Browsing ModCloth, like a normal wannabe adult, I noticed there was a serious investment on their part in food as fashion. And I just want to say that it’s okay if 0% of the human race partakes in this forced trend. Personally, I would feel guilty walking past my local homeless crew. But that’s me! Okay, normally here I’d say something like, “You know what? You just keep doin’ you.” But… no. Just no. If this is you, it’s not funny. It’s not fashion. You’re better than this, okay? Stick with fruit prints, and ice cream cone prints, but not burgers and salty and WHY.
But the pretzel floating device I completely understand, and am completely on board with because who doesn’t want to feel like the family in Honey I Shrunk the Kids?!
I revisited this album tonight, on account of summer, and the end of this song really just strikes me as genius. It’s a strong claim to call something genius… I realize that. But the catchy/girly/pop-punkiness of the end of this song is so simple yet original, and true to most people, I think, that it resonates, to me, as the most genuine moment of this whole album. Was that enough commas? Did I use them correctly? I doubt it. WHATEVER.
Ok, genius is strong. I take that back.
Anyway, that wasn’t funny, but my mom said I really am funny and should start a blog, so I guess that’s as good a reason as any to write a post on this blog I started a year ago, unbeknownst to my mom. This blog feels like my own personal abandoned in-ground pool. I started it, and then didn’t care for it. Leaves and mud and branches and cats are creating some sort of ecosystem within it now. Now it’s a shameful reminder of self-indulgence gone to waste. How tragic! But hey! Here I am now. Entertain me. And now this goes off the rails…
But I guess I have somewhat of an anecdote of sorts (conviction, much?):
My landlady leaves random locally printed newspapers (read: I have the internet) in a plastic bag on my doorknob once a week now. Do I dare stop her? No! She wouldn’t understand me if I tried. I just have something extra to recycle now.
Ever have that thing happen where someone says something—you don’t hear it, and ask to repeat—they say it again—you don’t catch it again—you ask to repeat—you miss it a third time. This happened to me today. That third miss hurt so bad that my body started to shut down from what I will henceforth call Dumb Numb. You get Dumb Numb when you feel so dumb about an event that has happened that you physically can’t move or feel anything and you crumble into a pile of ashes and you are taken away with the wind.
Other causes of Dumb Numb:
+ Throwing up in a sink at a party.
+ Dropping your cell phone into some dude’s toilet.
+ Dropping your cell phone in any toilet.
+ Going in for a hug. Target doesn’t reciprocate, causing you to force a casual recoil, which turns you into the aforementioned pile of ashes.
+ Forgetting the name of a person you should know by now (duh).
+ Tripping and falling while jogging.
+ Giving a wedding party speech and having it steam-rolled by the Best Man (a story for another time).
My prescription to rid yourself of how dumb you are is to take a shot of gin and go watch like 5 cat videos on Youtube. And also remind yourself that you’re a human being, dammit, and you’re going to feel really really really dumb sometimes. See! Life feels better!
This morning I jam-packed my suitcase full of all the necessary objects I purchased in Florida (ie, giant tervis cup), only for all of my dirty laundry to be completely and unceremoniously unpacked upon passing through airport security. I am made to believe that airport security thought the candles in my bag were sticks of dynamite. And, clearly they thought I looked suspiciously similar to Wile E. Coyote.