I saw a ghost today.
Okay, not an actual ghost, but I inadvertantly came across a poem written by my best friend, who passed away in a car accident a few years ago, when I did an unrelated Google search today. It was a little creepy. I found it on someone else's website. I don't know if this person ever even knew her or not. I doubt they know she died. But there were her words - all spread out for the entire world to see.
She used to post her poetry on several websites. I guess this person was so touched by her words that they decided to make them a part of their own site. Amazing. Although, she was always much braver than me.
You see, I've always had a hard time allowing people to read what I write. I'd rather have sex with a total stranger than allow him to read my diary. Skin is just skin and basically every girl has the same body parts. I mean, really, raise your hand if you've never seen a boob before. What I write is part of my soul. It's who I am. It's something that makes me unique. It's the mark that I leave behind for someone else to find. I don't know if I can give that up so easily. Words can come back to haunt you. They can be thrown back in your face later.
I realize the irony of telling you all this in a blog entry. It's this blog that has somewhat helped me get over this fear of sharing my writing. But one thing still hangs over my head with a dark heavy shadow.
I want to write a novel.
I'm not overly ambitious enough to write the great American novel. I know that's not going to happen. But I've had somewhat of a story in my head for a long time. In recent months, this novel has consumed my idle thoughts. Characters who were minor have moved into major roles. Plot lines have shifted. I bring it up often enough that some of my friends jokingly say, "Are you going to put me in that book of yours?"
The thing is, I can write this book, but I would hate for anyone who knows me to read it. My biggest fear is that they will think that there is truth to the story, when in fact, it has evolved so far beyond its original idea that it is nowhere close to anything that has ever happened to me. I've always been one of those people who has thought that you should write about what you know. But this story is different in that I'd like to think that it is more of what the anti-Chrissy would do or maybe if I was a different person in a different point in my life. It's the other half of the Choose Your Own Adventure, the option that I would never take. I don't want anyone to read too much into it or make poor assumptions. My life, thankfully, does not have the type of drama that would make a good read. But I could create characters to play with, like the Barbie dolls of my mind. I could take my frustrations out on them by putting them in bad situations or use them in personal catharsis by having them overcome less than ideal situations.
Or I could just go out and get the Sims. We all know what I slacker I really am.
Thanks for reading this. It's great therapy for me.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Wednesday, April 5, 2006
This is an open letter to Bathsheba Monk, author of the article Coal Miner's Granddaughter which appeared in the New York Times Magazine section on April 2nd, 2006.
Dear Ms. Monk,
I am outraged at your portrayal of Tamaqua in your piece and find it to be highly inaccurate. Additionally, I read an article in the Times News, the local paper for the Tamaqua area, which published your reported response to LCCC administration. Unfortunately, your responses only perpetuated my rage.
Do you honestly believe that the people of Tamaqua would never see this piece? Several stores in the borough of Tamaqua sell the New York Times. Surely you are aware that the NY Times is one of the largest publications in our country. Surely you are aware that the publication is available on the Internet. I myself found your article when I typed the words "Tamaqua" and "t-shirt" into my search engine in an attempt to locate a novelty gift item for a friend who has moved to another state. It seems that by that time, local reporters also discovered it as later I read the article in the Times News the same day.
Your article poses a brilliant question. Exactly who DO you think you are? It is condescending people like you who make it difficult for those of us who leave the area to answer questions regarding our roots without judgment. I, too, have left the area to reside in Bethlehem, the Philadelphia suburbs and most recently the Reading area. I have traveled to many countries in recent years and have been lucky enough to drive through all 48 of our continental states. I can think of numerous times since my departure of the Tamaqua area when people asked me where I grew up and found myself offering slight variations of the truth. "The Poconos," I would say, "or just slightly north of Allentown." I found myself somewhat embarrassed because I was afraid of how others perceive the area to which I was born. Today, I am ashamed that I let people like you get the best of me.
