I just wanted to clarify one thing:
Despite my frequent posts, I'm not in any way shape or form discontent with my life. I actually like being single at the moment, and am not really looking for anyone. If a wonderful guy happens to show up, then let him! Otherwise, I'm good just the way I am. I'm not crazy about not having a job, but I'll find one eventually.
I also wanted to say that I think it's hilarious how people date/marry people with similar facial features/coloring...I think this points to exactly how egotistical we are. We choose people who we subconsciously think look like us. We're not attracted to other people, but rather, we're attracted to ourselves.
Ok, I made quite a leap there. But honestly, who cares? No one reads this anyway.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Journeys of jobless, boyfriendless college student.
Some things I've discovered...
1. You don't have to be old and single to feel like a spinster. In fact, I feel like a lame wad loser pretty much everywhere I go because I'm a.) alone, and b.) hmmm...alone.
I have nightmares of becoming the crazy cat lady...the saddest part is that I don't even like cats. My problem is not that I can't attract guys, it's that either too picky, or the guys are attract are total losers. This may be because I'm currently surrounded by many, many losers at the empire of all losers called the College of Dupage, but seriously, the guys who like me are like, the kings and princes of the empire of Loserville. It's true. And they want me to be their queen, but the day that I submit to complete loserocity, by dating one of the kings of Loserville, will be the day my grandmother runs a marathon in her granny-pannies wearing a large yellow hat. FYI - this will never happen.
2. Upon attracting those kings of losers, I've discovered that there are some techniques that might be useful in aiding you to rid yourself of these losers. Please observe...
a.) The prissy-church-girl-stick-shuved-up-her-rear-ice-queen lip purse. Simply gather your lips into a scrunching pattern, pursing them out, while furrowing your eyebrows. This is a sure-fire sign to any loser (all of whom are seeking bedding before the wedding) that they won't be getting any at all from you any time soon. This normally works unless you meet a particularly determined loser who likes a challenge. This is where you must apply lesbian tactics like wearing flannel and refusing to shave your legs. Other forms of this include throat clearing at behavior you might deem inappropriate, the cold hard glare, and the rolling of the eyes at everything and anything the loser in mention says and does. If you're really facing a clincher, then you can adopt a hybrid version of these things, combining all of them into one massive ice-queen action.
b.) Depending on the kind of loser you attract, nothing gets rid of a loser quicker than a loud fart, or extremely over ripe B.O. This technique, however, does not get rid of the awkward I-live-in-my-moms-basement-and-substitute-showers-for-more-video game-time loser, because their own specific stenches will most likely over power yours, making him immune to your efforts to ditch him.
c.) Generally, losers are mainly interested in one event in his life that usually lasts about 15 minutes...that's right. He's interested in sex. If he doesn't think he's going to get sex, but rather an obnoxiously clingy girlfriend that keeps him from his fellow loser friends or other girls in whom he might have a better chance at engaging in the old horizontal tango, he probably will cease from calling you. So call him 12 times a day, insist you see him every day, cry when he declines your invitations to go get ice cream or play board games with your parents, and end by having a "serious discussion" about your boundaries, and how you are not willing to go any farther than allowing him to briefly touch your hand.
If this does not work, then adopt A or B, or both.
3. Not having a job leaves up a lot more free time to think about the helpless situation of singleness I have gotten myself into. It's ok. Though I'd love to have both a job, and a significant other at some point in time, I'd rather gouge my eyes out than go out with one of the losers at my school. I've concluded that feeling like a spinster occasionally is so much better than getting creeped on by a loser.
And finally.
4. I've discovered that hiding certain bad habits until you've successfully snagged a guy to the extent that he's trapped, is probably beneficial. Telling a guy that I occasionally dig for gold and wipe my findings on furniture and couches that I do not own, or that my criteria for washing my hands after I go to the bathroom is whether or not my hands smell like pee probably are not qualities of a foxy future wife.
I rest my case.
P.S. That's not actually my criteria for washing my hands after relieving myself...
1. You don't have to be old and single to feel like a spinster. In fact, I feel like a lame wad loser pretty much everywhere I go because I'm a.) alone, and b.) hmmm...alone.
I have nightmares of becoming the crazy cat lady...the saddest part is that I don't even like cats. My problem is not that I can't attract guys, it's that either too picky, or the guys are attract are total losers. This may be because I'm currently surrounded by many, many losers at the empire of all losers called the College of Dupage, but seriously, the guys who like me are like, the kings and princes of the empire of Loserville. It's true. And they want me to be their queen, but the day that I submit to complete loserocity, by dating one of the kings of Loserville, will be the day my grandmother runs a marathon in her granny-pannies wearing a large yellow hat. FYI - this will never happen.
2. Upon attracting those kings of losers, I've discovered that there are some techniques that might be useful in aiding you to rid yourself of these losers. Please observe...
a.) The prissy-church-girl-stick-shuved-up-her-rear-ice-queen lip purse. Simply gather your lips into a scrunching pattern, pursing them out, while furrowing your eyebrows. This is a sure-fire sign to any loser (all of whom are seeking bedding before the wedding) that they won't be getting any at all from you any time soon. This normally works unless you meet a particularly determined loser who likes a challenge. This is where you must apply lesbian tactics like wearing flannel and refusing to shave your legs. Other forms of this include throat clearing at behavior you might deem inappropriate, the cold hard glare, and the rolling of the eyes at everything and anything the loser in mention says and does. If you're really facing a clincher, then you can adopt a hybrid version of these things, combining all of them into one massive ice-queen action.
b.) Depending on the kind of loser you attract, nothing gets rid of a loser quicker than a loud fart, or extremely over ripe B.O. This technique, however, does not get rid of the awkward I-live-in-my-moms-basement-and-substitute-showers-for-more-video game-time loser, because their own specific stenches will most likely over power yours, making him immune to your efforts to ditch him.
c.) Generally, losers are mainly interested in one event in his life that usually lasts about 15 minutes...that's right. He's interested in sex. If he doesn't think he's going to get sex, but rather an obnoxiously clingy girlfriend that keeps him from his fellow loser friends or other girls in whom he might have a better chance at engaging in the old horizontal tango, he probably will cease from calling you. So call him 12 times a day, insist you see him every day, cry when he declines your invitations to go get ice cream or play board games with your parents, and end by having a "serious discussion" about your boundaries, and how you are not willing to go any farther than allowing him to briefly touch your hand.
If this does not work, then adopt A or B, or both.
3. Not having a job leaves up a lot more free time to think about the helpless situation of singleness I have gotten myself into. It's ok. Though I'd love to have both a job, and a significant other at some point in time, I'd rather gouge my eyes out than go out with one of the losers at my school. I've concluded that feeling like a spinster occasionally is so much better than getting creeped on by a loser.
