get out of my head.

i don't know why we had to come in to work today. i have a cold, and i'd rather be sleeping. and by sleeping, i mean playing guitar hero.
i'd like to write some things today because the holiday was a long couple of days and because i feel better now than i did last week. but i'm too anxious. i can't get a real thought to formulate for two reasons: 1) i am interrupted every 32 seconds 2) there is one thing taking up all my mind-grapes.

freakout: really, though, there is nothing else to want or wish for...if i had the chance, would i even want to see how things would be? so then what? get closer and get upset when it starts to get squishy like everything else? isn't it better to look forward to a message once every four months than to have to admit that i'm not it and he's not it and it's all just crap...?? (though, i'll admit, i already know.)

no. it's fine.

anyway, blah blah blah holiday blah blah blah baking blah blah blah new years eve blah blah sandals blah 70* yesterday! blah blah blah facebook blah blah blah sneeze blah leonardo dicaprio.

You smell like beef & cheese.

The river looked really cool this morning. Steamy. It's kinda weird that I have very little interaction with the rivers in this city. I guess I grew to like living near water in Wellsburg. I liked working at the Pier, drinking and hitting golf balls into the Ohio after closing. This isn't a metaphor or anything...I'm just saying that it was nice to see some moving water again.

I got caught in the Menorrah Parade last night in Squirrel Hill. That was pretty cool. I can't imagine being that excited about something. Especially something that...annual.

I think I'm going to go watch "It's A Wonderful Life" at the Regent Theatre tonight. It's free. It's cold outside. It's almost Christmas. I watched some of it last year, but I wasn't prepared to actually feel anything. I thought it was going to be typical Christmas schlock. But when that old man started wailing on George's ear, I lost it and turned it off. This time, I will force myself to watch it. Like I wrote, the thing's already cracking... the least I can do is embarrass myself around strangers instead of people I already know...

IT'S CRACKING...

NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!! LEAVE IT ALOOOOOONNNNE!!!! I LIKED IT THE WAY IT WASSSSSSSS.........

I don't know why I was mad.

He's right, you know. Of course, he is.

I am pretty sure that the only way my notes will ever be published (other than this sad digital auditorium) will be if I am abducted or something. Ha.

This one is going to be a doozy.

My thumbnail on my left hand is getting ready to break. I can see the crack on the one side. It's only a matter of time now.

For a minute there, I was gung-ho about the new year. I've picked a new hobby, I was going to start some things and end some things, and it was going to be great. I'm ready for it. 2009. Here we go.

Now I don't feel like it. I can't do another year of the same. And why wouldnt it be? I used to love the symbolism of it all. A fresh start...clean slate...blah blah blah.

I know that this is where I wanted to be. This is where I insisted on living. Of course, it is. I guess I am one of those awful people who only wants what she can't have. I am happy here, well, happy as I could be. But I have to admit, I do wonder when things will change. How does "change' happen? Why would anything ever change? I don't know. This is an awful time of year.

At least it's Friday. At least he told me on Friday. I should get out of work around 3pm. That means I can have a good buzz going by the time Bob comes home. Then she can drive to the bar. I'll be ok.

I am happy Pitchfork gave Fleet Foxes it's #1 of the year. I couldnt have agreed more.

"There's nothing I can say..."

There are twelve of them...

Which one was your favorite?

Which one did you hate?


November.

October.

gooned

Bests. Worsts. Firsts.

Dead celebrity I'll miss the most: Paul Newman

Dead celebrity I won't miss at all: TIE: Donde West/ Cindy McCain
~What? She's not dead? Oh, well she looks like she would eat my brain if she could. Nevermind.

Best TV show that has been canceled but deserves to be revived for more than a minute: Pushing Daisies

Worst TV show about doctors: Private Practice

Best TV sandwich: Liz Lemon's Teamster Sub w/ dipping sauce

Best TV show that inspires me...to smoke cigarettes: Mad Men

Best Movie Creep: Ledger's Joker. Runner-up: Mr. Tamura ("Executive Koala")

Worst movie I finally watched after avoiding it for two years: Once

Best tree: the big bitch behind my sister's house. Runner-up: my Disco Charlie Brown xmas tree.

ASSHOLE OF THE YEAR
This award goes to the fucking guy (or lady) who pissed me off the most this year. Could have been an ongoing issue or an isolated incident. You've really gotta be a dick to stick out in someone's long-term memory.
Dziadzia, you take the #1 prize. I am using my nickname for this person because I dont need the headache of actual confrontation. You are such a dick, though, you'd probably love it.
RUNNERS-UP:
--dude from the bank. As I said, thanks for absolutely nothing. You shoulda been a cop.
--apartment maintenance guy. Thanks for throwing my laundry all around my fucking room when you "fixed" the air conditioner leak. Also, I wanted to tell you that i really appreciate the way you leave passive/aggressive notes all around the building. very helpful.
--my sister's old boyfriend. You're a real piece of shit.
--cab driver from that one night. You know, you could have just slowed the fuck down instead of driving like a fucking maniac. We told you she was sick. I hope your cab stunk for the rest of the weekend.
--Bitchy friends-of-a-friend. You guys are stuck up. I wish I didn't have to know you.
--Jerks-who-stood-me-up. You should know that it takes a lot for me to actually WANT to hang out with someone. I won't make that mistake again with either of you.
--Honorable Mention: I know I can't leave myself off this list. Fair enough.

Reappropriations...wait, what?

In 2007, these words meant something. Now they mean something else.

MOLLUS: (2006) I used to have a cat and a friend and we all called each other the same thing.
(2007) I miss the cat. (2008) I dont miss anything. "mollus" now refers to any furry creature. "molled" means drunk or fucked up

CREEP: I've always liked the word "creep" but this year it took on a more descriptive meaning. "Creep" refers to my favorite kind of weather...gray, cloudy, cool weather. creepy.

DARNEL: (2007) "Crabman" on My Name Is Earl. (2008) Plastic wrap.

Some other things that don't mean exactly what they meant a year ago:
Drunk
Bored
Poor
Family

Youre nice.

cool things of 08:

memento mori
avocado
Union Project
red pepper flakes
the Exchange
Squirrel Hill
Mort, my cuddly black cat
tea
Bardstown, Kentucky
the AV Club
reddish hair
skull boots
woof!
arf!
Kiew Wan
graham cracker coffee
the pregnant pause
875
Wicked
moleskine notebooks
the porch @ the Harris
271
Uno
the Pens
front row @ Billy Joel

Shut it down...

Words I heard in 2008 that I never want to hear again:

cherry chapstick
snuggie
bailout/golden parachute
suffixes "-gate" and "-tini" (ex. troopergate, partini)
addendum
"mc"anything...mcdreamy, mclovin'...
bored
NSF
voicemail
Sasha Fierce
Dziadia
bulldyke (possibly most offensive word of the year, thanks, guy-at-work)
hipster "backlash"
cordless
britcoms
Turkeyfoot
"food poisoning"
change (i love Obama, just sick of campaign crap)
6/4

"So, what do you do?"

