nablopomo

nablopomo

"He likes sunsets, but he doesn't go looking for them. That's how you can tell us apart."

I'm trying to learn how to be more conceited, to imagine what it feels like to look down on others, not with pity, but with scorn, and maybe a little pity. I need to practice spitting on people, maybe folks who've recently lost a puppy. I was informed by an incredibly attractive girl that conceited boys are hot shit (THE WORST METAPHOR I CAN IMAGINE). Of course, I've exercised my better-than-thou-ness the past 6 days primarily by not visiting other web logs, barely acknowledging your comments, rolling my eyes even (I'M KIDDING).

I was away on conference detail, and eager to cut my internet hours in halfsies, retrace old footsteps and spill beer on new people. GAH. It's hard to be conceited when you have an obvious mancrush, you've poured booze on someone you've wanted to impress for so long you bought yourself a pretty dress (METAPHORICALLY) and ruined all hope of cool relief by vomiting into the ice bucket. I wish I were kidding. Plus, I made my best friend cry! AWWW YEAHHHHH!

My one saving grace is that I've only recently realized that I am the bottom half of two perfectly fitting Lego pieces. BRAND-NAME Lego pieces.

This is watershed information for someone who never knew that Mr. Potato Head has a storage compartment in his ass, where his colon would lie if he were anatomically correct. He's not, by the way. Not by a long shot.