weird notes to boys I liked, making statements to incite jealousy, and dedicating a song or two that I would not ordinarily even acknowledge existed had I not been in the throes of crushdom. In my defense, however, I was probably in high school (or earlier) and therefore, I was UnCool...
