Monday Bear

So just to get this out of the way, Matt and I are going to have a poop- off to see who poops faster. (make a wish) I know that I’m the faster pooper in this relationship, but he doesn’t believe me. I timed him today, and it took him 3 minutes to poop. Psht. That’s pathetic. I’m usually a minute and a half or less.

I guess I’m just a good relaxer. Probably because I’m a modern dancer. Not Fat.

So the main thing is my Alley Jo is getting married. Alley Jo and I have been friends for years and years. I met her the first time at church camp in 5th grade. I thought she was really cool and had a pretty voice, but she didn’t know I existed. The only other thing I remember is she flirted with all the boys and she cut holes in the knees of her Tommy Hilfiger jeans. How destructive.

Anywho, we met again in the 9th grade, and she, Lyndsie, and I became the breast of friends. That was back when she was in a C cup. I was an ana. She fixed my hair in knobs one day, and I wore it like that for about a year. Never took it down.

“I like your knobs. They bounce when you run.”
- Soloman

The three of us always said that when one of us get married, the other two will be the bridesmaids, and we’ll wear combat boots and fishnet. We were so punk.
Lyndsie is out of the picture now, but I, Liz Thomson, is Allison Jo’s best (better) maid of honour. And I’m not wearing fishnet.

So we went dress shopping, and the first place we went was Joann’s where Jared, who looked really hot, by the way, works.

If ya (snap) catch my (snap) drift (thrust).

So Alley tried on this one dress that mangled her breasts like they were two bald otters with brown fried eggs on their heads in a shark’s mouth. That was a funny sight to be seen. I noticed how difficult of a time she was having, and I began to dread the preparations for my wedding.

Liz: Screw this. I’m just going to go naked.
Jared: Is Matthew going to be naked?
Liz: Yeah, probably.
Jared: I’m so there.
Alley: And instead of a kiss at the end, there’s going to be mild insertion.

Nothing crazy. Just mild.

Alley fell in love with this tea length dress, but Jared likes the dresses with the big long trains at the end. He wants to wear one. If he’s an usher at Alley’s wedding, he’ll get to wear one. He’ll just have to pay for it himself.

“If there aren’t thirty midgets behind you holding your train, it’s not a dress.”
- Jared

There was a fabulous white dress with black accents… it’s not a wedding dress, but I would get married in it. However, it’s too big for me and it’s too small for Alley. I’m a 6, and the dress is a 10.

“Ten? I haven’t been a 10 since I -was- 10.”
- Alley

Alley Jo made me try on these wretched wretches dresses at Lana’s in Martin just because I’m her maid of honour. There was this horrible one that made me show bottom boob -and- ass crack. That was the only time I’ve ever showed bottom boob. I felt like I was in LA.

There was this horrible, pastel, fluffy, stripey excuse for a dress at Joann’s.
Alley: Here, Liz. This is what you’re wearing in my wedding.
Liz: And I’ll slit my wrists.
Alley: Again?!

HAHA, she’s my friend. I love her : )

But anywho, we did find something beautiful. She loves it. It’s nothing like what she had planned on getting, but it’s nice. It’s very flattering on her.

I want to wear a duck suit.

Remember that dream I had that I won Miss America in a lobster suit?

“I don’t want to play Pin the Penis on the Man anymore.”

This said, Listen buckos. I’m in love now. There’s no way you’re having sex with me. I don’t date anymore, and I only have sex with one person, and unless your name is Matthew Drew, Suzanne Elizabeth , or Dr. Lund, nothing of -yours- is going into any orifice of mine.
I don’t care if your girlfriend just broke up with you and you’re really sad, and you “just want to cuddle.” You shouldn’t have been such a shitty ass boyfriend. You shouldn’t have cheated on her numerous times, including your attempts with me. Deal with it.
I also don’t care if you’re leaving the country and afraid you might die. I wouldn’t have anything to do with you before, so why would your bad decisions make me even consider letting you touch me? And no, I will never drink if I ever happen to be around you, because that would make me less apt to kick your ass if need be.
On that note, even if your smooth skills have gotten you somewhere with me, I can assure you that that will never happen again. So don’t try it.

