It's not me... It's you...

So I know that it's really cruel to do this over the internet, but I am breaking up with you. I just feel like you aren't even there sometimes while I am talking. Maybe we'll meet again someday.


Seriously, the last straw was when our mascot was so embarrassed by our sad blob that he grew his hair out in an attempt to look like a different blob's mascot.

Eccentric Lazyland...

I know I'm weird.
I know you're weird.
There isn't a member of this family who isn't weird.
Here's your proof.
You have Welder blood or you CHOSE to marry a Welder.
I won't ask for a show hands, you know who you are.
I also won't ask which is more weird, that could open up some kind of quantum vortex.
What I will ask is:
What is one weird thing about you that we probably don't know? For those of you who are much to busty to participate, one sentence will do. You don't have to explain your weirdness. Just put it out there. I guess you can explain if you want to though...

Two things in the life of Elisa:

1. I took the GRE in English Literature today. I wouldn't recommend this to anyone who doesn't want their brain to feel like the gruel Oliver Twist requested a second helping of. Two-hundred and thirty questions, many of which weren't in modern English (we're expected to know Old and Middle English as well, the latter of which is slightly recognizable, the former not so much), which of course irritated me because my speciality is American Lit., none of which was written in anything but modern English. Well. Hawthorne and Melville might be exceptions, but they suck and therefore don't count.

2. After the GRE the roommate and I decided to lay out for three hours. We applied sunscreen (SPF 8, the highest number recognized by any female under the age of twenty-five; we seriously contemplated baby oil but couldn't find any) and proceeded to fall asleep in twenty minute increments (allowing for flip-time, of course). I already had a base tan so I thought, stupidly, that I would be fine. WRONG. My chest, back, lower stomach, and upper thighs (read: "butt") are all horrendously burnt. Do I care? Nope. I'll put on aloe vera to prevent peeling and relish in the joys of having an awesome tan in April. As the comedian Daniel Tosh says, "There's no depth to my shallowness."