Hey, it's okay...
...if you have to stay in Boone for another semester to finish grad school. (Wait, is it really okay?)
...if you were only recently introduced to the sci-fi series Firefly, and you absolutely loved it.
...if you are actually getting sick of eating eggs, bacon, steak, sausage and/or chicken for every single meal.
...to hold back tears when the gentleman at the coffee shop tells you he ran out of chai.
...to believe that every single person in the Financial Aid department at App State is really a robot.
...to believe that no one in the Financial Aid department at App State is capable of properly pronouncing "FAFSA."
...to go to Target with the intent of buying 2 or 3 nice tops for Spring/Summer and instead spend $100.75 on, well, other things.
...if you had absolutely no idea that wiper blades were supposed to be changed every six months. Or even every year, for that matter.
...to be all but peeing yourself with anticipation because the love of your life just returned from Finland after a year and a half of being a super sassy Mormon missionary.
...if you've had your Netflix rental for over a month and are still telling yourself that you will definitely watch it this week. Probably.
...to have no clue if you'll ever have children, but to still want that paint that allows you to draw on the walls.
...if you appear to be primarily attractive to Hispanic and/or 50+ men. (Not sure what that's about.)
...to judge the hell out of your neighbors who have the cutest puppy in the world, and yet seem completely disinterested in it.
...to walk through Pier One singing just a little too loudly to Donna Summer's "Last Dance", use their bathroom and then not buy anything.
Showing posts with label Judgmental. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Judgmental. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Like last year, but not!
I so wanted to make this post a special, moving event.
However, when it gets right down to it, I'm lazy and really busy ignoring a good bit of homework, which, I'm still convinced, will do itself.
Today is my 26th birthday.
I feel pretty good about it. I mean, 25 blew giant camel chunks, so I figure this should be a camel-free calendar year.
In the style of the new year, I will make a list regarding what I would like out of my 26th year of life.
In my 26th year of life, I will...
...get the flaming piss out of North Carolina.
...learn how to do my taxes like a big girl.
...continue not getting pregnant or contracting venereal diseases.
...learn all the words to the Dixie Chicks' "Sin Wagon."
...stop apologizing for not liking Greek food. That's right, it gives me the trots!
...secure the affections of a Puerto Rican cheese maker for a dairy-filled, torrid affair.
...secure a high paying job with butt-loads of benefits, a masseuse on staff, a pie shop downstairs and my very own personal bathroom with a door that looks like it's part of the wall.
...become engrossed in a Mexican soap opera.
...begin slapping people dramatically when things aren't going my way. ("What do you mean my dry cleaning isn't ready? Mentiroso!")
...stop judging people just because they like things I hate, like clowns, mushrooms, the color orange, American cheese and country music.
... bump into Jason Sudeikis by chance at a local wine festival and dazzle him with my sommelier skills ("You see how this one is red? That means it's different from the ones that are more...oh, what's the word...white.")
I will do my best to be Lucy Logic here, as I understand one or two of these may not take place. For example, it is highly unlikely that I will ever do my own taxes. If you've ever seen how hard it is for me to add numbers in my head, you'd be on board.
However, if I bump into that Puerto Rican cheese maker, I'll let you know.
I would also like to wish a happy birthday to a very talented gentleman, who has forever altered our world for the better, and with whom I'd like to share my birthday glory.
Robert Palmer, you'll always be "simply irresistable" to me.
However, when it gets right down to it, I'm lazy and really busy ignoring a good bit of homework, which, I'm still convinced, will do itself.
Today is my 26th birthday.
I feel pretty good about it. I mean, 25 blew giant camel chunks, so I figure this should be a camel-free calendar year.
In the style of the new year, I will make a list regarding what I would like out of my 26th year of life.
In my 26th year of life, I will...
...get the flaming piss out of North Carolina.
...learn how to do my taxes like a big girl.
...continue not getting pregnant or contracting venereal diseases.
...learn all the words to the Dixie Chicks' "Sin Wagon."
...stop apologizing for not liking Greek food. That's right, it gives me the trots!
...secure the affections of a Puerto Rican cheese maker for a dairy-filled, torrid affair.
...secure a high paying job with butt-loads of benefits, a masseuse on staff, a pie shop downstairs and my very own personal bathroom with a door that looks like it's part of the wall.
...become engrossed in a Mexican soap opera.
...begin slapping people dramatically when things aren't going my way. ("What do you mean my dry cleaning isn't ready? Mentiroso!")
...stop judging people just because they like things I hate, like clowns, mushrooms, the color orange, American cheese and country music.
... bump into Jason Sudeikis by chance at a local wine festival and dazzle him with my sommelier skills ("You see how this one is red? That means it's different from the ones that are more...oh, what's the word...white.")
