No. Yes. Ok Maybe.

The problem with not really believing in anything is that sometimes, just sometimes, you get the urge to wonder about religion and God and wonder why you don't believe. I was driving by a church yesterday and something inside of me wanted to stop, go in there and sit through mass.

Then I realized I had just smoked crack.

No, really. The feeling passed as soon as I rolled through the stop sign, I'm thinking the church has a spell on anyone who drives by. A spell that makes them want to stop and confess their life and love to god, fuck that. I'll be sure to GPS my way around town now to make sure I'm not passing by those crazy ass churches anymore.

I think I'll stick to my sparkly Jesus.

Success.

False alarm guys.
I opened my P.O Box and what do I find? My tickets.
BUT they were fucking open! Like the whole envelope was sliced open at the seams and taped together, but only at the top! The entire right side of the envelope was open and my tickets were hanging out when I pulled them out of the P.O Box.

Those motherfuckers saw my threats and knew what was about to go down.




Sparkly Jesus approves of New Kids on the Block.

She's like baby, I'm like Swayze.

Also. Whomever decided to steal my New Kids on the Block tickets may have to die via a mysterious explosion. While I do not know if they are indeed stolen, they're not here yet! They should have arrived sometime last week but no such luck. I'm guessing a 36 year old father of 3 who works at the post office stole my tickets.

I remember crying when I was like 5 or 6 years old because my older sister got to go see NKOTB and I had to stay at home. I was convinced that my aunt and cousin hated me and that's why I had to stay home. So while I was lying in my bed, gripping onto my NKOTB pillowcase and my NKOTB sleeping bag pulled up to my chin, I cried and made the vow that someday I would see them in concert. THAT SOMEDAY HAS COME GOD DAMNIT, and I'd better get my tickets sometime soon or this will end badly, I assure you.

I can remember only trying to sleep on Jonathan Knight because that was my way of being close to him, I never wanted to lay my head on Danny or Donnie though. And I felt like a traitor if I laid on Jordan because Jennifer had dibs on him.




Even the Germans love them.

Social Networking Etiquette

I'm not sure what people are trying to accomplish on myspace/facebook/whatever when they send you messages saying 'Hi. U R HAWT.' I'm guessing I'm supposed to be flattered and send a reply telling him 'Hehehe, not really but thxxxx!!!!!!!'

I recently recieved a message exactly like that and when I didn't answer I got another message asking me why I didn't respond. I'm guessing I was supposed to respond with "Um, thanks. I think your picture of Marge Simpson going down on Homer is really hot too, let's chat."
Since I failed to respond to the second message, I got a third stating that I was an ugly fat bitch and he didn't want to talk to me anyways. A desperate move by the denied, so I finally decided to respond by sending him photos of naked fat women to which he responded with 'thx 4 replyin wit sexay pics, iz dat u?'

I'm not sure how the brain dead operate computers, but I'm on a mission to make them all think I'm hawwwwtttttt.

I don't sing very well.

This morning while I was driving to work, Barry White's Can't Get Enough Of Your Love Baby came on, and I actually listened to the lyrics.

Why would the lyrics matter to me? WELL. Because one night in front of 100 people, I decided to sing this song. I have no idea what possessed me to sing this song out of a catalog of more than 200 songs. I mean, who goes on stage and sings Barry White? AND a fat white girl who can't seem to talk to people, and has the voice of a chipmunk? All I recall is that I knew the chorus and I belted that out as hard as I could, and for some unknown reason I THOUGHT it sounded good. I now wish someone had pulled me from the stage by my knees and stomped my vocal chords out.

Thank god I will never see any of those people again, it was a great idea to sing in front of people in the lounge of a cruise ship. In the middle of the ocean.




Thank you for your time.

Bum bum bum.

My liver feels like it is dancing the lambada, and my kidneys are hanging out in the corner grinding against the wall. I'm not sure why I decided to drink 2 16oz Rockstars within like 3 hours of each other, because now my organs are at a rave and I haven't been invited.

So besides the fact that my insides are in a mosh pit, I think I may be part crocodile. I don't know of one other person who has skin as dry as mine? What the fuck, lotion is supposed to help with that shit.

Also does 5:30 am seem like a great time to start blasting mariachi music? To normal people, no way. But to my neighbors, YES! This is a great time!

I woke up at 5:30 to use the bathroom and on my way back upstairs, I feel the beat in my bones. I can hear my windows rattling from the base of this crazy ass clown music. Seriously, what in the hell can you be thinking at 5:30 am that would make you turn your shitty ass music up that loud? ITS NOT EVEN DAYTIME YET.

But this has given me a great idea for the future, but I'm going to one-up them. I'm going to start playing some shitty metal band at 4:30 am. Maybe my friend, the rooster will do back up for my concert.


AND.
This is the best snack ever.

To the gulliotine!

I would like to address the fact that whomever designs clothes for fat asses (me, specifically) should be shot in the face. Seriously. And the stores who purchases the line of clothing! What in the hell, REALLY. Do you really think that a trash bag covered in geometrical shapes is going to make me feel good? Make me look at it and think 'Wow! I would look great in this! No one would ever mistake me for a small geometric planet.' I've decided to live in tin foil pants and tank tops.

Ugh.

I still need to figure out a way to approach things without bombarding them with 'I FEEEEEEEL', because it really doesn't matter how I feel when I need to know where the q-tips are. One step towards the future.


I will honestly start updating this more, because it's definitely necessary.
Now I'm off to take the tags off of my new triangle smorgasbord that I call a shirt.

It's easier when you know no one is reading.

I need to work on the way I approach situations, I always seem to dive in head first not caring if it's going to snap my neck in two.

This is not finished, but I must run out and get some chick peas.
Who the hell goes to the store for chick peas? I do. That's who.