And finally.
4. I've discovered that hiding certain bad habits until you've successfully snagged a guy to the extent that he's trapped, is probably beneficial. Telling a guy that I occasionally dig for gold and wipe my findings on furniture and couches that I do not own, or that my criteria for washing my hands after I go to the bathroom is whether or not my hands smell like pee probably are not qualities of a foxy future wife.
I rest my case.
P.S. That's not actually my criteria for washing my hands after relieving myself...
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Journeys of a jobless college student
Jobs applied for:
Barista at Starbucks in Wheaton
Sales Associate at Borders Books in Wheaton
Barista at Caribou in Yorktown Shopping Center
Barista at Caribou in Glen Ellyn
Photographer at the Picture People
Jobs I have an application for, but have yet to turn it in:
Sales Associate at Barnes and Nobles Books in Wheaton Town Square
Worker...person... at Einstein's bagel's in Glen Ellyn
Starbucks in Glen Ellyn
Number of calls I've received in responses to the applications I actually turned in:
Zero.
Jobs I still do not have:
Barista at Starbucks in Wheaton
Sales Associate at Borders in Wheaton
Barista at Caribou in Yorktown Shopping Center
Barista at Caribou in Glen Ellyn
Photographer at The Picture People in Yorktown Shopping Center
Sales Associate at Barnes and Noble Books in Wheaton Town Square
Worker person at Einsteins in Glen Ellyn
Barista at Starbucks in Glen Ellyn
Amount of money I have left in my bank account:
About 50 bucks.
Amount of money that can get me a half a tank of gas:
$7.00 (isn't that awesome!?)
Amount of time I can go with the gas light on in my car:
3 days
I'm keeping my fingers crossed.
Barista at Starbucks in Wheaton
Sales Associate at Borders Books in Wheaton
Barista at Caribou in Yorktown Shopping Center
Barista at Caribou in Glen Ellyn
Photographer at the Picture People
Jobs I have an application for, but have yet to turn it in:
Sales Associate at Barnes and Nobles Books in Wheaton Town Square
Worker...person... at Einstein's bagel's in Glen Ellyn
Starbucks in Glen Ellyn
Number of calls I've received in responses to the applications I actually turned in:
Zero.
Jobs I still do not have:
Barista at Starbucks in Wheaton
Sales Associate at Borders in Wheaton
Barista at Caribou in Yorktown Shopping Center
Barista at Caribou in Glen Ellyn
Photographer at The Picture People in Yorktown Shopping Center
Sales Associate at Barnes and Noble Books in Wheaton Town Square
Worker person at Einsteins in Glen Ellyn
Barista at Starbucks in Glen Ellyn
Amount of money I have left in my bank account:
About 50 bucks.
Amount of money that can get me a half a tank of gas:
$7.00 (isn't that awesome!?)
Amount of time I can go with the gas light on in my car:
3 days
I'm keeping my fingers crossed.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
I'd toast to this year.
In one year, I've found that I love...
Writing - and I'm really good at it. I love writers, too, and the way I feel when I read the great ones. I love how each writer pulls different thoughts and emotions out of me.
EATING! It's true, and I'll never ever stop for anyone, not now, not ever.
Art - I can hardly describe this - it's looking at a painting and realizing that emotion in the pigments, in the brush strokes, and the delicate ownership the artist took of his masterpiece - are taking my soul and bringing it to the surface of my entire being. It's feeling things I've never felt - the rawness - the shamelessness of it all - it's beautiful. Most of all, it's knowing that someone, hundreds of years before and hundreds of years after, has and will feel the same feeling I felt right at that very moment of standing before that painting.
Laughing - I never did laugh quite as much as I should have.
Being a smarmy little know-it-all - because I really do know it all.
Singing - I love it so dearly, and so tenderly, like an old friend who never truly leaves.
My family - I loved them before, but now I'm discovering WHY I love them - as people - individuals. It's wonderful. They're my best friends.
Painting - I can't describe it. It's just the intricacy - the way that I know that I can make the painting however I want to. The world disappears and suddenly becomes mine.
My places - Borders in Wheaton - Starbucks in Glen Ellyn - they're all mine and no one can change that.
Myself - I really do. I look in the mirror and I see this absolutely stunning young woman. I love who I am and I wouldn't trade that for anything
God - Not because He can do something for me, but because He just is.
Because he's God, and that's all there is. Just God. I love that.
So here's to one year...
1 year of broken hearts, shattered dreams, being empty, lost and naked - being scared, vulnerable and confused. Being bitter, angry and apathetic. Being loved, broken, and healed. Here's to being awed and shaken and humbled. To laughing so hard I cry, and crying so hard I laugh. Here's to friends who'll drive home the week before finals to make sure you're ok and a family who loves you enough to put you back on the bike and give you a big push. Here's to being new - whole - filled. Here's to realizing. Here's to letting go.
And here's to being free.
I'm free.
Writing - and I'm really good at it. I love writers, too, and the way I feel when I read the great ones. I love how each writer pulls different thoughts and emotions out of me.
EATING! It's true, and I'll never ever stop for anyone, not now, not ever.
Art - I can hardly describe this - it's looking at a painting and realizing that emotion in the pigments, in the brush strokes, and the delicate ownership the artist took of his masterpiece - are taking my soul and bringing it to the surface of my entire being. It's feeling things I've never felt - the rawness - the shamelessness of it all - it's beautiful. Most of all, it's knowing that someone, hundreds of years before and hundreds of years after, has and will feel the same feeling I felt right at that very moment of standing before that painting.
Laughing - I never did laugh quite as much as I should have.
Being a smarmy little know-it-all - because I really do know it all.
Singing - I love it so dearly, and so tenderly, like an old friend who never truly leaves.
My family - I loved them before, but now I'm discovering WHY I love them - as people - individuals. It's wonderful. They're my best friends.
Painting - I can't describe it. It's just the intricacy - the way that I know that I can make the painting however I want to. The world disappears and suddenly becomes mine.
My places - Borders in Wheaton - Starbucks in Glen Ellyn - they're all mine and no one can change that.
Myself - I really do. I look in the mirror and I see this absolutely stunning young woman. I love who I am and I wouldn't trade that for anything
God - Not because He can do something for me, but because He just is.
Because he's God, and that's all there is. Just God. I love that.
So here's to one year...
1 year of broken hearts, shattered dreams, being empty, lost and naked - being scared, vulnerable and confused. Being bitter, angry and apathetic. Being loved, broken, and healed. Here's to being awed and shaken and humbled. To laughing so hard I cry, and crying so hard I laugh. Here's to friends who'll drive home the week before finals to make sure you're ok and a family who loves you enough to put you back on the bike and give you a big push. Here's to being new - whole - filled. Here's to realizing. Here's to letting go.
