Very important life lesson that I have never before considered:
Never ever never, not ever should you listen to your voicemail messages (of the preceding months) when it is possibly (probably) too late to call or text message your responsible friends (Yes, even on a Friday. Breeders.) Apparently, my stint of actually taking my prescribed anxiety medication a couple of months ago(exacerbated by occasional pot) lent to my contacting people and not remembering what the fuck I said to them. I left messages with atleast two people I don't speak to very often that led to their calling me back and leaving me querying messages. Their return messages were left atleast a month ago and because I neither expected to hear from them nor do I listen to my voicemail messages but to purge them, I am severely remiss in both the initiated contact and the subsequent lack of follow-through.
I spend most of my time dodging people and when I am in power-save, stupidface mode I get all socially active.
Second very important lesson:
If you feel really nice, you probably will regret talking to anyone because chances are that you're not lucid.
I'm tired of apologizing for being caught with my ass out.
I guess my predilection for openess while high was indicated early, afterall, as my HS boyfriend had a message I had left for him as his outgoing message for eons due to his belief that it was comedy gold. I was not going for the gold. He had a techno song for an outgoing message at the time I left the message (don't get confused, yet.. the story isn't that convoluted) and the exchange between myself and the voicemailbox message went something like this:
VMB: OONZA OONZA OONZA OONZA DEE DEE DEE DEE DEE DEE DEE DEE OONZA OONZA OONZA OONZA [BEEP]
ME: ... [yes, an elipsis.. imagine several uncomfortable moments of confused silence but for the sound of my skull-gears grinding painfully]
Oh.. Woooow... [pause]
Whoa [laughter]
Whoa
Wow
What the fuck, e-tard?!
[silence]
Um...
yeah.
[CLICK]
If I've recreated that message 10 years later I'm going to break shit 'bout it.
Note: I almost erroneously said "nigh on 10 years" and then realized, much to my vanity's chagrin, that it was exactly 10 years. Depressing. I've been fucking for 10 years and counting. Happy Aluminum Anniversary, Penises!! I got you naught but warm lodging. Sorry.
In other ways in which I'm a fucking loser:
I must stop naming random wildlife I encounter and worrying about them when they go about the task of being fauna.
I have a long ambivalent relationship with spiders. Fondness of Charlotte's Web lending to my being oddly fasinated and protective of them as a small child turned into fear and loathing when, while playing tag as a little kid and running through a garden spider's web, my Grannie took to screaming in a panic and tackling me, patting me down for fear I was going to become Spiderman, presumably. I've since done horrible things to spiders whose only crime was looking creepy in my general vicinity whilst laughing maniacly as they twitched in their death throes. (Yes, that WAS a dangling participle. Thanks for noticing. I couldn't work it out without getting protracted so suck it.) This all aside, there is a teensy-tiny black spider that lives in my foyer that I've named Bobby. I worry that Bobby is going to get smooshed when I'm not looking or get eaten by one of my evil cats. I think this must be because liking Bobby cheers me up. He hangs in the windowsill and hops around excitedly and it mushes me a little. Not only do I not want to kill him, I smile when I see his hoppy ass. I cannot figure out why as I am neither totally drool-on-my-shoulder crazy nor am I simply a vehicle for my vagina and its resultant emotional boody-hoody. I suspect that on some level I must think "Aw.. I'm a good person for liking you, arachnid, for I am mammal and therefore superior and capable of producing milk and a nice glossy coat.. all you can do is create incredibly complex constructions of a fiber that comes out of your ass and daily destroy and reconstruct such architechtural feats simply to feed yourself." Only coceivable reason.
There was a frog outside that I sang "ribbut ribbut ribbut ribbut" to for minutes of his totally blowing me off.
(Theory: Frogs are snobs. Just sayin')
I worry that a cat will come and snack him or that someone might step on him.
I move snails for this reason.
I don't wear hemp or listen to phish, actually. Thanks for assuming. I'm just really not cool with death and lack of control both in tandem with dying and individually.
I think I project my death onto animals to some extent, possibly maybe.
Don't name random house-spiders, people. Bobby will disappear one day soon and on that day I will have a remarkably stupid problem that I had absolutely no reason for encountering in the first place.
Sooooooo jealous of how into rainbows this guy is: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OQSNhk5ICTI
I wish I liked anything that much.
More shit-talking myself next time.
