Monday Bear

So lets just get this part out of the way. I don’t think I’m fat, and I’m no longer anorexic (Hell, did you see everything I ate last night?). However, it still sucks like mad when someone says something about my weight/ appearance repeatedly.
Every Sunday that we attend church, my mum says something about my clothes being too tight, looking pregnant, etc. I’m serious, every Sunday, every freaking Sunday, I change clothes at least once to please my mother. (The same mother, mind you, who called 8th grade 75 pound Liz a lardass. Thanks, mom.) So this morning, I had on this fabulous black dress that comes slightly above the knee. We were running about 5 minutes late (I had been dressed for fifteen minutes), and on the front porch, as we were leaving the house, she said, “You aren’t wearing a slip.” I ignored that. We are at the car. She looks at me with disgust.
“Liz…”
“What, spit it out. What’s wrong with my outfit.”
“Your dress is entirely too small for you. It’s riding up over your butt and makes you look horrible.”
“You know what? Fuck this. We’re already late. I’m not going. Leave without me.”
Childish? Yes. But one thing that Matt has taught me is that sometimes the whole, “I’m not going to stoop down to his/ her level” thing doesn’t work. Like with children. Like with Susan.

But on with the blogging. Steve.  Crazy old pansy boy Steve. I have at least 2 Steve bloggings about which to blog. These are the things to which I say, “I’m so blogging that.” Or in Steve’s case, “Are you so blogging that?”

So Steve and Holly were in a crowded mall, picking up his tux. He was telling her about how he lived with this guy in Alabama. “We bought those cheap ugly Wal Mart paintings of boats and lighthouses and things, you know, to make up feel manly.” Holly made fun of him for a wee bit, and Steve interjected, “What? It made us feel manly to have seamen all over the walls!”Everyone turned and looked. And laughed.
Bahaha! (That’s a Davo laugh.)
About this time last year, when I was recording with Shades of Reality (bahaha!) No, no, that was in February, because it was right after Metrofest. Anywho, they were making fun of me/ Davo, because apparently Davo was supposed to be some sort of stalker? (They were probably just jealous of his skillz. And the fact that he was handcuffed to me.) But anywho, they wrote “I < 3 David Waddell” on my hand. I thought that was funny.

Ugh. That reminded me of Kevin. He’s so gross. Not only is he an asshole, but he’s fat, too. And he called me fat. A fatass called me fat. Fatty.

So anywho, back to Steve. We ate at Patti’s last night, and of course, you know how those types of restaurants are, they have little giftshops in which to look around whilst you wait. And you know as well they most of those have Yankee candles and the like. Welp, this place had Yankee candles and soy candles. They also had those little soy beads. Steve grabs a box of soy beads, comes over toward me and says, “Hey Liz, you’re indie… what are these for?”

hahahha.Oh, that Steve.

I lost two pounds today. Go team Liz go.

There was a huge cock on the wall of Pattis. It kept staring at me while I was eating. Kind of like our waiter, Weezie. Our Ouisie. I didn’t axe. I didn’t really care. All that matters was that he liked my cleavage and took six cents off of our bill. I’m his little camel.
Toe.
Oh yeah, and he imagined Steve naked all night long. Mhm. Steve the milk man. Steve would be a milk man, but dammit, he just doesn’t want kids.

Today in the middle of my blog, Holly calls me and asks me to hang out with her and Steve. I was defuckinglighted. They make me so happy. They are so in love. They remind me of myself and Matt. They understand us and won’t judge us. You know how nice that is? Really nice.

Holly and Steve will never be at that point in their relationship where they can poop in front of each other, though. (Here come the poopin’, here come the poopin’.)� That’s sad. They just said it’s not gonna happen.

