It’s a medical condition.
Speaking of True Life, Amy and I were discussing how absolutely ridiculous that show has gotten. Like they’re running out of ideas, so they come up with shockingly retarded ones, like True Life: I Have Legs. For example, the last one I accidentally paid attention to was “True Life: I’m a Staten Island Girl.” Besides the fact that the headquarters in Law & Order (repre-SIZZAY) are located in Staten Island, it’s no cooler than Council Bluffs or Fort Lauderdale. First I thought, well maybe they mean a really ghetto section of Staten Island where all the moms are cooking up meth in the kitchens while their 12 inbred toddlers run around barefoot playing with old needles and their daughters have sex for money.
Instead it was some stupid chick with too much eyeliner complaining about having to get her nails done and buying overpriced designer clothing. The biggest problem she had (aside from her skankass makeup job–someone tell her–) was deciding what to wear in the mornings.
In other news, the trash compactor trucks are beeping at an unbelievable decibel this morning. It pisses me off every morning. I get angry. I get very angry.
BEEEEP, BEEEEP, BEEEEP, BEEEEP!!! CRRUUUUNNNCCCHHHHH!! BEEEP BEEEP BEEEP!
I’ll kill you.