Dawson on the Run

does psp play porn that i'm not aware of? why are those squirrels so perverted? like they get so excited to find a nut they can actually play with outside, and they gather round their play station chanting "i'd hit that!" ??? i thought i was daydreaming the first time i saw that commercial. i tried to snap back to reality but quickly realized that these nympho talking squirrels really do exist! that is, on the tv (in case you're a moron).

side note: am i the only one that has never seen the art school commercial that asks you to draw a turtle and a pirate on the application? for real? i have to see that!

today was my big field trip to the doctor.

i had been putting it off because i thought it would be a huge pain in the ass for nothing. here is my unembellished account. (yes of course i would exaggerate for fun, but the point is i have no need to).

getting the appointment:
i called "we want to ruin your life (on a bun) medical center" twice last week and was put on hold for 20 minutes. i couldn't wait that long during that day, so i hobbled around for the rest of the week until sunday, when i had the 45 minutes (and free weekend minutes) that it took to wait for someone to pick up.

checking in for the appointment:
i arrived right at 1:40, my appt. time. i had to leave school early and everything. then i had to wait in line until 2:00, and then she told me i was more than 15 minutes late and they'd have to "fit me in" somewhere. thanks wwtryl (oab) medical center.

the nurse:
the nurse took me to a different room for every procedure! did i tell you i was here for my foot?! because i can't walk?! and she's speeding around from room to room- blood pressure here, temperature over there, oh follow me to height and weight...

the doctor:
Q: what did you do? A: the concise 2 year history of my injury
Q: how did you treat it? A: rest, ice, compress, elevate, mucho paracetamol (i don't know ibuprofen en espanol and mi doctor era latino, so i like to throw it in there)
Q: what do you think you should do? A: the same thing?
Q: how much tylenol? A: i said ibuprofen. i don't know- 1200 mg?
A: as much as necessary. call your podiatrist if it's not better in a few weeks.

and this is why i do not go to the doctor. and why i cannot wait for michelle to be able to write scrips for me. ibuprofen? come on now.

currently topping my long list of things that are ridiculous:

the fact that i have no one to watch the gmu v. uconn game with. how is elite 8 basketball not everyone's favorite thing to do today?

recently, i've been set up on two friend dates. i rock these. see tiffany, who lives far away now, set me up with two different people that maybe i could be friends with, and now we're bff. from strangers to friends in one outing.

it's those date dates that i'm not so good at (the whole 3 i've been on in my entire life). it can be awkward, seeing as how i realize i'm not really interested in dating, so i end up questioning what the hell i'm doing there in the first place, and if there is anyway i can tactfully get out of the rest of the night and any future contact. BUT, i think babysitting, particularly the Wasserman boys, would be a really nice first date.

let's go through why. the boys break the ice by greeting you as you drive up. they run up and hug you and in 1 second flat you are playing basketball and hide and seek and doing a puppet show all at the same time. you are also speaking spanish and chinese and playing the piano (just invent something- the oldest one is only 7, and still trickable). then they get tired and cute and go to bed. you have free reign of the leftover chinese, ice cream, and HBO. also, you won't trip on clothes all over the floor of their apartment, because they live in a nice well-kept house. assuming you pass all the tests, there is a nice make-out couch, and the wassermans come home pretty early (with plenty of key jingling and door unlocking to provide sufficient warning), so i can get home and away from you if you don't pass.

what a fun date! oh yeah, and we get paid so we can buy groceries. too bad, so sad, babysitting dates are not to be had. goodnight.

p.s. someone tell me where the ending parenthesis goes again.

UGH! are hot sorority girls really that great?

answer: yes, they are. a hundred times over. and that will never be me. in fact, right now i am polishing off an entire box of peanut butter oreos to ensure it. because oreos think i'm fun to be around, and caring, and interesting. i love you too, oreos.

i've eaten everything in my kitchen, and emailed and myspaced everyone i know. the only thing left in the procrastination routine is to blog. here goes.

emailing or myspacing someone you haven't had real life conversations with doesn't work. for me, anyway. i maintain a lot of friendships through the internet. when my computer malfunctions, it takes all my friends with it except for tiffany and amanda, the sole reasons for me paying my cell phone bill. oh! and i'll pay the extra text messaging charge for sariel. but unless you KNOW me, my humor apparently doesn't translate over email.

not only do i manage not to captivate and delight my prey (see, and here's where you have to know me to understand that this is funny and not creepy) but i am somehow able to turn genuine interest and enthusiasm into apathy and maybe even mild repulsion. what a talent.

and matt manne, if you are going to try to tell me that you didn't get my email, i don't buy it! just be like ehren and give me some excuse to disentangle yourself from that trap. the assignment is over anyway. cheerleader won. yes, folks, i have been cast by my friends as a cheerleader, although each person felt the need to qualify it in some way, probably so i didn't kick their asses. here's a little secret: i'm weak. and lazy. call me a cheerleader as much as you want.

