I forgot until I posted yesterday that writing stuff is kind of fun. Well, it's fun-like, making it a good substitute for actual fun. Like eating protein powder, berries and soy milk all blended together instead of ice cream, which I also did last night. Currently, my life has plenty of fun, but less fun-like activities, so perhaps I'll try to blog more. Blog, and study random pharmaceuticals.
Also, I need to get a job, which can also be fun-like, which is why they make all those internet games and iPhone apps based on menial labour. Once, I was playing a lot of Diner Dash and decided to try to get a job at the Keg. I figured that my Diner Dash skills would transfer, and also, that it would be super fun, because, how could it not be? Unfortunately, at the time, I was a pretty serious vegan. This posed a problem, because I'm a bad liar, except for the rare times when I'm a really, really good liar. Being the sole herbivore in a room full of steak lovers was not one of those times.
Somehow, I managed to sneak my way through the initial recruiting interview to make it to the group interview. I quickly realized I was out of my league when they told us the mission statement, or maybe it was the vision statement, either way it was something similar to: "create an environment where steak lovers and their families can feel free to be themselves". At this point, my head screamed, "Interloper!" I was afraid my eyes would get too shifty, so I tried to stare at one spot until I realized staring is also a little suspicious and started carefully timing eye movements to avoid shifty or staring eyes. There's nothing like meticulously orchestrated eye movement to tell those around you, "I eat meat and I'm not an interloper at all. Please don't hurt me, it's hard to get sufficient protein so my muscles are quite weak and you will break me easily."
The end of this story is the part where I did not get the job, which is probably best because I couldn't have kept it up for long before I broke down and told them the truth. There probably would have been a lot of tears, and dramatic background music. Then a commercial break prior to me actually revealing my veganness (As well as playing excessive Diner Dash in my time, I've also watched far too much reality tv). This time things will go better, because I eat everything now. As long as I don't apply to anywhere with a "We steal candy from children" mission statement, I'll be fine. Even then, kids really don't need all that candy anyways. We are facing an obesity epidemic.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Alive and unarrested
Wow, once you're not posting everyday it's really hard to keep it up. It's also easy when it's summer and there are many fun things happening that don't involve me writing random stuff on my computer.
On the weekend, Yelsel and I went on an adventure. We weren't quite sure what to do, but we thought we'd head towards downtown, but not into downtown, because that would be stupid. Towards downtown was probably also stupid, in hindsight. But when you can't see the news about burning cop cars, you don't realize exactly how unintelligent it is to travel towards them. However, we were fine. The worst thing we saw were a lot of cops who did not randomly arrest us and some protesters that we thought were screaming for ice cream, but then realized they weren't, which made more sense, since ice cream is rarely a hot topic for anyone but the lactose intolerant. We also got Ethiopian food and realized that the threat of random violence or arrest really leads to fast service. It probably would have been a good time to get the coffee (they have coffee, it's awesome but it takes forever on a normal day because they just have one pot that they use for everyone...now you're up to speed on the coffee comment).
When we started getting full, Yelsel started making shapes with her injera bread. The following picture was explained to me like this:
Yels: "It's a triceratops skull."
Sharon: "It doesn't look like a triceratops."
Yels: "No, that's because it's a triceratops skull. God, seriously."
You be the judge.
Then she ate it, because she got distracted and was sad because she wanted to save it until the end. Then I laughed, because her sadness was funny to me.
Earlier in the day, we stopped in a random coffee place in Yorkville. Apparently it wasn't actually so random, and seems to be well know as the place where all the old white people in Toronto go to be unhappy with each other. Well, at least seemed well known to all the old angry patrons. We, the young, relatively happy customers clearly missed the memo. I had a woman glare at me because my elbows were on the table. Then she sat quietly with her husband, silently shooting arrows at him with her eyes, while he stared back wishing for death. Whose death, I could not tell. I'm not sure it mattered to him, as long as he escaped somehow. It was awkward. I won't be going back there, well, at least not for 30-40 years.
On the weekend, Yelsel and I went on an adventure. We weren't quite sure what to do, but we thought we'd head towards downtown, but not into downtown, because that would be stupid. Towards downtown was probably also stupid, in hindsight. But when you can't see the news about burning cop cars, you don't realize exactly how unintelligent it is to travel towards them. However, we were fine. The worst thing we saw were a lot of cops who did not randomly arrest us and some protesters that we thought were screaming for ice cream, but then realized they weren't, which made more sense, since ice cream is rarely a hot topic for anyone but the lactose intolerant. We also got Ethiopian food and realized that the threat of random violence or arrest really leads to fast service. It probably would have been a good time to get the coffee (they have coffee, it's awesome but it takes forever on a normal day because they just have one pot that they use for everyone...now you're up to speed on the coffee comment).
When we started getting full, Yelsel started making shapes with her injera bread. The following picture was explained to me like this:
Yels: "It's a triceratops skull."
Sharon: "It doesn't look like a triceratops."
Yels: "No, that's because it's a triceratops skull. God, seriously."
You be the judge.
Then she ate it, because she got distracted and was sad because she wanted to save it until the end. Then I laughed, because her sadness was funny to me.
Earlier in the day, we stopped in a random coffee place in Yorkville. Apparently it wasn't actually so random, and seems to be well know as the place where all the old white people in Toronto go to be unhappy with each other. Well, at least seemed well known to all the old angry patrons. We, the young, relatively happy customers clearly missed the memo. I had a woman glare at me because my elbows were on the table. Then she sat quietly with her husband, silently shooting arrows at him with her eyes, while he stared back wishing for death. Whose death, I could not tell. I'm not sure it mattered to him, as long as he escaped somehow. It was awkward. I won't be going back there, well, at least not for 30-40 years.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Earthquake!
It's been a week and I'm back on the Facebook. It wasn't so bad going without it, I tweeted periodically to help ease the transition, because, I believe, Twitter is to Facebook what methadone is to heroin. Today was a good day to get back on, since earlier today I was in the washroom and the door started making a racket. At first I assumed it was my roommate Oysters being a jerk, even though there is no past history of it, or reason to suspect it. Then I noticed that the water in the toilet bowel was splashing and thought, "That's odd". I came out to ask Oysters if she'd noticed anything. "Did everything just start shaking, or did I just start getting dizzy spells?" she asked. So I pointed out that the light above her was still shaking and said, "Do you think that might have been an earthquake?"
As most of you are probably already aware, it was an earthquake. But at the time I was quite confused, having grown up in Ontario, the only reason for the ground to shake is because of the constant construction work which I'm sure sustains our economy since it never seems to end. Well, either that or there is actually a project called "Follow Sharon throughout her life with irritating construction." Why would this exist? I do not know, which is why I assume it's a problem throughout the province, and not just in my general vicinity.
Regardless, what I'm trying to say is that "earthquake" is not the first thing I think when the ground starts shaking, even if it should be. However, I was concerned about the potential that construction work could have caused toilet splashing, so I got on the internet to search for earthquake related news. But even the internet is not that fast, and I could find nothing. Until I signed onto Facebook, where every single status included the word "earthquake", usually accompanied by words like "what?!?!?", "apocalypse", or "missed :(". I know that Facebook is probably not equivalent to a seismograph, but it was good enough for me to know it wasn't construction. And that is the story of why I will never leave Facebook again (even though it is mostly evil.)
Happy song: I'm going to go for a long-shot and choose Helpless by Neil Young. Yes, I am aware that the chorus is mainly made up of repetition of the word "helpless" which is rarely misinterpretted as a happy word. But, to be honest, usually my best turnarounds in mood happen when I finally admit that I'm helpless to change things and finally begin to accept where I am. Usually that's followed by an epiphany about what I do have control of in the situation and, voila, helpful, not helpless. And that is why I think Helpless qualifies as a happy song. Don't fight me on this one.
As most of you are probably already aware, it was an earthquake. But at the time I was quite confused, having grown up in Ontario, the only reason for the ground to shake is because of the constant construction work which I'm sure sustains our economy since it never seems to end. Well, either that or there is actually a project called "Follow Sharon throughout her life with irritating construction." Why would this exist? I do not know, which is why I assume it's a problem throughout the province, and not just in my general vicinity.
Regardless, what I'm trying to say is that "earthquake" is not the first thing I think when the ground starts shaking, even if it should be. However, I was concerned about the potential that construction work could have caused toilet splashing, so I got on the internet to search for earthquake related news. But even the internet is not that fast, and I could find nothing. Until I signed onto Facebook, where every single status included the word "earthquake", usually accompanied by words like "what?!?!?", "apocalypse", or "missed :(". I know that Facebook is probably not equivalent to a seismograph, but it was good enough for me to know it wasn't construction. And that is the story of why I will never leave Facebook again (even though it is mostly evil.)
Happy song: I'm going to go for a long-shot and choose Helpless by Neil Young. Yes, I am aware that the chorus is mainly made up of repetition of the word "helpless" which is rarely misinterpretted as a happy word. But, to be honest, usually my best turnarounds in mood happen when I finally admit that I'm helpless to change things and finally begin to accept where I am. Usually that's followed by an epiphany about what I do have control of in the situation and, voila, helpful, not helpless. And that is why I think Helpless qualifies as a happy song. Don't fight me on this one.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
In case you thought I forgot you
Since the last time I posted, I've been enjoying my life free of obligation to write for you. I was in a drunken spelling bee. I don't remember much and we weren't keeping score, but I imagine I probably won. Well, by won, I mean I won the knowledge that spell check has destroyed any ability to spell that I may or may not have possessed in the past. Then we lost at ultimate Frisbee. I'm blaming it on the fact we didn't devote any time to a montage. Also that half the team didn't show up. But it was probably mostly the montage thing.
Anyways, non of those things were exciting enough to blog about at the time, but I figured since it's been a few days, some people might be worried I'd just never blog again and I should probably post something to prove I'm not dead or suddenly stricken illiterate.
Today, I read a bunch of stuff about snakes. It reconfirmed the fact that I don't like snakes, even though once I took an online quiz called, "What animal are you?" and turned out to be a snake. I know those things are carefully validated, but I just can't accept it. First, I don't bite people often. Second, I don't have venom. Third, I'm afraid of bears. Snakes are not afraid of bears; snakes scoff at bears because their terrifying claws are no match for sharp teeth and venom.
I remember learning in undergrad that there are some snakes that can live for over a year without food. So, when walking into a creepy basement where it seems like a snake might be dwelling, never think, "It's okay, there's nothing for it to eat down here, it can't possibly have survived until now," because it can and there is something to eat, and that something is you. Actually, by the time you reached that part of the sentence, it already did. You didn't notice because the glow of the monitor has hidden the fact that you are now just a human silhouette inside a formerly hungry snake. Wait, by "I learned it in undergrad", I might mean in a nightmare I had a couple of days ago, I'm not quite certain.
Snake nightmares are not uncommon to me. Usually I'm armed with a gun, which is just plain frustrating because I have no aim and it's a friggin' snake. Even when I hit the snake, it will usually just make it angry, increasing the speed with which it bites. My brain sure knows how to make dreams that will torture me.
Happy song: A Boy Named Sue by Johnny Cash, because I like the part where nobody dies even though his father clearly sucks.
Anyways, non of those things were exciting enough to blog about at the time, but I figured since it's been a few days, some people might be worried I'd just never blog again and I should probably post something to prove I'm not dead or suddenly stricken illiterate.
Today, I read a bunch of stuff about snakes. It reconfirmed the fact that I don't like snakes, even though once I took an online quiz called, "What animal are you?" and turned out to be a snake. I know those things are carefully validated, but I just can't accept it. First, I don't bite people often. Second, I don't have venom. Third, I'm afraid of bears. Snakes are not afraid of bears; snakes scoff at bears because their terrifying claws are no match for sharp teeth and venom.
I remember learning in undergrad that there are some snakes that can live for over a year without food. So, when walking into a creepy basement where it seems like a snake might be dwelling, never think, "It's okay, there's nothing for it to eat down here, it can't possibly have survived until now," because it can and there is something to eat, and that something is you. Actually, by the time you reached that part of the sentence, it already did. You didn't notice because the glow of the monitor has hidden the fact that you are now just a human silhouette inside a formerly hungry snake. Wait, by "I learned it in undergrad", I might mean in a nightmare I had a couple of days ago, I'm not quite certain.
Snake nightmares are not uncommon to me. Usually I'm armed with a gun, which is just plain frustrating because I have no aim and it's a friggin' snake. Even when I hit the snake, it will usually just make it angry, increasing the speed with which it bites. My brain sure knows how to make dreams that will torture me.
