POTTY PUTTER - TOILET GOLF GAME

"so glorious."

Putt while you poop with the Potty Putter!

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Modeling is Hard

I work at a modeling agency and today another agent was writing an email to a model that had sent her photos to choose from. She wanted to express how the model's amazing photos had made it really difficult for her to choose her favorites so she emailed her back, "It was SO hard! They're gorgeous!"...unfortunately, after sending the email, she realized that she had forgotten to include the T in "it"...so the email that she sent the model read,
"I was SO hard! They're gorgous!". Super amazing.

if God told you to jump off a bridge...

Last night, my roommate had her bible study at our apartment. Passing through on the way to the kitchen to refill my wine glass (ahem) and head back upstairs, I overheard one of the girls (who were all beyond nice, for the record) say that she and her roommate had been looking for a new place. Her roommate liked one place and she liked another. They spent several days trying to come to a compromise when her roommate finally told her that, "God told me that we shouldn't live in the apartment that you like"....and so now they live at the apartment her roommate liked better.... Ummmm....God just told me that your roommate just owned you.

unplanned parenthood

a text from my mother today:

"setting up 4 garage sale today. went through old wallets 2 double check. glad I did. found your old planned parenthood card! hahaha!"

I'm not a fan of f.m.l....but seriously, fml.

Frequent Drinkers Club

This weekend I went back home to Northern Michigan (I hate that song by Kid Rock, btw) to visit family and also because it was a couple of my close friend's birthdays. On Friday night, the bar was a t.o.t.a.l. high school reunion...so that, naturally, involved me avoiding eye contact with many people until I was drunk enough to miss them/want to talk to them. As the night rolled on, I crossed that threshold and, according to many people, I had a wonderful time. The next morning I woke up not feeling as great as I had (allegedly) the night before. Until that is, I checked facebook and saw that I had a message from one of my high school friends [ahem]:

"omg..... lia just told me that last night....after my boyfriend threw my ass in the car...that the two of you ordered shots and you tried to pay for them with your qdoba card. priceless."

DYING. I should note that I am reaaaaaaalllly rich when I'm drunk and I probably shoo'ed away my former classmate's attempts of paying for the shots in a baller-like fashion. Of course I immediately picked up the phone and called my friend to see what the whole story was and she answered the phone laughing hysterically. Apparently, not only did I try and pay for the shots with my qdoba card, but I also ordered said shots by yelling, "bartender! give me two of the strongest shots you've got!!". After the bartender politely noted that they didn't accept the "frequent biters club" from Qdoba as payment, I laughed hysterically and told him that he should reconsider since I had a free burrito coming. Such a triumphant return from the biiiiiig city.

Public Service Announcement

I enjoy many things French: french bulldogs, berets, saying "ooh la la", pepe le pew, french fries (ESPECIALLY french fries), and speaking in a faux French accent whenever the opportunity presents itself (i.e. always). However, one of the things I cannot stand is a bad french manicure [Please note: good french manicures do exist...but they're kind of like stumbling across a Unicorn]. Bad french manicures are typically waaaaay too long, square tipped, and were air-brushed (nike swoosh and crystals optional) by an asian woman that told you, "square tip in right now!". If you find yourself wondering if you fall in the "acceptable" or "tragically tacky" range, then you most likely have/have had the tragic version. If you're STILL unsure which category you fall into (god help you) then take this simple test: 1. Do you prefer Myspace to Facebook? If you answered "yes" to this question, you definitely have a bad french mani (and you also probably are waaay too tan, have bleached white hair, "looooooove the color pink", have a bedazzled t-shirt reading "spoiled" or "princess", and regularly take pictures of yourself rocking a sideways peace sign (so as to show off your lovely nails, of course (!!!))....essentially, you're my worst fear (m.w.f.)).

