fluffystuff

i miss us.

Fave Five

 

Every Christmas, Stef and I attempt to craft something up for each other. I'm not sure when it started, and I'm not sure we're better at it now than we were before, but I'm all for being economical and personal. I enjoy struggling with different materials, screwing up, stressing out, and super-gluing teeny bits of scraps to an already-fucked present seconds before I have to race out the door to meet her. Yeah. Fun. Stuff.

 

The depiction of this image is scarily distorted. First of all, the Christmas tree at our apartment is probably 2 feet tall, so there was no tippy-toeing involved in hanging the ornaments. Secondly, I only bought 10 candy canes to hang on it - there are clearly 11 here. Everything else is about right...oh, except for my smile. That wasn't there either. I don't like my small Christmas tree.

 

Ohhhmyyygoodness do I ever want a pet. Bawww, LOOK AT THOSE SNOUTS. It gets really quiet at the apartment, since we're both on different shifts, and things are settling down in the renovation aspect, so I'm starting to feel the emptiness now. I'm ridiculously allergic to dogs and cats, and under no circumstances will Adam accept a bird into our home after the babysitting nightmare that we call Gir. So, naturally, the next logical option is a pig. I already don't eat bacon, so I feel I have the right to ruin 2 pigs' lives since I saved at least 100 with my vegetarian breakfasts.

If you call dressing them up in hand-made frog suits 'ruining'.

 

 

Right. So. I think we can all agree that the best thing to owning a car is getting to sing out loud. Technically, you're in public, but technically, it's the only place you can really belt out tunes without anybody hearing you. And if you've heard me sing, you're probably all "what a shame!", but I'm humble about my talents and prefer to keep them under wraps. 

I'm pretty picky with my selection, but Bruno Mars always gets the go ahead.

 

 

I really, really want a pig. 

With Every Season

November is, by far, my least favourite month of the year. Even if I forgive it for the lack of holidays, there's still the dreary constant reminder that winter is upon us. November taunts us; giving out nice warm weather like it's candy and November is the caring old lady next door. Except the candy ends up having razors stuck in its gooey yummy caramel centres: snow.
I even bought ice cream last night because in the movies that's what women eat when they are in the depths of despair.

But I'm lactose-intolerant. So that sucked. I don't love ice cream.

I have a magic 8 ball on the table that's hated me since November 1st. Every time I ask something REALLY IMPORTANT (for serious, real pressing-issue questions), I get this:

It laughs at me as I shake again, really trying to concentrate on the question once more.

Gone are the days when we were friends, the real kind. The "Without a Doubt" kind. Everyone's against me.


I'm convinced I'm pregnant. The floors are still not done at the apartment. Flowers on my desk are wilting. I'm cold 90% of the time at the office. I ate a chocolate bar and gained 5 lbs. I just ordered the wrong sized pants online (although a few more chocolate bars and we'll be golden). The last Glee episode sucked. I've filled the back tire of my car a total of 15 times already. And it snowed yesterday. SNOWED.

In other words:

Looking forward to December. I'll be happy again. I know I will be.

In retrospect, possibly not the BEST time to come back here to blog. However, the highway is now clear. Probably so that nobody will be around when my tire pops.