Worst Blogger Ever

So, um, yeah. I swear, usually I'm good at this. I used to have a really legit blog for like, an entire year, so I'm not one of those lame people who just gives up on something and moves onto something else. Although, nail polish has been eclipsing all the other aspects of my life lately...

What were once long and almost-Lana-Del-Rey-esque are now so stubby and sad. Naturally, I must console myself by ordering amaaazeballz indie polishes by the dozens. 

It's just that I don't have any inspiration. If I had something to say, I would say it. But I don't. At least not on a blog. Lately the only word coming out my mouth have been derogatory remarks about McDonalds employees, conveniently while I'm waiting for my food in a McDonalds. I'm not much of a forward thinker. And the only words coming out of my fingertips have been business-like emails dealing with all the paperwork annoyingness that is studenthood in a health sciences field.

Other than that, what have I been up to? Hmm, not much. University's taking its leisurely time getting going, but I'm sure it'll be punching me in the cervix before I even know it. That's how these things usually work. I'm making lots of new friends, blah blah blah, I live behind a frat house and always seem to forget and end up traipsing around my room in my underwear with the blinds open, blah blah, I'm broke from spending all my student loans on nail polish, alcohol, and Tim Hortons. So yeah, life's pretty great.

I guess I can make a post about Miley Cyrus sometime, as cliche as that is. I've been a fan of shaking my head at her shenanigans since '07 so it really is an issue close to my heart. Look forward to that.

I'm just really curious as to what happened to that giant swinging ball after the video was filmed. eBay?

Well, there you go, loyal fans. I made a blog post. Actually, I have a couple ideas for future posts but I never really get itching to write unless there's something else that I really should be doing, such as schoolwork (which everyone knows is a gigantic joke). Expect this blog to be heating up around midterm season with the fire of my procrastination. 

At least I still have good metaphorical skills.

Boston Cream Boyfriend

According to my friends, seeing the guy you like in line at Tim Horton's is a surefire sign that you two are meant to be.

Fancy seeing you here! Oh, this old thing?

Sure, that's plausible. Or it could just be that it's lunchtime and it's the only food place on campus that's open during spring term.

If you're from another part of the world and have no idea what I'm talking about, Tim Horton's is a donut/coffee chain and is pretty much the most Canadian thing in existence. It's kind of like Central Perk, and the Friends cast is the Canadian people.

Alberta is totally Chandler. Sorry, Ontario.

I also love the potential for confusion surrounding Timmies:

You: "Call you later, I'm going to Tim's."

Your Dad: "Who's Tim?"

Oh, you know. Just my boyfriend. Things are getting pretty serious, I see him at least twice a day.

Okay, maybe three times a day during Christmas. 

You would think I would be embarrassed by the judgemental way the employees look at me when I'm back within the hour, but I'm really only disappointed that they have yet to establish my "usual." 

Someday you'll love me like I love you. 

Someday.

Also, I'd like to know why they have yet to make a sprinkled Timbit. Seriously. You would have thought that would have been one of the first.

Maybe they do exist, and the world is just playing a cruel joke on me by not letting me have them, kind of like how I can't find a Niall Horan doll anywhere. They have all the other One Direction members in abundance, but I'm pretty sure an eccentric millionaire bought every single Niall one just to screw with all prepubescent girls. And me. 

At least we have been gifted with The Priestley, if not unofficially.

Seriously, Tim's. Get your shit together and start mass-producing these things so I can buy them by the hockey-rink-load.