Where the fuck did the word "Umami" come from and why is everyone tossing it around like Oprah's favorite thing? It means "savory", essentially. Just say savory. People are about as dazzled by your use of Japanese adjectives as they are by your Toyota Camry.
Just stop it. It's annoying.
Showing posts with label Cranky. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cranky. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Self Importance..........i.e..................... Suck it, David Crosby
If I have to suffer through another "flower child's" self important diatribe one more time, I may become Amish just to avoid popular media. Seriously, there is no generation more stuck on themselves than the Baby Boomers. We get, you had sex before marriage and smoked a ton of weed, good for you, now SHUT IT.I understand that the sixties were groundbreaking in knocking down rigid social structures, facing the evils of inequality head on, and realizing that there are choices in life. As a woman and a daughter of that generation, I DIG IT. However, in looking back at history long past and recent, there is no other generation so stuck on pontificating about their extreme awesomeness more than the children of the sixties.
God bless Tom Brokaw for taking the zeal out of their swagger and focusing for a time on our grandparents. There is a lot to be said about the children of the Great Depression and WWII. Then was a time that all the United States possessed was a dream and the follow through to obtain that dream. We were not a super power, but by inspiration, collaboration, and a common philosophy, our grandparents worked together to dig this country out of the worst rut it had ever faced. All the while still nursing those wounds, we banded together with the rest of the world to fight and defeat one of the greatest evils this world had ever seen.
Not only did they accomplish this, they steered clear of Time Life specials reminiscing about how AWESOME they were. They just wanted to dance during those informercials, and I can totally get behind that.
I do have to admit, I can kind of see where this need to express to the world how your generations part in history, was by far, the most profound time to exist. I know that I look at people who are younger than I am, and I shake my head while muttering "back in my day"while completely discounting their experiences for five minutes, until I finally get a grip back. I grew up in the eighties and the nineties, too young for Gen X, but too old for Gen Y. I remember Adam Walsh, and the hysteria that ensued from that awful tragedy.... Getting finger-printed, making an ID card in kindergarten, and working with my parents to come up with a "fool proof", safe word.
I remember when my parent's good friend died suddenly from a very severe and unmanageable pneumonia, later finding out that this was a disease that was going to and continue to kill many of the world's population. Because of AIDS, I knew what a condom was by second grade, which may or may not be appropriate. We chanted "Just Say No!" while marching behind Nancy Reagan and a stoned Drew Barrymore. We challenged authority after being inspired by Henry Rollins and "fought the power" while being directed by Chuck D .
It was a groundbreaking time, in a long line of groundbreaking times throughout human history. That's the crux of this post; humans are amazing... amazingly inventive, destructive, strong, cruel and kind... Human history is ever-changing and to single out one generation as being more important than another is purely self serving..... So, all of you people who burned out on the Haight-Ashbury, just SHUT IT.
That means you too, Peter Fonda.
Friday, December 5, 2008
I Don't Watch Telelvision
HA!
I'm just kidding. I am a big fan of the TV, I just think it is the most fantastic invention ever.
I want to address the people in the world who not only do not watch Television, but who also spend hours on Facebook /Myspace /somewherejustasequallygoofy.com, pontificating about the evils of television, dropping snide remarks riddled with self importance, usually in Italics, "I do not partake in TV", on friends and family member's pages.
You guys are adorable,
My question is this:
Though I appreciate your concern for my brain cells (hint, it's not the T.V. that's killing them, it's the vodka and the huffing), but are you not utilizing a tool that serves colossal time wasters like message boards, BLOGS, vanity pages, etc? A medium that lead to the rise of Tila Tequila, Paris and PErez Hilton?
Do you think anyone here is going to be impressed with your self-serving sacrifice to not watch TV? Because I am willing to bet that each person who reads that post could care less.
The majority of people on the internet are not able to spell "YOU'RE", okay? Know your audience. This audience lacks the ability to appreciate, let alone be affected by, your lack of TV viewing...... This is not the coffee house and nobody here really cares, Neitzsche.
On a somber note, why don't you like TV? Do you hate fun and happiness, too?
Please spare me the self important, "I find my entertainment in the written word" statements.......*sigh*.... Don't get me wrong, I too, love to read . I have also found that if I read a book and then watch TV, my mind does not explode and can totally handle the change between written words and moving pictures..... Surprising, I know.
