Wednesday, March 25, 2009

The Art of Swimming on an Empty Stomach

i have a dysfunctional relationship with my stomach.

apparently Missouri is a state. my apologize to the good citizens of Missouri.

sephora is an evil and magical place.

sir, i believe you are no longer supposed to open the windows on the subway.

how ingrained is the "bless you" response that follows a sneeze? is it religious for anyone anymore? should you refrain from saying it to a jewish or hindu person? would that person be offended if you did say it? or more so if you didn't? is this now merely a social response, much like the "you're welcome" to most "thank yous." the exception being the sarcastic "thank yous" which usually result in the middle finger or the sugar sweet bullshit reply. would you ever break up with someone who didn't offer a bless you after a sneeze? does the lack of a socially expected "bless you" make you re-evaluate your relationship? if you yourself refrain from a bless you and that person is taken over by the devil, as was the olden day belief, could you live with that?

i need a deep tissue massage like a cow needs the rain.

everybody is an asshole sometimes. you, however, abuse the privilege.

i hate when people start shit with me on days when i am not prepared.

if i had five minutes in between an insult and my response, i could be brilliant. why is it later that night in bed when i come up with my most scathing response?

my ear is hot.

you never know how used your thumb is until you break your nail and have to use it every 5 minutes.

physical exercise is good for you. try to find something you can do in your daily life, for example drop kicking a baby.

i find therapy in the bottom of every bottle.

you know how people always say, "Oh she's got such a pretty face, if only she were thinner.."? What if she lost weight and her pretty face was now an ugly face... is it better then to have a pretty face with a little junk in the trunk or an anorexic ugly face?

how do you know when mayonnaise is bad?

if you can't win something, why do it?

thank god i went to a cheap school.

i question pepto bismol.

still tryin to plant that money tree.

apparently based on some cupcake theory, the people over at msn believe that the economy is turning around...i didn't actually read the article...i just looked at the pictures of cupcakes. so that's all i have.

i want a fucking cupcake.

i have been thinking about marathons a lot lately. i know my sister - who i am insanly proud of( and some people are running them soon. it seems to be one of those things that ends up on people's "Things to Do before I Die" list...i thought about if i would ever want to run one...i think i could probably do it, i'm pretty athletic and my body is pretty strong. i run 5k's like nothing at the gym...but would do i actually have the desire to run one? not even a little bit. give me a soccer pitch and ball any day. i have a feeling i would stop running a marathon after an hour or so, out of sheer'd find me at the freakin bar...

it goes without saying that if you are insane and want to run a marathon, rock the fuck on...

i'm excited my pants almost feel off while running to catch my train...well, i wasn't excited about almost flashing people, or having to run, or almost missing my train..

in related news, FEED ME! I AM STARVING!!

i jest.

no, i don't.

what the fuck day is today?

if the directions say "Do NOT enclose a self addressed envelope" why on earth would you include a "self addressed envelope?"

the only reason to run longer than an hour, is if somebody is fucking chasing you.

it's not that i'm that busy, it's that i'm that lazy.

i keep trying to find new and inventive ways to crack my back.

"Running. People think running is a sport. Running isn't a sport because anybody can do it. I can run, you can run. For Christ sakes, my mother can run! You don't see her on the cover of Sports Illustrated, do you? " The Late Great George Carlin...

i have that fucking hill shire farm commercial in my head...“Oh my! Oh me! That lunchmeat’s bourgeoisie!”

and i am sooo excited for...


Wednesday, March 18, 2009

The Art of Nothing to Say and All the Space to Say It

...or how i learned to drive

i got nothin'.

i spent 15 minutes trying to get into the atm using my work key card.

personal space on the express train means nothing.

that should have been me.

they have started announcing where trains are in proximity to the station. i'm not sure i like this. whatever happened to the element of surprise? and it doesn't stop all those annoying people from leaning out to look down the ain't gunna come any faster buddy...

contrary to popular belief, everybody does not look good in green.

i loath my nose.

why do we find ourselves waiting around for people to do the same shit they've always done? people do change. i am not the same person i was year ago, but i am still probably going to forget your birthday.

i'm having a day.

cracking my neck does not warrant a discussion.

money matters would matter more if I had any.

my sister donated her hair to locks of love. i have never been more proud of her. cancer fucking sucks. at least you should have hair.

have you ever thrown up on the subway? hands? anyone? just me? okay then....

very little can rival the humor of the sneeze fart.

if you don't leave a message, i will not call you back.

kittens. kit-TENS. KIT-tens. ki'ns.

if you leave a message, i still probably won't call you back, but at least i'll know who called. i hate the mystery!

i miss selma jane.

ever have one of those days where you find yourself so tired that it hurts, physically hurts, to open your eyes?

ever seen someone so ugly, so repulsive that it hurts, physically hurts, to open your eyes?

when i'm feeling depressed, i like to try to walk up the down escalator. i feel like it is a metaphor for my life, which makes me feel all existential and shit.

my boss told me i looked depressed today.

i think sometimes it would have been better if i was born a man. i have a severe shortage in the emotions and romance department. gimmie a beer and a ball game any day.