Happy song: A Boy Named Sue by Johnny Cash, because I like the part where nobody dies even though his father clearly sucks.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Apple did not endorse this blog
Within 12 hours of my decision to stop blogging everyday, I was given a story so perfect that I had to tell you about it today. Last night I went over to my friend Sparrow's house. On the walk from the bus to her house, I ran into 2 black cats. One was sitting on what I assumed to be its front lawn. As I passed, I thought, "Please don't cross my path, please don't cross my path, Thank you!" The second one was more risky. It was trotting along the edge of the sidewalk in front of me. Then it sort of veered as if it were going to cross my path, then veered back off the sidewalk, leaving me free and clear. I thanked that cat out loud, because I'm fond of not having bad luck for the day.
Then I wondered if having two black cats nearly cross your path but then not cross it is a sign of good luck. It seems reasonable that if you teeter on the edge of danger but don't fall in, you should be rewarded. Like how if a child nearly drowns, people will usually give them lots of candy when they don't. Narrowly avoiding bad luck causing events should result in cosmic candy, or so I theorize.
I would probably have thought more about it, but by this point I had reached Sparrow's. There, I proceeded to drink a number of Pomtinis, because I figured if I'm going to drink a delicious summer cooler, I should choose one that I can almost delude myself into thinking is healthy. It is full of pomegranate, which, I think should offset some of the sugar and alcohol. Actually, I don't think that, but while drinking them I try to imagine it does. Anyways, good times were had, and I considered sleeping over in their hammock, which was very comfortable and fun to cocoon in, but in the end decided to take the long bus ride home to my own wonderful bed.
Once I reached my stop, I didn't realize how tipsy I still was and nearly fell down the stairs as the bus braked. In the midst of that, I dropped my poor little iPod. Actually, it was kind of propelled forward with inertia. "Wow," I thought when I picked it up intact and working, "I'm the luckiest klutz alive." This statement is very true.
I got my tipsy self home and went on Skype, because I realized I was actually up late enough that Shamus might be on. We were still chatting when I decided to step out on the balcony for a minute. I was listening to my iPod at the time, and I'm not sure what happened exactly, but I somehow dropped it. It wasn't off the balcony at the time though, so I thought it must have just fallen at my feet. However, all I could see was my earphone cord attached to nothing.
I found a flashlight and looked, but there was nothing. I did note a small crack between the railing and the ground through which a perfectly vertical iPod could easily fall. Then I freaked out, obviously, because my iPod is my best friend. At first, I just needed an iPod because I like to have music with me all the time to keep me sane. Now, I need it because every random thought I have is written in it until I think it's a stupid thought and delete it. It's like an extension of my brain, which is useful, due to the memory issues. So, in essence, I had just dropped a portion of my brain 13 floors. As you can probably imagine, it hurt.
It was 2am by this point, but I had to go look, because when you're best friend drops off a balcony, you look for them even though you know what you find might not be pretty. I just needed closure. I wandered out, fearful of random 2am serial killers who, I imagine, just sit outside building waiting for just such an event to grab you. I think the serial killers I imagine are much more passive than those in most horror movies. Anyways, no serial killer found me, but I did find my iPod, lying face down in the grass. It looked so small. Then, I picked it up and it didn't even have a scratch.
I think it is important to also note at this point that the protective case I bought for it was only $5, because, despite the knowledge that I might be one of the worst klutzes in history, I just couldn't spend more than that. Pretty much it's just a flimsy piece of plastic that loosely fits around the corners and usually slightly cushions the fall when I drop it a foot or two, not a hundred feet. The funniest part of this is that I nearly didn't buy an iPod touch because I knew that I was a klutz and that as much as I would try not to, I would drop it. Repeatedly. At this point I clearly wasn't aware that they are magic.
Happy song is Hallelujah the kd lang version from Hymns of the 49th Parallel, because that's the song I was listening to when I dropped my poor little iPod, and it's the song I finished listening to after it was back in my embrace.
Then I wondered if having two black cats nearly cross your path but then not cross it is a sign of good luck. It seems reasonable that if you teeter on the edge of danger but don't fall in, you should be rewarded. Like how if a child nearly drowns, people will usually give them lots of candy when they don't. Narrowly avoiding bad luck causing events should result in cosmic candy, or so I theorize.
I would probably have thought more about it, but by this point I had reached Sparrow's. There, I proceeded to drink a number of Pomtinis, because I figured if I'm going to drink a delicious summer cooler, I should choose one that I can almost delude myself into thinking is healthy. It is full of pomegranate, which, I think should offset some of the sugar and alcohol. Actually, I don't think that, but while drinking them I try to imagine it does. Anyways, good times were had, and I considered sleeping over in their hammock, which was very comfortable and fun to cocoon in, but in the end decided to take the long bus ride home to my own wonderful bed.
Once I reached my stop, I didn't realize how tipsy I still was and nearly fell down the stairs as the bus braked. In the midst of that, I dropped my poor little iPod. Actually, it was kind of propelled forward with inertia. "Wow," I thought when I picked it up intact and working, "I'm the luckiest klutz alive." This statement is very true.
I got my tipsy self home and went on Skype, because I realized I was actually up late enough that Shamus might be on. We were still chatting when I decided to step out on the balcony for a minute. I was listening to my iPod at the time, and I'm not sure what happened exactly, but I somehow dropped it. It wasn't off the balcony at the time though, so I thought it must have just fallen at my feet. However, all I could see was my earphone cord attached to nothing.
I found a flashlight and looked, but there was nothing. I did note a small crack between the railing and the ground through which a perfectly vertical iPod could easily fall. Then I freaked out, obviously, because my iPod is my best friend. At first, I just needed an iPod because I like to have music with me all the time to keep me sane. Now, I need it because every random thought I have is written in it until I think it's a stupid thought and delete it. It's like an extension of my brain, which is useful, due to the memory issues. So, in essence, I had just dropped a portion of my brain 13 floors. As you can probably imagine, it hurt.
It was 2am by this point, but I had to go look, because when you're best friend drops off a balcony, you look for them even though you know what you find might not be pretty. I just needed closure. I wandered out, fearful of random 2am serial killers who, I imagine, just sit outside building waiting for just such an event to grab you. I think the serial killers I imagine are much more passive than those in most horror movies. Anyways, no serial killer found me, but I did find my iPod, lying face down in the grass. It looked so small. Then, I picked it up and it didn't even have a scratch.
I think it is important to also note at this point that the protective case I bought for it was only $5, because, despite the knowledge that I might be one of the worst klutzes in history, I just couldn't spend more than that. Pretty much it's just a flimsy piece of plastic that loosely fits around the corners and usually slightly cushions the fall when I drop it a foot or two, not a hundred feet. The funniest part of this is that I nearly didn't buy an iPod touch because I knew that I was a klutz and that as much as I would try not to, I would drop it. Repeatedly. At this point I clearly wasn't aware that they are magic.
Happy song is Hallelujah the kd lang version from Hymns of the 49th Parallel, because that's the song I was listening to when I dropped my poor little iPod, and it's the song I finished listening to after it was back in my embrace.
Friday, June 18, 2010
It's all for the best...
It's official. I can't do the daily blogging anymore. It's become a chore. I know I just said a few posts ago that I'd do it for a year, but it's just going to get worse and worse everyday. Soon I'll be blogging about my dental hygiene routine and no one will be amused, least of all me. What I can promise you is that if I'm writing, it's because I want to write now, so it will probably be much more enjoyable, even if less frequent.
So, I didn't make it a year. But I did make it 2 months, which I think is pretty good. Who knows, maybe now that I'm not forcing myself anymore, I might just naturally want to write something everyday. Probably not though. However, I did have an excellent conversation today, which I will probably blog tomorrow if I'm in the blogging mood again. It could just be coffee deprivation, I'm not sure. I do love coffee.
Goodbye forever (by which I mean, probably until tomorrow, or maybe the day after, it's hard to tell now).
So, I didn't make it a year. But I did make it 2 months, which I think is pretty good. Who knows, maybe now that I'm not forcing myself anymore, I might just naturally want to write something everyday. Probably not though. However, I did have an excellent conversation today, which I will probably blog tomorrow if I'm in the blogging mood again. It could just be coffee deprivation, I'm not sure. I do love coffee.
Goodbye forever (by which I mean, probably until tomorrow, or maybe the day after, it's hard to tell now).
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Ouch.
I love the early summer, but I hate the random migraines. Also, detoxes are hard, mainly because of the cheating and then the guilt associated with the cheating. I managed to make it until 3:30 without a coffee, which is impressive, I think. Then I gave in, obviously, or I wouldn't have chosen the time 3:30, instead I would have said, "I managed to make it until now", or "I managed to make it until 21 days from now." But I didn't, I caved at 3:30. It was around the point where life lost all meaning without coffee in it. Tomorrow, I will try again, although I have a pre-detox planned "coffee" date with Vincenzo, so we'll see if I can opt for the tea.
So, as I may have alluded to, I have a migraine, so I'm going to finish this up quickly. Happy song: A Beautiful Mess by Jason Mraz, because I have a migraine, and it's quiet. I like to pretend I can dance contemporary when I listen to it. Then I was watching So You Think You Can Dance, and they totally choreographed a contemporary piece to it. I felt validated. I still can't dance contemporary though, except for that thing where they run randomly then stop sharply. I'm good at running and stopping. It's one of my many skills.
So, as I may have alluded to, I have a migraine, so I'm going to finish this up quickly. Happy song: A Beautiful Mess by Jason Mraz, because I have a migraine, and it's quiet. I like to pretend I can dance contemporary when I listen to it. Then I was watching So You Think You Can Dance, and they totally choreographed a contemporary piece to it. I felt validated. I still can't dance contemporary though, except for that thing where they run randomly then stop sharply. I'm good at running and stopping. It's one of my many skills.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Detox
Today, I made a decision. Actually I made many decisions, but there was one decision that began it. I was cleaning up the kitchen and, while putting things away, noted that my coffee was getting a little low and thought, "I should probably pick some up." Then I thought, "Wait, no. How about I don't."
This is not abnormal for me. Periodically, I realize that I am far too dependent on coffee for happiness, actually, not even so much happiness as not depression, and I give it up until life gets so horrible that I just can't do it anymore. Last time I gave it up for any significant length of time was the fall. I did fine until I decided to write a play and realized that excessive caffeine is really the key to my sense of humour. Or, at least it's the key when I'm trying to force it out over a 6 hour writing period alone in my apartment, with only my inane thoughts to keep me company.
Some say I don't need it, but I think those might be the people who have never seen me without it. Regardless, once I'm done the small amount of coffee I have left, there is no more coffee in my life for a bit. Unless I get my dream pre-board exam Starbucks job. Then all bets are off.
It seems that, usually, once I decide to clean up one bad habit, I figure that all the other ones might as well go with it. Why suffer one withdrawal after another when I can combine them into one massively horrible withdrawal? So, I decided that once I was done all the dairy, wheat and various junk foods that I have, they were out for good as well. Well, for a few weeks at least, then, perhaps, in moderation.
Then came the big decision. Admitting that I needed to give up the worst addiction of all: Facebook. I don't know how I became such an addict, but it crept up on me. One day I was having trouble finding a profile pic, the next I was logging in everytime my iPod found a wireless connection just to see if anything had changed in the 5 minutes since I last checked. At some point, it must have been more of a thrill than it is now, and I'm constantly looking for that next good hit, but it never comes. It's much worse than my coffee addiction, because at least with coffee I have the delicious coffee goodness. Facebook contains no deliciousness, just disappointment. I don't even know what I'm looking for anymore, but whatever it is, it's not to be found there.
So, I've decided that it's time to give up Facebook. Just for a week, I don't want to do anything too crazy. I did delete the Facebook app off my iPod, since it's too easy to enter the entire Facebook world with a simple button press, slide, touch combo. And I deleted my bookmark. As you can see, this is serious. Oh, also, I deactivated G-mail chat, because I figured I needed a general break from internet based socializing, just in case anyone is wondering where I am (or, I just blocked you and only you and this is a clever ruse to convince you it's not personal...but it is. Then again, probably not.)
The reason I tell you all of this is that I fear my mental state is going to decay quite rapidly over the next few days without coffee, delicious deliciousness or Facebook. For the blog, a decaying mental state can really go either way, it's hard to say. I suspect without coffee it will go in the bad way, although there is a chance I might actually be able to consume enough green tea to make up for it. Actually, that's a lie, I'll die of kidney failure long before I'll be able to drink enough green tea to replace my precious, precious coffee. I'm totally screwed.
