Sunday, April 22, 2007
Recent Sighting
A one legged man riding a bicycle. What? I mean, only one leg. The other one was missing from the hip down. Respect.
Ode to a brick wall
Dear Room,
why are you so unbearably ugly? Did your mother not love you enough when you were small? Are your parents a prison and a five year old's room from 1976? Please, please stop torturing everybody's eyes with your absurd attempts at coolness.
What is with the mural? I don't want to take so many people to the middle of nowhere that it becomes somewhere. I don't want to sit on chairs with stars on them. I don't like little figurines of cows and sheep. I am not a fan of Whoopi Goldberg or her footprints in L.A. I mean, she's ok and all, but REALLY? Do I need a picture of her footprints on my wall?
Who, over the age of 4, has a ceramic ghost with patchwork spots on him on his windowsill? Who has a rock that is actually a lamp? (While this may sound cool, it is, in fact, ridiculous)
WHO HAS FAKE BRICKS RANDOMLY PAINTED OVER 1/4 OF HIS ROOM WITH WEIRD GRAY SHADING???
I give up. I'm on the express train to ugly town with a one-way ticket in my hand.
why are you so unbearably ugly? Did your mother not love you enough when you were small? Are your parents a prison and a five year old's room from 1976? Please, please stop torturing everybody's eyes with your absurd attempts at coolness.
What is with the mural? I don't want to take so many people to the middle of nowhere that it becomes somewhere. I don't want to sit on chairs with stars on them. I don't like little figurines of cows and sheep. I am not a fan of Whoopi Goldberg or her footprints in L.A. I mean, she's ok and all, but REALLY? Do I need a picture of her footprints on my wall?
Who, over the age of 4, has a ceramic ghost with patchwork spots on him on his windowsill? Who has a rock that is actually a lamp? (While this may sound cool, it is, in fact, ridiculous)
WHO HAS FAKE BRICKS RANDOMLY PAINTED OVER 1/4 OF HIS ROOM WITH WEIRD GRAY SHADING???
I give up. I'm on the express train to ugly town with a one-way ticket in my hand.
Vocationally Overwhelmed
Dear Diary,
This will be a more serious post, as opposed to my usual, more frivolous ramblings. On this occasion, I am concerned about my future. More specifically: my future career. I have recently discovered that I am multi-talented and destined for greatness. No, this is not arrogant and undeserved self-praise. This is fact: carefully weighed, undeniably ascertained, and overwhelmingly promising. But perhaps it would be best for me to explain how I determined the simple truth that I am skilled and prepared for a multitude of careers.
To begin with, I had been watching Law & Order: Not only was I able to see through the silly investigations and to determine the culprit long before the supposed professional law enforcement team, but I am absolutely convinced that I would make an excellent D.A. I am very good at striding across rooms and at commanding things authoritatively. Furthermore, I ask questions all the time, therefore I would be really good at cross-examinations. Basically, any job along these lines is in the bag. Big Time.
Next, I flipped channels to watch golf. This is probably the most ridiculous and simple career for me to take over. I went to golf camp, I've driven a few golf carts in my day (and without getting them stuck between trees, ahem, or jumping into a tree, ahem, ladies!), and I have a lot of plaid clothing (thanks Grandma!). I would be much nicer to watch than half of those dudes, and I would totally skip the LPGA and go straight for the big guns. Bring it on, bitches.
In addition, it has come to my attention, that I should be a therapist because whenever I watch Maury, Oprah or Dr. Phil, I TOTALLY know what they're gonna say before they say it. Also, I could totally be one of those fashion critics. Actually, I owe it to humanity to be one because a) the people who do it now dress like clowns and b) I'm awesome, enough said.
Last, but not least, (I have to admit, this is the one that poses the most problems):
After hours of careful observation and study, I know I could be a model--correction--Supermodel. Except for my height, weight and facial features, I've got it locked DOWN. That's right, just give me some major plastic surgery, really high heels/leg extensions, ex-lax or eating disorder and watch me do my little thing on the catwalk, yeah, shake my little surgically corrected tush on the catwalk. Come on, Tyra, make it happen.
I am so sexy it hurts.
Watch out world, I'm coming to get ya!
Modestly yours,
Well-Rounded Professional Professional
This will be a more serious post, as opposed to my usual, more frivolous ramblings. On this occasion, I am concerned about my future. More specifically: my future career. I have recently discovered that I am multi-talented and destined for greatness. No, this is not arrogant and undeserved self-praise. This is fact: carefully weighed, undeniably ascertained, and overwhelmingly promising. But perhaps it would be best for me to explain how I determined the simple truth that I am skilled and prepared for a multitude of careers.
