Monday Bear

So first of all, I’m feeling alot better about this play. I even wore spike heels today in hopes that I would trip running down the stairs, but after we went through our lines a few times, I made sure to walk extra carefully.
So you all need to come see it the last 2 weekends of June. It’s full of British humour, innuendo, and Liz in her “smalls.” I, prefer to call them “skivvies” or “underpants,” but the script calls them “smalls.” I always thought he was a rapper.
A rapper like Matthew. I mean, I -am- one of those rap guys’ girlfriends. (more…)

So a few nights ago, I offered to help an anonymous friend clean her house. Let’s call her lady.

Lady: Will you really?
Liz: Sure, I don’t have anything better to do.
Lady: Oh, Liz, I’ll eat your pussy.
Liz: *laughs*
Lady: You can’t blog that!

Just for the record, she didn’t. Sadly.

So I had this crazy dream last night. It was one of those ridiculous/ scary dreams: (more…)

So I keep just barely missing 11: 11. This has happened twice in the past 13 hours.

That said, someone told me recently, “Liz, you just aren’t as funny as you used to be now that you’re in love.”
Excuse me, sir, but really, was I -ever- funny? Cute, maybe.

“Liz, you just aren’t as cute as you used to be now that you’re in love.”
That would make more sense if I was the type to doll (or gussy, if you will) myself up. When most women fall in love, they stop wearing makeup, never fix their hair, dress frumpily, and gain 72 pounds. Their reasoning behind this is that they have already “caught” a man… they don’t have to look good anymore. “Now I’ve got you where I want you, now I’m going to be a big ugly lardass.” (more…)

So I have no views so far today. I hate you assholes.

And just to clear a few things up: The last blog, the Matt cheating on me with Holly one, it was fake. Matt thought it would be funny to see who would try to “move in.” Not in a crazy possessive boyfriend way, but more like a “hahaha, she’s mine you cant have her” kind of way.

Here are some bad/ unfortunate things that happened: (more…)

Like And Then There’s Maude! You know… the show. With Dorothy from The Golden Girls. She was my least favourite girl.

I guess I just like shows and bands with ! in them. But speaking of bands with ! in them, check this out.

No offense, ballet girls:

We were listening to Panic! At the Disco before ballet, and they knew the songs…? Yeah. They had been getting old to me for about 3 weeks now, so I just stopped listening to the CD… but then I realized that I just don’t like them anymore. I mean, I’m just tired of the music. And, lets face it, (watch me as I make fun of myself) I just don’t like bands when they’re not “cool” anymore.

“Hey Liz, have you heard of that new band ______?”
“New? Psht. Yeah, like a year ago…”

I’m such a pretentious bitch. That must be the punk in me. (more…)

So do I really look like a rabid bunny when I laugh?

So. Bunnies are cute. and fluffy. much like myself. and those Matt dogs.

I would like to thank Melanie Holis for making me not look like Cinderella Barbie. For dress rehearsal, my skirt was some kind of purpley blue lame’ irridescent BULLSHIT. I looked like a 4 year old playing dress up. I’m serious, I had Barbie clothes made out of that same material. But Melanie so graciously stayed up into the wee hours of the morning and made me a whole new costume. Ah, Melanie. (more…)

Remember that episode of Rocko’s Modern Life that was an environmental musical? That was a goodun. One of my favourite episodes. I loved that show. It was really really dirty, but we didn’t realize it.

Some people’s blogs got too whiney. I stopped reading them about 2 months ago, but I just unsubscribed yesterday.
p0wn’d, myspace style.

“Puh- owned… or however you say it!”

Remember the episode when he got fired and he was looking for a new job? He got one as a plumber’s assistant, and he just stood behind the plumber, and every time the plumber’s pants would fall down, he would say, “Hey, can you get that? Thanks alot. Hey, can you get that? Thanks alot. Hey, can you get that? Thanks alot.” Then he was a tattoo artist, and this elephant dude wanted a tattoo of a can of baked beans that says “Gloria” tattooed on his uvula. Then he was a phone sex operator, but Mrs. Bighead called in.
Rocko: Oh baby, oh baby, oh baby.
Mrs. Bighead: Rocko?!
Rocko: Mrs. Bighead?!
And they both hung up.
That would be my luck. My brother or somebody would call. I wouldn’t tell him I was his sister, I’d just hang up and lose my job or something.

So we decided that anal sex makes one a better dancer. It only makes sense. Just think about it. So how great of a dancer would I be if I could fit my pointe shoes up there, eh? Hey! I could use the ribbons to pull them out like a tampon.

Okay, that was gross. I took that one a half- step too far.

Matt’s mom bought us some dishes. Pretty blue ones. So we can have a BLUE PLATE SPECIAL -if- you know what I mean. *wink wink, nudge nudge*

Sometimes puns are even funnier when the punner doesn’t know what she’s talking about. See above.