the contents of my kitchen are now coming back to haunt me. time to go, my pretties.

correct spelling is important to me.

i have one friend that i know of that can't spell. she is my best friend. she is fantastic, and it has never bothered me that her spelling isn't perfect.

but with everyone else, they write one wrong word, and i'm put off. why am i so judgmental, especially when i am guilty of misspelling as well? you've got to tell me when i mess up- it's your duty! typos not included.

so this whole line of thinking comes from a recent perusal of some blogs/myspace pages/myspace messages. some really smart people can't spell! their thoughts are so complex, so insightful, so perfectly worded, but so inaccurately written! i'm baffled, and i love it. those who pay no mind to spelling, yet deliver thought-provoking observations are interesting creatures. where did they come from? how did they come to be?

i really need to make more real-life friends, so that we can have conversations, instead of myspace messages and emails... YA THINK?!

that's it. my oprah limit has been reached.

i hate that i need to preface this, but apparently i'm worried what others think about me. not enough to change out of my sweatpants, but enough to say i think oprah is a kind-hearted and extremely generous person. so she is full of herself. fact. but deservedly so.

it does get ridiculous when she legitimately believes that her flat hair is a serious problem that needs a 10 minute explanation and a promise to do better. you shouldn't be mixing a story about how your crazy audience needs to support the victims of hurricane katrina with a jimmy choo and marc jacobs segment where you get specially-designed shoes and bag, which are considerably fawned and drooled over. the audience forgot all about that moving harsh reality half hour and were making shopping lists for the moment they could get out on michigan ave.

the other day they redid this poor lady's house- gave her indoor plumbing, took the lead and asbestos out, etc. THEN, they redid the house of this lady who had bought a big huge house and couldn't afford to furnish it. WHAT?! tell that lady she's irresponsible, and she can buy her own not-mansion house, furnish it, and all the extra money can go to the first lady so maybe she can have a car to get to work. ugh, such potential, no follow-through. the horror! the horror!

maybe i'll just finish watching today's episode...

i've come to accept the truth, albeit too late. the terps are awful. i'm about to become a fairweather fan. you have to feel for gary though- i don't know how he even managed to stay on the court during those last few games. at least i could change the channel.

so now we have gmu and georgetown to root on, and while i won't be winning any money this year, the games have been fantastic. thank you college basketball, for giving me the will to live.

life is much more difficult now that i've broken my foot. fell out of the tree the other day, remember? i made up the shit about the girlfriend and the jewishness to feel bad for myself, and this is the payback. i can't walk on it, but i don't know how to go to the doctor. which doctor to i even go to? do i go to the emergency room? does that cost $1000? do i wait for a doctor's appt. in two weeks? it is most definitely going to require some time out of school to sit on my ass in front of the tv and watch the rest of the games.

so this is how sariel's joke should go, "i have a bum leg. it doesn't work. it also smells like piss and begs for change." or maybe "and follows me everywhere i go." yay for sariel. good stuff.

hi babies!

i don't feel much like talking about stalking anymore, but the terps suck ass and i'm supposed to be studying for a test, so what the hell else am i supposed to do? it's not even a challenge for me- i have natural talent. AND i think it's fun. should i be a detective or a spy? that might be a cool job, but do i have to be a traffic plebe first? and i'd have to go through training. that involves like running and stuff. i can't even get out of bed to type this, so no sydney bristow escapades in my future. :(

as you may know, i have been living on one up the uppermost, least sturdy branches of reality for a few weeks now. the wind yesterday knocked me off. i found myself on punishingly hard ground, where my crush has a girlfriend and wouldn't hang with a shiksa anyway. oh! and apparently living in the trees has made me invisible because he can't even see me when i say hi. too bad so sad. time to pick myself up and climb back up that tree, where there is no girlfriend, no goy drama, and everyone can see me and ask "why the hell is that girl living on a tree limb?"

i dare myself to get up there,
the blood draining to my feet.
my heart pounding in my stomach,
breathing through a fitted sheet.

i talk for 30 seconds,
unaware of what i say,
then afterward shy and uncomfortable,
not allowed to walk away.

i survive as pity wins,
the french judge sees to that.
but before i am able to escape,
he wants a little chat.

just to tell me that i sucked,
in case i didn't know,
and that i should never come back,
to ruin the end of his show.

this would be good if it were written by a retard. close enough. seacrest- out.

ya dizzy yet?

saw him AGAIN, this time by accident. at least the cosmos are on my side. i don't even know what the cosmos are, but i like them working for me. so please cosmos, let's get our team in the tournament this year! i know they sucked on the road, but can we consider strength of schedule? fingers crossed!

i can't believe my life has come to this. i am having to delete a post about my stalking someone because my very own stalker is coming too close to the truth. because the whole world revolves around me and the boys i decide to like. it's more difficult for you to feel yourself revolving around me, but i can feel it. keep spinning baby.