You have all seen the posters of Rosie the Riveter, flexing her upper arm, and saying "We Can Do It!"
In a funny occurrence the other day, a friend of mine told me about an abusive ex of hers who, in an attempt at "conversation," grabbed her upper arm, leaving a bruise there. She showed us, in much the same fashion that Rosie the Riveter flaunted her own upper arm.
"You should make a poster of this," said Jeremey, "that says 'I Tried to Do It!'"
Saturday, June 28, 2008
My Breakfast Philosophy
The bigger, the better.
Orange juice, warm toast and fresh jam, eggs, hash browns, croissants, sausage links (Though mine are not real meat, they suffice), fruit, yogurt, a cold glass of soy milk...
I eat breakfast slowly.
Fresh coffee and old movies make me inexplicably happy.
I have pretty low friendship standards--you must drink coffee with me, or you must dance with me. Do both and I'm yours.
These are just a couple things about me. I think you can tell a lot about a person by their opinions on breakfast.
I can tell by the breakfasts he makes that I made a good call. <3
Orange juice, warm toast and fresh jam, eggs, hash browns, croissants, sausage links (Though mine are not real meat, they suffice), fruit, yogurt, a cold glass of soy milk...
I eat breakfast slowly.
Fresh coffee and old movies make me inexplicably happy.
I have pretty low friendship standards--you must drink coffee with me, or you must dance with me. Do both and I'm yours.
These are just a couple things about me. I think you can tell a lot about a person by their opinions on breakfast.
I can tell by the breakfasts he makes that I made a good call. <3
If I wrote an entry right now
It would probably be the most emotional blather ever.
...I'll wait until tomorrow.
...I'll wait until tomorrow.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Newborn jokes
Not jokes about newborns, but jokes that have just, themselves, been born. See Below.
Q: How do ghosts get drunk?
A: Off of BOO'S!
(I made that one up myself, as far as I know)
Gray: I would rather sell my soul to God than the Devil.
Me: At least that way you could make yourself a prophet!
(Get it? Selling? Profit/Prophet? Ahhhhh!)
Jesus: The Board Game! 'He's the Fisher-Price of men!'
--Me
(I was drunk when I came up with this, does that make it funnier?)
Jeremey: What's that book...10,000 Leagues Under the Sea?
Me: Actually, it was 20,000.
Jeremey: Huh, I must have read the abridged version.
Me: Come on, there is nothing wrong with dating your third cousin.
Jeremey: Well you know what they say, third cousin's the charm!
I am sure the "newborn jokes" section will be a recurring feature as long as I am hanging around Jeremey. He is a magnet for horrible puns. And by horrible I mean wonderful...of course.
Q: How do ghosts get drunk?
A: Off of BOO'S!
(I made that one up myself, as far as I know)
Gray: I would rather sell my soul to God than the Devil.
Me: At least that way you could make yourself a prophet!
(Get it? Selling? Profit/Prophet? Ahhhhh!)
Jesus: The Board Game! 'He's the Fisher-Price of men!'
--Me
(I was drunk when I came up with this, does that make it funnier?)
Jeremey: What's that book...10,000 Leagues Under the Sea?
Me: Actually, it was 20,000.
Jeremey: Huh, I must have read the abridged version.
Me: Come on, there is nothing wrong with dating your third cousin.
Jeremey: Well you know what they say, third cousin's the charm!
I am sure the "newborn jokes" section will be a recurring feature as long as I am hanging around Jeremey. He is a magnet for horrible puns. And by horrible I mean wonderful...of course.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Today's events leading up to the creation of this blog
I woke up at 8 a.m. because I had been drinking the night before. And drinking at night makes me wake up early. Go figure. I ate part of a piece of pizza, and went to a charming lunch spot with Jeremey. His dog threw up grass while I was eating, and I wanted to throw up, too.
We ventured back to my apartment so I could pack for Atlanta. His dog shit on my rug, and I wanted to throw up again. I made coffee instead.
I drove to Atlanta, straight to Wal-Mart, for an eye appointment. The eyeglasses people at Wal-Mart make me feel so uncomfortable, and they try to pressure me into buying new glasses by insulting mine.
I returned to the home I grew up in, and find out there is a swim meet tonight, and we are supposed to wear costumes, for whatever reason. I go as Darth Vader, my helmet has a voice changer in it. I scare the shit out of my 3-year-old niece, who yells "Make it stop, Auntie!"
I go to the swim meet and tell a young boy that I will put him in the ground; that he is but one, insignificant casualty of many in this endless battle against time. He does not blink, but rather seems to accept this truth that the strange, masked creature has revealed to him.
Jeremey and I had luckily discovered, just the day before, that the gas station across the street from my apartment sells Round Ups, a brand of candy cigarettes that actually even blow fake smoke. As a gesture of good will, I donate my Round Ups to the hungriest-looking children. Or maybe they were just the smallest children. At any rate, I donated them, and watched as the children, their lips still blue from their blow pops and other nasty blue candy things, blew on the pseudo-fags. I laughed, which through my voice changer sounded fucking AWESOME, as the pseudo-smoke billowed around their giggling bodies.
Later I was asked to draw a lightning bolt across someone's face in eyeliner. It looked sweet.
After the meet I went home and ate birthday cake-flavored ice cream and checked facebook (checking facebook is approximately 35% of my life).