Remember the episode where they were in the future, and Philbert’s great great grandson turtle guy was like, “hey, why do we have these things on our shoulders?” and Philbert said, “BECAUSE IT’S THE FUTURE!!!!”

Ha! I love that show!

So one more thing about poopin’. I meant to put this in my OG (that means original. I didn’t learn that from my brother, I learned it from tony.) poopin’ blog, but I forgot. Sarah’s husband Nathan coaches her when she’s pooping. He stands outside the door and says, “Relax, baby! Don’t force it!” I think that’s sweet. Most people think it’s gross, but I think it’s cute.
She still won’t let him in there when she’s pooping. He really wants to be in there, though.
When they first got married, she was pooping, and he came in there and sat on her lap and started telling her about his day. She said, “Nathan, I can’t use the bathroom when you’re in here.” He didn’t understand this and replied, “But honey, you don’t stink to me.”
His logic here is that since they are in love, they should be comfortable enough to poop in front of each other. I agree.
I could poop in front of Matt.
And I’m sure he could poop in front of me, no problem.
I think that should be a test that people have to pass before they get married. If they can’t poop, they can’t get married.
End o’ Discussion.

Remember that one episode when Philbert was writing this science fiction book, and Heffeir and Rocko thought he was an alien, because he used mustard at the Chokey Chicken (another innuendo) for deoderant? My friends and I used to give each other the Quarnasian High Five of Death. “Earthlings never pass up a high five.” “Nice melons, high five?”
That’s correct, most earthlings will never pass up a high five. But it seems that every time I innitate a high five, it goes unnoticed by the high fivee. Then I sit there like a retard with my hand up in the air. Then everyone -but- the high fivee looks at me with pity/ retardedness. Ugh. This doesn’t happen to -anyone- else. I’m so alone. Nobody understands me.

I had a turtle named Philbert. I boiled him on accident. They guy at the pet store told me that he gets cold sometimes, so when he’s not moving, I was supposed to put him in is bowl in a bathtub full of warm water. Welp, he wasn’t moving one day, so I tried it. That didn’t work, so I took him out of the bowl and turned the hot water all the way up. He sunk to the bottom. I picked him up, and he was totally flaccid. Just hanging out of his shell. I was hysterical. And 9.
My other turtle ran away while I was at church camp. So mom says.

So, Lia wants me to share the secret that I shared with her. Here goes: I can masturbate wihout using my hands. I’m talking no outside aide. No magic bullet, no interpanties vibrator of any type. I taught Lia how. I think she’s mastered (hahah) it, but I haven’t done any official followups. I won’t teach you all how to, because many of you aren’t just quite… at that level yet.
So that means:
- While driving.
- During class (especially Math class, Jamie. You are officially grossed out.)
- In the movie theatre (if only PeeWee Herman knew my trick)
- On the airplane. (Does that make me a member of the Mile High Club?)
- Hanging out with my friends.
- Taking walks around my neighborhood.
But usually the first two.

But on a less dirty note, I patched things up with that twelve year old woman with whom I live. I’m NOT happy with our compromise, but she sent Rob up here. Rob loves me as one of his own, and he’s a very smart man. It seems as if the only way of saving my relationship with my mother is if to make a compromise. Ugh. But I really just like having things my way. I typed us out a contract:
Shacking Up Agreement

Liz T

then we both signed it.

So you know, we’re doing Cinderella the ballet. (NOT FUCKING DISNEY.) Welp, Gay Erik is my dance partner. Saturday, the choreographer’s eight year old daughter Lucy was at rehearsal with us. You know how when you’re eight years old, you want to do everything that teenage girls do? Well you know how teenage girls on TV all keep diaries? Welp, Lucy does, and she draws pictures and writes everything in it. She drew a picture of me in my rags and in my Act II “tutu”. “That’s how skinny you are.” “You’re really pretty.” Little girls always love a cinderella. Anywho, Amy and Brenda told me they they were reading her diary, and the passage that they read was as follows:

Liz and Erik are dance partners. I don’t like it. They won’t stop flirting. I think they are in love.

*snort* Isn’t that cute? She doesn’t know I’m a lesbian.

That was a joke.

But her diary really did say that.

So I never really appreciated Jonathan Swift until I read A Modest Proposal. Christenings… hehe.
Sometimes I wish I had patience so I could be an English Professor. But all I have is -patients- so I have to be a doctor! Ha!
But seriously, though. I don’t like stupid people. I hate lazy people. I will tell them this, making them cry. I don’t want to do that. I just want to scrutinize their grammar.