Let me talk about Holly’s mom’s bathroom for a minute.
The first thing I noticed was that it’s really big. No one fat lives in Holly’s house.
Have you ever noticed how fat people have small bathrooms? Why is that? Can you imagine a fat person taking a shower in Matt’s shower? I could hardly fit in there. I hit my ass against the wall several times. That makes for good leg shaving, though. However, it makes for horrible “bikini area” shaving, hence the whole Cactus vs. Penis, Lvl. 2 deal.
But I digress:
The next thing I noticed was that they had about 7 shower puffs in the shower. Only three females of shower puff- using age live there. I do realize that it is the 21st century, and many males use shower puffs, but Jimmy doesn’t seem like the shower puff- usin’ kind of guy. He seems like the spit- on- his- crotch- and- call- it- clean kind of guy. Mhm.
I asked why they had so many, and Holly really didn’t know, but all hell breaks loose when someone uses the wrong one.
“When I used to come visit back in our early dating days, I would just go through them one at a time.”
- Steve
He really didn’t.
I just can’t watch films with Jake Gyllenhaadsafhjka;.l;lll in them anymore. Damn you, three chord Vaughn, damn you to hell.
What kind of a name is Vaughn anyway? Six letters, one syllable. WTF, mate?

So Erick is growing up. He’s being a good brother. Not only is he coming to my performances, but he also asks if Matt is being good to me. And and and, he won’t take me to get a tattoo for my graduation present. Isn’t that sweet? He finally cares about me. I love him.

“I saw this in a porno one time…”

Mom and I just need some time apart. We’re going crazy.

Crazy like Holly’s tornado- humpin’ pug.� Just imagine me spinning whilst humping in Holly’s mom’s kitchen.
“You’re going to blog this, aren’t you?”
- Steve

So in conclusion, Jade looked incredibly hot last night, and my boyfriend is indeed not a porn star.� Remember when he was “MTSU boy”?

So why does the Prince (Erick) want Cinderella (Liz) and not the Stepsister (Michele)?

“Because she gives a good blog.”
- Michele
“She doesn’t have a gag reflex.”
- Erik

You know what’s really embarrassing? When you get hurt, and you want to whine, but everybody’s laughing. So you have to laugh, too. “Oh yeah, my eye’s bleeding! That’s funny! Ha! Yeah… yeah, I’m okay! Psht… just a little sharkbite. That never hurt anybody.”
What’s almost as bad is when you get hurt and everyone freaks out and stops what they’re doing. I like attention. I love attention. Everyone knows that. Just not that kind of attention. That happened to Zephyr, aka Joustin’ Jessica this weekend. She had a lovely time and got to pet a big lizard. A skank. I mean a skink.

I’d love to have some cookies right now, but gosh, I have a limited amount of time to blog. I don’t want to cheat you guys out of any good bloggin’, but I have to be finished by nine. Then mum wants to use the computer.
Ugh, I love cookies more than you guys. And by that, I mean I love cookies more than you guys love cookies. And also I love cookies more than I love you.

“Blog me, baby.”
- Matthew.

So Michael’s prom was last night. I had more fun than I anticipated. I mean before and after. The actual prom sucked, of course, but I had a GAY and merry time.
I felt kind of bad for leaving rehearsal at 1:15, but I guess in comparison, I did pretty well. The -only- reason I left that early was because Michael scheduled our photos for 3:30, and I had to take a shower and had no idea how I was going to wear muh hair. But some girls were leaving at 10 and 11 to get ready, and I’m sure their pictures were later than ours. Seriously, how long does it take to put a dress on and slap on some lipstick?

But I digress…

Our Glorified MegaVan was filled with fags and hags. And most of the fags and hags were wearing black and/ or red. We didn’t plan it. Isn’t that somethin’?
We ate at Olive Garden in Paducah. Olive Garden in Paducah is a family restaurant. I’m going to open a lonely people restaurant. No kids. No friends. Only old people and middle- aged men fresh out of divorces. There will only be tables that seat one person and one person only. If someone tries to sit two to a table, I’ll throw them out and say, “What the hell do you think this is, a family restaurant? Get the F out!” I have to use curse words. That’s the rules on a lonely people restaurant.

