Advice If You Happen to Be Around Me Lately

Embracing the Booty Shorts: Part I

Do you see these shorts? I own them, or at least a pair that looks just like them. And in three weeks time, I will have to wear these shorts onstage and dance around. They will have a pair of nude tights under them, but STILL.

I don't wear shorts. The last time a pair of shorts was on my body in a public place, I hadn't yet gone through puberty yet.

Since receiving my booty shorts in the mail, I have been wearing them almost every day to get used to them. And you know what? They don't look half bad. That doesn't mean that I suddenly love my legs and think that they are super hot and sexy, but with tights and booty shorts, they are perfectly respectable legs.

So that's good to know, I guess.

As long as no one looks too closely.

Flat Line

I haven't had anything to write about lately. Life has felt like a flat line for awhile. It has been cold and gray and windy and gray and cold. I've been watching "Gilmore Girls," and eating a lot of yellow foods. Mangos, pineapple, cheesy toast.

I have fallen in love with Jess, Rory's second boyfriend.
I haven't done the majority of the things that I should have done.
I've spent lots of money on coffee to give me something to do.

Starbucks doesn't actually have very good coffee, but I've been going there a lot more than normal. There is an odd, shallow-yet-satisfying ritual that I've formed lately, which involves me, a girly magazing (preferably "Marie Claire" but I'll settle for less) and Hawthorne Starbucks.

So I was sitting there about a month ago, vaguely trying to disguise what I was reading, when this lady comes up to me to tell me that she likes my hair. "Is it henna?" she says.

"Why yes it is henna!" I says.

Then she told me that she used to live in Sweden and that she henna-ed her hair etc. etc. And I told her where I got my henna. And she was a friendly, cute middle-aged lady, and we had a nice interaction.

Then I saw her again a couple weeks ago, and we talked about henna some more, and she was just such a nice, happy lady.

Culmination: I saw her at Starbucks this week, and she came over and talked to me, not about henna, but just for the hell of it, because now we have become occasional Starbucks friends. Which I kind of love.And here's Jess, my TV lover.

Probably the Scariest Thing I Can Think Of

I have never driven in Spokane. Not even one time. Not once. But when I am in Portland, I drive. Sometimes/most of the time, I drive at night. In the dark. In my parent's Honda Civic, which I park in all sorts of places around Portland. All. Sorts.

I have an unfounded fear that there will be a man hiding in the backseat of my car when I come back for it, and that I will get in and start to drive without noticing that he is there. And then, when I am on a dark roadway in the late hours of the night, he will slowly sit up, and I will look in my rearview mirror and see his face.

That's as far as I have thought.

Have you ever seen the movie "Rocketman?" I haven't seen it for about ten years, but as far as I can remember, it goes like this: A wee young boy wants to be in an astronaut. He then grows up to look just like the Bass Player from "That Thing You Do," and he becomes the stupidest astronaut ever, and he goes to the moon and does silly things and falls in love with the hot-lady astronaut, and I think there is a monkey in the story somewhere.

This movie contains one of the best exchanges ever, and here it is:


Dumb Main Character Astronaut: Were you ever afraid that there was a baker under your bed?

Smart Supporting Character Astronaut: No.

Dumb Main Character Astronaut: Well did you ever check?

Smart Supporting Character Astronaut: No.

Dumb Main Character Astronaut: Then how do you know there wasn't a baker under you bed?



Wise words, Dumb Main Character Astronaut, wise words.


I always check for the baker under my bed.


And by "baker," I mean "hiding-psychopathic killer."

And by "under my bed," I mean "in the back seat of the Honda Civic."

This Cat Like Vegetables And You Should Too

When I graduate, I am going to start a new blog that will be called, "Vegetables For People Who Don't Like Vegetables." And I'm going to buy weird vegetables from our neighborhood co-op and make them into delicious, nutritious dishes and then take pictures of them!

Woop!

So that will be fun. I also plan to consume an entire bag of baby carrots every week.

Starting next week.

For realz.

The Bubble

There is a girl sitting way to close to me at the bar in the campus coffee shop. There is NO REASON for her to be sitting this close to me. There is plenty of space. Move over, slightly sweaty, loud girl! This space is mine. Why else would I have spread out over at least two stools worth of counter? It's a hint that I DON'T WANT YOU SITTING THERE.

I want that space so that I don't have to worry about you reading over my shoulder while I write this blog post about you.

Please stop bumping me with your elbow every five minutes and not noticing.

Please stop laughing maniacally with your three other girl and boyfriends.

Please take off your sweaty windbreaker so that it will stop cracking when you move.

Please hang your backpack on the back of the chair.


This sounds means. That's why I am writing it down instead of telling here. Because sometimes I just need to be bitchy and mean about tiny, unimportant things...

But this bubble is mine, and I don't want your presence in it.

S.A.D.

This week, I have seasonal affect disoder. That spells sad! Coincidence? I don't think so.

And now, pictures.