I'm 8:57 PM according to my iMac . . . although my phone says it's closer to 3 AM. I want to sit the two next to each other and watch them duke it out. Does anyone know where I can get really tiny boxing gloves?
#5. You asked me to dance when the credits were rolling, and I said "Are you kidding?" But you did know how to tuck a girl in right. I guess you had some redeeming qualities.
Have you burnt me up yet? Have you boxed me up? Have you licked the last bit of crumbs from your fingers and given up the ghost?
Today I received three very beautiful compliments. Not once was my level of attractiveness referred to as part of said compliments, which actually made each compliment more poignant. (note: has anyone else ever wanted a compli-mint? Not only would they make your soul feel bright, but you would end up with more kissable breath. I think I'm going to start handing out sprigs of spearmint whenever I say niceties to people.)
I was never very good at math. 3/4 of the boys I have crushes on have significant others. Something is wrong with this equation.
My current obsession with taking my vitamins probably roots in my past life as an addict. I think I also accidently used the term "tweaking out" today.
I miss when Kalvin used to say "geeking out" . . . probably my favorite term ever.
Every time I listen to Tom Waits I feel like I'm living like I would have if I would have been with you (you you, not YOU, but you). OR that I'm living the opening scene to the movie "Wristcutters" (definitely in my top ten). "She thought she had the moon in her pocket."
#11. Time stopped. It still does. Come back and haunt me.
I have lately indulged in my guilty pleasure of bad bad bad pop-punk music videos and wanting to dress utilizing fishnets. I really should seek help if I do this more than once a month. I'm eliciting YOUR help.
I need more scarves and more reasons to wear my galoshes. Maybe I should stage another personal event. Much like tie week. I miss tie week. It gave me a sense of stylistic purpose.
Tonight I finally ate a candy bar that was given to me more than a week ago. In my bedside table I have a box of uneaten chocolate covered macadamia nuts from Summer 2007. For some reason I have developed this pattern: boys give me candy, and if I like them enough, I leave the it uneaten . . . the end. It's as if I'm saving it like a good luck charm (I'm really against cutting off rabbit appendages and picking 4-leaf clovers), to eat only when something good happens with said boy. How this silly habit got started, no one knows. Legends say once, when Claire Valene Bagley was a very young girl, Valentines Day was never a ver . . . let's just stop there . . . Thus, I decree: Chocolate was made for instantaneous pleasure and sticky fingers and chin, and not to be consistently glared at and blamed when bad things happen (or when the good things don't). Those chocolate cover macadamia nuts in my bedside table are/have been melted, smashed, and deformed with time . . . and they're quite the stale little bastards, to boot. I bit into one the other day, after I had the idea that it was the only way to rid myself (and my bedside table) of them. I almost had to run my teeth under hot water in order to unstick my sickly-sweet lockjaw.
I still wonder if she tastes bland after that fireball. Not that you actually got a mouthful of that anyways.
#1 "What took you so long?"
I'm still patting my back about that smooth move.