Oh yeah, you also can’t masturbate in Olive Garden. Not even under the table. But I can. And Sarah. Not Sarah Mahan. Married people don’t do that. They just coach each other in pooping. This is New Sarah. Or Sara. I just assumed it was Sarah. Let’s call her Sara to avoid confusion until further notice.

What kind of an idiot looks at soap? When I buy soap, I keep my eyes closed. “Irish Spring! yes!” It’s like Xmas, except without Jesus.
Caress. Dial. Lever 2000. Dove. Soft Soap. Zest.

Equate, for us poor folk.

We now have brand name peanut butter. All because of Matthew. Peter Pan. And you know what?

IT SUCKS.

Michael is a motorboatin’ son of a bitch.
“Hey Liz… I’m gay, too…”
- Tony

Just for clarification, that time that he told me he’s never seen boobies, he was joking. I was for sure he was serious. He’s a good actor. Or LIAR.

I’m so VAIN. VAIN VAIN VAIN. Vanity. Vanity is bullshit. So is variety.

Liz: Because variety is the fucking spice of life.
Sara: Bullshit.
Liz and Sara: Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit.

Variety is bullshit. bullshit. bullshit. Variety? Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit. BFF. Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit.
That’s every rap song.

Oh yeah, speaking of, I was introduced to new music last night. I had heard -of- the Laughy Taffy song. But I had never actually heard it. I finally did. Finally, after Tony made it happen. And you know what? It’s dirty.
My very favourite one was this one:

Bootehbootehbootehbooteh rockin’ everywhere. Bootehbootehbootehbooteh rockin’ everywhere. Bootehbootehbootehbooteh rockin’ everywhere. Rockin’ everywhere. Rockin’ everywhere.

That song means alot to me. I want it played at my funeral. My funeral party with a DJ and Cheetos. We’ve already blogged about this. I’m just reminding you.

Girl, I wanna get all up in yo’ crevices.

Afterward, we went to Huddle House where they have Icelandic Fish Sammidges, and *cough* Two Fisted Sandwiches. You have to use… both fists…

I’m just gonna walk away from that one.

Jared came by. I miss him. He’s been going through alot of. Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit. lately, and he says my blogs have helped him. Man, I really must give a good blog.

But I really am proud of you, Jared. My little Avant Garde cat.

Something that bothers me: Stoner Mike across the street and down two houses has said several things about me. Has he ever said anything to me? Ever? No. He even came to CATS. (A stoner came to CATS. How appropriate.)
So back to Promage. That’s like Fromage, except with a P.
Afterward, Sara and I went streaking in the Teenage Rebellion area. I just gave it that name a few hours ago. I call it the teenage rebellion area, because that’s where both tagging and streaking have occurred for me. Maybe if I ever decide to do drugs, I’ll do it there. As long as I’m still a teenager.
It’s that area between the railroad track and Cafe’ on Main… you know, the cornerish of Main St. and First St.
But now I can’t streak there anymore, because it’s on myspace. Next time, there will be a stalker/ rapist/ killer waiting for me, and I’ll get to be on the news like all those other girls.

Then I went home.

Today I had rehearsal, and I got a great moneyshot of both Michele and Delinda. I was very highly pleased with Michele’s musicality. You’re just like a real ballerina. Except better. You have multiple legwarmer.s.

Then I went to Bobbie’s. It used to be Billie, Bobbie, and Jamie’s way back in the day. Jamie was my hero when I was a young Liz. You know how every little girl has her teenage girl who she looks up to and wanted to be just like. Jamie was mine. She had big boobs and let me wear her makeup. Oh, and she was a cheerleader.
But we went over there, because Jamie is in from Cali. We caught up on alot of stuff, and funtimes were had. Lisa, the cat with no tail, is still kickin’. She’s almost as old as I am. And that’s old.

The other day, my brother Erick was over here and he was looking at my pictures on my dresser. He picked up my prom group picture from last year, the one with just girls in it, and he said, “Man, look at all those boobies.”
Ha.