Anywho, I really really liked that Blue October song “Hate Me” until I saw the video this morning when my mom was watching vh1. It reminds me too much of… Papa Roach, or Taproot, or something. I really only liked that verse. Like that other song… I loooove the verse, but I hate the chorus. Just so full of angst. Come on, get happy. The guy is too fat.

I’m also not going to be your kid’s stepmom. Even if I didn’t have Matthew, I’d still have med school.

I’m anorexic again because heroin chic is back.
*snort*
I’d rather just get on heroin and look authentic.

I wore brown eyeliner today, but I glistened, so it’s all smudgey. That’s very heroin chic.
Or I just look like Michael : )
OHHHHHH SNAP!

No, he’s prettier than I am.

His grandfather has a thang for me. He wants Michael to marry me. I just don’t really see that happening. I mean, Michael is my friend and all… I just can’t have my mate stealing my underwear all the time.

So mancrushes and womancrushes. I have a womancrush on Brody Dalle, Uma Thurman, and Shirley Manson. Steve says I have a womancrush on Holly.
I don’t remember Holly’s womancrush, or Steve or Matthew’s womancrush. Probably each other.
John (remember, worst date ever back in November or October), said that they were all talking about mancrushes in Alabama after Steve had left for Martin. They were all saying “Johnny Depp” or “So and So Athlete” or “This otherwise famous guy”. Welp, this one guy said, “Steve.” They were like, “Steve?” And he said, “Yeah. Remember the English Majour who lived in Blount Hall? He was really intriguing.”
That’s so gay.
So just for the record, they usually have to be someone famous, or that you just don’t know in real life. Unless it’s someone like me. That’s understandable : )

So tell me who your (wo)mancrush is.

Most people know that I hate all things highschool. (Well, at least I used to way back when I was in highschool). One of the things that I hate most about highschool is the yearbook. It’s not really the yearbook itself inasmuchas the signing of the yearbooks. Here’s what I hate about signing yearbooks:

1. People who you don’t even know ask to sign your yearbook. They write, “It was great having you in class. Have a great summer.” Name.
2. People who you don’t even know as you to sign theirs, and all you can come up with is “It was great having you in class. Have a great summer.”
3. When people ask you to sign theirs, you feel compelled to ask them to sign yours, like you are in debt to them. The sad thing is, it is indeed considered rude not to ask them.
4. You’re in a group of people all signing each other’s yearbooks, and there’s only one person you don’t know. Everyone is saying, “Hey, sign my yearbook!” to each other. Everyone is busy signing except you and this guy. You have lost musical chairs and are forced to A.) Have one more awkward yearbook signature or B.) An awkward silence.
5. There’s always that one person who things that he/ she is your best friend and says, “Let me take this to my next class and sign it. I’ll have more time.” Then it’s, “Let me take this home.” Then it’s, “Let’s never speak again.”
6. This is the kicker for me. You sign something in someone’s yearbook and hand it to them. They stand before you and read it. They might say, “aww, that’s sweet.” But they know that it’s awkward. Just save it for when you aren’t around me. That’s almost as bad as reading thank you notes in front of people.

But I digress. What I really came here to talk about is pastel pens. Most people know that I hate pastels. It’s like it’s trying to be blue, but it’s not quite there. It’s like poseur blue. Welp, Mary Beth signed my yearbook in pastel blue. Fine. It’s not that big of a deal. But then, after she signs it, she sends my yearbook around the room… along with this nausous pen. Before I know it, my whole damn yearbook looks like a baby vomited all over it. Thanks, Mary Beth. I signed most people’s with my Viagra pen. It writes in black. Not white. Or off-white for that matter.

Currently wearing: Shorts and a Jesus shirt I’ve had since I was 6. Seriously. It’s a kid’s medium. It’s really really comfortable, and it fits me juuuust right. It’s about as sexy as a Jesus shirt can get.
That said, I remember now why I don’t wear shorts. I also remember why I was anorexic.

Amy and Karly have the best legs in Union City. Karly’s are muscular and don’t giggle at all. Amys are nice and long and slim. You fucking bitches.

If my boyfriend painted himself, he would have matted fur.
Get it?
MATTed fur?

