Some days I am just grouchy. oscar personified. ready to snap back, duck down, frown and furrow then slam the lid behind me. today is one of those days. no telling when imma snap out of it. but on the real, grrrrrrr.
Going to mom's tomorrow. should be ok. is it wrong that I'm most looking forward to the hot weather and my tan? Oh dear, can a be a self-indulgent slore or whaaat?
other news: tired. plotting trip to see beejles and the schwab. frickin psyched. and the chaud is coming next weekend. so its awwwwn. to say the very very least. but for NOW. i'm freakin grouchy aiiight?
Friday, September 5, 2008
Thursday, September 4, 2008
rockhardplace
...and i'm not referencing my sick abs.
Being 23 is hard. especially when you keep forgetting that you're 23, thinking you're 22, when you're basigee 24. and about to be 25. what IS that? I could call the past couple of months a 'quarter life crisis'- but in all honesty it would be plenty hard to delineate a start/finish of said QLC, and further, on the real how 'crisis-worthy' is this period really?
I guess I could help a reader out though (bwahahaha I have "readers" bwahahaha) and explain what I'm trying to bitch about.
It's this persistent lack of focus that comes from within and without (rock/hardplace). It's distractions, attractions, adventures, misadventures, beverages, lack of sleep, confusion, mind-changing, boredom, and a downright lack of motivation. Um. canyahelpme? I mean my mind makes ideas, but for the most part they remain so. They're forgotten until remembered and then they're nothing new.
What I need is for someone to trick me a-la those fables involving "medicine" or "secret weapons" that lead to great success and are really just motivation, empowerment, and believing in oneself.
cut-to videoclip of weightlost dude's mom singin' "beeelllliiiiiiieeeve in yerrrrseeeelllllf" over some ice skates (just friends. yep)
Being 23 is hard. especially when you keep forgetting that you're 23, thinking you're 22, when you're basigee 24. and about to be 25. what IS that? I could call the past couple of months a 'quarter life crisis'- but in all honesty it would be plenty hard to delineate a start/finish of said QLC, and further, on the real how 'crisis-worthy' is this period really?
I guess I could help a reader out though (bwahahaha I have "readers" bwahahaha) and explain what I'm trying to bitch about.
It's this persistent lack of focus that comes from within and without (rock/hardplace). It's distractions, attractions, adventures, misadventures, beverages, lack of sleep, confusion, mind-changing, boredom, and a downright lack of motivation. Um. canyahelpme? I mean my mind makes ideas, but for the most part they remain so. They're forgotten until remembered and then they're nothing new.
What I need is for someone to trick me a-la those fables involving "medicine" or "secret weapons" that lead to great success and are really just motivation, empowerment, and believing in oneself.
cut-to videoclip of weightlost dude's mom singin' "beeelllliiiiiiieeeve in yerrrrseeeelllllf" over some ice skates (just friends. yep)
it's sometimes warm in san francisco
So. It's been about, what, 8 months? and you know- a lot of shit can happen in 8 months. For example: I've been to vegas and back. again. only this time we drove. and this time I was accompanied by riri and reebecca. so that was different. and this time i lost my wallet. it was actually a little funny.
I woke up in a "what did i lose last night besides my dignity" kind of panic(on lacey's SWEET black leather sofa) and reached for my purse. Felt "my wallet" and went back to sleep. woke up 2 hours later and set out for some pedialite (you feel me on this one, yes?) only to discover that what i'd felt inside my purse (the umm faux shiny black snakeskin number) was not my wallet but a fistfull of bogus VIP passes. I can only wonder what sort of deal i made with the devil to get my grubbies on those things. and at this point they were of no use as one can't explain away their age in vegas. not if they're between eighteen and thirty five at least. But what's a dame to do?
The answer is simple, really. She puts on her romper, hits the local baby-juice outlet and gets her hydrate on. after all. we all know the formula (H=H).
I woke up in a "what did i lose last night besides my dignity" kind of panic(on lacey's SWEET black leather sofa) and reached for my purse. Felt "my wallet" and went back to sleep. woke up 2 hours later and set out for some pedialite (you feel me on this one, yes?) only to discover that what i'd felt inside my purse (the umm faux shiny black snakeskin number) was not my wallet but a fistfull of bogus VIP passes. I can only wonder what sort of deal i made with the devil to get my grubbies on those things. and at this point they were of no use as one can't explain away their age in vegas. not if they're between eighteen and thirty five at least. But what's a dame to do?
The answer is simple, really. She puts on her romper, hits the local baby-juice outlet and gets her hydrate on. after all. we all know the formula (H=H).
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