The daily adventures and travails of one neurotic, klutzy, hungry, cynical college girl. Tune in for prizes! (offer void where prohibited. See office for details. Not responsible for lost articles.)
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Tuesday, January 24, 2006
You know what's a boring sport? Fishing. I should know. I grew up with a bonafide fisher aficianado and endured 17 years of fishing adventures before I cancelled my subscription of hooks in my lips, fish guts on the seat of my pants, and endless nights spent up because fish like to bite at 4 in the morning with NO TALKING.
Luckily, those trips have had an impact of my love style. I'm a fisher metaphorically when it comes to boys. Unlike many of my friends who are hunters, I'm a more passive carnivore. While those girls premeditate, stalk, chase, and rip into their victims with calculated ferocity, disguised in flash and sleek, I sit idly by, picturing my ideal catch and casting my feeble hooks into placid waters.
Yawn. I'm too lazy to get up and fight for the hot guy.
10:54 AM
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