Apparently, it is important to have a hobby. People are always wondering just what exactly other people are up to. I hate the question. I think the answer should be pretty obvious. What do I do? Well...this. THIS is what I do. I sit around and I look at things and sometimes I talk. That's about it. I keep myself pretty occupied just doing those things. In fact, at pretty much any given moment, that's what I'm doing. So, you know.

I realize that this complaint has a distinct Larry David sort of quality to it. That doesn't make it any less valid.

Here is a list of some things that I believe people spend their time doing. "Hobbies", if you will:
working out
playing musical instruments
playing video games
painting/visual arts
knitting
playing with their dog
riding a bike
cooking for fun
...of course, there could be others.


I am looking for something to do. But, really, I wish that what I already do would be good enough.

Butter

My dad works at the Land O'Lakes factory in Ohio. Although LOL makes lots of products, this particular factory is a butter factory. (I think that's pretty cool.)

The company gave each employee a case of their own butter for Christmas last year.

the barking maxist

I'm sorta tired of liking what I like. I dont really like music anymore, or going to concerts. Sometimes I think I would like to learn how to bake. I'd like to make pretty desserts. I bought a box of chocolate cake mix and a little paper can of whipped white icing. But dont worry...I know that's not really baking.

Funny thing. I dont even like sweets.

I like salty foods. Cheese & chips & tomato-y foods. Foods that give me ham hands at 3 in the morning.

I don't know why I felt the need to write down what kinds of food I like.

It's all comin' back to me nowwwwwwwwww

Yes, I do expect you to read that headline & sing it as Celine Dion. Or Katie Tetzlaw, for that matter.

Well, I have recently startled myself by using two phrases that I havent used or heard in years. I don't know why they flew out of my brain, and though I was temporarily comforted, I hope they crawl back into those dark recesses in a hurry.

If this blog was a newsletter published and distributed for all of my friends and everyone I'd ever met, about six of the readers would remember these words, the ones that have done so much belated damage.

At the exact moment my brain conjured up those words, I remembered a time and place where I was the happiest I have ever been. I remembered the faces of the young boy and young girl who would speak them and laugh. I remembered the confidence, the carefreeness, and then the carelessness with which I shattered it all.

It's just awful to grow up. It's just awful to make the mistakes that nobody else seems to make. It's so terrible to know that I wasn't wrong.

But the dreams and the nightmares still keep me awake.

I guess I am happy these things have jogged my memory. Maybe I can get some of that part of me back...even if the other part is quite gone.

camera obscura

All this time, I've been walking around like my life is almost over. but maybe it isn't.

missed connections

Pick your poison, But I suggest Vajrayana - w4m - 23
Reply to: pers-934699377@craigslist.org [?]Date: 2008-11-26, 3:11AM EST
I think the world lost something the day your heart broke. I can still see it in you, as hard as you work to conceal that crippling empathy. I know you're still thirsty for humanity. I know you're still hungry for understanding. I know how overwhelming it is to feel so much all at once, on everyone's behalf. I know that the universe is terrifying and full of pain, and the more you understand it, the smaller you feel. I know how easy it is to be angry and disengaged--I've done it all my life--but I can recognize that you feel the pull of human drama every bit as much as I do. You've been profoundly disappointed and you've chosen to turn away to save yourself, but yourself is eactly what you stand to lose. Frankly, it scares the shit out of me. I'm here. I'm in the same place and struggling with the same things. If you extinguish your stellar fuse, I'll be left alone. I can't do it by myself, and neither can you. I want nothing more than to be your partner--not for myself, but beause i can't stand to see your beautiful potential disappear. I hate the person who forced you to turn away from the carrot at the end of our stick. I refuse to believe that people are essentially bad. I refuse to believe that the question isn't worth the answer. You think your mask of disaffection is perfect, and I hate to break it to ya, but I can see you under there. You're a scared little boy and you're hiding from the big, bad, dark, dangerous, beautiful world. But it wants you--I want you--to be a little light. Hell, I just want you.

just call me Oddjob.

sometimes i crack myself up.

that terrible man walked by clicking his pen furiously. a million times. maybe two.

it occured to me that he would stop if i hit him with my boot.

really, though...

maybe i just shouldnt be allowed...

days like this

i cant decide if i love these days or if i hate them. it's nice and cold & gray out there. i didnt think i even liked this weather-i always hated winter. but it occured to me recently that i actually love it. it suits my frosty little mind. and really, it's not even all that cold.
i decided this morning before i even left for work that i would be heading to the squirrel cage after work. i'm not sure what it means that i was thinking about beer before 7am. i dont really care. moments later i ate a piece of cold pizza and left for work.
i suppose no one in my massive readership cares that i am hosting a heavy heart. (that is ok, by the way. i've said it before, this blog is more about the writing than the reading.) although there is someone i think about (he will never read this), that isnt even what has been making me blue. the pathetic and boring truth is that i am pathetic and boring and the word "lonely" applies but not entirely in the "i'd like to make out with someone" sense. for as much time that ive spent in the past year or two embracing my solitude, the only conclusion that i've come to is that i do wish i had more likeminded friends...ok this is getting away from me.

i want to be alone. but i want to be alone with a small group of people who appreciate the solitude as much as me. i'd like to be able to hang out in a crappy bar and drink & smoke & talk about dumb shit with people who are as jaded & bitter & bored as me. and then maybe go home and undermine that boredom by making out with a cute boy. and then wake up to the next day just as refreshed and alone as i could ever hope to be.

my favorite thing is this: staying up late with a bottle of booze & a pack of cigarettes and a notebook and pavement or austin city limits. i like to put my feet out the open window and blow smoke at the treetops. during this trite session, i like to think or write about trite things: not wanting to die. missing my family. my broken heart. blah blah blah.

enough.

what else have i been wanting to blog about? Pushing Daisies has been cancelled. ive been eating more pie than usual. that is to say that ive been eating pie. i was never really nuts about it until now. but ive had a few pieces of pie recently and enjoyed all of them. thats all.

damn. i just realized that i havent left myself anything to write about tonight. that is to say, i'll come out about even.

I'm bored.

So, I'm back.

It probably won't be any good. But at least it wont be empty.

MORTE

this one is done.

and goodbye.

A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius

I just started Dave Eggers' memoir. I am still in the acknowledgements section, and I am already jealous.

Mine will be called "Ennui". No it won't.

Insert Idiot-stamp here

I could have sworn it was Jules et Jim. I was thinking of the statue. But apparently it was Hiroshima Mon Amour. FUCK.
There it goes. The one time I think I actually know enough to post. FFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

Happy...Dying, but happy.

