A blog of all the things I feel like talking about, including but not limited to: blanket racism, Rob Lowe, swords, constant tv commentary, terrible Netflix movies, and my fantastic ability to make any two movie characters gay for each other for my own amusement.
I started writing a full post about my Halloween costume (which I may still flesh out and post if I need a way to avoid responsibilities) but for now I decided to just let it speak for itself:
I also made the costume/did the makeup of my roommate Courtney. And decided on our band name, inspired by this video from The Mighty Boosh. If only we could find some musical talent this could really be something…
We may or may not have taken over forty pictures in different badass poses...
The other night I was feeling extremely hyper, energetic and incredibly bored. On top of that, my roommates had the audacity to leave me all alone when I was in such desperate need of amusement. Something about needing to study or going to church or freeing giraffes from captivity or something, I was pretty tuned out.
Sweet Freedom!!!!
The important thing is that they left me at home, all alone, knowing full well that I had recently finished watching all of my British comedy shows and had no way to mindlessly amuse myself. Unforgivable.
So I wandered the apartment for awhile, sighing loudly until I remembered there was no one around to hear how dreadfully I was being treated. Then I came across a penny, which made me happy until I realized it was one of those new pennies.
Whoever made the decision to deprive future generations of the joy of discovering the teeeeny Lincoln sitting in the monument on the back of classic pennies should go sit on a cactus. It was honestly one of the defining moments of my childhood.
Bask in the glory of tiny Lincoln! He's in there, I promise.
Disquieted by my musings on minuscule presidents (or lack-thereof), I decided to be the bigger person. I wouldn't be angry at my friends by leaving me to my own devices; I would use this alone time to show them how much I care.
Thus I wrote nice things on seven-post it’s for each of my roommates and hid them around the apartment. It was a gesture that I felt was appropriately equal parts sweet and serial killer, which is just my style.
This took me about nine minutes. Or it may have been forty. I have a really bad sense of time. The point is that after doing this I was still bored, hyper and alone. After nixing the idea of covering the light fixture in tin foil (I just couldn’t come up with a feasible reason) and writing the word “Mummy” on the bathroom mirror with my finger so it showed up when my roommate showered, I retreated to the only possible course of action.
I am speaking, of course, of this song. Listen. Watch the video. Then go watch the other pretty much identical video (except she had a white dress instead of red and is indoors). And try not to get sucked in. I dare you. It is impossible. It is simply too glorious to be ignored. WATCH KATE BUSH DO WEIRD ARM DANCING.
My roommate did not find it quite so glorious when she finally got home. Although she may have been distracted by me singing and dancing along. She simply narrowed her eyes at me and said “you know way too many of those lyrics. What even is that?”
I am not ok with these miniature versions of attractive guys that seem to inhabit my campus. You know, the type of guy who is like, “hi, I’m really good looking. By the way, I’m five-four.” This is really annoying for someone like me who is 5’10 (5’11 on a stretchy day.) This would not be a problem if I were a tiny Asian girl. Also, if I were a tiny Asian girl I would look adorable in pigtails rather than like a cocker spaniel.
Pictured: Less adorable than Asian girls
But I digress. I am not now nor will I ever be a tiny Asian girl, and I must come to terms with that. The point is that I do not like short men, simply for the fact that they make me feel like a freaky giant Amazonian. One might say that I have a “type”. However, apparently my “type” is considered odd by some (very judgmental) people.
Confession time: I like pointy men.
Ok, at first I had no idea what that meant either. It is a term coined by my sister to describe some of my celebrity crushes. It should also be noted that she does not at all share my thoughts on what is considered attractive (she is into the giant-teddy-bear type of guy). Perhaps it would be easier to explain this with an example or three.
I want to take him to the zoo
and buy him ice cream.
Did somebody call a Doctor?
They still shouldn't be remaking Spiderman
I could provide many more examples, but I think you can see the trend by now. There is something undeniably…pointed about all these men. What can I say; I like ‘em dark haired and scrawny in a way that might be painful to hug. But in a hot way.
This is not to say I don’t appreciate the more traditional look of male attractiveness. Everyone loves a good set of abs, and given the chance I would literally live inside Robert Downey Jr.’s eyes. I just think that the awkward, angular gents among us have a certain charm that is undeniable.
So, I guess that explains the ‘pointy’ part of my blog title. Well, that and my knife collection. Maybe the knife thing would have been the more interesting choice to expand upon…
