Obnoxious and Ranty

And a day later than promised. Yesterday I got distracted by old college basketball games, The O.C. and half-finishing my laundry and half-finishing my taxes. But boy are those turtle brownies I wasted time on delicious.

So, Rolling Stone tells me that much like when I was a teenager, the kids are listening to classic rock. A decade later I get what they're saying but I still think I have something off kilter. Of course, like when I was a teenager, they're rambling on about Pink Floyd and Led Zepplin, perhaps even The Doors. Instead, again like a decade ago, I'm listening to the "wrong" classic rock. Lately, I've been jamming on The Replacements, Bruce Springsteen, The Smiths, (still) The Stone Roses and The Beatles. Plus, I still think my music is better.

Anyway, I've started to do my taxes which only stresses me out.

I feel, in some ways, like Wesley Snipes in Demolition Man, but you know, still alive.

I'm annoyed that I've reverted to a teenager who is anti-social and reads comic books and participates in fantasy baseball, and at the same time, I'm enjoying my semi-angsty world immensely.

Anymore, I live for fancy schmancy recipes, the red glint of Netflix movies in the mail and 24. I'd be sad if all of those weren't so god-damned amazing.

Is it springtime yet?

And finally, The Giants Suck! Next topic. (Yay Baseball.)

On the next post: Will this girl find some fun in Fargo? Will she manage to get work done before the weekend? And will she ever finish watching Murderball? Stay tuned: same blog site, same obnoxious rants.

Seeking Skinny and Androgynous

Thanks to those of you who were kind enough to check my blog and alert me to the fact that it was broken. Thank you to the gods of Blogger that the problem fixed itself without any significant injuries to anyone.

Holy crap. It's been awhile since I wrote. Do you ever have those times where you're so self-absorbed and whiny that you wouldn't want to go back and read what you wrote later, for fear that you really are that obnoxious? Well, that was me. I didn't have anything good to say so I kept my mouth shut. But after a night of hearing from my mom (her shoulder is doing slightly better but she can only move her arm about 3 inches), taking it easy, cleaning and downloading the feyest song I've heard since the rise of Belle & Sebastian, I am feeling slightly sinister. Hence the blogging.

Shayna, Casey and other fey fans, I'm sorry to say that I absolutely adore "Be Gentle with Me" by The Boy Least Likely To. Even if these Brits end their band name in a preposition, you have to love two androgynous boys who admit that they're scared of spiders and want me to be gentle with them. Yay! Plus, if you're not tapping in your shoes by the end, something might be wrong with you.

Anyway, I'm throwing myself a welcome back to Blogger party in the form of watching an episode of South Park, having a glass of wine and going to bed. The rest of you can join me in spirit.

And, I'll be back soon (likely within the next 24 hours) as I have the day off tomorrow for a "procedure" that will leave me slightly dazed and confused tomorrow. But well enough to hopefully do my own taxes and make pan-roasted chicken breasts in a sage-vermouth sauce and read two issues of Rolling Stone. My what high ambitions I have for my sick day. Fun fun. I'll be back soon on what I've learned from magazines and the Internet.

mass hysteria

Holy Computer Glitch, Batman! Why is my blog not working? Someone please help.

Up Yours, God

In the immortal words of Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon, "Hate Him back; it works for me."

Once upon a time in a very remote land, this girl fell in love with Netflix. She loved it so much that she had 85 movies in her queue. Then, one day she rented Hitch. And the story went downhill. She never received Hitch. Netflix received Hitch back from her without her ever having seen the movie. So, she moved it to the top of her queue, hoping that she would see it soon. One night, she decided to stay up slightly past her bedtime to watch the movie. She made it an hour in when the disc refused to play for her. So, she tried it in her computer. It refused to play again. She gave up, and decided to try again the next night. So, the next night she wiped down the disc and tried again. Again, it didn't work. She skipped the chapter that was causing her problems, but to no avail. Finally, she resigned. Sighing in defeat, she reported the problem to Netflix. She sealed the disc and plans on returning it tomorrow. After today, she is never ever going to try to watch Hitch again. It simply isn't worth the trouble for a romantic comedy. And thus, the story ends happily ever after, without me having a heart to give to anyone.