I killed a spider on my wall, and got into bed. Opening my laptop, I realized what a good day it had been. And thought how appropriate an ending it would be, to a day filled with vomit, shit, and manipulating children, to start a blog.
This is it.
We ventured back to my apartment so I could pack for Atlanta. His dog shit on my rug, and I wanted to throw up again. I made coffee instead.
I drove to Atlanta, straight to Wal-Mart, for an eye appointment. The eyeglasses people at Wal-Mart make me feel so uncomfortable, and they try to pressure me into buying new glasses by insulting mine.
I returned to the home I grew up in, and find out there is a swim meet tonight, and we are supposed to wear costumes, for whatever reason. I go as Darth Vader, my helmet has a voice changer in it. I scare the shit out of my 3-year-old niece, who yells "Make it stop, Auntie!"
I go to the swim meet and tell a young boy that I will put him in the ground; that he is but one, insignificant casualty of many in this endless battle against time. He does not blink, but rather seems to accept this truth that the strange, masked creature has revealed to him.
Jeremey and I had luckily discovered, just the day before, that the gas station across the street from my apartment sells Round Ups, a brand of candy cigarettes that actually even blow fake smoke. As a gesture of good will, I donate my Round Ups to the hungriest-looking children. Or maybe they were just the smallest children. At any rate, I donated them, and watched as the children, their lips still blue from their blow pops and other nasty blue candy things, blew on the pseudo-fags. I laughed, which through my voice changer sounded fucking AWESOME, as the pseudo-smoke billowed around their giggling bodies.
Later I was asked to draw a lightning bolt across someone's face in eyeliner. It looked sweet.
After the meet I went home and ate birthday cake-flavored ice cream and checked facebook (checking facebook is approximately 35% of my life).
I killed a spider on my wall, and got into bed. Opening my laptop, I realized what a good day it had been. And thought how appropriate an ending it would be, to a day filled with vomit, shit, and manipulating children, to start a blog.
This is it.
"Do vegans swallow?"
The other day, a great thought came to me. People are always asking, "Do vegans swallow?" basing this joke off the fact that sperm is technically animal byproduct. Funny, right? And they are always met with quizzical looks and, often, perverted comments. In other words, it usually falls pretty flat. As I meditated on this, the funniest response came to me. Thinking of it, I laughed out loud. I knew that next time someone asked me "Do vegans swallow?" I would quickly respond with this witty response, to be met with belly laughs from all within earshot.
Then, the next day, I forgot it. I completely forgot my own joke. Why hadn't I written it down?? Idiot! A friend and I brainstormed possible responses to no avail ("Like anyone is gonna suck you off anyway, FAG!") (...Was that inappropriate?).
Anyway, the joke was lost forever.
I want to remember. I want to remember everything. Unfortunately this is impossible for humans. The internet, however, can remember everything. And I'm not even asking for the whole internet, all I need is one page of it!
So, I'm going to put my life down here, in my own words, not so much how it actually happens, but how I would prefer to remember it. Because this is my page, I can do that.
Just consider this a second way of finding out about my going-ons. The first of course being direct contact with me. As a horrible liar, you will likely hear an accurate account of things that actually occur in my life.
The second way will be through this blog. The version of my life you read of will likely be overly-dramatic, sappy, and dare I say, "emo?" Don't get me wrong, being "emo" is certainly not my intent, but there is just something about Times New Roman that gives a certain weight to the phrase "my black heart" that often is unintended by the author! I feel that inability of most font families to express tone of voice is the source of so much internet angst. It is perhaps the reason so many people come off as "creepy" when they try and spark an innocent Pokemon debate in a chat room (Come on, tell me you didn't find most Pokemon strangely phallic!).
At any rate, I hope this blog is emo, and creepy, and everything a personal blog should be. Whatever it takes for me to remember my youth, so be it.
That is all for now,
Erin
Then, the next day, I forgot it. I completely forgot my own joke. Why hadn't I written it down?? Idiot! A friend and I brainstormed possible responses to no avail ("Like anyone is gonna suck you off anyway, FAG!") (...Was that inappropriate?).
Anyway, the joke was lost forever.
I want to remember. I want to remember everything. Unfortunately this is impossible for humans. The internet, however, can remember everything. And I'm not even asking for the whole internet, all I need is one page of it!
So, I'm going to put my life down here, in my own words, not so much how it actually happens, but how I would prefer to remember it. Because this is my page, I can do that.
Just consider this a second way of finding out about my going-ons. The first of course being direct contact with me. As a horrible liar, you will likely hear an accurate account of things that actually occur in my life.
The second way will be through this blog. The version of my life you read of will likely be overly-dramatic, sappy, and dare I say, "emo?" Don't get me wrong, being "emo" is certainly not my intent, but there is just something about Times New Roman that gives a certain weight to the phrase "my black heart" that often is unintended by the author! I feel that inability of most font families to express tone of voice is the source of so much internet angst. It is perhaps the reason so many people come off as "creepy" when they try and spark an innocent Pokemon debate in a chat room (Come on, tell me you didn't find most Pokemon strangely phallic!).
At any rate, I hope this blog is emo, and creepy, and everything a personal blog should be. Whatever it takes for me to remember my youth, so be it.
That is all for now,
Erin
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