Okay, it's officially been 1/2 an hour since this decision was made. I think I'm over the hardest part. I think detox is like dealing with death, you totally go through the 5 stages of grieving. Obviously, right now, I'm in denial. Except, with my admitting that I am in denial, I must have moved onto something else. The point is, as long as I can limit bargaining, I'll be good, since when I'm bargaining with myself, the side of me that wants coffee and Facebook usually wins pretty quickly, mainly because she fights dirty. Tomorrow, anger.
Happy song: Overkill by Colin Hay. I don't think it's actually happy in and of itself, but it always feels like a good song for when I'm trying to let go of things that need letting go of, like delicious coffee and empty Facebook use. Also, it makes me think of Scrubs and cadavers, which are both naturally hilarious. Actually, maybe a good Scrubs marathon is just what I need to get me through the first few days, or, at the very least, make me think my random detox hallucinations are a perfectly normal reaction to life. Oh no, the twitches have started. God help me.
This is not abnormal for me. Periodically, I realize that I am far too dependent on coffee for happiness, actually, not even so much happiness as not depression, and I give it up until life gets so horrible that I just can't do it anymore. Last time I gave it up for any significant length of time was the fall. I did fine until I decided to write a play and realized that excessive caffeine is really the key to my sense of humour. Or, at least it's the key when I'm trying to force it out over a 6 hour writing period alone in my apartment, with only my inane thoughts to keep me company.
Some say I don't need it, but I think those might be the people who have never seen me without it. Regardless, once I'm done the small amount of coffee I have left, there is no more coffee in my life for a bit. Unless I get my dream pre-board exam Starbucks job. Then all bets are off.
It seems that, usually, once I decide to clean up one bad habit, I figure that all the other ones might as well go with it. Why suffer one withdrawal after another when I can combine them into one massively horrible withdrawal? So, I decided that once I was done all the dairy, wheat and various junk foods that I have, they were out for good as well. Well, for a few weeks at least, then, perhaps, in moderation.
Then came the big decision. Admitting that I needed to give up the worst addiction of all: Facebook. I don't know how I became such an addict, but it crept up on me. One day I was having trouble finding a profile pic, the next I was logging in everytime my iPod found a wireless connection just to see if anything had changed in the 5 minutes since I last checked. At some point, it must have been more of a thrill than it is now, and I'm constantly looking for that next good hit, but it never comes. It's much worse than my coffee addiction, because at least with coffee I have the delicious coffee goodness. Facebook contains no deliciousness, just disappointment. I don't even know what I'm looking for anymore, but whatever it is, it's not to be found there.
So, I've decided that it's time to give up Facebook. Just for a week, I don't want to do anything too crazy. I did delete the Facebook app off my iPod, since it's too easy to enter the entire Facebook world with a simple button press, slide, touch combo. And I deleted my bookmark. As you can see, this is serious. Oh, also, I deactivated G-mail chat, because I figured I needed a general break from internet based socializing, just in case anyone is wondering where I am (or, I just blocked you and only you and this is a clever ruse to convince you it's not personal...but it is. Then again, probably not.)
The reason I tell you all of this is that I fear my mental state is going to decay quite rapidly over the next few days without coffee, delicious deliciousness or Facebook. For the blog, a decaying mental state can really go either way, it's hard to say. I suspect without coffee it will go in the bad way, although there is a chance I might actually be able to consume enough green tea to make up for it. Actually, that's a lie, I'll die of kidney failure long before I'll be able to drink enough green tea to replace my precious, precious coffee. I'm totally screwed.
Okay, it's officially been 1/2 an hour since this decision was made. I think I'm over the hardest part. I think detox is like dealing with death, you totally go through the 5 stages of grieving. Obviously, right now, I'm in denial. Except, with my admitting that I am in denial, I must have moved onto something else. The point is, as long as I can limit bargaining, I'll be good, since when I'm bargaining with myself, the side of me that wants coffee and Facebook usually wins pretty quickly, mainly because she fights dirty. Tomorrow, anger.
Happy song: Overkill by Colin Hay. I don't think it's actually happy in and of itself, but it always feels like a good song for when I'm trying to let go of things that need letting go of, like delicious coffee and empty Facebook use. Also, it makes me think of Scrubs and cadavers, which are both naturally hilarious. Actually, maybe a good Scrubs marathon is just what I need to get me through the first few days, or, at the very least, make me think my random detox hallucinations are a perfectly normal reaction to life. Oh no, the twitches have started. God help me.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Thick smoothie and no hot water
You know that a day is going to be unproductive when your morning smoothie is too thick to drink, so you have to get a spoon and eat it like ice cream. On a positive note, it tasted like strawberries and whipped cream. But it took me a good hour to eat. I'm slow in the morning with things that aren't liquid. This is why I don't often have eggs, because, when I do, I won't begin the non-breakfast part of my day until noon. Also because they are too often squishy. I like my food viscous, not squishy.
After my solid smoothie breakfast I realized that the hot water was off all day, something that I'd known earlier, which was why I'd gotten up early, but subsequently forgotten. This left me full of very thick smoothie and covered in everything I'd encountered in the last 24 hours, which wasn't nothing, since I walk past some pretty serious construction twice a day. Also, I like to roll in various things. "Crap," I thought, "I can't go through my life without showering." You see, I'm fond of the little things in life, like standing less than 3 feet from people, and not having to worry whether they're downwind from me.
I quickly made up a scheme. I would traverse to school and shower in the gym washrooms. But, in order to do that, I would need to walk through the world, unshowered, risking potential embarrassment en route. If you ever find yourself in this predicament, the best thing that I think you can do is to channel your inner hippy. So, as I walked to school I listened to Woodstock (the CSNY version, although Joni Mitchell would have worked equally well), and thought about all the hippie things I've done in my life. Like how I went tree planting for a summer, where I was able to not shower for days at a time so that I could avoid dealing with the co-ed showers. Or the time I was in the pit band for the high school musical, Groovy, and had to wear a yellow and orange tie-dye shirt and I bitched and bitched. I think it was fair, because gingers are discriminated against enough without being forced to wear orange. Also, how I know a lot about herbs and the like. These thoughts got me to a shower, and the rest of the story is boring and involves soap. Then the rest of the day was uneventful, until now, when I wrote this very blog. You might have thought it was unproductive based on the intro. But you'd be wrong: it was moderately productive.
Happy song: I'm lazy, so I'll say Woodstock, since I'm already thinking of it, except this time it has to be the CSNY version because the Joni Mitchell version, although awesome, is a little creepy. I tried to find a link for the Joni Mitchell version, but could only find live videos, which don't really live up to the creepiness of the Ladies of the Canyon version. So you'll just have to take my word for it, or do a search with actual effort for it. What can I say about Woodstock though? It speaks to my modern day hippie soul. My modern day likes-to-shower hippie soul. And when my hippie soul is happy, I'm happy.
After my solid smoothie breakfast I realized that the hot water was off all day, something that I'd known earlier, which was why I'd gotten up early, but subsequently forgotten. This left me full of very thick smoothie and covered in everything I'd encountered in the last 24 hours, which wasn't nothing, since I walk past some pretty serious construction twice a day. Also, I like to roll in various things. "Crap," I thought, "I can't go through my life without showering." You see, I'm fond of the little things in life, like standing less than 3 feet from people, and not having to worry whether they're downwind from me.
I quickly made up a scheme. I would traverse to school and shower in the gym washrooms. But, in order to do that, I would need to walk through the world, unshowered, risking potential embarrassment en route. If you ever find yourself in this predicament, the best thing that I think you can do is to channel your inner hippy. So, as I walked to school I listened to Woodstock (the CSNY version, although Joni Mitchell would have worked equally well), and thought about all the hippie things I've done in my life. Like how I went tree planting for a summer, where I was able to not shower for days at a time so that I could avoid dealing with the co-ed showers. Or the time I was in the pit band for the high school musical, Groovy, and had to wear a yellow and orange tie-dye shirt and I bitched and bitched. I think it was fair, because gingers are discriminated against enough without being forced to wear orange. Also, how I know a lot about herbs and the like. These thoughts got me to a shower, and the rest of the story is boring and involves soap. Then the rest of the day was uneventful, until now, when I wrote this very blog. You might have thought it was unproductive based on the intro. But you'd be wrong: it was moderately productive.
Happy song: I'm lazy, so I'll say Woodstock, since I'm already thinking of it, except this time it has to be the CSNY version because the Joni Mitchell version, although awesome, is a little creepy. I tried to find a link for the Joni Mitchell version, but could only find live videos, which don't really live up to the creepiness of the Ladies of the Canyon version. So you'll just have to take my word for it, or do a search with actual effort for it. What can I say about Woodstock though? It speaks to my modern day hippie soul. My modern day likes-to-shower hippie soul. And when my hippie soul is happy, I'm happy.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Why must all cute things be so fast?
On my walk home today, I saw a baby bunny. This made me happy, because it is not often that I get to think the phrase, "Holy crap, baby bunny". In general, this is also followed by an internal happy dance. It would be external, except that my immediate response is to freeze up so as not to frighten away the baby bunny before I can convince it to be BFFs forever and ever. I also try to avoid frightening it away so that I can take a picture of it to remember it by if it doesn't buy the BFF bait. Really, I should carry around carrots, because I've noticed carrots are worth a lot more to baby bunnies than the offer of being their friend.
Unfortunately, my potential baby bunny friend scampered away before I could get any photographic evidence of our brief encounter, so all I have are the sweet, sweet memories. Me seeing it. Me thinking, "Holy crap, baby bunny". It hopping away while I got out my camera. Sigh, so many memories. It was probably smart for it to leave, since its baby bunny mind probably can't differentiate between me, a human, versus a hawk, bear, or hawk-bear hybrid (for which I have coined the term "Bawk"). That is how baby bunnies survive to become big bunnies who copulate far too much, allowing for me to have baby bunny treats on my walk home to brighten my day. This is the point where you are free to sing Circle of Life in your head. Okay, now stop because I'm still writing and you should be fully enthralled in this, not Elton John. Elton John can get his own time when I'm done, and I will fully support the two of you at that point.
The baby bunny is just one of many things that have gone right in my life. Yesterday I had my 1st ultimate Frisbee win. It was also the first time that I managed to assist in anything positive happening for my team, thus finally making me a valuable member of society after so many years of freeloading. Next week is play-offs. We are close to the bottom. That's okay though, because if there is anything I've learned from TV movies, it's that those who win early on are (a) usually massive jerks and (b) doomed to embarrassing defeat when the so called losers get their crap together. I'm not certain that we are the so called losers in this scenario, since we don't even seem to have plans for a good training montage, but the key thing is that we're not the skilled but evil team, and that is something to be grateful for.
The one thing I'm worried about is that my devotion to my team and my devotion to being a tame groupie might be tested if our game ends up being scheduled at the same time as the "I Only Date Astronauts" show (8pm at Bread and Circus, next Sunday, June 20...tell your friends). If this happens, I will likely die from my head exploding when I can't decide between the opportunity for a good playoff montage and the chance to call people out on the lack of dancing monkeys (or, alternatively, be amazed and disturbed by the presence of dancing monkeys).
Happy music: Make it Mine by Jason Mraz. This is the song that makes me delusional enough to think it's a good idea to write a play in a month, all the while living the life of a student with no free time. I also like to listen to it when life seems a little busy or mundane or both ("buzdane"...coined it!), because it makes me remember that life is still going on in and around the busy and mundane.
Unfortunately, my potential baby bunny friend scampered away before I could get any photographic evidence of our brief encounter, so all I have are the sweet, sweet memories. Me seeing it. Me thinking, "Holy crap, baby bunny". It hopping away while I got out my camera. Sigh, so many memories. It was probably smart for it to leave, since its baby bunny mind probably can't differentiate between me, a human, versus a hawk, bear, or hawk-bear hybrid (for which I have coined the term "Bawk"). That is how baby bunnies survive to become big bunnies who copulate far too much, allowing for me to have baby bunny treats on my walk home to brighten my day. This is the point where you are free to sing Circle of Life in your head. Okay, now stop because I'm still writing and you should be fully enthralled in this, not Elton John. Elton John can get his own time when I'm done, and I will fully support the two of you at that point.
The baby bunny is just one of many things that have gone right in my life. Yesterday I had my 1st ultimate Frisbee win. It was also the first time that I managed to assist in anything positive happening for my team, thus finally making me a valuable member of society after so many years of freeloading. Next week is play-offs. We are close to the bottom. That's okay though, because if there is anything I've learned from TV movies, it's that those who win early on are (a) usually massive jerks and (b) doomed to embarrassing defeat when the so called losers get their crap together. I'm not certain that we are the so called losers in this scenario, since we don't even seem to have plans for a good training montage, but the key thing is that we're not the skilled but evil team, and that is something to be grateful for.