I have also found in the past that people who own a TV, yet claim to hate and never watch said TV, are usually big, liars. I dated a guy who used to lament the television.....He would go on and on about how worthless it was and how people who watched it were zombies, and "yaddayaddaconspiracydoublecappucinowithsoy"
It was really obnoxious.
Anyhow, one day I came home early to find him not only watching TV, but he was watching the E! Channel's Talk Soup.
Words of truth.
He tried to act like it was an accident, but I knew. He not only watched TV, he watched the lowest common denominator TV shows and then watched the weekly shows that re-capped those shows! I was SO onto him. It even made me like him more... I was, as the kids say, really starting to "feel" him after that and found a new hope for our union. Alas, I think the shame of being discovered as a closet, trash-TV watcher, was too much for him to live with. After the discovery, he never really looked me in the eye again, and physically connecting was sparse if existent at all.....So, we broke up a few days later.
So, you don't watch television.
Good for you.
Maybe with all of this extra time you have, you can go pick up litter, or cure cancer, or something? I don't know.... Have a ball, be crazy and not watching TV with your bed self.. Just stop yammering about how awesome your non-TV-watching skills are on the INTERNET. Instead of giving the impression that you are an intellectual, you come off more as a conceited prick. It doesn't make you a more valuable member of society and it certainly doesn't win you free pizza or anything, (which I would bet that winning free food has more to do with watching TV, than not watching).
Also, remember your audience. You are trying to impress upon the community of MYSPACE, that television is bad and that pursuing more intellectual activities, is good.
The community of MYSPACE.
really?
I'm just kidding. I am a big fan of the TV, I just think it is the most fantastic invention ever.
I want to address the people in the world who not only do not watch Television, but who also spend hours on Facebook /Myspace /somewherejustasequallygoofy.com, pontificating about the evils of television, dropping snide remarks riddled with self importance, usually in Italics, "I do not partake in TV", on friends and family member's pages.
You guys are adorable,
My question is this:
Though I appreciate your concern for my brain cells (hint, it's not the T.V. that's killing them, it's the vodka and the huffing), but are you not utilizing a tool that serves colossal time wasters like message boards, BLOGS, vanity pages, etc? A medium that lead to the rise of Tila Tequila, Paris and PErez Hilton?
Do you think anyone here is going to be impressed with your self-serving sacrifice to not watch TV? Because I am willing to bet that each person who reads that post could care less.
The majority of people on the internet are not able to spell "YOU'RE", okay? Know your audience. This audience lacks the ability to appreciate, let alone be affected by, your lack of TV viewing...... This is not the coffee house and nobody here really cares, Neitzsche.
On a somber note, why don't you like TV? Do you hate fun and happiness, too?
Please spare me the self important, "I find my entertainment in the written word" statements.......*sigh*.... Don't get me wrong, I too, love to read . I have also found that if I read a book and then watch TV, my mind does not explode and can totally handle the change between written words and moving pictures..... Surprising, I know.
I have also found in the past that people who own a TV, yet claim to hate and never watch said TV, are usually big, liars. I dated a guy who used to lament the television.....He would go on and on about how worthless it was and how people who watched it were zombies, and "yaddayaddaconspiracydoublecappucinowithsoy"
It was really obnoxious.
Anyhow, one day I came home early to find him not only watching TV, but he was watching the E! Channel's Talk Soup.
Words of truth.
He tried to act like it was an accident, but I knew. He not only watched TV, he watched the lowest common denominator TV shows and then watched the weekly shows that re-capped those shows! I was SO onto him. It even made me like him more... I was, as the kids say, really starting to "feel" him after that and found a new hope for our union. Alas, I think the shame of being discovered as a closet, trash-TV watcher, was too much for him to live with. After the discovery, he never really looked me in the eye again, and physically connecting was sparse if existent at all.....So, we broke up a few days later.
So, you don't watch television.
Good for you.
Maybe with all of this extra time you have, you can go pick up litter, or cure cancer, or something? I don't know.... Have a ball, be crazy and not watching TV with your bed self.. Just stop yammering about how awesome your non-TV-watching skills are on the INTERNET. Instead of giving the impression that you are an intellectual, you come off more as a conceited prick. It doesn't make you a more valuable member of society and it certainly doesn't win you free pizza or anything, (which I would bet that winning free food has more to do with watching TV, than not watching).
