A brief list of things that need to stop.

1) The terms "I just peed a little", and "I just threw up in my mouth a little".
Mostly spoken by jokesters of the female variety, the absolute fact of the matter is that you didn't "just do" either of those things, and there are far more ladylike ways to say that something is hilarious or disgusting. Also, let's not talk about our urinary or digestive systems during easy-going conversations, okay?

2) People that happily ride their bike in storms.
Go ahead, tell me how awesome and refreshing your ride to work was- I walked to work, it was miserable and bone-chilling. Try some solidarity, dudes. I'm freezing over here.

3) Shows about cakes/cupcakes.
Who told the basic cable networks that we care what happens behind the walls of a bakery? Sassy cake shop owners are no more interesting than the rest of us. Less TV, more pastries.

4) Open-Toed boots.
Why are we still wearing these? Have we still not figured out that these look ridiculous, and were only constructed after the shoe industry officially ran out of every other idea ever? Who would choose to have cold toes?
Also, the term "shooties". Ugh. Stop it.

5) My obsession with the number 5.
If you look back on the history of this blog, every list I have ever compiled is done in a multiple of five. Every lotto ticket I buy is purposely packed with fives. I can't lie. I really like the number five. I wouldn't say it's superstition thing, but rather an intense gut feeling as a child that if I didn't count out my Skittles into piles of five, my whole family would die a house fire. I guess I wonder what it's like to not be bound by a number sometimes. Also, I wonder what it's like to not be totally nuts.

~sarah p.

p.s. I have fallen in love with watching calligraphy videos, as I find them very cathartic and relaxing. I envy those with pen and paper skills. My penmanship was so terrible as a child that I spend my entire ninth grade summer in "handwriting camp", where a bunch of degenerates and I re-learned how to have deplorable writing.
Two months later, my script was different, and yet still shockingly atrocious. Worst summer ever.