Sadly, I think my brain cancer was a combination of PMS, fatigue, and my cold. I was wanting some kind of tragic illness. I need the attention. Now I’m back to being just like everyone else.
Although I do have a bone spur. What kind of sympathy/attention does that warrant?
In an effort to be less ugly, I have been upgrading my ratty t-shirts for new shirts that are a) not t-shirts and b) a little girlier. This means shorter sleeves, lower necklines, more feminine cuts. the result? meh. I’m still a tree trunk with breasts. you just see more of the tree trunk and/or breasts. I do like trees though.
I applied for a job that pays $40/hr. Of course I didn’t get it. I didn’t even get an interview. LAME. I would like to make $40/hr though. That would be nice.
the first time I did ecstasy with Gordon, I thought he looked like jesus christ. At least, I thought he looked like how jesus might have looked. especially body-wise. I don’t know why I think that. the other day I was looking at some work papers of his and it listed his occupation as “carpenter”. It made me feel warm and nice inside, seeing that word next to his name.
you know what I like most about the new yorker? how the articles continue one page after another, you don’t have to flip around to a thousand places to finish the story. I love that.
also, facebook is dumb and TV is dumb and boys are, too. all dumb. dumbest thing of all? Nights in Rodanthe. Can someone take nicholas sparks’ writing implements away until he learns to play nice with them?
- my apologies to victims of inoperable brain cancer and their families.
- Cold sore or pimple?