Bootehbootehbootehbooteh rockin’ everywhere.

It’s 9:15 now, but mum hasn’t come in here to make me stop muh bloggin’.

Dammit, Linda.

So I was thinking: Short names are good when it comes to spelling and casual conversation, but long names are better for meaningful or formal conversation because they’re prettier. That’s why it’s good to have a “Duel Name,” as I just started calling it, just now when I typed that, such as Elizabeth, Matthew, Daniel, Ezekiel, Rebekah, Michael, or Richard. But especially Richard.

So in conclusion, I’m three inches smaller than I was this time last year, according to Sacchi. But that doesn’t mean anything. It’s Sacchi.

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 yesterday, I hung out with Zephyr in Jackson. This was the only Good Friday that I hung out with her in Jackson that I -didn’t- have a wreck.
We went to Gunther Tootie’s a ’50’s diner where they have cool uniforms and funny potties. Now tell me this:

What’swith the little hump/lump/indention on the back of the seat? I don’t understand.
However, that photograph was taken immediately after I peed there… and flushed.
But please please, tell me… what’s with the hump?

Liz: Trixie’s been humping things lately.
Zephyr: Jackin’ off.

Then we read dirty novels aloud at BooksaMillion.
That was fun. Check out the title of thisun:

That’s right… “I Thirst For You.” It was right next to a book called “I Hunger For You.”
They were by the same author, of course. In the same series, no doubt. They were about vampires, but I didn’t know that until I got to the part where
“he drew his fangs upon her erect nipple, taking it into his mouth and suckling.” Here’s a selection:

Can you believe it said “cock”? Yeah, it said cock. It wasn’t a pornographic novel, just a “Romance” novel.
I read romance novels like crazy when I was thirteen, and never once did I -come- across one that said “cock”.

Garlic: It hurts so good.

Hey, that’s kind of like my acidic cavity. It burns so good.

Oh, and just for kicks:

Beaver… *teeheehee*

So we were in the bathroom at the Jackson mall, and it was disgusting.
Jackson is a dirty dirty place. Not as dirty as Hickman, KY. Jelly. Not as pretty as Nashville.
Anywho, as I was tinkling, I looked down and saw a withered frenchfry.

Then some large women came in, and Zephyr and I stayed in there for a bit to listen to their conversation.
One informed the rest that she was “strugglin’.” We left then, to avoid laughing too loudly and embarrassing them.
Everybody struggles sometimes. Except me. I’m like lightnin’, baby. Like when I poop.
It seriously takes me a minute or less to poop. I’m a fast pooper. Most of the time, I pee longer than I poop.
It’s crazy. So I can poop at anyone’s house and they won’t know it. I probably have pooped at your house, because I poop twice a day.
Sometimes thrice; it depends on what I’ve eaten.

Matt’s a fast pooper, too. That’s why we fell in love.
That’s the only reason. I think he said something about writing a book about our fast pooping relationship.
Like, everything in our relationship will be based on pooping quickly in this book.
Quick poopin’ skills. We can go to dinner parties and poop together, and nobody would know.
They would probably think we left for a quickie. But no, quite the opposite.
No, the opposite of a quickie is a longie.
When I say quickie, I mean it in the sexual way. Not in the poopin’ way.
But no, we’d actually be going to poop.
Then when we came back 2- 3 minutes later (depends on the size of the house), they would be like,
“Oh, they didn’t have sex, they just peed or had a short talk.” But little did they know, we pooped.
We probably had a short talk, too. Depends on how close the toilets were to each other.
I think married people’s bathrooms should have 2 toilets in them.
Because isn’t it a special thing when two people are pooping at the same time?
Especially when they’re phone poopin’.
“Hey guess what I’m doing?”
“Masturbating?”
“No! I’m pooping!”
“OMG, Me too!”
“OMG! This is crazy!”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too, Little Bear.”

Just for the record, Little Bear is what Steve calls Holly. Gah, my friends are so weird.

