I literally can’t remember the year I stopped eating red meat. I think if I eat steak it will kill me instantly.
I can’t wait to get on a roller coaster this summer.
My back itches in a spot I can’t reach and I can’t ask anyone at work to help and it’ll just be weird to lean against the low bookcase groaning oooh yeah, that’s it, right there, don’t stop.
I want to steal the grade school-like pencil sharpener from my office but I won’t. It’s probably $80 in Staples.
I want to tell the bill collectors who say they have been unable to reach me, “Just beep me 911.”
I want to cut my hair. Short short like that baby’s. You know, the one who runs my house.
It takes five cartwheels for me to reach the end of my yard from the deck. I have proven this with my scientific formula of hands down, feet over, repeat.
I was so pressed for a Pepsi Saturday night that I left the house with just my license and ATM card in my jacket pocket. I am at work today, in a different coat, and minus said license and debit card. There is only $1.25 in my desk bowl of emergency change. Cup o’ noodles it is.