I don’t really like getting Thank You notes. I feel too respected. I don’t deserve a thank you note. When I get one, though, it’s a huge honour. In fact, I feel compelled to write a thank you note:

Dear Mr. Sasquatch,
Thank you for the thank you note. I really appreciate your manners. It made me feel warm and squishy inside. Thank you.
Sincerely,
Liz

Then, since I took the time out to write a thank you note for their thank you note, shouldn’t I get a thank you note? I mean, I took about 4 minutes out of my day to st down with a nice pen and write that. So I get a thank you note.
Then I write them one, and it becomes cyclical. It’s a neverending upward spiral of thank you note writing.

So I’ve been trying to hold back this feeling for so long.
(When I worked at Jillian’s, some guy came in to make an appointment at night when I was there alone, and that song came on. Just me, him, and Marvin Gaye. How awkward is that?)

When I was 3, my dad was a DJ at KYTN. Some of you older folk may remember him as Billy Bob, founder of Roadkill Cafe’. (I never said I was proud of my family). Anywho, he had me on the radio from time to time because I was cute, but he would mainly just talk about me. Welp, Xmas rolled around, and I had to write a letter to santa. Of course my penmanship skills weren’t that great, so I dictated it while Uncle Stew (his partner in radio, who now works for ClearTalk and used to sing the Aloha Pools and Spas commercial) wrote it. I dug up this letter out of a box o’ Liz that my mom found entangled in her crazy pre-menopausal graduating daughter woe. This is all quoted from the letter, the letter is all quoted from me. This is a piece of Liz History. Liztory:

Xmas ‘91

Dear Santa,
Happy Birthday card. I gonna be his birthday next. Bring me a microwave and food for my microwave and so ice cream and some chocolate. and candy. And a new kitchen, and some Christmas stuff. And a new TV. A jingle bell, angel, walking tuddle puppy, and a pencil and paper, and a costume. Washcloths, spraying stuff that goes on the table, a door and a doll house. And a big window like the one Jamie has. Christmas lights. 3 Christmas trees, a teeter totter. And a helicopter and games, dolls. A mask ~~~~~ [Wizzie drew that, stands for ?) How is Rudolf doing? Records, Stereo and a red kids bra.

So yes, I’ve -always- been weird.
I did, indeed, get a new kitchen. The back of it was cardboard because we were poor, but it had a cabinet and a pretend stove with real burner stickers. I played with that thing until I was about 7 or 8. I wanted to keep it, but when we moved to Union City, we kept it in the back yard, and it got rained upon and gross. I still played with it when it was at the curb until the garbage man took it away. That bastard.
“What kind of a kid asks Santa Claus for a jingle bell?!?”
- Holly
I have no idea what a walking tuddle puppy is.
And the “spraying stuff that goes on the table” is Pledge. I loved to dust the coffee table. That’s what I did instead of playing in the dirt or picking my nose like normal kids do.
Jamie was my idol. All little girls have an idol. I wanted everything that she had, including her window.
I wanted a red bra so bad. It was just so grown up and glamourous. Everytime we would go to a store and I’d see a red bra that looked smallish (A or B cup), I’d say, “Look! A red kid’s brawl! It’s my size! Let’s get it!” I finally got my first red bra about 3 months ago. It was totally work waiting for. It even has matching undapants!

Holly’s summer goal is to try every flavour at Carribean Cone. So far, she’s had cherry 5 times. Some of them have crazy names like Tiger’s Blood or Frog in a Blender or even *giggle* Barney. (I didn’t think of that until just now. I -have- to try that one now).
Anywho, I had Frog in a Blender the end of my Freshman year, and that was pretty good. It was green apple and some red flavour… cherry or strawberry or something. Heve wanted to go there last weekend.
Liz: I’ll have a small Frog in a Blender. Oh wait, I’m not six. A medium frog in a blender.
Lady: Sorry, we’re out of green apple.
Liz: Okay, I’ll just have green apple then.
I ended up getting grape mixed with lemonade. Next time, we’re going to bring the Pinot Noir and have them make a snow cone out of that.
“Make it with this! We just want your ice!”
- Holly

So in conclusion, I don’t remember the last time I shaved my legs. Seriously. They’re looking pretty nasty. I might shave my legs before Matt comes over Monday. Maybe.

This entry was posted on Saturday, May 20th, 2006 at 5:08 PM and is filed under Awkward Scenarios, Breasts, Dating, Family, Food, Music, Nasty, Philosophy, Pooping, Secks. 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.