Who in the halllllllllllllllll decided this was happening?
This explains a lot about my role as a mule in the 6th grade Christmas program…
Category: Uncategorized
The show must go on.
To A Best Friend in the WWW
Dearest Lady,
It’s been well near a month since I’ve seen you. Snow’s fallen, the choirs and carols long since hushed by faces consumed with Christmas leftovers and New Years’ drinks. Wrapping paper concealing the socks and electronics we had on our list, it’s somewhere in a landfill now. The candy canes are on clearance, and cherub stuffed Santas returned to their box deep beneath the stairwell, in the heart of the basement. The trees we stripped of their ornaments, their dignity, long ago tossed to the curb to see a new life in an unfriendly forest.
This break, it’s almost—so close to being, almost so close to over.
What I’m trying to say is, I’m ready to come back. The trays of sweets diminished weeks ago and my bedroom walls are caving in. I’m starting to like TV, and it’s scaring me. I saw a man with an egg shaped head tonight, that was my sign; I know for certain that my time here is near expired.
Anyhow, how’ve you been?
Good? Fantastic? I bet you’re still witty and beautiful. You’ve probably been watching a lot of the History Channel, and I can almost see you curled up on your be—excuse me, the couch, getting a mouthful of sleep. I hope you’ve been taking absurd amounts of bubble baths (I want to see that Princess bottle EMPTY, ya’hear?) and working on your egg sandwich-making. Not that it needs work, just—working on it.
Oh, I’m fine. Getting by, one midnight snack at a time, one sleepless, meatless, longing and thought-provoking day at a time. My nails need a painting and I’ve been itching for a back massage. The good news is, well…the good news is…
…we’re merely weeks, a dozen chocolate bars and a bucket of reduced fat ice cream, a large half-pepperoni-half-pineapple pizza and one all-nighter away from being utterly content. It’s going to be beautiful, and profound, and ridiculous—you can count on that. And we will gain 10 pounds. Count on it.
I can’t wait!
A few things before I sign off:
• My closet is your closet, excluding undergarments
• There’s a bag of meatballs in the fridge. They’re yours. Feel free to add them to your cereal.
• If someone calls the apartment looking for a robot, take a message.
• If someone calls the apartment looking for eight pounds of maple syrup, it’ll cost them $3 with free delivery within the U.S.
• If anyone asks what happened to your roommate, tell them I’m on tour and will be back in 2019.
• I did not count the Oreos in the pantry, so feel free to smuggle.
• In the event that my submarine does not make it back to shore, you are entitled to inherit my duvet cover, laundry money, and that giant bottle of Redken conditioner under the sink. (I know you use Garnier or something comparably soft and seraphic, but you might be able to sell it on Craig’s List.)
• I love you the way mothers love children, dogs love bacon-flavored treats, leprechauns love their lucky charms, and hamsters love those crazy wheelie-bobbers. I do not love you like old men love little boys, or the rugby team loves the rugby team. That’s just not right.
• I am sorry I just compared love to bacon treats, leprechauns and hamsters.
• I really miss you.
Your long-lost kangaroo sistah from another marsupial,
jenny
P.S. I’m concerned about you falling asleep in the tub. Careful or that WalMart soap will put a spell on you.
P.P.S. Do not, under any circumstances, go to Mexican Village without me. God knows that place is crawling with double-popped collars and you’re not ready to experience it on your own.
P.P.S.S. I’ll forewarn you, I’m going through Starbucks detox right now. This may or may not have an adverse effect on my mood, resulting in bouts of drinking pickle juice and watching MSNBC. I’m sorry.
Bono:
Why you gotta be so crazy rockin 24/7?
(And don’t get me started on the pants…oh! The pants…)
& equally as insane/beautiful:
Yes, indeed…
Note: do not listen to these songs in sync; the result is a
crazy mess of 1993, 2005 and the search for…heroine.
This is just…insanity.
Who’s with me?
