Tuesday, May 17, 2011
I am completely and totally hooked on Friday Night Lights. My friend gave me 5 seasons on boxset to watch while I workout. I am so hooked I'm ploughing through a couple of episodes (or 6) a day. And only 2 of those have any sort of exercise attached to them. Unless you count sitting in 'my' corner of the sectional sucking on a Diet Pepsi as exercise. And I don't see why it shouldn't count.
Yes, I do see why it shouldn't count.
Anyway, it's all I want to do. Sit and watch Tim's mouth move. His voice. Oh, his voice. And listen to coach yell with love at his team. And watch poor Saracen carry the burden of the universe on his shoulders. And Tyra.... oh Tyra, you have so much potential. Do not let the world bring you down.
I am sad and pathetic. I already know this so there is no need to tell me. Y'all.
I think with a Texan accent now. And sometimes I speak with one. And to tell the truth, I love it. I always thought I'd be a good Texan actually. I already have the big hair and I love makeup and long fake glamour nails. I don't have them because I live in Calgary, which is not Texas except maybe for 2 weeks in July when I pretend like it is during the Stampede. In high school my best friend Anne-Lise and I made a pact we were going to marry cowboys and live in Texas on a ranch. The man would have been an awesome cowboy. He's a total stud.
I would've been a great Texan.
I want her hair. It is geee-or-geous. And it proves that you can have long hair when you are 'older' and still be smokin' hot. She's got to be my age. Or close to it. It's so practical and it seems like it would only take a minute or two to do every morning. Especially with my unruly mane. Sarcasm.
I just googled it. She was born in 67 and I was born in 73 so you do the math. She is OLD and that solidifies it for me. I am growing my hair all the way down my back. I, too, will be smokin'.
And I'm moving to Texas so my fake accent isn't so weird.
It is done.