So yesterday in math class, Mr. West said, “erected.” Of course, I thought this was hilarious, especially because of all that I think about in that class. In my silent laughter, I looked around, thinking that I would see at least 5 other people at least smiling. Everyone was paying attention to the skinny man in the front of the room, so I kept the childish hilarity to myself. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I mouthed “erected” to Kristen. It was too late. If anyone had even caught the fact that he said “erected”, they had already forgotten. Kristen chuckled at my silliness and mouthed “what?” Then, going balls to the walls, I said, “Imagine him in a vampire costume,” thinking of Tharon. She immediately burst into laughter. When he pointed at things on the board, I imagined him taking his cape with him in his hand, fangs, red bowtie, and all, and I lost it. I was about [this] close to pissing myself.
At least I didn’t piss on a cute boys shoulders on the beach.
If you didn’t get that, fuck you for not reading my earlier blogs.

So I heard that A Perfect Circle is ending. Thank God. The only song I liked was The Nurse Who Loved Me, and that wasn’t even -their- song. It was a cover. Assholes.

So in conclusion, I’m hot, cute, and have nice teeth. Apparently. And I’m of the Frosted Strawberrry variety.

So Michele told me at ballet, “Liz, the pooping blogs have to stop.” Since I am her favourite blogger, I regret to inform all of you that I can’t poop anymore. Welp, at least, I can’t poop and blog-tell you. But I can call you while I’m pooping and tell you about it. If you like. Or anytime you think I might be pooping (which is often, as you all know), you can call me, and I’ll give you explicit details. But anywho, no more Poop Blogs. Sorry, folks.

Blame Michele.

While I’m at it:
“I’m a real ballerina now. I even have legwarmers.”
- Michele.

She’s just too cute. And she has the -best- hair.

I guess since I can’t talk about pooping, I’ll talk about masturbating.

Just kidding.

HA! Check out what just happened when I was typing pooping. My mom is filling out this thing for Freshman Orientation (now she decides to be involved, but that’s a different story), and as most of you know, I’m majouring in Premed/ Chemistry.

Mom: What’s your majour?
Liz: Pooping. (I mean’t to say premed)
Mom: There’s not a code for that. Stop blogging about poop. It’s not ladylike.

So I don’t really want to go to prom. I know I’ll have fun with Micheal, we always do, but it’s just that prom… is so… highschool? I’m -so- above that : ) Because, psht. I have an ipod. I’m a hep college kid now…

No, I know we’ll have fun. Even if I wouldn’t, I’d still have to go. I already made that -prom-ise. Get it, -prom- ise? Crazy old homo : )

“Prom is so gay”
“Oh my gosh, mine really is going to be!”
hehe, I’m so full of wit.

“Most Wittiest”

MY MOM IS GOING CRAZY!

At church, Sunday, they announced my graduation shindig, and my mom burst into tears. Just like the thirteen year old girl she is, she made everything all dramatic and ran to the bathroom. I followed her, grabbed her, and said, “What is your malfunciton?!?!” She sobbed, “I don’t want you to graduate!”
TOO FUCKING BAD.

It’s 5:55, make a wish.

I’m PMSing and she’s on the rag. EVERYTHING SHE DOES IS GETTING ON MY NERVES. When I’m “hormonal,” I don’t get angry or bitchy, I just get annoyed way too easily. It doesn’t help that my mom is a teenage girl. Just to be fair, it also doesn’t help that I -have- to be right all the time.
She just told me that I was living with my dad this summer, because if I insist on living with Matt, she won’t have any part in it.
However
She’s always saying things like, “What would I do without you?” or “I don’t know what I’m going to do when you leave.”
So why the hell would she be kicking me out? She didn’t think I would agree to it. Now she’s upset.
When people tell me to do something, and I don’t have a problem with it, I do it.
I’m not saying I’m moving in with my dad, because once I start packing, she’ll more than likely beg me to stay. If she doesn’t, fine.

And I don’t like her stupid boyfriend.

So I’ll stop blogging about how much I hate my parents. I’m not forteen. Nor am I that one girl.

I could use a good list right about now:

Things I can’t wear and why:

1. Things with cinched waists, because they make my midsection appear larger
2. Ankle strap shoes, because they make my legs stubbier.
3. Horizontal stripes, because I’m just too fucking fat.
4. Capri pants, because for some reason, short people aren’t supposed to wear them.
5. Chokers, because they make my neck look shorter.
6. Flippy haircuts, because they make my face look wider.
7. White, because it clashes with my skintone.
8. Black because it makes me look pastey.
9. Long skirts, because they make my legs look shorter.
10. Black or Blue eyeliner, because I’m a “warmtone”.
11. Tight shirts, because I have “masculine abs”.
12. Crew necks, because it shortens my torso.

If you’ll notice, I wear almost all of those things.

At least I don’t wear crocs.

Erick, Cederic, and Jamie came over last night. There was a pregnant chick on my bed and a black man on my computer. That was a crazy night.
I did my Physics homework.

