All hail Claude and his glorious new regime

Sincerely, little girl.

I was, instead of working on my Econ term paper, watching a continuous scroll of blog names that were updated at 8.49 PM...8.50 PM...8.51PM. Fuck, I am going to flunk out of school. Even the anecdote I had prepared about procrastination proves I procrastinated even more. In order to share the anecdote, I have to admit that I was watching Malcolm in the Middle at 5.30 instead of jamming out some homework. I didn't, however, have a cockroach race or ravel an entire sweater in lieu of homework; I just stared at the ceiling and drew some fake bruises on my arm using my sharpie marker collection.

I decided to post because I decided to turn off comment moderation. Even though I could have changed this setting and left the page, to return to homework, I felt my readers (all two of you) should know. Then, I didn't want to seem like the self-important prick who makes small posts like "comment moderation is off, feel free to comment as often as you want." Things like that seem self important, like you think anyone actually wants to comment on your stupid site. So I wouldn't be that asshole, I decided to just do a whole post and eat away at even more of my precious and dwindling homework time. I'm dedicated to the core...when it comes to procrastination.

Peace!

I must break you

I’m pretty sure I am going to have to stop watching the Final Fu on MTV and MTV 2. Not only is it the second biggest reason that I am behind in school, the first being general sloth, but it is also, I fear, clouding my judgment. Today, when I walked into my office building, which is being remodeled, and walked to the elevator bank, there was a man fixing a light bulb on a twenty foot ladder. The third leg of the ladder was this slim, flimsy 2 X 4 and all I could think about was side kicking straight through the board and then running on the next station. I gave almost no thought to the man who would be tumbling off the ladder.

I would be a kick ass contestant on Final Fu. When they would show my profile, in the box where the other fighters are doing their forms and looking generally bad ass, I would be dancing the Macarena. And my power move? Sand to the face.

He prefers the company of men...

Who doesn’t!

So, I was right about Lance (aka Princess Frostilocks). He has finally just come right on out and said he is actually gay. Good for him. I suggested to MFS that I should send him something from IKEA or Crate and Barrel, and MFS countered that we should get him a gym subscription and a card that says “Congrats on being a ‘mo.” Which is less subtle, but more appropriate. He is also, apparently, working on a sitcom with Joey Fatone that would be “like the odd couple” with Lance being gay. Now, I saw (and briefly owned) On the Line and I will attest that Lance was just not very good or interesting in that movie. I am willing to say that a percentage of this was because he is gay and having to pretend to like and date women, which is hard for even the most consummate actor, but please…

I have 25 pages worth of papers due in the next two weeks and I have 3 pages done. I am super screwed. I have, however, found time to read nearly 2000 pages of Harry Potter goodness in the last month, which is way more important than school. I did successfully guess that Snape was the half-blood prince and am ecstatic that Ron and Hermione are finally getting it together. I guess I will have to see how it works out. I will be on of those losers at the bookstore next year in a cape, with a scar drawn on. Except really, the character I most resemble in face and figure is Professor Umbridge and that doesn’t exactly make me happy.

Hey Jude

Every time I had a good idea for a post in the last 4 days I was either too lazy or too busy to write about it. It was a strange feeling to be at either a dead run or a dead stop at all times. I didn’t get to meander at all. Like just then. There was a 35 minute break between typing all and like. Work is nutso busy. Home is busy and frustrating, especially now that I have two beagles following me everywhere I go from 5:30 to midnight 4 nights a week. And when I have a moment to myself, it doesn’t occur to me to whip out my laptop and post about stuff cause I all I want to do is crawl into bed with a bottle of wine and sleep till winter.

