My Fair Lazy - Jen Lancaster [130]
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Now I’m much more likely to be annoyed—a far more natural state for me.
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Altgeld is my old street, and I love Ayn Rand. Get it?
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And here we are.
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Although I may or may not have three DVRs, and they may or may not all be preprogrammed.
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By someone who found it appropriate to snap her gum for six straight hours, and my God, do you know how hard it was not to smack the Dentyne right out of her?
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Bless their hearts.
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See? I’m stealing made-up words from The Simpsons again.
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Calgon?
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Yeah, I bought more than one donut.
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Strangely, my publicist does not consider canceled interviews “miraculous.”
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To get the full effect, he’d really need to smell them. You may think creatures who spend their lives in water wouldn’t stink so much. You’d be wrong.
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Bet they’ve never heard that before.
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Or spend time with my brother.
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Serving coffee, maybe. But not tea.
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Laugh if you want, but ANTM Cycle Eleven is all about petite models. Old and fat is coming, mark my words.
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One of the other donuts I got was covered in Froot Loops. It was good, but it was no maple-bacon bar.
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I remember laughing at ANTM’s Norelle in Cycle Three when she said how she expected the food in Asia to be like what you’d find at Panda Express. It’s not so funny now.
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FYI, this is also why I’m not having children.
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And now I’m never going to be America’s Next Top Model.
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Now I don’t have to face the shame of her Google-Mapping my coordinates.
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But FAIL. Massive fail.
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I think.
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Suddenly I have a lot more compassion for all those terrible shots of Britney’s weave. It’d be impossible to take care of all that hair and two kids, y’all.
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Because it bears repeating, Nevada needs a coastline!
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And possibly a little dirty.
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Seriously, does she not need to write a memoir about this?
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Read: drunk on California Coolers.
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You ladies who tailgated at my Atlanta event? You come in a very close second.
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When Stacey invited me to join her crime family, I named myself the Lacoste Accoster.
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Want to know more? Buy Bitter Is the New Black, available at fine booksellers everywhere.
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You’d be surprised how fast a crackhead with a shopping cart can move when properly motivated.
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Which shaves off the ten-year benefit I get from the frigging extensions. I can’t win.
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And orange soda to a nice, citrus-y sauvignon blanc.
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Even her scars are sexy.
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Read: safe.
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Is there anything Wikipedia can’t tell us? I mean, if you’re somewhat flexible on accuracy?
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Yay!
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In somewhat related news, the house took almost three years to sell.
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Suck on that, PETA.
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Driving While Ingesting.
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I’m the biggest sucker in the world for palm trees.
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I haven’t seen a Viking helmet yet!
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First I need to get a ball gown.
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Then I need to get funky little binoculars.
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Sure they let you bring drinks into the opera, right?
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Or made the actual drink.
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Perhaps if Match.com had been around when I was single, I’d have already known this.
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And yes, this makes me a tiny bit nostalgic for the old house.
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Yeah, you read that right. Stapled.
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Memoir! Memoir! Memoir!
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LOVE!
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She told me where to find the argyle socks for the cover of Pretty in Plaid!
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At least not out loud.
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During which I made a note to schedule an angioplasty.
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They like puns. Which are funny, when they don’t reference the size of my backyard.
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Somehow every stray cat on the South Side finds its way to Gina’s yard. Maybe because she’s yet to not rehome them?
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And yes, I was paying for school myself at the time and living at home. Don’t get me started.
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Amish puppy mill? Yes, please!
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And WAY longer then the life expectancy of most of the Lancaster dogs.
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And yes, I overtipped. I’m a pathological overtipper. It’s one of my few saving graces.
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AKA Upstairs Cat.
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Emotional blackmail—I plays it.
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Come on, it’s the perfect