How Outlines are Trying to Ruin My Life.

I am extremely mad at outlines, because I am fairly certain they are the only reason why my spell checker doesn't mark lower case "I"s as incorrect.

I will now outline all the reasons that outlines should go fuck themselves.

"Why Outlines Should Go Fuck Themselves"

I. They make me look stupid when I accidentally type "i" instead of "I" when typing quickly.
     A.  I am not dumb
               i. I have a college degree.
              ii. I graduated 8th in my high school class with a grade point average of 3.919.
             iii. I use big words and stuff.

     B. I should get kudos for typing quickly, instead of looking foolish.
               i. I learned to touch type by chatting for hours on end, which makes me cool.
              ii. I use more than one finger per hand to type, and am the only person in my household to do so.
             iii. I can type in the dark and while watching reality TV shows.

II.New outlines don't even use roman numeral support lists anymore.
     A. Apparently, kids today can't handle roman numerals.
               i. They're not being forced to conform to the stupid standards that we were, which is kinda unfair.
              ii. If I had to do that shit, they should have to also.

     B. Spell Checkers are totally out of date.
              i. In addition to not marking lower case "I"s as incorrect since Arabic numbers are now the
                standard, they don't know the word Wasabi.
                   1.Or internet. . .
                        a. But they do know the word shillelagh.

III. Conclusion.
     A. Outlines and Spell Checkers are acting in collusion to screw up my ability to look like the smarty pants I am.
            i. They should go fuck themselves, as a result.

How to tell if someone is depressed, or maybe a hipster.

I couldn't be bothered to put on pants today to leave the house.

I don't mean I went out buck-assed naked on the bottom half, I just couldn't be bothered to put on ACTUAL pants to leave the house today.  Nor a bra.

I was just going to pick my nephew up from school and knew I was not getting out of my car (unless it somehow exploded into flames or something), so I think I am still safe.  When I start walking around in public wearing pajama pants and an old shirt with no bra, it is probably time for medication.

Although, one time, when I was in college, I decided that I would wear my flannel pajama top with a pair of jeans because it was cold out and I thought the top was cute.  I ended up at the health clinic and a lovely, but very concerned doctor tried to diagnose me with depression.  I assured him I had a raging case of weirdness, but that I had not giving up on life because I made ill-advised fashion choices.

It's the bra, really.  As long as someone who needs it is wearing a bra or some sort of chestal support with non-sexy clothing , I am willing to believe that they still have some sort of hold on their sanity. As long as the bra is worn as prescribed, of course.  It doesn't count if it is on the outside of their clothes, or on their head.  And even that can be argued for the sake of fashion, I suppose. I really don't know how to gauge it for people who don't need bras. Not brushing their hair? Wearing sweatpants to work when their job does not involve working out in cold climates? Am I just describing hipsters now?

Why the long face?

Sometimes, really cheerful people say really inanely stupid things when they should probably not talk.

I'm not cute.

I'm really not cute.  I know that I draw cute stuff, and it is all adorable and shit, but seriously, I don't know where it comes from. I suspect I may have a precious darling alternative personality that comes out when it is time to draw things, because in reality I am coarse, and vulgar, and get in trouble all the time for being inappropriate in public.  I mean, not in legal trouble or anything, but my mom gets on my case all the time for cursing, and talking about rude things, and generally being "un-cute."
I suppose being regarded as cute (and creating cute things) is not the most horrific thing that could happen... but it is not totally representative of who I am. My allusions to ridiculous porn and people pooping out of their mouths, that is much more me.

Out of the frying pan...

Sometimes I need to vent.  Especially when I have oil burns on my neck and  face.

In bed...

I feel like this fortune cookie from my delicious lunch is mocking me...

Yes, "you should," right, Cookie? If only you weren't afraid of interacting with people on the phone, and  you weren't so socially awkward, and your intestines didn't betray you in moments of stress, and probably if you could make left turns in traffic without having mini panic attacks? There are a lot of things you SHOULD be able to undertake and complete...

SHUT UP! YOU'RE A COOKIE! I'M AWESOME!

Stupid cookie!