Sweet...Valley (Like) High

Welcome to Short Attention Span Theater. I started this post an hour ago, and then I decided to dick around on the Internet, and then, I started looking at myspace.com, and then I got a drink and then I wrote a text message, and then I thought about writing in my blog...and that's when I remembered that an hour ago, I was going to start a blog message.

So, the reason I had initially decided to post is because, it's hilarious how myspace works. I got on to try to find a lot of my college friends. Many of whom I'm in touch with outside of myspace. But then, it turned out that a lot of the people I'm looking for are not on myspace, or I'm too dumb to find them.

Instead, now, I'm reconnecting with high school friends. It's turning into absolute hilarity. Sort of. Most of my friends are married and it only makes my perpetually single status look slightly ridiculous. Then, if they're not married, they're lesbians. And don't get me wrong, some of them are not a surprise, but some of them kind of are. It's funny what seven years can do to people. It's also funny how poor my memory. I don't even remember half the people who claim to be in my graduating class, and then some I used to be friends with I only vaguely remember anything about them. It's a little troublesome that at 24 my memory is this bad. Or it proves that high school really is a waste of four years of your life, which is more likely.

What's really troublesome is how easy it is to waste two hours stalking people you don't really care to learn more about but you do anyway. I do know that it is scary how easily I'm connected to so many people, but I wish they didn't know that.

Anyway, I think I'm about to have a psychotic episode, so I'm going to take a bath and dance with myself (not at the same time, of course). Until later...

Isn't It Ironic? (I think)

I always forget if I'm using the word ironic right. Isn't it sad that an Alanis Morisette song from a decade ago can still fuck me up? And, I actually care about grammar. Sort of.

Anyway, not that any of you bastards would, but don't worry about what I'm about to say. I've felt pretty sick all week, and really, the week before it. I've managed to take pretty good care of myself (most days) but I can't quite get better. My symptoms are everything from a stomach ache to muscle cramps to sneezing to snuffy nose to nausea to head aches to dizziness to insomnia. My body's viruses or bacterium (is that right?) just can't seem to decide where they want to strike. I haven't quite been sick enough to stay home so I've been sucking it up and going to work. Since I had a doctor's appointment on Monday, I've even been staying late every night.

But, here's the irony, instead of performing at half-capacity, I've been hitting the ground running. I have already done so many stories for the week. I've been interviewing people like crazy. I've got more stories to do. I've still been managing to keep up on world events, etc. by reading the wire and even having some time to check out other papers. And in between, I've even managed to carry on conversations with most of my co-workers, just bullshitting. Why is it that I can feel so crappy but do so much work? Is that maybe why I'm staying sick, because I'm pushing myself?

Here's the caveat (my new favorite word), though, I can't really say that the stories I've done are award winners. There's nothing particularly wonderful about the stories. Although in one I did get to lead with something about airsick bags, so that's fun.

Oh, and this whole keeping busy thing isn't just a work thing. I've been reading comics, magazines, political Web sites and I started a novel. Then, I've watched a couple of movies, managed to catch 24 this week and watch a bunch of episodes of Carnivale on DVD. I also sleep, eat and shower daily, so there's nothing I'm forgetting to do.

Oh, and I'm not on any drugs. And since I've been sick, I haven't even had the wine or beer I'd usually have after work.

How's that for strange?

Speaking of strange (goddamnit!), I had a totally fucked up dream last night, which I will now relay to you, the readers of my blog:

It doesn't sound that strange now, but at 4:30 a.m. I definitely had to turn on the light for a little bit before I could go back to sleep soundly. Anyway, in my dream, I wasn't me. I was a little slow kid (not the comedy troupe, but like autistic or mentally retarded), I'd guess I was about an eight-year-old boy. And, this older lady was at my house, and she was something like a detective, but she wasn't really. She was maybe a lawyer or something. And she was asking me questions, while we were looking for my mom. She told me that my mom was helping her on a case, but I didn't really believe that the lady was there to help. Anyway, we kept finding little clues around but we couldn't find my mom. I could tell the lady was starting to worry but I didn't know why and then as we found more and more things, like drawers left open and computer files that were open and notes about things my mom was involved in, I realized that my mom had done something wrong and killed herself and every step after that I was afraid I was going to stumble upon a body but we couldn't find one. And then I woke up and was so freaked out about finding a lady who had killed herself and couldn't get back to sleep. Weird, eh?

Anyway, I'm going to go read some more garbage before going to bed.