home - archives - profile - notes - guestbook - groupies - dland


2007-07-20 - 12:21 a.m.

Overheard in a parking lot near work:

Did you puke out the window?

When? Which one?

This back one on the passenger side? Last night after Byrne's?

Oh. Yeah, I don't know. Maybe? I thought I puked in Emily's car, though.

Ooooh yeeeeah, no, you're right. You did puke in her car. I think this was me.

I want to party with those guys.


Mr. Benjamin would like a potato chip.

I'm not giving your cat a potato chip.

But Mr. Benjamin would really like one.

Cats don't eat potato chips, and stop doing that.

Stop doing what?

Stop talking for your cat. It's retarded.

Point of order, I am not talking for my cat, he is talking through me. And cats do too eat potato chips. Mr. Benjamin assures me that he does it all the time, and he's totally good at it.

Your cat is not talking through you. You have issues.

Yes, he most certainly is. Mr. Benjamin doesn't like you. See? That's him not me.

Your cat can't talk through you, and I think it's time we sought professional help for you.

He can talk through me, I swear.

He can't. Cats can't talk through people.

Look, if God can talk to me through my cell phone, then my cat can talk through me to other people.

That is not the same thing at all. When God talks through...WAIT A MINUTE...GOD DOESN'T TALK TO YOU THROUGH YOUR DAMN CELL PHONE. WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!

Mr. Benjamin doesn't like it when you yell. Please keep your voice down and also if you could hand Mr. Benjamin a potato chip that would be delightful.

I hate you.


I think my favorite thing about my house right now is that you can't walk more than a couple of steps without stepping on something. We are awesome housekeepers.


I'm a fair-skinned strawberry blond, and I get a sunburn if I stand too close to a microwave. While on vacation, I tried to keep a layer of SPF 6,000 on at all times, but it was a losing battle from day one. That close to the equator, sunscreen isn't too effective against the intense sunlight. That, and it was so humid and I was so sweaty from hiking up and down the freakin' mountains all damn day, sunscreen just slid right off. I got a couple of ugly sunburns, but to be honest, I got off pretty easy. That I didn't burst into flames the instant I stepped off the plane is a goddamn miracle, so I should count my blessings. The sunburn is all healed now, but I am currently a disgusting, peely mess. I am flaky and foul, and itch like crazy. Sex-ay.

So today, I stop at the gas station. I was standing at the counter waiting for my receipt, absently scratching my upper arm where the peeling is the worst. The lady behind the counter finishes printing off my receipt and hands it over. I reach with the hand I'd been using to scratch, but as I do so, I notice with horror the giant strips of skin clinging to each of my fingernails. The gas station lady notices at the same time, makes this disgusted face and pulls back her hand. I'm all, "UmIdon'tneedmyreceiptthanks," and I haul ass out of there, face on fire, bits of skin flapping in the breeze as I run for my car. It's Leprosy Girl, ladies and gentlemen!

I am awesome.

Clearly, I will not be returning to that particular gas station.

last - next

design 2003 Steal and die, fuckers. Steal. And. Die..

all written and photographed material 2002-2009 idiot-milk