Maybe This Makes Sense

I clicked on this link, posted by wheezywaiter. I was outraged because I thought it was supposed to have something to do with this show. I was wrong. This is the trailer having to do with that show. Which reminds me of this song. Most of those things excite me. :D

Today Mariah picked me up from Madi's around 11:30 and after a slight detour back to retrieve my iPod, we went home. After arriving back home, very tired and very unenthusiastic about most everything I decided that I was under the weather. In a very serious way. So I thought it would be best if I not go and meet relatives as I might have scared them away or harvested their organs. Just saying. Mariah and my father may complain, but hey, a girls got to do what a girls got to do. When I say girl, I mean young, mature adult. When I say got to do, I mean eat like a pig and read Maureen Johnson's blog and sleep for an hour and a half. Oh, and I've had some fluids as well. Hopefully I will feel much better before school starts or else I will be making first impressions with a look of mild disgust and pain on my face and my knife ready for all those organs. Not that I'm a naturally mean person. Just that at times like these, I should be left to myself and away from sunlight.

Tonight I've helped out my mom a bit with some of her friend's kid's while her friend is studying for something having to do with insurance. The kids are cute and I think my mom is enjoying spending some time with them. It's the way mom's are with the whole, "They were so cute and small and adorable and smelled like heaven and baby wipes and freesia. I remember when you were that age. You were so cute. I remember that you would..." and so on.

JUST FOR YOU CAITLIN!
Okay, drug.dealer.pants. I want to say right up front that I do not sell drugs and I do not endorse the selling of drugs.I do, in fact, as you may have noticed on a few occasions, wear pants though.

Once upon a time I was going to the Outer Banks of North Carolina for an educational trip with my 8th grade class. In preparation for that trip I decided that I needed some sweat pants that I could put over other pants. As I knew I would no doubt be cold and also want to be comfortable on the way there, riding in a bus.

So my mother and I traipsed over to Walmart one day and looked for some. All the ones in the girls section were too thin and had no pockets and were all trend and no substance. So we went over to the guys section where I found some real sweat pants. They were dark red, almost like the color of dried blood. They had enormous pockets and they were long and fuzzy and wonderful. So we bought them.

Upon putting on said pants I realized I kind of looked like the type who would stand in a shady alleyway and hand you a bag of the good stuff if you spotted me a 50. By good stuff I mean overpriced ice cream and by 50 I mean 5. Of course. (But how would you keep ice cream in your pants, Mikaella?!? There is no cooling mechanism in your pants! That makes no sense. It made more sense when you were talking about drugs.) Of course it did!

That's why I call them my drug dealer pants and not my overpriced ice cream pants. See how that makes sense?



Obviously my lack of other things to do and general craziness mixed with the death that I am experiencing turns into semi-interesting things. Who knew? So, that's all I have to say, love you! BAI!