But Somebody's Gotta Do It...
12:30 p.m.
Getting out of bed feels like such a chore, but I must wake my little sister up and make her do the dishes. Otherwise, mom will come home and yell at us because the dishes aren't done. And I sure as hell ain't doing the dishes, but I also sure as hell don't want to see my mom's impression of a banshee again.
12:34 p.m.
Sonja won't get out of bed.
1, 2 Step is on the radio. Maybe I'll do a little dance - around.
12:35 p.m.
God. My thigh hurts. I just rammed into my damned drawer. I told George I wasn't going to run into things anymore after I bruised my ribs last week running into the wall between the kitchen and the stairs, but that promise was doomed from the start... I mean, a wall between me and food? Not a good idea. Who designed this house anyway?
"Why did you run into your drawer, Dunja?" you may ask, "I thought you fixed it months ago?"
Well yes, friends, it was fixed months ago, but since it stuck out for like three months before that, I'm used to it not being able to close. So I haven't been closing it lately. Leaving myself with plenty of opportunities to run into it. Sigh.
1:00 p.m.
This spaghetti is horrible. My dad made it yesterday. Except he made it with Fettucini pasta. If the dish "Spaghetti" is made with fetuccini pasta, is it still technically spaghetti? Or is it now fettucini? Or is it a hybrid? Like fetughetti? Or Spaghacini? I'll bet this is how Italians came up with all their words, just mixing other words together. Hee hee. Anyway, that's not the reason this tastes so horrible. Dad put parsley in it for a "kick". What on earth? Is this what old people do to inject excitement into their mundane lives? Do me a favour and if, at any time, I put parsley into a dish where parsley TOTALLY doesn't work for a "change", please, shoot me, and write "died the minute her life got so boring she had to put parsley into spaghetti to spice things up" on my tombstone. I know it's a little wordy, and will probably cost you muchos dinero to have it engraved, but I will wave up at you from hell. Bonus! Anyway, I only ate a bit of the spaghetti yesterday because it's bad, and I wasn't planning on eating any of it ever again, but I'm soooo hungry. And it's between this and like... making myself a sandwich. And I'm lazy. So stupid spaghetti it is. :(
2:00 p.m.
Maybe I'll read for my class. A bit. I don't want to exert myself.
4:00 p.m.
Phoney phone phone phone.
6:30 p.m.
My mom "needs" the phone to call her "husband" because it's their "anniversary". How lame.
6:35 p.m.
Phoney phone phone phone.
7:00 p.m.
MSN: A synopsis: Whatcha doing tonight? Nothing. You? Nothing. Cool. Yeah, cool. We should do something. No, I'd rather do nothing. Alright. Yeah. Cool. Cool. Later. Later.
8:00 p.m.
Movie movie movie.
10:00 p.m.
God. That movie was SO sad. Don't ever watch "Stand By Me" without a box of Kleenex handy.
Sonja is laughing at me. She's so evil. She doesn't even feel the plight of people with no friends. Ex. Me. If she pierces her lip, I'll personally kill her. (Last bit = sidenote.)
11:00 p.m.
It's days like this that make getting out of bed seem like such a chore. It's a tough job...
Getting out of bed feels like such a chore, but I must wake my little sister up and make her do the dishes. Otherwise, mom will come home and yell at us because the dishes aren't done. And I sure as hell ain't doing the dishes, but I also sure as hell don't want to see my mom's impression of a banshee again.
12:34 p.m.
Sonja won't get out of bed.
1, 2 Step is on the radio. Maybe I'll do a little dance - around.
12:35 p.m.
God. My thigh hurts. I just rammed into my damned drawer. I told George I wasn't going to run into things anymore after I bruised my ribs last week running into the wall between the kitchen and the stairs, but that promise was doomed from the start... I mean, a wall between me and food? Not a good idea. Who designed this house anyway?
"Why did you run into your drawer, Dunja?" you may ask, "I thought you fixed it months ago?"
Well yes, friends, it was fixed months ago, but since it stuck out for like three months before that, I'm used to it not being able to close. So I haven't been closing it lately. Leaving myself with plenty of opportunities to run into it. Sigh.
1:00 p.m.
This spaghetti is horrible. My dad made it yesterday. Except he made it with Fettucini pasta. If the dish "Spaghetti" is made with fetuccini pasta, is it still technically spaghetti? Or is it now fettucini? Or is it a hybrid? Like fetughetti? Or Spaghacini? I'll bet this is how Italians came up with all their words, just mixing other words together. Hee hee. Anyway, that's not the reason this tastes so horrible. Dad put parsley in it for a "kick". What on earth? Is this what old people do to inject excitement into their mundane lives? Do me a favour and if, at any time, I put parsley into a dish where parsley TOTALLY doesn't work for a "change", please, shoot me, and write "died the minute her life got so boring she had to put parsley into spaghetti to spice things up" on my tombstone. I know it's a little wordy, and will probably cost you muchos dinero to have it engraved, but I will wave up at you from hell. Bonus! Anyway, I only ate a bit of the spaghetti yesterday because it's bad, and I wasn't planning on eating any of it ever again, but I'm soooo hungry. And it's between this and like... making myself a sandwich. And I'm lazy. So stupid spaghetti it is. :(
2:00 p.m.
Maybe I'll read for my class. A bit. I don't want to exert myself.
4:00 p.m.
Phoney phone phone phone.
6:30 p.m.
My mom "needs" the phone to call her "husband" because it's their "anniversary". How lame.
6:35 p.m.
Phoney phone phone phone.
7:00 p.m.
MSN: A synopsis: Whatcha doing tonight? Nothing. You? Nothing. Cool. Yeah, cool. We should do something. No, I'd rather do nothing. Alright. Yeah. Cool. Cool. Later. Later.
8:00 p.m.
Movie movie movie.
10:00 p.m.
God. That movie was SO sad. Don't ever watch "Stand By Me" without a box of Kleenex handy.
Sonja is laughing at me. She's so evil. She doesn't even feel the plight of people with no friends. Ex. Me. If she pierces her lip, I'll personally kill her. (Last bit = sidenote.)
11:00 p.m.
It's days like this that make getting out of bed seem like such a chore. It's a tough job...
posted by captain obvious at 11:35 p.m.
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