And here's to being free.
I'm free.
Some people...
May I just say, that for David Archuleta's completely amazing voice, they sure do write songs for him that are total crap. May I please send a memo to writers of his song's? No matter what you think, no matter how free-verse lyric should or should not be, away will never ever, rhyme with away. It doesn't work. It's just redundant. These are PROFESSIONAL song writers. They should be able to come up with something better than, "'Cause I've tried and tried to walk away, but I know this crush ain't goin' away"
Please, don't even get me started with the use of "ain't"
ARGHOGGHSDLGHSDDLGJISE
Dear Pop Music Industry,
You guys suck.
Sincerely,
Aubree Redmond (Who obviously knows much better than any of you how to write a chart-topping song without rhyming away with away)
Please, don't even get me started with the use of "ain't"
ARGHOGGHSDLGHSDDLGJISE
Dear Pop Music Industry,
You guys suck.
Sincerely,
Aubree Redmond (Who obviously knows much better than any of you how to write a chart-topping song without rhyming away with away)
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Things I hate
1. Those stupid short sleeved turtle neck shirts. I especially hate the ones with the little puffed princess sleeves. It's stupid. Not only are they so absolutely ugly, but they're totally pointless. They won't keep you warm in the winter (since they have NO SLEEVES), and they'd be too hot in the summer. The other thing I hate about those, is that almost every single girl I've ever met who wears those stupid shirts, are so completely snobbish, it makes me sick.
2. One time I met this guy. He was incredibly gorgeous. I was drooling (ok, not really). He was just incomprehensibly beautiful. Every time I looked at him, it was like looking at him for the first time. It would take my breath away. He was BEAUTIFUL. I'm not joking.
To make it even better, he starts walking over to me like he's going to talk to me. My heart beat is now reaching rates unfathomable to the human mind. I check my breath, run my fingers through my hair, slick my tongue over my teeth to make sure there's no food or anything, then break out my most brilliant, most "Yes, I'm golden" smile.
Then he opens his mouth.
All of my dreams of our beautiful children come crashing to the floor. He's hitting on me. Everything about him screams "I'M STRAIGHT!!!"
But his voice is indisputably that of a flaming gay man's voice.
I hate that.
3. Pollocks.
4. The other day, I'm driving down Finley Road, and I'm at the stop light at Roosevelt and Finley, and this white pickup truck pulls up next to me. There's this guy in it. I mean, everything about him screams sleaze ball.
He looks out his window, and sees that I'm attractive (which I am, much too attractive for him)
This sly little smile breaks across his face.
The light turns green, and I throw my foot against the gas to ditch him (which, by the way, I've become very good at this...ditching people, that is)
And he speeds up more, catches up to me, looks out his window, and assumes the position.
And by "the position", I mean that he puts his right hand on top of the steering wheel and across, purses his lips, looks at me, and starts bobbing his head. Now, I'll give him this - he was TRYING to look attractive, but at the moment I was wondering why they had let this mentally disturbed person get behind the wheel a 2 ton vehicle. So I shot him the dirtiest look I know - and by dirty, I do not mean scandalous, I mean down-right cruel, and speed away.
What was he going to do? Get me to pull over? Did he think he'd get a quicky in the back of his ugly white gas sucking pick up truck?
Sorry sweetheart, but has anyone told you that I'm the queen? Yes. I'm the queen, and with four beautiful words, I can have you killed. They are Off. With. His. Head.
And get your mind out of the gutter you sickos.
Done.
2. One time I met this guy. He was incredibly gorgeous. I was drooling (ok, not really). He was just incomprehensibly beautiful. Every time I looked at him, it was like looking at him for the first time. It would take my breath away. He was BEAUTIFUL. I'm not joking.
To make it even better, he starts walking over to me like he's going to talk to me. My heart beat is now reaching rates unfathomable to the human mind. I check my breath, run my fingers through my hair, slick my tongue over my teeth to make sure there's no food or anything, then break out my most brilliant, most "Yes, I'm golden" smile.
Then he opens his mouth.
All of my dreams of our beautiful children come crashing to the floor. He's hitting on me. Everything about him screams "I'M STRAIGHT!!!"
But his voice is indisputably that of a flaming gay man's voice.
I hate that.
3. Pollocks.
4. The other day, I'm driving down Finley Road, and I'm at the stop light at Roosevelt and Finley, and this white pickup truck pulls up next to me. There's this guy in it. I mean, everything about him screams sleaze ball.
He looks out his window, and sees that I'm attractive (which I am, much too attractive for him)
This sly little smile breaks across his face.
The light turns green, and I throw my foot against the gas to ditch him (which, by the way, I've become very good at this...ditching people, that is)
And he speeds up more, catches up to me, looks out his window, and assumes the position.
And by "the position", I mean that he puts his right hand on top of the steering wheel and across, purses his lips, looks at me, and starts bobbing his head. Now, I'll give him this - he was TRYING to look attractive, but at the moment I was wondering why they had let this mentally disturbed person get behind the wheel a 2 ton vehicle. So I shot him the dirtiest look I know - and by dirty, I do not mean scandalous, I mean down-right cruel, and speed away.
What was he going to do? Get me to pull over? Did he think he'd get a quicky in the back of his ugly white gas sucking pick up truck?
Sorry sweetheart, but has anyone told you that I'm the queen? Yes. I'm the queen, and with four beautiful words, I can have you killed. They are Off. With. His. Head.
And get your mind out of the gutter you sickos.
Done.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
I like to post my secrets.
They're funnier, sweeter, kinder, more honest, and less phony. Who wouldn't want to sit at the kids table?
Or I pretend to - the truth is...I can't wait either.But I will.
:)
Check it out
www.postsecret.com
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
No sir, I really don't have a point.
It is currently 12:05AM. I have exactly 1 intro to lit test to study for, which is exactly 12 hours and thirty five minutes away. It's at these times that I wish I wasn't human so I could stay up all night. I'm so confused lately. I mix up literary terms with musical terms all the time. Like today I said I was so sick of pentamic pentameters (a type of poem) but what I really meant was that I was so sick of pentatonic scales. Today, I was looking at a piece of music, and my mom came up behind me and asked what I was doing, and I said "Scanning this chart"
You don't scan a chart. You scan a poem.
I need help. I really seriously, without any question or doubt, need help.
And one more thing - I am really, REALLY looking forward to this weekend, because it will be the first weekend in about a month where I've decided that all I'm going to do, is sit in my room, and pretend I'm vegetable.
I have to get up in exactly 4 hours and 49 minutes, so I'm going to leave you with this completely pointless blog post.
