Monday Bear

So I just realized that I could never have a pager. You know why? Because I never call people back. If you’ve ever called me, I’ve probably not called you back. Don’t take it personally; I just tend not to call people back, just like some people tend to bite their nails or poop themselves. It’s just a bad habit.

My mom used to have a beeper when she was a social worker. I was seven. I thought that was just too cool, so I saved up my money and got a plastic beeper filled with bubblegum. “Liz. I love you like so many cats in an old lady’s house. And when you die alone in your bed, I will consume your body so that you do not decompose and smell when they find you.”

- Alley Jo in a voicemail.

And I didn’t call her back.

So I’m downloading this album, because an ex-boyfriend of mine made me mail it back to him after 3 years of being broken up. The only reason I didn’t send it back to him sooner was because it was horribly scratched. So he says:

Ex: Liz, do you still have my Jimmie’s Chicken Shack album?
Liz: …Ooooooh, that’s yours? I was wondering whose that was!

Smooth move, exlax.

(I got that from Michele)

You know what’s weird?� How when people (mostly girls) are jealous of one another, they’re mean to the one they’re jealous of.� I don’t get it, but I’m guilty of it, too.� When I see a girl who I think that Matt would be interested in, I try and pick out her flaws.� Maybe she has a weird tooth, or her eyebrows are too skinny, or maybe she’s wearing a stupid hat, or maybe her legs are too skinny, or maybe her breasts are saggy, or maybe she talks funny, or maybe she has a zit in her cleavage, or maybe� she’s boring, or maybe she’s just too perfect.

Like that one girl.� I’ve tried and I’ve tried, but I can’t pick out a single flaw.� She has perfect skin, she’s probably very talented, she has a cute little haircut that I had over a year ago, she’s fun, and she’s about 12 times cooler than I will ever be.� “You don’t have to worry about her because she has a boyfriend.”� Wow, that’s comforting.� What if she didn’t?� I just can’t stop thinking about her.� I can’t not like her, because I don’t even know her, but I know her more than she knows me, because she’s probably never even noticed me, unless she really is attracted to Matt, which is actually quite probable, and she’s jealous of me, because I have Matt and she doesn’t.

Actually, that just made me feel much better.� Here are some things she can be jealous of me for:

• I have Matthew.
• I have better boobs.
• I have a better butt.

…nevermind…

But on a happier note, last night Erick and I went to dad’s, and we all came together and told stories about us and our significant others shitting ourselves.� Remember when Matt shat himself on the way to see Sufjan Stevens?

Well.

Erick’s girlfriend shat herself in Chinese Kitchen.� Wearing scrub pants with no underwear.

Let me tell you.� If you say that I could never happen to you, it will.� I made fun of my little Fudgems for ages, and I shat myself alone in my dorm room.� And we have community bathrooms.

But at least I didn’t have to wear my grandfather’s pleated khaki shorts in front of all the cool kids.

And I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t go to my bellydancing class that night.

So here’s something Christmassy:� You know that song, “Let it snow”?� Most of you know that it’s my favourite Christmas song, because it’s about snuggling.

Here’s a selection:

Well it doesn’t show signs of stopping, and I brought some corn for popping…

Mom and I were back from church, and I was singing that song.� However, there was some sort of Freudian slip:
Liz:� Well it doesn’t show signs of stopping, and I brought some porn for c…
Mom:� For what, for cocking?

I thought you’d enjoy that.

So in conclusion, my brother pissed in the bed.� Twice.� And he’s twenty- three.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, December 26th, 2006 at 11:42 AM and is filed under Awkward Scenarios, Breasts, Dating, Family, Nasty, Pooping. 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.