Although Tamaqua might seem like a depressed little town to some, I believe it to be a diamond amongst the coal. We can mortgage beautiful homes for less than what you pay for a small apartment rental. I have seen the lights of Paris from the top of the Eiffel Tower, but it pales in comparison to the beauty of Lake Hauto or Tuscarora State park on an autumn day. I have made life long friends in this community and have seen other groups of friends to be thicker than thieves. Rarely will you find this in other areas. It seems that the people who leave the area are the ones who were never really revered in the first place.
I enjoy reading updates on the improvements to the community and am anxious to visit to see their progress. We have well educated community leaders who have returned to the area after leaving prestigious universities (we don't all go to LCCC) with the only wish to turn the community into something wonderful for future generations. And while I feel that sometimes holding on to your past too closely can be somewhat dangerous, if everyone were encouraged to leave Tamaqua, we would lose our history and our heritage. I am grateful for these citizens as I may one day wish to return to the area to retire. I am glad these leaders are looking out for the future of the community and keeping it from becoming a ghost town.
The Times News article reported that you admitted to knowing very little about the area. That is a true shame. How can you be sure you are moving forward if you don't even know where you have already been? I would encourage you to visit Coaldale's Number Nine Museum, take a hike up the Blue Mountain or stop in one of our local establishments for a beer. You will learn a lot about the area's culture, beauty and people. It might be an eye opening experience for you. Locals are always happy to share their stories. It might give you a little more appreciation for your ancestry.
Incidentally, I also noticed that in this article and several others that you frequently misspell the word Hazleton, despite your claims of being originally from there. As most area natives know, a lawyer originally misspelled the name of the town itself in its incorporation documents. The mistake went unnoticed until it was too late. Again, it seems that even in all your worldliness, you have much to learn.
It was also reported that the students in your classroom prompted you to amend your views. I believe this statement is a cop out. That message is not clearly represented in your piece. If that was your intent, it leaves your writing with something to be desired.
As for your article itself, I find a few things interesting. You seem to have bad feelings about laughing with your antique collecting friend, yet you are in a similar position when you make your disparaging remarks. There really was no need to lock your car doors as the "fat kid" approached. I would be surprised if half of the town locked the front doors of their houses at night. That's another charm of small town life. You depict your students as uninspired and underachieving, but who are you to judge their dreams? Our communities need cops and contractors. Without them, criminals would run amuck and we would not have homes or stores. Some might even venture to say that their jobs are more important and crucial to society than the job of a critical writer.
Most importantly and perhaps surprisingly, I am delighted at your choice of the word "flinty" to describe the locals. A quick look in the dictionary would lead you to believe that this word refers to something that would help you catch a spark. Well, Ms. Monk, you certainly sparked a fire in me. And I realized today that I should be proud of who I am, my town and my heritage. I will embrace my roots as I have come to realize that they are a part of what made me the successful and zealous professional that I am today.
The greatest attributes of a true coal cracker are ones honesty, bravery and loyalty. I would love to wish you the best of luck in your endeavors, but that would be insincere.
Yours,
A PROUD Coal Miner's Granddaughter
Dear Ms. Monk,
I am outraged at your portrayal of Tamaqua in your piece and find it to be highly inaccurate. Additionally, I read an article in the Times News, the local paper for the Tamaqua area, which published your reported response to LCCC administration. Unfortunately, your responses only perpetuated my rage.
Do you honestly believe that the people of Tamaqua would never see this piece? Several stores in the borough of Tamaqua sell the New York Times. Surely you are aware that the NY Times is one of the largest publications in our country. Surely you are aware that the publication is available on the Internet. I myself found your article when I typed the words "Tamaqua" and "t-shirt" into my search engine in an attempt to locate a novelty gift item for a friend who has moved to another state. It seems that by that time, local reporters also discovered it as later I read the article in the Times News the same day.