The one thing I'm worried about is that my devotion to my team and my devotion to being a tame groupie might be tested if our game ends up being scheduled at the same time as the "I Only Date Astronauts" show (8pm at Bread and Circus, next Sunday, June 20...tell your friends). If this happens, I will likely die from my head exploding when I can't decide between the opportunity for a good playoff montage and the chance to call people out on the lack of dancing monkeys (or, alternatively, be amazed and disturbed by the presence of dancing monkeys).
Happy music: Make it Mine by Jason Mraz. This is the song that makes me delusional enough to think it's a good idea to write a play in a month, all the while living the life of a student with no free time. I also like to listen to it when life seems a little busy or mundane or both ("buzdane"...coined it!), because it makes me remember that life is still going on in and around the busy and mundane.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Is life weirder than dreams?
Last night I dreamed that I was at some sort of camp. What was distinctive about this camp is that at dinner, we were told that the only edible thing was the shrimp sandwiches. But then, when we got to the food, the room was completely dark, but it was still possible to make out that the only food was barrel after barrel of olives.
So, I guess, instead of eating, we decided to take a washroom break. The washroom was located about 100 meters from the main building, and people would sprint to and from it in terror. I couldn't figure it out. But, then, I did figure it out. Just off the path to the washroom was a live bear. Actually, 3 live bears, but 2 were babies. As people ran from the washroom, they would jump at them, but, luckily, the small slope between their location and the path seemed to give them trouble, so no one was eaten.
Then, as I further observed the situation, there was a large box beside the bear the had a picture of the bear on the side and writing that said "Security bears for hire". So, the impression I got is that this camp had specifically hired a bear to eat children who have to use the bathroom. The dream continued, and eventually, somehow, I was chillin' out with the bear. Well, actually, by this point I'd realized it wasn't a bear at all, but a guy in a bear suit. The baby bears were real though, which made it seem like a risky job for him. When I asked him how much he made, he said $100 a day. That seemed like a pretty sweet pay for hanging out in a bear suit trying to make campers pee their pants. Then I woke up, but I'm still thinking of seeing if such a job exists, and if so, applying for it. If not, maybe the point of the dream was that I'm supposed to start such a company.
My waking life is often as strange as fake-bear dreams. I was in the store today and heard Justin Bieber playing. After a second, I realized it was a cell phone, but could not seen any teenyboppers around, so wasn't sure where it could be coming from. A few seconds later, my question was resolved as a middle aged Asian man answered his phone. I thought maybe it could have been a trick played on him by someone cruel, but, if it was, he was quite skilled at playing it off, because there was not an ounce of shame or embarrassment in his face. Luckily, he was not wearing a bear suit or I would have feared for my mental health.
Happy song: The Show by Lenka. Once I was sad and Yelsel happened to be playing it, then I wasn't so sad. That seems like the very definition of a happy song. The only concern is that I'm not certain that them message of the song isn't that life is actually one big reality TV show. When Survivor was still at the height of its fame, I had a dream I was the likable one. You know, the one that all the fans like but will never win because they're too nice. I'm afraid if life is actually a reality TV show, I wouldn't fare so well, because I try to be nice, but like most humans, I'm human. If this is a reality TV show, I think I'll try to get in good with the editors, because that's the real key. Other than the series of reality show concerns arising from listening to it, it's definitely a happy song.
So, I guess, instead of eating, we decided to take a washroom break. The washroom was located about 100 meters from the main building, and people would sprint to and from it in terror. I couldn't figure it out. But, then, I did figure it out. Just off the path to the washroom was a live bear. Actually, 3 live bears, but 2 were babies. As people ran from the washroom, they would jump at them, but, luckily, the small slope between their location and the path seemed to give them trouble, so no one was eaten.
Then, as I further observed the situation, there was a large box beside the bear the had a picture of the bear on the side and writing that said "Security bears for hire". So, the impression I got is that this camp had specifically hired a bear to eat children who have to use the bathroom. The dream continued, and eventually, somehow, I was chillin' out with the bear. Well, actually, by this point I'd realized it wasn't a bear at all, but a guy in a bear suit. The baby bears were real though, which made it seem like a risky job for him. When I asked him how much he made, he said $100 a day. That seemed like a pretty sweet pay for hanging out in a bear suit trying to make campers pee their pants. Then I woke up, but I'm still thinking of seeing if such a job exists, and if so, applying for it. If not, maybe the point of the dream was that I'm supposed to start such a company.
My waking life is often as strange as fake-bear dreams. I was in the store today and heard Justin Bieber playing. After a second, I realized it was a cell phone, but could not seen any teenyboppers around, so wasn't sure where it could be coming from. A few seconds later, my question was resolved as a middle aged Asian man answered his phone. I thought maybe it could have been a trick played on him by someone cruel, but, if it was, he was quite skilled at playing it off, because there was not an ounce of shame or embarrassment in his face. Luckily, he was not wearing a bear suit or I would have feared for my mental health.
Happy song: The Show by Lenka. Once I was sad and Yelsel happened to be playing it, then I wasn't so sad. That seems like the very definition of a happy song. The only concern is that I'm not certain that them message of the song isn't that life is actually one big reality TV show. When Survivor was still at the height of its fame, I had a dream I was the likable one. You know, the one that all the fans like but will never win because they're too nice. I'm afraid if life is actually a reality TV show, I wouldn't fare so well, because I try to be nice, but like most humans, I'm human. If this is a reality TV show, I think I'll try to get in good with the editors, because that's the real key. Other than the series of reality show concerns arising from listening to it, it's definitely a happy song.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
My room is finally clean and I'm hoping my life will follow suit
Today I spent the day cleaning, except for the part of the day I spent eating breakfast with my friend Mizziann Chewbacca (the names are getting really hard), the part where I was watching soccer and the part when I was doing the Waka waka dance in my room, while trying not to associate it with Fozzie bear. The point is, I did a lot of cleaning, but it was worth it, because I now feel like I'm living like the human that I claim to be, instead of some sort of rodent. The other point is that nothing at all of significance happened today, which makes it difficult to write a blog.
Luckily, over the past few months I've been periodically take pictures thinking, "This is good blog material". They aren't. But, on a day like today, I'll take anything, so here we go.
1. Squished Muffin
This is a wholegrain blueberry muffin I bought and then put in my bag, then squished it. Somehow I thought it was picture worthy and that a blog would write itself around it. I was wrong. It's just a squished muffin. It was delicious though.
2. Substitution policy
This was the most intense substitution policy I'd ever seen. Somehow, I don't think they like substitutions. However, the food was not that great and the waiter reminded me of a robot, so I think they probably shouldn't be so definite about the substitutions, because they're just not that awesome. I don't have much more to say than that, hence me not blogging it when I first took the picture.
3. Very strong/hungry squirrel
This squirrel had 3/4 of a Tim Hortons roll that it carried from who knows where. That struck me as odd and impressive. It was probably the greatest day of that squirrels life. However, that's way too many carbohydrates for a little squirrel, so he's probably increasing his risk of future insulin resistance and type II diabetes mellitus. So, actually, it's a little sad. But then again, free roll, so good job little guy.
Well, that's what I got today. Happy song is Waka waka (It's time for Africa) by Shakira, because my roommate Oysters O'Jomand enjoys it greatly and it's pretty catchy. I'm pretty sure she's dancing the Waka waka dance in her room all the time. That amuses me, hence the happy song status.
Luckily, over the past few months I've been periodically take pictures thinking, "This is good blog material". They aren't. But, on a day like today, I'll take anything, so here we go.
1. Squished Muffin
This is a wholegrain blueberry muffin I bought and then put in my bag, then squished it. Somehow I thought it was picture worthy and that a blog would write itself around it. I was wrong. It's just a squished muffin. It was delicious though.2. Substitution policy
This was the most intense substitution policy I'd ever seen. Somehow, I don't think they like substitutions. However, the food was not that great and the waiter reminded me of a robot, so I think they probably shouldn't be so definite about the substitutions, because they're just not that awesome. I don't have much more to say than that, hence me not blogging it when I first took the picture.3. Very strong/hungry squirrel
This squirrel had 3/4 of a Tim Hortons roll that it carried from who knows where. That struck me as odd and impressive. It was probably the greatest day of that squirrels life. However, that's way too many carbohydrates for a little squirrel, so he's probably increasing his risk of future insulin resistance and type II diabetes mellitus. So, actually, it's a little sad. But then again, free roll, so good job little guy.
Well, that's what I got today. Happy song is Waka waka (It's time for Africa) by Shakira, because my roommate Oysters O'Jomand enjoys it greatly and it's pretty catchy. I'm pretty sure she's dancing the Waka waka dance in her room all the time. That amuses me, hence the happy song status.
Friday, June 11, 2010
...Fishy? (Sorry, I can't remember the title)
In the last couple weeks, I've become concerned about the whole "blogging every day" plan. I thought that it was impossible to run out of thoughts, and I was right. However, it is easy to forget bloggable thoughts by the end of the day, leaving me with mediocre thoughts like "well, I ate a hot dog a couple days ago, people probably want to know about that." So I blog them, all the while knowing that they don't, but that I have nothing else to write because of the short term memory issues.
It's sad that yesterday I wrote all about my dreams of a poor lobotomized pet fish, only to realize today that I'm already living his life, except not a fish, which is good because I live in air, so were I a fish, I'd be both forgetful and dead, which would be significantly worse than my current situation. The point is, my memory is so bad that while writing about fish memory, it didn't even trigger me to think that maybe I'm already a lobotomized fish. Mostly it made me think, "Fishys are fun". Then it made me think, "Crap, what was I just writing. Wait, who cares? Happy song."
So about the blogging everyday. I thought that maybe the response I needed was to stop the everyday blogging, but then I thought, "No Sharon, you're not a quitter, except for when you are, but you aren't right now." But what I do think I need to do is change my goal from "...until untimely death" to "...for 1 year". I think 1 year is reasonable. Then I can space it out, if I so choose. Obviously it's with the stipulation that if untimely death occurs first, I'll probably stop then and not wait for the year.
I think it's okay to change the rules at this point. It's like when I was a teen and I would say, "I'm never going to drink, or at least I don't think I will at this point, but in the future, I might change my mind." I really did say this once to my grandparents, who, I like to imagine, respected my absolute lack of resolve. I think it's fair though, I don't need to make decisions for future Sharon, she can make her own decisions. It's not like you see her making choices for me. If past Sharons got to call all the shots for future Sharons, all the power would be in infant Sharon's hands, and I would probably wander through life putting anything within reach in my mouth and still wear a diaper for convenience. But I don't, because that would be ridiculous. The point is, I won't blog forever either, just because 27 year old Sharon thought that would be a bright idea. I will try for the year though, because goals are fun.
Speaking of goals, my goal today is to clean my stupid room, but I'm not posting another picture because of the embarrassment. I will, however, promise myself that if I don't clean it tonight I'll post a picture tomorrow to shame myself into doing it. I suspect life would be easier if I didn't have to be a sneaky parent to myself. Also, it would be easier with a clean room. I also might have more crayon drawings then, because messy rooms inhibit crayon drawings. I would explain the mechanism, but actually, I won't.
Happy song...Don't Forget, by Brett Dennen. It got me through the fall, when I was so busy that I was generally concerned about passing out in the street on my walk home (I didn't though, which was good). I like to imagine that I'm singing it to myself, because as much as it feels great to have other people believe in me, it's not a sufficient replacement for me doing it for myself. I suggest you do the same.
It's sad that yesterday I wrote all about my dreams of a poor lobotomized pet fish, only to realize today that I'm already living his life, except not a fish, which is good because I live in air, so were I a fish, I'd be both forgetful and dead, which would be significantly worse than my current situation. The point is, my memory is so bad that while writing about fish memory, it didn't even trigger me to think that maybe I'm already a lobotomized fish. Mostly it made me think, "Fishys are fun". Then it made me think, "Crap, what was I just writing. Wait, who cares? Happy song."
So about the blogging everyday. I thought that maybe the response I needed was to stop the everyday blogging, but then I thought, "No Sharon, you're not a quitter, except for when you are, but you aren't right now." But what I do think I need to do is change my goal from "...until untimely death" to "...for 1 year". I think 1 year is reasonable. Then I can space it out, if I so choose. Obviously it's with the stipulation that if untimely death occurs first, I'll probably stop then and not wait for the year.
