Floccinaucinihilipilification

Again, couldn't not use it. They make great titles, no??? Means estimating something as worthless. Much like your attempt to pronounce it. I actually do know how to pronounce it, but only because they used it on a commercial years ago.

(Note: This was way longer and probably funnier, but blogger is pitching a hissy fit it ate my post. And only regurgitated half of it when I hit the recall button.)

So, I know you were all sitting at your computors all day yesterday, obsessively checking my blog and thinking, "What!?!?!?! Where is the update!?!?!?!?" And when there wasn't one, I'm sure you were heartbroken.

So was I. I had to spend seven hours and fifteen minutes (longer if you count check-in, although they gave us cookies during that) with my generation. Oh. Not good. Not good at all.

I don't like my people. They bug the hell out of me. I like my people being touchy feely and diverse even less than I like them normally.

And then when you add having to sit out in the sun for three hours to "bond" (read: get burned so badly that you can see the imprint of my bracelet clasp on the actual skin) while playing Cross the Line (No, I do not drink to much somtimes; yes, I do know a gay person; yes, I do know someone who has been discriminated against; no, I'm not involved in any hideously inappropriate but welcome nonetheless relationships...you get the idea), things become almost unbearable.

But the day was not a complete waste- free condoms courtesy of the Lesbian, Gay, Trans- and Bisexual community!!! Whoo! I'm kidding, y'all. Well, not about the offer, but the allusion that I might have taken them up on it. I just had to write something, as it was pretty much all they talked about.

Birth control aside, I did get my schedule finished- with my ideal classes and times. Snaps for me!!! French, Russian, math, psychology, and geography. What the hell made me think that was a good idea???I'm so happy- I can just forget about it until the end of August.

(My ID card sucks. Not nearly as pretty as my old one, and I look like crap. I'm thinking of losing it.)


The Infangelina made her photo debut, in People magazine, no less. That must be lie the ultimate power trip for a little kid- yes, sweetie, crazy people who don’t have lives of their own bought millions of copies just for a glimpse of your cute little face. Nobody wanted to spend three fifty for my baby pictures. And I was a cute baby. Every bit as cute as the Infangelina. Less rich. But still cute.

And I love how her mouth is just the same as her mom’s. I’ll be Angelina’s genes went all Lara Croft and beat the hell out of Brad’s genes. They were probably like, “Yeah. I already have your X chromosome. Now you will die.”



I finished The Man Who Loved Jane Austen. ZOMG, SOOOOO awesome. Now I’m reading the latest from Meg Cabot, The Queen of Babble. Yeah, you know when the title is that intelligent it’s going to be chick lit. I am a sucker for brightly-colored paperbacks sporting a shoe or a dress or half a woman’s face (why never the whole face???) and pastel printing. I don’t feel quite as guilty about it as I used to, because for most of the year I read history books or old novels or at the worst historical fiction. But every couple months, especially during summer, I have this overwhelming urge to read three hundred pages of bit letters about some plucky, slightly overweight young woman’s adventures in love and loss in New York City (usually). Except she never actually loses anything, she just ends up with the obscenely hot guy you knew she would and they’re in Europe making out or something. And then you look outside at your so not-European Midwestern backyard completely lacking in obscenely hot guys to make out with and feel a little bit sad. But that’s okay.

Because you didn’t have to think. All the other books I read require you to think, usually both cognitively and then philosophically. 1984? Loved it to death, but depressing as hell and I spent the entire day going, “What did that mean (what did the words say)?” and then “What does that mean (for humanity)?” Anything written by the woman who brought us The Princess Diaries and the infinitely satisfying Size 12 is Not Fat? Not so much.


Okay, so I’ve been thinking a lot about Mr. Darcy lately. Partly because of the book I read, which caused my Inner Lizzie Bennett to scream, “YEAH, BITCH!!! I KNEW HE WAS REAL!!!!!!!!”, and also because there was this older woman who came into work on Tuesday and was buying coffee for her singles book club. She was talking about how at first there was nobody, and then the second week this really nice guy showed up- like so nice that she was thinking she’d have to ask somebody else to run the singles book club (her words, not mine). She was so cute about it, and for some reason it made me think of a real-life Mr. Darcy. I think whenever you talk about going out with somebody with a literary part, every single girl would think of Mr. Darcy. Am I right, girls???
Current Mood:
contemplative