Over the years, I've discovered that many people share my opinion on this topic. Much to my delight, I've even had some of my guy friends and even my dad (!!!) point out bad frenchies to me. However, I didn't realize how far the hatred had reached until picking up the most recent copy of Us Weekly [quick side bar...if you're still reading that as: U.S. Weekly, as in United States Weekly, kill yourself. quickly]. But I digress....back to Us Weekly. On the June 1, 2009 cover, the top story is about/demonizing Kate Gosselin, otherwise known as the Kate of TLC's hit show, Jon and Kate Plus 8. For those of you that don't devour celebrity smut at the rate that I do, Jon had recently been caught cheating on Kate with a much younger woman....which is awful of him unless you consider what a terrible nagging wench that Kate is portrayed as on the show. Anyways, the article goes on and on about how Kate has gone "Hollywood", is a bad mom, diva, etc. Then, Us dropped this beautiful bomb comparing Kate to the evil "Octomom": genius! genius! genius! Well done, Us, well done. You've offically gained my respect for your hard-nosed investigative journalism and my continued readership.

***side note: Kate's manicure is an example of an acceptable fm while Octo-mom, in all her tackiness, is an example of m.w.f. (my worst fear....keep up, people).

love bytes

One of my friends, who shall remain nameless to protect her good name, met this guy one night at the bar. As stories like this usually go, they hit it off, had a few drinks, and as closing time rolled around, they were on their way back to his place to...errr....roll around. The next morning was delightfully free of awkwardness and they spent the morning cuddling and chatting (and probably picking out baby names of their future children, but that's pure speculation). According to my friend at one point her new boy even took a call from his mom while they were laying in bed together....unconventional, yes, but it was an unconventional sort of morning and she took it as a sign that he was just really comfortable around her. As the morning went on, my friend asked to use his computer to check her work email and he, naturally, complied. As she sat down at his computer, an icon for his internet popped up....along with his network name: pussy-getter. She was out the door in 5 minutes without a word of explanation and never spoke to him again.

So, I realize that I have been a wee bit MIA...but I have a good excuse...I moved, am changing careers, had computer issues, and my dog ate my blog entries (...). Thanks to those of you that sent me motivating emails (read: hate mail) encouraging me to start blogging again. I'll try not to leave you hanging again (but let's be serious...I probably will at some point).

In light of said recent move and changing of careers this is a text I received last night from one of my bestest friends. (If you're a Friends fan, you'll love this, otherwise...tough).

"So my mom thinks you should get a job at a coffee shop and from there you will get a job at Ralph Lauren."

get it? get it? amazing and realistic.

we be clubbin'

Wheel of Misfortune

Since I'm both popular and 27 I was, naturally, watching Wheel of Fortune this Friday evening. A young woman had been leading by a narrow margin over another contestant for the course of the entire show. She was now leading by only $100 when it came to the speed round towards the end of the show. Now for those of you that don't have as active a social life as I do -- the speed round is essentially just like regular Wheel of Fortune rounds, only the leading contestant spins the wheel once and the dollar amount that it lands on is the going rate for all correct letters over the course of the puzzle and the contestants have to take a stab at the answer on each turn. The young woman that spun the wheel landed on $6000 (!!!), which is essentially the holy grail of Wheel of Fortune dollar amounts. Anyway, the young woman guessed R and there were four of them so she was up to $24,000 right away but wasn't able to solve the puzzle. The other two contestants were equally successful but were also unable to solve. It went on like this for two more rounds until it got back to the young woman, now up to $36,000. The clue for the puzzle was "The Great Outdoors" and the remaining puzzle looked like this: _H_RRY OR_ _ARDS. It seemed rather obvious that the answer was "Cherry Orchards" and I waited expectantly for the young woman to answer. Excitedly, she said that she would like to solve and then exclaimed, "Cherry OrGards!!!". omg.omg.omg.omg.omg. Seriously? Since the guy that formally had been trailing this girl was familiar with the English language, he easily solved the puzzle and won the whole thing. After the show, the host asked the woman what happened and she shrugged and said, "I don't know. I thought I had it". Can you imagine? She will literally be haunted by that for the rest. of. her. life.