I think it's okay to change the rules at this point. It's like when I was a teen and I would say, "I'm never going to drink, or at least I don't think I will at this point, but in the future, I might change my mind." I really did say this once to my grandparents, who, I like to imagine, respected my absolute lack of resolve. I think it's fair though, I don't need to make decisions for future Sharon, she can make her own decisions. It's not like you see her making choices for me. If past Sharons got to call all the shots for future Sharons, all the power would be in infant Sharon's hands, and I would probably wander through life putting anything within reach in my mouth and still wear a diaper for convenience. But I don't, because that would be ridiculous. The point is, I won't blog forever either, just because 27 year old Sharon thought that would be a bright idea. I will try for the year though, because goals are fun.
Speaking of goals, my goal today is to clean my stupid room, but I'm not posting another picture because of the embarrassment. I will, however, promise myself that if I don't clean it tonight I'll post a picture tomorrow to shame myself into doing it. I suspect life would be easier if I didn't have to be a sneaky parent to myself. Also, it would be easier with a clean room. I also might have more crayon drawings then, because messy rooms inhibit crayon drawings. I would explain the mechanism, but actually, I won't.
Happy song...Don't Forget, by Brett Dennen. It got me through the fall, when I was so busy that I was generally concerned about passing out in the street on my walk home (I didn't though, which was good). I like to imagine that I'm singing it to myself, because as much as it feels great to have other people believe in me, it's not a sufficient replacement for me doing it for myself. I suggest you do the same.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Apparently sometimes I don't title things, but then I do
I hate public transit because of the rage it inspires in me, but I also like it because it gets me places, like the zoo. Actually, I've never taken the bus to the zoo because it seems like it would take a very long time, but I like knowing that should I need to, I can. Regardless, back to the rage. For the most part, it's not frustration with public transit itself, except for the times I run into mean bus drivers and the like. It's all about the obstacles I inevitably encounter on the way the second I want to use it to get anywhere on time. Like if I decide to cut through the mall to go to the bank for money to buy tokens, then it is guaranteed that two very stationary people will stand in front of me side by side on the escalator. Even as I stomp behind them to try to get their attention, my heels clanging on the metal grates, they don't ever think to move, and then when I make my way down to the subway, I can just see it pulling away as I get to the bottom. Then all I can think about for the rest of the day is how those escalator people made me late.
Today, my irritation was with an old man on the street and a woman with a stroller. Then I thought I might be evil. But then I thought, no, they deserve to have me screaming at them in my head. If they can't keep up, they shouldn't be in the game. What game, you might ask? And, if you are asking that, you should probably get out of it too, because I want to win and you're holding me up.
To calm the rage, I went out for dinner with my friend Sparrow Goslin. We went to find dessert at this random cafe because it had a name that made us go. I'm going to be secret about the alluring name because it might be a future surprise for someone else. Could it be you? Probably not, so don't get your hopes up. My cake had a cream puff swan, and I ate the neck first. Later, I felt sick, and I'm pretty sure that, rather than being because of the excessive sugar consumption, it was because the cream puff swan was trying to peck its way out.
We sat beside a big fishtank, which was risky since we'd just eaten sushi, and you know they can tell. This tank had a very large fish, which I'm sure would have eaten us right away if it weren't for the small bit of glass protecting us. If I'd fallen in the tank (I'm not sure how you fall in a household fishtank, but I'm sure it happens all the time), I'd have be gone before you could say "Hey, look at that crazy cream puff swan!"
Sparrow thought it would be cruel to have such a large fish in such a small tank. She might have had a point, he did have to make a three point turn every time he turned around. I think that could be easily remedied by lobotomizing the fish when you first get it to eliminate his memory. That way, each trip across the tank will seem like a new adventure to him. He might forget how to three point turn and break himself, but he'll forget what it was like to not be broken pretty fast, and thus won't even notice it. It'll be like Memento, but with fish. Actually, didn't that movie start with murder and end with more murder? That guy didn't live a very good life at all. Now I'm kind of worried about my amnesiac fishy. Glad I thought this one through first.
Happy song: And Your Bird Can Sing by The Beatles. Really, I coudn't think of a song today and just started scrolling through my music, so it pretty much won out because it starts with an "A". But it's also pretty cheery for a song that's pretty much like "Screw you. I don't care if you have a bird; I still think you kind of suck, you jerk." That's me paraphrasing. But I like to think I usually paraphrase pretty accurately. Anyways, as someone who has never owned a bird, I appreciate the sentiment, so it gets to be happy song; even though it definitely has, at the very least, irritated undertones. Oh, but I would get rid of the part where they say they'll be around if the bird owning person changes their mind, because, seriously, I don't care if they get bored of their bird, I'm still worried about various bird related diseases I could contract from them.
Today, my irritation was with an old man on the street and a woman with a stroller. Then I thought I might be evil. But then I thought, no, they deserve to have me screaming at them in my head. If they can't keep up, they shouldn't be in the game. What game, you might ask? And, if you are asking that, you should probably get out of it too, because I want to win and you're holding me up.
To calm the rage, I went out for dinner with my friend Sparrow Goslin. We went to find dessert at this random cafe because it had a name that made us go. I'm going to be secret about the alluring name because it might be a future surprise for someone else. Could it be you? Probably not, so don't get your hopes up. My cake had a cream puff swan, and I ate the neck first. Later, I felt sick, and I'm pretty sure that, rather than being because of the excessive sugar consumption, it was because the cream puff swan was trying to peck its way out.
We sat beside a big fishtank, which was risky since we'd just eaten sushi, and you know they can tell. This tank had a very large fish, which I'm sure would have eaten us right away if it weren't for the small bit of glass protecting us. If I'd fallen in the tank (I'm not sure how you fall in a household fishtank, but I'm sure it happens all the time), I'd have be gone before you could say "Hey, look at that crazy cream puff swan!"
Sparrow thought it would be cruel to have such a large fish in such a small tank. She might have had a point, he did have to make a three point turn every time he turned around. I think that could be easily remedied by lobotomizing the fish when you first get it to eliminate his memory. That way, each trip across the tank will seem like a new adventure to him. He might forget how to three point turn and break himself, but he'll forget what it was like to not be broken pretty fast, and thus won't even notice it. It'll be like Memento, but with fish. Actually, didn't that movie start with murder and end with more murder? That guy didn't live a very good life at all. Now I'm kind of worried about my amnesiac fishy. Glad I thought this one through first.Happy song: And Your Bird Can Sing by The Beatles. Really, I coudn't think of a song today and just started scrolling through my music, so it pretty much won out because it starts with an "A". But it's also pretty cheery for a song that's pretty much like "Screw you. I don't care if you have a bird; I still think you kind of suck, you jerk." That's me paraphrasing. But I like to think I usually paraphrase pretty accurately. Anyways, as someone who has never owned a bird, I appreciate the sentiment, so it gets to be happy song; even though it definitely has, at the very least, irritated undertones. Oh, but I would get rid of the part where they say they'll be around if the bird owning person changes their mind, because, seriously, I don't care if they get bored of their bird, I'm still worried about various bird related diseases I could contract from them.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Tired.
Today I decided to tackle something that I've been putting off, and that was the construction of my new dresser that I picked up with my friend Jennijen Newnew on Monday. Well, not so much picked up as gradually shuffled off the shelf onto a cart, and then from the cart to her car. And she pushed the cart, because I decided to buy a 50 cent hot dog but wanted to finish it quickly in case we ran into anyone I knew. I know it's not real food, but, seriously, 50 cents.
One thing I like about the Ikea cafeteria is how they present things as deals that aren't. Like, 2 hot dogs for $1 is a specific listing. Or 2 hot dogs and a drink ($1 on its own) for just $2. Even with basic math skills under my belt, I still find these offers tempting, as would anyone.
Anyways, eventually I shuffled the box to my apartment where I emptied it and then left it to sit until I had time. All the while, my old dresser continued its decent towards trash. I was bitter today when the weather decided to take a turn for the worst, since I was depending on not having to open any drawers containing warmer clothes, because I was pretty sure opening them would compromise basic structural stability, possibly leading to a chain reaction that would bring down the whole building. Did I say the whole building? I meant world. You should all be thankful that the weathers been pretty good lately.
So, today I spent 4 hours building a dresser. It wouldn't have taken quite so long were it not for the necessity for frequent mental health breaks. Ikea always seems like a good idea when you're eating cheap non-food, but like a very bad idea when you're constructing/living with the results. However, I survived without any major injuries or aneurysms, but I'm pretty tired and I think a rib is out. I'm pretty sure the rib is not due to the furniture building though, but just from life. I just wanted to throw it out there in case someone reading this wants to fix me tomorrow, perhaps someone who has been begging for a shout-out?
Song that is happy. Moving Right Along from The Muppet Movie. It's Shamus' favourite vacation song, and just generally a song that I like. I like it even though it's 50% bear, so you must imagine that it's pretty friggin' good.
One thing I like about the Ikea cafeteria is how they present things as deals that aren't. Like, 2 hot dogs for $1 is a specific listing. Or 2 hot dogs and a drink ($1 on its own) for just $2. Even with basic math skills under my belt, I still find these offers tempting, as would anyone.
Anyways, eventually I shuffled the box to my apartment where I emptied it and then left it to sit until I had time. All the while, my old dresser continued its decent towards trash. I was bitter today when the weather decided to take a turn for the worst, since I was depending on not having to open any drawers containing warmer clothes, because I was pretty sure opening them would compromise basic structural stability, possibly leading to a chain reaction that would bring down the whole building. Did I say the whole building? I meant world. You should all be thankful that the weathers been pretty good lately.
So, today I spent 4 hours building a dresser. It wouldn't have taken quite so long were it not for the necessity for frequent mental health breaks. Ikea always seems like a good idea when you're eating cheap non-food, but like a very bad idea when you're constructing/living with the results. However, I survived without any major injuries or aneurysms, but I'm pretty tired and I think a rib is out. I'm pretty sure the rib is not due to the furniture building though, but just from life. I just wanted to throw it out there in case someone reading this wants to fix me tomorrow, perhaps someone who has been begging for a shout-out?
Song that is happy. Moving Right Along from The Muppet Movie. It's Shamus' favourite vacation song, and just generally a song that I like. I like it even though it's 50% bear, so you must imagine that it's pretty friggin' good.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Yet another bear free gift
Today I learned a new lesson: The day that you receive notice of a package from a friend is not the day to decide it's finally safe to wear non-clear mascara. Byla, my Yellowknifian friend, had warned me that I should be expecting something, so I was sufficiently amped. After I picked it up, I spent the walk home thinking about what it might be. I don't know much about Yellowknife and what can be found there. I often wonder if the souvenir shops sell a lot of yellow knives, or if that is too obvious. It seems it would be dangerous for public relations, you know, due to the likelihood of the former souvenir becoming key evidence for the prosecution.
I didn't think Byla mailed me a knife though, if only because she seems smart enough not to send sharp things in the mail. Then I thought, crap, what if she sent a bear. I do often mock her very cold hometown, and maybe I went too far at some point, so she jacked a bear up with Fluoroquinolones and sent it to maul me just when I'm most defenseless (that being while opening an exciting package). That seems like a completely appropriate response to one too many igloo jokes, you know, the attempted murder. I realized though that, were it a bear, it was most likely dead from starvation due to the unexpectedly long transit time, so I would probably be okay, and thought, "Haha, foiled again, Byla Rong." You have to get up pretty early in the morning to kill me with a tiny bear. Or at least spring for a courier. Then it dawned on me that Byla would have been smart enough to pay the extra expense if she'd already gone to the trouble to create an adorably small murder machine.
If not a bear, then what? Well, the only other Yellowknife thing I could think of was ice. But the package was not as wet or cold as I would expect were it ice. Maybe the post office was nice enough to dry it off for me, but then, why was it so heavy still, like it contained something other than ice that had melted and then carefully dried off?
By this point in my train of thought, I was home and already grabbing random sharp things that I thought might open a package and thinking how useful it would be for future packages if it contained a yellow knife. Once I finally got it opened, nestled inside was the greatest card ever.
She knows me well, and below her wonderful card was a tea pot.
I did not include the full 360 degrees, but if I had, you would note there is are no bears on it. There are moose and wolves, but no bears. It's times like these I realize how blessed I am. Then I read the card, and I will not recount it here, but, as I mentioned at the beginning, I wasn't ready risk coloured mascara.
My happy song today is My Sweet Lord by George Harrison, my favorite Beatle. Regardless of specific religious beliefs, I have an immense amount of respect for anyone with that much passion for anything. I'm sad he got sued over it. But I'm happy that he played the intro to it on Monty Python, but followed it by a song about pirates, because everyone loves a song about pirates. Ooh, I think that counts as two happy songs. I'm not sure how two songs benefits me, but I bet someone, somewhere is giving me points, and I really want to win that car.