Also, remember your audience. You are trying to impress upon the community of MYSPACE, that television is bad and that pursuing more intellectual activities, is good.
The community of MYSPACE.
really?
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Dear Urban Outfitters,
We need to talk.
When we first made eye contact in 1998, I was smitten. It was love at first site, instant attraction and chemistry; I was sure you were "The One." Your style was just like mine, I felt like I was finally a united Gemini, I was whole. I mean, come on! A black cowl-neck sweater, with special THUMB HOLES on the extra long sleeves? I usually have to rip thumb holes in my sweater to accommodate and warm my opposing digits. But you, with your infinite style wisdom, had taken the extra step to bring comfort and warmth to the body part that separates humans from animals. WELL DONE.
It was the beginning of an incredibly, beautiful, friendship.
Through the years I have depended on your sales rack in times of trouble and despair. I have exulted in the arrival of your catalog and down right laid on the ground and cried tears of elated joy at the grand opening of your store in my town, located down the street from my house. LESS THAN A MILE AWAY.
WE WERE PRACTICALLY NEIGHBORS!
We were reunited and it felt so, so, good.
Housewares, underwear, shoes, sundresses and giant sunglasses, OH MY! I was in heaven.
Fast forward five years and the world has changed, but do I still feel the same? I still get that little rush of excitement when I see the "UO" symbol sticking out in my pile of mail, yet that rush is soon followed by an empty feeling of indifference. The bees of excitement that would go crazy in my belly have been replaced by a regular, squishy feeling. The thrill of the first scent of commerce upon walking through your doors used to make me giddy and now makes me feel nothing.
It's over.
This conclusion was not an easy one to come to. I came to this conclusion after much denial and personal anguish.
I have outgrown you.
I know, I can't believe it either.
I was born in 1976, and though I was only in "short pants" when 1980 rolled around, I remember the Eighties quite well. I also remember what people were wearing whether fashionable, or questionable. There are many trends in the Eighties that I liked, and still think are flattering and beautiful.
HOWEVER, there are many trends from the Eighties that should be erased from our memories, vaulted in a nuclear bomb shelter, never to be remembered again. Unfortunately, these trends make up about 88% of your summer and fall line for 2008.
The truth in my outgrowing our relationship, is evident in the old adage, "If you remember a trend the first time around, you are too old to wear it the second time."
Such infinite wisdom from such clichés, I know.
BUT..........
Your line is seriously fugly, completely unflattering, and the materials you are using are egregiously cheap.
Pardon my French, but where the fuck do you get off? In order to wear any of these shapeless frocks without looking like a hippo in a mu mu, a young woman must only weigh about 90 pounds. Young women like to be "hip" and "cute" many, who have healthy, beautiful, bodies, don these garments and they look like shapeless, blobs with no waists, curves or butts. Not a good look for 90% of American women.
Also, let's talk about that hemline. Did Patsy Darling finally snap her fingers to raise hemlines so high that we are all now aspiring gynocologists? I am down with a "mini", I am not down with being able to spy a strangers dungarees in the event of a cool breeze.
Also, what is up with the banded bottom?
Anyone who tries to wear this dress that has even the slightest shape in their hips and thighs, ends up looking like a bubble sack. In fact, the last time I saw someone wearing an outfit like this was when Blanche Devereaux pranced around the shuffleboard deck on the Swinging Seniors cruise she, Dorothy and Rose took to Mexico.
NOT A GOOD LOOK.
And finally, may I present the most damning of evidence that you, Urban Outfitters, are perpetuating the "fugly".
You cannot be serious. Please, please, please tell me this is a joke!
HEAVY METAL MOCCASINS?
The only people who should ever adorn their feet with these abominations are those terminally lost in the crowd at a Tesla concert in 1987, Native Americans during a peyote ritual, or trailer park Satan Worshippers/Renaissance Fair actors.
They are just WRONG.
Based on all of this damning evidence, I have come to the conclusion that it is time to sever all ties with you and not just because I have outgrown you, but because your beauty has worn off, the looks have faded and you are a shell of your former self. I hate to be harsh, but I have to be strong.
I will miss you and the times we had together. I may reunite with you in the future for brief flings with drastically-reduced-in- price picture frames and bedroom quilts, but our apparel days are over.
It was good while it lasted, but now, it is time to bid "adieu."
Take care of yourself and tell your sister, Anthropologie, I said "s'up."
