The Art of Clinging to Clichés

i can run a freaking marathon, but walking a half mile to the subway in heels is damn near impossible.

hiding garbage in the bushes still is, in fact, littering.

i accidentally wore 3-D glasses today, thinking they were sunglasses. i did not realize my mistake until I made it into work, slightly nauseous.

blow your fucking nose already.

better luck next pay check.

i hate displays of weakness.

i find it peculiar when people find the need to wear shirts proclaiming their personality traits. i guess if we are going on the assumption these shirts are true as opposed to wishful thinking on the part of the wearer, wearing a shirt that informs of who you are could actually be beneficial. you can narrow down your group of friends. diva? no, thanks. drama queen? i'm good. asshole? i'll pass.

as a rule, i do not hate people. there are always painfully apparent exceptions to this rule.

today was not my day for mass transit. first on the morning commute, a barbara bush look alike pushed me over on the subway this morning screaming at me to ‘move it’. then on the ride home, i got up for a pregnant woman and her 2 kids. the mother declined a seat, so i sat back down. then all of a sudden, i feel a bang on my head, then another, and another. i finally catch the little kids beating me in the head with their toy train. the mother remained on her cell phone, completely oblivious to the fact her kids were assaulting me with their trains. great parenting.

screw the environment, I need a bullet-proof suv.

i do not like routine; i just need it to survive. like chocolate. or a whistle from a construction worker.

i despise people who do not follow the basic rules of society.

i never take more than i need. i always ask for more than i want.

your personality reminds me of a dead penguin.

the new york mets remind me of a relationship i had once.

remind me to tell you that joke.

it's what i won't talk about that should concern you.

you don't have to work so hard to make me think you are a terrible person. i already do.

apparently i am a "gold-digger" (thank you random twitter friend?) i find this amusing as i have actually never dug for gold in my life. i have panned for gems in north carolina as a child. does that count?

if i was indeed a gold digger, than i have done a terrible, terrible job. and i need bigger boobs.

face up here, thank you.

wearing heels makes me feel like tap dancing.

i said i don't want to talk about it.

sometimes the world seems very dark. especially at night.

hair seems to be the problem. the lack there of seems to be the conclusion.

ready or not, here i come.

question marks only exonerate the situation.

better to have fought and lost, than to have spent the day in the bathroom crying.

i will defeat cheese.

i thought head phones were supposed to prevent music from being blasted to those around you. clearly, ipod does not think so.

it is not my aim to offend you. it is my aim to offend everyone.

i don't take the things you say personally, i take the clothes you wear personally.

you need new socks.

my faith was restored in humanity this week. a man offered me an umbrella to walk under in the rain. my faith was then promptly stored when that man tried to cope a feel on my ass. oh well.

six of one, half a horse either way.