Those fuzzy bunny ears are really cute : )

Matthew: but i love you and your dancin ass

I really should be dancing right now with Erik. I don’t want to I don’t want to I don’t want to. Maybe if I walk out the door kicking and screaming, it will make me feel better. That’s what I used to do on days that I didn’t want to go to work.

“I DONWANNA GO TO WORK!”

And you know what? It made me feel better.

I think we should all be children sometimes. When the time is appropriate. We should be children when we’re being too grown up. We shouldn’t be children when we reflect on our parent mistakes and want to run away from them. Whoops.

So in conclusion, I need to go buy a crimping iron. With all that money that I have. Mine broke. I could just do like I did in the 4th grade and braid all my hair the night before. Nah, that won’t work. The kids at school called me Tina Turner. I wish I had her legs.

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.

So I cooked tonight. Not only did I cook tonight, but I also cooked this afternoon. For breakfast, I had a granola bar and a piece of cheese. That’s not cooking.
For lunch, I cooked ravioli from a can for the girls whom I babysit. The youngest one had yogurt.
For dinner, I had an omelette. I ran a poll, and few people responded. You bastards.
It was either Macaroni and Cheese or an omelette.
Here are my results:
Lia: A quiche.
Matt: One inside the other (either macaroni inside the omelette or egg inside each noodle)
Matt: Omelette
Zephyr: (after minutes of contemplation) Omelette
Savannah: Macaroni and Cheese
Lindsay: Omelette.

So Omelette ’twas. Matthew had to talk me through it though. I used extra virgin olive oil to make me feel pure/ fancy.

My eggs stayed flacid for a while. It took them a while to… erect… get firm… Then I turned the heat on the burner up, and they got less gooey. Maybe I should have given them some ViEGGra. HA!

Matt said use 2 or 4 eggs, so I used 3. I should have used 2. I gave the rest to my cat.
I cut my thumb on a knife.
Then my egg ripped when I was folding it. Instead of patching it with wet egg as I was advised, I just left it and hoped I didn’t get Ecoli.

*dies of Ecoli*

Just kidding. April Fools.

That’s like Email, except worse.

I’m pregnant.

April Fools.

So Matt’s mom has been bugging him to bootleg Ice Age for her. I got him to finally do it, and you know what? It’s Spanish! HAHAH. You know what else? She’s not a Mexican! Hahaha!

Have any of you ever seen Splash! with Tom Hanks? I promise it exists.

I like names and titles of things with exclamation points in them.

Like !!!

So Micah, the middle child who I babysat who is autistic, asked me if I was naked. She was sitting on my lap.

So dance class went well this morning. It was hiphopalicious. Erik came by, and we decided we aren’t wearing white in the ballet. Because we’re fat. We’re wearing blue.
We’re working on our pas des deux Tuesday night at 7. Call me at 6 30 and remind me.

I want a red tutu. I think that would be… sexy?

I kind of thought about naming off different euphamisms for masturbation, but
that’s too dirty.

Matthew: i love you too!
this movie is pretty funny
a beaver just said “daaaaaaaaaamn”

Liz: hahahhahahhahahahah
ooooh i get it!
beaver, dam..n!
hahahahhahaha
like where they live!

I’m too much like my own mother sometimes. Speaking of my mother, she’s at Whaler’s Catch with Jeff. Well, now she’s probably getting a tattoo. The one of the cat. What a dork. I told her what a Monroe was this morning, and I think she wants to get one now. She wants me to get my eyebrow pierced… I just don’t know. Maybe, but what if it looks gay?

No offense to the gays or the pierced.

What did the fish say when he swam into the brick wall?

“Dam!”

My daddy told me that one. It was my favourite joke when I was a little girl, because I could say “damn” and not get in trouble, because in speech, they don’t know if you added the N or not.

Always keep ‘em guessing.

Speaking of, where the hell was Emily this morning at ballerina?

So anywho, the whole dam/damn thing always reminds me of Bekah and Vegas Vacation. Because she loves that part of the movie just as much as I do. That movie is so bad, yet so good.

Kind of like my music.

Erik guessed that I weighed 120. He was 6 pounds too low. Have I gained weight since I’ve seen him? Garsh, I hope not.

So this is my mom for you:
Liz: I mentioned this a few weeks ago, but I’m letting you know that Matthew and I are going to be living together next semester.
Mom: *hands over ears* LALALLALALALALALALALLALALALALALA

So remember when all the interns gave me a tattoo on my back? Here’s the picture of it:

Also, Matt made this. I really want kids. Eventually.

I’m pretty sure that’s all. Except Erick had two beds upon which to sleep and opted for the couch.

And I got a blazer for $1.97. It was originally $34.00. And Matt’s mom got a skirt on the same rack for $3.00. Go us go.

So in conclusion, I just remembered that in the 5th grade, Brandy wrote in my yearbook: “Don’t eat fried chicken on Sundays.”