Showering as Accomplishment

I don't know if it's our descent into Fall, the fact that it's still dark when I leave for work in the morning, or some other factor conspiring against me, but I am lazy as fuck lately. I went to bed at 7:30 one night this week. I'm proud of my achievement of actually showering yesterday.

Not that this level of laziness is completely foreign to me, but it's usually not so concentrated.

I blame TV. I am ADDICTED! There is so much. And I never have to make a choice. Nothing loses out. I can watch it all. Whenever I want. It's overwhelming. The choices. All the choices.

That all the shows are premiering this week doesn't help.

I love TV.

Who You Gonna Call?

I'm reading this book called Will Storr v. The Supernatural and it's freaking the shit out of me. This British journalist follows all these paranormal investigators in their investigations, writes about the situation and activity he encounters, and vacillates between belief and skepticism. It's good. And scary.

I was reading it last night before I went to sleep and I had the SCARIEST dream ever! I didn't know if I was asleep or awake and at one point I felt like I had woken up and was remembering the dream and was so scared that I was essentially paralyzed and I felt like I was in than semi-paralyzed state for HOURS, but eventually I really woke up and looked at my clock and had only been asleep for like an hour and a half. I dreamt about ghosts. And a dollhouse. And Winona Ryder was there. It was really scary.

I grew up loving horror movies. When I was 5 I made my dad take me to see The Fox and The Hound, and his retribution was to make me watch The Shining on HBO. I'd like to say that he waited 10 years or so to exact his revenge, but it was, if not that night, at least that week. I'm pretty sure I used up all the horror movie fear I could ever have experienced at that moment. So, for the remainder of my childhood and adolesence I searched for the movie that would scare me. I didn't find it.

The movies that interested me most, though, were not the scary killer movies like Nightmare on Elm Street and Halloween, but the ghost stories, like Poltergeist and Amityville Horror. I'm not suggesting these were GOOD movies (although, Polergeist was), just that they interested me most.

I think I need to be a paranormal investigator. When I think about something that interests me more than work or frivolous entertainment, it's ghost and paranormal activity. I don't know if I believe in ghosts. I don't NOT believe in them, but I am skeptical. I think it would be fun to find out.

I'm totally going to ghostbuster school. It'll be superfly.

PS - I ate solid food today and a little bit yesterday. More importantly, it stayed put!

PPS - Bill C. is a sexy bitch. Clinton for king!

#4

I learned tonight that when you are sick and you don't know what end it's going to come out of and it comes out of both, that's a #3. When you are crying while this is happening, that's a #4. And that pretty much sums up my week.

I eat a lot of salad and my base of choice is spinach. I probably have 3-4 spinach salads per week. Last week was no different. I'm not saying for sure that I was infected by the e. coli, but I eat a lot of bagged spinach and I spent a lot of this week in the bathroom, sicker than I've ever been, and alls I'm saying is there might be a connection.

Betrayed by spinach. Who would have thunk it.

Ungh

There are things inside of me that are desperate to get out and at the very least, it's time consuming.

Sweet!

My work had an employee appreciation event tonight and I won this!


I will happily suckle at the corporate teat if I will continue to be rewarded thusly!

This is cool for lots of reasons, but primarily because I wanted one of these and probably would have bought one in the next month or so, and secondarily because my name has never been pulled out of a hat, bucket, shoebox, spinning raffle cage thingy, or anything. Never once. Ain't never done happened.

I could have 999 tickets out of a thousand in a drawing and the not-my-ticket would inevitably be drawn. I'm just not lucky.

I think it goes back to when I was 19 and decided to get a tattoo. There wasn't a specific tattoo I wanted, I just knew I wanted one and chose a clover at the tattoo parlor. But I wanted a three-leafed clover because I'm not superstitious and I didn't want the clover to reflect any desire for luck on my part. And so I got none.

Until now. What changed? I should check my tattoo and see if it perhaps sprouted a fourth leaf. Regardless, I have a Bose ipod dock and I'm fucking happy about it!

Holy Cats!

"'cause in some countries, personal vehicles are not allowed."

Brilliance

Update: for some reason, the video is not loading in firefox. It loads on Safari and it loaded on Explorer on my PC at work. I have no explanation, but I urge you to find a way to see this!

"but she's so decisive, nothing is able to scare her at all."

Identity Crisis

My hair is kind of a darkish strawberry blond with light blond highlights and sometimes it looks just orange overall. It's long and curly and pretty. I know it's pretty because people stop my on the street and tell me. I'm not saying I'm pretty (which I am, of course), alls I'm saying is that I have it on authority that my hair is pretty.

What my hair also is, is controversial. I had two separate conversations, just this past weekend, where people argued with me about the color of my hair and were angry, nearly offended by how I chose to define it.

