So I noticed that my previous blog, the Bonnaroo Blog, received a lot of negative feedback. If any of you old school Monday Bears recall the Great Obesity Fiasco, as it will hereon out be formally named, I am obligated to make fun of any gramatical or logical mistakes in aforementioned Bag of Dicks posts. Sorry, it’s policy. (more…)
So Alley Jo learned, and ultimately overused, a new phrase: Bag of dicks. For about two weeks, everything was a bag of dicks. (more…)
So I have this friend… Let’s call her Hairy. Hairy just did it (and I don’t mean poop) for the first time a bit over a month ago. Welp, the other day, she just called me to tell me that something went horribly awry. You know what I’m talking about. She told me to guess, so this is what I guessed:
Liz: I give up.
Hairy: Come on Liz. It’s something you’ve done before.
Liz: Oh Hairy, you dirty girl! I can’t believe you! Oh you slut! (more…)
So I had this dream a long time ago, probably the day after I last blogged. I’ve had many a lesbonic dream in my day, but this one wasn’t even sexual. This woman asked me to marry her. She wasn’t an ugly dyke or anything, but just very lesbonic. Kind of like me a year ago. Except I didn’t like girls. And I still don’t.
But at any rate, this chick proposed to me, and of course I said no, because:
So we all assume things to make us feel better, whether you like to admit it or not.
Example: You go to a public rest room, sit on the potty, stand up, and find a pubic hair on the seat. Of course, you assume it was yours, seeing as you didn’t see it before you sat down, and your keen eye would have noticed it, right?
Welp, this happened to me about a week ago. (And yes, you’re right, I haven’t blogged in over a week. Colleen seems to be the only complainer, though.) I went to the potty [and most of you know that I live in a dorm, so my only potty is a public (or should I say, pubic) one.]. When I stood up, I noticed a pubic hair on the toilet seat. No big deal, right? Just assume it’s yours, right? Wrong. I would assume it was mine, but egads, everyone knows Liz’s pubic hair is traffic cone orange. And not an inch and a half long. I trim that junk.
I shuttered, but then made an assumption of my own to make myself feel better: (more…)
So I’m babysitting right now. Four of them. My usual three, plus a 5 year old smartass. I finally got them to lie down. I put on Harry Potter and put two of them in time out. It’s been a really rough day for all of us, obviously.
I hate it when people say “needless to say”. If it’s needless to say, then why say it?
People always said “needless to say” in those Most Embarrassing Moments things in Seventeen Magazine. Remember?
I also hate it when people say “I could care less.” It really should be “I couldn’t care less.” Because if you could care less, then you actually do care a little bit.
Really, I just wish that people would think about what their expressions mean before speaking them. (more…)
So I must admit, when I come to mondaybear.com and click on Site Admin, I get quite a rush. A power rush. Like the kind of power rush I get when I tell small children to go into the kitchen and make me a sammidge.
So I had the craziest dream about Monday Bear. Most of you know how difficult it is for me to differentiate between dreams and reality. Here’s an old story from way back:
Jade and I had been planning to go to NYC, and we planned on seeing Spamalot while we were there. Welp, I had a dream that my mom bought us tickets to see it. I woke up, not realizing that it was just a dream, so I went to school telling everyone that I had the best mum in the world, because she had bought us tickets to see Spamalot. (It should have been a dead givaway that she didn’t really buy them for us when I remembered that they were just $4 each.) When I came home, I gave my mom a big ass hug (not a big “ass hug”, but a big ass hug), and she asked me why I was being so nice. Welp, when I told her, she informed me that she didn’t do such a thing, and that it must have been a dream. Alas.
So I babysat Micah today while Tiffany was out having dinner with my mom. Check this out– it’s a Chinese place, but it serves sushi! Whoa mama.
Anywho, I watched Micah. We had some crackers and milk (yum), and she began to ask about Trixie the dachshund.
Micah: I like doggies. Let her inside.
Liz: *lets her inside*
Trixie: *tries to steal Micah’s crackers*
Micah: I don’t like dogs.
Liz: I thought you said you did.
Micah: I do.
So we know I don’t ever like to bitch, but I have a serious problem with girls who work at Sonic. (No offense, Holly or Matt’s cute friend Naomi.) They are conniving, tricky bitches. Let me explain. This has all happened to us at at least one point in our lives:
You and a friend order some drinks and onion rings on a sweltering summer afternoon. A girl in khaki shorts and a dumb visor carrying a tray walk close to you, but no luck.
Another one. You examine the contents of the tray: 2 drinks and a box in a bag. She walks past you.
Another one: 2 drinks and a box in a bag. She walks toward your car. She then looks at the receipt only to realize that she was walking the wrong way.
Another one: 2 drinks and a box in a bag. You look at her and her tray with wild fried onion- craving eyes. She looks back at you. Your eyes meet. It’s like you’re spiritually making love to this angel in the ponytail who is bringing you your nourishment. Instant chemistry. She keeps walking and gives your order to the middle aged guy in the red Camaro.
What a bitch. She knew what she was doing the whole time. She just wanted to toy with you.
Another one: 1 really big ass drink and 3 boxes in 3 bags. She comes to your car. It’s the wrong order, but you don’t fucking care. You’ll never talk to another teenage girl wearing roller skates as long as you live. (more…)
So I haven’t gotten much sleep in the past few days. This should make for a nice delusional blogging experience.
howdah n A seat or covered pavilion on the back of an elephant or camel.
I’ve got to get me one of those. (more…)