One more thing - I am extremely proud of my self for discovering that if you take Glen Oak Rd in Lombard, that turns into Hill, and Hill turns into College, which I believe, somewhere down the road, eventually turns into Pennsylvania. Ah, the wonder of back streets.
I can get all the way from my house, to South Wheaton without even driving on a high way.
Yay me.
Oh yeah, and one more thing. I know the reason why you're disagreeing with everything I'm saying is because I'm a woman - you know that the reason you're disagreeing with everything I'm saying is because I'm a woman - so why don't we just say it so I can call you a pig headed jerk and spit on you? Oh...because I'm supposed to be polite, right? Well spitting on you is more polite than kicking you in the nads.
The end.
You don't scan a chart. You scan a poem.
I need help. I really seriously, without any question or doubt, need help.
And one more thing - I am really, REALLY looking forward to this weekend, because it will be the first weekend in about a month where I've decided that all I'm going to do, is sit in my room, and pretend I'm vegetable.
I have to get up in exactly 4 hours and 49 minutes, so I'm going to leave you with this completely pointless blog post.
One more thing - I am extremely proud of my self for discovering that if you take Glen Oak Rd in Lombard, that turns into Hill, and Hill turns into College, which I believe, somewhere down the road, eventually turns into Pennsylvania. Ah, the wonder of back streets.
I can get all the way from my house, to South Wheaton without even driving on a high way.
Yay me.
Oh yeah, and one more thing. I know the reason why you're disagreeing with everything I'm saying is because I'm a woman - you know that the reason you're disagreeing with everything I'm saying is because I'm a woman - so why don't we just say it so I can call you a pig headed jerk and spit on you? Oh...because I'm supposed to be polite, right? Well spitting on you is more polite than kicking you in the nads.
The end.
Monday, November 17, 2008
ARGH
I just feel the need to justify myself here.
I hate Moody Bible Institute. Sorry, but I do. I wouldn't go there for the life of me. I know I spent the majority of my high school years claiming that it was the only college I'd go to, but I believe I've had a change of heart...
Believe it or not, Moody is not the most holy bible college in the world, and attending Moody does not automatically make you the holiest person in the world. Seriously, I know a lot of screw ups who go to Moody...in fact pretty much everyone who goes to Moody is a screw up, and they should know it if they actually took the theology they're learning seriously...since as Christians we believe that ALL have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God...(try reading Romans, please).
Seriously. I don't want to hear about how many people YOU'VE lead to Christ, since you haven't lead them to Christ, Jesus lead them to Himself - you were just a vessel in the process. You don't know how many seeds have been planted, you don't know how many people have watered those seeds, and spread sunshine and weeded the soil so those seeds could grow...maybe you should stop to think that you were simply the one who harvested it. I personally think that this is truly the work of God, not man. I'm humbled when God gives me the opportunity to lead someone to Christ, because it's just another reminder of how sinful and disgusting I am, and how gracious and loving, and merciful God is. I also do not keep track.
Don't get me wrong - I'm the first one to admit that I struggle with pride. It's really hard for me to keep myself in check, but I really believe it's one of the most important things to do with your faith. Pride is distructive, it inflates you to the point where there's no where else to go but down. Then, you self-destruct, you get torn into a thousand little peices. Pride is a horrible, awful thing to have. And here's the thing, when you stand before the gates of heaven, and Jesus asks you "Why should I let you in here?" or "What have you done" saying "I lead 108 people to Christ!" is not going to cut it. It's nothing that YOU have done. It's everything that Jesus has done that grants you merit in the Kingdom of Heaven. And it's only by God's infinite mercy that you are even allowed to pass through the gates into paradise with Jesus. You are granted community and fellowship with Jesus and fellow believers because you professed with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that He rose from the dead - not because you lead 108 people to Christ.
And not by any means am I saying you shouldn't witness and allow the Holy Spirit to overcome you and work through you - I'm not saying that at all, I'm simply saying to count it an enormous privilege - a blessing that Christ gives you...that through the spirit's power, you've been saved, and through the spirit's power, God is using you to save others. I'm just extremely irritated by people who think it gives them any merit whatsoever to proclaim to the entire world how many people they've lead to Christ. You can take your little number elsewhere.
So, I guess a conclusion to this total rant of a post is that I actually don't hate Moody, I just hate the whole elite attitude some of Moody's students and faculty carry. In fact, I hate the whole elite attitude that a lot of Christian college's students and faculty carry *coughwheatoncough*.
I wish we could just be happy with Christ's salvation, and know that there is no one better than the other.
I chose not to go to Moody because it's not the right school for me. Moody was something in my past - not something in my future. I know a lot of people with truly golden and pure, and Christ centered hearts who graduated from Moody. I don't hate the whole institution in general, again, I hate the "I got into Moody Bible Institute" attitude. Listen, I got into Moody, too, but I turned it down. Why?
I'm a woman. I'm a leader. Those two things don't mix at Moody.
Thank you, and good-night.
I hate Moody Bible Institute. Sorry, but I do. I wouldn't go there for the life of me. I know I spent the majority of my high school years claiming that it was the only college I'd go to, but I believe I've had a change of heart...
Believe it or not, Moody is not the most holy bible college in the world, and attending Moody does not automatically make you the holiest person in the world. Seriously, I know a lot of screw ups who go to Moody...in fact pretty much everyone who goes to Moody is a screw up, and they should know it if they actually took the theology they're learning seriously...since as Christians we believe that ALL have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God...(try reading Romans, please).
Seriously. I don't want to hear about how many people YOU'VE lead to Christ, since you haven't lead them to Christ, Jesus lead them to Himself - you were just a vessel in the process. You don't know how many seeds have been planted, you don't know how many people have watered those seeds, and spread sunshine and weeded the soil so those seeds could grow...maybe you should stop to think that you were simply the one who harvested it. I personally think that this is truly the work of God, not man. I'm humbled when God gives me the opportunity to lead someone to Christ, because it's just another reminder of how sinful and disgusting I am, and how gracious and loving, and merciful God is. I also do not keep track.
Don't get me wrong - I'm the first one to admit that I struggle with pride. It's really hard for me to keep myself in check, but I really believe it's one of the most important things to do with your faith. Pride is distructive, it inflates you to the point where there's no where else to go but down. Then, you self-destruct, you get torn into a thousand little peices. Pride is a horrible, awful thing to have. And here's the thing, when you stand before the gates of heaven, and Jesus asks you "Why should I let you in here?" or "What have you done" saying "I lead 108 people to Christ!" is not going to cut it. It's nothing that YOU have done. It's everything that Jesus has done that grants you merit in the Kingdom of Heaven. And it's only by God's infinite mercy that you are even allowed to pass through the gates into paradise with Jesus. You are granted community and fellowship with Jesus and fellow believers because you professed with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that He rose from the dead - not because you lead 108 people to Christ.
