Elephants are the only animal physically unable to jump. This is because of their enormous weight.
"Not a shred of evidence exists in favor of the idea that life is serious." -Brendan Gill
"With a stop light, green means `go` and yellow means `slow down`. With a banana, however, it is quite the opposite. Yellow means `go`, green means `whoa, slow down`, and red means `where the heck did you get that banana?` " - Mitch Hedberg
I like to think I am clever and witty [insert wink here]
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Lemon Squares
I have decided to publish my first novel and shall write it here for your viewing pleasure.
Once upon a time there was a girl, we shall call her... Nargaret. Now not only was Nargaret clever and witty, she was also quite awesome. Before she was a year old she had already mastered four languages, and by the time she was 12 she had slayed a dragon and found the Holy Grail. She also liked long walks on the beach. Well not really because the sand was rather hot, and once you got to one place you had to turn around and do the long walk back....
But I digress.
This story is about lemon squares.
Oh, I hear the reader cry, Lemon squares! A metaphor about life! Lemons because when life hands you lemons, you make lemon squares! And squares, because although everyone makes fun on them they are rather important to all aspects of life.
No.
Lemon squares because I say so, and when life hands you lemons you stick them in your bra to make your boobs look bigger.
But once again I digress.
This is a story about lemon squares.
Nargaret had decided to bake a batch of them on a cold tuesday night. The sky was a beautiful hazy color, and the smog had lowered, causing the inhabitants of Riverside to lower their noses into their coats and seek shelter indoors.
After wresting the box out of the hungry clutches of her hair, she settled onto an uncomfortable bar stool and started to read. And after making sure she had the directions right, she started to make the delicious dessert.
Bake for 22 to 26 minutes or until the center doesn't juggle when you shake it and the top is a golden brown.
She paused for a minute, wondering why everything was ready only when it was a perfect golden brown. Maybe, just maybe thats why society was so obsessed with tanning and weight loss, because they considered themselves only perfect when they were golden brown and didn't jiggle when shaken.
Enlightened by this epiphany, Nargaret proclaimed it to all the world in her blog (cause only cool people blog).
"Society's obsession with being thin and tan has nothing to do with the media or Hollywood!" she cried from her balcony with passion, "It's the baking companies! They have driven into our minds that we are only perfect when we are golden brown on the outside and don't juggle when shaken!"
The hobo pushing his loaded shopping cart paused and glanced up at her, a golden halo of light and smog had formed around her, maybe because he was high off his ass, but he raised his fist in acknowledgment and cried out, "Here! Here!"
Nargaret was about to respond when the beeper went off inside, signaling the readiness of her lemon squares, so leaving her one and only follower she went to go give an experimental shake to her treat.
It jiggled. She punched in another four minutes, and when that beeped, she shook the pan again and it juggled still. Another 4 minutes and still it jiggled.
"Why won't it stop jiggling!?" she yelled angrily, throwing her oven mit across the kitchen and having it bounce off the counter and hit her in the leg.
"That's what she said," the small voice in her head responisble for obscene humor said with a slight snigger.
Nargaret laughed as well and punched in another 7 minutes into the microwave timer.
Finally, after too long, the lemon squares were perfect, and ready for their introduction into society where they would be loved, adored and envied for being the perfect shade of golden brown and not juggling when shaken.
The End.
Once upon a time there was a girl, we shall call her... Nargaret. Now not only was Nargaret clever and witty, she was also quite awesome. Before she was a year old she had already mastered four languages, and by the time she was 12 she had slayed a dragon and found the Holy Grail. She also liked long walks on the beach. Well not really because the sand was rather hot, and once you got to one place you had to turn around and do the long walk back....
But I digress.
This story is about lemon squares.
Oh, I hear the reader cry, Lemon squares! A metaphor about life! Lemons because when life hands you lemons, you make lemon squares! And squares, because although everyone makes fun on them they are rather important to all aspects of life.
No.
Lemon squares because I say so, and when life hands you lemons you stick them in your bra to make your boobs look bigger.
But once again I digress.
This is a story about lemon squares.
Nargaret had decided to bake a batch of them on a cold tuesday night. The sky was a beautiful hazy color, and the smog had lowered, causing the inhabitants of Riverside to lower their noses into their coats and seek shelter indoors.
