I have that song stuck in my head. If there was a Grammy award for this, I’m sure this song would win.
Paul was kind enough to pass on his sickness to me and I’m still getting over it. Much to my dismay, I ate soup and drank OJ and got rest and drank tea like I was hoarding it and sadly, I didn’t get better any faster.
I did, however, pretend that I was WAY better before I was actually better and totes got my wedding dress whilst battling my immune system. I had found this gorgeous dress online, but when I tried it on, I looked like Fiona from Shrek. Needless to say, I did not end up purchasing that dress, but I did find another same-level-gorgeousness dress (that my sister, who is my maid of honor, picked out. I must write this even if she does not read this, because I think she knows every time I do not point out that SHE was the one who picked out MY dress). My mom was concerned that I did not actually like the dress, and tried to convince me to buy another one after we had already bought the non-refundable other dress, but I just lament my lack of size six-iness, and whatever, come the day, I’ll look beauts.
Although I feel the need to point out here that my dress comes in in April and I ordered a size down. Therefore, I need to lose AT LEAST 4 inches between now and then. Since I’m still sickly, I’m not entering into any fuckin’ hardcore agreement with my body just yet, but, I maintain it’s doable. I just have to, you know… ummm… moving on.
I have, however, been spending my time trying to simultaneously learn Spanish and French. Which is funny, if you think about it, considering how much effort I put into the English language on this very blog. But anyway, I’m using this app called Duolingo and am better with the Español than the French (probs because I took Spanish for three years, and while I am not that great at speaking it, I can understand it and read it for the most part). So, I mean, they make you say funny things like, “I am a lion,” or “The girl drinks water,” and you’re like, “Muy bien, un gato mr. roboto!”
… unless you’re taking the French lesson, and then you’re like, “C’est vous what the fuck did you just say?”
I seriously cannot speak French. Idk. Maybe I have the dumbs, I just thought it would be slightly easier. But instead I feel like I’m hacking up phlegmy syllables and reenacting that scene from Friends where Phoebe tries to teach Joey French. You know the one.
So, my body may be a size ehhhh but my mind is fucking fit.
(Actually, my mind is a bit like a war zone because the anxiety is alive and well and tells me I’mma die all of the times. Like, in a week, I’m going to Chicago to see MW and my BFF for her birthday celebration, and my mind’s like, “But what if the plane crashes? What if you get stuck in Chicago and can’t get out? What happens if you die and EVERYONE HAS FUN WITHOUT YOU?” So. Um. My mind’s a bitch. I honestly can’t remember what life was like before this asshole hit me like a freight train. Douchecanoe. And like, I just wanna live my life and wear my wedding dress. Gawd.)
BUT WHATEVER AT LEAST I CAN BUTCHER THREE LANGUAGES.
Have a good night, friends. Be kind to yourselves.