Que Sera Sera

Some stuff


Two new names for the taint that I learned at the slumber party this weekend:

Noteworthy: my friend Brian Byrne refers to the horrifying cavern between Tori Spelling’s fake breasts as “the taint upstairs.”


My dad and I had a conversation on Saturday about how Miss Piggy would make an excellent Lady Macbeth. I’ll call home to talk to my parents, and my mom will tell me about her garden’s progress and what my brother is doing and ask me if I’ve done my taxes and renewed my license yet, and then she’ll hand the phone to my dad and he’ll say, “It’s a real shame that the Muppets didn’t ever do any Shakespeare, like Hamlet. That would’ve been funny, to do Hamlet with some pigs.” Then he’s like, “Oh, hold on: your mom wants to talk again.”


Conversation today, between me and my friend Jay:

Jay: I’m going to go get my egg salad sandwich.
Me: I have never had egg salad. Why is it good? I don’t even know what’s in it, besides eggs.
Jay: Rims, how disappointing! You might as well consider your first 25 years of life gone right down the toilet. Egg salad is great! If you like deviled eggs, then you’ll like egg salad. It’s nothing more than hardboiled eggs, mayonnaise, onions, pepper, and we like relish and parsley. It’s basically the same thing as tuna salad, except replace tuna with eggs.
Me: Does it smell all eggy, though? The smell is my only real concern. I like eggs, but I don’t like to be REMINDED that I’m eating eggs. Does that make sense?
Jay: Does it smell eggy? I don’t even know how to answer that. If you want me to hold your hand while you eat it, I will.


At the moment I am transfixed by my coworker’s screensaver featuring the star-crossed teen lovers from the cancelled WB drama Roswell. I have never seen the cancelled WB drama Roswell, but I can surmise from these rotating pictures that these two teens were in total 100% pure mature high school love, and being kept apart by some pretty heavy forces. They look so soft and earnest and anguished! I guess it’s rough when you’re young and clear-skinned and in love, and the thing conspiring to keep you apart is actually the universe itself, because your boyfriend is a fucking alien. Eh, what are you gonna do? Maybe stop sulking around and listening to Dido, and go take some solace in your infinitely shiny hair while you can.

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