I will do my best to be Lucy Logic here, as I understand one or two of these may not take place. For example, it is highly unlikely that I will ever do my own taxes. If you've ever seen how hard it is for me to add numbers in my head, you'd be on board.
However, if I bump into that Puerto Rican cheese maker, I'll let you know.
I would also like to wish a happy birthday to a very talented gentleman, who has forever altered our world for the better, and with whom I'd like to share my birthday glory.
Robert Palmer, you'll always be "simply irresistable" to me.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Have I mentioned I don't share well?
I'm a grad student.
The majority of my friends in the immediate area are grad students as well.
And whenever two or more grad students gather together, there had damn well better be pizza.
The last few times this has happened, however, I have noticed an upsetting pattern among my friends.
Let me give you a scenario.
Last Thursday, in celebration of the upcoming Autumnal Equinox (there might've been a football game going on, too), my friend Consuela had people over to her house for festivities and, of course, pizza. It fell to me, as her second in command, to organize the food.
The basic idea was that most people weren't picky and would eat some variation of pepperoni, sausage or cheese. Now, this is perfect because I am picky. One of my favorite types of pizza is pineapple. This tends to be a polarizing topping for most people, which is fine. If you hate it, more for me.
I established that there were at least three other people down for pineapple, so I figured we could order two just to be safe.
The pizza came, the pizza went and eventually the evening died down and most people had left. As I was helping clean up, it was my intention to take the pineapple leftovers home with me as our hosts wanted nothing to do with it.
Imagine my surprise and disgust when I started scouring the pizza boxes and learned of an overwhelming surplus of sausage, cheese and pepperoni, but ALL of my beloved pineapple pizza had been hoovered.
This is not the first time this has happened. On another occasion, we had people specially request a veggie pizza. Those same veggie eaters (not vegetarians, mind you) had their greasy paws all over my Hawaiian, leaving substantial leftovers of their foul, mushroom and pepper infested concoction that I WILL NOT EAT.
Some of you might be saying, "What does it matter? You grab some pepperoni, you grab some cheese and yeah, maybe a slice of pineapple. Everyone gets what they need. It's not a big deal."
Wrong, you pizza communists.
Specialty pizzas are special for a reason. They are delicious and I like to eat delicious things, therefore they are special, damn it!
To me, it's about the same if I'm sitting in a restaurant with my food in front of me, and someone at the table reaches over my plate to snag a french fry while absently asking, "You gonna eat that?"
Yes, I'm going to eat that.
I am always going to eat that.
So, the next time you're about to go rogue on someone else's pizza, picture my scary Muppet face staring up at you (I'm short), judging you.
Now, put down the pizza.
The majority of my friends in the immediate area are grad students as well.
And whenever two or more grad students gather together, there had damn well better be pizza.
The last few times this has happened, however, I have noticed an upsetting pattern among my friends.
Let me give you a scenario.
Last Thursday, in celebration of the upcoming Autumnal Equinox (there might've been a football game going on, too), my friend Consuela had people over to her house for festivities and, of course, pizza. It fell to me, as her second in command, to organize the food.
The basic idea was that most people weren't picky and would eat some variation of pepperoni, sausage or cheese. Now, this is perfect because I am picky. One of my favorite types of pizza is pineapple. This tends to be a polarizing topping for most people, which is fine. If you hate it, more for me.
I established that there were at least three other people down for pineapple, so I figured we could order two just to be safe.
The pizza came, the pizza went and eventually the evening died down and most people had left. As I was helping clean up, it was my intention to take the pineapple leftovers home with me as our hosts wanted nothing to do with it.
Imagine my surprise and disgust when I started scouring the pizza boxes and learned of an overwhelming surplus of sausage, cheese and pepperoni, but ALL of my beloved pineapple pizza had been hoovered.
This is not the first time this has happened. On another occasion, we had people specially request a veggie pizza. Those same veggie eaters (not vegetarians, mind you) had their greasy paws all over my Hawaiian, leaving substantial leftovers of their foul, mushroom and pepper infested concoction that I WILL NOT EAT.
Some of you might be saying, "What does it matter? You grab some pepperoni, you grab some cheese and yeah, maybe a slice of pineapple. Everyone gets what they need. It's not a big deal."
Wrong, you pizza communists.
Specialty pizzas are special for a reason. They are delicious and I like to eat delicious things, therefore they are special, damn it!
To me, it's about the same if I'm sitting in a restaurant with my food in front of me, and someone at the table reaches over my plate to snag a french fry while absently asking, "You gonna eat that?"
Yes, I'm going to eat that.
I am always going to eat that.
So, the next time you're about to go rogue on someone else's pizza, picture my scary Muppet face staring up at you (I'm short), judging you.
Now, put down the pizza.
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