Monday Bear

So I understand that most people don’t really like pooping at work. On the contrary, when I had a job, I loved pooping at work, because, seriously, where else can you get paid to poop?

But I think it helped that -I- was the one who bought the TP most of the time, and I never bought that John Wayne toilet paper that’s rough, tough, and won’t take shit from anyone.

I forgot to write a few weeks ago when I got a postcard from my SOA (or should I say, SOB) from CUSTOMS/ Freshman Orientation. In wretched handwriting and red marker ink, it reads:

Hey Suzanne,

Hope you had fun at customs. Dont forget about the WOW events + football games when you get back. Drop me a line if you need anything else. See you in the fall.

- Wes [last name], Soa
[school email address]
mtsu.edu/~bemore
Go Greek!

That was… personal…
He seems to know me quite well. He even remembered… that I… like red?
I’ve come to the conclusion that the length of time that someone has had myspace is a definite factor in determining how hip someone is: Because I’ve been on myspace for 3 years, I’m hipper than thou. The fact that I’m tired of myspace and hate what it’s become makes me that much more hip.

Matthew.

My radar says that it’s raining, but I don’t hear it. It also says that it’s nighttime. Whew. I’m glad it told me. How else would I know?

Here’s a picture of Walter going to see Snakes on a plane. His shirt is my favourite part. It says, “Get these motherfuckin’ snakes off this motherfuckin’ plane!”

Get got pulled over that night.

These are the grandparents who I went to go see. Don’t laugh.

Fine, you can laugh.

Matt and I went on an African Safari at the Zoo. That was lots of fun. Here are some photographs from the adventure, complete with captions.
As a sidenote, I’ve noticed that animals are much more interesting with people in front of them, but they’re much more photogenic when they’re photographed by themselves. Yaddamean?:

Here is a frog. Matt took about 9 pictures identical to this one.

I got naked in front of the lemur cage, and they all hid from the camera. I guess I scared them.

We can’t take a normal picture together. We’re both retarded looking on our zoo day. Retarded, but in luuuuv.

Here’s a bird in jail. But he’s eating a melon, so I guess he’s happy.

That thing on his head is for bustin’ nuts.

You might recognize these two pictures. That’s because they’re famous.

Matt did the sweetest thing for me. Check it out:

He wrote that with his own blood.

While we’re at it, here are some various photos of me laughing:

That last one is my favourite. That’s why it’s the biggest. I don’t know what the fuck I was laughing about, though. I guess I just really liked that slinky. And mustard.
And just to be fair, here’s Sarah Smith:

So I realize that this has been a very Liz- centered blog. Well, it’s my blog. So in order to keep the narcissism levels high, I’ve put toether a Things That Are Special About Liz List. OR Lizt.

Things That Are Special About Lizt:

• I can dance like whoa.
• I can peel a banana with my feets.
• I can sing.
• I can fit my whole fist in my mouth.
• I can play guitar… a little bit…
• I can get my legs behind my head.
• I do a kickass Homsar voice.
• I made a 29 on my ACT.
  Emily made a 30 : )
  I think Amy did, too.
• I did a sexual radio commercial for Quakefest 2005.
  “I’m definitely coming.”
• As of the other day, I bellydance to keep in shape.
• I somehow attracted the most perfect man in the whole world.
• I’m allergic to UV rays.
• I pass out when overly stressed, menstruating, or in pain.
  I’m kind of like a possum.
• I’m friends with Zephyr Goddinger.
• I’m going to eat cookies at KUC next Tuesday after my Chem class.
  Because I like cookies.
• I have a delightful ass. Delightfully HUGE.

That’s all I could think of. But if you can think of more, tell me. Please. The only reason I call myself special is because I’m insecure…

And I like to get compliments.

Speaking of which, ladies, I know I’ve blogged this several times, but geez, when someone compliments you, graciously accept it and say thank you. Don’t disagree. When someone says you have a great body, say “Thank you,” not “Ew, no I don’t.” I hate that.

I was reading this chick’s blog, and above the comment box, it read, “Keep in mind that this is my blog, so don’t talk about yourself.”
This was a stranger’s blog. How am I supposed to leave her a comment if I can’t relate myself to it? This was my comment:
Wow! Hawaii! That sounds nice. Congratulations on your new job.

And the only reason I left a comment was because it was my assignment for despair.nu. They give you three blogs to read and comment, and they assign three people to read yours and comment it.

I don’t think that they always read it when they’re supposed to, though. My last blog got 1 or 2 comments. I don’t remember.

Oh my gosh, I’m a geek. It’s Matt’s fault.

So I’m wearing one of my mom’s maxi pad’s right now because I’m fresh out of tampons. I could use one of hers, but she uses the kind with plastic applicators, and those are harmful to the environment because they aren’t biodegratable. Mine don’t have an applicator.

So how do you…

…Yeah…

While we’re on the subject, making a regular disposable battery uses 50 times more power than it produces. That’s why we should all use rechargable batteries.

Just don’t borrow anyone else’s batteries, because you don’t know where they’ve been. I usually take the batteries out of my camera whenever I want to… fulfil my personal needs…

It’s thundering outside, and it sounds so pretty. However, it will probably just get louder and louder and scare the shit out of me and make me want to cuddle with Matthew, because he’s good to cuddle with during storms all the time most of the time.

I have so many more photos to blog, but I’m tired, and this blog is entirely too long.

So in conclusion, always wipe front to back, people– I can’t stress that enough.

This entry was posted on Sunday, August 20th, 2006 at 11:48 PM and is filed under Dating, Family, Nasty, Pooping, Travel. 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.