Draw · me · a · sheep!

bedinstead: we'll celebrate when we all get a chance
bedinstead: get your wilson cap and gown
bedinstead: we'll cheer you on while you walk down your stairs

I think I prefer this imagery better than a sweltering day in San Diego with 642509 other people I don't talk to anymore and who achieved more than I did in college. Cheers to my new life of eleven hour work days!

Now that it's getting warm and my sun-kissed face is covered with a mask of pore suffocating grime at the end of the day, I'm really starting to miss the days before I found out apricot scrub is so bad for you. for some reason it was so satisfying to scrub five layers of skin off with walnut shells.

i also miss the days before mom jeans/pants/skirts and overalls were back in fashion. Moms are so insistent on forcing their views on other people that I knew it wouldnt be long.

Chloe, I love you so much, but I don't have to like you right now.

Look at how good at posing like her character she is. This whole picture is very reminiscint of moments from my childhood.

Thank you Dior for showing us that 80 pound women can have bellies too. (note: this model also has her hand on her hip, mom style)


And look, travesty of travesties. My little wannabe fashionista heart is crying out in alarm.

Baggy mom jean shorts COMBINED with overalls? REALLY now, Marc Jacobs? This isn't really a pose my mom would make, but that shirt looks like something she might wear. And yes, I did use to sport the most unfortunate calvin klein overalls, baggy butt and all, shut up.

And since I have your attention, I also miss the days when I didn't see a squirrel and wonder if it has gotten its birth control shot yet.

The only things I like to spend my money on are clothes and books, mostly because they are what I decorate my life with. Once I had to buy a dvd player and after searching a couple of stores and finally finding the cheapest one at walmart, I felt like I was giving away a kidney when i parted with those 20 dollars. nothing like the fulfilled warmth i felt when i spent my last paycheck on red peeptoe pumps. Red peeptoe pumps I will never feel like wearing to work but are breathtaking displayed proudly in their open box in the middle of my floor. Remember kids, peeptoes are the new black.

For Valentine's Day, the boss gave us each a loaf of bread, those round fancy artisan ones that they don't even pre-slice for you with the flour dusted on top. A subtle reminder that our very needs depend on his benevolence, or a kind gesture from a dear old man? I didn't care, my heart melted everytime i caught a whiff of that fresh yeasty goodness, the plump thing sitting on my desk begging me to squish it. There is nothing that brings me more joy than food mutilation.

It takes every effort for my eyes to not roll out of my head when people say something they think is incredibly profound and then add smarmly, "Think about it." After which you are both silent and s/he takes the moment to gloat inwardly about the supposed aforementioned profoundness while you physically pull the aforementioned eyes back into their sockets with muscles you didn't even know you had.

For example, today on teevee I saw a man on a reality show say, "Out of horseshit flowers grow." (pause for dramatic sinking in purposes) "Think about it." And as he says that terribly redundant phrase, he points his finger to his head. Was it not enough that he had to remind listeners that they should think, and felt that he needed to point out where their brains were as well? Or was his subconscious even wincing, and forcing his hands to pantomine a gun to the head? In any case, please do not ever say those words to me. My eyes thank you in advance.

Okay fine, I'll admit it. Even after seeing Casino Royale last night, I was an ardent member of the Daniel-Craig-looks-like-a-monkey- and-is-not-my-Bond club. When I woke up this morning, however, I did have the slightest urge to throw myself at those grubby hands, stumpy body, and that greasy scrunchy face. Along with all the very subtle product placement, there has to be some kind of subliminal seduction in that film. In any case, who knew those famous martinis consisted of Smirnoff? Bond sure drinks some shitty vodka for being such a bad-ass.

Kanye West isn't happy as Justice and
Simian hold their award for best video.
When did cnn.com get so funny?

There are three things in my mornings that set my mood for the day.

1. whatever outfit I can manage putting together while I run out of my room.

To my defense, it is very dark in my room in the mornings. And yes, I am as ashamed as you are for me when I appear in public looking like your old grandmother that lives in the midwest/asia/some deserted island who is questionably colorblind and undoubtedly senile.

2. the music I can find between mindless morning show chatter.

There are certain things that should be unlawful to force upon the masses, especially but not including: Stevie Nicks live, nickelback or anything that sounds like nickelback, any product of what puff daddy creates on his unexciting and uninspiring show.

3. my first cup of coffee and/or tea.

It doesn't taste the same everyday. Sometimes it hits your taste buds right, and sometimes it doesnt. But it's almost always guaranteed to be good if Daniel of Daniel's Coffee Cart gives you a free biscotti with it.

One of these things going wrong is expected, two is begrudgingly tolerable, but if all three fail, then it's probably a good idea to call work, pick a part of your body, and claim it's infected. No one messes with infections - in the past three months I've used an eye and a toe.

There's an article out today about a woman who wanted a sex change in order to fulfil her delusion that she was Jesus. She thought she could "communicating with people psychically", could start and stop trains with her mind, and had the power to cure people's poor eyesight, and thought that she was becoming Christ and that turning into a man would complete that transformation.

And then I read about an overweight woman who went to the hospital with intense stomach pains, only to find out that she was not in fact fat, but about to give birth. There seems to be a trend of self-delusion in our world. But then again, if I had to dilate four inches I would probably try to block it out of my mind too. I don't really know what to say about the first story.

On the topic of transformations, I just found a worm building his cocoon in my shower. I have so much room in there I don't have the heart to kick him out. So everyday while I cleanse myself to get ready to face the world, he'll be preparing to start anew. How disgustingly metaphorical. Life is sure grand for me and my worm.

I watched a movie the other day where the main character suffered from erotomania, a mental disorder where someone believes themself to be in a relationship that does not in actual fact exist. She decided to stalk the man she thought was her boyfriend and ran his wife over with a bike and eventually tried to kill him. It freaked me out because who knows how many made-up relationships I have in my life right now... Do I really have friends? Are my parents really my parents and not just a couple of asian people I randomly picked out one day at ranch 99 and somehow convinced myself that I had sprung from their loins? What a curious thought.

In any case and completely different news, I decided to take his photos down from my wall. There's something tragically unfunny about pictures capturing moments that the photographer was in, but not the subject.

It's always strange to come home and shed off the Halloween costume you've been wearing all night to find that your toe, your real toe on your real foot, has picked up a very real infection. you can't trick me with a disguise, it says. The tv is still showing the same slide on the local station, asking you to report any potholes that need to be fixed. If they're not tended to immediately, the screen says, they can start cracking away and grow to several feet. I don't have any broken potholes, but there's other cracks that could probably use some fixing.