What I had meant to write about yesterday, until I became perpetually sidetracked, was this-

I hate when I am walking up to a building, 20-30 feet behind the person in front of me, and that person holds the door open for me. At this point, I have to negotiate how much time it will take me to cover the rest of the distance to the door and how quickly I can cover it. Immediately, like when I am walking in a crosswalk that someone wants to turn in, I start doing this awkward half-gallop to the door as to not inconvenience them further. So I get the door, slightly winded, with my shoe falling off and my purse dangling off my arm and I have to thank them for making me react physically and mentally this early in the morning, when all I want to do is punch them in the face. And of course, if I have to make a case that I punched someone in the face for holding the door open, I would look like the asshole. Plus, then I have to share the elevator with this same douchebag and I feel that having the elevator to oneself is a small, but perfect little treasure.

Anyhow, that is all that I really wanted to type about, except to say Happy Birthday to Villi and congratulations on being able to rent a car now. I will see you in like 5 hours to tell you in person, but I don’t want you to think I “fucking forgot your birthday.”

Oh, shut up, Jane Siberry

I’m miserable. I don’t know if I am tired or moody or just in a funk, but I can’t be bothered to do anything: work, school, hygiene, housework. I’m late getting out of bed and slow in the shower. I just have no interest in being a relevant human being. In addition to that, the job has got me down. I’m tired of having to answer questions all day, every day. The customers are bad enough, but I can’t go five minutes without someone yelling a question over my cube wall. Sometimes, they don’t even yell it over, they peak their heads over the wall of the cube, startling me, to ask me questions they should be researching on their own. What if I am picking my nose? Maybe this career path isn’t the right one for me. To quote Will Hunting, “Maybe I don't want to spend my life sitting around and explaining shit to people.”

I’m doing well in my classes while expending 0 effort, so that is awesome. Community College is a lot like high school. I’m so much smarter than everyone that my hastily assembled work is still 15 times better than the work my peers (uh, not really) are submitting. I’m still trying to get straight As this semester to help keep my GPA up, since I actually plan to go to grad school, but I always fall off near the end of the semester and realize that a B will do just fine.

I didn’t really want this site to be about my whiny, self-indulgent complaining. I wanted it to be full of my wry social commentary and insights, but it turns out I am still a mopey 16 year old girl at heart. Young, dumb, and full of…angst? It’s the god-damned sun. I was in a much better mood when it was raining.

I want a pumpkin demon to do my bidding!

The title of this post tells you all you need to know about a guy watching Disney’s Cinderella. We watched it last night, after roasting some marshmallows over our fire bowl and drinking some wine (and spitting the wine into the fire bowl, while saying ‘Nel nome del Padre e del Figlio e dello Spirito Santo, amen’ and pretending to stoke the fires of hell).

I feel bad that I have already lost interest in the posting, mostly because I have nothing interesting to say. Seeing as Villi went to all the trouble of buying a domain for me and drawing little nachos with jalapeño feet, I should really try a little harder and quit being such a pussy.

I think I’m going to go to my room and think about what I’ve done.

I just needed directions...

Mistress Anya will give you some direction.

This was part of a funny little exchange between Villi and I, last night, when I was stealing music instead of sleeping, like I should have been. It basically involves someone walking into an S & M club to ask how to get back to the highway. I'm sure you can see the humor in that.

Since I was up telling stories, I got hardly any sleep at all and now I am exhausted at work. And apparently I'm being punished for having one fucking day off. We're busy as hell, and MFS (my favorite subordinate) is out sick for again! After this six day weekend, he is gradually becoming NMFFS (the n stands for not and the second F stands for what F always stands for).

Tomorrow is another day.

Signs that it was a good party

1. A vague remembrance about why my violin is out and knowing it has to do with an impromptu hoedown.
2. The dead martini glass.
3. The urge to double and triple check and finally come to the conclusion that "yes, I guess 6 people really could drink that much vodka."
4. Bruises and other wounds from all the wrasslin'.
5. Not a clean glass in the house.
6. It's the day after and all the boys still have on traces of eyeliner.
7. Stains, stains, stains.
8. Someone still playing Guitar Hero for shots at 7:00 in the AM.

Thanks for the good time, y'all. It was lots of fun and oh, look, were doing it again tomorrow.