Today was officially "bad decision day."
Just thought everyone should know.
Okay, now I'm going to try to think of something real to write about.
For people who want to learn, grow, get inspired, and stay silly.
(word)(question mark)
I have a list of blog ideas for those dry days when I have no idea what to say. You know, those random ideas that pop into my head when I don't have time to write but seem completely brilliant at the time. Also known as the ideas that are completely unwriteable.
Today I realized that once again it's been a few days and I have absolutely no ideas for what to write about. So I consulted my list. Mainly it's full of things that I thought were hilarious and really are meaningless, but one bullet point caught my eye. One word and a piece of punctuation: "penis?"
Penis?
This is a topic for a blog post?
I don't even have the slightest idea of what I was thinking. Perhaps I was envisioning a scenario where one is lost? Or where a person is unsure if what they're looking at is a penis or not?
Hmmmm.
Penis?
Today I realized that once again it's been a few days and I have absolutely no ideas for what to write about. So I consulted my list. Mainly it's full of things that I thought were hilarious and really are meaningless, but one bullet point caught my eye. One word and a piece of punctuation: "penis?"
Penis?
This is a topic for a blog post?
I don't even have the slightest idea of what I was thinking. Perhaps I was envisioning a scenario where one is lost? Or where a person is unsure if what they're looking at is a penis or not?
Hmmmm.
Penis?
This is how I spend my entire night.
I used to think Ikea was a playland of joy and happiness. A place that was full of so many fun and happy ideas that the "d" became a "k". Turns out it's really a dank pit of a warehouse intent on slowly breaking down the fragile psyches of 20-somethings trying to make it on their own.
Here's what happens:
Step 1: A 20-something needs furniture. Perhaps they just moved into their own place. Perhaps their roommates have moved out leaving them without important furnishings and/or storage solutions. Perhaps they accidentally broke the furniture their parents gave them in an innocent beer bong incident. Whatever the case may be, this 20-something decides that they are now a grown up and should acquire new furniture on their own. Not so grown up they should go to Sears or The Brick for their furniture, because paying that much for stuff you sit or stack things on is really just completely insane. They are just grown up enough to buy items that are cheaper because you assemble them yourself and are all exposed, unfinished wood.
Step 2: Said 20-something goes to Ikea and successfully selects and purchases their furnishing items, as well as a few impulse-purchased ice cube trays (they are shaped like stars! How fun!) and tea lights (100 candles for $1? How can you not???) - this also makes them feel more grown up because a) they can afford impulse purchases here, and b) anyone who's gone grocery shopping with a parent who "just needs some milk" knows that being an adult is all about suddenly realizing you need something when you see it.
Step 3: Our happy 20-something brings all the purchases home, only slightly dismayed that they had to actually spend real money on them and begins happily assembling the pieces. At first it's easy. There are pictures that are more-or-less easy to understand explaining what to do, and every successful 20-something has a basic screwdriver set their parents bought them when they moved out. It's so easy!
Step 4: A feeling of success and pride overtakes the 20-something as the assembly continues.
Step 5: Everything goes to hell and nothing works and the 20-something's can-do attitude is shattered and they begin to question their worth as a human being because if they can't assemble a freaking bekvamustalgum, then what can they do??? I mean, they can't even find a job in the area of specialty they studied in school, but figured that eventually things would look up if they were creative and stuck to it, but if being creative and sticking to it won't even result in a successfully assembled bekvamustalgum, what will it result in? NOTHING that's what. PAIN. HORROR. HUMILIATION.
*ahem*
So I totally had defeated this Ikea monstrosity when one of the little screwy things I put in at the very beginning came unscrewed and the only way to fix it is seriously to undo everything else. It only took me 3 hours to get this far, so it's not so bad, right? I can do this without resorting to calling the boyfriend and being all little-girly about this, right? Right?
Great, all the self-esteem I built up after the end with the former boyfriend is completely gone. Thanks a lot, Ikea.
Here's what happens:
Step 1: A 20-something needs furniture. Perhaps they just moved into their own place. Perhaps their roommates have moved out leaving them without important furnishings and/or storage solutions. Perhaps they accidentally broke the furniture their parents gave them in an innocent beer bong incident. Whatever the case may be, this 20-something decides that they are now a grown up and should acquire new furniture on their own. Not so grown up they should go to Sears or The Brick for their furniture, because paying that much for stuff you sit or stack things on is really just completely insane. They are just grown up enough to buy items that are cheaper because you assemble them yourself and are all exposed, unfinished wood.
