I *finally* got my shower curtain printed with a map of the New York City subway system. It’s so cool! It smells like a combination of Ben-Gay, Vicks, and talcum powder. It’s such a heady scent, maybe I’ll switch from Burberry’s to that. It’s been two days since I got it in the mail, and my entire apartment still smells of shower curtain. I’ve never known a shower curtain to be so fragrant.
Update on the Halloween costume idea: I know I said I would dress as Ernie in my last e-mail, but there is the possibility of my department dressing as Parliament. If this does happen, then I get to be Bootsy. I wish I still had my cool John Fluevog platforms from high school, but I think I donated them to the Salvation Army last year. Well, better some skinny little suburban club kid than me, as my balance was never good enough. I always looked like I was trotting when I wore them. And besides, those shoes were *so* early 90’s.
I can’t believe we’re up to flip front no. 16! Give yourselves a pat on the back for having the patience to put up with my incoherent ramblings. But I’m a little worried, because I feel like I’m running out of interesting and funny things to say. After a certain point, this could all degrade into a lot of mush, much like my advice column did. “Boys suck, I rule” blah blah blah. I quite looking forward to being a crotchety old woman, but the time for that is not now. Maybe next year.
Last night, I was at the Belmont station on the Red line, and I thought I saw this guy I used to have a big crush on in school. But it wasn’t him, but I still got that kind of fluttery feeling in my stomach that is usually followed by despair. Mmmm, I love being in a state of crushed-out bliss — placing prank calls to his house, making voodoo dolls of his girlfriend, and sending him dead roses are some of my favorite activities.
This brings to mind my dream prom theme: “Every Breath You Take”, aka The Stalker Prom. I object to the practice of planning your prom around a crappy love song like “My Heart Will Go On” or anything ever recorded or released by Boys II Men (with the exception of “Motownphilly”). However, choose a sketchy yet heartfelt song and I am *so* there. My senior prom was in a bar, okay? I’m no stranger to the darker side of life.
I’ve come to the conclusion that “WWJD?” should actually stand for “What Would Jasmine Do?” Not because I don’t think Jesus deserves the shoutout, but because it would just be really cool to have people invoking my name and image in the midst of a personal crisis. They would look down at the picture of me they keep in their wallet, rub it for guidance, then go about their business. So I’m going to buy a whole bunch of those “WWJD?” key chains, attach a photo of me giving a thumbs-up, then sell ’em on the street for $5. Goodbye, student loans!
I am addicted to the quizzes found on thespark.com and emode.com. I now know that I am 41% sluttier than the rest of the population, and a GURU, because of these quizzes. They’re like Cosmo sex quizzes, but not nearly as lame or sexist. Now everything makes sense! And if it weren’t for those quizzes, I wouldn’t know that Lance of N’Sync is my true love. Now all I need to do is get to a concert of his and we can begin the rest of our lives.
There are now two Jollibees in the US! Although both are in southern CA, I intend to make a pilgrimage very soon. It’s been too long since I’ve been able to order palabok (see attached) and cheese fries in the same establishment. Now, if I could just get a Jollibee and a Cuban-Chinese restaurant to open in Chicago, I should be all set. I’ve been craving even more salt than usual. I think I’m growing into my Flipness. I retook the Filipino quiz (http://travel2rp.com/fliptest.shtml) yesterday and I got a 257. It was satisfying to be able to indicate that I now own my very own wooden knife and spoon. I haven’t hung them yet. But once I do, I’ll be having a housewarming party. It’s going to be so cool.
I was watching this cooking show last week — a large English woman tossed a snapper into a pan, buried it under what looked like a 1/2 gallon of Kosher salt, squeezed lemon over that, then baked it for 15 minutes. I nearly cried when she brought it out of the oven, it was so beautiful. Oooh, 2pm — time for lunch.
I know this edition wasn’t particularly savory or exciting, but work has been sucking lately so I’ve been unable to focus. Those TALbots on this list will surely understand. The bossman is leaving, and we’re having his “bon voyage” party tonight at Cafe Iberico. Those of you who’ve been there knows this guarantees me an evening of yummy sangria, olive oil, and hot Latin waitstaff. I can’t wait.
Until whenever I write the next one,