After wresting the box out of the hungry clutches of her hair, she settled onto an uncomfortable bar stool and started to read. And after making sure she had the directions right, she started to make the delicious dessert.
Bake for 22 to 26 minutes or until the center doesn't juggle when you shake it and the top is a golden brown.
She paused for a minute, wondering why everything was ready only when it was a perfect golden brown. Maybe, just maybe thats why society was so obsessed with tanning and weight loss, because they considered themselves only perfect when they were golden brown and didn't jiggle when shaken.
Enlightened by this epiphany, Nargaret proclaimed it to all the world in her blog (cause only cool people blog).
"Society's obsession with being thin and tan has nothing to do with the media or Hollywood!" she cried from her balcony with passion, "It's the baking companies! They have driven into our minds that we are only perfect when we are golden brown on the outside and don't juggle when shaken!"
The hobo pushing his loaded shopping cart paused and glanced up at her, a golden halo of light and smog had formed around her, maybe because he was high off his ass, but he raised his fist in acknowledgment and cried out, "Here! Here!"
Nargaret was about to respond when the beeper went off inside, signaling the readiness of her lemon squares, so leaving her one and only follower she went to go give an experimental shake to her treat.
It jiggled. She punched in another four minutes, and when that beeped, she shook the pan again and it juggled still. Another 4 minutes and still it jiggled.
"Why won't it stop jiggling!?" she yelled angrily, throwing her oven mit across the kitchen and having it bounce off the counter and hit her in the leg.
"That's what she said," the small voice in her head responisble for obscene humor said with a slight snigger.
Nargaret laughed as well and punched in another 7 minutes into the microwave timer.
Finally, after too long, the lemon squares were perfect, and ready for their introduction into society where they would be loved, adored and envied for being the perfect shade of golden brown and not juggling when shaken.
The End.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Lucky Color Green
I seriously have nothing to write about. Nothing remotely interesting has happened in my life. How sad is that? I mean usually I have ideas spilling out of my ears and oozing out of every pore (very much like Ebola) but nothing, it's like a giant ass vacuum came and sucked every imaginative dust bunny from my brain.
Very sad.
So instead of writing up a hilarious and witty repertoire* (no I don't know what it means, but it sounds classy) I have come up with another hilarious (and immature) way to induce laughter as was taught to me by my drunk aunt many years ago at a Chinese restaurant.
Yes, I know horribly immature and probably funnier when drunk (or surrounded by drunks in my case), but these are real fortunes that me and my parents got today at PF Changs.
And I'm stealing this from Glamour Magazine:
Very sad.
So instead of writing up a hilarious and witty repertoire* (no I don't know what it means, but it sounds classy) I have come up with another hilarious (and immature) way to induce laughter as was taught to me by my drunk aunt many years ago at a Chinese restaurant.
Yes, I know horribly immature and probably funnier when drunk (or surrounded by drunks in my case), but these are real fortunes that me and my parents got today at PF Changs.And I'm stealing this from Glamour Magazine:
"I believe in MapQuest, Google Maps, and GPS. Sometimes I get so lost I use all three!"
*rep-er-toire (noun): 1 a: a list or supply of dramas, operas, pieces, or parts that a company or person is prepared to perform b: a supply of skills, devices, or expedients c: a list or supply of capabilities
So it really didn't make sense in the way I used it, but doesn't the sentance just sound brilliant?
*rep-er-toire (noun): 1 a: a list or supply of dramas, operas, pieces, or parts that a company or person is prepared to perform b: a supply of skills, devices, or expedients c: a list or supply of capabilities
So it really didn't make sense in the way I used it, but doesn't the sentance just sound brilliant?
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Stalking Gerard Butler
So today I realized that I need a hobby. I'm 20 years old and really the only love life I have is Borders Guy whose first name I don't even know, and I actually haven't even talked to him, ok, do I don't have a love life, all I do is run, don't judge me. But I've come up with something to occupy my time and my love. I am going to stalk Gerard Butler.
Lovely man, isn't he? And it's the closest I can get to stalking the Phantom of the Opera, so there we have it. My new hobby.
So i figured that it would be pretty easy, just call him up or something! So I haul ass to the nearest payphone and flip through the pages to the "B" section. Here, cramped in a phone-booth a la Clark Kent, without the changing into a superhero thing, I run into my first hurdle.
