This is how I have made all my friends in the past, except that they were the direct ones and I the passive friendship recipient. Finding the tables turned and being in charge of choosing my own friends is daunting, indeed.
That upside down thing is pure genius.
I have a red apron with a faded recipe for apple pie on it, printed right side up. Upside down would have made much more sense, though my upside down reading skills have improved over time.
Aw, maaan, dude.
I know, dude, maaaan.
Dude! Man, I am stoked!
Man, so stoked, dude!
I mean we don't all sound like Bill and Ted all of the time, but in same company, mostly, yeah.
Where is The Pen That Works
Mom-aged TV Grandmas unite!
The cleverly knotted penis sash strikes again.
You forgot: Lie down because you keep nodding off at everything you try to do. The moment your head hits the pillow, brain starts its endless why is my life spiral. Stay in bed, feeling more and more awake with each passing minute, every sound in your house startling your nerves. Give up, get up, nod off five minutes into task you started because obviously you are not napping today. Lie down, brain starts racing. Repeat no fewer than three times. Spend rest of day in exhaustion fueled state of disgruntledness. Stay up until 4 AM just out of spite, or possibly because of all that coffee you drank trying to make it through dinner without face planting into your chicken parm.
I chopped off most of the tip of my thumb at work when I was 19. Went right through the thumb nail. Soaked through two bar towels before my employers decided yes, this woman really does need a hospital. Doctor told me not to bother with stitches since, although she could see bone and ordinarily wouldn't recommend removal, there was nothing holding it on but a skin flap. I still asked her to please not snip the flap but just sort of flop my thumb tip back over, bandage it up, and see what happened. Less than a week later: adhesion! Victory!
My thumb print is crooked, and I don't have much feeling, but it works fine. Feels like having a callous, sort of, that my nail grows out of.
Oh, I see you also applied for the last bakery position I was able to get an interview for, four years ago. Let us together work a half shift for free and then never hear back from them again, not even for them to say "no, you sucked, stay away from all bread and bread related products, we don't care how much experience you have" despite being told you were great and should call back tomorrow to find out when you start.
The working interview, long may it rot.
Since this has basically been my response to even the shortest of term papers for my entire life from middle school through three years of college, I am terrified of the day when I am confronted with a thesis.
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