1. I bought a pair of shorts. I got them home, put them on, zipped them up and ... they promptly fell down. Apparently, I had looked at the size on the tag upside down and, yep, they were 3 sizes too big. Duh. I really ought to start taking the time to try stuff on first.
2. I bought fat-free ice cream and ... caramel sauce, pineapple topping, strawberry topping, hot fudge sauce, and bananas to put on it. Duh.
3. While I was grocery shopping, I had my phone in my pocket, set to "vibrate." When it did, it scared the bejesus out of me and I jumped and squealed like I'd been Tasered. Duh. Cleared the aisle pretty quick, though.
4. I made the mistake of complaining about my Neighbors From Hell to their landlord and was ecstatic when eviction proceedings were filed against them. When I got home yesterday, I had a witness subpoena taped to my front door. Fuck. Me and my big mouth. Double-dog duh.
5. I came home with the shorts, the ice cream, bubble bath, dog food, computer paper, and some food -- but no toilet paper, butter, headache medication, or bread. I'm going to have to go back to the store today. Duh!
It's so hot, and so humid. It does feel a lot like hell. Somebody please let me out.
I had the weirdest montage of bizarre dreams last night, a kaleidoscope of Kafkaesque images and ... pretty colors. Most of them have faded from memory already, except -- the one about trying to stop time. Yes, that's right -- I was trying to help someone stop time. I don't know who, or why. The number 28 was prominently featured; don't know what that means. And there was someone in a pink leather jacket, seen only from the rear. For some unspeakable reason, I have the impression it might have been Britney Spears. If it was, God help me. I mean, I refuse to have Britney Spears invade the sanctity of my dreams. What sacrilege! I wouldn't mind beating her up and taking the jacket, but she has to go and never come back. The good news is, I'm pretty sure we failed at stopping time, possibly because Britney was high and in a hurry to lose her underwear and get to the Tarts Convention with Lindsey and Paris. I should probably never mix hot fudge sauce and caramel at bedtime again.
penquin - A really novel writing implement that waddles.
potry - Chickens that speak in rhymes.
It should go quicher - Let them eat quiche.
oicture - A bad oyster.
concieved - Artificial insemination that failed.
And these, ferreted out by Roxan, which kind of defy definition so we won't even try:
group learders, to busy
Gee I too just entered the listing number and up poped this thread.
brutality and mahem
Nieghbors Aquire Rights to Our Water
although the reason they're giving you is ridicoulous
|Your Career Type: Artistic|
You are expressive, original, and independent.
Your talents lie in your artistic abilities: creative writing, drama, crafts, music, or art.
You would make an excellent:
Actor - Art Teacher - Book Editor
Clothes Designer - Comedian - Composer
Dancer - DJ - Graphic Designer
Illustrator - Musician - Sculptor
The worst career options for your are conventional careers, like bank teller or secretary.