SNOW HAS SETTLED IN ONCE AGAIN, leaving me grounded at home all afternoon. Not to say that I didn’t enjoy spending time with my mom (no work) and brother (no school), ambling around the house in our pajamas—it was fun for a half hour, until I began feeling like a caged animal.
I was reading the Minot Daily this morning (I know) and was drawn to the headline Lawmaker says N.D. governor needs new house. I don’t usually read things like this, but for the sake of hindering myself from banging my head against the wall out of boredom, I decided to scan the article.
As a master of macaroni and cheese eating and connoisseur of key commands, I understand that I am in no position to scrutinize the governor’s “mansion.” I mean what, I live in an apartment on campus. This makes me about as square as a watermelon. But Jim Kasper is reppin’, entitling him to say things I am not qualified to! Jim, could you raise your hand for all the people to see? There he is, folks, a Rep. from Fargo.
I don’t know what ticked me off more about this article, Kasper painting the governor’s mansion as a stable for lawn knomes or his tenacious snubbing of Hoeven’s stable insistence that “the facility that we have is fine.”
This Kasper guy seems to be a big, whiney dude. What is it to him, that Govna H. have a new pad? So what if he went to a party there once and didn’t see any curb appeal in the property, I bet the get-together was classy as hell and he had a sensational evening at worst. He probably got buzzed on delicately aged wine and Lancashire cheese, then talked about important figures and his first-name basis with them (“So George calls me up and says…”). I would like this Kasper man to see where I’ve partied. Run down holes with sketchy couches and posters of Cosmo Kramer for decor, and the guest likenesses of Ron Diaz and Natty Ice. Sure, I didn’t like the places—at their hazard level, drinks might as well have been mixed with bleach—but I didn’t crawl to the pot of gold at the end of North Dakota’s $1B rainbow. “STUDENT SAYS MOORHEAD NEEDS NEW PARTY HOUSES,” the headline would read. “STAT.”
This argument is ludicrous at best, and terrible at worst.
In conclusion, my paraphrasing of the article in a conversation between Kasper and Hoeven:
K: YO GOV’NA you’s gotta git yo’self a new CRIB. Yo’s house is UG-LAY.
H: The facility I have is just fine, yo. Git’ gone.
K: Aww naw naw! You da leada of da great state’a No’ DAKOTA, fool! We’z got da surplus up da YING YING! Can’t have no stank! Spend, ma brotha—SPEND!
H: When we’ve needed to make improvements to it, we’ve raised the money privately, Dawg. Chill.
K: Aww c’mon drop them 3M’s and hook a gov’na UP! I know you gots expensive taste.
H: And I knows you’s annoying as $%@!
K: Thinka’bout the statement ya’all’s making, brotha.
My only question is, with a surplus of $1B, why doesn’t someone propose 635,000 iPhones?
Discuss.
Minot and Impossibly Possible Ridiculous Amounts of Fluffy White Precipitation
We have snow. Lots and lots and lots of snow.
It makes one want to frolic—or just straight up hibernate.
Hip-Hip HAPPITY BLOGGO-VERSARY DAY!
TODAY marks ONE YEAR of APPROXIMATELYES!
There is definitely a celebration in progress right now. I am actually stuffing my face with packing peanuts and licorice. It’s out of control.
Here are a few snaps from earlier this morning:
Shit yeah! I am the QUEEN! Approximatelyes getting down with the cake, staying fly!
The party goods, minus the keg (on it’s way!!!!), Jell-O shots (in the fridge!!), and Grandma’s fruit soup (a HIT!!! *yOu Go GrAnDmA!!*)
And of course, what *PaRtY~ is complete without…
Polished. Pristine. And totally ready for tonight’s PLaY*!
APPROXIMATELYES is 1 !!!!!
pARtY oN!!!
2/365
Some favorite Jimmy Eat World lyrics, created in a cozy chair at Barnes & Noble in the midst of a blizzard —
A reminder that things can — and will — get better. Always.
Love.
approximatelyes.com 