Step 2: Said 20-something goes to Ikea and successfully selects and purchases their furnishing items, as well as a few impulse-purchased ice cube trays (they are shaped like stars! How fun!) and tea lights (100 candles for $1? How can you not???) - this also makes them feel more grown up because a) they can afford impulse purchases here, and b) anyone who's gone grocery shopping with a parent who "just needs some milk" knows that being an adult is all about suddenly realizing you need something when you see it.
Step 3: Our happy 20-something brings all the purchases home, only slightly dismayed that they had to actually spend real money on them and begins happily assembling the pieces. At first it's easy. There are pictures that are more-or-less easy to understand explaining what to do, and every successful 20-something has a basic screwdriver set their parents bought them when they moved out. It's so easy!
Step 4: A feeling of success and pride overtakes the 20-something as the assembly continues.
Step 5: Everything goes to hell and nothing works and the 20-something's can-do attitude is shattered and they begin to question their worth as a human being because if they can't assemble a freaking bekvamustalgum, then what can they do??? I mean, they can't even find a job in the area of specialty they studied in school, but figured that eventually things would look up if they were creative and stuck to it, but if being creative and sticking to it won't even result in a successfully assembled bekvamustalgum, what will it result in? NOTHING that's what. PAIN. HORROR. HUMILIATION.
*ahem*
So I totally had defeated this Ikea monstrosity when one of the little screwy things I put in at the very beginning came unscrewed and the only way to fix it is seriously to undo everything else. It only took me 3 hours to get this far, so it's not so bad, right? I can do this without resorting to calling the boyfriend and being all little-girly about this, right? Right?
Great, all the self-esteem I built up after the end with the former boyfriend is completely gone. Thanks a lot, Ikea.
Yesterday was a very good day for me because...
... I mean, except for the parts about someone else being in trouble for trying to destroy my reputation. I'm 80% sure that's not going to happen. But the boy is back! Woo! (Don't mess.)
Vegetables? Aw MAN!
I recently accidentally was tricked into becoming a quasi-vegetarian by Jonathan Safran Foer. If you don't know, JSF is a totes brilliant writer who wrote two of my favouritest novels ever: Everything is Illuminated and Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. If you think I'm exaggerating when I say that he tricked me into becoming a quasi-vegetarian, you would be wrong. Here's the (thrilling) story:
I was at the library and saw on the fast reads shelf (for non-VPL folks: that's the shelf of books that are popular so you can only have them for a week) a book called Eating Animals by my good friend JSF. "Great!" I thought, "I've been looking for a new and awesome story that will poetically move my soul to a higher plain." So I took it out. Turns out it's a non-fiction that's actually about humans eating animals and the farming practices in the US and if you read it and have a conscience there is no way you will be able to continue your usual animal-eating practices. No way. Unless you engage cognitive dissonance for evil and choose to push it all away with some cock-eyed justification and then you will probably never question eating animals again but will lose a piece of your soul. Sort of like how horcruxes work.
So now I am a quasi-vegetarian, which means that I have decided to maybe still eat meat if I'm, say, eating at someone's house and they slaved away at a meal for me. And I will probably still eat turkey at Christmas and Thanksgiving. Or at least gravy. PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME EAT MASHED POTATOES WITHOUT GRAVY BECAUSE OTHERWISE THE POTATOES MIGHT AS WELL NEVER EXIST AND I WILL CURL UP AND SOB IN THE CORNER RUINING EVERYONE'S HOLIDAY. The big deal for me is that I will no longer order meat in restaurants. It's pretty much the only time I eat meat anyways because I never buy it to cook because that takes, like, fore-planning and putting some kind of effort into what I eat and who has time for that?
Here's the thing: I now know that altruism is real. You know how people always say that there is no real altruism because people always feel good about doing their good deed and so it's selfish on some level? Well I am very possibly the very first example of true altruism in the world. I don't feel good about this meat-avoiding at all. Every time I am ordering food and have to figure out what to eat instead of chicken strips or fish n' chips (because YES, fish is bad too, thanks a lot JSF you couldn't have skipped the part about how bad the fishing industry is, could you?) or a chicken caesar salad or whatever other incarnation of chicken I am instinctively driven to order, I am just miserable. Really. I try to remind myself that this is better for my health and the environment and the animals and the workers and humanity overall, and I hope that will make me feel better about what I'm doing, but I'm really just unhappy. I just really want to eat chicken strips so badly. Or bacon when I get my $3 breakfast from Bon's. And now I can't. Instead I will probably have to order something with lots of vegetables in it, which is just the worst.
