High-five for honesty

.... "Smells like an expensive hooker!"

http://inmusic.ca/news_and_features/gagas_blood_in_her_new_perfume/9c18cd2f

... dear baby Jesus. Please, just stop. There are few things I want on my skin less than Lady Gaga in liquid form. Actually, I can't even think of anything right now. Maybe acid. Or napalm. I'm half-hoping this is one of those celebrity "Oh, haha, aren't I funny and witty. Look at the wacky things I say!" moments.

I should come up with my own perfume. (All the cool kids are doing it)... I'll call it "Innocence," because each bottle will be made with the tears of a hundred virgins. It will also cure cancer.

I can't blame vodka, so this is Lewis Carroll's fault.

UPDATES ON THE STUPID:

I`ve got a paper to finish, other papers I’ve yet to start, an inbox full of angriness I’ve been avoiding, two midterms I’ve forgotten the dates of (but am probably already fucked for), a horrible niggling feeling that I’m forgetting a whole bunch of other things all equally important and scary, and all I can get my sleepy little head to wrap around is whether or not Value Village has any brown hats. Oh, and the massive crush I’ve apparently developed on Andrew Lee Potts in the last three days.

BROWN HATS.

In Soviet Russia, Lewis Carroll blames YOU

I think maybe I need to replace “ridiculous” with “stupid.” And maybe add a smack in the face, because-really- who the Christ purposely forgets about a midterm because their brain works like a retarded squirrel and it’s easier to pretend I’m researching fairy tales when all I’m really doing is re-reading “Alice in Wonderland” and looking up costume props on Ebay than it is to click on a few things and figure out when I have a test scheduled for.

BECAUSE I’M RIDICULOUS, THAT’S WHY.

I’ve also been worrying a bit about the amount of crazy laziness that goes on in my head lately. I think if my brain were a person, it either took way too many drugs and lives in Super Mario World, or got a concussion and speaks in Russian 40% of the time, or developed its own special kind of ADD because it got bored reading about dead British people and heard twitchiness gets better drugs. It’s a special kind of ridiculous. I’d patent it, but it’s completely useless for anything besides wasting time and worrying medical professionals. And it’s COMPLETELY DESTROYING MY GOOD INTENTIONS.

LIKE VODKA. VODKA ALSO DESTROYS GOOD INTENTIONS. VODKA AND LEWIS CARROLL.

Melatonin, my ass. And your valerian can go straight to hell.

It is 3:40 am, and I am still. Frigging. Awake.

Again.

You know how sometimes you hear about people who have such bad insomnia or who's sleep schedules are so messy that they apparently survive on energy drinks, coffee, the combined energy of everyone on the internet, and a tiny shred of hope of one day (night) getting more than two or three hours of sleep all at once? They're in the same category as people who've crippled both legs and an arm, or accidentally burned their house down, or just had a really stupid car accident because they forgot they couldn't drive properly... you hear about them and feel better about whatever ass-tastic situation you were complaining about, because at least you're not THAT bad.



Yeah, well you're morbidly obese, so there. Nyeah.



Well, fuck all those people. I'm one of them, so I can say that. I also may or may not have had that car-situation happen to me recently. Which may have been somewhat related to the sleeping situation, now that I think of it.

...

So that's my realization for the night/morning. I am a huge fucking insomniac, and it is now a fairly serious issue being that on average I fall asleep between 5 and 6 am, wake up at about 9, and usually twitch awake in between there a few times just in case I was in any danger of getting proper rest. *headdesk*

I think I deserve a block of chocolate for this shit. Last meal, my ass.

they're people too, apparently

One of the people in my English class just called my prof out on hanging out in seedy whore-bars/strip clubs. He admitted it.

Awesome.

I bet somewhere up the gene pool, one of my relatives was a sloth.

The day is piss. TOO MANY THINGS. WHY'S SO MANY THINGS? *cries*

I feel a bit distressed about this. I have a to-do list so long it looks like one of the essays I'm supposed to be writing. I've taken procrastinating to a whole new level of professionalism. There's a book there somewhere- "How to Avoid Things Forever" or "The Art of Zen-Lazy," or something like that. 

Okay, so since I've basically destroyed all hope of getting things done in a timely manner, I'm accepting that they never will get done in a timely manner, and therefore I need to lower my standards and get them done in a pathetically UN-timely manner. I'm giving myself until 3 am, which seems untimely enough since that's normally when I'd either be asleep, cursing my inability to sleep, or giving up on sleep entirely and making hot cocoa and watching movies instead.

Here's my list. I'm calling it my SHITLIST, because it is a list of shit I need to do (or else my head will explode everywhere, and I'll probably cry because that's one more thing I need to clean up besides the entire fucking kitchen. Oh yeah, I need to clean the entire fucking kitchen).

1. Clean the fucking kitchen. All of it- microwave, countertops, floor, sink, etc. Make it sparkle, bitch.

2. Finish the vocab list for anthropology, and have a look at the essay questions. Print out a few copies for other group members.

3. Burn three movies and two computer games to discs.

4. Write draft copy for film image analysis assignment.

5. Call ICBC (can't dodge them forever...)

6. Read over Kid Lit. essay and figure out thesis, stories to use, etc. Make outline.

7. Muffins. Om nom.

I call it "dumpster scrap-couture"

Warm fuzzies, guys.

So a while ago I bought a really ugly shirt. It had potential, so I hacked the shit out of it with a pair of scissors. It was still ugly, so I cut off the sleeves, too. Then it wouldn't even stay on. I was going to sew some proper straps on it, but c'mon. I'm fucking lazy. So I took one of the sleeves and just kind of half-ass tied the back of the shirt into a bunch. Then it was kind of cool-looking, except it's crooked and frayed and makes me look like I shop in a dumpster. Also I can't bend forward, because it kind of falls open and shows most of my chest-area. 

So I wore it today, with a matching bra underneath (from far away I look half-decent). I kind of have a soft spot for clothes that I've basically destroyed.


After I went to the gym, I was standing in front of the mirror trying to brush the mess out of my rat nest hair, and some girl came up and asked me where I bought it. She seemed to think it had come from some kind of boutique somewhere- somewhere "really expensive." 

And then when I told her I'd gotten it by accident in a bag sale at a thrift store and then cut it into bits, she was all shocked out of her head, and raved on for a bit about how "creative" I am. 

Hee. *blushes* See? I'm not a crazy slob. I'm "artistic." 


Awesome.