You see, I've run track for almost 6 years of my life, and I have come to one of many conclusion, I'm not a hurdler. When faced with a hurdle on the track, I laugh hysterically at the joke my coaches and/or teammates are playing on me and walk around it.
So here I am in a phone-booth laughing hysterically and trying to figure out how to hurdle 3 pages of Butlers, not literally of course. I figure the only thing to do is to start calling. Now though, the question is: my cell phone? or the pay-phone?
Cell phone it is, I have no change.
I rip out the 3 pages and book it back to my apartment thinking dreamily of his scottish voice when he answers the phone and A: asks me to marry him, or B: starts singing Phantom songs. Either would be fine with me.
20 minutes later -
So far, I've contacted 2 Butlers from the list, I think I ordered Italian takeout from one and I had a lovely conversation with the other one, a man named Thomas I think. His first grandaughter was just born and we had a lovely conversation about her. Her name is Madeline and she looks just like her mother when her mother was a baby.
I also got a pretty good recipe for stuffed cabbage from his wife Carrine.
45 minutes later -
I am losing hope, I've called everyone on the first page.... well, the first column on the first page, and none of them were named "Gerard" or even "Gerry." But the Italian food finally came and it's very very good. I'll have to order again some time, now where did I put that number.....
2 hours later -
I've become distracted from my mission. Instead of finishing the first page of the Butlers, I've looked up facts about my beloeved Gerry.
1. born in 1969, ok so he's a little old for me. but age is only a number when it comes to true love!
2. His mother was named Margaret as well! We already have a connection!
3. he may have a girlfriend.... damn....
After that last fact I heated up my pasta left overs and sat my fat ass down on the couch to watch a movie.
Why not TV you ask? Cause we don't have cable in this godforsaken apartment.
Well, as I was watching Laura Croft Tomb Raider: Cradle of Life, and drooling over Gerry's beautiful eyes, I decided to try some more Butlers from the phone book pages.
2 hours later-
I've just put in Phantom of the Opera and sit down to start page 2.
Halfway down page 2, a woman picks up the phone and has an accent that isn't American.
"Hi, is someone named Gerard or Gerry live there?"
"Oh yes, may I ask whose calling?"
....
FUCK!
I scrambled over my couch and land with a thud on the ugly brown carpeting and spill my soymilk everywhere. O well, it couldn't be any uglier. I mean the first week I move in the manager is all 'yeah we'll replace the carpeting!' and I'm all 'sweet!' thinking that they're going to put in some nice beige-y color or something. But no, I walk in and find the exact same color laying across the apartment like a very neatly laid out shit. Really? Is it neccessary to put in the ugliest shade of carpeting ever? I thought my grandparents shag green carpeting was ugly and I was only 10 years old, but this? This is like a giant dog came and craped all over our floor, then a giant cat came and coughed up some nicely mowed fur balls.
Anyways, I digress...
After I hit the floor and my soymilk went flying, I reached up and pressed the pause button on the DVD player, pausing just when Christine is ripping the mask of Gerry's face and is screaming in horror.
Oh Gerry, I would still love you if you were hideously disfigured, just wear that half mask and sing to me.
"Hello? Hello? Are you alright?" I hear the woman's voice over the phone and bring it to my ear.
"Yes, sorry. My... er... dog got loose.... I had to um... catch him before he ate... um... the clicker..."
I hear her laugh over the phone and she repeats her previous question.
"Um, Margaret, tell him Margaret it calling."
I hear her put the phone down and a muffled conversation in the background. I held my breath and hoped for the best.
"Hello? This is Gerry speaking."
"Hi! Gerard Butler?"
"Yes, may I help you?"
"Are you the actor?"
He laughed and I hoped he wasn't laughing at my question.
"I'm sorry, I'm not. But if it makes you feel any better I get that alot."
Fek me. He was fekking American, happily married to a nice British Lady. We had a nice chat though, he was very understanding to my plight and I heard some hilarious stories about his and his wife's pomeranian "Minnie." His wife gave me a recipie for some "wicked snickerdoodles"and they wished me luck in my stalking endevors of the aformentioned actor.
But alas, I think my stalking days, or should I say day, are over. Maybe another time, when I don't have stuffed cabbage and wicked snickerdoodles to make.
Until next time Gerry. Just you wait!