…

But when I went to Matt’s house, I pooped like, 4 times.
And I think when he was over here I only pooped a couple times. I was nervous the first time he was over here.
It’s just hard for some people to poop away from home. I guess 4 times poopin’ in one week is pretty healthy.
My mom would kill to poop 4 times in one week. Sometimes when I go somewhere, I poop more than usual.
Like when I stay with Aunt Reenie in Omaha, I poop alot. Not alot of poop, just more often.

I think I’m finished talking about poopin’.

Oh, no I’m not. I meant to put this up where I was talking about Matthew’s poopin’ habits.
Once, before we were dating, we were talking online, and he said, “I’m going to the bathroom and I’m going to take you with me.”
When he said “going to the bathroom,” I didn’t know if he meant relieving himself or just oging to do other bathroom activities.
And if he meant relieving himself, was he pooping or peeing? But then I found out he was pooping,
because he said that the computer was too hot and it was burning his legs.
Then he said, “okay, I’m back,” and that’s how I found out he was a fast pooper, too.
That’s when I knew I loved him.

Not really, but wouldn’t that be a good falling in love story?
I won’t tell the real story to you folks in blogform… it will take away from my hxc image, don’t you think?

But that is when we decided to write the pooping romance book.
Get it, but, butt?

Bird?

You can’t hide ordinary.

So tonight I hung out with Jade. We had sex.

And by sex, I mean conversation and cake.

I wrote on her wall with a permenant marker. She invited me to. This is what I wrote:

That’s an inside joke between me and Jade. You don’t get it. But I bet you still think it’s funny.

All of my friends are so much hotter than I am. I mean most of my friends.
Jade and Zephyr are. Holly is. Probably more are.

Jade made me a dress out of crepe paper. Next weekend, we’re going to make each other dresses out of crepe paper and wear them out on the town.
To Applebee’s. That’s where The Ross works.

We played with green “Travel PlayDough.” It doesn’t stick. She made and elephant.
I made a penis. Naturally.

I started to make an uncircumcised one, because it would be funny, but it was too -hard-, because I’ve never seen one in real life.
On an adult. I’ve seen plenty on babies. Usually one per baby. Usually on the boys though.

Are you a character from a romantic poem?

Somehow the other night, Matt thought that I said something about if we have children,
I wouldn’t want the boys to be circumcised. That’s crazy. I would never say that.
Like I said, I’ve never seen an uncircumcised peepee on a big boy, but the pictures scared me.
They kind of look like egg rolls. Except gross.
So now whenever I eat egg rolls, I think about uncircumcised peepees. I usually just think about the circumcised ones.
One. Just not when I’m eating Chinese. Except that time I ate Chinese with Matt on Steve’s couchbedcouch.

When my friends and I get together, we lick things. They’re usually sexual. Like the above beaver.

When I finished playing with my Play Dough penis, I threw it at Jade. She then bit part of it off.
I would post that picture, but I’m afraid it is too graphic. So I’ll post this one instead:

Remember when the boys used to do stuff like this in the 5th grade? Yeah.

While we’re on the subject, Hog had sex. With her boyfriend.

But then we went downstairs and ate a cake right off the platter. With forks.
We fed each other. It was romantic. Then she shoved a banana in my mouth.
Then we found this stuff that her mom bought, and we found it hilarious:

Bunny Corn! Isn’t it funny? It’s alot funnier when you say it like someone from Rutherford, TN.
“Bunneh Coan.” It sounds like what people would call rabbit poop. We threw some on the floor.
“Look at all that bunneh coan on the flo’. Looks like some bunnehs been through here.”
“Hey daddeh! Daddeh! You wont some bunneh coan?”
(Notice the price on the bag) “What’s the price uh this coan?”

