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Wednesday, February 26, 2003 ::2:20am:: Bad grammar, ok. And of course I don't really mind the accent. But c'mon, Emeril--"good" is not a freaking adverb. (Yeah, he's not on right now, but I've been meaning to make this post.) In other Food Network-related news, Mr. Florence has a new show that airs in two weeks--Tyler's Ultimate. ::sighs dreamily like a silly fangirl:: ::2:09am:: I heart Strong Bad. ::fans herself:: Sunday, February 23, 2003 ::3:48pm:: Current status (Update: 2/25/03 : I freaking lost. But it's ok. It's only his second win.) Wednesday, February 12, 2003 ::1:30pm:: When I lived in Maryland, 2nd-5th grade, I used to take paintbrushes from a cup my mom kept in a cabinet from her ceramic-painting days in college. I would go outside and sit at the end of the driveway at that spot where the curb met the street, which was smoothed out with sand and small rocks. I'd brush through the sand, looking for ants. I'd always find them. I'd lay the bristles on top of an individual ant, and it would stick. I had developed The Ant Magnet. I'd watch the ant weave its way through the hairs, then I'd brush it onto my arm (I was a little bit weird, even then). I'd watch, feel it crawl on my skin, fascinated somehow by our difference in size and how, for that moment, our lives were connected. Of course I'd remove it after a few seconds, because it was a bug, afterall. But sometimes it would go so fast that I wouldn't be able to catch it before it crawled up into my sleeve. Gross. I'm allergic to ant bites now; I swell up when bitten. I don't like them. They are in my car, on my desk, everywhere. They find me now. ::2:47am:: I love Justin and Jane together. I love what Jane wrote about Justin. I want that for myself--someone with whom to talk, to share ideas. I'm feeling it more as I get older, that need for companionship. I'm not actively seeking it out, but I find myself latching onto people who aren't looking for the same thing. By latching, I mean talking their ears off and trying to coax them into coming along with my crazy plans. I want someone to latch onto me--preferably some kind of scientist who knows how to cook, give massages, and treat a woman well. Maybe it's just the V-Day fever in the air. Tuesday, February 11, 2003 ::5:00am:: Look at my turtles. ::4:19am:: People change so quickly--It's strange. I'm of the belief that each moment that passes is somehow captured in time, to exist eternally as a form of energy that will one day be accessible by time machine or some other gizmo. I'm so fascinated by life. You're given so many choices and chances, and you can't tell how it's all going to turn out unless you stop playing the game. Saturday, February 8, 2003 ::4:14am:: I'm sick again. This is the second time in four weeks. I'm in terrible condition, physically and mentally. I've become somewhat of an insomniac, if you haven't noticed by the times I've been posting--and I wouldn't say I have an eating disorder, but I've lost my appetite and haven't been eating regularly or healthily. I have serious mood swings, crossing the spectrum from severely depressed to nauseously happy to wildly bitchy. The stuffy-snotnose, itchy-watery-eyes thing is just icing on the cake. Somebody diagnose that. Somebody cure me. more of what Sarah's saying >> |
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