The Confused Dildo
When we first made eye contact in 1998, I was smitten. It was love at first site, instant attraction and chemistry; I was sure you were "The One." Your style was just like mine, I felt like I was finally a united Gemini, I was whole. I mean, come on! A black cowl-neck sweater, with special THUMB HOLES on the extra long sleeves? I usually have to rip thumb holes in my sweater to accommodate and warm my opposing digits. But you, with your infinite style wisdom, had taken the extra step to bring comfort and warmth to the body part that separates humans from animals. WELL DONE.
It was the beginning of an incredibly, beautiful, friendship.
Through the years I have depended on your sales rack in times of trouble and despair. I have exulted in the arrival of your catalog and down right laid on the ground and cried tears of elated joy at the grand opening of your store in my town, located down the street from my house. LESS THAN A MILE AWAY.
WE WERE PRACTICALLY NEIGHBORS!
We were reunited and it felt so, so, good.
Housewares, underwear, shoes, sundresses and giant sunglasses, OH MY! I was in heaven.
Fast forward five years and the world has changed, but do I still feel the same? I still get that little rush of excitement when I see the "UO" symbol sticking out in my pile of mail, yet that rush is soon followed by an empty feeling of indifference. The bees of excitement that would go crazy in my belly have been replaced by a regular, squishy feeling. The thrill of the first scent of commerce upon walking through your doors used to make me giddy and now makes me feel nothing.
It's over.
This conclusion was not an easy one to come to. I came to this conclusion after much denial and personal anguish.
I have outgrown you.
I know, I can't believe it either.
I was born in 1976, and though I was only in "short pants" when 1980 rolled around, I remember the Eighties quite well. I also remember what people were wearing whether fashionable, or questionable. There are many trends in the Eighties that I liked, and still think are flattering and beautiful.
HOWEVER, there are many trends from the Eighties that should be erased from our memories, vaulted in a nuclear bomb shelter, never to be remembered again. Unfortunately, these trends make up about 88% of your summer and fall line for 2008.
The truth in my outgrowing our relationship, is evident in the old adage, "If you remember a trend the first time around, you are too old to wear it the second time."
Such infinite wisdom from such clichés, I know.
BUT..........
Your line is seriously fugly, completely unflattering, and the materials you are using are egregiously cheap.
Pardon my French, but where the fuck do you get off? In order to wear any of these shapeless frocks without looking like a hippo in a mu mu, a young woman must only weigh about 90 pounds. Young women like to be "hip" and "cute" many, who have healthy, beautiful, bodies, don these garments and they look like shapeless, blobs with no waists, curves or butts. Not a good look for 90% of American women.
Also, let's talk about that hemline. Did Patsy Darling finally snap her fingers to raise hemlines so high that we are all now aspiring gynocologists? I am down with a "mini", I am not down with being able to spy a strangers dungarees in the event of a cool breeze.
Also, what is up with the banded bottom?
Anyone who tries to wear this dress that has even the slightest shape in their hips and thighs, ends up looking like a bubble sack. In fact, the last time I saw someone wearing an outfit like this was when Blanche Devereaux pranced around the shuffleboard deck on the Swinging Seniors cruise she, Dorothy and Rose took to Mexico.
NOT A GOOD LOOK.
And finally, may I present the most damning of evidence that you, Urban Outfitters, are perpetuating the "fugly".
You cannot be serious. Please, please, please tell me this is a joke!
HEAVY METAL MOCCASINS?
The only people who should ever adorn their feet with these abominations are those terminally lost in the crowd at a Tesla concert in 1987, Native Americans during a peyote ritual, or trailer park Satan Worshippers/Renaissance Fair actors.
They are just WRONG.
Based on all of this damning evidence, I have come to the conclusion that it is time to sever all ties with you and not just because I have outgrown you, but because your beauty has worn off, the looks have faded and you are a shell of your former self. I hate to be harsh, but I have to be strong.
I will miss you and the times we had together. I may reunite with you in the future for brief flings with drastically-reduced-in- price picture frames and bedroom quilts, but our apparel days are over.
It was good while it lasted, but now, it is time to bid "adieu."
Take care of yourself and tell your sister, Anthropologie, I said "s'up."
The Confused Dildo
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Men in Cars
Dear Men in Cars,
When I am running down the street, wearing a jogging suit and headphones without a Ben And Jerry's delivery truck in front of me or a heard of elephants chasing me, it is safe to assume that I am doing it on purpose.