To begin with, I had been watching Law & Order: Not only was I able to see through the silly investigations and to determine the culprit long before the supposed professional law enforcement team, but I am absolutely convinced that I would make an excellent D.A. I am very good at striding across rooms and at commanding things authoritatively. Furthermore, I ask questions all the time, therefore I would be really good at cross-examinations. Basically, any job along these lines is in the bag. Big Time.
Next, I flipped channels to watch golf. This is probably the most ridiculous and simple career for me to take over. I went to golf camp, I've driven a few golf carts in my day (and without getting them stuck between trees, ahem, or jumping into a tree, ahem, ladies!), and I have a lot of plaid clothing (thanks Grandma!). I would be much nicer to watch than half of those dudes, and I would totally skip the LPGA and go straight for the big guns. Bring it on, bitches.
In addition, it has come to my attention, that I should be a therapist because whenever I watch Maury, Oprah or Dr. Phil, I TOTALLY know what they're gonna say before they say it. Also, I could totally be one of those fashion critics. Actually, I owe it to humanity to be one because a) the people who do it now dress like clowns and b) I'm awesome, enough said.
Last, but not least, (I have to admit, this is the one that poses the most problems):
After hours of careful observation and study, I know I could be a model--correction--Supermodel. Except for my height, weight and facial features, I've got it locked DOWN. That's right, just give me some major plastic surgery, really high heels/leg extensions, ex-lax or eating disorder and watch me do my little thing on the catwalk, yeah, shake my little surgically corrected tush on the catwalk. Come on, Tyra, make it happen.
I am so sexy it hurts.
Watch out world, I'm coming to get ya!
Modestly yours,
Well-Rounded Professional Professional
to all the lonely hearts
Dearly Beloved, We are gathered here today...
Ah, how I long to hear these words. How I dream of the beautiful ceremony, the white of my dress only bested by that of the huge smile on my face.
I'm sorry, Diary, for having abandoned you all of this year. I was busy pining. Pining, pining, pining every day. I am, and let's face it, have been hopelessly devoted to one man my whole life. Or at least since age ten, before that Alvin the Chipmunk was my main squeeze.
How long must I wait for my soulmate to see me as more than his little sister's best friend? How many more hours will be wasted doodling my name and drawing portraits of my love? The days seem to crawl by in agony as my heart, my soul, my very being are consumed with the torture of unrequited love.
If only there were some simple answer. It seems that I am destined to be waiting in the wings until my day comes. Meanwhile, I can't be bothered with other specimens of inferior masculinity. Who could be tempted by such silly beings as Jude Law, Ewan McGregor and Jake Gyllenhaal?? What fool, who has known the beauty, the depth, the perfection of D.S., could be persuaded to consider wasting a moment of time or energy on these ridiculous boys? I crave the love of a MAN. No, of THE man. The only man for me.
Please bring me solace and help me to find a way to pass the time before I am old and wrinkled and still alone.
Please make him see the light.
With all my hope,
Yours,
D's Girl
Ah, how I long to hear these words. How I dream of the beautiful ceremony, the white of my dress only bested by that of the huge smile on my face.
I'm sorry, Diary, for having abandoned you all of this year. I was busy pining. Pining, pining, pining every day. I am, and let's face it, have been hopelessly devoted to one man my whole life. Or at least since age ten, before that Alvin the Chipmunk was my main squeeze.
How long must I wait for my soulmate to see me as more than his little sister's best friend? How many more hours will be wasted doodling my name and drawing portraits of my love? The days seem to crawl by in agony as my heart, my soul, my very being are consumed with the torture of unrequited love.
If only there were some simple answer. It seems that I am destined to be waiting in the wings until my day comes. Meanwhile, I can't be bothered with other specimens of inferior masculinity. Who could be tempted by such silly beings as Jude Law, Ewan McGregor and Jake Gyllenhaal?? What fool, who has known the beauty, the depth, the perfection of D.S., could be persuaded to consider wasting a moment of time or energy on these ridiculous boys? I crave the love of a MAN. No, of THE man. The only man for me.
Please bring me solace and help me to find a way to pass the time before I am old and wrinkled and still alone.
Please make him see the light.
With all my hope,
Yours,
D's Girl
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