judypatricia

Happy thoughts.

It's almost frightening how I go from an absolutely sour mental state to one on the verge of all-out sillyness or a simple...just being alright. Although that ability is probably my saving grace, it also might make me look like a whack-job something fierce. The only thing I have to show for how I felt an hour ago are a pair of puffy eyes, and that's not so bad. I guess.

My tongue tastes like coffee.
Or, I should say, I have coffee breath.

I've been doing that whole leaving-out-entire-words-or-letters-when-typing thing today. A lot.

For those of you who've never conversed with me in person or on the phone, (but more so in person) I wonder if you're aware that this is actually what it's like to talk to me in real life; I jump from topic to topic. I can and do manage to hold entire conversations, however, if left up to me, I'll skip from elephants to questions about your childhood to do you drive a car.

I miss going on little trips to Boston with my best friend Kristen, to visit her Boston College boyfriend, John. The first time I'd gone up there with her, it was in February, and I don't believe I've ever been colder in my entire life. I sat next to an unfairly cute and nerdy Brooklyn College boy on the Greyhound bus, who was a friend of John and Kristen's, and who remembered the book I had been reading that day a year later. He told bad jokes and had strong arms, so I fell in like with him immediately. I went up a few times in the last couple of years, mostly alone but met Kristen up there. She'd make this frog-face and get mad when John and I would tease her about her friends at college being white trash. We'd somehow always get overheard in conversation by other transplanted New Yorkers, who'd hear our accents and ask which borough we were from. I dragged our friend Elaine to the Old South Meeting House upon discovering it and what it was that first time we went to Boston, and she could care less as I looked around and my mouth hanged open in humble interest. I love that city.

If you know the words to "Razor Face" by Elton John, or you don't, I think you should, because I will sing it with you one day and be exceedingly happy.

I think I might be getting tired of being an old soul with a silly streak. But probably not, that might just be temporary.

I added more pictures. I ask, though, that you please not post any in commenting because I kind of hate that. Nothing makes you go from monstrously fantastic to gut-wrenchingly creepy in under ten seconds as doing that does, I think.
I may or may not be kidding about that last part. But I'm totally serious.

For a brief spell when I was seven, I worried my mother immensely because apparently I divulged my career plans of waitress to her. She blamed this on a girl I'd spent days with in her pool, who's last name sounded like Birdseed and had a hamster she named M.C. Hamster. If memory serves, this same girl also flashed her panties to the boys sitting around us in a reading circle on the floor, in kindergarten.