"Love is like a booger . . .

. . . You keep picking at it until you get it, then wonder what to do with it."

::EDIT::
I think I was just being cynical -- who wouldn't want love? It's just hard to find.
:: end-EDIT::


(Anytime anyone says the word booger, I can't help but conjure up an image of the Loganator . . . haha, no hard feelings, but it makes me giggle . . . booger!)

Hence why you never see me picking my nose . . . I really want nothing to do with the L word right now. I definitely have too much going on to involve someone else in this chaos. Besides, there's enough of love in the lives of everyone else -- I'll stick with getting my fill vicariously. Love is a retarded, sticky mess that I'm not ready for. . . especially not from Jesse, my old hick-t-shirt-wearing, orange-hunting-hat-loving, slurred-speech-delivering, OT boyfriend. *gag*

What I would like, though, is a job. If anyone has any ideas, don't hesitate to let me know . . .

I woke up early this morning, unenthusiastically, to finish homework, that I made look all professional because the assignment said: "Write as if I were your supervisor and you were giving me a project analysis." Hence, I wrote as if Dr. Dickey was my supervisor and I was handing in a market-basket analysis. Douche Bag (we'll call him DB for short) smart ass saw it and made fun of my having worked so hard. Now, you know me . . . I didn't work hard, I just made it look like I did. I like producing good work. But now, it is an hour later, and he's still laughing and I AM MAD. Stupid DB.


Life is full of DB's. I need to learn how to avoid them.