Mustard (Partner of Ketchup)
I think I have a fear of pigeons. I really do. I don't like them. I think one might just fly into me someday. I have no idea why I think this, but I try to avoid them at all costs. It's like you're walking down the street, you see a couple congregating around some crumb, and they're sort of waddling around. If you startle them, they fly away, right? Well what if you startle them, they fly away, and they fly directly into your forehead? Do you think you could die from an injury like that? Honestly, I hope so. The embarrassment of having to say, "Yeah, a bird just flew into my forehead," is pretty bad.
And here's the real kicker: you didn't even do anything wrong! The BIRD should be embarrassed. But for obvious reasons, that's not going to happen. Although you know how all those animal loving freaks (umm I mean zoologists) think that animals really do communicate in their own language and stuff? Do you think that they also have body issues? Because I was at the Cape a couple weeks ago, and I saw a group of seagulls. One seagull was monstrous. I mean, the thing's BMI must have been off the charts. So I was wondering if that seagull was on a diet or felt like he shouldn't be racing everyone else to get that sandwich crust from the sand. He really wasn't even racing that hard, which is probably why he was so fat in the first place.
Speaking of fat, I saw this couple on the beach. This really hot guy was with this really chubby girl and they were married and he was totally in love with her. I am a horrible, horrible person because I spent a good part of the day trying to figure out either a. his physical flaw (saw none), b. whether they were just a closeknit brother-sister pair (no, wedding rings) or c. what was wrong with him (nothing!). This is why I have to write entries entitled, "Why I Am Going to Hell."
Also on the Cape, we played a couple of games of miniature golf. Let me just tell you that I am an exceptional miniature golfer. I'm not even joking. If you ever want to play a round, you should let me know. I am really, really good. I know this sounds very egotistical, and it is, but when you have miniature golf as the "sport" at which you most excel, I think it takes a very secure person to say that she's amazing at it.
To balance the gloating about mini golf, I can tell you that I am a terrible direction-giver. I was in charge of reading the directions and for various reasons, I got us lost twice. And the thing is, all it took was for me to say, "Drive under the highway," and we would have been fine. Sometimes, I wonder why my friends don't just punch me. I'd punch me.
It's September 1st, which means summer to me is officially over. It pretty much ended a few weeks ago when I returned for RA training, otherwise known as Hell. It wasn't as bad this year to be totally honest, but some of the programs, I really wanted to shoot myself in the shoulder or something. Not enough to kill myself, but enough to allow me to avoid any more of those programs for a long, long time. We went to this one program about International Students and homesickness. I was pretty disappointed, because the title was, "International Students and Homesickness," but apparently I forgot to read the part about the international students, so that's all we talked about, and I wasn't really into it because I had already spent my summer dealing with Ting-Ting and LuLu and FuckYous and I was pretty much fed up with the whole thing. I hate when my stupidity makes me angry.
Speaking of which, I'm pretty upset at myself for my Red Sox attitude. I really was down on them earlier in the summer. And now look. Really. I look like a moron. And I'm so mad because I hate fans like me who get down on the Sox before September 15. If you're still 10 games back then, you can start thinking the season's done. But not in July! What was wrong with me?! I almost feel guilty being happy about it now.
Note the "almost."
I was going to write more stuff about it being an exciting time for the Red Sox, but I really can't because I can't jinx them. This is what happens when my team starts winning. I become a superfreak. I'm not even joking. When they were in the playoffs last year, I wore the same shirt after they won. And I wore the same socks. I know, it's disgusting. I can't help it. I can't talk about the games. I can't say anything definite like, "Pedro's going to win." Even writing that, I had to FORCE myself to type those letters for fear that some game in October, Pedro... AHHH even writing October really got to me because if they don't make it then I'll be so upset and even writing "if they don't make it" just really made me nervous because well I can't say anything definite and do you now see why I am such a spaz about the Red Sox and their season?!?
The PawSox are doing okay.
That's about all I can say about Red Sox baseball without wanting to shoot myself.
And here's the real kicker: you didn't even do anything wrong! The BIRD should be embarrassed. But for obvious reasons, that's not going to happen. Although you know how all those animal loving freaks (umm I mean zoologists) think that animals really do communicate in their own language and stuff? Do you think that they also have body issues? Because I was at the Cape a couple weeks ago, and I saw a group of seagulls. One seagull was monstrous. I mean, the thing's BMI must have been off the charts. So I was wondering if that seagull was on a diet or felt like he shouldn't be racing everyone else to get that sandwich crust from the sand. He really wasn't even racing that hard, which is probably why he was so fat in the first place.
Speaking of fat, I saw this couple on the beach. This really hot guy was with this really chubby girl and they were married and he was totally in love with her. I am a horrible, horrible person because I spent a good part of the day trying to figure out either a. his physical flaw (saw none), b. whether they were just a closeknit brother-sister pair (no, wedding rings) or c. what was wrong with him (nothing!). This is why I have to write entries entitled, "Why I Am Going to Hell."
Also on the Cape, we played a couple of games of miniature golf. Let me just tell you that I am an exceptional miniature golfer. I'm not even joking. If you ever want to play a round, you should let me know. I am really, really good. I know this sounds very egotistical, and it is, but when you have miniature golf as the "sport" at which you most excel, I think it takes a very secure person to say that she's amazing at it.
To balance the gloating about mini golf, I can tell you that I am a terrible direction-giver. I was in charge of reading the directions and for various reasons, I got us lost twice. And the thing is, all it took was for me to say, "Drive under the highway," and we would have been fine. Sometimes, I wonder why my friends don't just punch me. I'd punch me.
It's September 1st, which means summer to me is officially over. It pretty much ended a few weeks ago when I returned for RA training, otherwise known as Hell. It wasn't as bad this year to be totally honest, but some of the programs, I really wanted to shoot myself in the shoulder or something. Not enough to kill myself, but enough to allow me to avoid any more of those programs for a long, long time. We went to this one program about International Students and homesickness. I was pretty disappointed, because the title was, "International Students and Homesickness," but apparently I forgot to read the part about the international students, so that's all we talked about, and I wasn't really into it because I had already spent my summer dealing with Ting-Ting and LuLu and FuckYous and I was pretty much fed up with the whole thing. I hate when my stupidity makes me angry.
Speaking of which, I'm pretty upset at myself for my Red Sox attitude. I really was down on them earlier in the summer. And now look. Really. I look like a moron. And I'm so mad because I hate fans like me who get down on the Sox before September 15. If you're still 10 games back then, you can start thinking the season's done. But not in July! What was wrong with me?! I almost feel guilty being happy about it now.
Note the "almost."
I was going to write more stuff about it being an exciting time for the Red Sox, but I really can't because I can't jinx them. This is what happens when my team starts winning. I become a superfreak. I'm not even joking. When they were in the playoffs last year, I wore the same shirt after they won. And I wore the same socks. I know, it's disgusting. I can't help it. I can't talk about the games. I can't say anything definite like, "Pedro's going to win." Even writing that, I had to FORCE myself to type those letters for fear that some game in October, Pedro... AHHH even writing October really got to me because if they don't make it then I'll be so upset and even writing "if they don't make it" just really made me nervous because well I can't say anything definite and do you now see why I am such a spaz about the Red Sox and their season?!?
The PawSox are doing okay.
That's about all I can say about Red Sox baseball without wanting to shoot myself.
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