I need to write some positive things today. I am too tired of being angry. I've been overwhelmed lately. I guess I was in a situation that was too deep for my vodka-saturated brain. Squid brains. I am happy to feel somewhat relieved today, as I go back to my normal routine and a familiar mindset. I am happy to feel lonely, sweaty, even brave. I don't like bouncing back and forth between caring and indifference. I realize that I am very comfortable with one or the other and there may be no way to combine the two.
Every sentance in that paragraph starts with "I". Maybe that is my problem.
I don't see myself as self-involved (of course). I don't have many concerns, really. I don't fret about friends or lovers. It's not that I only think of myself...or, wait. Is that it?
I spend a lot of time thinking about death. My sister said that she thinks it's because I'm depressed. I guess that is supposed to be a way to tell if you are depressed. How often do you think about death? What's the measure? A couple times a day=depressed? A lot=suicidal? I can say that death is pretty much all I ever think about. Sex & death. Mostly death. But I am not depressed. It's just on my mind, that's all. And pretty much every conversation I have will lead back to it. But that doesn't mean a thing. Pretty much every conversation ANYONE has will lead to it, when you think about it. Right?
So I guess that train of thought is what inspires (in me) a lack of motivation. And I'd like to say that most of the time those thoughts make it easier for me to have a carefree attitude. But it's hard to find people to hang out with who don't mind the constant memento mori. And lovers don't like to be reminded that nothing lasts forever.
So here I am. It's August 12th (Happy Birthday Marla!!!!), and I don't have a tan. I don't have any money. And I woke up with John Denver's "Leavin' on a jet plane" stuck in my head.
I guess I am just bored.
Anyone watching Mad Men?
It's great.

Popless Week 31

Noel Murray finally hit Pavement. And of course, something "stuck out".

The destructive impulse in some musicians can be exciting in and of itself, and it's easy to understand why a lot of critics and music buffs gravitate towards acts that like to knock their own block towers down. But after a while, the knocking-down stops looking like creative courage and starts to look more like sadism, spiked with an unhealthy dose of adolescent petulance. There needs to be some element of contrast to make willful sloppiness work. In a movie, a long static take has more impact if it's not surrounded by a dozen more long static takes; in music, noise and aggression are often more effective if it's clear that a band is capable—and willing—to do something else.
Of course, musical preoccupations can go the other way, too. Some critics—myself, for one—get exhausted by extremity and start to overpraise music that is florid and pretty, seeing crystalline beauty as the supreme value. But that's a neurosis for another day.

Manic Pixie Dream Girls

hahahahha

http://www.avclub.com/content/feature/wild_things_16_films_featuring

Everything in it's right place

Yesterday I woke up suckin' a lemon.

I wish I could put in to words how much I really don't care.

I'm sure this party is going to be lame. The same six people sitting in a room staring at each other. While I bounce up and down making drinks and picking music and being uncomfortable. They don't like it when I play Coheed. Or Tool. So I put on Justin Timberlake. Nobody dances. That reminds me. We should pick up more salsa.

I need to pay some bills.

I'll buy the booze first.

I'll happily sacrifice my credit if it means I will have a nice fat frozen bottle of Ketel One in my freezer. I'm sure Target & Chase Card Services will understand. They already know I don't care.

It doesn't matter that YOU feel bad. YOU make other people feel bad all the fucking time. SHE doesn't pay attention. Neither do YOU.

I did.

It's the devil's way now
There is no way out
You can scream & you
can shout
It is too late now
Because

You have not been
paying attention

The first of the children

Apparently, I tend to be indifferent. Apathetic. Detached.
Yeah. I am.
And the thing is, I think that makes me smarter than the rest. Seriously.
I would feel bad about that. But, you know.

Ice age comin'

I used to carry a load of guilt with me everywhere I went. I put it down.




Why would you blame me?? Fuck. I didn't do a fuckin' thing. I AM NOT WRONG.

I'd really like to help you, man.

I realize that it doesn't take much for me to get to this point anymore, but I have arrived just the same. It is easy for me to walk away from something I don't like. I don't need the headache. I can cut you off just like that.
And, trust me, I don't look back.

Best of Craig's List...my favorite. No, I didn't write it. But, I could have...

email this posting to a friend best of craigslist > new york > MISS ME! Goddamnit!! - m4w Originally Posted: Tue, 8 Jul 00:00 EDT
MISS ME! Goddamnit!! - m4w
Date: 2008-07-08, 12:00AM EDT
Every week I check this damn thing to see if anyone in this city of millions has missed me. What gives? I ride the train no less than twice a day, five or more days a week. I'm pressed against some of you in the commute to/from work. Haven't any of you women missed me? I go to the park. I shop at places. I walk around. I wear shoes. I have ear phones. I drink stuff. Where's my missed connection? Start missing me already, goddamnit. I am very easy to miss. Monday: Go to work after the weekend. Try not to sweat in the sweltering humidity of the subway. No one misses a sweater. Listen to music to drown out the reality of being stuck in the train with a million strangers; avoid eye contact at all cost. Bullshit about the weekend with the coworkers until quitting time. Get caught up on CL. Tuesday: Go to work. Eat at one of same four places around work. Walk around a little during lunch, hoping to bump into someone new. Go home and contact friends to make plans for the weekend. Check CL. Wednesday: Go to work. Getting adventurous now and spend most of lunch break wandering around trying to find someplace new to eat. Realize nothing of interest has been built since I checked last week. End up eating at one of four usual places. Try taking a different route home. This time try to make eye contact with as many strangers as I can on train/bus/ferry/foot. Thursday: Go to work. Spend most of lunch hour running errands, returning library material, getting money from the bank, and calling up friends to reconfirm plans. Go shopping after work. Walk up and down each aisle to make doubly sure everyone has had a chance to miss me. Get home and get frustrated that still no one has posted with my description. Friday: Go to work. Spend all day waiting for work to end. Take smoking break. Look around for smokers to miss. Get out of work. Forget all about CL. Find friends and go eating/drinking/event attending. See more strangers in one night than rest of week combined. Stumble home at ungodly hour. Saturday: Wake up at some point. Roll over to the park. Maybe check out a museum. Try to look deep and lost in thought. Feel envious of all the people missing connections right before my eyes. Think about posting when I get home. Get home and forget or become crushed by laziness or the ennui of it all. Look up ennui in dictionary. Sunday: Fuck it. I'm sleeping in. I'm doing laundry. I'm ordering take-out. I'm not leaving the damn house. You've had your chances all week. I'm taking a me day. I'm reading a book. And by reading, I mean surfing the internet; whereas by book, I mean porn. Knock myself out with the usual roofie-colada, wine + sleeping pill, so I can wake up in the morning and pack myself into an overcrowded train to get to work and check CL. Fucking miss me already. I can't do this forever.
Location: the train
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interestsPostingID: 746487587
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I love the A.V Club

by Z0DIAC M0THERFUCKER
NAH THAT ELEPHANT INSECT GUY WAS LIKE BITCHASS ANAKINS OWNER OR SOME SHIT. HES ALL MAKING LIAM NEESON JUMP THROUGH ALL THESE HOOPS WITH ALL THAT RACING AND WHATEVER FUCK ALL THAT SHIT JUST PUT THE FUCKING JEDI CHOKE ON HIM FOR CHRISTS SAKE. YOUR SUPPOSED TO BE TRYING TO SAVE THE FUCKING GALAXY SO YOU DONT HAVE TIME TO GET OWNED ALL DAY
11:37 AM Wed July 16, 2008




ZoMoFo. Thank you. :)

Seriously, fuck that guy.

"They're smart enough to balance their own checkbooks."



"...hate to say I told you so..."

ha.