And not by any means am I saying you shouldn't witness and allow the Holy Spirit to overcome you and work through you - I'm not saying that at all, I'm simply saying to count it an enormous privilege - a blessing that Christ gives you...that through the spirit's power, you've been saved, and through the spirit's power, God is using you to save others. I'm just extremely irritated by people who think it gives them any merit whatsoever to proclaim to the entire world how many people they've lead to Christ. You can take your little number elsewhere.
So, I guess a conclusion to this total rant of a post is that I actually don't hate Moody, I just hate the whole elite attitude some of Moody's students and faculty carry. In fact, I hate the whole elite attitude that a lot of Christian college's students and faculty carry *coughwheatoncough*.
I wish we could just be happy with Christ's salvation, and know that there is no one better than the other.
I chose not to go to Moody because it's not the right school for me. Moody was something in my past - not something in my future. I know a lot of people with truly golden and pure, and Christ centered hearts who graduated from Moody. I don't hate the whole institution in general, again, I hate the "I got into Moody Bible Institute" attitude. Listen, I got into Moody, too, but I turned it down. Why?
I'm a woman. I'm a leader. Those two things don't mix at Moody.
Thank you, and good-night.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Prince Charming (being a clumsy and stupid man) dropped Cinderella's glass slipper a long time ago, so give it up already.
Let me continue a rant I posted earlier this Fall, entitled something about Cinderella's glass slipper.
To fill you in, I was responding to a quote on the back of my Starbucks cup from this guy saying that he moved to a big city, and he was lonely, then one day he realized that all he had to do was just say hi, and suddenly he'd be the life of the party. Ok, maybe I'm exaggerating a teeny bit, but that's pretty basically what it said.
I responded by telling you a delightful little tale about me spotting what seemed to be my dream guy at Starbucks, and I looked at him, and I said "Hi" and he said "Hi" back and then that was the end of that. No budding romance. No friendship. Not even a second glance.
So then I went on to complain endlessly about how our society lives in lala land half the time, truly believing that a fairy tale is waiting around every corner for each person who is breathing.
I went on in my extreme pessimism to tell readers how stupid this ideology is.
I couldn't help but chuckle at my own misfortune.
So, I go to a bible study on Tuesday nights at my school that's led by Campus Crusade for Christ. I really like it. It's the high-light of my week most weeks, and I enjoy the fellowship I receive there.
One day, I was sitting outside my Speech classroom waiting for the prof to come open up the door, when I saw a guy who I recognized as being from Cru (Campus Crusade), and out of my good-naturedness (at least on THAT specific day, as you know if you stay up on my blog, that I am not ALWAYS good natured) I decided to say...yes...
"Hi"
He turned around, and greeted me, then asked me if I wanted to grab lunch after class. I couldn't, but we ended up going out the next Thursday. We went and got lunch, and it all seemed fine and dandy. He was easy to talk to, and funny. So we started dating...and I was about to write a retraction of that blog saying that sometimes, "Hi" really does work.
But it soon became very apparent that this guy, was a total and complete idiot. I seriously hope he doesn't read this. If you do, I'm sorry, but maybe you should try reading the dictionary more often.
Date number 1: We go and see Eagle Eye. Personally, I absolutely hate...let me repeat that...HATE HATE HATE it when a guy takes me to see a movie on a first date. What you are saying to me by doing that is this: I don't care about you. I don't want to get to know you by talking to you. All I want is a little bit of action...maybe some kissing, tongue, and if I get lucky a little bit of boob. But I don't care about YOU at all. Pretty much, I'd rather be in a dark theater with you.
But that is not all. Actually, nothing happens at all. He fails to put his arm around me or do anything despite my repeated shivering (pretending that I was cold) and inching towards him to give him the O.K. He also only buys one drink and expects me to share that with him. Are you kidding me? You've got to be kidding me. I don't want to drink your backwash. That's nasty.
So here's the kicker, on the way home, we're talking, and I made a reference to a book I read once, and he goes "So, you read a lot?" and I say "Yep. I love reading" or something like that, and he says "That's good. Yep. I'm pretty big on the sports magazines"
I pretty much did a double take. The sports magazines? That isn't reading dear.
Date number 2: He takes me out for coffee. Actually, this one wasn't too bad, except that he tells me all about his problematic sister and how he "looks out for her" like I'm supposed to instantaneously fall in love with him because he's a good big brother. I'm a good big sister in that I don't kick my brother in the nads every time I see him, but I don't expect guys to fall instantaneously in love with me because of that.
Date number 3: This is the date that pretty much had me ralphing up my lunch into my mouth. He takes me to the mall. For some reason, I thought that this was just a nice little outing to talk and stuff. It turns out that he wants me to help him pick out a shirt for work...I am not your mother. I don't want to help you pick out a shirt for work. So we go from store to store, and he keeps picking out these clothes (rather effeminate if you ask me...) and asks me my opinion on which color I like better - and then - get this - he tells me I should try on some boots. BOOTS.
Listen, it's not that I don't like boots, it's just that I don't really like being told what I should and shouldn't wear by a guy I've been on two dates with. And actually, this wasn't a big deal. We go to the next store, and he mentions it again. "You really should try on some boots"
So I'm like "Ok..." and we keep going. THEN...we go to the next store...and HE MENTIONS IT AGAIN. Does he have some weird boot fetish? Who knows. So I say "Nah..." and he goes "Yeah, it's what you like that counts"
Duh. Should I repeat that? DUUUHHH. You don't even have to verbalize that it's so obvious. Oh wait. Time out. You think I should wear boots? Oh yes oh sovereign emperor of my heart! Of course! Anything for you kind master! I will go out promptly and buy myself another pair of shoes that I don't need! Of course! Shall I bow down and kiss your feet now, or after I heed your wishes?
PA LEASE.
Here was the clincher. One day, after class, we're walking to the library together, and it's raining, and he says "Ah, it's raining. Today is the perfect day to curl up with a nice book"
Do you think I'm stupid? Do you not remember that you told me that you only read sports magazines? Or did you think I'd forget about that? You're an idiot. You wouldn't curl up with a "nice book" on a rainy day. So I pretty much sneered at him and told him that I felt that any day was a good day to read.
And then, to put the icing on the cake - on Friday night, I had to work - babysit pretty much, and he calls and wants to know if I want to go see a movie with him and his friends. I don't particularly want to, seeing as I'm a little martyr and I'd rather not have friends (see previous entry) but I have to work anyway, so I say I have to work. He's desperate. Bloody desperate. He asks me what time I'll be done, because I could come hang out after if I want to. I'm not going to be done (thankfully) until late. So I tell him that. I hang up the phone with him, and two minutes later, I get a text message from him asking me what time I usually put the kids to bed. I say she'll be in bed when I get there. Then he texts me back and says that he can bring a movie over after they go to bed and we can order a pizza.
