If a picture is taken of me mid-speech, it’s not pretty. Something about me vocalizing during a photographic moment is just not artful. Snapping a picture of me mid-sentence makes me look like I’m 200 pounds and retarded. Why is this? How are some people so photogenic? I wish I understood.
I wish I had a tanning bed in my home.
….to nap in.
Seriously, I have mentioned this before, but I get better sleep in a tanning bed than I would get in a Tempurpedic after a 12-hour day of work. Maybe I should start lathering myself with bronzing lotion and wearing tanning goggles to bed to simulate a real-life UV experience.
I finally dyed my god forsaken roots. Since my natural hair color is a dirty dishwater blonde (ew), it grows in looking grey in contrast to the fake red gig I have going on. It’s not good. Dying my hair is such a pain in the ass though that I put it off until I start to look like Britney Spears during her umbrella threatening/wig-wearing period…a weird period for all of us.
I still love you, Spears. The dye is strong enough to blind a man, it stains everything it touches–I end up looking like I just slaughtered a mule when I’m finished. My skin up to my elbows and all over my neck are stained a deep burgundy. It’s not good. Oh well. It’s nine bucks. I like that.
After paying $600 for three new tires in the past two and a half weeks from smashing into huge potholes in the street, I have now taken my driving to a whole new level. I’m driving down the street weaving in and around potholes like I’m in f*cking Tokyo Drift. I’m so agile, I’m like Jeff Gordon on crack. This new driving technique can end in one of three ways:
1) I dip and dodge every nasty pothole in Kansas City and save myself from replacing another tire, and my car survives another winter season with zero incidents.
2) I get pulled over for either reckless driving, or driving while under the influence by a policeman who sees my 2 Fast 2 Furious moves.
3) In an effort to miss one of these treacherous potholes, I overdo it and careen into a Ford Mercury in the next lane over.
Who wants to start making bets?
It’s official. I need to either publish a blog for the world to read, or stop writing these entirely. If I can make money writing these damned things, then I should be doing it. Too bad I don’t know how much of a following I actually have. I wish Facebook had a #’s viewed log. I believe that for every 1 person that actually leaves a comment, there are dozens that don’t.
Let’s play a game….if you are reading this beast, or do it religiously, go ahead and leave a comment. Even just a mark of punctuation is fine. (If u DoN’t, tHeN u WiLl hAve bAd LuCk iN rELatiOnSHipS fOr tEn yeArS!!!!!!!! yeah right). I need to decide if going through the trouble of creating this real blog is worth the energy. You all know how lazy I can be.
I think I’ll call it Sheppard’s Pie or something to that effect. I could sell t-shirts with my face on it….mmmyes. We’ll see.
“Becca!! Do NOT eat anymore of that bean dip–I just had diarrhea!”
-My 11 year old soon-to-be-nephew in the middle of a party, loud.