Embarassing Questions

Who, at age nineteen, plays pot tops as if they were cymbals?

Why, me of course.

My life is so sad. Hahahaha.

Yes, Snarkypants, LAUGH THROUGH THE PAIN.

Moving on after that bit of Multiple Personality Disorder... oh wow. I just thought of something. What if someone just had a Personality Disorder? Someone whose personality is just innately sucky? You can't really truly change your personality. You'd be living a sham of a life. Dissssmal.

Hahahahaha I swear I know some retarded Those Girls like that who don't actually seem to have a personality. I'd rather be who I am than have guys chase me for no substantial reason. I will be wanted for who I am, not what I look like. WERD.

This is getting pretty heavy, yo, so now here are some more embarrassing questions.

(Note: All questions involve something that has happened in like the last twenty minutes. I swear to god I am so awkward that it hurts to exist. But I share it with you, my darlings, because I don't mind a laugh at my expense to bring a smile to your rosy-cheeked little faces)

Who sets a wet sponge on fire, totally burning the edge, and then trims the burnt shit on it with the kitchen scissors?

Me, and yes, I washed them off.

Who then spends a good two minutes letting water run like a wasteful asshole because she is intrigued by the idea (and also the practice, which she was doing. Fortunately alone, because if anyone saw her she would be hauled off to the nut house with all the nuts and the squirrels) of cutting the running water with aforementioned kitchen scissors and photographing it?

I fear I will never find anyone who appreciates my little joys and clumsy stories. Le sigh.

And now That Girl is signed up to play pong tomorrow two. Luckily, not against Liam, But I HAVE to do better than her. I don't know why. I don't even want him anymore (lie, but not that MUCH) but I just need to prove I am at least superior in some aspect.

Gargargar I hope tomorrow is fun and I am not distressed by those two retards' antics.

Pee Ess: I go in for my 'On-Boarding' (training... which they could've just called 'Training,' but nooo, they need a kicky, pseudo-corporate name to trick all the sad people who end up spending their lives managing that processed sack of fashion lies that their lives aren't so sad. FUCK THIS NINE TO FIVE SHIT!) with the manager tonight. I have a fucking WORK BOOK with COMPREHENSION QUESTIONS. YOU HAVE TO BE 18 TO WORK THERE. I'm sorry but this is ridiculous. How retarded do they think people are. Chrisssst.

I have to put together three outfits. Sounds, sorta fun, right? WRONG. Then you have to fill out a fucking WORK SHEET writing fucking PARAGRAPHS about which one is your favourite and why. What the hell is this!?

So that's what I have to look forward to from six to half-past nine. Woo. And then I get to work almost full time tooling around.

I hate that this is what I have to do to earn money.