February 27, 2002
I am the Fairy of Shit
I am a tortured soul. Mom's birthday is tomorrow so we had to bake the cake today. Chocolate cake. And we can't eat it today, because it is for tomorrow. And, of course, there is no other shred of chocolate in the whole of the house.
I consoled myself with writing, if not very effectively.
I bought underwear with cute little eskimos and polar bears on them! I am super excited but must save them for some day when I actually leave the house as opposed to just putting them on to wear with my pajamas.
See what I do when I get employed? Buy stupid shit I don't need.
Speaking of stupid but not of shit, do you know what else I bought? Last night, in my endeavors to introduce Kelsi to Cicely Mary Barker's flower fairies, I came across this site. And lo and behold, not only was there a whole gallery of all of the pictures, you could also purchase the antique prints for mere tens of dollars. I was ecstatic, and both Kels and I mulled over the pictures for at least an hour. I finally settled on this one. Mostly for its price, there were several I wanted that were 18.75 and I could not bring myself to buy them.
Though, obviously, I will really soon.
My editing of Marian is slow-go. I find myself, instead of righting real mistakes, merely changing the structure of a sentence, being generally anal retentive and likely wasting time. It's not as though I have anything better to do, though.
But I will next week!
Delighted beyond belief to be employed. And with those wages...
Do you know what drives me nuts? I feel like fucking Earl Pitts when I say that. Anyway. I hate how commercials make food seem orgasmic. And not the food that you might naturally link with sex (also due to the media or maybe your sick friends, for me it was definitely the latter) like whip cream or chocolate or anything. No, it's like, fucking slimy, greasy cheeseburgers or potato chips. They're so good you'll just piss your pants.
Or something like that...
I get sicker with age.
But no more witty.
astera at beck-esque