So this just has to be said: My nipples feel really weird. Well, not weird, it’s just weird that they feel this way. It feels like someone has been biting them. And well, I haven’t, I haven’t seen Matt in a week, and to my knowlege, there have been no foreign mouths upon my bosom. Isn’t that crazy?
So Erik and I danced and danced and danced Tuesday, and despite pulled groins and confusion, funtimes were had.
“I can’t wait to read the blog about this”
- Erik G
I stated in my last blog that we’re wearing blue, as opposed to white, because we’re fat. We decided we aren’t fat. We’re just modern dancers.
NO ONE will think that’s funny. Except us.
But Erik, let me tell you… I had the time of my life, and I owe it all to you.
My 126 lbs made him pull his groin, but it was worth it, because he got a facefull of boobies. MAMA.
Remember when I bitched out Brad Weatherbee in my car for ages because he said something about black people? Check out what happened today in English:
“Liz, because of you, I love black people now. I even delivered pizza to a black dude.”
- Brad
I died when he told me that.
But I got better.
“She turned me into a newt!”
“A newt?”
“Well… it got better…”
hahah.
So this blog is really unorganized. You know one of Liz’s favourite ways to organize? That’s right, kids, it’s time to make a list.
Clothing items Liz hates and why:
1. Crocs. They have stupid holes in them. They are the dumbest shoes I’ve ever seen. They’re plastic. There’s no way I would ever wear them, not even with my scrubs.
2. Gauchos. Those pants that look like skirts, you know. They wore those in the SEVENTIES. My old lady friend Mrs. Weldon has been wearing gauchos since I was 3. She’s in her eighties.
3. Wallabees. They’re just ugly and overpriced.
4. Ponchos. Another 1970’s comeback. They aren’t flattering you, ladies. They’re just making you look fat and frumpie. And kind of like Cheech.
5. Birkenstocks. Once more, they’re ugly and overpriced. And they fucking look like potatoes. Who wants potato feet? I sure don’t.
6. Sorority shirts. You don’t need eighty of them. Maybe one. But we can tell that you’re in a sorority because of your highlights and pink flipflops.
7. Etnies and Vans with laces. Do you really need shoes that fluffy?
I think that’s it.
Zephyr said I have the best Homsar voice. Well, I do. But nobody wants to hear homsar. Everybody wants to hear Dot. Dot, I can do.
Zephyr has the best King of Town voice. And the best Marzipan voice, but that comes naturally.
“Liz, my water just broke! Toohoohoo!”
She doesn’t have her pictures tagged on facebook. I’d like for her to tag them before I tag my picture of her, because I’m sure she doesn’t want the Suckling Cow Face picture to be the only one up of her. I have really really grood pictures of her, just not that many that are digitalized.
Hottiefasche. That’s me. Davo, do the voice. The voice makes me so happy. Did I mention that last time I talked to Davo on the phone, I was pooping? I’m still a hottieface when I poop. Everybody poops. I think people should talk about pooping more often. Then they’ll be less embarrassed by it. Everyone poops. I poop, Matt poops, my mum poops, you poop, Dave Grohl poops, Ghandi poops, the Dhali Llama poops, even Jesus pooped back in the day. Dad poops, Erick poops, Zephyr poops, Steve poops, Mark Adam VanZant poops, Fr. Joe poops, Rivers Cuomo poops, Bill Gates poops. Everybody fucking poops. Even I poop.
MY NAME IS LIZ AND I POOP.
“But I poop from there!”
That’s right, folks, even Liz, hottieface extrordinaire, poop. I’ll give you a moment to collect yourselves.
I think Holly should know that even though I’m a bitch when we’re doing a physics lab, I’ll always love her. I’m just a nerd, and I get really serious about school.
I fucking hate physics labs. I know I take my grades to seriously, but I just don’t want a bad grade because the rest of my group won’t take theirs seriously enough. Even though I take control sometimes, I don’t expect to do all the work, and I don’t want to either. I really do trust my lab group, except for John Sawyer. I don’t trust him. He makes me want to pee on a turtle.
I don’t trust him because when we were in kindergarden, he was my “boyfriend” (along with Max Hornov) and we were playing in the gym one day because it was raining outside. It was a Thursday, and I was wearing my green stirrup leggings and saddle shoes. I was crawling on the floor, and John came up behind me and pulled my pants down to my knees. This was especially embarrassing, because I was wearing Tuesday’s underwear. It was hard for me to pick out which Days of the Week underwear I was going to wear on Tuesdays and Thursdays, because they both start with a T, and it’s hard for a 5 year old to differentiate between the two. But I walked to Ms. Kim with my pants around my ankles (for proof), crying. He got in trouble.
Then two years later, I got a mullet and was ugly.
I was looking at Matt’s childhood pictures with his mom, and he had a mullet for the longest time. And buck teeth.
So I listened to Jack Johnson on my way to school, and I want to make Banana Pancakes now. I have to learn how to make real pancakes first.
I can make real pancakes. Real BURNT ones! HAHA.
But I listened to Nasum on my way back to school.
I’m so effed up.
So it’s 6:47, and I’m already in my jammies. That wouldn’t be so bad if a.) I had to got to bed/ wake up early for school tomorrow, and b.) I hadn’t been wearing them since 3:00.
At least I don’t wear them to school. I do wear my scrubs to school sometimes, because I intern right after school. That would be like me wearing my tights and leotard to school. Oh well. Scrubs are just glorified pajamas.
I just get sloppier and sloppier. I haven’t worn makeup in a week. I did wear high heels today. And a skirt. And tights. Striped ones. But nonetheless, I don’t fix my hair, I don’t wear makeup… When I was in the eighth grade, nobody saw me without makeup… ever. But now, it’s like magic when I wear makeup. I just don’t really understand why someone would want to wear it eeeevery day. I know, it makes one look better, but psht. Who cares.
But like I said, at least I don’t wear pajamas to school. Some fat girls do that. It grosses me out. Maybe I’ll wear pajamas to school next year. Maybe I’ll go to school naked next year. If Matthew would let me.
That damn luuuv, always crampin’ my style.
I haven’t watched The Golden Girls in 4- evar. (You like that, 4- evar?)
I don’t really go out. My mom called me lame today. That should tell me something. But she’s glad I don’t go out.
“I don’t have to worry about drugs. I just have to worry about sex and rock ‘n’ roll.”
- Mom
If you’re given 2 angles and a side, what’s the first thing you should do?
Rub ‘em together!
I could have sworn I heard that in Calculus today. I really should start listening in there.
But that’s now going to be my default answer. “Rub ‘em together!”
So I made a really funny pun today in Math, and Prof. West even thought it was funny!
You know how you do triangles, AAS, ASA, SSA (or ASS, as I write it, *giggle*), SAS, SSS, and the like? Welp, I wrote down ASS, and he put an asterick by his SSA.
Mr. West: Why do I have an asterick by SSA?
Liz: Ha! Get it? ASSerick? Get it?!
Mr. West: How appropriate.
I didn’t know Mr. West knew the word “ass.”
My books are warm and toasty. They were in my car.
Matthew: whats the easiest way to break up the statistics into a more space and bandwidth friendly way
Liz: rub ‘em together!
Matthew: sponge bad square idea
So in conclusion, Damn you Lindsay for stealing my fucking blog format. Or should I say, “blogmat”. Yeah. Damn you, Lindsay, for stealing my fucking blogmat.