I love this picture. She has Bunny Corn at her nipples… but you can’t see it, so it just looks like she’s tweaking them.
She has to tweak her own nipples. She doesn’t have her own private nipple tweaker like I do…
: )

So the funniest thing happened at the grocery store. I was buying things to make cookies,
and I saw a girl and her mom in line in front of me. This girl was about 12 or 13, and she was dressed like a slut.
Short shorts, lots of makeup. This caught my attention, because when I was that age, I was the same way.
Kind of like that girl in CATS. To go to the grocery store. I noticed that her mom had a box of Monistat.
No big deal. Most women will have a yeast infection at some point in her life… it could have been the mom,
it could have been the daughter. But I just found it funny that the only two items they were buying were cheese and Monistat.
Cheese. And Monistat. That’s funny in itself. But like any preteen girl would be
, the daughter was mortified that her mom was buying this, especially with the young blonde cashier, Lance.
Lance used to stalk Jessica Jones, by the way. So the daughter made the mom buy the Monistat
and walk out of the store before the girl bought the cheese seperately and walked out of the store.
I found this hilarious, because I would have done the same thing at that age.
When I worked at Jillian’s, before I got FIRED, I bought Jill a pregnancy test at that same grocery store.
That’s pretty f’ed up if you axe me, but I wasn’t embarrassed. Bradley Hutchinson helped me find it.
That was a hoot. I just thought it was funny that out of all those women who worked there,
they make the seventeen year old high school girl get it.

I wish when Holly Tittle fired me, she would have done the Donald Trump thing and said,
“You’re Fired!” instead of crossing her arms and saying, “I just think it’s best that you are no longer employed here.”
Then I would have laughed instead of cried. Well, I still would have cried, just not as much.
And I would have laughed while crying. Like Jessica Jones.

But just for the record, while we’re talking about yeast infections
(a couple paragraphs ago), this is NOT the correct way to get rid of a yeast infection:

That’s Jade’s dad’s pellet gun. That’s my vag. ina. Dan.

I just wrote Dan’s name there, because he doesn’t like it when I say “vag.” Neither does Alley Jo,
but the reason I wrote Dan’s name was because when I write a new blog, he does Ctrl F and types in his name.
If it doesn’t come up, he only reads the first paragraph or two of the blog. Or so he says.
But seriously, who could resist my bloggy deliciousness?

So in conclusion, Leah useta be bad, ’til her mama done be knowin’ what she been doin’.
Now she good.

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.”

I saw the prettiest butterfly yesterday. I usually don’t care anything about butterflies, but I was walking around campus, and I felt it brush my arm. I turned around, and there it was in its blue and yellow…ness… ivity. I chased it around the parking lot for a good five minutes until some really pretty girl shot me a look. I didn’t think she was pretty anymore. She didn’t have a very graceful way of moving. That’s why I like spiders and snakes. It’s the dancer in me. If everyone took time out to just observe things, we would all be much happier. People ask me all the time why I’m so happy. I usually reply, “Why aren’t you?” Seriously.

I have a place to live.
I have friends.
I have good parents.
I make good grades.
I’m not starving.
I’m not dying of AIDS.
I have an amazing boyfriend who actually cares about me.
I can dance.

I guess the main reason I’m so happy is because I take time out to “smell the roses,” if you’ll excuse my cliche’. I don’t like roses, though. I like tiger lillies.
Just watch. Listen. Think. There’s so much to be happy about. And you’ll learn to appreciate the beautiful things in life. I’m pretty good about keeping in touch with my inner child (despite the fact that I’m at the ripe old age of 17… and a half…) but I don’t remember the last time I chased a butterfly before yesterday. I used to say that what I wanted more than anything else was to feel the way I did when I was 6. I got that about a year ago, and now I want to catch fireflies. I haven’t done that yet. Not since I was nine. My aunt and I caught fireflies. I kept them in a jar under my bed, then they weren’t there anymore. I think my mom threw them away.

I put a stick and a leaf in there to recreate their natural environment. If someone were to catch a human, what would they put in their jar? A piece of plastic and a computer chip? Home sweet home.

