the ward-drobe of the fascinating woman

I was going to start out by complaining about the someone (whose name starts with a B) who seems to feel like the vocations I'm considering (KJ-i or mischievous ghost) are subpar (although, I will point out, being a mischievous ghost would be pretty childish and sassy). And I was going to point out that this someone (B) should maybe shove-it because he's just on the rebound anyway....
But apparently he's not alone in his disparages. And one cannot ignore Laquina's remonstrance that she wouldn't be able to tackle me if I were a poltergeist. Because I love getting wrestled to the ground. But hey, remember how I got you so good when you visited a month ago? Maybe it was just once, but I'm treasuring it.
Point being:
I guess I'll have to stick with being a documentartian.
So good thing I realized today that I am irrevocably in love with documentary. It's a true love. It grows more and more each day, with each passing hour. Greg Kinnear once said, "I--can't help my self.*" I wish I could serve that to you with notations of his intonations, but let that suffice.
I can't help myself.
Sometimes as I'm sitting in [documentary production] class and we've just finished a discussion on post modernism vs. modernism vs. what that anthropologist said that has nothing to do with what we're actually supposed to be studying in class , and then we listen to a clip of someone's audio documentary and I get butterflies in my stomach and I can't stop smiling, I can't stop being in love. Somehow at some point, God made my soul out of documentary, I'm sure of it.

Also, I'm obsessed with saltine crackers lately and I think someone slipped me weed this evening because I have got the munchies.

And I want you to fully appreciate my phone's terrible vocabulary:
In the last week, text predictor has not recognized "ouch", "cougar(s)", "mascott", or "bastard." Just a note for my parents, that last one was most definitely in the appropriate bastard connotation of having unmarried parents and was not offensive whatsoever.

fridge pants.


*You've Got Mail