I didn't think Byla mailed me a knife though, if only because she seems smart enough not to send sharp things in the mail. Then I thought, crap, what if she sent a bear. I do often mock her very cold hometown, and maybe I went too far at some point, so she jacked a bear up with Fluoroquinolones and sent it to maul me just when I'm most defenseless (that being while opening an exciting package). That seems like a completely appropriate response to one too many igloo jokes, you know, the attempted murder. I realized though that, were it a bear, it was most likely dead from starvation due to the unexpectedly long transit time, so I would probably be okay, and thought, "Haha, foiled again, Byla Rong." You have to get up pretty early in the morning to kill me with a tiny bear. Or at least spring for a courier. Then it dawned on me that Byla would have been smart enough to pay the extra expense if she'd already gone to the trouble to create an adorably small murder machine.
If not a bear, then what? Well, the only other Yellowknife thing I could think of was ice. But the package was not as wet or cold as I would expect were it ice. Maybe the post office was nice enough to dry it off for me, but then, why was it so heavy still, like it contained something other than ice that had melted and then carefully dried off?
By this point in my train of thought, I was home and already grabbing random sharp things that I thought might open a package and thinking how useful it would be for future packages if it contained a yellow knife. Once I finally got it opened, nestled inside was the greatest card ever.
She knows me well, and below her wonderful card was a tea pot.
I did not include the full 360 degrees, but if I had, you would note there is are no bears on it. There are moose and wolves, but no bears. It's times like these I realize how blessed I am. Then I read the card, and I will not recount it here, but, as I mentioned at the beginning, I wasn't ready risk coloured mascara.My happy song today is My Sweet Lord by George Harrison, my favorite Beatle. Regardless of specific religious beliefs, I have an immense amount of respect for anyone with that much passion for anything. I'm sad he got sued over it. But I'm happy that he played the intro to it on Monty Python, but followed it by a song about pirates, because everyone loves a song about pirates. Ooh, I think that counts as two happy songs. I'm not sure how two songs benefits me, but I bet someone, somewhere is giving me points, and I really want to win that car.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Your instructions most likely mean nothing to me
Everyday I learn new things...slowly. For example, I started playing ultimate frisbee, because I thought "why not?" Well, why not is because I can't really throw or catch a frisbee very well. It's one of those many sports where I am yet to choose a dominant hand, so I just switch it up every little bit, leading to inadequate skills with either hand. It was only my second game yesterday. In the first game I learned to run a lot, mainly away from the frisbee as soon as it was in our possession, so I wouldn't mess anything up.
Yesterday, I learned about "cutting". I'd heard the term for awhile, mainly while on the field, but had no idea what they meant when they shouted "cut, Cut, just CUT SHARON!" So, as I do in response to any instruction I don't understand, I knew I could either (a) freeze like a deer caught in headlights so that I at least wouldn't do the wrong thing, even though it would make it pretty much impossible to do the right thing, or (b) run around erratically and hope that at some point my random movements might accidentally imitate this "cutting" thing. I went for option B since last week I'd learned the most important rule is to run a lot.
Apparently it wasn't very helpful, and I was told to try to turn in 90 degree angles. Like a robot. Well, they didn't say like a robot. I said "Like a robot?" and they said, "Sure..." Frisbee is hard.
Yesterday I learned about the importance of being a robot. Today I learned that storage rooms are fun. At least storage rooms full of disembodied arms and skeletons are fun if I have my camera.
...and you didn't believe me about the disembodied arms.
The following series of pictures is entitled: "Skeletons don't know how to not be creepy for more than an opening line when hitting on a girl."
"Oh, hi there, you look nice tonight."
"Have you noticed I'm naked?"
"Are you into necrophilia? Cause I'm totally into bio-philia."
Then my friend Saylinds Selfish took another picture of me with my skeleton friend. It is important to note that this was taken with her yelling, "Look in love! No! In Love, In LOVE! Okay, that's probably close enough."
"Look in love" is apparently as mysterious to me as "Cut, damn you, cut". That's sad. Also, what is sad is that the skeleton did better than me.
Happy song of the day: Mary Ellen Carter by Stan Rogers. After my mopey weekend, it's a good song, because I can bounce back from anything, because, like the Mary Ellen Carter, I'm a ship. Wait, that's not right. But, I'm kind of like a ship, because I float really well. Sometimes I fear I might lose too much weight and not be able to float anymore, but I think I would probably be able to gain it back pretty quickly eating plankton and such. I can eat pretty fast, so I bet with a little effort I could gain it back before I drown. And that is how I'm like the Mary Ellen Carter.
Yesterday, I learned about "cutting". I'd heard the term for awhile, mainly while on the field, but had no idea what they meant when they shouted "cut, Cut, just CUT SHARON!" So, as I do in response to any instruction I don't understand, I knew I could either (a) freeze like a deer caught in headlights so that I at least wouldn't do the wrong thing, even though it would make it pretty much impossible to do the right thing, or (b) run around erratically and hope that at some point my random movements might accidentally imitate this "cutting" thing. I went for option B since last week I'd learned the most important rule is to run a lot.
Apparently it wasn't very helpful, and I was told to try to turn in 90 degree angles. Like a robot. Well, they didn't say like a robot. I said "Like a robot?" and they said, "Sure..." Frisbee is hard.
Yesterday I learned about the importance of being a robot. Today I learned that storage rooms are fun. At least storage rooms full of disembodied arms and skeletons are fun if I have my camera.
...and you didn't believe me about the disembodied arms.The following series of pictures is entitled: "Skeletons don't know how to not be creepy for more than an opening line when hitting on a girl."
"Oh, hi there, you look nice tonight."
"Have you noticed I'm naked?"
"Are you into necrophilia? Cause I'm totally into bio-philia."Then my friend Saylinds Selfish took another picture of me with my skeleton friend. It is important to note that this was taken with her yelling, "Look in love! No! In Love, In LOVE! Okay, that's probably close enough."
"Look in love" is apparently as mysterious to me as "Cut, damn you, cut". That's sad. Also, what is sad is that the skeleton did better than me.Happy song of the day: Mary Ellen Carter by Stan Rogers. After my mopey weekend, it's a good song, because I can bounce back from anything, because, like the Mary Ellen Carter, I'm a ship. Wait, that's not right. But, I'm kind of like a ship, because I float really well. Sometimes I fear I might lose too much weight and not be able to float anymore, but I think I would probably be able to gain it back pretty quickly eating plankton and such. I can eat pretty fast, so I bet with a little effort I could gain it back before I drown. And that is how I'm like the Mary Ellen Carter.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Ants!
It might just be my opinion, but I think any truly good day starts with a quest. Today was no exception. I met up with my old roommate George Morman for Indian food. He had a specific place in mind though, and it was located approximately in the middle of nowhere. We hopped on a bus for awhile, then we missed our connecting bus by about 3 minutes, so we decided to walk towards the next stop and catch it there. He couldn't remember the name of the restaurant, but he did have a vague location in mind, so I figured he was almost dependable. However, I hadn't had breakfast, since I'd known we were going out for delicious Indian buffet, so time was of the essence.
We started hiking north over a variety of overpasses; beside vast expanses of concrete with a smattering of box stores. At least 2 buses passed us when we were too far past the last bus stop to run back, and too far from the next one to run forward. To make the story even more tragic, I should probably mention that it was raining.
Eventually, we reached a bus stop outside a Tim Hortons and realized that, if the bus map was proportional, we had at least as long as we'd already walked, if not more. So I voted for waiting and hoped that it would pay off, because I was pretty sure my stomach had started digesting itself. I theorized that since we were waiting outside Tim Hortons then if one of us starved to death before the bus arrived, at least the other one would be able to grab a Timbit to save them from the same fate.
To end this story, eventually a bus came, we found food and did not starve. Huzzah! It was pretty good, but I'm not certain it wasn't just because I was the closest to dying of hunger that I've been in many days.
As I mentioned yesterday, my life needs more sleep, and that has not changed yet, so I don't think I have much more to give you.
...Except for a random picture of disgusting ants.
If I was an investigator of some sort, which I'm not, I would guess that someone dropped a banana there. I think I would make a good investigator, because I do things like take pictures of ants that could be evidence of a crime. Like, maybe someone was trying to kill someone and make it look like an accident, so they planted that banana where they knew their victim would walk. But then some ants came along and carried it away, so the murderer was like "Darn, now I have to go to plan B. But how am I going to get a crane big enough to drop a piano?" However, he did not think that someone was going to walk by and take a picture of the ants, thereby creating evidence of his first attempt that could be used against him if the piano thing ever happens. Case cracked. Man, I'm good at this.
Happy song: Hideout by Sarah Harmer. All year I wait for rainy days followed by sunny happiness, so I can imagine I'm living the beginning of this song. Also, I just plain like a good hideout. Unfortunately, I don't really have one right now, but I do have this song, and that is good.
We started hiking north over a variety of overpasses; beside vast expanses of concrete with a smattering of box stores. At least 2 buses passed us when we were too far past the last bus stop to run back, and too far from the next one to run forward. To make the story even more tragic, I should probably mention that it was raining.
Eventually, we reached a bus stop outside a Tim Hortons and realized that, if the bus map was proportional, we had at least as long as we'd already walked, if not more. So I voted for waiting and hoped that it would pay off, because I was pretty sure my stomach had started digesting itself. I theorized that since we were waiting outside Tim Hortons then if one of us starved to death before the bus arrived, at least the other one would be able to grab a Timbit to save them from the same fate.
To end this story, eventually a bus came, we found food and did not starve. Huzzah! It was pretty good, but I'm not certain it wasn't just because I was the closest to dying of hunger that I've been in many days.
As I mentioned yesterday, my life needs more sleep, and that has not changed yet, so I don't think I have much more to give you.
...Except for a random picture of disgusting ants.
If I was an investigator of some sort, which I'm not, I would guess that someone dropped a banana there. I think I would make a good investigator, because I do things like take pictures of ants that could be evidence of a crime. Like, maybe someone was trying to kill someone and make it look like an accident, so they planted that banana where they knew their victim would walk. But then some ants came along and carried it away, so the murderer was like "Darn, now I have to go to plan B. But how am I going to get a crane big enough to drop a piano?" However, he did not think that someone was going to walk by and take a picture of the ants, thereby creating evidence of his first attempt that could be used against him if the piano thing ever happens. Case cracked. Man, I'm good at this.
Happy song: Hideout by Sarah Harmer. All year I wait for rainy days followed by sunny happiness, so I can imagine I'm living the beginning of this song. Also, I just plain like a good hideout. Unfortunately, I don't really have one right now, but I do have this song, and that is good.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Drunk. For realzies.
Actually, I'm not drunk for realzies. But a very long time ago, I said that I would write a blog every day, even if it's like the day I wrote a journal entry that just said "Drunk." Today, is that day, because I'm tired and uninspired. Sorry team.
I was going to post a picture I took of some angry ants, but then my computer overheated and shut down. Swarms of ants are a little bit awesome. I like them because they're easy to confuse with swarms of aunts, but less dangerous. Later, the ants got me back (because, in general, they're camera shy) by biting my legs. Then I tried to take a picture of the bite, because it was dark and my camera's flash was the only way to see it. It didn't work, probably because I was walking as I took the picture.
Crap, happy song. Today I have to go with my most dependable happy song, Anthem by Leonard Cohen. It's my song for times where things aren't going as planned, when I feel like a failure. I'm not certain that many people who know me realize it because I try to hide it so that no one will call me on it when I fail, but I'm a massive perfectionist, so much so that I used to hit myself in the forehead every time I made a mistake during piano lessons as a child. My piano teacher used to get really upset because she thought my parents would end up thinking she was abusing me. For the record, she wasn't. Anyways, Anthem is the best song for those days when I'm depressed because, like most humans, I'm very far from perfect. I would quote it now and tell you why, but actually, I won't. Just find it on a day where you feel like you need it. You probably won't regret it. Unless you do. And if it doesn't work, I suggest plan B should be filling the void inside with nachos and icecream. And Plan C, some sort of field prancing. Just avoid ants (or aunts) because, ouch.
Anyhow, I won't promise tomorrow's post will be any better. I think my life needs more sleep.
I was going to post a picture I took of some angry ants, but then my computer overheated and shut down. Swarms of ants are a little bit awesome. I like them because they're easy to confuse with swarms of aunts, but less dangerous. Later, the ants got me back (because, in general, they're camera shy) by biting my legs. Then I tried to take a picture of the bite, because it was dark and my camera's flash was the only way to see it. It didn't work, probably because I was walking as I took the picture.
