It’s getting harder and harder to write these lists each week. I figure that’s either because I’m getting progressively less observational and creative or because I’m actually a lot cooler and less awkward than I think I am. I guess it could be both, but that would suggest that I am a woman of faults, which I am not. Look up “Regan” in the Urban Dictionary, you’ll see what I’m getting at. Thank you, whatever teenage girl named Regan entered all that stuff, I think you’re neat too.
Do you talk to yourself in the mirror? I do. Not like, “hey, how are you feeling today?” kind of stuff, but like “the jerk store called, they’re running out of you” kind of stuff. When I write these blogs I sort of feel like I’m talking to myself in the mirror, except I can never quite reach that perfect jerk store pitch.
Anyway, here’s about as close as I can get this week.
Yeah, it’s usually because a window seat opened up or because there’s a draft or something (that’s what I tell myself anyway), but no matter what the reason it still always makes you feel like the kid that got caught picking his nose in class or that threw up in the lunchroom that one time. Nobody wants to be that kid.
I make it a mission of mine to never switch seats on the bus, no matter how Tourettes my neighbor is getting. You should consider it too. Solidarity, man.
The anti-hipster movement is dead. Accept it. Can’t we just go back to giving wedgies and yelling at nerds?
You know, if you really want to find out “when is the best time to cut your toenails?” I can tell you--when they’re long.
I was really into Mischa Barton at work one day. I heard she had cellulite now. I don’t really see why looking at Google images of Mischa Barton for three hours is that big of a deal, but I still felt embarrassed, exposed, invaded, vulnerable, and a little thirsty when my coworker pointed it out to me at the end of my shift (I just miss Coop sometimes, okay?). It’d be like if Facebook alerted everybody you stalked every time you stalked them.
Can’t you just let us lurk, stalk, creep, and ask the internet about our suspicious foot odors in peace?
And, if you think I don’t have horrific taste, then I think you should:
Dr. Dog http://www.myspace.com/drdog
WATCH: This (coffee drinkers especially)
LOOK: Master of creepy-cool