**Disclaimer: "Stalking Gerard Butler" is a work of fiction brought to life by a very bored college student who watched too many movies. It was inspired by a work of fiction I read called "Stalking Alan Rickman" but all the links to it I am finding now are broken. I really hope you have enjoyed a trip to the inside of my jumbled mind and please keep all articles, legs and arms inside the vehicle at all times on your trip back to reality. Thank you and have a good day... er... evening. And please don't worry, I have never, nor probably will never stalk Gerard Butler... no matter how tempted to do so I am.
Lovely man, isn't he? And it's the closest I can get to stalking the Phantom of the Opera, so there we have it. My new hobby.
So i figured that it would be pretty easy, just call him up or something! So I haul ass to the nearest payphone and flip through the pages to the "B" section. Here, cramped in a phone-booth a la Clark Kent, without the changing into a superhero thing, I run into my first hurdle.
You see, I've run track for almost 6 years of my life, and I have come to one of many conclusion, I'm not a hurdler. When faced with a hurdle on the track, I laugh hysterically at the joke my coaches and/or teammates are playing on me and walk around it.
So here I am in a phone-booth laughing hysterically and trying to figure out how to hurdle 3 pages of Butlers, not literally of course. I figure the only thing to do is to start calling. Now though, the question is: my cell phone? or the pay-phone?
Cell phone it is, I have no change.
I rip out the 3 pages and book it back to my apartment thinking dreamily of his scottish voice when he answers the phone and A: asks me to marry him, or B: starts singing Phantom songs. Either would be fine with me.
20 minutes later -
So far, I've contacted 2 Butlers from the list, I think I ordered Italian takeout from one and I had a lovely conversation with the other one, a man named Thomas I think. His first grandaughter was just born and we had a lovely conversation about her. Her name is Madeline and she looks just like her mother when her mother was a baby.
I also got a pretty good recipe for stuffed cabbage from his wife Carrine.
45 minutes later -
I am losing hope, I've called everyone on the first page.... well, the first column on the first page, and none of them were named "Gerard" or even "Gerry." But the Italian food finally came and it's very very good. I'll have to order again some time, now where did I put that number.....
2 hours later -
I've become distracted from my mission. Instead of finishing the first page of the Butlers, I've looked up facts about my beloeved Gerry.
1. born in 1969, ok so he's a little old for me. but age is only a number when it comes to true love!
2. His mother was named Margaret as well! We already have a connection!
3. he may have a girlfriend.... damn....
After that last fact I heated up my pasta left overs and sat my fat ass down on the couch to watch a movie.
Why not TV you ask? Cause we don't have cable in this godforsaken apartment.
Well, as I was watching Laura Croft Tomb Raider: Cradle of Life, and drooling over Gerry's beautiful eyes, I decided to try some more Butlers from the phone book pages.
2 hours later-
I've just put in Phantom of the Opera and sit down to start page 2.
Halfway down page 2, a woman picks up the phone and has an accent that isn't American.
"Hi, is someone named Gerard or Gerry live there?"
"Oh yes, may I ask whose calling?"
....
FUCK!
I scrambled over my couch and land with a thud on the ugly brown carpeting and spill my soymilk everywhere. O well, it couldn't be any uglier. I mean the first week I move in the manager is all 'yeah we'll replace the carpeting!' and I'm all 'sweet!' thinking that they're going to put in some nice beige-y color or something. But no, I walk in and find the exact same color laying across the apartment like a very neatly laid out shit. Really? Is it neccessary to put in the ugliest shade of carpeting ever? I thought my grandparents shag green carpeting was ugly and I was only 10 years old, but this? This is like a giant dog came and craped all over our floor, then a giant cat came and coughed up some nicely mowed fur balls.
Anyways, I digress...
After I hit the floor and my soymilk went flying, I reached up and pressed the pause button on the DVD player, pausing just when Christine is ripping the mask of Gerry's face and is screaming in horror.
Oh Gerry, I would still love you if you were hideously disfigured, just wear that half mask and sing to me.
"Hello? Hello? Are you alright?" I hear the woman's voice over the phone and bring it to my ear.
"Yes, sorry. My... er... dog got loose.... I had to um... catch him before he ate... um... the clicker..."
I hear her laugh over the phone and she repeats her previous question.
"Um, Margaret, tell him Margaret it calling."
I hear her put the phone down and a muffled conversation in the background. I held my breath and hoped for the best.
"Hello? This is Gerry speaking."