Crap, happy song. Today I have to go with my most dependable happy song, Anthem by Leonard Cohen. It's my song for times where things aren't going as planned, when I feel like a failure. I'm not certain that many people who know me realize it because I try to hide it so that no one will call me on it when I fail, but I'm a massive perfectionist, so much so that I used to hit myself in the forehead every time I made a mistake during piano lessons as a child. My piano teacher used to get really upset because she thought my parents would end up thinking she was abusing me. For the record, she wasn't. Anyways, Anthem is the best song for those days when I'm depressed because, like most humans, I'm very far from perfect. I would quote it now and tell you why, but actually, I won't. Just find it on a day where you feel like you need it. You probably won't regret it. Unless you do. And if it doesn't work, I suggest plan B should be filling the void inside with nachos and icecream. And Plan C, some sort of field prancing. Just avoid ants (or aunts) because, ouch.
Anyhow, I won't promise tomorrow's post will be any better. I think my life needs more sleep.
Friday, June 4, 2010
BLKBEWTE
I'm not feeling particularly bloggy today. But, often when I think I don't feel good enough to blog, I start blogging, then I realize that I am happy enough to blog, because the blog brings the happy. But, since the blog is just random pixels representing letters combined to form words that are put in a certain order to represent my thoughts, I realize that the happy that blog brings was in me all along, and that is good.
There were some quality moments today. I had a sitcom moment with my friend Rinda Hih. She'd been spending awhile contemplating exactly how much meat she could order for dinner. It was a pretty drawn out discussion. When I left her, it seemed like she'd decided on beef with rice topped with chicken. I don't know if that's actually what she ate, but I wandered the world for a good 2 hours before I saw her again, at which point she was actively whining about how she ate too much meat. It was like one of those sitcoms where a character thinks they have the greatest idea in history, then they flash to the clock, then they flash back to show how obviously ridiculous that idea was. Then there's a laugh track. Except, in this case, the laugh track was me.
There was a good quote involving dairy. But I'm too tired to explain the context. So that is a no go tonight. I think I had some good subway conversation as well, but it seems to have deleted itself, like the horrible paper work I've been spending all week doing seems fond of (deleting itself I mean). Oh no, that just killed the happy. Awkward.
I'm bad at understanding novelty license plates. We saw this one today:
I thought it was "Black be White". It seemed a little racist, although I don't know in what direction. So I took this picture. Once I got home, I finally figured it out, BLKBEWTE does not equal "Black be White", it's "Black Beauty". I still think it's an offensive license plate, because, seriously, I can decide for myself whether your car is a beauty. I'd prefer, BLKDSIDE4URSELF, but I guess that would be hard to fit unless you have a hummer, and then people would probably decide "no". Unless they like the depletion of non-renewable resources, then they would decide "yes".
Oh no, 4 minutes left to make this in today. Happy song: Section 19 (When the Fool Becomes a King) by The Polyphonic Spree. It helps me early on with the line "Love the life you choose, keep yourself feeling brand new." Because even on crappy days, I know that I chose where I am and that it's going somewhere a little fantastic, even if I have to hit a few snags along the way. It also manages to fit in more instances of the word "strife" than a happy song should be able to.
There were some quality moments today. I had a sitcom moment with my friend Rinda Hih. She'd been spending awhile contemplating exactly how much meat she could order for dinner. It was a pretty drawn out discussion. When I left her, it seemed like she'd decided on beef with rice topped with chicken. I don't know if that's actually what she ate, but I wandered the world for a good 2 hours before I saw her again, at which point she was actively whining about how she ate too much meat. It was like one of those sitcoms where a character thinks they have the greatest idea in history, then they flash to the clock, then they flash back to show how obviously ridiculous that idea was. Then there's a laugh track. Except, in this case, the laugh track was me.
There was a good quote involving dairy. But I'm too tired to explain the context. So that is a no go tonight. I think I had some good subway conversation as well, but it seems to have deleted itself, like the horrible paper work I've been spending all week doing seems fond of (deleting itself I mean). Oh no, that just killed the happy. Awkward.
I'm bad at understanding novelty license plates. We saw this one today:
I thought it was "Black be White". It seemed a little racist, although I don't know in what direction. So I took this picture. Once I got home, I finally figured it out, BLKBEWTE does not equal "Black be White", it's "Black Beauty". I still think it's an offensive license plate, because, seriously, I can decide for myself whether your car is a beauty. I'd prefer, BLKDSIDE4URSELF, but I guess that would be hard to fit unless you have a hummer, and then people would probably decide "no". Unless they like the depletion of non-renewable resources, then they would decide "yes".Oh no, 4 minutes left to make this in today. Happy song: Section 19 (When the Fool Becomes a King) by The Polyphonic Spree. It helps me early on with the line "Love the life you choose, keep yourself feeling brand new." Because even on crappy days, I know that I chose where I am and that it's going somewhere a little fantastic, even if I have to hit a few snags along the way. It also manages to fit in more instances of the word "strife" than a happy song should be able to.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Cereal guy?
I had coffee with my friend Vincenzo O'Lun today. I was looking forward to it because he'd promised me drama and excitement when I ran into him earlier in the week. He also gave me the "call me" hand signal, which I found odd, since, as far as I can recollect, we've never once spoken on the phone, and I'm not eager to start due to my general hatred of the phone and its general insistance on making any awkward situation 10 times more awkward. Then he promised I would have plenty of blog material, which makes my life easier, because most nights I have to depend on excessive consumption of sugar and/or caffeine to derail my train of thought. But, if I have a good conversation with Vincenzo, or Yelsel D'Stupid, or some other not quite sane friend, it pretty much writes itself, therefore decreasing my risk of future diabetes.
Unfortunately Vincenzo kept putting things off limits, despite claiming he's an open book. We did get into a good discussion about how he's not sure how to break to his future wife that she'll have to help him clean disgustingly messy townhouse kitchens. He hasn't met her yet. I suggested he wait until the second date. I was surprised he was talking about marrying at all, since Yelsel (who's pretty close to Vincenzo, yet I never see them together, which is probably good, because the two of them combined would probably blow a fuse in my brain) said she was pretty sure he'd never get married. He's pretty sure this is because he once said that he'd absolutely need a king sized bed when he gets married. This somehow makes sense between the two of them. King sized bed = single forever.
He also can't be with a vegetarian. He didn't elaborate, but proceeded to say "my last girlfriend was a vegetarian...I think". "You think?" I said, "How long did you date?" Apparently they dated for 6 months, and yet he never figured out whether she ate meat, even though it seems to be a dealbreaker. "Well, we mainly got dessert." He was happy when they broke up, but still feels a little confused about why. "Maybe because you didn't even know she was a vegetarian? Did you even know her name?" At this point he struggled for a bit, I have to assume the final name he gave was real though, mostly because he had no reason to lie at this point.
I'm feeling a little boring today, but fear not. Sometimes, I will save random notes in my iPod about funny things for future use. Actually, I would continue to fear, because one of those notes was "Vegetarian", to describe the last story. Well, let's see what I have.
"Cereal Guy." What the hell does "cereal guy" mean? Oh wait, I think this is from the day I was walking to school and saw a guy carrying two plastic bags full of what appeared to be about 20 boxes of cereal. Then I thought, this could be something and wrote it down. It wasn't something.
"Tim Hortons...Freezer story...Lady Bugs" Okay, well, I worked at Tim Hortons in highschool, so there's probably some sort of story from that. Oh wait, freezer story, I think I might know this one. Once, when I was working at Tim Hortons, we were bored, so we drew a detailed diagram of our plan to chryogenically freeze our supervisor, Alli, in the walk-in freezer, so that we could clone her in the future, then take over the world, or something. Then our manager found it and thought we were talking about another Alli. When she heard we meant our supervisor she said "Oh, that's too bad, I don't really like the other one." Which I took to mean that she'd read it, thought it was a murder plan and was simply disappointed at who the intended victim was. No concern over the fact that multiple employees were plotting this together. This might be one reason why one should never work at Tim Hortons.
Lady bugs? Oh, wait, I think that's about my pet ladybugs. Once, as a kid, I was begging my parents for a pet. My dad found a ladybug on his shirt and said, "Fine, here's your pet." I named her Lucy and kept her in a shoebox with a window built in the top with plastic wrap. I filled the little top hat from Monopoly with water and built a ramp up with a little piece of cardboard. She would climb up the little ramp and lean over into the hat to drink. I fed her cucumber. It would slowly disappear, so I'm guessing she liked it. I found other ladybugs around the house (there was a bit of an infestation that year) and gradually added them to my shoebox. At some point, I had so many I stopped naming them because I couldn't tell them apart anymore. Eventually, they started dying, so I got a second box and started a ladybug graveyard. When that filled up with little cardboard crosses I decided it was probably time to set my ladybugs free. Then I was alone again. The moral: Just buy your kid the pet.
That's enough of the random iPod notes for today. Happy song! So, I'm listening to my iPod and somehow magically turned Thunder Road by Bruce Springsteen on. Sometimes Shamus likes to play a game where he starts a song and I have to name it. I couldn't get this one as of last fall, but about a month ago, I was on an ice cream quest with Mickey Bobicky and sang the whole thing. Really, I just want to get to the lyric, "It's a town full of losers and I'm pulling out of here to win." Maybe that doesn't sound like a happy song, but it's pretty awesome when you're ready to blow this popsicle stand (I feel I underuse that phrase...maybe for good reason). The point is, "so long suckers" (...in a few months. Somehow that makes it lose its effect. Don't worry though, I'll probably just repeat it later, giving you many opportunities to be referred to as a sucker.)
Unfortunately Vincenzo kept putting things off limits, despite claiming he's an open book. We did get into a good discussion about how he's not sure how to break to his future wife that she'll have to help him clean disgustingly messy townhouse kitchens. He hasn't met her yet. I suggested he wait until the second date. I was surprised he was talking about marrying at all, since Yelsel (who's pretty close to Vincenzo, yet I never see them together, which is probably good, because the two of them combined would probably blow a fuse in my brain) said she was pretty sure he'd never get married. He's pretty sure this is because he once said that he'd absolutely need a king sized bed when he gets married. This somehow makes sense between the two of them. King sized bed = single forever.
He also can't be with a vegetarian. He didn't elaborate, but proceeded to say "my last girlfriend was a vegetarian...I think". "You think?" I said, "How long did you date?" Apparently they dated for 6 months, and yet he never figured out whether she ate meat, even though it seems to be a dealbreaker. "Well, we mainly got dessert." He was happy when they broke up, but still feels a little confused about why. "Maybe because you didn't even know she was a vegetarian? Did you even know her name?" At this point he struggled for a bit, I have to assume the final name he gave was real though, mostly because he had no reason to lie at this point.
I'm feeling a little boring today, but fear not. Sometimes, I will save random notes in my iPod about funny things for future use. Actually, I would continue to fear, because one of those notes was "Vegetarian", to describe the last story. Well, let's see what I have.
"Cereal Guy." What the hell does "cereal guy" mean? Oh wait, I think this is from the day I was walking to school and saw a guy carrying two plastic bags full of what appeared to be about 20 boxes of cereal. Then I thought, this could be something and wrote it down. It wasn't something.
"Tim Hortons...Freezer story...Lady Bugs" Okay, well, I worked at Tim Hortons in highschool, so there's probably some sort of story from that. Oh wait, freezer story, I think I might know this one. Once, when I was working at Tim Hortons, we were bored, so we drew a detailed diagram of our plan to chryogenically freeze our supervisor, Alli, in the walk-in freezer, so that we could clone her in the future, then take over the world, or something. Then our manager found it and thought we were talking about another Alli. When she heard we meant our supervisor she said "Oh, that's too bad, I don't really like the other one." Which I took to mean that she'd read it, thought it was a murder plan and was simply disappointed at who the intended victim was. No concern over the fact that multiple employees were plotting this together. This might be one reason why one should never work at Tim Hortons.
Lady bugs? Oh, wait, I think that's about my pet ladybugs. Once, as a kid, I was begging my parents for a pet. My dad found a ladybug on his shirt and said, "Fine, here's your pet." I named her Lucy and kept her in a shoebox with a window built in the top with plastic wrap. I filled the little top hat from Monopoly with water and built a ramp up with a little piece of cardboard. She would climb up the little ramp and lean over into the hat to drink. I fed her cucumber. It would slowly disappear, so I'm guessing she liked it. I found other ladybugs around the house (there was a bit of an infestation that year) and gradually added them to my shoebox. At some point, I had so many I stopped naming them because I couldn't tell them apart anymore. Eventually, they started dying, so I got a second box and started a ladybug graveyard. When that filled up with little cardboard crosses I decided it was probably time to set my ladybugs free. Then I was alone again. The moral: Just buy your kid the pet.
