Loser List of Shame Continues:

Friends-who-requested-upgrade-in-relationship-and-drove-me-loco-in-the-process:

Redial-Carl: Carl seemed like a nice lad. But it seems the redial button on his phone was stuck. Carl, calling a girl every hour and leaving voicemails does NOT send the message that you're thinking about her. It just says: I am a crazy-stalking-s-o-b-so-run-run-as-fast-as-you-can.

Stuck-on-myself-Stephen: Vroom, vroom. Look at me! I have a six-figure-salary-a-Porsche-Carrera-but-no-discernable-personality. See ya later Stephen. It is not all about you. It is all about ME! Money doesn't make a man. (Unless it's billions! $_$ )

Hairy-Tortoise-Boy: Some of you know him and I don't want to hurt his feelings so I won't mention his name. But, HTB, you're just creepy. Really, really, creepy. Sorry man but you just make my skin crawl.

Psycho-S-man: Boy, did I read you wrong. I thought you were a little over-sensitive but I definately did not see your hissy fit coming. I still disagree with your assertion that I must be a racist bitch because I wouldn't date you. A comment which I found ironic coming from you with all your anti-(insert race/religion here) rhetoric. I'm glad you hate me.

End result: Upgrades, denied. Friendships, terminated.

Haha, aren't you all glad that you're not me?!

CoMOOdy Relief:
Last night, I got caught smuggling beef jerky.
My parents banned it from my diet on account of bad meat quality and probable mad cow infection as a result of the aforementioned low quality jerky treat.
But it is so salty and delicious. I can't resist it.
So I hid some under my pillow as a late-night snack.

I did not count on the fact that my mom might decide to lay down in my toasty warm bed (electric blanket) because Papa Kim made the grave mistake of unplugging the blanket in their room.
I took a dive for my pillow to hide the contraband but my skittish actions only drew further attention to my hidey-spot.

Alas, the jerky was discovered and I was forced to run with it while dodging my parents lazy attempt at beating me with their fists. I guess they're getting old. Or perhaps, they've just stopped caring.

Unwelcome Voicemail:
The sound of the ocean hitting the surf along the coast of the Gulf of Mexico.
It's snowing in Orillia and I get to listen to the ocean on my answering machine.
Thanks, you jerk. I hope you get a sunburn.