My grandma likes the Office.
At least she has good taste in that aspect.
Can’t say the same about the guys she tries to set me up with…
Story of my adolescent life.
FACT: It’s pouring outside right now.
So I guess it would be a good time to let you know my second muxtape is coming. And it’s perfect for this kind of weather, a bunch of rainy day love songs.
Tomorrow. Most def.
- jack Donaghy, 30 rock
so true
(via kray)(an excerpt from “Time Lapse” on my other blog)
”I hate the rivalry. I hate the North Side and the South Side and the fact that people completely omit the West Side and pretend like the rivalry is not about race…when it is.”
St. Louis is the same exact way. Except the North Side is the “black” side and the South side is where the hoosier (first and third definition), racist white people live. And the West side is the rich people. (Obviously this is a race thing, but not, pardon the pun, black and white. Well, except West County. It’s all rich people, or at least people who pretend to be rich).
So around 7 I called my friend Ashley, and we ended going to starbucks and then hanging out for a while at her house.
Somewhere in the process of the next few hours spent at her house I put my phone somewhere. I think it’s by her piano. I hope it is.
I had to be home by 10.30 according to my dad. And yeah, that’s early, but whatever. It was like 10.23. I know cause I looked at my watch. NOTE: Not my cell. And so we came up from her basement, I grabbed my purse and put on my flats. I noticed my purse felt slightly lighter. And that stupid little voice, women’s intuition I guess you could call it, screamed “CELL PHONE!?”
But I didn’t really feel like getting yelled at for being 5 mins late (even though I was a little late and my parents didn’t even care. :\). And so I just jumped in my car.
On the way home, I had that I’m missing something feeling, but it didn’t click. (And then to add insult to injury I hit my head getting out the car, really hard. It still hurts).
Then an hour and half later and I finally realized it. I went to my purse to try and find it, to no avail. Not in my jacket pockets. Not in my jean pockets. I didn’t remember touching it since… well Ash’s house. FUCK.
And I would’ve called ashley’s cell. But, oh yeah, her # is in my cell. DOUBLE FUCK. So I picked up the house phone, something I haven’t done in a while, and called my own damn phone. Which is probably sitting on Ashleys piano, lit up and vibrating.
I hope she finds in the morning and brings it on the way to her haircut… :(
I miss my cell.