I want to go to the park. Maybe I’ll take Trixie to the park today. I would go with Holly, but she’s in Illinoi…s. I would go with Jade, but she’s camping. Everyone is on spring break. I wonder why I had to come back so soon. My house feels so empty. One of the first things Matthew said about my house when he came here was, “You don’t have much stuff.” I thought he was crazy. But I really don’t. It doesn’t really feel like home anymore. It’s time for me to move out.

Ugly men make beautiful music. Does their beautiful music make them less ugly? Ususally not, but sometimes. Like, maybe sometimes if I think about it hard enough.

So in case any of you didn’t know/ assume, I went to Matt’s house for spring break. He gave me CRAZY directions, so it took me 5 hours to get there. I was making excellent time until I got to Nashville. My first time driving in Nashville, the traffic lights went out because of the storm. Meanwhile, this part of the state was being destroyed by tornadoes. Dan called me to make sure I was okay. That was nice of him. Alley Jo called me to pick up something at the Hustler store for her. I forgot to tell her I didn’t have any money.

But I got there, and there was a living room full of people. Matt told me that his mom hated me. I thought she did until I met her. We got along suprisingly well. On the days that Matt had class all day, we went shopping. And we watched TV. And we talked about Matt. I learned alot about him that I didn’t know. I’m really glad she raised him the way she did. I have alot of respect for her.

His sister Colleen is a year or 2 younger than I. I was very curious as to how well we were going to get along. Matt was right… she’s just like him, except social. We got along very well. We went to Goodwill together one day while Matt was at school and Ms. Terri was taking nap. She loves chicken. I had no idea that there was such thing as Mrs. Winner’s, but there are two of them in Hermitage, TN alone.

So on the way to school with Matt, I was reading his tests in the floorboard of his car. His answers crack me up. “He got his leg eaten by a shark.” “Go realtors go.” And the ones that he kind of knew, he put a question mark after. “War honour?”

And I’m not supposed to blog that he’s allergic to menstrual fluid. So… MATT ISN’T ALLERGIC TO MENSTRUAL FLUID.
Just for the record, that has nothing to do with me. And it also has nothing to do with sex. I just refuse to tell the story for the sake of my life.

Oh, and I met his grandparents. They’re really nice. I think my hair colour got me in good with them. They have a pet ferret. I want one.

I also want one of those pet alligators like Clarissa had in her closet. His name was Elvis. She kept him in a little swimming pool.

I think on Grood Friday, Zeffer and I are going Malling. Maybe for some swimming pool cheese, too. Girls love cheese, you know. I miss her. I haven’t seen her in months.
I have so many friends who live far away. My only really convenient friends are Steve and Holly. Holly’s mom lives a block away. Steve is also walking distance.

I have a hard time getting to Ashley’s house. It takes about 20 minutes.
Jade lives waaay waaay waaay out. About 20 minutes as well.
I’ve never been to Zephyr’s house. She usually comes over here. But that takes about an hour and a half.
Dan and Lia live about 11 hours away. I only get to see them 2ish times a year.
I’ve lost track of pretty much everyone else.
Remember when Jessica and I used to be friends? We aren’t enemies any more, we just… you know. Don’t talk. We’re all going to Florida. Ashley, Liz, Holly, Jessica. I can’t forget my sunscreen.
I don’t know if Jade and I are going to NYC. I have a feeling we won’t.

They’re putting the nose back on the sphynx.

I had nightmares about ghosts two nights in a row.
Remember the dream I had where I won the Miss America Pageant with a lobster suit? That was crazy. I’m so hot.

I need batteries for my camera and other things.

I need to unpack.

I only pooped 4 times while I was at Matt’s house. That’s not healthy.
Jessica only poops once a week. And when she does, it’s just a little bit. Once she pooped at my house, and I felt honoured.
Like when Davey Jones used Rosie O’Donnell’s bathroom. Except better. Because Davey Jones uses the bathroom all the time.

Davey Jones’s Locker. I bet he has a mirror and one of those nifty shelves in it. I had a locker mirror in the 7th grade. Then one of those mean girls broke it. It was in the shape of a butterfly.

