| denisse: | so i told him that he could choose whatever he wanted, babycakes. |
| me: | you did not really call him babycakes...did you?? |
| denisse: | yeah, i did...because he knows that's like a ridiculous name and that i'm joking. |
| me: | you gotta stop using those effeminate nicknames, denisse. come on. |
| denisse: | i call him sugar plums...how about that? |
| me: | wow. i...have nothing. |
| denisse: | okay...when he's nice to me, i call him...'thump thump' |
| me: | WOW. like a bunny? you might as well just cut off his balls. and what does he call you? |
| denisse: | he calls me love, sweet pea, dear heart, baby girl... |
| me: | that's enough. i'm leaving to go throw up now. |
what’s for dinner you might ask?
that’s right. joseph gordon levitt.
another fine-tailored suit for another fine-made man.
now that we’re closing another year in the twenty-first century, i find myself finally joining the multi-wired, wave-infused population of Planet Earth. that’s right, people! rachel is beginning to get into the groove of that conglomerated world of technology, no matter how much of an idiot she looks like in her attempt to do so!
to be clear, i’ve just recently bought myself an ipod (although i previously owned one, though never actually used it), and had to figure out in the wee hours of the morning how to actually use itunes, how to download music. files, folders, external hardrives? what a world so unknown to me! on top of that, i’ve recently discovered how to navigate through my laptop, and while in the process of this, i discovered a mess of applications that i never knew existed! why had i for so long resisted this weary little friend?
i suppose it doesn’t help that i treat every technological gadget as if money pours out of my most intimate parts. ha! quite the contrary, actually, and yet i throw around my laptop, ipod, and cell phone like i can easily replace them with the endless amount of money i don’t make. lately, the possible repercussions of my actions have been transpiring into harsh realities—very harsh realities. now i’m stuck with a cell phone that can’t call out or receive calls, a laptop that shuts down whenever it decides it wants to piss me off, and an ipod that needs some Apple-product rescue!
i can’t say that i don’t wholly deserve this.
all i want for christmas is a little bit of geekdown.
and while we’re on the subject already, these kids are what i’m most thankful for.
(brother, godson, sister, me)
here’s to the one day that allows for endless consumption of carbohydrates, stuffed turkeys, and sweets followed by a massive food coma. god bless america.
how gently nostalgia nestles in the pit of our stomachs, remembering the dreams of our wide-eyed youth, how we once thought our imagination could save the world.
yes, mr. silverstein, i too welcome dreamers, so that our flax-golden tales never die.
“on a cloud remix” by bearded baby
shouts to co.fee and teebs, probably two of my favorite people in the world.
Hello,
My name is Janifar, i am loving young girl,i will also like to know you better, i want you to send an email to me so that i can send you my picture for you to know whom i am.Here is my email address (jan4real2001@gmail.com)I am waiting for your mail . Remember the distance of colour does not matter but love matters alot in life.
Yours Love
Janifar
and my response…
Dear Janifar,
Despite the fact that your exotic name incites a curiosity in me unmatched by any of my previous, more ‘colorful’ suitors (i.e. Sincere, Wisdom, Horece, Jamall, etc), I can’t say that I would like to know you better. You see, I too am a young girl, and although your compelling argument states that ‘the distance of colour does not matter but love matters,’ I can’t bear the thought of telling our future children that we met on the spam mail inbox of my personal email account. And I also can’t bear the thought of you hypercorrecting your grammar and using ‘whom’ in place of what should’ve been ‘who.’ I am overwhelmingly flattered by your candor, your poetic words—what a gift for rhetoric you have!
This being said, our match is not compatible. Feel free to redirect yourself to Eharmony, not my gmail.
Eternally Yours,
Rachel
[via AIM today]
saj: really? whats it saying? maybe the usb port on the computer isn’t working. did ya think about that?
me: it doesnt work on any computer. i’ve tried my laptop and at work.
saj: how’d you do that so fast?
me: i checked last night and this morning.
saj: no, i mean. how’d you mess it up so fast. hahahaha
me: HEY. isn’t my fault…shoot.
saj: rachel + electronics = bad idea
saj + electronics = good idea
good idea > bad idea
subtract electronics
rachel = bad idea
saj = good idea
saj > rachel
me: we are no longer friends.
back at square one today.
here’s to…regression?
haha oh woman, how fickle thou art!
IT’S KIND OF ONE OF THOSE DAYS
-psycho-trip-lady keeps calling the office today (i am surrogate receptionist for this lunch hour) and tells me about her hectic schedule and how she cannot get a hold of anyone and this is her fifth time calling this week and she’s now going through menopause————as if i cared.
-borders and barnes&nobles have failed me horribly. why don’t either of you have any books on magical realism? get with it, people!
-friend is getting laid off. makes me wonder why people like psycho-trip-lady still have jobs and good people get kicked to the curb-side.
-best friend mtendere left for japan today. i miss him already :(
-housemates will most likely not be home tonight. this means no one to vent to about my utterly disappointing day.
and this is why i have you, tumblr. bah.
“meet me at the pomegranate tree” -quantic
good morning, world. indulge in one of my favorite songs by one of my favorite artists. enjoy.
of course there’s nothing wrong with this picture. after all, it’s acceptable, encouraged even, to want to attain the image of sunken bones. ladies, if you dare tip the scale over the 100 pound mark, reconsider your dieting habits, start going to the gym, and please, please don’t ever be satisfied until you resemble starving, pot-bellied kids in africa.
seriously, go eat a chicken wing.
I went home that very day and found solace in the spaces of those white lined sheets of paper before me. As if soothsayers had confirmed their prophesies themselves, I was convicted in my responsibility, my vocation even, to tell the world the stories that had been forgotten, stories that had been buried like those colossal creatures beneath the muddy layers of the earth. And so I wrote. I wrote and wrote; I wrote stories that were magical, stories that were real. I wrote stories that I never knew could happen, but one thing was for certain: these were stories worth telling.
So began the life-long quest of the writer about whom you read. That fateful day marked the beginning of my love for stories: writing, reading, and above all, telling stories. At the tender age of seven, I had stumbled upon a world that had no clear boundaries, somewhere that I could indulge in my fanciful imagination without the worries of school-girl dilemmas and god-awful chores. Now, fifteen years later, I realize that I have joined the innumerable voices of story-telling, each one, in its own unique accord, worthily waiting to be heard.