<3poot<3
Never ever never, not ever should you listen to your voicemail messages (of the preceding months) when it is possibly (probably) too late to call or text message your responsible friends (Yes, even on a Friday. Breeders.) Apparently, my stint of actually taking my prescribed anxiety medication a couple of months ago(exacerbated by occasional pot) lent to my contacting people and not remembering what the fuck I said to them. I left messages with atleast two people I don't speak to very often that led to their calling me back and leaving me querying messages. Their return messages were left atleast a month ago and because I neither expected to hear from them nor do I listen to my voicemail messages but to purge them, I am severely remiss in both the initiated contact and the subsequent lack of follow-through.
I spend most of my time dodging people and when I am in power-save, stupidface mode I get all socially active.
Second very important lesson:
If you feel really nice, you probably will regret talking to anyone because chances are that you're not lucid.
I'm tired of apologizing for being caught with my ass out.
I guess my predilection for openess while high was indicated early, afterall, as my HS boyfriend had a message I had left for him as his outgoing message for eons due to his belief that it was comedy gold. I was not going for the gold. He had a techno song for an outgoing message at the time I left the message (don't get confused, yet.. the story isn't that convoluted) and the exchange between myself and the voicemailbox message went something like this:
VMB: OONZA OONZA OONZA OONZA DEE DEE DEE DEE DEE DEE DEE DEE OONZA OONZA OONZA OONZA [BEEP]
ME: ... [yes, an elipsis.. imagine several uncomfortable moments of confused silence but for the sound of my skull-gears grinding painfully]
Oh.. Woooow... [pause]
Whoa [laughter]
Whoa
Wow
What the fuck, e-tard?!
[silence]
Um...
yeah.
[CLICK]
If I've recreated that message 10 years later I'm going to break shit 'bout it.
Note: I almost erroneously said "nigh on 10 years" and then realized, much to my vanity's chagrin, that it was exactly 10 years. Depressing. I've been fucking for 10 years and counting. Happy Aluminum Anniversary, Penises!! I got you naught but warm lodging. Sorry.
In other ways in which I'm a fucking loser:
I must stop naming random wildlife I encounter and worrying about them when they go about the task of being fauna.
I have a long ambivalent relationship with spiders. Fondness of Charlotte's Web lending to my being oddly fasinated and protective of them as a small child turned into fear and loathing when, while playing tag as a little kid and running through a garden spider's web, my Grannie took to screaming in a panic and tackling me, patting me down for fear I was going to become Spiderman, presumably. I've since done horrible things to spiders whose only crime was looking creepy in my general vicinity whilst laughing maniacly as they twitched in their death throes. (Yes, that WAS a dangling participle. Thanks for noticing. I couldn't work it out without getting protracted so suck it.) This all aside, there is a teensy-tiny black spider that lives in my foyer that I've named Bobby. I worry that Bobby is going to get smooshed when I'm not looking or get eaten by one of my evil cats. I think this must be because liking Bobby cheers me up. He hangs in the windowsill and hops around excitedly and it mushes me a little. Not only do I not want to kill him, I smile when I see his hoppy ass. I cannot figure out why as I am neither totally drool-on-my-shoulder crazy nor am I simply a vehicle for my vagina and its resultant emotional boody-hoody. I suspect that on some level I must think "Aw.. I'm a good person for liking you, arachnid, for I am mammal and therefore superior and capable of producing milk and a nice glossy coat.. all you can do is create incredibly complex constructions of a fiber that comes out of your ass and daily destroy and reconstruct such architechtural feats simply to feed yourself." Only coceivable reason.
There was a frog outside that I sang "ribbut ribbut ribbut ribbut" to for minutes of his totally blowing me off.
(Theory: Frogs are snobs. Just sayin')
I worry that a cat will come and snack him or that someone might step on him.
I move snails for this reason.
I don't wear hemp or listen to phish, actually. Thanks for assuming. I'm just really not cool with death and lack of control both in tandem with dying and individually.
I think I project my death onto animals to some extent, possibly maybe.
Don't name random house-spiders, people. Bobby will disappear one day soon and on that day I will have a remarkably stupid problem that I had absolutely no reason for encountering in the first place.
Sooooooo jealous of how into rainbows this guy is: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OQSNhk5ICTI
I wish I liked anything that much.
More shit-talking myself next time.
<3poot<3
congrats on a fucking decade. im still 2 years away. i think my brother very specifically is angry about this dibs thing. he calls dibs on girls all the time, but i never took it seriously. so misogynistic. but i'm learning that he is not as shiny as person as i'd thought him to be.
that rainbow guy is crazy into that shit. i think i've been in his shoes, but not without drugs. i wonder what he was on.