What? Are you kidding?
1. The people I work for are freaking loaded and have camera's outside their house, so if I had a guy come over (which I'm sure they wouldn't appreciate) they would definitely find out.
2. Even if they didn't, and even if you weren't really irritating me, I would never ever do that. That's so unbelievably unprofessional. And for you to even suggest that is sick. What do you think is going to happen? How easy do you think I am? Making moves on me is not easy. You can ask anyone. I have this tendency to knee people in places where the sun doesn't shine if they piss me off enough, or make physical advances on me that I don't like. I don't know. I just do it. It's like a reflex or something.
My only question is why I actually thought this guy could have redeemable qualities. And I know those things don't seem like a big enough deal to constitute my breaking up with him, but you have to understand, I think I'm freaking Socrates. Remember? If not, go back a couple of entry's. I fully believe that I am some kind of a queen.
So, I will NOT be retracting that blog quite yet. I don't even know if you can retract a blog...officially. I'm not sure that it applies. Remember how I talked about being a wannabe child prodigy? I'm also a wannabe aspiring journalist. Yep. Never going to happen.
To fill you in, I was responding to a quote on the back of my Starbucks cup from this guy saying that he moved to a big city, and he was lonely, then one day he realized that all he had to do was just say hi, and suddenly he'd be the life of the party. Ok, maybe I'm exaggerating a teeny bit, but that's pretty basically what it said.
I responded by telling you a delightful little tale about me spotting what seemed to be my dream guy at Starbucks, and I looked at him, and I said "Hi" and he said "Hi" back and then that was the end of that. No budding romance. No friendship. Not even a second glance.
So then I went on to complain endlessly about how our society lives in lala land half the time, truly believing that a fairy tale is waiting around every corner for each person who is breathing.
I went on in my extreme pessimism to tell readers how stupid this ideology is.
I couldn't help but chuckle at my own misfortune.
So, I go to a bible study on Tuesday nights at my school that's led by Campus Crusade for Christ. I really like it. It's the high-light of my week most weeks, and I enjoy the fellowship I receive there.
One day, I was sitting outside my Speech classroom waiting for the prof to come open up the door, when I saw a guy who I recognized as being from Cru (Campus Crusade), and out of my good-naturedness (at least on THAT specific day, as you know if you stay up on my blog, that I am not ALWAYS good natured) I decided to say...yes...
"Hi"
He turned around, and greeted me, then asked me if I wanted to grab lunch after class. I couldn't, but we ended up going out the next Thursday. We went and got lunch, and it all seemed fine and dandy. He was easy to talk to, and funny. So we started dating...and I was about to write a retraction of that blog saying that sometimes, "Hi" really does work.
But it soon became very apparent that this guy, was a total and complete idiot. I seriously hope he doesn't read this. If you do, I'm sorry, but maybe you should try reading the dictionary more often.
Date number 1: We go and see Eagle Eye. Personally, I absolutely hate...let me repeat that...HATE HATE HATE it when a guy takes me to see a movie on a first date. What you are saying to me by doing that is this: I don't care about you. I don't want to get to know you by talking to you. All I want is a little bit of action...maybe some kissing, tongue, and if I get lucky a little bit of boob. But I don't care about YOU at all. Pretty much, I'd rather be in a dark theater with you.
But that is not all. Actually, nothing happens at all. He fails to put his arm around me or do anything despite my repeated shivering (pretending that I was cold) and inching towards him to give him the O.K. He also only buys one drink and expects me to share that with him. Are you kidding me? You've got to be kidding me. I don't want to drink your backwash. That's nasty.
So here's the kicker, on the way home, we're talking, and I made a reference to a book I read once, and he goes "So, you read a lot?" and I say "Yep. I love reading" or something like that, and he says "That's good. Yep. I'm pretty big on the sports magazines"
I pretty much did a double take. The sports magazines? That isn't reading dear.
Date number 2: He takes me out for coffee. Actually, this one wasn't too bad, except that he tells me all about his problematic sister and how he "looks out for her" like I'm supposed to instantaneously fall in love with him because he's a good big brother. I'm a good big sister in that I don't kick my brother in the nads every time I see him, but I don't expect guys to fall instantaneously in love with me because of that.
Date number 3: This is the date that pretty much had me ralphing up my lunch into my mouth. He takes me to the mall. For some reason, I thought that this was just a nice little outing to talk and stuff. It turns out that he wants me to help him pick out a shirt for work...I am not your mother. I don't want to help you pick out a shirt for work. So we go from store to store, and he keeps picking out these clothes (rather effeminate if you ask me...) and asks me my opinion on which color I like better - and then - get this - he tells me I should try on some boots. BOOTS.
Listen, it's not that I don't like boots, it's just that I don't really like being told what I should and shouldn't wear by a guy I've been on two dates with. And actually, this wasn't a big deal. We go to the next store, and he mentions it again. "You really should try on some boots"
So I'm like "Ok..." and we keep going. THEN...we go to the next store...and HE MENTIONS IT AGAIN. Does he have some weird boot fetish? Who knows. So I say "Nah..." and he goes "Yeah, it's what you like that counts"
Duh. Should I repeat that? DUUUHHH. You don't even have to verbalize that it's so obvious. Oh wait. Time out. You think I should wear boots? Oh yes oh sovereign emperor of my heart! Of course! Anything for you kind master! I will go out promptly and buy myself another pair of shoes that I don't need! Of course! Shall I bow down and kiss your feet now, or after I heed your wishes?
PA LEASE.
Here was the clincher. One day, after class, we're walking to the library together, and it's raining, and he says "Ah, it's raining. Today is the perfect day to curl up with a nice book"
Do you think I'm stupid? Do you not remember that you told me that you only read sports magazines? Or did you think I'd forget about that? You're an idiot. You wouldn't curl up with a "nice book" on a rainy day. So I pretty much sneered at him and told him that I felt that any day was a good day to read.
And then, to put the icing on the cake - on Friday night, I had to work - babysit pretty much, and he calls and wants to know if I want to go see a movie with him and his friends. I don't particularly want to, seeing as I'm a little martyr and I'd rather not have friends (see previous entry) but I have to work anyway, so I say I have to work. He's desperate. Bloody desperate. He asks me what time I'll be done, because I could come hang out after if I want to. I'm not going to be done (thankfully) until late. So I tell him that. I hang up the phone with him, and two minutes later, I get a text message from him asking me what time I usually put the kids to bed. I say she'll be in bed when I get there. Then he texts me back and says that he can bring a movie over after they go to bed and we can order a pizza.