Your article poses a brilliant question. Exactly who DO you think you are? It is condescending people like you who make it difficult for those of us who leave the area to answer questions regarding our roots without judgment. I, too, have left the area to reside in Bethlehem, the Philadelphia suburbs and most recently the Reading area. I have traveled to many countries in recent years and have been lucky enough to drive through all 48 of our continental states. I can think of numerous times since my departure of the Tamaqua area when people asked me where I grew up and found myself offering slight variations of the truth. "The Poconos," I would say, "or just slightly north of Allentown." I found myself somewhat embarrassed because I was afraid of how others perceive the area to which I was born. Today, I am ashamed that I let people like you get the best of me.
Although Tamaqua might seem like a depressed little town to some, I believe it to be a diamond amongst the coal. We can mortgage beautiful homes for less than what you pay for a small apartment rental. I have seen the lights of Paris from the top of the Eiffel Tower, but it pales in comparison to the beauty of Lake Hauto or Tuscarora State park on an autumn day. I have made life long friends in this community and have seen other groups of friends to be thicker than thieves. Rarely will you find this in other areas. It seems that the people who leave the area are the ones who were never really revered in the first place.
I enjoy reading updates on the improvements to the community and am anxious to visit to see their progress. We have well educated community leaders who have returned to the area after leaving prestigious universities (we don't all go to LCCC) with the only wish to turn the community into something wonderful for future generations. And while I feel that sometimes holding on to your past too closely can be somewhat dangerous, if everyone were encouraged to leave Tamaqua, we would lose our history and our heritage. I am grateful for these citizens as I may one day wish to return to the area to retire. I am glad these leaders are looking out for the future of the community and keeping it from becoming a ghost town.
The Times News article reported that you admitted to knowing very little about the area. That is a true shame. How can you be sure you are moving forward if you don't even know where you have already been? I would encourage you to visit Coaldale's Number Nine Museum, take a hike up the Blue Mountain or stop in one of our local establishments for a beer. You will learn a lot about the area's culture, beauty and people. It might be an eye opening experience for you. Locals are always happy to share their stories. It might give you a little more appreciation for your ancestry.
Incidentally, I also noticed that in this article and several others that you frequently misspell the word Hazleton, despite your claims of being originally from there. As most area natives know, a lawyer originally misspelled the name of the town itself in its incorporation documents. The mistake went unnoticed until it was too late. Again, it seems that even in all your worldliness, you have much to learn.
It was also reported that the students in your classroom prompted you to amend your views. I believe this statement is a cop out. That message is not clearly represented in your piece. If that was your intent, it leaves your writing with something to be desired.
As for your article itself, I find a few things interesting. You seem to have bad feelings about laughing with your antique collecting friend, yet you are in a similar position when you make your disparaging remarks. There really was no need to lock your car doors as the "fat kid" approached. I would be surprised if half of the town locked the front doors of their houses at night. That's another charm of small town life. You depict your students as uninspired and underachieving, but who are you to judge their dreams? Our communities need cops and contractors. Without them, criminals would run amuck and we would not have homes or stores. Some might even venture to say that their jobs are more important and crucial to society than the job of a critical writer.
Most importantly and perhaps surprisingly, I am delighted at your choice of the word "flinty" to describe the locals. A quick look in the dictionary would lead you to believe that this word refers to something that would help you catch a spark. Well, Ms. Monk, you certainly sparked a fire in me. And I realized today that I should be proud of who I am, my town and my heritage. I will embrace my roots as I have come to realize that they are a part of what made me the successful and zealous professional that I am today.
The greatest attributes of a true coal cracker are ones honesty, bravery and loyalty. I would love to wish you the best of luck in your endeavors, but that would be insincere.