Jackie & Debra: Stephanie Berger

mid-day musing

I'm endlessly fascinated by vanity license plates of all kinds (shout out to bixler's mom). However, nothing perplexes me more than the fact that rented limo services always, always, ALWAYS have license plates that read: "class" something-or-other. First of all, if experience has taught me anything, a rented limo is rarely the definition of class. (Unless, that is, your definition of "class" includes cramped seating for 12 (read: uncomfortable seating for 7), guaranteed late pick up, and a squiggly-mirrored ceiling.) To be fair, however, I suppose that whenever I have been part of a rented limo, the occasion was the antithesis of class and usually ended up with people piled all over the floor in a drunken haze and someone (ie me) playing with the sunroof ala Tom Hanks in the movie Big (and hopefully eating baby corn on the cob; off the cob (!!!)). In fact, its been my observation that the only time it's ever used with sincerity is by people that also loudly chew gum. The irony, and my point here, is that limos, much like the word classy, usually aren't. Don't be fooled by these high brow license plates.

slap you to sleep

The Legend of Poop Mittens

A few years back, I was visiting my then-long-distance boyfriend at his college for the weekend with an acquaintance that graduated a couple years after me in high school. The night started out as most of my nights in college did; fun was had by all and many, MANY, MANY drinks were consumed. After the bar, the party headed back to my boyfriend's apartment where my boyfriend and I proceeded to get into a heated argument about something important like religious and political beliefs (read: he forgot to pay more attention to me). This ended with me proclaiming (slurring; what have you) that I was sleeping on the couch and promptly leaving in the morning. I woke up bright and early the next morning (noon) still drunk and pissed. As such, I rounded up my travel companion and we set off on the trip back to Ann Arbor.

On the short walk to my car, I quickly discovered that a giant booze induced poo was immanent.....I had goose bumps all over my body and yet I was also sweating profusely. Specifically, I practically had sweat dripping down my butt crack since the situation was so dire that I was in "clench mode". Not knowing the girl I was with very well, I didn't feel comfortable making her privy to the perfect storm that was brewing in my bowels. Instead, when I noticed her glance sideways at the beads of sweat forming on my forehead and upper lip, I just said, "I'm not really feeling so great". She nodded and we continued to on to my car.

Literally, within the first 10 seconds of our car ride, I swerved my car into the nearest poop-able place; in this instance, Wendy's. Throwing the car in park outside the door without even bothering with a parking spot, I yelled "park this!" to my passenger as I ran into a packed lunch hour Wendy's. The bathroom turned out to be one enormous one toilet room with no stalls......and the lock to the outside door was, naturally, broken. Panicking, I pulled off the sweatshirt I had thrown on over the bar outfit I'd slept (sequined tank, jeans, and eff-me boots...don't judge me; it was a long time ago) and hung it on the outside door knob to signal that the bathroom was "occupied".

Unbuttoning and pulling down my pants simultaniously as I hurried back to the toilet, I was overcome with the urge to throw up. Just making it in time, I did just that. Unfortunately, the force of vomiting also caused me to shoot diarrhea all over the pants around my ankles and ALL over the tiled bathroom floor. AGH!!! Turning around to finish emptying the contents of my colon I and surveyed the devastation in utter disbelief. To be gentle, the scene before me resembled that of Vietnam. Total. Nightmare. Gingerly, I removed my jeans, threw away my underwear, and attempted to clean my jeans off. It wasn't happening. As it turns out, my body had decided take that opportunity to produce limited-edition-water-insoluble-fecal-matter that literally would NOT rinse out of my pants.

This. was. not. good.

Leaving the pants in the sink to "soak" I turned to tackle the bathroom floor. In an inspired moment, I constructed some ye olde fashioned poop mittens by winding massive amounts of paper towel round and round my hands. I then used said poop mittens to "scoop" poop off of the floor. As I realized that I was only succeeding in smearing the "problem" around more, there was a knock on the door. OMG. OMG. OMG. OMG. In a panic, I squeaked, "Just a miiinute!!" while thinking, "killll me". There was NO WAY I could put the jeans back on. They were poopy and soaked through. As my own viable alternative, I opened the door a crack and snatched my sweatshirt off the door knob and quickly slammed the door shut again.