So there you are. ARE YOU HAPPY WORLD? ARE YOU HAPPY JSF? ARE YOU HAPPY ANIMALS? I hope so, because I sure am not. Stupid conscience.
I was at the library and saw on the fast reads shelf (for non-VPL folks: that's the shelf of books that are popular so you can only have them for a week) a book called Eating Animals by my good friend JSF. "Great!" I thought, "I've been looking for a new and awesome story that will poetically move my soul to a higher plain." So I took it out. Turns out it's a non-fiction that's actually about humans eating animals and the farming practices in the US and if you read it and have a conscience there is no way you will be able to continue your usual animal-eating practices. No way. Unless you engage cognitive dissonance for evil and choose to push it all away with some cock-eyed justification and then you will probably never question eating animals again but will lose a piece of your soul. Sort of like how horcruxes work.
So now I am a quasi-vegetarian, which means that I have decided to maybe still eat meat if I'm, say, eating at someone's house and they slaved away at a meal for me. And I will probably still eat turkey at Christmas and Thanksgiving. Or at least gravy. PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME EAT MASHED POTATOES WITHOUT GRAVY BECAUSE OTHERWISE THE POTATOES MIGHT AS WELL NEVER EXIST AND I WILL CURL UP AND SOB IN THE CORNER RUINING EVERYONE'S HOLIDAY. The big deal for me is that I will no longer order meat in restaurants. It's pretty much the only time I eat meat anyways because I never buy it to cook because that takes, like, fore-planning and putting some kind of effort into what I eat and who has time for that?
Here's the thing: I now know that altruism is real. You know how people always say that there is no real altruism because people always feel good about doing their good deed and so it's selfish on some level? Well I am very possibly the very first example of true altruism in the world. I don't feel good about this meat-avoiding at all. Every time I am ordering food and have to figure out what to eat instead of chicken strips or fish n' chips (because YES, fish is bad too, thanks a lot JSF you couldn't have skipped the part about how bad the fishing industry is, could you?) or a chicken caesar salad or whatever other incarnation of chicken I am instinctively driven to order, I am just miserable. Really. I try to remind myself that this is better for my health and the environment and the animals and the workers and humanity overall, and I hope that will make me feel better about what I'm doing, but I'm really just unhappy. I just really want to eat chicken strips so badly. Or bacon when I get my $3 breakfast from Bon's. And now I can't. Instead I will probably have to order something with lots of vegetables in it, which is just the worst.
So there you are. ARE YOU HAPPY WORLD? ARE YOU HAPPY JSF? ARE YOU HAPPY ANIMALS? I hope so, because I sure am not. Stupid conscience.
This is how you know you are a horribly lame/amazing person
I feel like a beauty queen!!!! This morning I emailed Jenny the Bloggess asking her to please find a way to stop me from reading her blog because I have grown painfully addicted and am reading through back emails all the time, and I know it sounds like I was just trying to write a veiled fan email or get her to come see my blog, but really I was crying out for help because I have gotten literally nothing done this month because I've spent all my free time reading backwards on her blog. It's a serious problem. Mostly I blame google for inventing a reader that makes it too easy to read through back-posts on blogs forever and ever, but partially I blame her for being all hilarious and junk.
Anyways, I emailed her and she FREAKING EMAILED ME BACK. On the very same day. I am flubbergasted.
Since she posts emails she gets from people all the time, I'm sure she won't be offended by me posting her email to me here. So, without further ado, this is what the magnanimous Jenny the Bloggess said to lil' old me:
lame sad kind of okay cool interesting existent am I?
PS: Yes, I just called myself existent because, well, it's really the only truly accurate adjective I could think of. I mean, clearly I exist if she emailed me, right? I just don't feel comfortable putting a value judgement on myself for your benefit.
Anyways, I emailed her and she FREAKING EMAILED ME BACK. On the very same day. I am flubbergasted.
Since she posts emails she gets from people all the time, I'm sure she won't be offended by me posting her email to me here. So, without further ado, this is what the magnanimous Jenny the Bloggess said to lil' old me:
I totally understand. I've been trying to get real work done for years but instead I spend all my time blogging. It's like I'm contagiously ADD.Seriously, how
How about if I ban you from my blog? YOU ARE BANNED! But not really. I don't know how to ban people. I suck.