Jet

and please, God (or whatever), do not let me embarrass myself like that again. I wait months (MONTHS!) to talk to that boy and then turn into Woody Allen the second he has a minute to chat. fuck. now i am just like every other dipshit receptionist in town. bitching about co-workers is so fucking pointless, and i was just trying to separate myself from that...Oh, god. Why cant I just shut the fuck up sometimes?
It's so sad to always be looking for someone. He rides a bike for a living. So now, every boy on a bike has become him. (and im not even sure what his name is). And yet, he is standing in front of me (laughing at me) and all I can do or say is to make it worse. Stuttering...talking in circles...pointing out obvious confusion when there is NONE. Woody might be a nice nickname for me, if I got to choose. Which I dont. Nicknames dont belong to the person they refer to...they belong to the person using it. I learned that a little while ago and even wrote about in on here, a while back.
In Eighth grade, we had yearbook superlatives. I was in the running to win both Class Flirt and Class Couple. (This is a recurring theme. I decided to go with class couple. wouldnt want people to remember me for being slutty. we broke up before the book came out. ha.) Anyway, I'd like to talk to my 13 year old self, and figure out how to get that mojo back. Because this whole 'tripping-over-words-and-grinning-like-an-idiot' thing is getting old real fucking fast.

Make it stop!

I should not be allowed to listen to indie rock anymore. There is NO REASON someone should jump from The Smiths to Pavement to Calexico covers of Joy Division in ONE afternoon. It's embarrassing...this acquiring "thing" i seem to have. Maybe the nice boys at the exchange will help me stop the madness. (i need the dough anyway.) But they will never, repeat NEVER, ask me out at the Squirrel Cage.

I am too old to NOT be able to answer these questions

The truth is...I dont care what's happening in sports. Or with Tarentino's new Inglorious Bastards. Or Anne Hathaway's boyfriend. Why do I know so much that doesn't interest me? And what on earth DOES interest me????

All I can say is that as long as Craig's List contains 'missed connections', I will be OK. My little acorn lives in there somewhere.

Just say Wednesday, Ok?

I hate it when people refer to Wednesday as "hump day". When I am Queen, those people will be the first against the wall.

Simpsons Pinball and the absence of 'e's

I am in a feisty, possibly destructive kind of mood. It's 2pm on Wednesday. I'm off Thursday & Friday because I'm traveling to KY for Dick's wedding. Fun. In the meantime, I need a drink. Beer. and tequila or something. I know it's "supposedly" a sign of alcoholism if you drink alone, but really, at a time like this, I dont want to be around people. Or talk about dumb shit. I want some loud music and serious inebriation. I need to sweat and to swear. And I want to catch something I might be ashamed of.

Fuck. I am listening to two middle aged ladies talk about Colin Firth right now.

Get. Me. Out. Of. Here.

The A.V. Club rules my brain

I am sick of being bored.
I am sick of being numb.
I am sick of being poor.
dead.
hopeless.
sleepy.
stupid.
stoned.
lazy.
fat.
unoriginal.
awake.
abbreviated.
Pittsburgh.
Akron.
Cleveland.
California.
American.
quirky.
drunk.
mollus.


The thing is, I do think that was Johnny Marr. He just looked weird in a khaki shirt & fishing cap.

Kids say the darnest things...

"You clean up that attitude tomorrow. You were grumpy girl today."

Ray Rentler. Sometimes you absolutely shock me. In a good way.
Maybe that's all it takes...

ugh

Mia: Don't you hate that?
Vincent: What?
Mia: Uncomfortable silences. Why do we feel it's necessary to yak about bullshit in order to be comfortable?
Vincent: I don't know. That's a good question.
Mia: That's when you know you've found somebody special. When you can just shut the fuck up for a minute and comfortably enjoy the silence.

Bloodshot eyes

I feel like shit today because I only got 30 minutes of sleep. Better than a hangover, I guess, but it still makes sitting at work pretty difficult. if i sat still for one minute, i would fall asleep. i have to keep leaving to walk around the block, just to stay awake.

Tuesday is Bacon Night.

Is there much of a difference between 18 and 25? Sounds like there would be...after all, it is almost ten years. I am pretty sure I was 17 when we met, although I might have been younger. You couldnt drive yet.
High School.
College.
One.
Two.
Nothing.
How this came to be, I will never know. To believe that you are a real person is to negate everything else I've ever considered to be reality. You, my dear friend, have become a ghost. I will be sitting across the table, sharing bacon (probably not), with a ghost. You've been whispering in the background for so many years..now I have to sit across the table and act as though you are a real person.
When I was young, I had nothing to fear. I wasn't embarrassed...ever. Now I can't tell where the flirting starts and the self-deprecating ends. I learned from my last relationship that the two arent as compatible as I thought.
Now that I think about it, I dont want to do that stupid, awkward greeting. I dont want to sit there smiling like an idiot for the first thirty minutes. (To avoid this, I will take a xanax before I leave, arrive 30 minutes early, and finish at least one glass of wine before you get there.) I dont want to worry about the way I talk, what i talk about, how drunk i get, what ive been doing for the past 5 years. I want to see you and smile and remember how it felt to have a warm heart.
Tuesday is bacon night.

Thanks for nothin', Abe.

I learned about wrinkles today. Wrinkles that people get on their faces (and other places) as they age. I don't have any yet. I asked Mari when ladies start using wrinkle cream (is that what it's called?) on their faces. Long story short, since the baby boomers spent our social security, they are going to give us wrinkle cream.
Comes out to about even, I guess.

I am not interested in the differences between generations. Sounds like a bunch of excuses to me. Or maybe I am just sick of making excuses for other people. "He's old school", "Oh, when she looks back at that in 20 years, she'll regret it..." or "You can't teach an old dog new tricks". That's just what you say to avoid confrontation. In the face of racism. Or ageism. And sexism. Too many free passes floating around out there. I can't tell you how many times a day I have to leave the room. To avoid hearing racial slurs, misogynistic jokes, and the most mundane stories you could ever imagine about the 70's. When I am in my sixties, I wont have anything to talk about. Because I spent my teens and twenties wasting time, running from your stupid fucking anecdotes.

Happy Birthday, Dziadzia. Now, shut the fuck up.

Rocco & Tiger are mollus names.

A gang of co-workers are crowded around our TV here at work watching the Open. Something about Tiger Woods and Rocco Mediate going head-to-head on 18. I couldnt care less, except that my desk is located directly UNDER the 60" television. So I feel like they are all staring at me. I'm trying to look busy, but really I'm trying to tune them out. They all sound like the teacher from Charlie Brown.
I'm flipping through the real columbo to see if anything cool happened over the weekend. Nothing did. Here are some random scribbles:

*"Someone said I should start a band. "katie and the bobs". KT on lead vocals, bob on maracas."
I think that was Evan. It's a pretty dumb idea. I think he was trying to be funny, but it didn't work. As ALWAYS.

*"6.11. Chuck called me the Angel of Death."
This is no big surprise. He always gives me horrible nicknames. This time he was trying to figure out how to say it in many languages...so he could call me Angel of Death in many languages.