I consider myself a redhead. Red is the dominant hue, I have a readhead's complexion, including a quantity of freckles, and my personality is most closely aligned with the stereotypical redhead's personality. I am a redhead.

People disagree. The problem is they also disagree with my being a blond, brunet, dirty blond, light brown, dark blond, and just about any other modestly resemblant haircolor I can come up with. There is no hair camp with whom I can rightfully identify.I'm shunned by all.


Whatever. I don't feel a strong need to "belong" per se, but people get angry with me. "You're not a redhead." "You're not a blond." I have to be something. So tell, me people, what the hell am I?

Ow, Part II

As evidenced by my previous post, the wasp sting did not kill me.

I still have a giant pink splotch on my back, though, where the little fucker got me and it itches like a motherfucker. Is this normal? I think not.

When I went to work the day after I was stung and told a coworker about it, I was reminded of a situation that arose the day before (and day of the sting) where I was actually tormenting wasps, which I conveniently forgot.

I work on the 13th floor of an office building in a suburb of Minneapolis (spooky, eh? 13th) and right outside the window by my coworkers office there were a bunch of big, healthy wasps hanging around. I'm not terribly squeamish, I'm usually the one called on to do the bug killing, and I can totally handle any insect on it's own, but swarms freak me out. And not just because they're more menacing in large numbers, but the site of the swarm almost grosses me out. I can't explain it exactly.

So, when I saw this swarm of wasps outside the window, I started pounding on the window to make them go away, which of course they did not. While my pounding posed to serious or immediate threat to them, I bet it was a little annoying. After all, they were just hanging out, in their natural environment, doing their wasp thing, not bothering anyone. What right did I have to disturb them?

I'm starting to think one followed me that evening to drive the point home.

So, to all you bees, wasps, hornets, and various stinging insects out there, you win. I'm calling off the jihad. Go in peace. Do your wasp thing. Live your wasp lives. I will leave you be. (leave you be, get it? be(e)!).

It's almost winter in Minnesota anyway. You guys are going to be dead as fuck in no time. So, ha!

A Strange Coincidence, or, Whatever Happened to Kathleen Roberson?

I'm digging on the coincidences (coincidi?) lately.

I was watching an old ep of 90210 this morning and thought to myself, "self - whatever happened to Kathleen Robertson?" Kathleen played Claire in the later, collegiate years of Hills and she was pretty and seemed to be a decent actress (everything's relative, though, right?).

Well, I grabbed my computer and before I could even get to IMDb.com to check up on her, I came across some pictures of the premiere of Hollywoodland and there she was! She's still pretty and has a role in this movie, which seems to have a chance at some commercial success. Good for her!

Ow

Until about 2 months ago I had been stung by a bee/wasp/hornet a grand total of once. I remember it clearly. I was about 5 and at my babysitters house. This family was weird. There were about 5 of us girls who went there everyday after kindergarten and the babysitter would order stuff for us off the TV all the time, to be delivered COD, and when stuff would come she wouldn't have any money. It was always so disappointing. You'd think you'd be rocking out to Disco Mickey Mouse by noon, but the UPS dude would come and go with nary an LP left in his wake.

We were playing in the sprinkler one day, and my delicate little girl foot landed squarely on a pissed off insect of the stinging variety. I don't remember pain - just being startled. When people realizd what had happened and the worry and sympathy began rolling my way, I immediately proceeded to cry, as was expected, but I don't remember it actually hurting.


In the past two months I've been stung twice. Once at my friends pool this summer, and once this very night, while I was innocently changing into my pajamas in my bedroom. There was a buzzing disturbance by my head and suddenly, Zap! I felt a sharp pain on my back. That was over an hour ago and it still hurts like a bitch. I found the little fucker and I'm pretty sure it was Africanized, so this may very well be my last post because tomorrow I will likely wake up dead, in which case, it's been fun and see ya on the flip side (what the hell does that mean?).

Once found, I murdered said little fucker violently and thoroughly and flushed him into oblivion (see YOU on the flip side, little fucker!). I was living amicably amongst the bees. I allowed a few indiscretions on their part (they have their basic nature to contend with after all), but I've had enough. This is war. Death to bees!

Something to blog about

I worry about my capacity for creativity when I have absolutely nothing to write about.

Granted, I spent the past week with my family, which is a relatively shell-shocking experience, but I've been back two days and I've done things and thought things and read things and seen things. None of these thing have left enough of an impression on me to provide me with fodder for blogging. And the name of this blog is inanity! Perhaps my life has just provided me with experiences of such immense magnitude and importance that to relegate them to the realm of the inane would do them an injustice.

Yeah, that's what happened.