It never ceases to amaze me what people think looks good on them. And they must think it looks good if they are out in public, right? I mean, everyone has the occasional I-feel-like-shit-and-I-don’t-give-a-single-solitary-fuck-what-I-look-like days, but I don’t feel those days should count against anyone. I’m talking about the folks who go shopping in their Cookie Monster jammie pants or those short shorts that barely cover your undies or nasty stained shirts. And the folks like the lady I saw tonight–she had on what had to be nearly a pound of the most obnoxiously darkish blue eye shadow I’ve ever seen that was like a half moon of horrible hideousness that went all the way into her eyebrows, frizzy, messy pigtails, like 8 different colors streaked throughout her hair, super overdone blush and lipstick and overly-tanned leather-looking skin. She looked like a cracked-out clown or something. People make my head hurt.
Awesome America’s Next Top Model moments from the episodes I watched tonight (no idea what season they were from): Cat fights galore that included delightful little snarks like, “Just pretend I don’t exist!” “Stop talking to me and I will!”, a drunk girl talking to a giant plant she dubbed Cousin It, same drunk girl running around wearing nothing but a bikini bottom and bubbles while yelling, “I love bubbles! Bubbles!”, girls freaking out when they had to crawl through mud and get dirty, the awesome chick who kept losing her pants during the obstacle course/get filthy challenge thing and just laughed about it, and the hilarious little snark-fest over a stolen commercial line idea.
Daily randomosity: I really love having long hair, but I just don’t think I’d ever sob over having it cut short. Been there, done that, didn’t like it. Short hair drove me bat-shit–couldn’t pull it back out of my face or get it off my neck, which was torture ’cause my hair is super thick and heavy and hot as hell in the summer. I think I’ve decided to get my 2nd and last tattoo on my chest, near my shoulder…but I’m not absolutely positive. We have these creepy dolls at work that calls out “Peek-a-boo!” every night when the secondary lights shut off. Krystal and I learned a new language tonight–planogram-ese! Go us! I don’t think it would be very romantic to put the engagement ring in the chicks drink. I know how my luck goes, and I’d end up swallowing the damn thing or choking on it and end up in the emergency room and probably have to have surgery and then there would probably be complications and I’d develop some horrendous infection and end up on life support. Thanks a lot Romeo, now pull the plug so I can haunt your stupid ass. Why do groups of female friends on t.v. always dress up to go to lunch together? Not my friends and I, we show up in our jeans and t-shirts and verbally assassinate those around us as well as people not present, really, no one is safe from or snarky cattiness. And our hair is never amazingly perfect and there is little to no make-up worn by anyone. My cat is staring intently at the screen of my laptop, it looks like he’s reading everything I type. I am amused.