Monday Bear

or Hey, Are You Going to Wizzie Man?

or Hey.  Give Me Some Fucking Weed.

or Hey.  Give Me Some Fucking Crepes.

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So I just woke up from this dream where there were several kitties asleep in a box. They were all about 5 inches long, and I was the same size, sleeping with them.

So when the Chili Peppers came to Nashville, I got to go. I also got to go backstage.

Man, anytime I’m going to blog, I’ve got to poop.

“How you gonna make somethin’, and then it’s gonna burn?”
- Mary

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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:

• You’re pregnant. No.
• Paul broke up with you. No.
• You made an A in ______. No.
• You made an F in _______. No.

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 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 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.

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So if you haven’t heard, one of the most horrible things of all horrible things has happened in the past month. We heard forecasts of this event months ago, but we loyal fans have ignored these warnings and stayed positive, as we usually do. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I’m talking about Weezer.

And don’t worry, people, the mood of this blog will be less forlorn in a few paragraphs. (more…)

So I’m nekkid in someone else’s house at the moment.� Matt’s house.� Well, Matt’s mom’s house.� It would be different if it were just Matt’s house, but no, I’m naked in the home of his mom, his stepdad, Colleen, and him.
Well, I’m actually wearing underpants, because I was looking at this website about this nudist colony that I was thinking about visiting, and I was reading the rules, and one said that towels had to be used at all times when sitting.

How embarrassing.

I think at certain times, we should ignore the fact that we leak fluids.� At certain times, we should ignore the fact that we have genitalia.� But most of the time, we should embrace our genitalia.� Not nessecarily by showing it to strangers on the street, talking to our grandparents about it, or, say, piercing it, but just being comfortable with the fact that girls have jineys and boys have peni.

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So just as soon as I write the blog “There’s nothing I hate worse than stupid myspace layouts”, Tom goes and gays up the whole front myspace page. Seriously, there’s nothing gayer than that. Nothing against superman, but geez, guys, a busy background never did anything but hide someone’s hips. And let’s face it– I don’t see any big hips around here!

*looks down*

So today, Emily called herself a “big woman”. I thought one had to be a big fat black woman to be called “big”.

Big is beautiful…

…

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So I’ve just come to this realization today: I have big hair. That’s right, Liz has big hair. Big Ass Hair. You see me coming down the street, and you say, “oh look. It’s Liz ‘Big Ass Hair’ Snodgrass.”
Before I had big hair, or realized that I had big hair, whichever you prefer, I oftentimes wondered why the big- haired took such pride in their big hair.
Well here’s why: Not everyone can pull off big hair. I’m Liz, and I’m proud of my hair. In fact, I sometimes think it looks best on its biggest days.

Oh, I used to try to hide the fat (or should I say, PHAT) ness of my hair with flat irons, straightening serums, and other tools of torture, but now I embrace it. My hair is big and red and crazy. Like the Kool- Aid Guy. (more…)

So tonight was dress rehearsal in front of a bigass group of 8 people. I just wish everyone would stop being pissy with each other and get along, like me and this lady.

“You know, Liz, if I could just feel you up and make out with you, it would make me feel alot better.”

- Lady

When I was in the fourth grade, Megan Dunn and I made a list of things that we wanted to do before we were eighteen that our parents wouldn’t let us do. I hid my list under the TV. Here it goes: (more…)