What? Are you kidding?
1. The people I work for are freaking loaded and have camera's outside their house, so if I had a guy come over (which I'm sure they wouldn't appreciate) they would definitely find out.
2. Even if they didn't, and even if you weren't really irritating me, I would never ever do that. That's so unbelievably unprofessional. And for you to even suggest that is sick. What do you think is going to happen? How easy do you think I am? Making moves on me is not easy. You can ask anyone. I have this tendency to knee people in places where the sun doesn't shine if they piss me off enough, or make physical advances on me that I don't like. I don't know. I just do it. It's like a reflex or something.
My only question is why I actually thought this guy could have redeemable qualities. And I know those things don't seem like a big enough deal to constitute my breaking up with him, but you have to understand, I think I'm freaking Socrates. Remember? If not, go back a couple of entry's. I fully believe that I am some kind of a queen.
So, I will NOT be retracting that blog quite yet. I don't even know if you can retract a blog...officially. I'm not sure that it applies. Remember how I talked about being a wannabe child prodigy? I'm also a wannabe aspiring journalist. Yep. Never going to happen.
More postsecret confessions.
And if Ricky Ricardo, in the flesh, popped out of the television tomorrow in all his Cuban gorgeousness, I would throw all caution to the wind, leave a note for my parents, and run away with him. Screw Lucy.
This is really funny. Too bad I'm not easy.
but what's so beautiful about it, is that now that your gone, I love it for ME.And I actually don't love it all that much.
but watching a baseball game, or running, or singing, or doing any of those things because I want to do them, or because I enjoy it makes doing those things 10 times better than when I was doing them because I thought it would make YOU happy.
So someday, I sincerely hope that I find someone who will only add to my love for those things, but until then, or if not, I'm perfectly happy loving them just because I do, and for no other reason but that.
I love postsecret. You would, too. Check it out.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
I should self-diagnose myself.
My problem has never been that I'm incapably un-relatable, not that I'm unable to make a great first impression. To be quite honest, that's not the issue at all. I am the queen, the freaking empress, if you will, of first impressions. I am flawless with phrases, a word smith at least. I charm the pants off of everyone I meet for the pure reason of my innate desire for social acceptance.
See, first impressions are certainly not the problem at all. My problem is that I have this nuisance of a notion in my head that I'm nothing less than a child prodigy. That I'm Ivy League. What's worse is that I even think of myself as the type of person who is such a sick little prophet of some sort, that upon arrival at an Ivy League school, I'd be disgusted with the sheer collegiateness of it all. This never fails to result in my making some crass remark about the farceness (is this even a word?) of the whole universe, and people, for some odd reason or another, take this offensively. My problem is that I'd lay around all day sobbing about a lack of companionship in my life, but once I get it, I decide I'm a tragic little martyr for pete's sakes.
I'm much too freaking romantic to be anything but the mysterious and tortured lone wolf. Acceptance get's old on me, because I'm too much of a skeptic, and I like loneliness, because I believe in my heart of hearts that I'm freaking Socrates or something.
I always have some cause or purpose or torment like I'm some kind of saint.
What I fail to realize is that I wasted two of the years I could have spent trying to achieve collegiate success on forming the dreams of a nesting house-wife, on a guy who didn't know his mouth from his butt. What a waste.
What I can't see, is that I'm not really some revolutionary smart-alleck, but just another punk kid who's wasting her life away at Jr. College, so that she can get knocked up or some crap that always happens to child prodigy wannabee's.
Even still, I'm drinking, simply reveling in the fact that I've caught three people already this morning staring at me while writing all this bs out. I think they're thoroughly just riveted by my copy of Franny and Zooey (which is greatly aiding to the tone of this entry) laying next to my arm, and they're simply drawn to my pulsing wisdom, like a sick little nut being sucked onto a magnet.
The fact is, I probably have something on my face, and they're just staring out of pity for the way I've embarrassed myself. They won't remember me next semester when we're in class, and I charm their programmed little butt's off, only to show them how much of a farce even I am. It's all because I'm just a bloody little martyr, with a sorry little cause, and that's the way I like it.
So maybe someday, I'll meet a person who's a little saint like me, and we'll charm each other's faces off, and laugh at the whole world in our "lonewolfism" and all their freaking farceness.
I doubt it though.
See, first impressions are certainly not the problem at all. My problem is that I have this nuisance of a notion in my head that I'm nothing less than a child prodigy. That I'm Ivy League. What's worse is that I even think of myself as the type of person who is such a sick little prophet of some sort, that upon arrival at an Ivy League school, I'd be disgusted with the sheer collegiateness of it all. This never fails to result in my making some crass remark about the farceness (is this even a word?) of the whole universe, and people, for some odd reason or another, take this offensively. My problem is that I'd lay around all day sobbing about a lack of companionship in my life, but once I get it, I decide I'm a tragic little martyr for pete's sakes.
I'm much too freaking romantic to be anything but the mysterious and tortured lone wolf. Acceptance get's old on me, because I'm too much of a skeptic, and I like loneliness, because I believe in my heart of hearts that I'm freaking Socrates or something.
I always have some cause or purpose or torment like I'm some kind of saint.
What I fail to realize is that I wasted two of the years I could have spent trying to achieve collegiate success on forming the dreams of a nesting house-wife, on a guy who didn't know his mouth from his butt. What a waste.
What I can't see, is that I'm not really some revolutionary smart-alleck, but just another punk kid who's wasting her life away at Jr. College, so that she can get knocked up or some crap that always happens to child prodigy wannabee's.
Even still, I'm drinking, simply reveling in the fact that I've caught three people already this morning staring at me while writing all this bs out. I think they're thoroughly just riveted by my copy of Franny and Zooey (which is greatly aiding to the tone of this entry) laying next to my arm, and they're simply drawn to my pulsing wisdom, like a sick little nut being sucked onto a magnet.
The fact is, I probably have something on my face, and they're just staring out of pity for the way I've embarrassed myself. They won't remember me next semester when we're in class, and I charm their programmed little butt's off, only to show them how much of a farce even I am. It's all because I'm just a bloody little martyr, with a sorry little cause, and that's the way I like it.
So maybe someday, I'll meet a person who's a little saint like me, and we'll charm each other's faces off, and laugh at the whole world in our "lonewolfism" and all their freaking farceness.
I doubt it though.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Monday, November 3, 2008
Sometimes people amaze me.
I really like when I go to the mall, and random people talk to me.
Actually I do. And I have a cool story.
So today, I went to the mall, and I was feeling all "My life sucks. The world sucks."
so I got Panda Express. I was all pissy because Panda didn't have any orange chicken left, and I didn't want to wait, so I got something else (Which was lame) so I carry my food ALL THE WAY over to the other end of the food court, when I discover that I have no fork. Nope. No fork at all. So, I get up, haul my big booty all the way back to Panda to get a fork, leaving my plate of food on the table, get a fork, and come back to find that someone had gotten me a fork in my absence.