The woman knocked again. This time aggressively and I could hear her loudly complaining about how long I had been in there and how I "hadn't even parked [my] car". Working quickly, I threw paper towels on top of the residual (read: all of it) organic matter, wrapped my pants in paper towel (...don't judge me for not tossing them. They were expensive and I was poor), and proceeded to stuff my legs into each sweatshirt arm, pants-style. Yes, I was going to wear my sweatshirt as pants.

[knock! knock! knock!]

Tucking my package o' poopy pants like a football under one arm and holding my "pants" up with the other, I opened the door to the persistent woman on the other side. "Well it's about time", she started before registering my outfit and trailing off. "Sorry, it's all yours", I smiled back and headed out into the crowded dining area with the hood of my sweatshirt swaying back and forth like an utter between my legs as I walked away.

Outside, I threw my feces stained jeans into the trunk, and I got into the passenger side of the car. Looking over at the driver I commanded, "We shall never speak of this". To her credit; she never did....not that she had to since I promptly told my harrowing tale to anyone that would listen.

magic bullet

Infomercials are truly one of my favorite things [side note: CANNOT say the phrase "favorite things" without mentally picturing "brown paper packages tied up with string". I have done this for as long as I can remember]...but I digress....to recap: infomercials are one of my favorite things [there it is again]. As intended, I often find myself wondering how I have lived without the particular gadget being marketed and will often watch the entirety of this glorified hour long commercial without realizing that any time has passed at all. If you're one of those obnoxious people that "don't watch tv" (or worse; don't own one) and are unfamiliar with infomercials, they're usually aired at around 3am and prey on those that can't sleep. Since I had taken a Lunesta earlier in the evening (ie. the apparent equivalent of shooting up with adrenaline and slamming a red bull), I happened to be among those that couldn't sleep last night. Around 4am an infomercial came on for the Magic Bullet....that mini food processor/smoothie maker/something I have no use for yet desperately want, and is billed as the "personal, versatile, counter top magician".

Yes, magician.

Right around the time they slashed off 2 of the easy payments (!!!) and was reaching for my credit card, I was suddenly distracted. Very distracted. Let me explain: During the infomercial, the two main hosts had been cooking food for various extras/assumed lifelong friends whom all appeared to be garden variety infomercial extras. Half way through the infomercial, however, the makers of The Magic Bullet inexplicably added a "friend" named "Hazel". To my estimation, Hazel was approximately 20 years older than the rest of the people in the commercial and is suspected (by me) to be a man. She (term used loosely) was a mix between Dorothy and Rose on the Golden Girls (picture this: Sicily - 1942), was wearing the type of house coat that old people wear with a cig in her mouth that had approximately three INCHES of ash at the end of it at all times. I was completely perplexed by this turn of events, so I quickly turned to google to see if other people had said anything about apparent anomaly. Nothing. Nothing. at. all. I don't get it and am d.e.v.e.s.t.a.t.e.d.
Surely, I cannot be the only person that found Hazel's appearance unusual? So. I implore you; the tens of people that read my blog, to watch the magic bullet infomercial if you get the opportunity and witness the carnage that ensues. It remains the strangest thing I have ever seen on television without an even an offer of explanation. sigh. Do yourself a favor and don't miss this spectacular sight.

