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Sunburns are …

July 6, 2010

Sunburns are …

The closest I will ever get to hell while I’m still alive.

The feeling you get when you realize: No. I don’t got milk.

Getting assigned to sit in history class next to the kid that picks his nose and eats his boogers.

Failing your driver’s test for the third time in a row — when you’re 35 years old.

Finding a hair in  your milk shake.

Infinitely worse than stubbing your toe.

The most massive hangover you’ve ever had — and it lasts for EVER.

Realizing your favorite band is in town, and the tickets JUST sold out.

Trying to blow out your birthday candles, but ending up just spitting all over your cake.

The asshole in the lane next to you that just won’t let you in.

Going to the apple store to fix your computer, getting up to the Genius Bar, and realizing just then that you’ve left your computer at home.

Being forced to eat creamed spinach in 104 degree heat then being told to run a marathon.

Someone telling you that Dumbledore dies before you’ve read book 6.

Telling your friends you can’t hang out with them because you’re studying for a test, and on the day of the test your teacher telling you, “Yay! The test has been cancelled!”

The feeling you had after you watched the movie Valentine’s Day: “Goddammit.”

All things that are bad and suck.

The bane of my existence.

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4 Comments leave one →
  1. July 6, 2010 9:24 pm

    Sunscreen.

    • emiliab9291 permalink*
      July 7, 2010 9:03 am

      Don’t. You. Mock. Me.

  2. Gus Hastalis permalink
    July 7, 2010 12:52 pm

    Didn’t your mother ever tell you to wear sunscreen? Bad parenting…

  3. July 7, 2010 12:53 pm

    This from Noel Coward…

    Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.
    The Japanese don’t care to, the Chinese wouldn’t dare to,
    Hindus and Argentines sleep firmly from twelve to one,
    But Englishmen detest a siesta,
    In the Philippines there are lovely screens,
    to protect you from the glare,
    In the Malay states there are hats like plates,
    which the Britishers won’t wear,
    At twelve noon the natives swoon, and
    no further work is done –
    But Mad Dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.

    …And now, Emilia, you know why.

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