I almost always wear boots. The practical, tactical kind, though, not the fashionable kind. The fashion police have likely issued at least one warrant for my arrest due to egregious crimes of fashion, though I maintain my innocence, and my freedom.
All youthful flights of fancy and feelings of wonder and whimsy wandered away, though. I hate fun meow.
Wait, no. Scratch that. I still like fun.
I went to [local coffee shop that I used to work at] recently, and they have a box of buttons for sale. I picked out a meme-y button, and then read the sign/sticky label stating something to the effect of "Every time you steal a button, an artist eats ramen for a week."
I had the button in my closed fist, and immediately started worrying that I looked like I was trying to steal a button while waiting to be served. So I opened my hand so that the button was visible, because I did not want to appear like I was stealing a button that I had every intention of paying for. But then I thought that I just looked even more shifty and furtive, so I half concealed the button, trying to be nonchalant about purchasing this thing.
And then I starting thinking about how in order to not look like you are stealing a thing, you just *don't* steal the thing, and look like a normal human person trying to complete a normal capitalist transaction. And I was genuinely not succeeding in this very typical, daily event.
I proceeded to pick out another button from the box, while being observed, so that I could clearly indicate my intention of not stealing. Opposite, in fact.
I doubt anyone actually noticed my internal dilemma, and I did manage to successfully purchase two buttons (and a milkshake).
Day-to-day, I find myself explaining the rudimentary principals of auto insurance to people who fundamentally misunderstand their insurance policies, while simultaneously diagnosing their cars' injuries. It's a living...
- Staying awake for ridiculously long periods of time, and then probably taking a road trip and maybe crashing a house party or two when I arrive at my destination
- Wearing silly hats
- Knitting or crocheting absurdly long scarves
- Having the best of intentions, then falling asleep
Those are some of my favorites, but I'm a voracious reader. I enjoy contemporary fiction, feminist and gender theory, social commentary, political satire, philosophical literature, social movement theories, historical fiction and nonfiction, science-fiction, fantasy, and dystopian literature.
Graphic Novels: The Sandman, Transmetropolitan, The Boys, Fables, The Books of Magic.
Webcomics (new and old!): xkcd, Questionable Content, A Softer World, Oglaf, Queen of Wands, Venus Envy, Grayling, Perry Bible Fellowship, Dinosaur Comics, Sexy Losers.
Fierce Creatures, Hedwig and the Angry Inch, He Died with a Felafel in His Hand, Clerks, Blazing Saddles, Fargo, Clue.
Anything released after 2001 is apparently dead to me and does not fit my cinematic aesthetic.
TV: Parenthood, Archer, Modern Family, Breaking Bad, How I Met Your Mother, Daria, Venture Bros., Mad Men, Game of Thrones, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Todd and the Book of Pure Evil, Master of None, BoJack Horseman, Brockmire.
Music: Florence + the Machine, The Dreadnoughts, Muse, Lily Allen. I listen to Bootie Mashups at work most days.
- Wry wit (but also rye wit).
- Grilled cheese sandwiches.
- Coffee and tea.
While Californians and foodies are no longer in danger from an embargo on sriracha production in the US, the question still remains: should condiments even be allowed to have this much control over the palettes of food lovers?
If you have a fuck that you don't give, what is the half-life of that fuck? Do fucks have a rate of diminishing returns? Is there a shelf life to the ungiven fuck? Is the value of a fuck that *is* given affected by the ambient level of give-a-shit in the surrounding area?
After months of extensive research, pjs lead the way, with the overwhelming majority.
I hate chairs. They feel oppressively formal, and I am pretty much incapable of sitting comfortably in one. Armchairs are acceptable because they are like one person couches masquerading as chairs. Whenever possible (read: "appropriate"), I will sit on the floor if an uncomfortable chair is the only alternative.
My BIGGEST regret in life is not telling Alec Baldwin that coffee is for closers when he ordered coffee from me.
He stopped in again the next morning. I had a second shot, but all I managed was espresso.
You are the moth to my flame.
You probably shouldn't message me.
They both die in the end.
But maybe let's watch a Birdman/Death to Smoochy double feature. You know, on the way out.