Yours,
A PROUD Coal Miner's Granddaughter
Sunday, April 2, 2006
I Am A Shameless Whore
After nagging him for several weeks, my good pal Chicago Paul drew a cartoon about me. Check it out. I love this strip because 1. It demonstrates how some people who are practically strangers have this inexplicable need to tell me gruesome details about their personal lives. And 2. I also like the way it ends because, even though I'm sure this was not intentional, it is so so so true that I have no comprehension of how the male mind works (aside of my husband of course, who I probably can figure out better than myself).
And while I'm promoting other peoples' blogs, please take some time to look at Kevin Smith's writings about Jason Mewes' heroin addiction. This is some interesting stuff. I got caught up in it the last few days and I'm anxiously awaiting the next installment of the story. I heart Kevin Smith.
Not much else going on here at the moment other than the Wings won tonight. Woo hoo! We saw Patty O'Toole after the game and he had the nerve to tell Paul and I that we're lame now that we're married all because we weren't going to Chickie's and Pete's later. Dude, it's daylight saving time weekend and we don't live as close to Philly as we used to. I'm not feeling too great tonight, either. But under any other circumstances, I'm always up for the party. I could drink all night with him. And that really says something, because he's a Canadian athlete. Paul, on the other hand, well, he is lame now that he's married. But don't blame me! That's his choice. I'm not stopping him.
I better get some rest. This is the worst weekend of the year.
And while I'm promoting other peoples' blogs, please take some time to look at Kevin Smith's writings about Jason Mewes' heroin addiction. This is some interesting stuff. I got caught up in it the last few days and I'm anxiously awaiting the next installment of the story. I heart Kevin Smith.
Not much else going on here at the moment other than the Wings won tonight. Woo hoo! We saw Patty O'Toole after the game and he had the nerve to tell Paul and I that we're lame now that we're married all because we weren't going to Chickie's and Pete's later. Dude, it's daylight saving time weekend and we don't live as close to Philly as we used to. I'm not feeling too great tonight, either. But under any other circumstances, I'm always up for the party. I could drink all night with him. And that really says something, because he's a Canadian athlete. Paul, on the other hand, well, he is lame now that he's married. But don't blame me! That's his choice. I'm not stopping him.
I better get some rest. This is the worst weekend of the year.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Funny How Things Find Their Way Back To You
First, and foremost, Jimmi Simpson is back!
In case you don't know who Jimmi Simpson is, he's an actor that went to my college and was friends with one of my roommates. He's in the movie Stay Alive, which comes out the Friday. When you see the commercials (which have been on every five minutes in the last week or so around here), he's the first blonde guy they show who is talking about this new game. I have a feeling this isn't going to be in the theaters long, so I plan on going to see this movie in the near future. I haven't seen a good teenage slasher movie in the theaters since Urban Legend, I think.
Yesterday, I was going through some things on my bookshelf and found a journal that I have been looking for for years. And I mean literally years. I went through all kinds of boxes and things at my dad's house trying to find this notebook. I thought for sure I left it in my old Le Barron (remember the bitch mobile? That was the cat's ass, or so I was told...ha ha ha). I had given up hope. And then yesterday, I moved another notebook and there it was. I've taken things off that shelf more times than I can count in the last few months. I swear I never noticed it there. Weird. The journal spans from different random times from 1991-1996. It's not nearly as full or in depth as I remember it being, but there are a few gems in it - a poem about some guy I used to hang out with, song lyrics, a list of songs that I put on a mix tape (including Grey Eyed Athena by Senator Flux...dear lord! Who even remembers that song?!?!) and the answers sex survey that doesn't have the original questions, so I can only guess what it was asking. Good times...
On my way home from school tonight, I heard "Crash Into Me" on the radio. And for the first time in about five or six years, I didn't turn it off. I've always had this on again/off again thing for Dave Matthews, especially that CD. We used to play it all the time when we played caps in college. It got to the point where I got sick of it. But I guess Dave and I are back on again now. He's like that bad boy ex that you know you shouldn't still have feelings for, but you just can't help yourself.
