Urologist: “So I’m looking at your test results. First of all, you didn’t mention that you’re pregnant. That would certainly explain the frequent urination.”
Me: “What?!? I’m not pregnant!
Urologist (looking at results again): “According to this ultrasound report you are.”
Me: “What?! It says I’m pregnant?! But…”
Urologist: “Oh, oh. Nope. This isn’t your chart.”
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
Also THANK. CHRIST.
Kid: “What’s your Instagram name?”
Me: “What’s Instagram?”
Kid: “You don’t know what Instagram is?!”
Me: “Is it like a cracker you can make instantly?”
Kid <head in hands>: “Oh my god.”
“I would die if I had your job. I don’t know how teachers do it. I could just never do that job.”
— Manicurist, as she scraped dead skin out from under my nails
(Continuation of I’m Learning to Cook )
Zack was less sympathetic.
Oh. Ok.
I guess I’ll just go fuck myself.
Eric is being extremely encouraging because he is a much nicer person than I deserve.
Tomorrow is Eric’s birthday, which means that from tomorrow until my birthday on March 30, he is only one year younger than me instead of 2 years younger than me because THAT’S HOW MATH WORKS WHEN YOU’RE AN AGING WOMAN.
4th grade is that weird age when there is a huge range of maturity level in the class. Interaction I just witnessed…
Kid 1 (excitedly, to kid 2): “I am Harry Potter and YOU are Dumbledor! (waves imaginary wizard wand) And I’M going to cast a magic spell that freezes everyone so that no one can turn the pages in their book!”
Kid 2 (dead-eyed and deadpan): “Yeah. I don’t care.”
I literally need to take a sick day tomorrow to recover from that Stacey Dash moment.
I bet white Hollywood is pretty psyched that they got all dolled up to sit in a room and not know if they’re allowed to laugh.
#everyonelooksuncomfortable
“Who’s that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who’s THAT?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who’s that?”
“I think that’s…wait, no. I don’t know.”
— Eric and me, watching the Oscars Red Carpet
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