That's enough of the random iPod notes for today. Happy song! So, I'm listening to my iPod and somehow magically turned Thunder Road by Bruce Springsteen on. Sometimes Shamus likes to play a game where he starts a song and I have to name it. I couldn't get this one as of last fall, but about a month ago, I was on an ice cream quest with Mickey Bobicky and sang the whole thing. Really, I just want to get to the lyric, "It's a town full of losers and I'm pulling out of here to win." Maybe that doesn't sound like a happy song, but it's pretty awesome when you're ready to blow this popsicle stand (I feel I underuse that phrase...maybe for good reason). The point is, "so long suckers" (...in a few months. Somehow that makes it lose its effect. Don't worry though, I'll probably just repeat it later, giving you many opportunities to be referred to as a sucker.)
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
If you see my brain, send it this way
Today was one of those days where I realize that life is not all fun and games. I hate those days, because, secretly, I think life is all fun and games, it's just that on those days where it's not you're on the losing end of a game being orchestrated by "the man". So, don't worry, he's probably having fun, even if you aren't. And by you, I mean me, because that's where this all started, with my very boring, pretending to be a serious and responsible human being, day. I got stuff done, which is good, but I also asked a number friends to kill me over a variety of mediums (one of my favourite procrastination methods). However, none of them took me up on it, so I had to keep working. I might need better friends.
Eventually I decided it was time to wander off and see if I happened to stumble across my brain in the midst of my travels. I didn't. Actually, it's still MIA, just a little closer, because I can sense it somewhere in the distance. I hope it comes back to me soon, because it's very rainy.
While I didn't come across my brain, I did come across something that has bothered me for years. And that something is this change table:
Aww, look at that cute little koala bear. I'm going to change my impressionable baby's diaper here because this change table is good and not at all evil. Wrong, look closer. No, closer still...
That's right. If you have any concern about this table, you should call the number of the beast. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do, since my only concern is their phone number, which is terrifying to me, much too terrifying to phone and complain. If I were better with photoshop (by which I mean, if I owned photoshop at all), I would take the top picture and turn it into a evil devil koala to illustrate the way that I see this change table. But I can't. So, once again, I'm asking that you use your imagination to make up for my laziness/incompetence. It's good though, because you probably don't get to imagine very much anymore because you are probably an adult, and therefore quite boring. Unless you are my 10 year old cousin Kriskris Ruebenstein, who I have heard sometimes reads this, then your imagination is intact. I suggest if any of my boring adult readers have little ones in their life, they should also share my blog with them so they can help you with the imagining and you can answer fun questions like, "What does phallic mean?"
Today I definitely needed a happy song. I can't remember if I found one. I should, because I'll need one tomorrow too. I guess, given my strong negative feelings towards responsible living, I need to choose Dancing Through Life, from the musical Wicked. It's usually my go to song when I'm taking things too seriously. Also when I'm not dancing enough, which might very well be my problem today. Oh wait, no, I was right with the "game I'm not winning being my problem" theory. Except that I'm not actually losing, I'm just luring "the man" into a false sense of security so that I can put him in a headlock when he least expects it. Then as he whines that headlocks are not part of Clue, I'll flip him over and steal his wallet. Teach him to play with me. The point is, tomorrow, or maybe the next day (can't be too specific, never know who's reading and I don't want to lose the element of surprise) is going to be a good day.
Eventually I decided it was time to wander off and see if I happened to stumble across my brain in the midst of my travels. I didn't. Actually, it's still MIA, just a little closer, because I can sense it somewhere in the distance. I hope it comes back to me soon, because it's very rainy.
While I didn't come across my brain, I did come across something that has bothered me for years. And that something is this change table:
Aww, look at that cute little koala bear. I'm going to change my impressionable baby's diaper here because this change table is good and not at all evil. Wrong, look closer. No, closer still...
That's right. If you have any concern about this table, you should call the number of the beast. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do, since my only concern is their phone number, which is terrifying to me, much too terrifying to phone and complain. If I were better with photoshop (by which I mean, if I owned photoshop at all), I would take the top picture and turn it into a evil devil koala to illustrate the way that I see this change table. But I can't. So, once again, I'm asking that you use your imagination to make up for my laziness/incompetence. It's good though, because you probably don't get to imagine very much anymore because you are probably an adult, and therefore quite boring. Unless you are my 10 year old cousin Kriskris Ruebenstein, who I have heard sometimes reads this, then your imagination is intact. I suggest if any of my boring adult readers have little ones in their life, they should also share my blog with them so they can help you with the imagining and you can answer fun questions like, "What does phallic mean?"
Today I definitely needed a happy song. I can't remember if I found one. I should, because I'll need one tomorrow too. I guess, given my strong negative feelings towards responsible living, I need to choose Dancing Through Life, from the musical Wicked. It's usually my go to song when I'm taking things too seriously. Also when I'm not dancing enough, which might very well be my problem today. Oh wait, no, I was right with the "game I'm not winning being my problem" theory. Except that I'm not actually losing, I'm just luring "the man" into a false sense of security so that I can put him in a headlock when he least expects it. Then as he whines that headlocks are not part of Clue, I'll flip him over and steal his wallet. Teach him to play with me. The point is, tomorrow, or maybe the next day (can't be too specific, never know who's reading and I don't want to lose the element of surprise) is going to be a good day.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
I don't know where Shamus keeps finding computers
My first poll finished last night with the following results:
Does this blog need more Shamus Van Nostrum?
I would graph it, but I have an angry computer, plus I'm lazy, a combination which leads to no pretty graphs. If you really need a picture, just close your eyes and think of delicious pie. Now eat the pie. Wait, the pie is not actually pie, it's a big lemon. Now open your eyes. Did you make a sour face? Isn't that a fun trick? Okay, close them again, now the pie is mainly made up of Mysterious Brother X, with a chunk of Shamus and a dash of apathy/confusion.
What have I learned from this experience? Well, first, I need to give a shorter time-line for polls because I really didn't care 3 days into this poll. Second, Shamus is a crafty one. It's lucky that I'm more clever and made an answer so obviously him that he had to reveal his evil plot by choosing it repeatedly. Third, I'm not certain people know what a question mark means, because I think they chose it assuming it was a promise that a more interesting brother exists, but there's every chance that the answer to that question would be a simple "no". That would be a waste of a vote.
To be honest, I don't really know the answer to the winning question. Yes, Mysterious Brother X (MBX) does exist, but is he more interesting? I have no idea, because, already being the most amusing child, I haven't spent a lot of time figuring out 2nd and 3rd place. I mean, as long as I'm around, it really doesn't matter anyways.
The unfortunate problem with blogging about MBX is that he is not fond of me telling all the best stories about him. I think I'm allowed to tell ones that involve both of us though, like how we used to sit in my closet, in the dark, and play farm. Yes, that's right, in the dark, because all we needed was the power of our imagination. I know it sounds odd, but, I've got to say it's a thousand times better than Farmville. It was also safer than playing in the old fridge in our basement, which we also were fond of. It was not a farm though, it was a club house for me, MBX and a stick of butter. I think our club house would have been way more awesome if my mother wasn't always "rescuing" us from it.
I'm not sure I have much more to say about MBX at this point, except for the many many things that would end in total alienation of 50% of my brothers. In general, I try to make a habit of not alienating family, because they're pretty much walking kidney farms. So far, my kidneys seem good, but, from what I hear, you never quite know when a night at the bar will end with kidney theft. If some med students do decide to steal my kidneys, I hope that they at least try to stitch in their initials when they sew me back up. Then I'll have a cool scar and a clue to the "Mystery of the Missing Kidneys". At first, I'll just know it's someone with the initials "JC" or "MF" or "BM", but, over time and through careful study with a tiny mirror, I will realize that they must have been right handed, and that they most likely grew up in the suburbs of Indianapolis. I don't know how I will learn this, but I'm obsessive, so once my kidneys are gone, I'll spend a lot of my time learning about handwriting and such. Eventually we will meet face to face and I'll realize that I still have a number of organs they probably wouldn't mind harvesting, and I'll run away, but not before snapping a picture of them to post on my blog. And all this will not be possible if I don't keep potential replacement kidneys on my good side (cause otherwise, they steal my kidney and I die, so no time for exciting learning and chasing).
Today's happy song is I Got You Under My Skin, sung by Frank Sinatra, mainly because, who knew a song about parasites could be so perky? Especially parasites that have already spread to your heart (deep in the heart, actually), which is rarely, if ever, a good thing. But, despite his obviously inevitable demise, the band keeps playing, and then I forget that he's probably going to die soon and it won't be a fun death. And the forgetting is what makes this a happy song. If I ever get drunk and someone steals my kidney, I'll sing them this song to them as well. We'll probably have a good laugh about it until I pass out from the pain.
Does this blog need more Shamus Van Nostrum?
Yes, because I am him and I love myself | 7 (17%) |
Yes, because I'm not him but I'm not mentally well | 0 (0%) |
No, he does not interest me | 0 (0%) |
I don't care/Who's Shamus? | 3 (7%) |
Don't you have another, more interesting brother you haven't even mentioned? | 29 (74%) |
I would graph it, but I have an angry computer, plus I'm lazy, a combination which leads to no pretty graphs. If you really need a picture, just close your eyes and think of delicious pie. Now eat the pie. Wait, the pie is not actually pie, it's a big lemon. Now open your eyes. Did you make a sour face? Isn't that a fun trick? Okay, close them again, now the pie is mainly made up of Mysterious Brother X, with a chunk of Shamus and a dash of apathy/confusion.
What have I learned from this experience? Well, first, I need to give a shorter time-line for polls because I really didn't care 3 days into this poll. Second, Shamus is a crafty one. It's lucky that I'm more clever and made an answer so obviously him that he had to reveal his evil plot by choosing it repeatedly. Third, I'm not certain people know what a question mark means, because I think they chose it assuming it was a promise that a more interesting brother exists, but there's every chance that the answer to that question would be a simple "no". That would be a waste of a vote.
To be honest, I don't really know the answer to the winning question. Yes, Mysterious Brother X (MBX) does exist, but is he more interesting? I have no idea, because, already being the most amusing child, I haven't spent a lot of time figuring out 2nd and 3rd place. I mean, as long as I'm around, it really doesn't matter anyways.
The unfortunate problem with blogging about MBX is that he is not fond of me telling all the best stories about him. I think I'm allowed to tell ones that involve both of us though, like how we used to sit in my closet, in the dark, and play farm. Yes, that's right, in the dark, because all we needed was the power of our imagination. I know it sounds odd, but, I've got to say it's a thousand times better than Farmville. It was also safer than playing in the old fridge in our basement, which we also were fond of. It was not a farm though, it was a club house for me, MBX and a stick of butter. I think our club house would have been way more awesome if my mother wasn't always "rescuing" us from it.
I'm not sure I have much more to say about MBX at this point, except for the many many things that would end in total alienation of 50% of my brothers. In general, I try to make a habit of not alienating family, because they're pretty much walking kidney farms. So far, my kidneys seem good, but, from what I hear, you never quite know when a night at the bar will end with kidney theft. If some med students do decide to steal my kidneys, I hope that they at least try to stitch in their initials when they sew me back up. Then I'll have a cool scar and a clue to the "Mystery of the Missing Kidneys". At first, I'll just know it's someone with the initials "JC" or "MF" or "BM", but, over time and through careful study with a tiny mirror, I will realize that they must have been right handed, and that they most likely grew up in the suburbs of Indianapolis. I don't know how I will learn this, but I'm obsessive, so once my kidneys are gone, I'll spend a lot of my time learning about handwriting and such. Eventually we will meet face to face and I'll realize that I still have a number of organs they probably wouldn't mind harvesting, and I'll run away, but not before snapping a picture of them to post on my blog. And all this will not be possible if I don't keep potential replacement kidneys on my good side (cause otherwise, they steal my kidney and I die, so no time for exciting learning and chasing).
Today's happy song is I Got You Under My Skin, sung by Frank Sinatra, mainly because, who knew a song about parasites could be so perky? Especially parasites that have already spread to your heart (deep in the heart, actually), which is rarely, if ever, a good thing. But, despite his obviously inevitable demise, the band keeps playing, and then I forget that he's probably going to die soon and it won't be a fun death. And the forgetting is what makes this a happy song. If I ever get drunk and someone steals my kidney, I'll sing them this song to them as well. We'll probably have a good laugh about it until I pass out from the pain.
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