i officially cannot wait for Opening Day.

girls are bitches. bitches with boobs.

if you got kicked in the head, and there was footage of it, would you want to watch?

after working up 2 weeks worth of energy and strength and xanax, i finally felt ready for my dentist appointment. after being too late for the subway, bumper to bumper traffic driving, and lots of hyperventilation, i arrive at my appointment to discover the dentist was not in office this morning.

my teeth feel miraculously better.

i am the luckiest girl in the world....and not just cuz i got a nice rack.

x marks the spot. 1013.

i was trying to stop swearing. fuck that shit.

a cop asked to check my bag this morning. i pretended to be deaf. i might go to hell.

i look in the mirror and i hardly recognize myself anymore. i did not have a single drink on St Patrick's thing you know, i'll be skipping cinco de mayo! what is this world coming to?

my mind hurts. bite me. i'm out.

and i need a beer....

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

The Art of Making the Same Mistake Twice

you're so vain, you probably think this blog is about you.

even if i wanted to, i wouldn't know how to begin to get my groove on.

i think i am turning into a bitch.

the saddest sound is the sound of seltzer dying.

this is both irrelevant and irreverent.

people are giving up facebook for lent. facebook. for lent. jesus thanks you.

i wanted to be self-centered today, but then i got worried about how that might make people feel.

i hate when people speak in other languages on the phone. it always makes me think they are talking about me.

why was i not born with a dancers body?

do anyone know where i can get me some steroids?

i love it when lauren speaks to me like yoda...'here are the answers you seek'

the second i decide to save money there always seems to be a sale.

have you ever wanted to try pan handling?

i want to be a part of a come to jesus meeting.

why are you yelling?

i'm envious of people with big families they are close to. i wonder what it would be like to have cousins who are friends.

don't pee on the toilet seat. it's really not that hard.

viva viagra? really.

when it all falls apart, who will you blame? you should have a plan in place. and might I suggest a back up?

i think i might be turning into a bitch. i blame new jersey.

watching the 7 train leave the station at grand central makes me think of a ride at disney. it's so magical

i drove a camel while drunk.

my favorite thing about being on my own was that i could make plans at the last minute and not have to tell anyone about it. it took awhile for that concept to sink in, and for the first few months i would tell my roommates or call my mom or text my cat. i still get a bit panicked if i want to do something unexpected.

the dentist is terrifying

i wonder about people who talk about what they do so much. do they really love what they do? or are they just trying to convince themselves?

5, 5 dollar, 5 dollar footlooooong.

i asked for light mayo, which apparently means put half a bottle of regular mayo on my sandwich.

my name is not Irene, despite what my doctor's office thinks.

common decency is a lost art.

i thought things would have been clear by now

a pigeon dive-bombed my boyfriend.

its not my fault you have a baby.

mcdonald's should bottle that fry smell and sell it.

my father....twitters.

but my mom still doesn't have facebook, so i feel like i am still ahead

it is unbelievably eerie late at night on the subway to look out the window and see an empty train riding next to you.

which is better, chocolate or a good martini? Or a chocolate martini. i will get back to you on this one...

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

The Art of the Two Legged Race

i think i was a cheerleader in a past life. don't worry, the thought make me want to vomit too.

i think i would like to live in the city and have a pet goat.

i hate feeling useless. i hate feeling used, i hate it most when i am uselessly used.

although, come to think of it, when i get annoyed, i often find myself wanting to punch a goat in the face.

i might need therapy.

i'm feeling about as productive as an ant in a snow storm.

when is a good time to tell someone you think they are stupid?


i think i am having an allergic reaction to something every time i eat.

i was walking up the step out of the subway and there was a gigantic dump on the top step. i didn't realize it at the time, but that would be the metaphor for the day.

i am still very angry.

i cannot spell the word "extremely" without spell checker.

i've decided people must think i am really stupid, which i use to my full advantage.

i am always facing backwards

i cut my hand this morning. it didn't hurt until i saw blood. i wonder how much pain is associated with the eyes.

you know what they say about bunnies crossing your path...

it's true. people cannot read signs. or instructions. or instructions written on signs.

i am away from my computer.

i think i could have been great, if only i could get out of bed.

i feel the ghost of you sometimes, breathing over my shoulder. and while at first this affected my life, now all i can think is that you really need a tic, seriously.

when i told someone recently about the amount of weight i had lost, they were extremely shocked, a sure-fire way to tell that i am still fat

it's too late for me to be a playboy bunny.

i think my heart can cry.

i can't fight my own bullies, but i have always been extremely good at fighting other people's. i can't defend myself sometimes, but you can be damn sure i will defend you.

it's weird to be told your services are no longer required.

i like tall people.

i never know what to do when i hear someone fart. do you acknowledge the fart? do you ignore the fart? do you move away from the fart? will that make the farter feel bad? do i care about the emotions of someone who just farted next to me? why does the word fart make me giggle? why do some farts smell like someone died? why do i usually smell these kinds of farts, when i am on the crowded early morning express 7 train and there is not a seat to be found or an inch to move away.

why is that the story of my life?