1. I had horrible taste in music in 2007
2. I was a really really slow runner
3. I have a mugglenet fanfiction account
4. There is a Brittish Emma who lives in London that likes shitty music, movies, and Tv
The first results to come up were actually me... which I find a little creepy.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Sunday, March 20, 2011
How did I forget about this?
So I recently discovered another hilarious blog with pictures like Hyperbole-and-a-Half called Book of Adam.
He's funny.
I read a post about when he got Strep in college and remembered, 'Oh. Me too!'
Here is the link to that post.
I commented on it which turned out to be my personal story. Since I am lazy, I'm going to just copy and paste it here.
I had a bad case of strep this year too!
Since going to college, my immune system has been all, "Screw you and your record years of great health, Imma go on vacation!" So I have been sick at least 2 weeks out of every quarter, and I have only completed two.
So at the beginning of this recently completed winter quarter I got severe strep and missed the first week of class. After two days of crying every time I ate harsh cafeteria food, I finally went into the health center and sure enough: Strep.
So they prescribed me some antibiotics and painkillers.
Really strong painkillers.
Bedridden in a college dorm doesn't stop visitors so a parade of people would come by to see me in my worsened condition all wrapped tightly in my quilt.
And bat-shit loopy.
It soon became that people were coming around to see if I would do anything weird due to those painkillers.
My roommate's favorite incident is as follows.
All my friends are out of class and have dropped by to see me before dinner, after which they were all going to a basketball game. I wasn't too interesting laying on our tiny couch watching Arrested Development; but I'm told I had a creepy silent laughing fit and gave creaky-voiced compliments?
Anyways they have been gone for hours and I have just taken another dose of pain meds and I decided to climb in bed. However, bunk beds serve extreme obstacles to me, even in normal conditions. Especially since I don't have a ladder and must use my desk to get into my bed.
This is all I (barely) remember- putting soft music on and turning off the lights.
This is what I am told happened.
7:30?-Roomie receives a text with bad spelling that looks something like, 'song sooo goo yoi loks it.'
9:30-She and three of our guy friends get back from the game and she cracks the door first and to see if I'm in bed. I'm not. Instead, I am slumped against my bed, asleep, sitting on my desk with no pants on. I kind of wake from my stupor, yell at my computer for not playing some song and pass out again.
She tells me it took her a few minutes, a Modest Mouse song, and a cup of tea to convince me it was alright to climb clumsily into bed where I yet again passed right out.
He's funny.
I read a post about when he got Strep in college and remembered, 'Oh. Me too!'
Here is the link to that post.
I commented on it which turned out to be my personal story. Since I am lazy, I'm going to just copy and paste it here.
I had a bad case of strep this year too!
Since going to college, my immune system has been all, "Screw you and your record years of great health, Imma go on vacation!" So I have been sick at least 2 weeks out of every quarter, and I have only completed two.
So at the beginning of this recently completed winter quarter I got severe strep and missed the first week of class. After two days of crying every time I ate harsh cafeteria food, I finally went into the health center and sure enough: Strep.
So they prescribed me some antibiotics and painkillers.
Really strong painkillers.
Bedridden in a college dorm doesn't stop visitors so a parade of people would come by to see me in my worsened condition all wrapped tightly in my quilt.
And bat-shit loopy.
It soon became that people were coming around to see if I would do anything weird due to those painkillers.
My roommate's favorite incident is as follows.
All my friends are out of class and have dropped by to see me before dinner, after which they were all going to a basketball game. I wasn't too interesting laying on our tiny couch watching Arrested Development; but I'm told I had a creepy silent laughing fit and gave creaky-voiced compliments?
Anyways they have been gone for hours and I have just taken another dose of pain meds and I decided to climb in bed. However, bunk beds serve extreme obstacles to me, even in normal conditions. Especially since I don't have a ladder and must use my desk to get into my bed.
This is all I (barely) remember- putting soft music on and turning off the lights.
This is what I am told happened.
7:30?-Roomie receives a text with bad spelling that looks something like, 'song sooo goo yoi loks it.'
9:30-She and three of our guy friends get back from the game and she cracks the door first and to see if I'm in bed. I'm not. Instead, I am slumped against my bed, asleep, sitting on my desk with no pants on. I kind of wake from my stupor, yell at my computer for not playing some song and pass out again.
She tells me it took her a few minutes, a Modest Mouse song, and a cup of tea to convince me it was alright to climb clumsily into bed where I yet again passed right out.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
The bane of my existence is
Painting my nails. God I hate it. Okay, but I also love it.
So I can sit there and paint a gorgeous scene on my stupid stubby fingernails so it looks something like this:
And I cackle with mad delight at my obvious artistic talent to rival that of Michelangelo because, hell, I'm just a genius...
Alright, that's a lie. My nails usually look more like this:
That drawing took me, like, twenty minutes. Whereas if I had one of those nice track pad things with the stylus pen I could have done a WAY better job (I drew a really cool tree with one once...). But that is pretty much the extent of my actual artistic talent. I even had to Google pictures of hands to get an idea... then I realized I have two I could have just as easily looked at. I frustrate myself.
Sometimes I am not the quickest of wit.
By the way, my nails really are green but without purple dots.
Right. So I spend all this time trying really hard to get them all nice and pretty, take time to let them dry and everything!
Only to have them get scratched all to hell like the BMW of a company executive whose wife has just found him in the grips of something that couldn't even make it into the Kama Sutra with his 20-years-younger-than-her secretary and this wife has some pretty vicious keys:
Not a big deal right?
WRONG
I am a little OCD, I think, and the smallest imperfection on a thing that will be in my line of sight repeatedly for all my life (my hands) is ineffable. It is not allowed. Just... God... No.
So I usually take it off in the same day.
And I forget why I just don't bother painting them in the first place.
So I can sit there and paint a gorgeous scene on my stupid stubby fingernails so it looks something like this:
And I cackle with mad delight at my obvious artistic talent to rival that of Michelangelo because, hell, I'm just a genius...
Alright, that's a lie. My nails usually look more like this:
That drawing took me, like, twenty minutes. Whereas if I had one of those nice track pad things with the stylus pen I could have done a WAY better job (I drew a really cool tree with one once...). But that is pretty much the extent of my actual artistic talent. I even had to Google pictures of hands to get an idea... then I realized I have two I could have just as easily looked at. I frustrate myself.
Sometimes I am not the quickest of wit.
By the way, my nails really are green but without purple dots.
Right. So I spend all this time trying really hard to get them all nice and pretty, take time to let them dry and everything!
Only to have them get scratched all to hell like the BMW of a company executive whose wife has just found him in the grips of something that couldn't even make it into the Kama Sutra with his 20-years-younger-than-her secretary and this wife has some pretty vicious keys:
WRONG
I am a little OCD, I think, and the smallest imperfection on a thing that will be in my line of sight repeatedly for all my life (my hands) is ineffable. It is not allowed. Just... God... No.
So I usually take it off in the same day.
And I forget why I just don't bother painting them in the first place.
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