PS: Yes, I just called myself existent because, well, it's really the only truly accurate adjective I could think of. I mean, clearly I exist if she emailed me, right? I just don't feel comfortable putting a value judgement on myself for your benefit.
Stupid baking
Know what's the worst part of baking cookies? Getting used to being able to go to the kitchen and just eat a cookie, or even better, some leftover cookie dough you saved in the fridge, and then having none left.
Then you have no choice but to eat yet another handful of your roommates chocolate chips that she probably actually wanted to use to bake cookies and you hope that she doesn't try anytime soon or notice that her supply is slowly going down, and she is moving out soon so maybe she'll just leave them? Then you remember that she at least read your blog once before and might still read it and might now know that you just ate a handful of her chocolate chips and have probably done it at least one other time in the past.
Sorry, roomie. Hugs?
Then you have no choice but to eat yet another handful of your roommates chocolate chips that she probably actually wanted to use to bake cookies and you hope that she doesn't try anytime soon or notice that her supply is slowly going down, and she is moving out soon so maybe she'll just leave them? Then you remember that she at least read your blog once before and might still read it and might now know that you just ate a handful of her chocolate chips and have probably done it at least one other time in the past.
Sorry, roomie. Hugs?
The killer in me
I keep having dreams where people are trying to kill me. Sometimes it's the running away while they chase me, sometimes it's the hiding, sometimes it's the full on fighting-for-life where I totally channel Buffy the Vampire Slayer and am AWESOME (or probably almost die but with lots of kicking that looks more like flailing), and sometimes it's just the slow, creeping knowledge that the person I'm spending time with in my dream is engaging in some plan that will end in my death.
Always my brain manages to time these dreams so that they happen right before my alarm goes off so I wake up in some kind of panicked state where I'm trying to save myself from death. Not the most zen way to start your day, but maybe good if I actually needed to start my day with that kind of "FIND ANYTHING THAT CAN BE USED AS A WEAPON AND HIDE IN A DARK CORNER!!!" energy.
So I decided to look up what it means when you have dreams that people are trying to kill you all the time. But before I look them up, I'm going to guess that the dream means that on some kind of subconscious/molecular level I am very important to the universe. Probably (like some character from some TV show I won't name so as to avoid spoiling everything for y'all) my genetic structure is super amazing and could save the world if made into vaccine form, so my dreams are preparing me to either a) flee the scientists and save myself at the expense of the human race or b) flee the evil scientists who want to harness my body's amazing cells for terrible purposes.
Okay, let's see what the internet says now:
Always my brain manages to time these dreams so that they happen right before my alarm goes off so I wake up in some kind of panicked state where I'm trying to save myself from death. Not the most zen way to start your day, but maybe good if I actually needed to start my day with that kind of "FIND ANYTHING THAT CAN BE USED AS A WEAPON AND HIDE IN A DARK CORNER!!!" energy.
So I decided to look up what it means when you have dreams that people are trying to kill you all the time. But before I look them up, I'm going to guess that the dream means that on some kind of subconscious/molecular level I am very important to the universe. Probably (like some character from some TV show I won't name so as to avoid spoiling everything for y'all) my genetic structure is super amazing and could save the world if made into vaccine form, so my dreams are preparing me to either a) flee the scientists and save myself at the expense of the human race or b) flee the evil scientists who want to harness my body's amazing cells for terrible purposes.
Okay, let's see what the internet says now:
Well it depends. Let's say your a woman dreaming of man trying to kill you. Perhaps you've had a bad past with men. Or if it was someone you dont know trying to kill you. Maybe you're fearing something. A co-worker trying to kill you? Your co-worker might have gotten the position you wanted. There are all kinds of meanings for different killing dreams. I hoped this helped a little.Answer #2:
You ate cheese before going to bed?Answer #3:
to see a killer in your dream, suggests that an essential aspect of your emotions have been cut off. you feel that you are losing your identity and your individuality. alternatively, this dream may represent purification and the healing process. you are standing up for yourself and putting a dramatic end to something.Hmmmm... Okay, so the moral of the story is, don't eat cheese before bed, stop having a bad past with men (because as a woman this is the only logical explanation - romance troubles), and that in my life I am constantly putting a dramatic end to something. Sounds... exciting? Sort of like I'm the chosen one to save all of humanity from some future blight. That is a tough weight to carry my friends, I mean, just look at what it did to Harry Potter.
