Rachael Yamagata's been reading my journal...

It's a choice to stay,
It's a dream and I wanna wake,
You have blood on your hands,
And I'm feeling faint,
And honey you can't decide.

I'm a drug you don't wanna give up,
Smoke your cigarettes,
And make your love flow.
You poured blood in my heart, I can't get enough
I'm drowning, drowning,
And you can't decide.

It's not about geography or happenstance,
You need to fly and take a chance,
You don't need to soar to emptiness,
Float on high and forever dance alone.

You're scared, scared, scared,'cause I feel like home.

I hear your voice,
And I knew right away,
If you were here, what your eyes would say.
I have blood on my feet as I walk away,
Rivers are red, it's starting to rain.

I'm not gonna live for you or die for you,
Won't do anything anymore for you.
'Cause you leave me here on the other side,
You leave me here on the other side.

Not gonna shed one more tear for you,
Shed one more tear for you,
I'm not gonna shed one more tear for you,
At least not 'til Sunday afternoon, Sunday afternoon...

Rachel Yamagata, Sunday Afternoon

(If you don't have her music and love her already, get yourself to iTunes and let her change your life...)

Why....not?

I'm considering trying false eyelashes. Just for shits & giggles.

And when I say I'm considering it, what I mean is...I'm sitting here on the couch researching it...I might actually make a quick run to the mall.

Hmm. I'm going to check it out. Be back with details later.

PS...I'm just trying to avoid doing my Christmas cards.

I bring you good tidings of great joy....

I've decided to join this site....

I won't bother apologizing.

I'm sitting here in my apartment, waiting for my RA to show up for our one-on-one. And I remembered that I haven't posted in forever. So, hi. I haven't forgotten you. I can prove it.

Over the past month or so, I've come across certain things that make me stop and giggle. I instantly think of all of you, and how I just know you'll love it as much as I do. So, read on for proof that I think of you all often, and fondly. You sickos...


"Grams? Hi, yeah, it's just me, Susie. Um, I was wondering, I know you're not well, but if you're gonna kick it this week, could you maybe give us a heads up so we can get you in the Thanksgiving Edition of the Tribune? I mean, I don't want to be pushy, but if you want an obituary that's Pulitzer-worthy, I'm gonna need some time...it's a process, rough drafts and all that. Grams? Gramma? Hello?"



Ice, right? Frozen water. Just one question, though...why is WalMart's ice "healthier than homemade?" It's ICE...which is just...frozen...water. Am I missing something? And the way they use the word "homemade" makes me uncomfortable. It insinuates that ice takes a lot of effort to make. Or that there's some sort of secret family recipe that you've been using that's well, unhealthy...
"Ann-Marie! Don't use so much butter in the ice next time--Grandpap's heart can't take it!"




Uh...Santa's WHAT?




This little gem was from earlier this evening. Jess and I were at Dollar Tree. Just an interesting aside: did you know that Dollar Tree doesn't sell paintbrushes--but they do sell panties? Odd. I know.

But not nearly as odd as a girl wanting these particular panties. Your crotch is hot and spicy? Really. I mean, really? That doesn't seem like something I'd want to advertise to someone who's close enough to see said panties...it seems more like something you'd hear on a Valtrex commercial. Sit on a bag of frozen peas, honey, things'll be better in the morning. And in the meantime, you might want to think twice about comparing your vagina to Moo Goo Gai Pan.