Monday Bear

So here I go, here I go, here I go, I said girls, what’s my weakness?

That’s the part where my mom usually says “Men!” and I say, “Okay, then. Chillin’, chillin’, mindin’ my bidness…”

etc, etc, etc.

Yes, my mom.

Let’s talk about myspace and facebook. This is somewhat an extention of yesterday’s blog. Let’s talk about girls’ photos on myspace and facebook. As most of you know, this is my friend Holly. That said, I wouldn’t make fun of her so ruthlessly if I didn’t love her so.

That said, look at her pose. If I’m not mistaken, that’s the sign for the Krypts, Krips, or whatever. How many other girls, or even frat boys’ photos, for that matter, do you see in this exact pose?

About 72 billion.

“Oh, but Liz, you don’t get it. It’s funny, because I’m not really in a gang. I’m white. Get it?”

Yes, I get it. I get it. I would get it more, though, if less people posed that way expecting to be funny.

As a sidenote, though, Holly does look ravishing in that hat. She doesn’t need cutesie poses. She’s already wicked hot.

After making fun of people with their gang sign’d photos, I realize that I have this photo on myspace:

That would be me, throwing the Blood sign. A gang sign.

I retract my insults and tauntings for you girls and your poses.

I expect you all to make fun of me now.

I love you, Holly.

I’ve been peeing a lot lately.
Speaking of pee, I have a funny peeing story:
Most of you know that weak bladders run in my family. I got that gene, so much of the time, when I have to pee, I really have to pee.
At Freshman Orientation, I was staying in Cummings (giggle) Hall, where each floor has a community bathroom (guhross). Underwearless, I had taken my skirt off to lye in bed. I suddenly felt an urge! I really had to go. Right then. I couldn’t just run out to the bathroom, because I was naked from the waist down, and I had just met these girls with whom I was staying. No way I was going to show them my naughtybits. I threw a skirt on and ran to the bathroom. I would have said “scurried,” just because it paints a more entertaining picture, but “ran” is much more accurate.
Anywho, I opened the door to the first stall, lifted my skirt a little, and it just started flowing out! I had to sit down before the piss hit the literal floor (not to be mistaken for the proverbial fan), and sit down I did. Luckily, I just got a little on the toilet seat, and the rest hit the bowl. Midpiss (this was one of those 3 minute pees), I decided I should close the stall door just in case someone decided to come in. I stood up, wiped (myself and the seat), washed my hands, and went back to my private business.

I know that about half of you are going to get really really pissed at me about this, but I was going through my music today, and I listened to some of my punk. After several songs by a few bands that will not be mentioned (none of them I know personally, it’s just that a few of my readers are huge fans of these bands), I realized that even though they may have their own original riffs and beats, they’re all saying the same thing. They all say the same thing: “We want anarchy. You are/ America is not really free. Yeah yeah yeah, oi oi oi.”
Then I listen to some more songs: Many of them don’t even make sense. That brings me to this thought: Do said screaming punks really know what they’re talking about? Are they just feeding lines, propaganda, if you will, to young rebellious youth just for a paycheck?

Probably. And it works.

Now before I step on anybody’s toes, I’m not talking about all punks. I’m talking about these guys from these bands and their devout fans.

But I still do think that punk rock, if there is such a thing, is about love and not hate.

Or maybe I’m just growing up.

Alley Jo’s dead kitty Flower vs. The guy from The Streets. The resemblance is uncanny.

Since I already pissed the punks off a little bit, let’s go and do it some more: I think it’s time to stop making fun of emo kids. Making fun of emo kids went out with Chuck Norris jokes.
And while I’m at it, for those of you who didn’t know, Chuck Norris jokes went out about 9 months ago.

That baby has been born.

But anywho, remember when emo was cool? I was a Freshman in highschool. Emo didn’t mean being mad at your parents and mutilating oneself for attention. Welp, now it does, and let’s leave those kids alone.
Make a wish. It’s 11:11.
I’m not going to type a huge bit about why we should stop making fun of emo kids. It’s not because they have feelings too (HA!), but simply because it’s gone mainstream, and when things go mainstream, much like Chuck Norris jokes, they become overused, and therefore, not funny anymore.

Kind of like Jack Black.

As a sidenote, just because Jack Black isn’t funny anymore, that doesn’t mean that I can’t listen to old Tenacious D.

Always poking holes in my own theories.

While we’re fresh off of emo kids, I’d like to bitch a little more, and seriously this time:

This is what I feel like:

A black kid with a band- aid (R) on his fo’head.

I’m PMSing, and lately, whenever I’m any kind of hormonal, I get really sad, much like the young African American boy. Except he’s sad because he’s hungry. I don’t have a reason to be sad.
People always ask me: “Liz, why are you always so happy?”
This is what I tell them:

• I have people related to me who care about me.
• I have friends who care about me.
• I’m not starving.
• I’m not dying of AIDS in Rwanda.
• I have a wonderful “life partner” whom I know would jump off of a bridge for me.
• I can breathe.
• It’s fun to dance in the rain.
• Smiling makes other people happy.
• I believe there is a God who loves me and cares about me.
• I’m not terribly fat.
• I have a house.

And the list goes on and on. Now, if more than 6 of these don’t apply to you, sure, you have a reason to be sad or angry. But I don’t think any of you fit into that category.

I have such a great life, but I feel like a black kid with a bandaid on his head. I’m just said. I know it’s completely hormonal, but my gosh, I haven’t felt like this since nobody remembered my sixteenth birthday.

I won’t go on and whine about it, because you guys read my blog to be amused. If you wanted to read about someone’s wacked- out emotions, you would read some kid’s blog on myspace.

My horoscope said to just be alone for a little while.
I say that if I just wait it out another week, I will have stopped bleeding, and I’ll be back to my old loud laughing self.

Hey, at least I know I’m not pregnant.

*thumbs up*

But isn’t that kid cute?

I went to Rachel Thornly- Brown’s wedding yesterday. I caught the boquet. I didn’t even kill anybody.

Katie Stover has a dirty little Mexican in her stomach that tells her when she’s hungry and needs to go to Los Portales.

Katie: Hola, Como Estas. That dirty Mexican in my stomach is yelling at me.
Liz: Ha! I’m blogging that. Everybody reads mondaybear.com. You’ll be famous.
Katie: What is it? mydirtybear.com?

Katie was mean to me Freshman year, because she thought I did acid.

So in conclusion, I’m sorry this blog sucked/ pissed you off. I just kind of needed an outlet and everyone is asleep/ partying.

So really in conclusion, since it’s july, I got a new pinup girl/ martini recipe on my calendar. Call me if you want to know how to make a Paradise Martini.

Peace. *gang sign*

And I think some self- photography would make me feel much better.

This entry was posted on Friday, July 14th, 2006 at 11:41 PM and is filed under Family, Nasty, Philosophy. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.