It's Monday. I'm cranky. I'm ranty. I'm about to go off on three things that are contributing to the black cloud of crank that's formed above my head and, sorry, but you are going to listen to me and you are going to like it.
#1: Cords
Seriously, it's 2007. This is supposed to be the future. We're supposed to have hover crafts, take our food in vitamin form, have our own personal robotic servant and absolutely nothing should need a cord of any kind. Yet, here I am, fumbling to untangle knots, discern what plugs into what and where, and trying to hide the whole unsightly mess like a freakin' caveman. Err, cavewoman. Whatever. I hate cords. Word.
#2: My Hair
I got another rare haircut this weekend and I hate, hate, hate it. Yes, I suppose the current state of my hair is partially my own fault. I'm cheap and lazy and suffer from delusions of grandeur so I tried to give myself another haircut with disastrous results, and I'm sure the hairdresser probably had quite a time cleaning up the mess that I made, but still. They're called layers, lady - read a book. She did NOT need to cut my hair so short that it meets up with the shortest layer, and she SHOULD have added some layers in there somewhere. So now I'm deformed and it's all her fault. Jerk.
#3: Skinny Christina Ricci
I joined in with about 95% of the homosexual male population who absolutely loved you for your voluptuousness, indie cred and general good choices in film roles during the late 90's. You were adorable in Buffalo '66, bitingly awesome in The Opposite of Sex, and an unexpected treat in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. And then you got skinny, and along with the pounds you apparently also lost your taste and dignity. Cursed was awful, and I'm sure that there are some people who are interested in seeing your 95 pound frame chained up and writhing on the floor in Black Snake Moan, but I ain't one of them. Do me a favor - go on a milkshake diet, get your head straight and let's be friends again, 'kay? 'Cause I miss you, sunshine.
In short, just give me my robot servant and I can deal with the rest.
#1: Cords
Seriously, it's 2007. This is supposed to be the future. We're supposed to have hover crafts, take our food in vitamin form, have our own personal robotic servant and absolutely nothing should need a cord of any kind. Yet, here I am, fumbling to untangle knots, discern what plugs into what and where, and trying to hide the whole unsightly mess like a freakin' caveman. Err, cavewoman. Whatever. I hate cords. Word.
#2: My Hair
I got another rare haircut this weekend and I hate, hate, hate it. Yes, I suppose the current state of my hair is partially my own fault. I'm cheap and lazy and suffer from delusions of grandeur so I tried to give myself another haircut with disastrous results, and I'm sure the hairdresser probably had quite a time cleaning up the mess that I made, but still. They're called layers, lady - read a book. She did NOT need to cut my hair so short that it meets up with the shortest layer, and she SHOULD have added some layers in there somewhere. So now I'm deformed and it's all her fault. Jerk.
#3: Skinny Christina Ricci
I joined in with about 95% of the homosexual male population who absolutely loved you for your voluptuousness, indie cred and general good choices in film roles during the late 90's. You were adorable in Buffalo '66, bitingly awesome in The Opposite of Sex, and an unexpected treat in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. And then you got skinny, and along with the pounds you apparently also lost your taste and dignity. Cursed was awful, and I'm sure that there are some people who are interested in seeing your 95 pound frame chained up and writhing on the floor in Black Snake Moan, but I ain't one of them. Do me a favor - go on a milkshake diet, get your head straight and let's be friends again, 'kay? 'Cause I miss you, sunshine.
In short, just give me my robot servant and I can deal with the rest.
Labels: a case of the mondays, christina ricci, my endless vanity, rants
4 Comments:
Oh no! What happened to the fabulous, snarky gay stylist from the Aveda salon? Bummer!
It was when she got naked in Prozac Nation and I didn't really care that it went downhill for her and me.
Also, where are my moving sidewalks?
When I read the heading for number #1, I thought you met cords, as in cordouroy pants. I was like I love cords, what could cords have done to offend her so? But then I kept reading and I got it. Word. Cords suck.
And I'm sure your hair is quite cute. You're rocked shorter hair before - you're a hottie regardless of hair length. :)
Sorry for the confusion. I had originally written "power cords," but then thought people might think I hated "power chords," which isn't true at all. Power chords are fantastic should I only hear them every day. I did not anticipate the confusion over pants, however. No, cordouroy pants are fabulous and I take no issue with them either, despite the swooshy sound they often make.
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