Chew. Swallow. Chew.

Focus Pocus

Betty Bundt — Mon, 13 Dec 2010 03:43:43 +0000

Breathe, kid. Or take a walk or some shit. You’ve got shit to do, and you are NOT performing, and the shit isn’t even hard.

Human, Happiness

Betty Bundt — Mon, 29 Nov 2010 18:55:37 +0000

“How exquisitely human was the wish for permanent happiness, and how thin human imagination became trying to achieve it.”

Toni Morrison, Paradise

Some SNL Levity (Courtesy of Andy Samberg)

Betty Bundt — Tue, 09 Nov 2010 03:47:20 +0000

Have a great day.

Malcolm Gladwell Wrote…

Betty Bundt — Tue, 26 Oct 2010 18:44:42 +0000

“Those three things — autonomy, complexity, and a connection between effort and reward — are, most people agree, the three qualities that work has to have if it is to be satisfying.”

Meanwhile back at the ranch…

Betty Bundt — Sun, 22 Aug 2010 06:46:28 +0000

Melissa was trying to figure out why she felt so FUCKED.

Today

Betty Bundt — Tue, 20 Jul 2010 16:09:33 +0000

Today probably won’t go as planned.

I suppose it’s a good thing I’m not really tied to a plan.

I often wonder if I’d be better if I were to tie myself to a plan.

But then I think, “No. Restraints are for the mentally infirm, and I am not.”

Update: It didn’t go as planned. It was better.

People are always looking for places to put stuff

Betty Bundt — Sat, 10 Jul 2010 03:29:32 +0000

Tangible things like clothes, shoes, groceries, drugs.

Intangible things like worry, bliss, memories, thoughts.

In boxes, drawers, envelopes, bags, nooks, crannies, lobes, organs, fluids, ice, trunks, servers, bottles, orifices, cases, tombs, brains.

The problem is never solved.

There’s always more stuff and no place to put it.

I’ve been hanging around men who have been burning stuff somewhat frequently. Protecting someone, cleaning up after someone, purging the energy of someone.

Seems like the best solution, except for the whole air pollution thing. (Pollution — essentially just more stuff that we can’t find a place for.)

I Reckon

Betty Bundt — Fri, 02 Jul 2010 21:00:44 +0000

Here is an inexhaustive list of things I reckon:

My mom could still kick my ass if her knees weren’t shot
I should be trying to wrap my head around my damn job
That avocado is gonna go bad if I don’t eat it soon
A bike tune-up is way overdue
I should take Saabine to the mechanic and prepare myself for the ugly truth
I need to take more time to be still, to reflect, and to learn
Netflix is making a killing off me because I’ve had the same 2 DVDs for like 10 weeks
Boys will be boys
You cannot trust a crazy bitch
We’re gonna run out of water in SoCal in my lifetime
Love and pity go hand-in-hand, and that’s okay
Not enough people are genuinely special
Justin’s unique blend of batshit crazy and hilarious puts him on an entirely different plane
I should be ready for anything
My apartment needs to look more like a 33 yo’s apartment instead of whatever the fuck it looks like now
“I love you” should come out of my mouth more frequently because all of our clocks are ticking
Luck is the reason I woke up this morning
The very thought of Ernestine Elizabeth Dumpson is always gonna make me cry
I could always stand to lose a few pounds
I’ve probably missed the window for marrying a professional basketball player
Most of us are scared, just plain scared
My bullshit tolerance is decreasing rapidly, and everyone should be afraid
I am pretty fucking fortunate, actually
My heart is powered by the sun
If you’ve made it to the bottom of this list, you love me more than I deserve

Boys.

Betty Bundt — Thu, 10 Jun 2010 19:21:04 +0000

They are dirty.
When you work with boys all day, you realize how dirty they are. Physically and mentally.

If I were bigger than them, I would throw ‘em in a bathtub. Hot ass water. Lots of soap.

And if they were to act up, I’d Susan Smith ‘em.

What? Whaaaat?

Update, a few min. later.

Sucks being a straight girl. Because I must like it to some degree. That’s where “I love the way you lie” comes from.

Get Organized

Betty Bundt — Wed, 09 Jun 2010 18:38:07 +0000

Sometimes, I am stymied by all the shit that I have to do.

I can’t even think about it. I can’t even act. I just sit around feeling fucking stressed out. Tension in the chest. Acid gurgling in the stomach. Sweaty pits. Short temper. The only things that I can think about are getting high and/or having an orgasm.

I make lists. I’m really good at making them. Completing the items on the list? That’s another challenge.

It’s kind of how I’m good at putting clothes in the dryer but not taking them out. I do the same with the dishwasher.

How have I made it this far? Panic. Once I panic, I’m ON.

Sick.