Pizza, people!! Pizza.
Happy day today, friends. I got to eat PIZZA!!! As you may know (since chances are you are a member of my immediate family that I have berated into reading this), I have a vile reaction to tomatoes, which makes pizza pretty much off-limits, even though I love it so.
But Poo-poo, lovely man that he is, remembered me at the pizza store today and got some non-tomato concotion involving chicken that was DELISH. It's always exciting to me to eat pizza. It's like Twinkies or sado-masochism, something that is forbidden all your life and so has that naughtily indulgent appeal. It's hot, my friends, as Paris Hilton would say if she ever ate pizza, which I doubt. Unless someone makes a diet-and-stupid-pill pizza.
I checked some Thai language tapes out of the library today, which was complicated and difficult and involved assuring the clerk that I did not have kids, discussing what I would name them if I did, giving them the address of the place I lived before the place I lived on April 7th of 2004, and promising them my first-born. (I hope Sid doesn't count.) And then I tried to speak some Thai. Actually, being the anally nervously over-prepared person that I am (sarcasm there, did you catch the sarcasm?), I listened to CD One three times over. I'm getting okay at imitating the native speakers, but the alphabet looks like earthworms mating, so I doubt I'll ever be able to read or write it. HA! I just wrote "right" instead of "write" and I almost didn't notice. Some journalist I am.
Speaking of journalism, I was wondering something along the lines of the chicken-egg thingy today. Am I in the journalism industry, writing about fashion, or in the fashion industry, as a journalist? Or neither, as a lazy layabout who only writes every couple of days?
Bo leaves for Chile tomorrow, to start his year-long exchange in Valdivia. Don't quite know what to say about this, which doesn't happen frequently. I mean, he's a dirty little argumentative turd half the time, but he's my brother and he has his pretend-Renaissance Man moments. If he would let me get the blackheads in his ears without a full-on "American Gladiators"-style battle, I would like him a lot more. "Sit still, Razor! You have an enlarged pore on your nose!"
E-Trade and I have forged a deep and lasting friendship in recent days. I have told their pleasant-voiced operator my life secrets and can warble along with their delightful hold music. My cockles are warmed when they say, oh so personally, that my call is important to them. Luckily, with as little effort as it takes to launch the space shuttle (sorry, bad simile) I have discovered how to get all my childhood investments turned over to me. Yes, I was a childhood brokerage and securities genius, but I lost interest around the time I discovered the Mall. (Get it? I lost interest? Haha.) So look for me at your friendly neighborhood high-end shopping district. I'll be the one buying the ridiculously overpriced and impractical but beauteous leopard-print shoes.
Just kidding Mom. But I am on the lookout for some snazzy cowboy boots, so keep your peepers open.
But Poo-poo, lovely man that he is, remembered me at the pizza store today and got some non-tomato concotion involving chicken that was DELISH. It's always exciting to me to eat pizza. It's like Twinkies or sado-masochism, something that is forbidden all your life and so has that naughtily indulgent appeal. It's hot, my friends, as Paris Hilton would say if she ever ate pizza, which I doubt. Unless someone makes a diet-and-stupid-pill pizza.
I checked some Thai language tapes out of the library today, which was complicated and difficult and involved assuring the clerk that I did not have kids, discussing what I would name them if I did, giving them the address of the place I lived before the place I lived on April 7th of 2004, and promising them my first-born. (I hope Sid doesn't count.) And then I tried to speak some Thai. Actually, being the anally nervously over-prepared person that I am (sarcasm there, did you catch the sarcasm?), I listened to CD One three times over. I'm getting okay at imitating the native speakers, but the alphabet looks like earthworms mating, so I doubt I'll ever be able to read or write it. HA! I just wrote "right" instead of "write" and I almost didn't notice. Some journalist I am.
Speaking of journalism, I was wondering something along the lines of the chicken-egg thingy today. Am I in the journalism industry, writing about fashion, or in the fashion industry, as a journalist? Or neither, as a lazy layabout who only writes every couple of days?
Bo leaves for Chile tomorrow, to start his year-long exchange in Valdivia. Don't quite know what to say about this, which doesn't happen frequently. I mean, he's a dirty little argumentative turd half the time, but he's my brother and he has his pretend-Renaissance Man moments. If he would let me get the blackheads in his ears without a full-on "American Gladiators"-style battle, I would like him a lot more. "Sit still, Razor! You have an enlarged pore on your nose!"
E-Trade and I have forged a deep and lasting friendship in recent days. I have told their pleasant-voiced operator my life secrets and can warble along with their delightful hold music. My cockles are warmed when they say, oh so personally, that my call is important to them. Luckily, with as little effort as it takes to launch the space shuttle (sorry, bad simile) I have discovered how to get all my childhood investments turned over to me. Yes, I was a childhood brokerage and securities genius, but I lost interest around the time I discovered the Mall. (Get it? I lost interest? Haha.) So look for me at your friendly neighborhood high-end shopping district. I'll be the one buying the ridiculously overpriced and impractical but beauteous leopard-print shoes.
Just kidding Mom. But I am on the lookout for some snazzy cowboy boots, so keep your peepers open.
posted by Laura at
8:19 PM
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