"Hi! Gerard Butler?"
"Yes, may I help you?"
"Are you the actor?"
He laughed and I hoped he wasn't laughing at my question.
"I'm sorry, I'm not. But if it makes you feel any better I get that alot."
Fek me. He was fekking American, happily married to a nice British Lady. We had a nice chat though, he was very understanding to my plight and I heard some hilarious stories about his and his wife's pomeranian "Minnie." His wife gave me a recipie for some "wicked snickerdoodles"and they wished me luck in my stalking endevors of the aformentioned actor.
But alas, I think my stalking days, or should I say day, are over. Maybe another time, when I don't have stuffed cabbage and wicked snickerdoodles to make.
Until next time Gerry. Just you wait!
**Disclaimer: "Stalking Gerard Butler" is a work of fiction brought to life by a very bored college student who watched too many movies. It was inspired by a work of fiction I read called "Stalking Alan Rickman" but all the links to it I am finding now are broken. I really hope you have enjoyed a trip to the inside of my jumbled mind and please keep all articles, legs and arms inside the vehicle at all times on your trip back to reality. Thank you and have a good day... er... evening. And please don't worry, I have never, nor probably will never stalk Gerard Butler... no matter how tempted to do so I am.
[insert deep and/or witty title here]
What do you 'blog' about when you have a semi-boring life? I can write about the weather, but it wouldn't be very interesting.
Oh, here we go:
I saw this movie yesterday, and it was surprisingly really good - in French, but good nonetheless. And it's in black and white, but don't worry it isn't one of those old time-y movies, it was made in 2005. Here's the gist of it just in case you want to rent it - So basically a guy is super down on his luck and owes hella money to a bunch of people. So he tries to throw himself off a bridge, but before he does, he sees a tall blonde girl next to him about to do the same. She jumps, and he jumps in after her and saves her life. After pulling her out he asks her why not devote her life to a cause and she chooses him. She helps him raise the money he needs, using... er.... unorthodox methods and yadda yadda yadda. I can't tell you the rest, it's too good. You have to see it yourself.
And there is my totally kick-ass movie review, wasting space on the interwebs and taking up at least 5 minutes of your time.
toodles <3
Oh, here we go:
I saw this movie yesterday, and it was surprisingly really good - in French, but good nonetheless. And it's in black and white, but don't worry it isn't one of those old time-y movies, it was made in 2005. Here's the gist of it just in case you want to rent it - So basically a guy is super down on his luck and owes hella money to a bunch of people. So he tries to throw himself off a bridge, but before he does, he sees a tall blonde girl next to him about to do the same. She jumps, and he jumps in after her and saves her life. After pulling her out he asks her why not devote her life to a cause and she chooses him. She helps him raise the money he needs, using... er.... unorthodox methods and yadda yadda yadda. I can't tell you the rest, it's too good. You have to see it yourself.And there is my totally kick-ass movie review, wasting space on the interwebs and taking up at least 5 minutes of your time.
toodles <3
Friday, April 17, 2009
"Borders Guy"
Dear Borders Guy,
I think I saw you again today at CPK and I think you recognized me too. Too bad we didn't talk (again) maybe next time I see you we will be a Borders again and instead of sneaking glances at each other over bookcases we can actually talk. I think that would be nice, don't you?
Sincerely,
Margaret
Look at me, blogging twice in one day! [my draft just autosaved - nice]. Well I'm sure you're all on the edge of your seats about how my race went, well don't be because it sucked and I was pretty sure that my leg was broken when I finished. It wasn't thank God, but it sure as hell hurt alot. My roommate is watching star wars with the BF and I'm off to bobo land (as Libby says)
And by 'as Libby says,' I mean that I'm referenceing a book with a character named Libby, although it would rock to have a friend named Libby.
And by 'bobo land,' I mean sleep.
And no, you wouldn't be the first to question my sanity.
xoxo
I think I saw you again today at CPK and I think you recognized me too. Too bad we didn't talk (again) maybe next time I see you we will be a Borders again and instead of sneaking glances at each other over bookcases we can actually talk. I think that would be nice, don't you?
