i hate it when people talk like that. aNd LiKe tHIs, ToO.
but anyway.
i don't have anything to say, i really don't. so i figgered i'd just type (or keyboard, since that's what all the kidZ are calling it theze dayz) some words and then hit "go." ya'll can read the words or you can just go on with your day, next-bloggin' it hard core.
i'm still not a functioning human. i can't seem to talk to anyone. i don't call... i don't message... i don't return emails. it's pretty not normal for me, either that or it is the new me altogether and i'm incurable. i dunno. luckily, i don't really care right now so it all works out. don't go all thinking that i don't care about YOU... i so totally do. it's just that i don't care that i'm broken, if that makes any sense to you at all. a few months ago, i said to my
seester and my
friend that i just wanted the not-caring part to come and it appears that it is here. now that it is here, i don't care enough to figure out if it is a good thing or a bad thing. meh.
i think you should all go out and watch the indian in the cupboard. or, stay in and rent it, as it left the cinema around 1995. i just watched it and it was a wonderful movie about how to treat people. i totally dug it. i'm not even kidding. i could suggest more entertaining movies, that i also loved, such as rushmore, or eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, or dirty rotten scoundrels, or the royal tennenbaums, or, real women have curves, or something, but i think you would all benefit more from the indian in the cupboard. yeah yeah yeah, eternal sunshine finally answered whether or not it is better to know and have the pain or not know and be numb, and dirty rotten scoundrels taught us not to pee at the dinner table, and real women have curves taught us that ugly "that time of the month pants" are hot chonies, too... but today i'm recommending a movie that will remind us of how to treat each other. so go watch it, and be good people. then go gambling at one of my people's casinos.
unrelated to the previous unrelated paragraphZ, i'd like to say that i have an unhealthy addiction to celebrity gossip. and i can't say that i am altogether ashamed. i'm not a big fan of rachel ray, but for some reason i like reading the most assuredly false story about her husband paying some hooker twenty bucks to spit on him. that is pure entertainment. so is the rude poem that the "artist" formerly known as britney's mister allegedly wrote on his shower door. good times, good times.
i leave you with a collage of me in my basically awesome track jacket that i got at ross for three dollars american. it it very versatile, as you can see. it can be worn for many activities such as drinking coffee, reading, taking lame pictures of yourself in the mirror, knitting blankets for TANK, yawning, pointing at the jacket itself, giving the thumbs-up, making turkey faces and looking hot in general. awesome. i bet i could even think of a bunch of other things to do in it, if i wanted to... like, wiggle it... just a little bit, or ride a bicycle or make toast even.
arrivederci, rebecca marie
p.s. toldja my pinkies were crooked.