9 Mar

I used to have a t-shirt that said “I used to be schizophrenic, but we’re okay now.” I thought it was cool.

I was 13.

^ My hair.

^ My hands.

This dry winter air is really getting to me. I might shrivel up and die soon. My hair is conducting more electricity than a 5,000 acre wind mill farm. I have been shocking myself left and right on doorknobs, my laptop, my keys–even Bentley. I shocked poor Bentley on the schnoz earlier today by accident. It’s starting to get pretty annoying. My hair? It’s clinging to my face and neck like a giant spiderweb. No amount of product or conditioner can calm it down. I look like a fiber optic decoration.

I feel like a molting reptile. My hands are dry and cracking. I specifically sought out “hand cream” today in an effort so save what’s left of my epidermis. I don’t know how or if “hand” cream differs greatly from “leg” cream or “arm” cream or “face” cream, but it certainly smells delicious, and that’s fine.

I recently purchased the most fantastic smelling deodorant ever to be invented by a toiletry company. The other day as I was putting on my coat, I caught a whiff of something deliciously intoxicating. “What perfume am I wearing?” I asked myself. “Lotion?” I tried to remember. But nay, it was neither. The source of this delightful aroma was actually my armpits.

You heard me right. My armpits smelled like a sexy peach. More than once, I have glanced left and right to make sure no one was nearby to catch me sniffing away at my underarms, enjoying the scent. What is this amazing elixir, you ask? Degree “Sexy Intrigue” deodorant. MMMM. I’m hoping they’ll smarten up and come out with a matching scented body lotion and spray. I’ll be all over that like white on rice.

I don’t watch TV. I don’t. Probably because I can barely turn one on. I didn’t know what happened in Haiti until four days after it happened. I had seen/heard the occasional comment about the nation of Haiti itself, but I did not know what happened there until over a half a week later. Definitely not a news-watcher. You know what they say though–ignorance is bliss. Right? Right.

I have spent the last couple of weeks trying to get my ducks in a row for my wedding. Trent and I finally went out and started looking at groomsmen/groom attire and a wedding band. I actually talked to my caterer, and am now trying to figure out flowers and invitations. I don’t know what it is about these crafty parts of wedding-doing that makes me lose my mind. Trying to create/find invitations that a) don’t cost $18 apiece, and b) don’t have homosexual floral/butterfly prints on them is damn near impossible. Sometimes I wish I had a wedding planner. Then I remember that’s what Cassie Schultz is for.

Well, time to chug water and go to Borders.

Me: “Like, how often do you think you sit down to pee?”
Someone: “Probably like, 10% of the time. It’s mostly when I’m tired. You know, I don’t feel like standing.”


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