So, I don't need a ride, thanks.
Now, I know gas is expensive these days and you just circled around the block three times to "make sure" I didn't need a ride, (thanks for your concern and diligence, by the way), but I really don't want a ride. I know that sometimes when you are being generous and your random act of kindness is rejected, it can be frustrating! However, it is probably better for you to quell your disappointment, lest you say something unnecessarily MEAN.
You see, the reason I am running down the street is because I am aware of the fact that my ass if fat. Maybe you were pointing that out for my benefit, in case I was not aware? If so, thank you for your concern, I know I have a big, fat ass, running usually alleviates this condition.
Now, when I suit up to run, I wash the make up off of my face and throw my hair back, haphazardly, in order to keep it out of my face, as well as keep the sweat out of my pores. I will admit, I don't look so hot. When you add this to the fact that my blood is pumping and my smokey, "pool hall", poor excuses for lungs, are in overdrive to get oxygen to my blood cells; the tendency is that my face is usually a disturbing shade of fuscia, or puce, if you will.
Not the best look, I know, but I am aware of it. When you pointedly informed me that I was an "ugly bitch", thanks for the information, but the proper authorities had already been notified and appropriate measures were being implemented, i.e. the firing squad was lining up in my backyard getting ready to humanely put me out of my misery.
So, men in cars, I want to express my deepest gratitude for your concern for my well being and for the offer of the ride. I know that these gestures are coming from a place of love and concern, and God is smiling down upon you and your deep concern for society not having to be exposed to my "Fat Ass Ugliness". Your determination and powers of persuasion (i.e. driving around the block three times to try to get me into your vehicle) were not unnoticed. Thank you for taking the time and for the environmentally harmful emissions expelled from your car on behalf of little (well not so much, due to my big fat ass), old me and my welfare. Thank you, thank you, thank you, men in cars, but may I leave you with some words of wisdom? If I am ever in need of a ride within the city I live, I will take the bus.
Kindest Regards,
Me.
When I am running down the street, wearing a jogging suit and headphones without a Ben And Jerry's delivery truck in front of me or a heard of elephants chasing me, it is safe to assume that I am doing it on purpose.
So, I don't need a ride, thanks.
Now, I know gas is expensive these days and you just circled around the block three times to "make sure" I didn't need a ride, (thanks for your concern and diligence, by the way), but I really don't want a ride. I know that sometimes when you are being generous and your random act of kindness is rejected, it can be frustrating! However, it is probably better for you to quell your disappointment, lest you say something unnecessarily MEAN.
You see, the reason I am running down the street is because I am aware of the fact that my ass if fat. Maybe you were pointing that out for my benefit, in case I was not aware? If so, thank you for your concern, I know I have a big, fat ass, running usually alleviates this condition.
Now, when I suit up to run, I wash the make up off of my face and throw my hair back, haphazardly, in order to keep it out of my face, as well as keep the sweat out of my pores. I will admit, I don't look so hot. When you add this to the fact that my blood is pumping and my smokey, "pool hall", poor excuses for lungs, are in overdrive to get oxygen to my blood cells; the tendency is that my face is usually a disturbing shade of fuscia, or puce, if you will.
Not the best look, I know, but I am aware of it. When you pointedly informed me that I was an "ugly bitch", thanks for the information, but the proper authorities had already been notified and appropriate measures were being implemented, i.e. the firing squad was lining up in my backyard getting ready to humanely put me out of my misery.
So, men in cars, I want to express my deepest gratitude for your concern for my well being and for the offer of the ride. I know that these gestures are coming from a place of love and concern, and God is smiling down upon you and your deep concern for society not having to be exposed to my "Fat Ass Ugliness". Your determination and powers of persuasion (i.e. driving around the block three times to try to get me into your vehicle) were not unnoticed. Thank you for taking the time and for the environmentally harmful emissions expelled from your car on behalf of little (well not so much, due to my big fat ass), old me and my welfare. Thank you, thank you, thank you, men in cars, but may I leave you with some words of wisdom? If I am ever in need of a ride within the city I live, I will take the bus.
Kindest Regards,
Me.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
What's Driving You Crazy Today, Kate?
What isn't driving me crazy?
I cannot believe that the end of times are upon us. I thought there were at least two more weeks before the pain, torture and hangovers of the Holidays ensued. But, alas, Thanksgiving is next week. That sucks major dong.
