How to make me feel hot:
* When I'm walking down the sidewalk, blatantly check me out. I'm serious people. Yesterday I treked around downtown Marquette for a bit and every other car that passed had at least one passenger in it that got whiplash. Evidently I'm a sight in my peacoat and Jackie O-esque glasses.
* Be my personal delivery boy...kind of. At Border Grill tonight, the cute register guy chatted me up. And then he shooed away the guy who was going to bring me my food, so he could do it himself. Awesome. Again, I had the peacoat on.
Maybe the peacoat has mysterious powers....
If so, thank you, Kohls, for your half-off sale on winter jackets. Otherwise I'd still be working my five-year-old Columbia jacket.
I'm connected to the world again. In other words, I have a cell phone. NOT my old one, sadly, but it's shiny new twin. I got it yesterday and I was so happy that I nearly kissed the agent that helped me out. I'm still in the process of recovering numbers, which is a job and a half. So if I had your number? I don't and I need it. So message it to me. Thanks.
It turns out that while I lost my phone someone found it. But did I get it back? Uh, no, that kind of happiness doesn't happen to good people like moi apparently. Instead, the fucker picked it up (wherever it was--I still think it was in the Target parking lot, like Chrissy theorized) and phoned people at 4 in the morning. And then downloaded shit to my phone. On my account. Bullshit is what that is. Luckily, the idiot didn't have enough sense to phone France or use too many of my minutes. But still. Who doesn't return a lost phone?!? Clearly, it was important--there were over seventy numbers on it. Rawr.
People suck sometimes, I say. But not ones that can boost my ego momentarily.
Ciao, dahling!
~*Krissy*~