Join the Pen 15 club!
Why is it so WEIRD to buy pens? I mean for seriously, I have realized recently that I am actually fresh out of pens. My purse, drawers, pen cups and jars, and random surfaces around the house are ALL completely devoid of pens. The problem is that I feel like the only acceptable reasons to buy pens are for back-to-school or if you are buying supplies for your office. Otherwise it's just kind of weird, like I'm so picky about my pens that I have to go buy specific ones and can't just use the free ones that always show up from charities and churches and hotels and that I steal from my office (which I would totally do but my office is always running out of pens! It's some kind of conspiracy). Maybe that's it, I need to go stay in a hotel for a little while and stock up on free pens. Free hotel pens are the best and would totally justify the cost of staying at a hotel. Seriously, they write way better than those fancy pens you buy in the store. And by "fancy pens you buy in the store" you know I mean the Bic impersonator pens that you get from the creepy dollar store where everything is off-brand.
Fun fact: did you know that the Bic company was created by some dude whose last name was Bich and he wanted to name the company after himself but was convinced that would result in his products only being purchased by douchey teenage boys so they could throw them at girls because they don't know how to flirt? True story. I read it somewhere a really really really long time ago.
UPDATE: Crisis narrowly averted! I was at a make up party tonight and totally stole a pen. HA! Or maybe I was supposed to take it because she gave us all pens in a secret ploy to make it easier for us to keep track of products and fill in purchase order forms... Nope, that makes me sound like a lot more of a sucker. I totally stole it.
UPDATE 2.0: The day after writing this I came across this on The Bloggess. Does this mean that part of growing up means stopping stealing pens? Another reason to avoid growing up I guess.
Fun fact: did you know that the Bic company was created by some dude whose last name was Bich and he wanted to name the company after himself but was convinced that would result in his products only being purchased by douchey teenage boys so they could throw them at girls because they don't know how to flirt? True story. I read it somewhere a really really really long time ago.
UPDATE: Crisis narrowly averted! I was at a make up party tonight and totally stole a pen. HA! Or maybe I was supposed to take it because she gave us all pens in a secret ploy to make it easier for us to keep track of products and fill in purchase order forms... Nope, that makes me sound like a lot more of a sucker. I totally stole it.
UPDATE 2.0: The day after writing this I came across this on The Bloggess. Does this mean that part of growing up means stopping stealing pens? Another reason to avoid growing up I guess.
I want to be.... HER!
I have needed new glasses for a really really really really long time. My eyes are kind of actually pretty bad but I like to pretend they're not for a few reasons. First of all, getting glasses means thinking ahead and scheduling all kinds of appointments. Then they expect you to pay for them. Then you have to remember to wear them on your face. It all seemed like way too much work until I watched season two of Dollhouse and met this stunning lady:
I know it's not the best picture, but EFF it was hard to find one that showed her amazing glasses. Look how amazing they are. The best part, though, you can't even see in this picture. She is wearing them on a CHAIN. And it's so seductively awesome it's ridiculous. Here's the best picture I could find showing off the chain:
Seriously, look how cute? Don't you just want to BE her? Well, no you don't because (SPOILER ALERT) she turns out to be kind of evil, then not so evil, then maybe evil, then not, then dead. Okay, that really was a spoiler, sorry about that. Or is it? I mean, we all die eventually.
Anyways, I want to be her, minus the semi-evilness and dead arm, and the closest I think I can is those awesome glasses on a chain. Also, I want her sweater.
Who would have thought that the thing that motivates me to actually spend the time and money getting new glasses would be an alluring somewhat evil genius? Scratch that, who WOULDN'T have thought that?
Finally, you should watch Dollhouse. Joss Whedon is a freaking genius and gets better all the time.
Things I Learned Today (and it's not even noon)
Predictive text mistakes are interesting
If you use predictive text on your cell phone (probably because you STILL don't have an internet phone with a real keypad thingy and you don't even actually remember how old your phone is except that you remember it was new two houses ago making it at least 4 years old and that you were really excited about having a "sexy slider phone" which is totally not sexy any more and really just kind of makes people sad when they look at it) and type "in the" but forget to leave a space it will say "movie". No? Well now you do. And yes, your life is better for this information.
