Monday Bear

So is there or is there not such thing as creepy hot(t)? There’s creepy, there’s hot(t), and according to Liz, there is, indeed, such thing as creepy hot(t).

Here are some examples of creepy:

• They guy at the park with the long hair combover who mumbles “compliments” to you.
• Those 50 year old guys at metal shows.
• Blind dates with a lazy eye.
• Clowns.
• Not showering ever.
• Boys doing exceptionally nice things for you.

Here are some examples of hot(t):

• Kissing all rawr.
• Cool shoes.
• Matthew.
• Good sex.
• Nice fancy dates.
• Boys doing exceptionally nice things for you.

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So we know I don’t ever like to bitch, but I have a serious problem with girls who work at Sonic.  (No offense, Holly or Matt’s cute friend Naomi.)  They are conniving, tricky bitches.  Let me explain.  This has all happened to us at at least one point in our lives:

You and a friend order some drinks and onion rings on a sweltering summer afternoon.  A girl in khaki shorts and a dumb visor carrying a tray walk close to you, but no luck.
Another one.  You examine the contents of the tray:  2 drinks and a box in a bag.  She walks past you.
Another one:  2 drinks and a box in a bag.  She walks toward your car.  She then looks at the receipt only to realize that she was walking the wrong way.
Another one: 2 drinks and a box in a bag.  You look at her and her tray with wild fried onion- craving eyes.  She looks back at you.  Your eyes meet.  It’s like you’re spiritually making love to this angel in the ponytail who is bringing you your nourishment.  Instant chemistry.  She keeps walking and gives your order to the middle aged guy in the red Camaro.
What a bitch.  She knew what she was doing the whole time.  She just wanted to toy with you.
Another one:  1 really big ass drink and 3 boxes in 3 bags.  She comes to your car.  It’s the wrong order, but you don’t fucking care.  You’ll never talk to another teenage girl wearing roller skates as long as you live. (more…)

So when a man asks a woman out on a date, it should be understood that he pays for everything, at least up until the 5th or 6th date.  He shouldn’t use the fact that he’ll pay for everything as a tool of persuasion.

Brad:  Candice, please come bowling with me.  You don’t have to pay for anything; I’ll cover it all.  I’ll pay for your shoe rental, your games, and I’ll even buy you a drink.  I’ll even drive all the way to Samburg to pick you up, and you don’t even have to give me gas money.
Hog:  But Brad,  it’s quarter night!
Brad:  Well, Samburg is really out of the way.

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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…)

So according to my brother, there’s nothing to do at 2AM except get into trouble.� He’s pretty much right, unless someone’s having a party or something.� And much of the time when someone’s having a party, the partiers are getting into trouble.� But it’s fun trouble, not going to Huddle House singing Fuck Her Gently with Alley Jo.

Acually, there is alot I hate worse than stupid myspace layouts.� Like Nazis, soured milk, mean girls, and how I get boogers sometimes during sex. � (more…)

So I haven’t gotten much sleep in the past few days. This should make for a nice delusional blogging experience.

howdah n A seat or covered pavilion on the back of an elephant or camel.

I’ve got to get me one of those. (more…)

If ya *snap* catch my *snap* drift *thrust*.

Most of you know that if I am at home alone, with my mom, or with very close friends, I’m usually naked or close to it. This said, yesterday before rehearsal, I was hanging around in my nakiepants in the livingroom when the doorbell rang. I didn’t bother to put clothes on. I just answered the door. Lo and behold, it was the guy who mows my lawn.

Lawn Mower Guy: Do you need me to mow today?
Liz: No, I don’t need you today. I just mowed my lawn 2 days ago.
LMG: I can tell. But I was talking about your yard. Outside.
Liz: Oh yeah. You can mow that. (more…)

So this is number 72 of all of my posts here at mondaybear.com.  Well, two of them are Holly and one of them is Matt, (Rock the Cock and “On it”)   I was going to celebrate with a Flashback blog, much like on The Golden Girls when the writers couldn’t think of anything, but I could actually think of something.  We’ll save Flashback Blog for post #111.

“I’d like to share some of my favourite memories with Trevor the Vampire.”

Or maybe the real 72. Depends on how little or how much pops into my head.  Or why don’t you sit in my lap and I’ll tell you about the first thing that pops up.

Oh, snap.

So today, Emily kicked Ms. Sacchi in the breast.
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