one. you know those cardboard dumps you see in bookstores? the ones that hold newly released paperbacks in a box divided into sixths or eighths, propped on flimsy easels and topped with flimsier images which are partially obstructed by the book’s title and author information? my cd/dvd racks are in storage, at the back of a ten-by-fifteen unit which is crammed full of my shit or my parents’. way at the back. crammed FULL, i tell you. so i won’t be braving the chaos to get three little measly racks, i thought (years ago…because it’s been years since i’ve had my own place), when one of those cardboard boxes would work just fine. there are now seven of them — three black, two brown, one royal blue and one this incredibly, ridiculously bright red. my cds and dvds are in these boxes which line the beautifully painted walls of my room. perhaps if my room didn’t have this hobo feel to it, i might be inclined to keep it less chaotically.
two. for the superbowl, as i was rooting for the saints, i wore a black mini skirt, a black tee-shirt and a kickass black and gold jacket. (i had to work, otherwise, it would’ve been blue jeans and the black tee-shirt). it’s not my usual flavor, this jacket. it’s a style that i would normally classify as a little too girly, a little too rich and pomp and circumstance and ornate for my tastes. right now, it’s hanging on the back of the chair in front of my desk. right now, i’m looking at it, and i’m thinking it looks like really bad wallpaper. but the thing’s built like a pirate coat, so the gold of the print loses the lameness when you put it on. and the coat makes me look like i have more shoulders than i really do….
three. i’m really self-conscious about my shoulders.
four. probably because i have such horrible posture, and they roll forward quite a bit.
five. and because i swam breaststroke.
six. and i got picked on a lot as a kid, and kind of curled myself inward or something.
seven. and probably because i sleep on my side, curled up in a ball, with my arms all contorted.
eight. and because i always had to have my coach’s help when it came time to doing the bench press when we did weights before swim practice. (i literally began my freshman year benching less than ten, folks. that’s how much of a pansy i was.) :]
nine. …anyway, the thing’s been hanging on that chair since … what? january? february? this is how good a housekeeper i am.
ten. i don’t keep up with my tivo as well as i should. today, for example, i burned four episodes — three of white collar (one of which had been on there since the last week in february…and i’m pretty sure it got killed, and i can understand why…every episode seems to be a regurgitation of the previous…but i’d saved them for my mommy) and one of life unexpected (which i have a really bad feeling it got cancelled, and i’m kind of bummed about that). the white collar episodes i’d not watched yet. but they were taking up valuable space. i kept losing shows because tivo would kill them before i’d had a chance to watch them. (of course, given that i’m less and less impressed with private practice and grey’s anatomy, there are two that might not be on season pass for too much longer, which would be cool. then maybe i could go back to watching the mentalist and bones, assuming they don’t come on at the same time…my luck they probably do).
eleven. i find myself supremely irritated when people confuse there, their and they’re and your and you’re (that one bothers me so much more the others), and yet, i catch myself making this mistake more and more frequently.
twelve. i have about a dozen baseball caps, most of which were given by family members. the only one i wear is my aggie cap.
thirteen. when i wear a baseball cap, i feel small and frumpy. so i really only wear it in the fall at the games.
fourteen. i got season tickets to kyle field. i am SO excited! (three months to football season! WHOOP!)
fifteen. i almost always feel like i’ve failed at everything. it makes it hard to pick myself up and dust myself off and try again. i don’t always see the point in it cause the picking myself up again seems to be inevitable. (and yeah, i know. prolly cause i jinx myself.)
sixteen. i wish i could wear my boots all year long.
seventeen. i wish they weren’t falling apart.
eighteen. i wish jessica simpson still made them.
nineteen. i’m somewhat embarrassed to say i own anything that jessica simpson made, but these, these are kickass boots. i get tons and tons of compliments on them, even in their fallingapartness.
twenty. i love that i can hear the cars passing on the freeway from my house.
twenty-one. i love that when you’re in my front yard, it doesn’t feel like the freeway’s so close.
twenty-two. ceiling fans make my eyeballs dry out.
twenty-three. but without them, i get crazy, crazy hot when i sleep.
twenty-four. red oak trees are my favorites, then post oaks, then magnolias, then sweet gums, then dogwoods (but dogwoods don’t like the climate down here so much, i guess.)
twenty-five. i hate those web advertisements that make noise. i’m all in deep concentration and there’s congratulations! you’ve won! i don’t give a shit. shut up.