And since we're talking about things from the past coming back, one of my high school friends found me on here this week. I haven't talked to him in many years and it reminded me of when a bunch of us used to play hide and go seek in Jamesway.
Wow. I feel old.
So my friends, here are your assignments. Go see Stay Alive this weekend. I might not get there because I have a paper and a presentation next week, plus a lacrosse game and a concert this weekend. I want to know how it is. Sure, it'll probably suck, but I want to see Jimmi get some more work. If you're one of those downloading people, go find "Grey Eyed Athena" and tell me what it sounds like because I don't really remember. Get in touch with your inner frat boy and embrace Dave Matthews. And finally, since Wal Mart ran Jamesway out of existence, go get a group of friends and play hide and go seek in your local Supercenter. You can top it all off with an Exclamation perfume battle in aisle 4.
In case you don't know who Jimmi Simpson is, he's an actor that went to my college and was friends with one of my roommates. He's in the movie Stay Alive, which comes out the Friday. When you see the commercials (which have been on every five minutes in the last week or so around here), he's the first blonde guy they show who is talking about this new game. I have a feeling this isn't going to be in the theaters long, so I plan on going to see this movie in the near future. I haven't seen a good teenage slasher movie in the theaters since Urban Legend, I think.
Yesterday, I was going through some things on my bookshelf and found a journal that I have been looking for for years. And I mean literally years. I went through all kinds of boxes and things at my dad's house trying to find this notebook. I thought for sure I left it in my old Le Barron (remember the bitch mobile? That was the cat's ass, or so I was told...ha ha ha). I had given up hope. And then yesterday, I moved another notebook and there it was. I've taken things off that shelf more times than I can count in the last few months. I swear I never noticed it there. Weird. The journal spans from different random times from 1991-1996. It's not nearly as full or in depth as I remember it being, but there are a few gems in it - a poem about some guy I used to hang out with, song lyrics, a list of songs that I put on a mix tape (including Grey Eyed Athena by Senator Flux...dear lord! Who even remembers that song?!?!) and the answers sex survey that doesn't have the original questions, so I can only guess what it was asking. Good times...
On my way home from school tonight, I heard "Crash Into Me" on the radio. And for the first time in about five or six years, I didn't turn it off. I've always had this on again/off again thing for Dave Matthews, especially that CD. We used to play it all the time when we played caps in college. It got to the point where I got sick of it. But I guess Dave and I are back on again now. He's like that bad boy ex that you know you shouldn't still have feelings for, but you just can't help yourself.
And since we're talking about things from the past coming back, one of my high school friends found me on here this week. I haven't talked to him in many years and it reminded me of when a bunch of us used to play hide and go seek in Jamesway.
Wow. I feel old.
So my friends, here are your assignments. Go see Stay Alive this weekend. I might not get there because I have a paper and a presentation next week, plus a lacrosse game and a concert this weekend. I want to know how it is. Sure, it'll probably suck, but I want to see Jimmi get some more work. If you're one of those downloading people, go find "Grey Eyed Athena" and tell me what it sounds like because I don't really remember. Get in touch with your inner frat boy and embrace Dave Matthews. And finally, since Wal Mart ran Jamesway out of existence, go get a group of friends and play hide and go seek in your local Supercenter. You can top it all off with an Exclamation perfume battle in aisle 4.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
I never remember my dreams, so I want to get this down. And wtf does it all mean??!?!
It's all still a little hazy, but the first thing I remember is that Sherri and I are going to the movies. We decide on what we want to see. She gets in line, but a mad rush of people suddenly stand behind her and when I go to stand next to her, someone grabs me by the arms and drags me to the back of the line, yelling at me for cutting.