Sincerely,
Margaret
Look at me, blogging twice in one day! [my draft just autosaved - nice]. Well I'm sure you're all on the edge of your seats about how my race went, well don't be because it sucked and I was pretty sure that my leg was broken when I finished. It wasn't thank God, but it sure as hell hurt alot. My roommate is watching star wars with the BF and I'm off to bobo land (as Libby says)
And by 'as Libby says,' I mean that I'm referenceing a book with a character named Libby, although it would rock to have a friend named Libby.
And by 'bobo land,' I mean sleep.
And no, you wouldn't be the first to question my sanity.
xoxo
five kay
I'm racing my second 5k of the season today at 5:45 (ish).
"But Margaret!" I hear you say, "Why in God's name are you running a 5k?"
"Because I am on my school's track team!" I reply happily, bouncing up and down in my seat as I do so, sending my glasses crashing to the floor with my enthusiasm.
See, I can write a novel about my life.
So I feel like I'm in shape, not as good of shape as I was in during the cross country season, but good enough to run fast enough.
17:20 is my ultimate goal for the season.
17:30 - 17:45 is my goal for today.
So I'm at my apartment slinging back the waters like an alcoholic without the booze and mentally preparing for the best 12.5 laps of my life! (see that positive energy right there?!) And now I must nap and dream about what I'm having for lunch.
"Ta ta!" I cry and take my glasses off, setting them neatly on the the RocknRolla DVD case and closing my laptop with a quiet snap. Then I unceremoniously pass out into a deep and peaceful 60 minute nap. (My novel writing skills amaze me.)
"But Margaret!" I hear you say, "Why in God's name are you running a 5k?"
"Because I am on my school's track team!" I reply happily, bouncing up and down in my seat as I do so, sending my glasses crashing to the floor with my enthusiasm.
See, I can write a novel about my life.
So I feel like I'm in shape, not as good of shape as I was in during the cross country season, but good enough to run fast enough.
17:20 is my ultimate goal for the season.
17:30 - 17:45 is my goal for today.
So I'm at my apartment slinging back the waters like an alcoholic without the booze and mentally preparing for the best 12.5 laps of my life! (see that positive energy right there?!) And now I must nap and dream about what I'm having for lunch.
"Ta ta!" I cry and take my glasses off, setting them neatly on the the RocknRolla DVD case and closing my laptop with a quiet snap. Then I unceremoniously pass out into a deep and peaceful 60 minute nap. (My novel writing skills amaze me.)
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
First Date
Peer Pressure - It's finally gotten to me. My friend started a blog a few months ago and I laughed at him, now here I am, writing and writing and wondering if my life is interesting enough to be written about or even read about.
"This isn't a diary, not in the accepted sense of the term.
I've no intention of sitting down dutifully each day to record tedious details of what I had for breakfast, which gown I ordered from my seamstress, and who said what to whom in the course of rehearsals. It's surly the height of vanity to assume anyone would want to read about your petty, unimportant life a hundred years from now..."
- Christine (Phantom by Susan Kay)
I
crap, the italics button is giving me hell.
What do people write on these things anyways? Conspiracy theories? What so and so did to so and so and 'omg that bitch is gonna pay'?
Well, I know that I have a lot of both of those things, more gossip than conspiracy theories. But if you give me enough time I can crap out some good ones, I can probably crap out some good gossip too, but only if I must.
Do people write about what they like and dislike? I like photography and I dislike sharing bathrooms (but you didn't hear it from me).
I have about three 'to-do' lists on my white board, and all three are partially checked off. That's all you need to know about me and trust me - that's a lot for a first date.
-M.
"This isn't a diary, not in the accepted sense of the term.
I've no intention of sitting down dutifully each day to record tedious details of what I had for breakfast, which gown I ordered from my seamstress, and who said what to whom in the course of rehearsals. It's surly the height of vanity to assume anyone would want to read about your petty, unimportant life a hundred years from now..."
- Christine (Phantom by Susan Kay)
I
crap, the italics button is giving me hell.
What do people write on these things anyways? Conspiracy theories? What so and so did to so and so and 'omg that bitch is gonna pay'?
Well, I know that I have a lot of both of those things, more gossip than conspiracy theories. But if you give me enough time I can crap out some good ones, I can probably crap out some good gossip too, but only if I must.
Do people write about what they like and dislike? I like photography and I dislike sharing bathrooms (but you didn't hear it from me).
I have about three 'to-do' lists on my white board, and all three are partially checked off. That's all you need to know about me and trust me - that's a lot for a first date.
-M.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)