Cub Scouts are judgy motherf*ers.

             

- the little pricks. Walking around the metro station like they own the place. Like they've never been gloriously hungover at eleven:00am.

other possible titles for this post were...

Is 30 Too Old for Silly Bandz?

- No. Especially if they're not the real thing and were purchased from a convenience store on the way to a drinking party (like there's any other kind).

or...

At Least My Underwear is on the Right Way

- Which is better than I can manage most of the time. The following is dialogue from an actual conversation that took place. More or less:

"Do you remember puking last night?"
"What? No. In the toilet?"
"Uh, no. Do you remember me putting you in the shower to clean the puke off of you?"
"What? No. And I took my clothes off first?"
"No. I had to undress you."
"But I managed to put them back on so well?"
"No. You didn't. I did that too."
"Huh."

or...

The Four Hour Walk Ride of Shame

- Because somebody left his car keys at Thing Two's apartment in DC, and we weren't made aware of it until we were at Pentagon City, on our way to King Street to transfer to the blue line and then we had to get off and head back up to Mount Vernon Square and then do the whole thing all over again.

or...

The Time the G-Man Left Me Passed Out On a Bench in the Metro Station

- But first I had to convince him that it would be in everyone's best interest to just leave me in the station, because there was no chance in hell I was venturing out in that heat to walk back to Thing Two's apartment. And, yes, yes I would be okay by myself because I am, after all, an adult. And then I curled up in the fetal position on the hard bench and took a nap. Okay, well maybe not the fetal position since I was wearing a dress and there was a weird Asian man next to me and I didn't want him looking up my dress.

or...

Old Asian Men Like Passed-Out, Hungover Chicks

- Why else would the old man try to converse with me when I was obviously trying to snooze. I'm pretty sure my lack of response was only encouraging him to try harder. Why else would he refuse to let up? And how did he know my name?

or...

That Time I Mistook The G-Man for an Old Asian Dude

- Did I mention I was hungover?

or...

I Want to Die

- "You can die once we get to the car."

or...

How Long Does it Take OBG to Eat French Fries?

- About thirty minutes. Because when she's laying down on the bed, with the fries about six inches from her mouth, she'll be tempted to eat them straight from the container, with her mouth, because it would require way too much energy to lift her head up, but she still tries to maintain a certain level of dignity and uses her hands to eat the fries, but this requires that she take a quick power nap between every bite, wherein she forgets she even has fries, and when she opens her eyes after each nap, she is pleasantly greeted by greasy fries staring her in the face, and she thinks, "Ooh, look. Yum, fries."

Yeah so, that was my weekend. How was yours?

"Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket

       

Save it for a rainy day."*

    

I had the best intentions of posting something brilliant tonight (really, I did. I came up with three great ideas for posts while in the shower this morning, AND I wrote them down after wards. Progress!). 

HOWEVER, I had other shit to do tonight...

I spent four hours this afternoon working on a print version of my portfolio for tomorrow's job interview. When I took my jump drive back to the office to print out a few colored pages, I discovered that we had no ink left for our printer. Our new printer. Our new printer that we were given four ink cartridges for. I knew Co-Worker liked to use the printer for personal stuff, but I didn't realize how bad she was with it. Four ink cartridges should have lasted us a year doing the work that we do (meaning, we rarely have to print anything out), but Co-Worker had to go and waste it all on her homework and job applications and god-knows what else. Which means, I was unable to print my portfolio (I know what you're thinking... HYPOCRITE, but I never use that printer for non-work related things, so I figured 5 or 6 pages would be fine, so... BACK OFF!).

Anywho... I had to return to my place (after a quick trip to the store) and proceed to create a digital portfolio that I can burn onto a CD. It's going to suck not having visuals to show tomorrow, but at least I can leave the interview committee a fabulous PowerPoint presentation to view at their leisure (in other words, I'm probably wasting all my time because most likely they won't take the time to view it).

So, here I am, 10 HOURS after starting my portfolio and I'm about 1/3 of the way through. You can expect my hilarious post tomorrow.

* That would be a reference to tonight's episode of LOST, duh, NOT a Clay Aiken reference. I HATE Clay Aiken. (But I couldn't resist using this pic. Blechk. Source).

In the shower....

     

.... I am brilliant.

All my best ideas come to me in the shower. By the time I've washed, rinsed, dried, dressed and brushed, I've lost them all. I'm a genius in the shower. I'm clever. I'm funny. I'm insightful. I'm intelligent. I'm... uh... well, I'd be able to come up with numerous adjectives to describe myself if I were in the shower right now. 

In the shower, I know how to tell a story. In the shower, I can solve all the problems of the world. In the shower, I can solve all of my problems. In the shower, my thesis is completed. In the shower, I have ambition. In the shower, I am the BEST ME THAT I CAN BE!!!

I think the shower is magical. Maybe it's the hot water. Maybe it's the process of cleansing. Maybe it's fact that I'm naked. I don't know. I do know, however, that my next computer will be waterproof.