Can you believe that was what motivated me to write this post in the first place?
The truth about bikini waxing.
Warning: this section will definitely fall in the "too much information" file.
Today I am getting my bikini waxed for the first time ever in my life, which is apparently shocking and a little disgusting*, and I get why it's a little surprising because I guess most girls start taking care of their lady-box's hat when they are much younger than me, but I never really have. I mean, I have taken care of it in other ways, with very little commitment, and now for the first time ever am getting it waxed. On the phone they asked if I wanted a French or a Bikini and I was trying to sound all clever and experienced and remembered my friends saying that the French is just like cleaning up the strays and stuff, so I said with full confidence and know-how in my voice that I wanted a French. Then I looked it up online just to be sure and turns out that a French means they take pretty much everything off which really just freaks me out and I do NOT want them to do that, but now when I get there I'll have to admit that I don't know what I'm doing and have never been waxed before and then I'll try to be all casual about it but will laugh really awkwardly and she'll know that I am terrified. Because who wouldn't be terrified about yanking the hair off their lady-box? All I want is to be able to wear my bathing suit on the beach without embarrassment! Or with significantly less embarrassment anyways. I mean, there's only so much I can control.
Also, I have been amazed to recently learn how much work some girls put into grooming their lady-box and I had no idea that it was even possible to put that much work into it, but apparently it is not only possible but common. Have I been missing something here? Was my mother supposed to teach me more about this? I don't think I would have listened because I would have been horrifyingly embarrassed that she was talking to me about her lady-box grooming and would have just agreed with everything she was saying without actually listening to it just to make the conversation end. Then I still wouldn't have known anything about this. So my question is, if that's how conversations with mothers turn out, then where exactly did all these other girls learn that they were supposed to do all this stuff? I mean, it's just a LOT of work and expense and what exactly are they trying to accomplish? I mean, I get some basic tidying up, but that aside, are you trying to disguise it? Are you doing it for yourself or for the dudes? If it's for yourself then I'll just shrug and say "have fun down there!" while moving on to one of my ridiculous past times that probably make no sense to anyone else and so we'd be even. If it's for the dudes, then I get it even less, because if they're down there isn't it because they like lady-boxes? Why would you want to disguise it? Why would they want you to disguise it? Does it make it like a safari for them, to see if they can still recognize it?
Here is a sign you are growing up: the more you learn the more questions you have.
*I reread that sentence and realized it's a little unclear. I mean to say that apparently I am shocking and a little disgusting for having never been waxed before, not that waxing is shocking and disgusting. Although it probably is. I mean, think about it. Really.
If you use predictive text on your cell phone (probably because you STILL don't have an internet phone with a real keypad thingy and you don't even actually remember how old your phone is except that you remember it was new two houses ago making it at least 4 years old and that you were really excited about having a "sexy slider phone" which is totally not sexy any more and really just kind of makes people sad when they look at it) and type "in the" but forget to leave a space it will say "movie". No? Well now you do. And yes, your life is better for this information.
Can you believe that was what motivated me to write this post in the first place?
The truth about bikini waxing.
Warning: this section will definitely fall in the "too much information" file.
Today I am getting my bikini waxed for the first time ever in my life, which is apparently shocking and a little disgusting*, and I get why it's a little surprising because I guess most girls start taking care of their lady-box's hat when they are much younger than me, but I never really have. I mean, I have taken care of it in other ways, with very little commitment, and now for the first time ever am getting it waxed. On the phone they asked if I wanted a French or a Bikini and I was trying to sound all clever and experienced and remembered my friends saying that the French is just like cleaning up the strays and stuff, so I said with full confidence and know-how in my voice that I wanted a French. Then I looked it up online just to be sure and turns out that a French means they take pretty much everything off which really just freaks me out and I do NOT want them to do that, but now when I get there I'll have to admit that I don't know what I'm doing and have never been waxed before and then I'll try to be all casual about it but will laugh really awkwardly and she'll know that I am terrified. Because who wouldn't be terrified about yanking the hair off their lady-box? All I want is to be able to wear my bathing suit on the beach without embarrassment! Or with significantly less embarrassment anyways. I mean, there's only so much I can control.
