I wish I could pull off bright red lipstick. I’m watching The Notebook right now, admiring Rachel McAdams’ good looks, and studying her scarlet stained lips with her fire engine red lipstick, wondering to myself why I can’t do the same. When I wear brightly colored lipstick, I look like a blood-thirsty vampire. I look like a clown that dropped out of cosmetology school. What’s the secret? Someone get Mary Kay on the phone and schedule me a makeover.
It’s almost time for me to bust out the swimsuit and pack my bags for Mexico. Woo! I haven’t bought a new swimsuit in a couple of years. Probably because it takes four years to save up for one. It is truly ludicrous the dollar amounts they charge for swimsuits these days. Seriously, 9 square inches of swimsuit material barely large enough to cover your nipples successfully is like fifty bucks. And that’s just for the top! The bottom is another fifty bucks. Sixty if you’re Kim Kardashian. Somebody give me a valid explanation as to why that barely existent scrap of nylon and lycra costs as much as this dress:
Up until about six days ago, I had never heard the title “Jersey Shore” and did not know what a “guido” was. This information is still true, although tonight I happened upon program about the “Jersey Shore Reunion” as I was busy addressing save-the-dates, so I left the television on that channel to try to figure out what the fuss was over this show. Let’s just say now I know why I never watched it, and never will, but I do have something of relevance to mention now that I have familiarized myself with the cast.
Pauly D. Your haircut? What possesses you to present yourself this way, besides the obvious alcohol abuse and appetite for attention, bad or good? Remember the bowl cut? Well, this man’s haircut looks like he stuck his head into a large badminton birdie or an upside down construction cone and poured rubber cement inside and let it harden. Do people actually find this style attractive? My, god. The website where I found the above photo ironically had a video attached to it of Pauly himself, doing his hair. After a very tedious blow-drying job, he puts at least of quart of gel in his hair, and then continually sprays aerosol hair spray around his hair for an entire 16 seconds. This man is solely responsible for the depletion of the ozone layer. No one else.
Apparently it takes, and I quote, “25 minutes to make his hair perfect.”
“Perfect” isn’t exactly the adjective I would use to describe that spiky helmet atop your head, Mr. D. Is this man preparing for a construction job by skipping the hard hat and just being resourceful? Is this the new way to go green or something? This guy could head butt a mountain sheep and not suffer any injury because of the solid, protective atmosphere he has built around his cranium. Not attractive.
When I am filthy rotten rich in a few years and literally do not know what to do with my money any more, I am going to start a kickass pet shelter for dogs. That way, I can fulfill my fantasy of owning 30 canines at once, just not all in my house, and also rescue abused/abandoned pups roaming the streets. Ooooh I can’t wait. If money really didn’t matter, I would seriously just work at a pet shelter and care for animals. Maybe I should be a vet.
Oh wait, you need a degree for that.
Last night I dreamed I found a tiny, neon yellow baby owl with a black face (which does not exist in nature, obviously. I do acid before bed) in my kitchen. It didn’t trust anyone in the house except me, so I picked it up and tried to google it. Then I woke up.
…Thanks for stopping by.
For a moment, I considered typing “Thanks for stopping; bye.” Because your use of punctuation and spelling can really change a sentence around. Most of you don’t know that because your intelligence doesn’t reach much higher than a 4th grade level, but I thought I’d share anyway.
Sparrow (stoned): What’s that movie with the orgasmo ray?
Richard: ….you mean Orgasmo?
Sparrow (still stoned): …Oh yeah.