sign posted by the department of double entendres

picture taken outside of my friend's apartment; nyc

a mustachioed life; Part 1: a very hairy christmas

Contrary to popular belief (and in spite of overwhelming evidence to the contrary), I have, in fact, successfully completed puberty....even though my only solid proof of this rite of passage are the mental scars of my ongoing battle with moderate acne and a brief stint with a Theo Huxtable-esque mustache. A word of advice to the ladies: If you ever find yourself in this precarious situation, DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT tackle this problem with Sally Hanson's Cream Hair Bleach. You will only succeed in a Spencer Pratt-esque mustache...trust: this is not an improvement. I'm not sure what my 14-year-old thought process was, but luckily, I quickly realized that trying to trick people into thinking that my upper lip was of Norwegian descent was decidedly not the answer....and by "realized" I mean: "Christmas of '96".
Let me explain: Literally every year since I can remember my sister and I were given the EXACT same thing in our stockings. We even had a tradition of sneaking downstairs before my parents woke up to carefully sort and synchronize the unwrapping of our identically shaped gifts so as to avoid ruining the surprise for the other. This particular year, however, was a bit different [dun, dun, duuuuun]. While sorting our gifts we quickly came to the realization that our parents had decided to personalize one of our stocking gifts (!!!). Surely the only reasonable thing to do was to save this special and unique gift (that would likely be handed down to our own daughters one day) as the grand finale. Quickly working our way through our dual-gifts we finally came to our individualized stocking stuffers. Excitedly, I tore mine open to reveal what was, approximately, a 50 gallon drum of microwavable.facial.wax. from Sally Beauty Supply. NOT EVEN KIDDING. (At the time, I was so immersed in my own mortification that I can't exactly recall what my sister's "special" gift was, but to my recollection, it was a coffee mug proclaiming, "my pituitary gland knows I'm female!!!" or something to that effect.) I was horrified. It was the gifting equivalent of a drive-by shooting. [side note: I take heart in that I'm not the only victim of my mother's generosity -- we had a German exchange student that came home one day to find a stick of deodorant lying on her bed. "danke".]

To my mom's credit, the 50 gallon drum o' wax was put to good use throughout the remainder of puberty....and by the "remainder of puberty" I clearly mean "I meticulously scour my upper lip for any trace of hair in a magnifying mirror regularly".

our.friendship.is.over.

I'm not talking to you, but I will text you and I will let you know that I'm not talking to you.

cents and sensitivity

Conversation with my dad upon his return from a weekend trip to visit my 94-year-old grandmother:

me: "How was Grams doing?"

dad: "I thought that she seemed to be doing really well, but I guess that's not the general consensus."

me: "Well, what do you mean; is she sick?"

dad: "She seemed great to me; alert, up and around, etc, but when I was talking to your aunt on the trip down, she made it seem like we should probably go out back and start to dig a hole."

me: "OMG....That is so wrong."

dad [chuckling]: "Yeah, so when I got there I got on Grandma's computer and sent an email from her account to all of my siblings saying: "Since Chet [my dad] has always been my clear favorite I've decided to update my will and list him as the sole benefactor to my estate and suggest that you all do the same. Love, Mom'".

Shame-Wow

You know you're gonna spend $1000 bucks a month on cannibal hookers anyway...

http://gawker.com/5187540/shamwow-guy-beats-up-cannibal-hooker




Still don't see the resemblance? Let me help (ya catching this camera guy?):

***There is a common misconception that I got my degree in graphic design; not so***

the dust bowl

an exchange I had with a friend today:

friend: I was so bored today that I went and saw a free 30s era movie on the Great Depression at the State Theater....by myself.

me: seriously? did you bring a sack full o' jack rabbits and let them loose in the theater to add to the authenticity of the experience?

friend: I knew I should have spoken to you before going to the movie. I only thought to sneak in a carrot as a snack.

me: a completely reasonable movie snack (...) I'm sure that the loud crunch of biting into said carrot wasn't at all annoying to the only other person that went to see that movie. (btw...I'm picturing you noshing on a full sized carrot complete with a green leafy stalk on top....not to be confused with it's more popular baby-sized cousin)

friend: Actually, the theater was filled with old people and, yes, it was a full sized carrot.

me: naturally.

friend: It wasn't until I took my first bite that I realized the irony of eating an unwashed root vegetable at a movie about the Depression...

guess who?

this is an old favorite of mine that is made even better because I actually know one of the gents in the video (which clearly makes me somewhat related and/or responsible for the content).

is "gangbang" one word or two?