So in conclusion, hows that for your full- circle ending?

So, need I repeat my story of the gross fansite some creepy dude made about me? Always google yourselves, kids.

Liz has raised a sow and had several litters of piglets and produced free range turkeys for the Christmas market.

Liz has a fiddle

Liz has trichotillomania, a disorder characterised by compulsive hair pulling followed by a brief sense of gratification or relief.

Liz has also competed in endurance rowing

Liz has an uncle who was a mutant, and this led to his death, … As a result of this, Liz has a phobia of mutants

Liz has spent 17 years at the race track as a driver’s wife

Liz has some wonderful handouts.

Liz has a really great voice and all but i would say theres no need for swearing

Liz has finally confirmed that she is expecting Steve Bing’s baby (Whoa.)

Liz has also worked with Scottish band Runrig as a backing singer

“Liz has found a way to make cancer funny,” Mrs. Marksteiner said.

Liz has been a practicing Witch for over 16 years and is a legally ordained clergy

Liz has two moveable chicken coops and allows her chickens to forage for bugs and greenery during daylight hours

Liz has brain damage no human being can repair.

Liz has never heard of anyone losing a finger to a bird bite

Liz has had a number of injuries associated with paddling

Liz has battled demons in her life, including obesity and drug addiction.

Liz has specialised in the development of junior swimmers, focussing on stroke

Liz has bad stage fright. Just look at her on the Jay Leno appearence

Kristy tells Ben that Liz has a crush on him. Ben laughs suggesting he likes Liz back. Kristy walks away smiling and joins Liz to pay.

In real life, Liz has long, straight blond hair that tangles easily.

t is by far the largest number of old people Liz has ever seen gathered

Liz has raised three children, one of whom has Downs Syndrome.

Liz has been: - Involved with National Wheelchair Games from 1981

That’s hardly surprising since Liz has a long history of greediness and selfishness.

Hi we have been fans of World Wide Wives for a long time now Liz Has Gomilf swingers sex.

Liz has taught me to work my body and I feel much more confident

Add Sex Appeal to your Style: Liz has gotten into the minds of men and shares their secret 60-second screening test for women.

Whatever your favorite nautical subject, Liz has it: lighthouses, anchors,

Liz has excellent Japanese language skills.

You’d have a hard time interspersing anything liz has written with pro-pedophilia statements.

Liz has really blossomed lately.

Our Liz has gone kinda Bridget Jones, but with less pluck.

Liz has specialized in hand-raising abandoned newborn kittens.

A long time rat owner, Liz has been working with animals since she was a young girl.

Liz has little trouble finding something the right size to substitute for THE MEMBER (Ain’t it the truth)

Liz has a glass of wine.

Liz has a warm & sultry voice

Liz has that magical touch.

Liz even has her own go cart.

Liz has been there, done that - and now empowers singles to boost their numbers, ego and odds of finding a Perfect Match.

Further proof that Liz has blossomed out as a completely fulfilled woman

The world could use a whole lot more of what Liz has got.

Liz is stamping forward in her elegant designer heels.

Liz has an amazing bubbly disposition

Liz has always been famed for her risque taste in revealing outfits

But what’s more of an issue is, liz has issues.

Liz has always had, and justifiably so, a reputation for raw lyrics.

Liz has always been very upfront with her sexuality

Liz got D+’s in high school calculus and still got into Cornell.

Liz has never broken, fractured, or dislocated a bone.

Saturday Night Beaver : Liz

Liz has sex only with Carol. Carol has sex with Liz and Ann, … Right now Liz has Carol six nights a week.

Using the arcane rituals of Ladonia the High Priestess Liz has arranged the marriage

keep in mind that Liz has short legs

Liz has been tapped

The side of Joey’s head is bloody after Liz has hit him with a bottle

So in conclusion, I’m pregnant with Matt’s lover’s babydaddy’s brother.

Go figure.

Oh, and that picture was Alley Jo’s boobs. You all lose.