These are driving me crazy.
There is nothing more confusing to me than the kiosk ponytail. I can understand the desire for luscious, thick, shiny hair. I too, covet Gisele Bunchen's seemingly silky, luxurious locks, and envy each layer of perfectly healthy, non-splitting, Rapunzelesque hair. I get it. I want it. I would do almost anything to have it. ALMOST.
Here is a lesson for the ladies: You can't purchase hair at the mall for $14.99 at the Kiosk next to the festively painted hermit crabs and mood rings.You just can't. You are not fooling anyone.
Underpants, jeans, shoes, vibrating chairs, as well as many other wonderful items are available at the mall for your procurement. You can even buy creams, lards and diamond dusts that promise, PROMISE, to turn your hair from split and flat, to bouncy and phat.
Here is the deal, if you are under the impression that a pony tail with the same make up and DNA of Barbie's (Barbie the PLASTIC doll) is going to wow the masses and inspire envy to all of those who lay their eyes on your luscious locks of deceit, you are wrong.
And for pete's sake, if it falls out on the street after a fierce and crushing cat fight, (especially if this takes place on my street, you little bitches) PICK THE DAMN THING UP.
I am sooooooooo tired of driving up my street after a hard day, dreaming about lounging in my bed, gazing at the latest saga of Elizabeth, Lucky and Jason in General Hospital on the DVR, while dining on chicken Thai basil; to be cruelly thrust back into reality when I spot something furry and animal looking in the middle of the street.
My stomach tightens and my palms get all clammy, thinking that maybe, this time, it is an animal,or more importantly, one my furry friends, who has met their maker in the cold, cold street.... As I approach the fuzzy mass, the gross realization sets in that your $14.99 promise of hair envy, has been ripped off of your dumb and delusional head, and is now littering my street. What seems obvious to me is, if this piece of $14.99 heaven isn't even worth you picking it up after it is violently ripped from your head, why waste money on it?
Just stop it. I am tired of the adrenaline rush of terror, then anger, to see that it is just another rotting corpse in the battle of teenage angst, purchased at the mall.
I cannot believe that the end of times are upon us. I thought there were at least two more weeks before the pain, torture and hangovers of the Holidays ensued. But, alas, Thanksgiving is next week. That sucks major dong.
These are driving me crazy.
There is nothing more confusing to me than the kiosk ponytail. I can understand the desire for luscious, thick, shiny hair. I too, covet Gisele Bunchen's seemingly silky, luxurious locks, and envy each layer of perfectly healthy, non-splitting, Rapunzelesque hair. I get it. I want it. I would do almost anything to have it. ALMOST.
Here is a lesson for the ladies: You can't purchase hair at the mall for $14.99 at the Kiosk next to the festively painted hermit crabs and mood rings.You just can't. You are not fooling anyone.
Underpants, jeans, shoes, vibrating chairs, as well as many other wonderful items are available at the mall for your procurement. You can even buy creams, lards and diamond dusts that promise, PROMISE, to turn your hair from split and flat, to bouncy and phat.
Here is the deal, if you are under the impression that a pony tail with the same make up and DNA of Barbie's (Barbie the PLASTIC doll) is going to wow the masses and inspire envy to all of those who lay their eyes on your luscious locks of deceit, you are wrong.
And for pete's sake, if it falls out on the street after a fierce and crushing cat fight, (especially if this takes place on my street, you little bitches) PICK THE DAMN THING UP.
I am sooooooooo tired of driving up my street after a hard day, dreaming about lounging in my bed, gazing at the latest saga of Elizabeth, Lucky and Jason in General Hospital on the DVR, while dining on chicken Thai basil; to be cruelly thrust back into reality when I spot something furry and animal looking in the middle of the street.
My stomach tightens and my palms get all clammy, thinking that maybe, this time, it is an animal,or more importantly, one my furry friends, who has met their maker in the cold, cold street.... As I approach the fuzzy mass, the gross realization sets in that your $14.99 promise of hair envy, has been ripped off of your dumb and delusional head, and is now littering my street. What seems obvious to me is, if this piece of $14.99 heaven isn't even worth you picking it up after it is violently ripped from your head, why waste money on it?
Just stop it. I am tired of the adrenaline rush of terror, then anger, to see that it is just another rotting corpse in the battle of teenage angst, purchased at the mall.
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