*6.15. 8x10 frame-blow up Ryan's Gargoyle-en-Paris photo. (if i can get it from my busted laptop)
I am in the process of moving to my new apt. I am completely "redo-ing" my bedroom. My inspiration is an old postcard of Paris, an uneasy, creepy sky & the Eiffel Tower. My walls will be the stormy, beige color of the clouds in the sky in the picture. My bed and table will be the blue-green color of the sky above the clouds (I'm referring to this color as "seasick". ha.) Anyway, I bought a huge, greenish picture frame (8x10), but I didnt know what to put in it. (I didnt want to put a picture of people in it; i doubt any one looks good at that size...) Then, it occured to me that I have the PERFECT photo, if I can get to it. Several years ago, a friend sent me a photo he took in Paris. A rooftop shot of Paris, flanked on the left by a creepy stone gargoyle. It's beautiful. Perfectly cloudy and creepy and romantic and unattainable (on many levels). (Four interesting words that may have more to do with the people involved than the actual photograph.) Anyway, I believe I still have the photo saved on my beat-up old laptop. Given the INSANE recent turn of events, I need to dig up that photo and display it in my beautiful, perfect, creepy, new room. On yet another side note: I cant wait for this week to be over...

Not Today...??

Friday?!?! My hair won't hold up until then!

What a long week. I need to switch banks.

Two of my favorite things

Irony & coffee mugs...together!

one has osama bin laden on it. and some crows. and a muffler.

the other one has jesus and a big drill. and gold fish.

Thank you Justin Rothshank & the Three Rivers Arts Festival! (http://www.rothshank.com/)

In other news, there is a bat inside my office today. This is the second time this has happened. We named him Barack. I hope I don't see him again. We lost track of him this morning. I guess I should turn up my music (new My Morning Jacket) to scare him away. Oy.

Mixed Nuts

Most of my days go something like this:

6. snooze, snooze, snooze. shower. music. hair & makeup. somedays i make coffee. brianna comes over around 730am and i drive us to work. she hops out in Oakland. i get to work on-time-ish. 8. hi chuck. clean up. get the joint ready for the day. wait til the losers go upstairs and chuck and i have an omelet party. eggs & salsa. the today show. ellen. the view. i make tea & lemonade. bon appetite. 12. i turn off the oven. good food & a little cup of water. bye chuck. invoices. various other projects. snacktime-usually a nut party, sometimes just a cup of coffee. 3. empty the dishwasher & wrap silverware. more projects. lead generation or whatever. 4. dump coffee & other drinks. shark. rush hour. 5. thai or c.f. or shade or harris with bob. martini or pinot grigio. home. 9. 30 rock. flight of the conchords. lights out meatball.


There is a light that never goes out.
Get it out of my head. I might be in trouble.

June is the wrong month for a wedding!! It's October! October is when YOURE supposed to get married!! You told ME that! Remember?!?!?!?!?

Call me Clem. And I would erase the first one and the real one and all of you.

"driving in your car/i never never wanna go home/i havent got one"

It's not nice to go around leaving notes on people's porches. Wouldn't you want one though? I haven't got a porch. Or even a window frame.

I am quite sure that the last thing I will ever think will be "this is it..."
But that won't be it. It occured years ago. That was the day it turned into an acorn.

2012. ha.

Divine

This might be the coolest thing I have EVER come across! This French guy wrote this song...this video is AWESOME! And i think it's funny/pretty cool that the word 'chivers' is slang for "young hip musician" (according to the french, at least).
This is the perfect way to start the weekend.
Merci, Sebastien et les autres Katies qui m'aider trouver la chanson!!!


http://youtube.com/watch?v=Vz58Hw9hldw

Divine by Sebastien Tellier

No no no no no no no
I’m looking for a band today
I see the Chivers anyway
Through my eyes
Oh oh oh
I . . . I’m alone in life to say
I love the Chivers anyway’
Cause Chivers look divine
Look away
They try to find the Milky Way
They love to drink it every day
No no no no no no no
Toi et moi, c’est comme tu sais
Comment mon coeur a succombé
You look fine
Oh oh oh
I . . . I’m alone in life to say
I love the Chivers anyway’
Cause Chivers look divine
Look away
They try to find the Milky Way
I’m . . . I’m alone in life to say
I love the Chivers anyway
In your eyes
Oh oh oh
I’m looking for a band today
I see the Chivers anyway
I’ll be a Chivers guy some day
In my mind





* Chivers is a slang term for a hip young musician

I Love AVClub

I asked a question.
Someone called "pur rage" answered with,
""Ennui" could work. Some sort of lethargic existential crisis, anyway."

I said,
"Yes. Those words work."

Dipshits

I would love for someone to explain to me the general rationale behind former Hillary supporters opting to vote for McCain over Obama. I do not understand this. Not one little bit.

Dummy

Some days I am excellent at self-restraint. Other days I might as well be Courtney Love. I did not recieve "class clown" in high school (obviously my greatest-most dubious-achievement) because I am funny. I earned that on the basis that I am the only girl in my class who let the crazy shit fly. Not normal crazy girl bullshit. Weird, eccentric STUPID words. Things that one should keep to oneself. Things about vikings or cranberry cars or pigeons. basically the kind of off the wall shit I write here and in the real books. my point is that today my censor was broken. and i mumbled things. and now i feel like an idiot. what else is new?
i dont think ive ever been so bored.

Rage & Isolationism, Pt 400

Between interruptions here at work, blogger not working properly, and my overall bad attitude, it seems that writing today is going to be impossible. So, nevermind.

Rage & Isolationism, Part 2

The amount of bullshit I am forced to overhear in one day is astounding. I believe it would blow your mind. If I had to put it into numbers, I would say that 95% of all the words I hear in one day are total BS. Some of the people I work with are starting to notice that I simply tune out. Even the folks I like have had to ask me if I was just tuning them out. And they rep

Rage and Isolationism

The Office

I had just started to watch an episode of the Office on hulu when some of my coworkers came into the room. Its quarter til five, and everyone was BSing as they got ready to leave. I quickly put the show on pause (didnt want to get "in trouble"). The folks in the room were joking and messing with each other. After filling the weekly amount of necessary ridicule, they shuffled out the door (still bitching). I hit play on The Office. Turned out I had paused it at precisely the end of the theme song (the little piano bit)...it was Perfect.

and with that I will begin my three-day weekend. :)

GO PENS!!

Happy Weekend.

I don't want to hear people talking anymore.

Today's Top Searches

Ok. I have to take a break from the serious thinking I've been doing today.
I just happened to take a look at Today's Top Searches on Yahoo's Frontpage. The one that really caught my attention was #6: Charles Manson Ranch.


AAAAAAAAAAAAAhahhahahhahahahahahahahahaaahahahahhahahahahhahahahahhahahahahahhahhaha

(I know it's referring to his home or something. I just couldnt help imagining a serial killer condiment...)