One of my favorite interactions with my mom. ever.


me: "i called charter because they charged me for ordering "10 Best Gangbangs" on Tuesday at 2pm...which i clearly didn't do...and they wouldn't take it off my bill"

mom: "how much was it?"

me: "$14.99"

mom: "PER gangbang?!?!"

seat 29E

I literally cannot fly without thinking about this. enjoy.

http://www.realtechnews.com/posts/1517

hold on to your fucking hats

omg. I just looove this...go to a store, buy a hat, and get ready to hold the eff on to it.

Video Recaps Full Episodes Webisodes

10 most overused expressions

While paging through the March 2009 issue of the mag, Real Simple, one of my friends [read: unintentional instigator of a verbal complex; read on] stumbled across a list of the 10 Most Overused Expressions and later said that she immediately thought of me. UGH! After I mentally dropped an anvil into a glove and slapped her across the face repeatedly (anyone? anyone?) for suggesting that I'm anything but the poster girl for originality, I decided to read the list and see for myself. Here is what I found:


10 Most Overused Expressions

1. "At the end of the Day" -- never say this

2. "Fairly unique" -- while this is something I'm apparently not, I don't say this

3. "I personally think" --admittedly, I use the vastly superior abridged version "Personally,...."

4. "At this moment in time" -- no.

5. "With all due respect" -- seriously never say this.

6. "Absolutely" -- guilty.

7. "It's a nightmare" -- I usually use this to describe people as opposed to situations ie. "That girl is a c.o.m.p.l.e.t.e. NIGHTMARE"

8. "Shouldn't of" -- how is this even considered an "expression"?

9. "24/7" -- on occasion; no more than anyone else

10. "It's not rocket science" -- what am I? A 50 year old man? NO. [side note: every time I hear someone ELSE say this expression I think of an acquaintance in college who's father was a rocket scientist and her mom was a brain surgeon. This has always struck me as funny....especially since this spawn of genius was an art major (....)]


My immediate reaction to reading the list was one of defiance....I hardly ever say ANY of those things. However, upon further reflection I realized that what she hadn't meant that I necessarily say the exact things on that list; rather, that I have always peppered my speech and writing with certain words and catch phrases. It got me thinking, so below I have compiled my very own 10 most overused expressions:

1. "Amazing" -- usually said as though it were three distinct words (ie. a-maz-ing)...kind of like I'm channeling the part of "gay best friend" in a chick flick.

2. "Obviously" -- also can be found in the form of "obv" or "obvi" and is usually said sarcastically

3. "OMG" -- a clever way to avoid using the Lord's name in vain [side note: I probably say OMG and Oh my God on a regular basis since I'm a product of the 80s. I also say "like" constantly but refuse to add it to this list since I LOATH the fact that I can't kick that habit and am in denial]

4. "Seriously" -- because I, clearly, have many serious things to say and/or have a tendency to embellish my stories and am trying to convince the listener that I am in fact "serious"

5. "Clearly" -- I'm swiftly realizing that I have no substance

6. "As it turns out" -- Usually this phrase is used to highlight an outcome to an action that should have been obvious (and usually is to everyone but me)

7. "Ridiculously" -- can also be shortened to "ridic".... also, while I am, admittedly, the worst speller on the planet my worst fear is when people desecrate this favorite of mine by spelling it "rediculous" or "redic". *gag*

8. "My worst fear" -- this list includes spiders and probably all of your mannerisms

9. "Incidentally" -- I love this word. It makes me think of a story that one of my guy friends told me about when he got pulled over for drunk driving. Knowing he would fail, he refused a breathalyzer so the police took him to get a blood test at the hospital where, according to my friend, he "incidentally faked a heart attack" in an effort to buy more time. The best part was that he said this all-important aspect of the story as though mentioning that his mom had called earlier to catch up. Alas, his efforts did him no good. As it turns out, healthy 28 year olds rarely have heart attacks.

