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My Microsoft Word refuses to recognize "Chinese food" as a phrase. It keeps replacing it with "Chinese foods". WTF?
Banana chips are yummy.
It's getting hot. And there are strange kittens in my background. I'm naming the fat one Lil Thickie.
Frank Sinatra is still a god. A drunk ass, fabulous god.
I am so utterly close to depressed it's not funny. Maybe I've been there for a while; I just noticed I've been in this place for six months and haven't bothered to decorate or even straighten my bedroom in the slightest way. I still won't. What's the point?
I both love and hate my friends. I think that's how friendship is supposed to work. But maybe that's my dysfunction talking.
I truly hate men who feel it's okay to abraid and chastise girls out alone for real or imaginary infractions as though they are the behavior police, as though they have any right to make girls for ashamed for minding their own business, as though those (usually old) men would do the same thing to boys out alone. (They wouldn't. I've asked).
Young Ian Mcshane was so completely hot.
It occurs to me that my personal experiences with the flirty Shawn Spencer-types would make me exactly as untrusting and dismissive of his feelings as Lassiter is. This is probably part of why so many women identify with and love the Lassi so much. It doesn't explain why I just broke his heart.
I feel a little bad about that. And about the fact that I'm considering just leaving it that way.
Kittie got me listening to the Cure again, and Depeche Mode, in her angsty, 80's emo Ideas of Sin playlist. But I found a perfect song for any further stories, should I do them.
Maybe it's about time I ate something that isn't out of a plastic bag.
update: Sadness! The actor who played young George Bailey in "It's a Wonderful Life" died. I *loved* him growing up...well I love young George Bailey. I so would have whispered in his bad ear too! (George Bailey, I'll love you till the day I die...)
Banana chips are yummy.
It's getting hot. And there are strange kittens in my background. I'm naming the fat one Lil Thickie.
Frank Sinatra is still a god. A drunk ass, fabulous god.
I am so utterly close to depressed it's not funny. Maybe I've been there for a while; I just noticed I've been in this place for six months and haven't bothered to decorate or even straighten my bedroom in the slightest way. I still won't. What's the point?
I both love and hate my friends. I think that's how friendship is supposed to work. But maybe that's my dysfunction talking.
I truly hate men who feel it's okay to abraid and chastise girls out alone for real or imaginary infractions as though they are the behavior police, as though they have any right to make girls for ashamed for minding their own business, as though those (usually old) men would do the same thing to boys out alone. (They wouldn't. I've asked).
Young Ian Mcshane was so completely hot.
It occurs to me that my personal experiences with the flirty Shawn Spencer-types would make me exactly as untrusting and dismissive of his feelings as Lassiter is. This is probably part of why so many women identify with and love the Lassi so much. It doesn't explain why I just broke his heart.
I feel a little bad about that. And about the fact that I'm considering just leaving it that way.
Kittie got me listening to the Cure again, and Depeche Mode, in her angsty, 80's emo Ideas of Sin playlist. But I found a perfect song for any further stories, should I do them.
Maybe it's about time I ate something that isn't out of a plastic bag.
update: Sadness! The actor who played young George Bailey in "It's a Wonderful Life" died. I *loved* him growing up...well I love young George Bailey. I so would have whispered in his bad ear too! (George Bailey, I'll love you till the day I die...)