Pigeons

I am currently between notebooks in real life. I keep forgetting to pick up another one (from the drawer I've hid them in at work). In the meantime, I've been scribbling on any thing I can find when something noteworthy arrives in my head. This morning I had to use the back of my Hallmark 2008 datebook...I'm not sure when I picked one of those up, but I found it stuffed in the center console of my car. It was smashed between an old pack of Camel Lights and some mixtapes from the early 2000s. Anyway, these are the words I managed to scribble on my calendar at the stoplight of Grant and Blvd of the Allies:
"blog-people ?
unrequited love might be the only kind that's good for us
Pittsburgh Marathon 2009
pigeons"

Ok.
"blog-people ?"
I began wondering who reads this thing. My motivation for starting this online version was not necessarily a vain one. I mean, I didn't do it JUST so other people would read it. Maybe it was a selfish reason: I wanted to be able to use my computer at work to write. It feels more official than a beat-up Columbo. Of course, though, I enjoyed getting feedback from the courageous souls who stopped in here. Once I learned who WAS reading this blog, I considered who WASNT reading it.
If this had been a novel, would the same readers read. And the same non-readers, ignore? It seems like some people's motivations reflect a part of themselves that they would care to show the people they love (or would love, if possible).
If I have a blog (or any writing/creative outlet) to subconsciously (overtly) show certain persons that I am intelligent (not lazy...brilliant...i.e. worthy), but I know they arent reading it........anyway, Am I the disappointment or are they?
I think I like assuming that nobody reads this thing. It prevents me from censoring. Right now I can write whatever I want because I feel safe(-ish) that it's tucked neatly in some corner of the blogosphere.


Ugh...I gotta go do some work. I will finish (or start) this thought again later.

Generation Y?

People are always referring to us as Generation Y, I think. Is that right? We are constantly called the "I-want-it-now" generation. I am not confirming or disputing this reputation. (Although I will say 'What did you expect'?)
Wouldn't it be cool if we could be Generation Veruca? Dude, that would rule.

Something about scales

I am trying so hard to stop getting caught up in negative thoughts. Right now, I really feel like bitching. But instead of doing that, I am going to make two lists. One of things I like, the other will be things i dont like.

I dont like sports metaphors.

I do like plastic picnic silverware sets. The ones that come wrapped in plastic with a napkin & little salt and pepper packets.

I do like Cool Ranch Doritos.

I don't like popcorn. Or any corn.

I like my new umbrella. It's white and it has citrus fruits on it.

I don't like geezers who just sit around and watch tv. I am referring to old men, not young slacker dudes as referred to by the Streets. Also, I hate it when people are full of shit.

I like parallel parking. I am very good at it.

I dislike hot dog water. While I love a good weiner once in a while (that's what she said), I don't like the creepy liquid that drips out of the bottom of the package. (haha.)

I like TV on DVDs. Specifically, Flight of the Conchords, 30 Rock, and Columbo.

I do not like Tootsie Rolls.

I do like cleaning my car.

I do like tea. I am on a real tea 'kick'. Especially mint tea. I should get a kettle.

I do like this new computer. It pretty much rules.

I don't like


im bored.

Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world...

It's not that I don't like to do my work. It's that I like to do it at my own pace. I like to do a task, then have periods of nothing, then do another one , and so on... I know it's procrastinating...I prefer the word 'relaxed'. Today: do some insurance paperwork, read a few chapters of Chuck Klosterman's IV...prepare invoices, update my myspace page. eat a banana, balance petty cash.
Not to mention that it's Friday. 320pm. Im looking forward to a big bottle of wine and some fierce UNO competition tonight.

On a more serious note, I think I found something I kind of might believe in. I've had ideas about this subject since I was 11 or 12. An early age to consider something as complex as FATE. I wondered, without any kind of academic provocation, if things happen because they MUST...or is it like every decision opens up a new path...if you do this...this will follow. I'm not asking this question NOW. Those are things I thought about in 6th grade.
Twelve years later and that is still all I can think about. Today, at least. There have been other times in my life when people have insisted to me that "it's fate". we're "supposed" to be together...you were "meant" to blah blah blah. I never bought it.
There has only been one time in my life that FATE seemed apparent. I know this now because I ignored it. And it caught back up with me. Sort of.
There is something about 'right/wrong place at the right/wrong time'. (I dont know why but I always think of mobsters shooting each other when I hear that phrase.) Anyway, when you really think about it...THAT'S exactly right. You being...where you are...is a result of you being everywhere else you've ever been. You HAD to be there. In that spot. at THAT moment.
I guess the point Im trying to get to is that from my own personal standpoint, I think that maybe there is some kind of destiny or predestined event that one is supposed to experience...but you orchestrate the details. I dont really think i believe in (or like) the term "meant to be". But I'm just wondering how many times you have to be slapped in the face before you realize something is right in front of you. Or in California, as it were.

I am having a terrible time getting this out right now. People are talking to me about work stuff, and fucking sports shit, and TGIF and I just can't concentrate. I dont even know if this makes any sense at all. I guess the point is that my mind was blown today. And it was pretty awesome.

Destroying the Walls

When i was younger-12,13,14,15- and my parents yelled at me, I would go to my room and rip all of my pictures and posters off my walls. They would scream at me and lecture me and send me to my room. And I would tear everything down.
The psychology behind that behavior seems obvious to me. I remember that I wasn't allowed to talk back or yell or get upset. Or cry. I always hated that most of all-when they yelled at me to stop crying. It's mindless and thoughtless really. (Dad, you were only making it worse.)
It's interesting that I still do that. Destroying the walls. My favorite pieces of art. Delicate items I had painstakingly spent hours collecting and arranging. Memorabilia. Photos of friends. Cool shit from magazines. (Mostly Gavin Rossdale-ha. what a dork. shut up I was 12.) These things were important to me-a creative outlet. Ruined.
I just got in a little bit of trouble at work. Really nothing. Nobody even said anything to me, I just felt like an idiot. Immediately, my heart burned. When I was finally alone at my desk, I instinctively began cleaning out my desk. Erasing myself. Then, before I even realized why I was doing it, I cleaned out my email's Inbox AND my "Friends" folder. When I am done writing this, I will probably empty out my "favorites" folder and all my bookmarks. I might copy them by hand first. (to be honest, I think i am getting a new computer in a few days.)
Wow. This explains A LOT.
You can't expect to "be" with anybody...to have long, meaningful relationships when your MO is self-sacrifice.
"Sit on the couch. Say OK and nothing else. Don't explain-it doesnt matter."
And it doesn't.

If only...

i wonder what chickens would think if they knew what we were doing with their eggs.

i should have paid more attention when I was in hawaii.

i should pay more attention, in general, I think. Either more or less. Ehh, maybe it doesn't matter how attentive you are. It is or it isn't. Most of the time.

I can't stand Sleater-Kinney. I mean, the music rocks. Just shut up already. If it was Stephen malkmus singing I would probably love it.

i think i dont want to love anyone because i dont want to hate them. that's messed up.

I can't believe this

Today, a shark ate a man off the coast of California. The man was 66 years old. The details haven't been released yet. I just saw some footage on CNN.

This completes the trifecta.

Yesterday, all I could think, talk, or write about was the stuff about bears, sharks, or gators. I even remember saying to mari 'now all we need is a shark attack, but i think we're a little early for that'. haha. CREEP!

does it go without saying that i didnt really want any of these folks to be eaten by beasts?

yeah. I can't believe that. Awesome. I'm going to post some cool shark photos in a minute. maybe.