Also, I have been amazed to recently learn how much work some girls put into grooming their lady-box and I had no idea that it was even possible to put that much work into it, but apparently it is not only possible but common. Have I been missing something here? Was my mother supposed to teach me more about this? I don't think I would have listened because I would have been horrifyingly embarrassed that she was talking to me about her lady-box grooming and would have just agreed with everything she was saying without actually listening to it just to make the conversation end. Then I still wouldn't have known anything about this. So my question is, if that's how conversations with mothers turn out, then where exactly did all these other girls learn that they were supposed to do all this stuff? I mean, it's just a LOT of work and expense and what exactly are they trying to accomplish? I mean, I get some basic tidying up, but that aside, are you trying to disguise it? Are you doing it for yourself or for the dudes? If it's for yourself then I'll just shrug and say "have fun down there!" while moving on to one of my ridiculous past times that probably make no sense to anyone else and so we'd be even. If it's for the dudes, then I get it even less, because if they're down there isn't it because they like lady-boxes? Why would you want to disguise it? Why would they want you to disguise it? Does it make it like a safari for them, to see if they can still recognize it?
Here is a sign you are growing up: the more you learn the more questions you have.
*I reread that sentence and realized it's a little unclear. I mean to say that apparently I am shocking and a little disgusting for having never been waxed before, not that waxing is shocking and disgusting. Although it probably is. I mean, think about it. Really.
The Vancouver Police can be awesome, who knew?
The other night I went to a Yelp party at the Vancouver Police Museum, and let me tell you, that place is cool. If you're a creepo like me anyways.
You see, ever since childhood I have been fascinated by the whole "dark side" of humanity. Not kidding, I would take true crime books about mothers killing their babies out of the library when I was 10 (and I brought it to school to read during silent reading. Adam Carmichael was sitting next to me and thought it was sick. It probably was. I'm impressed/worried that my parents didn't try to stop me considering they didn't even let me watch the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles). I like to think this is part of the reason why I love both acting and psychology so much. There's nothing better than delving into what makes a person go all psycho killer-esque, either from a first person or detached scientist-researcher perspective. So long as you stop delving at some point, right?
I like to think that I have a special connection with the Vancouver Police Museum because of this special connection I have with psycho killers, and that I'm the only one who really understands the Vancouver Police Museum. Really, that's probably not true because theoretically a lot of other people go there too and it's been open for a long time and I'd never been there before so clearly it wasn't made just for me, but I REALLY liked it and especially found fascinating the real crime scene pictures and evidence and stuff. Like, "here's the picture of a person lying in a pool of their own blood (don't worry, it's black and white so it's not too gross) and next to it is the axe that was used to kill them, notice how there is still a blonde hair stuck to the blade, this is the hair of the killer. We are not even joking, it really is." - how could that NOT be awesome?
So, you know, check it out. Or whatever.
You see, ever since childhood I have been fascinated by the whole "dark side" of humanity. Not kidding, I would take true crime books about mothers killing their babies out of the library when I was 10 (and I brought it to school to read during silent reading. Adam Carmichael was sitting next to me and thought it was sick. It probably was. I'm impressed/worried that my parents didn't try to stop me considering they didn't even let me watch the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles). I like to think this is part of the reason why I love both acting and psychology so much. There's nothing better than delving into what makes a person go all psycho killer-esque, either from a first person or detached scientist-researcher perspective. So long as you stop delving at some point, right?
I like to think that I have a special connection with the Vancouver Police Museum because of this special connection I have with psycho killers, and that I'm the only one who really understands the Vancouver Police Museum. Really, that's probably not true because theoretically a lot of other people go there too and it's been open for a long time and I'd never been there before so clearly it wasn't made just for me, but I REALLY liked it and especially found fascinating the real crime scene pictures and evidence and stuff. Like, "here's the picture of a person lying in a pool of their own blood (don't worry, it's black and white so it's not too gross) and next to it is the axe that was used to kill them, notice how there is still a blonde hair stuck to the blade, this is the hair of the killer. We are not even joking, it really is." - how could that NOT be awesome?
So, you know, check it out. Or whatever.
The Leader of the Pack
A young girl tells her friends about her former beau - a bad boy who was sad underneath. Her parents force her to break up with him and as he rides away from her in an emotional fury he dies.
Confession time: this song makes me cry every time. Seriously.
Check out this live performance and awesome acting by these ladies and tell me you don't mist up a little bit. What are you, made of stone?
Confession time: this song makes me cry every time. Seriously.
Check out this live performance and awesome acting by these ladies and tell me you don't mist up a little bit. What are you, made of stone?
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