My brain is like the floor of my car... |
[Sep. 15th, 2008|09:52 am]
terribleturnip
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Random detritus, crushed Diet Dew cans, dried rose petals, more than a bit soggy (the A/C is leaking again. That's for the car. My brain...no excuse) and in great need of a steam cleaning.
Although personally, I'd rather faire boogers than butt chafe. Where's the Boudreaux's when I needed it?
This weekend I established the "sightedness" of many of my faire friends, having been on site in civvies and in my Virginia Faire/more authentic Renwear Brown. Some of you are color-sighted and some of you boob-sighted, because you walked right by me without recognizing me. I know who you are...
Mens' cologne should not enter a room before them, nor stay in a room after they leave. Men, please remember that women have far more sensitive noses than you do, so if YOU can clearly smell the cologne you are KILLING us. On the other hand, your wife may just be using as an early warning device so you can't sneak up on her.
Personally, I'm not a fan anyway, since my nasal "palate" is so sensitive that I will hallucinate odors. And while not many women are into unwashed, dirty-clothed, man-stink...really, just the natural you is usually just fine with us. If you want to use a little man-perfume and you've never had a woman guide you on how much is enough...ask.
Screw the Collider. I suspect that the end of the world will be presaged by me getting 8 hours of sleep. I finally managed to get to bed early enough, but then spent all night waking up, rolling over, falling right back to sleep, only to wake up two hours later, repeat. I kept falling right back to sleep, but suspect that coming fully awake and alert was not conducive to a good night's sleep.
We've had a local business offer to donate candy to Scary Perry, as long as they can put their name on the candy. Which is very cool, since each house has to shell out $100-$200 to get enough candy to hand out. BUT, now I've found out their idea of "candy" is individual pretzel bags. Am I just a purist, or would getting a small bag of pretzels while trick-or-treating be the sucky? Talk amongst your inner eight year olds and share.
Look, the Captain subscribes to the "once I quit bitching about the weather, I found it really wasn't that bad" theory and it really seems to work for him. I, of course, am from the "I can tolerate anything as long as I can piss and moan about it" so I will say it once again -- for the love of all that is holy, this hot and humid sh*t has got to stop! It made me dread going to faire this weekend. I kept staring at my bodice like it was some kind of torture device...if you could consider a garment that traps sweat up against your body torture. Wadday want, I'm a sweat-wuss. My inner four year old was sitting on the kitchen floor, don't wanna go, don't wanna go. Want to sit at home in front of the air conditioner vent, in a dark room with a movie on, eating popcorn with butter and parm.
But then I get there and someone flirts with me or I share a good laugh or take a sip from Fetch's mug and I'm in love again. Damn it. |
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