Still don't know what an egg has to do with feet or dry skin

Newsflash:

I bought a Ped Egg. (Yea, because I apparently can throw away money like that)

I've been reallyyyy needing a pedicure (summer feet and sandals- hello!) (and speaking of throwing away money, I went on my annual sandal binge and bought 6 new pairs of sandals. Yes. Six. But I couldn't help it! Blowfish rocks my world! plus, I need to take advantage of my company discount now. Not that I would even consider shopping there anyway . . . . . anyway)

I digress.

The Ped Egg. Makes me giggle. I needed to own one and they had them at Duane Reade. It was an impulse buy.

omg. it's a fucking CHEESE GRATER for your feet, yo. funniest shit ever. I really giggled at it too. The egg actually tickled and the fact that I was essentially creating toe cheese killed me ("toe cheese" totally reminds me of my dad. random, I know. maybe b/c he was the first to introduce the term to me)

And let me tell you, it wasn't all fun and games. My feet were in tragic condition. New Yorkers feet are tougher than their attitudes, I swear. It took me like 20 minutes just to get my feet to look semi-normal. And now the bottoms of my feet do not scratch my sheets.

TMI? Hope no one has a phobia of feet :-)

Bridges may be burning

Do I really want to tell HR exactly how I feel about their company? (In the most appropriate way, of course) or Is it really worth my time? I doubt anything I have to say is going to change their company policies on vacation and sick days along with the crappy bereavement. I have no doubt in my mind, I would rather live in a box on the side of the road than to ever work in Corporate America (let alone this company) again. But is it really worth beating my head against the wall one more time?

I have until the end of next week to think about it but I wanted other people's thoughts and whatnot as to what they did when they left.

Thoughts?

Team Lachey!

I'm not even going to lie. I was a total Newlyweds fan. I own every season. Yes, it was a disaster but I could not help myself. I figured if Jessica's stupid spoiled ass could get a guy like Nick to treat her like a goddess, there was hope for me! Then she fucked it all up. Stupid bitch.

And that's why I'm going to have to say, No, Jessica. For the love of all things Southern, NO.

What I'd tell my younger self.

This is a really good article

and this is what I would add to it personally:

You are not as fat as you think you are.

Everyone will eventually catch up to your height and your cup size and the ones that don't, feel sorry for them. They wish they would.

Money will not make you happy.

You do not have to be every one's friend. It's ok if people don't like you. They aren't worth changing yourself for and a little bit of selfishness is healthy.

That Rainbow Brite doll is not the be all, end all of existence.

You will not look good as a blonde and God gave you brown eyes for a reason.

He's not worth it.

He's really not worth it.

Kick his ass to the curb.

You really can do anything you set your mind to.

Except fly. 

Or lie. You are a terrible liar and you should just give it up.

Your parents are the best ever and you should give them a break. All they ever want is the best for you and for you to be happy. Quit being a spoiled brat. 

Black nail polish will become fashionable. Rock it.

. . . . . and apparently I had a lot more to say than I thought.

Forgot to mentions

I put my two weeks notice in :-)
Fashion World, you can keep it. I'm off to more exciting things, like hostels in Europe, vacations home and art school! YaY!

I actually don't feel much different about finally making it official. I think it might have to do with the fact that I checked out of the situation months ago and now I'm just going through the motions. Ask me again next Friday. I'm sure I will be completely devastated when my life will not consist of a cubicle and stupid stupid people.

P.S. kiddies (just in case you have gotten this golden rule): Be careful what you write on the internets, you never know who's reading it ;-) (Hi Mom! The previous post about sex? I was kidding. honest.)

An intricate intimate conversation

BF: I think I know what your problem is with living together.
NQ: Baby, I don't have a problem. I have a catholic upbringing.

following going to see Shrek the musical:

NQ: Want to watch Shrek 2 or have sex?
BF: Ummm. . .. watch Shrek 2. We had sex last night and I haven't seen Shrek 2 in awhile.
NQ: Ok?
BF: But you have to keep your legs open in case I change my mind.

I forwarded the above to Fred

Fred: Is that from Shrek the musical? I have seen your boobs and Shrek 2. If I were him I would have the sex. Your boobs are more entertaining.
NQ: He says my boobs don't sing and dance. I guess that's the breaks when they're real.
Fred: Lord knows your "staging" is much more fabulous. Keeping them up and at attention involves special effects Spielberg is in awe of.
NQ: That's why I love you.

and the next morning:

Fred: I think we both may have been drunk last night. The texts are amazing.

Sadly, I was stone cold sober.

mail goodness

I love you too, Mom!
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