i love bookstores so much, i can’t even tell you…
but i’m going to try. if you made a bookstore with a moonbounce in it, i would never leave. i would subsist on seasonal espresso drinks and literature and the physics of trapped air. there is nothing missing from that equation. it spells love in 4000 different spoken languages and nirvana in 2 dead languages. and if cute boys came to the bookstore, they would only do so after hearing the rumors about the little girl golem who lives between the shelves (ahem, me). then they would take some cellphone pictures and leave, but i might get their numbers and call them later whispering sweet nothings about jumping and james joyce and kitschy blank journals. anyway, according to HJNTIY, you’re not supposed to call boys’ numbers. so i lose.
earlier, i was exiting my coworkers office and i sort of tipped over sideways and fell into the door frame. then i said, “someone’s still not awake this morning!” without a trace of irony.
even more losing:
i have a cake addiction! i am often caked out, doing lines of cake and/or cavorting with the frosted lady. my friends call me a cakehead. the crack equivalent of cake is cake batter.
cakebaby. it starts young.
courtesy of Gad2 and Lehigh University
loser hall of shame:
i leaked pad thai juice all over my bag. it was the equivalent of exxon-valdez. oil is still coming out of everything i own. millions of carrots perished in the spill and thousands of bean sprouts were rendered homeless. lunch still, despite the odds, proved delicious.
a tiny win for teamparna: i told a comedian he looks like a giant baby yesterday. because he does.