Logically, when one gets a sunburn, one's skin begins to peel. Hopefully this is a quick and relatively unnoticeable process, in which you peel a little in an area hidden beneath your clothing (say on your stomach or on your lower back) and while you wrinkle your nose and make a face as it happens, you generally forget about it and it goes away in a day or two.
On the other hand, when you're British and freckled and have very pale skin, your sunburns tend to be much redder and far more lobster-y, and the peeling process is a long and complex issue. After getting burnt to a fiery red crisp at the Anti War Protest the other day, I am in the process of molting and I'll probably end up leaving some sort of husk in the middle of the hallway. Luckily, this is my last day with the feminists, so I can hide myself away in shame and never have to see any of these people again.
I am so sexy, it hurts. Literally.
But alas, yes, today is the last day of my temp work with the Feminist Majority. After this weekend at home, I'll be starting my new job on Monday morning. That Monday also marks my last 2 weeks with Erin before moving into the new apartment. I'm very bummed that they don't allow dogs or cats because I was hoping to bring Jazz, my retarded yet adorable Lhasa Poo down to DC with me. At the very least, I was hoping they'd allow cats, since Jazz is roughly 17 pounds and is smaller than both of my dad's cats, and I was thinking I could just smuggle her in as a cat imposter.
This brings up an interesting question, and I saw something about it on Move.com - what about getting a hamster, or a guinea pig, or some other kind of giant, mutant rodent?
Love me
The problem with glorified rodents is that they're boring. And smelly and nocturnal and they always look like they're plotting the best way to murder you in your sleep (as opposed to cats, which actually do attempt to murder you in your sleep.) They don't really do much of anything besides eat and sleep and putter around, and while it's perfectly acceptable for me to spend all of my days doing that, I would like a pet that's a better source of entertainment.
It also doesn't help that I pretty much only like dogs. Guinea pigs terrify me; bunnies make me homicidal; rats gross me out; hamsters remind me of MC Hamster (or Mac, for short) the hamster I had for about 6 months when I was 10 or so, that died in a mess of its own filth on the day that Rory was supposed to inherit him.
And amphibians and other aquatic animals? No better track record there. I killed my first goldfish, Ariel (inspired, I know) when I tried to take her tanning outside with me; Elvis, our turtle, smelled so badly my mother made us give him away. Birds? Tweety and Tweety Pie, our canaries (clearly Rory and I were geniuses in the naming department) were so loud and obnoxious that I gave them to my 3rd grade science teacher.
Which leaves me with... well, nothing. I'll have Becca over several days a week, which reminds me of having a cat for a variety of reasons, but otherwise I think it's probably best if I did my year in my new place, kidnapped Erin from her apartment when the lease is up and ran away to a two bedroom somewhere (or relocated to Boston with everyone for one big giant sleepover in those lofts we were looking at) and finally reunite myself with Jazz. Then everything will be perfect in my world.
The problem with glorified rodents is that they're boring. And smelly and nocturnal and they always look like they're plotting the best way to murder you in your sleep (as opposed to cats, which actually do attempt to murder you in your sleep.) They don't really do much of anything besides eat and sleep and putter around, and while it's perfectly acceptable for me to spend all of my days doing that, I would like a pet that's a better source of entertainment.
It also doesn't help that I pretty much only like dogs. Guinea pigs terrify me; bunnies make me homicidal; rats gross me out; hamsters remind me of MC Hamster (or Mac, for short) the hamster I had for about 6 months when I was 10 or so, that died in a mess of its own filth on the day that Rory was supposed to inherit him.
And amphibians and other aquatic animals? No better track record there. I killed my first goldfish, Ariel (inspired, I know) when I tried to take her tanning outside with me; Elvis, our turtle, smelled so badly my mother made us give him away. Birds? Tweety and Tweety Pie, our canaries (clearly Rory and I were geniuses in the naming department) were so loud and obnoxious that I gave them to my 3rd grade science teacher.
Which leaves me with... well, nothing. I'll have Becca over several days a week, which reminds me of having a cat for a variety of reasons, but otherwise I think it's probably best if I did my year in my new place, kidnapped Erin from her apartment when the lease is up and ran away to a two bedroom somewhere (or relocated to Boston with everyone for one big giant sleepover in those lofts we were looking at) and finally reunite myself with Jazz. Then everything will be perfect in my world.
1 comment:
do i remind you of a cat because i attempt to kill you in your sleep, or because my hair is so fluffy it's threatening to take over the world...
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