Lashing out.

“Up with the volume, down with the weight.”

This was the tag line for Almay’s latest mascara endorsed by Taylor Swift. “Down with the weight.”  As if the mascara I’ve been wearing all these years has been weighing down my eyelids and making it difficult to keep my eyes open because of its heaviness. As if my mascara is the reason that people sometimes mistake me for being partially Asian. Is that the best you can do, Almay?

I smell outrageously fantastic right now. I just purchased Boots brand “Coconut & Hibiscus” body butter and body wash, and I smell like a sexy, beachy babe. It’s taking just about every ounce of self control I have to not reach down and lick my forearm. I still might do it. I love things that smell good. If I were an out of control hoarder, I would spend every penny I earned on body washes, soaps, and lotions. It would be a financial disaster. At least it would be a good smelling, clean financial disaster.

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I wish my body permanently smelled like something awesome. Wouldn’t that be great? Instead of naturally smelling like raw onions and salt, we smelled like milk chocolate or Subway. That would be excellent. If I could permanently and naturally smell like something, my top choices would have to be the following:

1. Vanilla.  I love vanilla. Vanilla everything. Icing, cupcakes, cake batter, warm vanilla sugar—it gets me. It’s so warm and inviting and yummy. I would go all out. I would smear vanilla icing all over the top of my head and stick a birthday candle on the top of my scalp. People would want to put their tongues on me, not that they don’t already.

2.  Coconut.  Coconut is delicious. If there is a Whitman’s Sampler anywhere near by, you can count on finding the entire box having been rummaged through with bites taken out of every single chocolate with the rest left behind, and the two coconut filled ones vanished without a trace. I turn into a feral raccoon on boxes of chocolates to find myself those sweet, coveted coconut ones. I go “coconuts.” (Lolz)

3.  Brown sugar.  I could eat an entire bag of brown sugar with a spoon if it were allowed. It smells heavenly. It’s such a sweet, warm, delicious aroma. Who doesn’t love inhaling the sweet smell of baked goods? Again with the licking. I truly want to taste myself when I’m covered in brown sugar scented toiletries.

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4.  Ryan Gosling.  No one looks this good without smelling equally as sexy. I’m sure of it.

In other news, I discovered I can type 109 words per minute today with 95% accuracy which is pretty braggable. Since we’re visiting Bragville, I also scored 116 points today on Words With Friends on the words “tonga” and “jager.” I have no idea what “tonga” is, but I got a triple letter score on the J for both words, plus a triple word score on “jager.”  Who will pay me for these skills? Probably no one. Another talent gone to waste.

Well, time to go sniff myself.

….with my tongue.

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“I wish she was annoying so I could have gotten laid, then ignored her, and not have felt guilty about it.”

Meathead.

I want so many material goods.  I need a million dollars. I want a genie. Or a sugar daddy. I have a friend who once had a real sugar daddy; some old Indian dude that just loved her and gave her money, gifts, and fancy dinners on the reg. Where can I sign up for one of those? Maybe I can search on Craigslist.

Actually, that sounds like a great way to get tortured and killed.

I suddenly have this great desire for shoes and boots of all kinds. I want them all. Will somebody please get me a rad pair of Sperry Topsiders? And maybe some high top sneakers? Also I need some black boots.

People that eat boiled hotdogs need to be punched in the face. It’s so disgusting. The only way to eat a hotdog is to flame broil the crap out of it over a roaring fire until it is hissing with juicy readiness, bubbling and slightly blackening, ready for the pillaging and ketchup-smothering. Eating a boiled hotdog is like eating a raw chicken leg as far as I’m concerned.

It’s not right. It’s gross. It is punishable by death. End scene.

I need to do 800 loads of laundry today. How am I supposed to do that? Someone tell me. I wish I didn’t loathe doing menial tasks so much. For some reason I don’t mind doing other peoples’ dishes, but I despise doing my own. Not that dishes have anything to do with laundry at all. Anyway,

I know all of you have been sweating and biting your nails and having restless nights laying in bed worrying about my damaged teeth, so allow me to update you. The excruciating, vomit-inducing pain subsided after the first day. My jaw is still sore, and my bottom left teeth are still not in ideal shape. One in particular, the pointy 3rd one over, feels…dead, for a lack of better words. I still have to chew my food with a ridiculous overbite to avoid letting Murdered Tooth come in contact with any of my other teeth. I really, really hope I didn’t do any root damage. We’ll see.

Well, time to try to do some work. Peace.

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“SIR, STAND UP! STAND, UP!”