oh here comes the flood.
According to my supervisor I'm officially gimped up.
Parts of me are bulging. The lumbar disks parts of me are bulging and my legs have been half asleep for the past week or so (for details of stated injury, direct your attention two posts South.) So....I'm not supposed to bend,
over,
ever.
My thigh muscles will be amazing just you wait and see.
So, while I'm on worker's comp and taking this little couch vacation I decided to scout around the Netflix and what to my wondering eyes should appear but this:
Now I know some may dismiss this show as just another angst-filled, dime-a-dozen, over-sexed caricature of young people. But some of you know...
If you skipped youth group, rearranged your homework schedule, reserved the TV lounge in college weeks in advance, and forbid talking while "WB" was in the lower right corner as to not miss a moment of this show...
If you fell asleep to the soundtrack night after night (and always wondered why the producers advertised a second soundtrack and then never delivered)...
If you too wore sweaters and sneakers, secretly fell in love with a boy based solely on his inscription in your yearbook, wrote your name in Sharpie somewhere on your freshman dorm room, became an RA, got a disastrously short haircut on a whim...
Then you are a friend of mine.
So critics, scoff if you will, but I'm eagerly awaiting the arrival of Felicity Porter in my mailbox with her tape recorder and romanticism.
According to my supervisor I'm officially gimped up.
Parts of me are bulging. The lumbar disks parts of me are bulging and my legs have been half asleep for the past week or so (for details of stated injury, direct your attention two posts South.) So....I'm not supposed to bend,
over,
ever.
My thigh muscles will be amazing just you wait and see.
So, while I'm on worker's comp and taking this little couch vacation I decided to scout around the Netflix and what to my wondering eyes should appear but this:
Now I know some may dismiss this show as just another angst-filled, dime-a-dozen, over-sexed caricature of young people. But some of you know...
If you skipped youth group, rearranged your homework schedule, reserved the TV lounge in college weeks in advance, and forbid talking while "WB" was in the lower right corner as to not miss a moment of this show...
If you fell asleep to the soundtrack night after night (and always wondered why the producers advertised a second soundtrack and then never delivered)...
If you too wore sweaters and sneakers, secretly fell in love with a boy based solely on his inscription in your yearbook, wrote your name in Sharpie somewhere on your freshman dorm room, became an RA, got a disastrously short haircut on a whim...
Then you are a friend of mine.
So critics, scoff if you will, but I'm eagerly awaiting the arrival of Felicity Porter in my mailbox with her tape recorder and romanticism.
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