10. "Quasi-", "-ish", "pseudo-" -- I love these for their noncommittal nature because it perfectly pairs with my own noncommittal nature.

10 1/2. When writing, the unnecessary and excessive use of the ellipsis. -- I write like I speak...so I use ellipses to break up my run-on sentences....so what?

Needless to say, this exercise in breaking down my fondness for certain words has been enlightening...because, as it turns out, I seriously need some new material...obvi

fancying myself a writer

I've always fancied myself a writer...that is, in my head. This secret desire of mine stems from the fact that being a writer would be the most.amazing.job.ever. Seriously, think about it:

1. if you're awesome (like I would be, obv) you would get a fat advance before you've actually DONE anything (!!!)

2. working in your pajamas and not showering for days without anyone being the wiser

3. the ability to drop the excuse, "would looove to chat, but I have a meeting with my publisher..." with authenticity [read: believable lie] when you run into an acquaintance you were desperately attempting to avoid eye contact with while out and about (I'll touch on this at a later date...worst.fear.ever.)

4. developing a drinking problem and lightly brushing off interventions by blaming said alcoholism as part of the creative process.

5. saying and writing nonsensical things without scrutiny since, you never know, after I die it could be g.e.n.i.u.s.

5 1/2. Whenever I say the word genius I invariably think of the restaurant scene in the movie, Mr. Deeds, when the obese opera singer responds to one of Adam Sandler's card ideas with an operatic bellowing of, "Genius! Genius! Genius!". [side note: "operatic" is possibly, and most likely, a word I just made up]. Also, the fact that I regularly think of an Adam Sandler movie when I hear the word genius is solid evidence that when I die I will never be considered anything other than dead. (whaaa whaaaa)

In fact, as far as I can tell, the only downside of being a writer is the actual writing. As you may have noticed, I get side tracked and have trouble making a point. While this is, clearly, part of my charm, it's not necessarily the most ideal trait when your occupation is to form a cohesive story, thought, sentence, etc... Besides that, I'm perfect for the job.

My only real experience with writing has been when forced in school and also a brief stint with a journal a few years back while searching for a "hobby" that didn't include drinking or spending money. Needless to say, the journal was a bust. Most of my effort was put into impressing the people that might happen upon my journal in the event of my untimely death. I pictured friends, loved ones, historians, etc. thumbing through my leather bound journal (reality check: mine was bound in light green plastic and purchased at Target) and musing over my well thought out entries and witticisms. I also found myself recounting events in the way that I wished I had behaved as opposed to what actually happened. Petty fights with my boyfriend became an opportunity for me to paint my then-boyfriend as an un-evolved liar (he was) and to portray myself as clear-minded, rational, and fair (I'm not) to the point that, looking back, boardered on Transcendentalism. The worst part is that I was aware of all of this during the actual act of writing in my journal. Something is deeply wrong with me.

Don't judge me for my unrealistic aspirations. When I die, this may all be considered genius (genius! genius! genius!).

blog-wagoneer

sup·po·si·tion
Pronunciation:
\ˌsə-pə-ˈzi-shən\
Function: noun
Meaning: an opinion or judgment based on little or no evidence


In honor of my very first blog (!!!) I felt it necessary to provide a definition for the word that essentially sums up the ramblings that come out of my mouth on a daily (and regular) basis. I love the word "supposition" for the inherent disclaimer it implies. To me, it's the equivalent of starting a sentence with, "No offense, BUT...". From experience, the only good that can come of that phrase is by completing it with, "you're much prettier than your sister". (For the record, no offense would be taken; t-shirts would be made). But I digress, back to suppositions. The purpose of this blog is meant to be an outlet for my many MANY opinions (see definition/soft disclaimer above), daily observations, and other little treasures I happen upon. On occasion, it may also serve as a pulpit to educate and inform the masses of what is universally annoying behavior [example: how you drive]. enjoy!