No, Really. Stop Smoking.

I tell every smoker I know about how my grandmother died from lung cancer. I don’t expect it to help. I don’t expect them to listen. I just wish I could make them understand.

Maybe they should all watch this PSA instead.

[Courtesy of Rori]

Telemarketers

Chase Bank, with whom I have two credit cards, calls me at least once a month to shill me the latest payment protection plan they’ve concocted. As I am a client of theirs, the Do Not Call List does not apply, unfortunately. Usually I am relatively polite and jump in as soon as I can to tell them I’m not interested. Sometimes I let them finish their spiel and can only say ‘no, thank you’ once they get to the Verify Your Name And Address portion of the show.

But, by God, if I say no twice, and they still keep trying, they get fucking hung up on. I’m sure the nice woman with the Indian accent is just doing her job (and she really is pleasant to listen to), but I can barely speak as it is, thanks to my cold. Don’t make me break my foot off in your ass. Over the phone.

I Feel Like Poo.

Well, it seems I could only outmaneuver the cold/flu bug for so long. Today, I woke up feeling drained, with a kind of sore-ish throat and a mild cough. My eyes are kind of dry, and there’s definitely some phlegm or something in my chest.

After witnessing Aaron’s marathon week-long battle with this bug, I know it’s likely to get much worse before it gets better. We’re armed with sugar-free and alcohol-free cough syrup and two kinds of cold tablets, though, so maybe it won’t suck as bad for me as it did for him.

*bracing myself*

How Epicanthic.

OMG. The lengths these Japanese girls will go just to get that wide-eyed Western look. I mean, check it out:

Sheryl—you’ll have to ask Mariko if she swabs her eyelid with glue and pokes a stick in her eye as part of her daily makeup routine.