Although this gesture was kind of pointless, I was totally and completely humbled. First of all, someone had been selfless enough in the first place to notice that I had noticed I didn't have a fork, secondly, some completely random person who didn't know me, and didn't know what kind of a day I'd had (Bad, for the record) happened to get up, and get me a fork.
Sometimes, I lose all faith in humanity. Sometimes, I truly believe that the whole world is full of hate filled people who are incapable of selfless acts of love. It's on days like today that I'm totally blown away by how God uses us, even in our sinfulness. That one person got me a fork, not for the thanks (as it was done out of anonymity), but simply because I needed one.
So, whoever you are - thank you for getting me an eating utensil in my time of need. I needed it in many more ways than one. I hope you know that you've just completely turned around my entire week, all by getting up and grabbing me a fork.
Actually I do. And I have a cool story.
So today, I went to the mall, and I was feeling all "My life sucks. The world sucks."
so I got Panda Express. I was all pissy because Panda didn't have any orange chicken left, and I didn't want to wait, so I got something else (Which was lame) so I carry my food ALL THE WAY over to the other end of the food court, when I discover that I have no fork. Nope. No fork at all. So, I get up, haul my big booty all the way back to Panda to get a fork, leaving my plate of food on the table, get a fork, and come back to find that someone had gotten me a fork in my absence.
Although this gesture was kind of pointless, I was totally and completely humbled. First of all, someone had been selfless enough in the first place to notice that I had noticed I didn't have a fork, secondly, some completely random person who didn't know me, and didn't know what kind of a day I'd had (Bad, for the record) happened to get up, and get me a fork.
Sometimes, I lose all faith in humanity. Sometimes, I truly believe that the whole world is full of hate filled people who are incapable of selfless acts of love. It's on days like today that I'm totally blown away by how God uses us, even in our sinfulness. That one person got me a fork, not for the thanks (as it was done out of anonymity), but simply because I needed one.
So, whoever you are - thank you for getting me an eating utensil in my time of need. I needed it in many more ways than one. I hope you know that you've just completely turned around my entire week, all by getting up and grabbing me a fork.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
alshgljkahsdgasdg
So I think I should clarify a few things.
John McCain. I'm voting for him. So there.
Gee, I'm so terribly sorry if I got dumped last year and ruined all your little party plans. Gosh, so terribly terribly sorry about that. What shall I do to make it up to you? Should I find another boyfriend? Huh? Right now? To please you? So that we can be the cute little foursome and we can go on double dates!? Oh so fun! Please! Let me just step outside for a moment and grab a guy and we'll go! Hurrah!
You are upset that I'm passing you. Oh dear. I'm terribly sorry.
Not. Drive faster, sucker.
Do me a favor and stop making weirdo psychopathic passes at me such as, "I need someone to cuddle with!" do you really think I want to cuddle...with you...? Huh? And who's to say that I want to cuddle at all. Maybe I'm perfectly fine not cuddling with anyone. Did you ever think about that? I AM NOT A CUDDLE WHORE.
Hello. My name is Aubree Redmond. I was home sch...Oh...what's that? You think home schoolers are anti-social retards who don't have a realistic grasp on their lives? You think they're unsuccessful losers? Or maybe you just think they're super genius computer geeks who only know how to communicate with electronic things? Is that it? Or maybe you feel now that I've relayed to you the fact that I was schooled differently than you were through elementary and high school that you have the right to put me under a full blown formal interrogation...hmm...let's think about these things for a while...
Can I punch you in the face now?
HERE! LET ME BABYSIT YOUR BRAT CHILDREN SO THAT YOU CAN PAY ME 5 DOLLARS AN HOUR WHICH IS BELOW THE LEGAL AVERAGE FOR MINIMUM WAGE. OH SURE. YES. I WOULD LOVE TO DO THAT. BECAUSE YOUR CHILDREN ARE SIMPLY THE APPLES OF MY EYES AND I WAIT EVERY SECOND BY THE PHONE FOR YOU TO CALL AND ASK ME TO WATCH THEM! YES! OF COURSE! OF COURSE!
PA LEASE...for my sake, yours, and everyone in a 40 foot radius of your's sake, TAKE A SHOWER.
People who pick their zits in public and then wipe the puss on their shirt should not be allowed IN public period.
Speaking of periods, I'm getting mine soon. Can you tell?
Ok. I'm done.
John McCain. I'm voting for him. So there.
Gee, I'm so terribly sorry if I got dumped last year and ruined all your little party plans. Gosh, so terribly terribly sorry about that. What shall I do to make it up to you? Should I find another boyfriend? Huh? Right now? To please you? So that we can be the cute little foursome and we can go on double dates!? Oh so fun! Please! Let me just step outside for a moment and grab a guy and we'll go! Hurrah!
You are upset that I'm passing you. Oh dear. I'm terribly sorry.
Not. Drive faster, sucker.
Do me a favor and stop making weirdo psychopathic passes at me such as, "I need someone to cuddle with!" do you really think I want to cuddle...with you...? Huh? And who's to say that I want to cuddle at all. Maybe I'm perfectly fine not cuddling with anyone. Did you ever think about that? I AM NOT A CUDDLE WHORE.
Hello. My name is Aubree Redmond. I was home sch...Oh...what's that? You think home schoolers are anti-social retards who don't have a realistic grasp on their lives? You think they're unsuccessful losers? Or maybe you just think they're super genius computer geeks who only know how to communicate with electronic things? Is that it? Or maybe you feel now that I've relayed to you the fact that I was schooled differently than you were through elementary and high school that you have the right to put me under a full blown formal interrogation...hmm...let's think about these things for a while...
Can I punch you in the face now?
HERE! LET ME BABYSIT YOUR BRAT CHILDREN SO THAT YOU CAN PAY ME 5 DOLLARS AN HOUR WHICH IS BELOW THE LEGAL AVERAGE FOR MINIMUM WAGE. OH SURE. YES. I WOULD LOVE TO DO THAT. BECAUSE YOUR CHILDREN ARE SIMPLY THE APPLES OF MY EYES AND I WAIT EVERY SECOND BY THE PHONE FOR YOU TO CALL AND ASK ME TO WATCH THEM! YES! OF COURSE! OF COURSE!
PA LEASE...for my sake, yours, and everyone in a 40 foot radius of your's sake, TAKE A SHOWER.
People who pick their zits in public and then wipe the puss on their shirt should not be allowed IN public period.
Speaking of periods, I'm getting mine soon. Can you tell?
Ok. I'm done.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
