I Am So Smrt

  • When I ordered a deli sandwich for lunch, I asked for all the stuff I don't like on my sandwiches except for mustard, which I do like. I even thought wow, this sandwich sucks while the person was making it, but it never occurred to me that I should in any way change my order. Disassociate much?

    Now I am picking chunks of low-grade corned beef out of my teeth and wondering why I didn't go for the soup.

  • I have readjusted all the settings at my desk at work so that positions of both my chair and keyboard stand are different. I spent most of the morning with my knees pressed firmly against part of the keyboard stand's undercarriage, and as a result, the knees of my trousers are shiny. Now it looks like, well, uhm, let's just say it look like I spend a lot of time on my knees.

    I don't feel like talking about fellatio today.

  • If you use the end of your retractable pen to scratch the itch between your boobs, make sure that it is indeed retracted, especially if you are wearing a low-cut sweater.

    When I wrote "you" in the above sentence, I meant "me". I highlighted my cleavage very effectively with several bold strokes of a blue ballpoint pen at about 10:00 a.m.

  • I am wearing two mismatched black socks today, and it's driving me mental. The one on my left foot only goes about three inches above my ankle, while the one on my right goes nearly to my knee. They are slightly different shades of black. One has pills on the heel, and the other does not. THEY ARE NOT THE SAME. It's kind of freaking me out.

    One foot feeling slightly different than the other foot = onset of the Apocalypse.

    I may be so moved to take our entire sock drawer after work, throw it in a bag for good will, and start fresh with the purchase of twenty pairs of identical socks.

  • I am terrible at remembering names, so it is unfortunate that my brain spits out the name Warren for every proper noun it tries to recall these days.

    What's that guy's name again? The one who's in construction? Warren.
    What's that declaration that's so import in the United States? Warren.
    Where is it that what's-his-head lives? Warren.

    And if it's just a regular noun I am trying to recall, my brain throws out donut, like that ever applies. I don't even eat donuts. In fact, I don't even spell it that way. I spell it doughnut. Oh, hello wrong noun! You have annoying spelling!

    This is not useful to me.

  • Last night, I dreamt about a band of lesbian serial killers who abducted me, stripped me naked, and carried me around in a hockey equipment bag. That's just stupid. It was all the more stupid for the fact that every time I tried to escape, people just returned me to the lesbian serial killers. Even the other people in my dream wouldn't buy my band-of-lesbian-serial-killers story, even though I was running around town wearing nothing but a shower curtain.
  • I was on the telephone with the Palinode when I accidentally knocked over one of those little desk organizers that holds paperclips and elastic bands.

    Oh, crap!

    What'd you do? he asked.

    I just, uh, knocked something over, I answered.

    What did you knock over?

    I don't want to tell you, because it's kind of embarrassing, but okay. It was my collection of favourite paperclips.

    Your collection of favourite paperclips! Oh, noes! he cried mockingly.

    Yes, I have collection of favourite paperclips, and they have their own little tray, and they are lovely, and they make me feel serene in my heart, so you can suck it.

  • 50x365 #225: D'Arcy

    50x365 #224: Clarke