22 Feb

Can anybody else sometimes not tell if the dot signifying if the person you are chatting to on Facebook is online or offline is green or gray? Ninety percent of the time, I can’t tell the difference. I find myself leaning in toward the screen of my computer, squinting away at the tiny dot in the corner. Why couldn’t they make those colors more contrasting? Like red and blue, or white and black. Is that so much to ask? Maybe I’m just handicapped.

Doubt it.

Why do fruit cakes exist? It’s no mystery that receiving a fruit cake as a gift is about as exciting as receiving an audit from the IRS. Nearly every holiday film has some joke in it about how badly fruit cakes suck/regifting them/etc. Fruit cake itself is an oxymoron. Either give me cake, or give me fruit, but don’t give me a cake made of fruit and expect me to drool. Why, then, are they still in production? It’s like high-waisted pants. Nobody looks good in high-waisted pants. I don’t care if you’ve got the body of a battle axe and the ass of Hilary Duff, high-waisted pants are atrocious.

Speaking of bodies like a battle axe, why hasn’t Bruce Vilanch been transported to a butcher house in the back of a semi and slaughtered like the overweight cattle that he is?

I am genuinely appalled by his appearance. He is one ugly dude. Bruce Vilanch gives humanity a bad name. I’m honestly not sure I’ve ever seen anything more offensive than his physique. That double chin is big enough to build a sky-rise apartment building on. Oh, and Bruce? Ellen Degeneres called from the fift grade–she wants her haircut back.

What the fack did I do before flat irons existed? Seriously. When I get done blow-drying my hair before I straighten it, it looks like someone busted up an old straw broom. Like it looks like I’m wearing a tumble weed as a wig. I’ve seen scarecrows with better do’s. I must have blacked out the traumatic period in my life where my hair was frizzier than fiber glass insulation, and more unruly than a four year old with autism, because I do not remember that time in my life. It must have been horrifying though. I couldn’t have made any friends. Inventions like flat irons are inventions that I don’t know how I lived without. Same with Google and GPS. Thank god there are people smarter and less lazy than me in this world.

I can’t seem to stop buying things that smell good. If it smells like vanilla frosting, birthday cake, brown sugar, winter candy apple, or anything else delicious, it doesn’t matter if I have 28 variations of it, I will continue to add on to the collection. This goes for shampoos, body washes, lotions, candles, perfumes, soaps–it’s endless. Places like Bath & Body Works are a danger zone for me, especially when they’ve got their “Buy 3 Get 3 Free” deals going on. I will drop a paycheck and a half in there lickity split without batting an eye. I end up with drawers and plastic containers filled with dozens and dozens of unused scented body products. Siiiigh. I can’t stop. And I won’t try to. Not until they stop making lotions smell so real they could be spread on cakes and eaten with a fork.

WELL, I’m going to go watch The Hang Over with Trent, like so many other millions of people in America who received it as a Christmas gift today. Ta ta for now, folks.

Trent (at the table): “Do you have any idea what the forecast is like for tomorrow?”
Me: “No…why don’t you just grab my computer?”
Trent: “I’m not pulling your computer up at the table….that’s what iPhones are for!”


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