Speaking of preggers, Eliza and I both shared the fear that we would immaculately conceive around the age of 14. That whole baby-in-the-manger business did nothing but keep little girls freaked out about ending up with a baby & no one (no one, let's face it) would believe you were carrying the Big Baby J. My mom would have slapped me across the face and called me a liar, and a blasphemous one at that (and lies make the baby Jesus cry). But what if I did have the Big Baby J - and then, I had to endure all these hardships of being a preg-ola teen, ostracized and bemoaned by all, which in turn, would make me a better person or something (yada yada yada). How would that go over (not so well, I'm guessing)? And how come nobody ever talks about Mary shitting a brick about having a baby when she didn't do the wild thing? The nasty? The bare-backed beast? The bump of the uglies? Huh? Didn't she think it was weird that she was knocked up? Where's that sheezy in your bible? And wasn't Joseph pointin' fingers at hooligans in the market or something - like, Bitch! You touch my woman! I kill you! (cut to wild-eyed scuffle including Joseph and some unassuming poor man) Where's that in your bible, mayne!?!
Things seen today:
(1) rubber glove (again, but this time, it was cream-colored, as opposed to the pool one).
(1) Arrow man!!!! Arrow man almost killed me last night as I was walking home, and from what I hear, he almost killed Joey Joe Junior Shabadoo also. So, this morning, I was walking past him and he said, "Hey what's up" and I thought, I have to say something, dammit (which, by the way, is said like Elton, Big I). So I said, "Hello Arrow man!" And he started giggling. Then the conversation began with him saying, "My name is mrumphh gabbaada" (I didn't catch his name) and I introduced myself, and then he told me that he does this in between shifts (what kind of shift, I don't know) to relieve stress (I am sooo curious, why didn't I ask what he does!!!). And then we went into the logistics of the archery, and I learned that shooting an arrow is pretty "instinctive" and "not hard at all." Now, the last thing I wanted was to be offered a lesson in shooting, and also, if I stuck around any longer I would have made Greek mythology jokes, like that chick that cut off her boob (Was it Athena? Artemis?), so I hightailed it out of there.
Things I am glad about my mom:
* She taught me to always get a coat 1 size bigger than your regular size, in case of a sweater fiasco. Good advice, good advice.
* She never gave two shakes of a thornberry bush if me or my sister wore makeup. Why do so many parents get a sweaty crotchrocket about makeup on their daughters???
Yesterday, Crack smelled like a sewer. A big, stinking rotten sewer. I hate when people smell so bad you think you're going to vomit all over them and try to swab it up with a crumpled tissue. Oh! Speaking of tissue, my hair is doing a pretty good impression of what one smells like today. It actually smells like Kleenex Soft, and on that note, I have to share some brits' reviews on the subject. They are particularly lame. And I don't know why I get so excited about lame-o link-o, but it's your own fault. I blame yourself! Pffff!
Places I'd like to work, but will never get the opportunity:
* Versailles (Never been there? You should go - it's the only place I'd actually strongly recommend. I'd scrub the damn floors if I could.)
* With Cintra Wilson, talking endless amounts of copious shit about celebrities.
* Here. I bet the perks rule!
* Definitely not here!
Time for bacon & pancakes & other atrocities that make vegans blush and moms applaud...