GrVy WkNd

i need a little nap. outside on a blanket.
if the weather tomorrow is similar to the weather today, you will find me relaxing at the Beach, a.k.a. Schenley Park-Flagstaff hill. That is where I need to be. I don't think i see enough grass. mostly pavement with gum & spit everywhere. that is what there is to look at downtown. and busses. i dont know why it is especially irritating lately to drive past or be stopped next to a bus. ive started putting the windows up when that happens. i am constantly upping & downing my windows. and turning my music up and then down again. but. at schenley "beach" if i tune out the traffic, i can imagine the ocean existing where Oakland currently stands. Phipps is still there in my head, and CMU. but the rest of the city is gone. (I can do that in the car too...like flying around on Bethany Pike. The water is waaay down the hill.) PCH via Forbes Avenue.

(this is starting to look more like the normal columbo entries. although the grammar is much worse, it makes more sense. to my own head. i like the stream-of-consciousness approach. sometimes.)

Netflix for the weekend: Wristcutters & Rashomon. Last weekend, I finally watched Sunset Boulevard all the way through. Sadly, Norma Desmond reminded me way too much of an old Britney Spears. I'm surprised that hasn't come up somewhere. it seemed pretty obvious to me. billy wilder was on to something 60 years ago, BEFORE the crazy paparazzi crap that happens now. i dont really care much, just an interesting observation. it's too far removed from me for it to actually matter. like madonna and her african babies. or the war.

Pirates game tonight. I will be watching the Pens on the little tvs. i always love going to ball games. even when it is the stinkin' buccos. i dont want this blog to turn into a place where i rant everytime i dont feel like being at work. but this once i am going to say that i LOVE Fridays in the spring. in college i loved skipping all of my afternoon classes to sit outside on our deck at the house and drink beer. and drive around and smoke. That is what I miss about Bethany most of all. having a deck on the back of our house. NOT going to class. and drinking during the day. :) yeah...that sounds about right, dont you think?

Bears, beets, Battlestar Galactica

I won't post the gruesome bits about the bear attack. I do think he's cute, though.

And, for the record, the bear is the animal i would LEAST want to be mauled by...

(damn, i just ruined the whole blog entry sequencing thing...ahh...)

Really, my day looks more like Bears, apples, The Office. but oh well. that's as close to Dwigt-ness as I want to get.

Anyway, I also wanted to clarify this gator story.

http://blogs.tampabay.com/breakingnews/2008/04/gator-spotted-i.html

Listen to the 911 call. It's freakin' hilarious.

Bear, Shark, or Alligator (or crocodile)??

I have instigated MANY conversations about this in the past few months...at bars all across the tri-state area...

IF you were to be mauled to death by one of the following animals, which would you pick?
Bear
Shark
Alligator/Croc.

and of course it follows, then, why? Which one would you NOT want to be killed by?

This week there have been news stories about a couple of these wild beasts. The bear from Semi-Pro killed his trainer. I haven't seen Semi-Pro yet, but if that bear is anything like the calm and democratic bear from Anchorman, I say Let Him Live! I have never been a fan of the death penalty, and ESPECIALLY not for celebrities!
Also, sometime recently, an 8 ft alligator crawled his (or her, i guess) way into the kitchen of a little old lady's florida condo. The lady didnt freak out or anything and animal control was able to escort the creepy dinosaur back out of her little old lady kitchen. But then they killed it. Apparently hungry 8ft reptiles (was going to insert an old people joke here, but wont) are not welcome at Shady Pines. Sayonara, Shannon. :)

Cool Thursday Things

After lunch I took a walk through PPG Place and Market Square. The fountain is finally on in PPG Place, a true sign that summer is on it's way. All the little kids were having a ball in the fountain, splashing and soaking themselves as parents, guardians, and strangers looked on. As I passed, I heard one little one yell, "I'M ALIIIVE!". I wonder what that was all about. Was the little kid imitating Frankenstein? Would a 5 year old kid know about that line? And wasn't it "it's alive"? The mad scientist referring to the massive monster? So was this little kid REALLY rejoicing and acknowledging his (or her) existence? Happy just to be playing in the sun...
Even if that's not really what the kid was talking about, I guess it's nice that I was forced to take a few minutes out of the middle of my day in the middle of a loud cranky stinking city to consider children & innocence & small pleasures.

That said...
will someone PLEASE remove the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition from the front counter at CVS?!?! God! I feel like I have been staring at that blonde lady's side-boob for months now. And WHY is it OK for that naked lady to be hanging out next to my chapstick and Altoids, and it's NOT OK for 30 Rock to use a phrase like MILF (Island) in an episode?! The show's ratings aren't that great to begin with (106th) despite it being one of the best television shows ever written. (Better than Seinfeld. There, I said it.) But seriously, how many little kids are watching that show and actually considering what a "MILF" is? Little kids would probably think that word is hilarious, anyway. 30 Rock was bumped out of NBC's "family hour" 8-9pm, and will now follow The Office. That one hour of television makes Thursdays OK with me.

Speaking of 30 Rock (which i always am, incessantly), Tina Fey and Amy Poehler were on The View today. (I need to get a life.) Tina Fey mentioned that Elizabeth Hasselbeck was the only host that had not yet been on 30 Rock. Elizabeth said she would love to appear on the show, and Tina, without hesitation, said "would you get in bed with Alec Baldwin?" AHHH! Elizabeth was so stunned she couldn't even answer yes or no (she was trying to convey annoyance, but you could tell she wanted to do it...what a republican). It was Perfect. It makes sooo much sense for Jack and Elizabeth to have a fling (or whatever), and I Love it that Tina went for it right there on the show!! Awesome.

My obituary should read

pediasure
pediasure
pediasure
pizza
pizza
pizza
pizza
pizza
ensure.

Today looks like this:

then there were supposed to be pictures of a bed and toothpaste too, but they wont upload and I'm too tired to keep trying.

soon, hopefully, i will have the time and energy to write about the best night-no, best WEEKEND-of my life, which occured last week(end). im just a little foggy today and i dont know if i feel like it.

so this is it. my day. i was up all night puking everywhere. dentist at 9am (no cavities, TMJ disorder). bought some motrin 800s and prilosec. just ate lunch...toast and a half a banana. and I just wanted to include that picture of Ray Wise because I think he is especially badass. so yeah, work, indie rock, heartburn, and Ray Wise. I will be asleep for the night by 6pm.

:)

KATE (NOT OUR KATE)

All I can say is that this isn't the first time that has happened, and I am sure it won't be the last. It is just something that I do. Or, rather, something that happens as a result of something I like to do. If I could change that, I would. For YOU.
But here we are. Strangers, really. People who could have potentially been friends. If I hadn't squashed that potential like a bug. It's what I do. Like a little drunk human flyswatter.
So, I will look to the people around me that I cannot escape. Coworkers, sisters. Frownie & Puff. These will be my friends until the time comes that I meet someone new to 'get to know'. To enjoy & admire. To sabotage.
I'm sorry.