I finally get to the front, but I don't remember which movie we decided to see. I try to get Sherri's attention, but she's standing too far away and can't hear me. The person behind the ticket counter says that he thinks she bought a ticket for "Staying Alive" (side note: wtf?!??! and I'm certain it was not "Stay Alive" nor was this 1983). So I get a ticket and put it in my coat pocket. Sherri comes up to me through the little turnstile thingy,confirms that I bought the right ticket and tells me that I need to try this drink that she bought. The drink is strawberry flavored and has a thicker viscosity, like syrup. I apparently like this or want my teeth to fall out because I go to the little Dairy Queen type place to order one. This huge guy cuts in front of me in line. The squirrelly little guy behind the counter, who clearly saw this, just helps him without saying a word.
Well, I go apeshit. I start screaming about how I got in trouble earlier for cutting in line, but this guy gets rewarded. The guy is huge and obnoxious. I punch him in the face, but it wasn't as hard as I could. The guy pulls out this butter knife on a plastic sword handle (again, wtf?!?!) and I laugh at him. Then he leaves.
I go back to the counter and tell the guy what I want. He disappears in the back room and doesn't come out. Someone else comes out and I scream at him to get the guy back here and tell him to make my drink. He comes back and takes forever to make it. In the meantime, I keep checking my pockets for my movie ticket, but I can't find it. All I can find are tickets to other movies that I've already seen. The guy brings the drink over to me, but it looks nothing like what Sherri had. Instead, he gave me some kind of green soda with huge lumps of pink jello in it. He says, "I'm sorry. It's going to suck, but that's all I can do."
I go apeshit again...and the F bombs start flying. (side note: That's how you know this is a dream. They'd probably be flying a lot sooner in real life.) "I'm paying you for a SERVICE! Do your fucking job and give me what I asked for. You should be trying to exceed my expectations considering how fucking awful this has been..." yadda yadda yadda...There are two women sitting at the counter eating this giant, messy piece of chocolate cake, just staring at me. I know I'm overreacting and way too angry and disrupting everyone. I know they are all extremely annoyed by me and just want me out of there. I keep looking for my ticket and I can't find it. I also don't know if the movie started or not yet, and what happened to Sherri.
And that's about where I woke up.
I finally get to the front, but I don't remember which movie we decided to see. I try to get Sherri's attention, but she's standing too far away and can't hear me. The person behind the ticket counter says that he thinks she bought a ticket for "Staying Alive" (side note: wtf?!??! and I'm certain it was not "Stay Alive" nor was this 1983). So I get a ticket and put it in my coat pocket. Sherri comes up to me through the little turnstile thingy,confirms that I bought the right ticket and tells me that I need to try this drink that she bought. The drink is strawberry flavored and has a thicker viscosity, like syrup. I apparently like this or want my teeth to fall out because I go to the little Dairy Queen type place to order one. This huge guy cuts in front of me in line. The squirrelly little guy behind the counter, who clearly saw this, just helps him without saying a word.
Well, I go apeshit. I start screaming about how I got in trouble earlier for cutting in line, but this guy gets rewarded. The guy is huge and obnoxious. I punch him in the face, but it wasn't as hard as I could. The guy pulls out this butter knife on a plastic sword handle (again, wtf?!?!) and I laugh at him. Then he leaves.
I go back to the counter and tell the guy what I want. He disappears in the back room and doesn't come out. Someone else comes out and I scream at him to get the guy back here and tell him to make my drink. He comes back and takes forever to make it. In the meantime, I keep checking my pockets for my movie ticket, but I can't find it. All I can find are tickets to other movies that I've already seen. The guy brings the drink over to me, but it looks nothing like what Sherri had. Instead, he gave me some kind of green soda with huge lumps of pink jello in it. He says, "I'm sorry. It's going to suck, but that's all I can do."
I go apeshit again...and the F bombs start flying. (side note: That's how you know this is a dream. They'd probably be flying a lot sooner in real life.) "I'm paying you for a SERVICE! Do your fucking job and give me what I asked for. You should be trying to exceed my expectations considering how fucking awful this has been..." yadda yadda yadda...There are two women sitting at the counter eating this giant, messy piece of chocolate cake, just staring at me. I know I'm overreacting and way too angry and disrupting everyone. I know they are all extremely annoyed by me and just want me out of there. I keep looking for my ticket and I can't find it. I also don't know if the movie started or not yet, and what happened to Sherri.
