Come Again…?

Brand mark ups fucking amaze me. I got a J Crew booklet in the mail a day ago and they partnered with Timex and “created” their own version of the classic military style watch. One hundred and fifty damn dollars. The same watch on Timex’s site is forty bucks. I’m not in the market for a watch, I just felt like mentioning that.

If I don’t do anything this weekend, I’m going to finally paint my living room. I actually bought the paint and shit so nothing is preventing me from getting the job done other than my own laziness. I can picture the end result in my head. I hope it turns out that way in actuality.

I’m about two-thirds of the way through blink by Malcolm Gladwell. It is very interesting and validates all those times I’ve wanted to punch myself in the gonads for missing the opportunity to get paid and/or laid because of 2nd thoughts and self-doubt. (That was me making a book recommendation.)

During one of the many mini pauwaus my comrades and I had, the topic of M.I.L.F., and how it is used improperly during these post-American Pie days, came up. We believe that being a mother and attractive aren’t the only mandatory qualifications that can lead to the label of M.I.L.F. You also have to be a certain age. I mean, let’s be honest, is a good looking 24 year old woman with a kid really worthy of the title or is she just baby-momma who could get the pipe? There’s almost a sort of grace bestowed upon a lady if she’s seen as a M.I.L.F. and I believe that comes along with age, and not just an undeadstock birth canal.

I think inspiration is one of the greatest gifts a person can give. It’s a selfless act of charity, handed out unknowingly, most of the time, and it’s a gift that continuously gives. It’s almost like a hand-me down or chain email, just not smelly and faded or fucking useless and annoying, respectively.

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