Operation Optimism

Phase One:
Draw smiley faces on every piece of paper on my desk.
If someone asks if I am in a good mood or a bad mood, I will always say good mood.
Don't say 90% of the things that pop into my brain. Space the other 10% out. It's a good idea for me to keep my mouth shut.
YOU.SHUT.UP.

My heart is an acorn.

I am hungry.

Other randomness:

I think life doesn't technically begin until the being needs a ticket to go somewhere. Like a show or a hockey game. (4/11, drunk at the cage watching hockey)

I might be a marxist. and possibly a Buddhist. But never, really.

Chuck told me that instead of a heart, I have a little acorn in my body. I'm pretty sure he's right.

I like to drink fancy coffee. At home I make a special blend of coffee from Kauai and graham cracker flavo(u)red coffee. Its really great. Im hungry.

I love packing tape.

In the spring, I like driving to work with an iced chai from starbucks...while listening to Impossible Germany by Wilco. I love those mornings. And that is one of my all-time favorite songs.

I still think the Pope looks like Emperor Palpitine. Pre-and-Post-Sith-Lord-Makeover.

I'm happy 30 Rock & The Office are back.

Hungry.

I hate it that I can never get too deep in these blog postings. The nature of my job is that I am interrupted very frequently. So I can only think of the little tiny notes like the ones here. I'd like to go into detail about my little acorn heart, for example. But I can't...someone needs...something. Phone.

I am trying like hell to knock it off with the pessimism (as the kids say). I...phone...phone...phone...I guess I really wasn't aware of how much negative shit floats around in my head and comes out of my mouth. And this preoccupation with Death (with a capital D) has got to go too. It's killing me.

More on this crap later, I hope. I mean, I can't wait until I'm able to post again about these awesome ideas!!

ok. to sweep. and to eat. and to sleep.

fuck you and your lay's potato chips.

why dont you DO SOMETHING?!!!!!!!!!!!!!????????

Mine would be made of snakeskin and have a big eye on it

Wouldn't it be great if, when you die, you got to read the REAL story of your life? How it should have been? A walk through your life, only changed in places where you made the wrong decision? Like, what you were supposed to do...
______ ______ was your soulmate during your time on Earth. Yes, Katie, you should have believed in soulmates.
You were supposed to be a ________. Didn't you ever notice that you were really good at _______? You were wasting your time as a _______.
You should have knocked _______ out in 8th grade. You overpaid ____ on your taxes in 2002.

No lies, abbreviations, or secrets. Finally, you would get to see EVERYTHING- as it was and as it should have been. That would be cool.

What kind of difference would that make to me now? None at all, I suppose. The thing about getting older (life after age, say, fifteen), is that you become locked in. I don't know why I am doing the job I have. I just kind of found it-or, rather, it found me). There are a million "things I should have done" or "ways i wish i was" (for lack of a better phrase). It's not like I am going through my life unaware of those things. It just is what it is, I guess. (Cue Talking Heads.)

(It's too hard to write these things at work. This is all baloney.)

I've been told on many occasions that I am what people like to call "a free spirit". I guess that just means that I don't like to commit. I don't really have any idea what the hell that means.

Turning the orbit around

I had a dream last night (on the eve of the first playoff game) that I met Sidney Crosby and that he wanted to give me his phone number. (It should be noted, I suppose, that in my waking life I do not find this young man attractive.) Anyway, in the dream, he took my cell phone to put his number in, but instead of using his real name, he called himself "Eduardo".

Also, in this dream, I met a young Mr. Belvedere. I mean the actor who played Mr Belvedere. He was playing cards with some other folks. I'm not sure if they were from TV shows or not.

Do nicknames belong to the people they refer to (to which they refer)? Or the people using them?

$75.00 is not a lot for a necklace of interest. Turns out there was a hole in the middle. I can't help but chuckle at the irony.

Yes, this is Wilco weather.

Words that start with V

Earlier today I asked Chuck if I am vacuous. Someone used that word recently to describe something of mine (not me), and since then I've been worried. I guess I'm the kind of person who jumps to conclusions at the very mention of a negative condition or disease. What is it? RLS? Scurvy? Oh, I'm pretty sure I have that. Anyway, the word vacuous has been on my mind, so I asked someone who would most definitely give me an honest answer. I hate it when people answer a question with "what are you talking about?", which is the exact answer I get most of the time. After messing with me for a minute, Chuck said, "You are whatever the opposite of vacuous is... you are...(huge grin)...full of shit."
Thanks, Chuck.

God is tall, skinny, tan, and has a huge mane and beard of white fur. I know this because he is on the cover of March's Videography magazine. Turns out God is a camera guy who worked on Martin Scorcese's Rolling Stones documentary.

I can't think of any way to use the word V for the rest of the shit i want to write about.

I tried Indian food last night for the first time (pretty much). I'm "into" spicy food so I was not afraid to try something new. Note to self: heartburn fucking sucks. I threw up for twenty minutes before work this morning and I haven't been the same since. V!

I'm antsy. My next thing will probably be about ants. it may (or may not) be a good one. Now that I am trying to write in this blog the same way I do in my real columbos, I can tell it might not work. I don't sound the same. Maybe it's the fact that I am interrupted a hundred times a day and I can't focus. Maybe it's the effing chicken tikka masala that's distracting me. I want to continue, but at this point I want to acknowledge that this isnt as cool as I wanted it to be.

Do not begin a blog with "existentialism".

I've been carrying around these 'Columbo notebooks' for months now. Maybe even a year. Sometimes people look at me like I'm nuts when I suddenly pull my notebook and pen out and start scribbling, but I don't think it's weird. I don't necessarily think it's theraputic either. Nothing like that. These notebooks are around for two reasons. I love to write/want to be 'a writer' and my home computer is broken. Also, I think I'm hilarious. I really do. I think I'm smarter and funnier than most people I've met. So these brilliant observations MUST be chronicled.
(I am not funny.)

That's an exaggerated version of why I keep my notebooks, and why I've now decided to keep some of these thoughts online. To put it simply, I don't want to die. These pages are an attempt to recognize that I've been alive all this time (24 years). If organizing thoughts into language is the only thing I'm good at, I might as well do it.

Most of my motivation in life comes from the desire to 'fly under the radar'. I've excelled at being a B student. A 'head-plus', at best. I am beyond comfortable with mediocre...it's my way of life. Well, mediocre-plus anyway. I think this is why I loved Lt. Columbo so much. With his cigars and his trenchcoats, and his...stupidity. Even when I was sixteen, I knew he was on to something. THAT'S the way to do it, Columbo. Take the pressure off. Play the part. Do the work while nobody's looking. Then, when you do wrap it up in the end (in a lighthearted, yet accurate way), they'll all just smile and say 'he knew it all along'.

I'm in there somewhere.

This is going to be my online version of my actual Columbo Notebooks. Ramblings, mostly. I guess we'll just have to see if I figure anything out by the end of the show...

(Obviously, I have no idea how to use this site yet. I'm workin' on it. I hate spell check. and I'm not nuts about the layout of my page either. If you can forgive a few inaccurate punctuations-on purpose, of course-I hope you'll continue to read the bullshit trickling out of my brain. Or something.)