Confession:
I’m obsessed with a couple fruits that I will most likely not be able to have very often in life… and I may or may not have contemplated living in countries with an abundant amount of them for a year or two. Just to indulge.
First is breadfruit that I had in Honduras in ‘05 prior to college.
Tastes like bread… but it’s fruit. I die. Two of my favorite things combined!
Second is a new obsession. Jackfruit… apparently a fruit that looks much like breadfruit and durian on the outside, but can be as tall as your hip!
Taste= as I ate an entire bag of semi freeze-dried version of it, I was immediately surfing the web for where I could find my next fix. Must. have. more!
Sometimes I believe that my obsession with foods (though you’d hardly be able to tell by looking at me) will overtake me and I will become another obsessive foodie.
There could be worse things.
My parents just told me that I was 1 of 3 asked in grade school class to take the SAT. This was at a top catholic elementary school in the second largest city in Indiana. 60 students in my class. What?!?
Hard to process.
They only take over 11 years to tell me?!
Hipster glasses… check.
Sweet, sweet videography with the font-mixing of a skilled graphic artist… check.
Mom’s living room… check.
“Push, pull… ” reminiscent of Nikka Costa… check.
Bitching about the economy… check!
Ridiculous talent… CHECK.
I’m changing, so it’s time to change this writing/ posting it a bit as well.
This blog is going to morph. I wrote up 3 paragraphs describing what I mean, but just pay attention and you’ll see.
2 Years until I have to start planning the ‘ole 10 year high school reunion.
INSANITY!
just want to make peoples’ lives better, but sometimes it hurts too much to care so much about strangers, friends, and family.
Sometimes I wonder if life would be easier if I just kept completely to myself. Life seemed easier that way… a lot less stressful.
Sometimes I’m convinced that some people want to make you feel as unhappy as they do so they try to drag you down as they sink into their pit of negativity. Thing is… I don’t sink. I rise. Maybe someone will teach you to swim if you’re nice, but you have to put yourself out there and try. That negativity will only make you sink like a rock.
Happy last few hrs of St. Pat’s Day!
You roll out of bed around 9, pour yourself some cereal, and get ready to start studying (again) for your massive exam. …Well, that is after you glare at facebook updates from people who have actual lives, jobs, or free time who LOVE to share their happiness with the world… Ugh. School.
You jolt out of bed, realize you’re late, throw things onto your body, grab a snack, jump in your car, and floor it to work in the hope that the boss won’t be around when you scramble into work late today. Your head throbs as you reminisce about the bender you all went on the night before as you blast the A/C and loud jams in order to wake up… Hahaha. You just now remember the belligerent girl who walked directly into a door- classic!
You roll over. It’s apparently morning… again. What the hell are you doing with your life? Since college you’ve had a few legitimate jobs that you’ve rocked, but ultimately loathed aaaand then quit. You realize that people finally (*barely) take you seriously, and that you are starting to hate any sentences that begin with, “You should totally…” Today is the day you will figure out your life…
You roll over and look at this face that is supposedly the love of your life. You know this because you had a giant wedding where all of your friends got drunk and everyone was raving about your dress and the food… and he was there getting married to you. Is it all downhill from here? Why does everyone keep asking when there will be a baby?! Have your own damn baby! Life is stressful enough! Shit. The mortgage is responsibility enough. …Ugh. You must make it back to bed… 4 a.m. is getting old.
25 years of age looks different to different people.
Don’t shoot for being the, “best girl” at a certain thing…
aim to be the BEST.
I hear a lot of women call their significant other, “my man.”
Now, flip it around. How can a man calling his significant other, “my woman” be sexist if the, “my man” thing is normal? I’m guessing people would make harsher judgment calls if they heard,
“This is my woman!” (that guy seems like a controlling redneck)
as opposed to,
“This is my man!” (note to self: don’t mess with this chick’s dude b/c she may cut you).
Vaguely confused about this double standard. “My girl” sort of makes sense, but “my boy” sounds creepy in that context.
Sometimes I wonder what the point of honors classes, 2 degrees, and all the fuss was about.
Is my brain being wasted?
