I was browsing reddit and noticed these two posts listed back to back:
And I’m the worst person ever, because I laughed until my eyes watered then made sure to press screen-print and save.
Every time I see the Vyvanse ad on Hulu, I can’t help but wonder what type of accent that blonde actress is suppressing. It bothers me so much, that I generally miss about 15 seconds of whatever show I am watching. Anyway, I am convinced that the accent is somewhere between Welsh and Alabama. Unfortunately, after scouring the internet I was unable to find the Vyvanse video. It’s not even on their website- which I might add is poorly design considering their target demographic.
^^I know you did not just link me to a PDF file right now, Vyvanse!! ^^
I did, however, find accent tag videos for Wales and Alabama, so I’m basically an expert at this internet thing.
Warning: The videos are only not annoying for about the first minute. Once you get used to the accents, you realize you’re willingly watching people yammer on about whether they prefer to say “pop” or “soda.”
Given that a huge chunk of my formative years were spent trying to emulate Gwen Stefani, I feel it would be remiss not to acknowledge the new No Doubt single. That said, I have to agree with YouTube commenters, where the consensus seems to be, “Daaamn she hasn’t aged,” and “Daaamn that song is awful.”
What is really nagging at my mind when I watch that video, however, is the smoothness of Gwen Stefani’s armpits (jump to the 2:30 mark, if you’re impatient or allergic to bad music). Not that I expect stubble from someone with that kind of money, but gee-whiz they look almost supernatural! Seeing them gives me the same phantom tactile urge I experience when seeing dolphins- you know, the sense that you know exactly what a dolphin would feel like, despite never having touched one. –No? Am I the only one? — Well, excuse me! Some of us never went to Sea World and had to use our imaginations instead, ok? Geez.
I’m finally back in Athens after a rather tumultuous week visiting family in El Paso, TX. I went home to meet my new nephew, and was granted a twofer when my best friend Megan also delivered her baby. Hers was a home birth (my brain will not allow me to venture further beyond that detail). But, congrats to baby Noah and Micah, each, for being born. Huzzah!
In other news: I was stung by a honey bee whilst feeding my father’s pet Macaw, which made the rest of my stay in El Paso rather itchy.
Anyway, to color in some of the details of the trip, here are some of the most absurd text messages that were exchanged between me and Nick (mostly out of context, of course):
N: Looks like baby is going to witness someone poop.
C: No, mom just showed up. Thank the squirrel gods!
N: I would have responded to that, but I was pooping.
—– And that pretty much sums up my trip. With the exception of the unbearably long flight next to a woman whose perfume can only be described as reminiscent of cherry cough syrup. “Noxious,” would work too. Seriously, it was like Avon and Icy Hot had a baby.
In celebration of my sloth, I have decided to post a short story I wrote for a creative writing class last year. The assignment was to pick a place and time then set a story there. Basically, I’m guilt-posting in order to make myself feel terrible about not writing. Hooray for guilt!
Ines sat quietly in the Mossehaus lobby, trying hard not to squirm or swing her legs. She knew that Papa’s meetings with Herr Mosse were very important and that she must behave if she wanted to continue to ride with Papa during his day trips to the city.
Normally, Ines enjoyed waiting in the big marble lobby. She liked watching the people rush in from the cold sidewalk through the revolving doors and into the warmth of the lobby. Her favorite were the grown up ladies with their pretty curls, red glossy lips, and clicking heels. They were always in a hurry and rushed past leaving behind scents that reminded Ines of department store counters. She liked to think that one day she could rush by others and haunt them with her perfume.
Today though, it was impossible to pretend she was a grown up lady because she had forgotten to potty before leaving the house. Papa did not like to stop on the way to work, so she hadn’t told him. She twisted her legs and gripped the sides of her new dress with her sweaty palms. She looked longingly across the lobby at a golden door that she knew led to a public toilet and recalled her father’s stern instructions, “Do not get out of this chair for any reason. You understand?” She had nodded even though she was already feeling the first inklings of pressure in her tummy. Pretty ladies never look like they need to potty, and she had wanted to be like a grown up.
Ines remembered the last time she had an accident: Papa had struck her, and mama had to clean all of the bed sheets in the middle of the night. There was still a stain on the mattress beneath the clean white sheets. Whenever she remembered, she would try to roll over to the other side of the bed to avoid it.
She thought of what Papa would say if she stained the upholstered lobby chair. Would Herr Mosse strike her? The thought terrified Ines, and she began to cry just as the warm liquid spread beneath her tiny body and down the chair leg onto the floor.