And that's about where I woke up.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
I'm So Lazy Today
I have no motivation to do anything today. None! I had good intentions of cleaning or doing homework today, but I just can't bring myself to do it. I don't even want to go out for dinner, like I had originally planned. Although, I did spend some time creating a photo slideshow that I put in my "my heros' section.
I just feel drained. I want to lounge on the couch and watch a movie or read. And I haven't really done that in a while. I've been busy. It's justified, right?
I went out to see my friend's band play last night. I missed the beginning of the set, but they finished with the Dropkick Murphys' "Kiss Me I'm Shitfaced" and that's what I really wanted to hear. We were out pretty late and I still didn't sleep in very much. Maybe that's the cause of my blahs.
I wonder if I'll ever get my ass in gear today.
I just feel drained. I want to lounge on the couch and watch a movie or read. And I haven't really done that in a while. I've been busy. It's justified, right?
I went out to see my friend's band play last night. I missed the beginning of the set, but they finished with the Dropkick Murphys' "Kiss Me I'm Shitfaced" and that's what I really wanted to hear. We were out pretty late and I still didn't sleep in very much. Maybe that's the cause of my blahs.
I wonder if I'll ever get my ass in gear today.
Wednesday, March 8, 2006
Random Thoughts That Popped Into My Head Today
OwMyHeadOwMyHeadOwMyHead......
Can you please call back later? I just can't deal with you at 7:30 am.
I'm pretty fucking far from okay.
Holy shit! Was that Mary?!?!?
Damn, that's an ugly baby.
Look at all these fucking bread crumbs.
I find your lies entertaining, actually...
My hair smells.
What the fuck did I touch?
I refuse to puke.
I hope you enjoy your skiing trip on Brokeback Mountain.
When will my computer be fixed? I'm missing myspace to the point where I'm breaking out in hives.
It's probably best if I don't stand up.
I guess I missed garbage day.
Nothing cures a hang over like Guers Orange Drink.
I've got to throw those tulips away.
Mmmm...boxed wine.
Please do not call me back...like, ever.
Anyone who calls before noon is not your friend.
This is the closest thing to jammies that I could have worn today.
I'm actually a lot nicer when I'm hung over.
Nice park job. I wasn't even trying to parallel.
Does it mean I'm an alcoholic if I'm hung over and craving boxed wine?
Does it make me an alcolohic if I'm just craving boxed wine? I don't even like that stuff.
If Bob Dylan hadn't changed his name, Marc Bolan would have been Marc Boman.
Can you please call back later? I just can't deal with you at 7:30 am.
I'm pretty fucking far from okay.
Holy shit! Was that Mary?!?!?
Damn, that's an ugly baby.
Look at all these fucking bread crumbs.
I find your lies entertaining, actually...
My hair smells.
What the fuck did I touch?
I refuse to puke.
I hope you enjoy your skiing trip on Brokeback Mountain.
When will my computer be fixed? I'm missing myspace to the point where I'm breaking out in hives.
It's probably best if I don't stand up.
I guess I missed garbage day.
Nothing cures a hang over like Guers Orange Drink.
I've got to throw those tulips away.
Mmmm...boxed wine.
Please do not call me back...like, ever.
Anyone who calls before noon is not your friend.
This is the closest thing to jammies that I could have worn today.
I'm actually a lot nicer when I'm hung over.
Nice park job. I wasn't even trying to parallel.
Does it mean I'm an alcoholic if I'm hung over and craving boxed wine?
Does it make me an alcolohic if I'm just craving boxed wine? I don't even like that stuff.
If Bob Dylan hadn't changed his name, Marc Bolan would have been Marc Boman.
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