I am in a shit mood today. Here is my mood in cupcake form:
I just turned on my TV for the first time in about a week. “Win A Date With Tad Hamilton” was on, and I only saw about four minutes of it before yelling “OH GIVE ME A GODDAMN FUCKING BREAK.”
Now I remember why I stopped watching TV for a week. It’s not even entertaining from an anthropological standpoint right now. I either have no idea what’s going on, or I just don’t care.
Why do these dumb ass movies always have gag reels to some kind of Sugar Ray song? I don’t want to hang out with these people, anymore, or ever. They’re not funny.
Live action is much more entertaining. Last night I watched a bunch of drunk girls in their party-dress finery attempt to dance to this trance-funk-hip hop fusion on a wet concrete floor. They were doing that drunk-girl-in-heels dance, bopping back and forth, holding beer glass nonchalantly, stepping side to side on bent legs like big floofy swamp birds. It was all fun and games before one of them misplaced a stiletto and belly flopped onto the floor, sending her glass flying and shattering in front of her. As the crowd in the back yelled a simultaneous “OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!” she lay there, pretending to laugh, then rocketed back up as cutely as possible, trying to play off the floor slam like it was nothing. Her friend ran to her aid, and they had a momentary embrace in the middle of the now-deserted dance floor, painfully aware that everyone was still staring at them, and would be staring at them until they made a move. They mashed their faces together, and the one who had fallen suddenly got verrrrrry serious and said, “I canNOT believe…”
She attempted to make her exit, but not without slipping on her little silver heels and hitting the floor once again on her way around the corner to the bathroom. Oh, the humanity. It was way funnier than anything I have ever seen on TV ever. Ever, ever.
Why is it so funny when people fall down? I shouldn’t talk. I haven’t fallen for a long time, so I’m probably due for a good one pretty soon. I guess I shouldn’t say under my breath “please fall, please fall, please fall” every time I see drunk girls or people on rollerblades.
Oh, hey! Here is a boy I like to look at:
If I had a poster of him in my bedroom, it would be on my ceiling. Right above my bed. Aww yeah.
If I were the queen of Norway I would make him be my slave.