Just a few quick update to let you all know I'm still alive. Some thoughts:
--Penny Arcade and Monty Python alike have poked fun at a theme brave soldiers going in, unprepared, to battle with a bunny that turns out to be ironically ferocious. I'll have you know that this sin't quite the fiction everyone makes it out to be. My first week at Petland has taught me a few things, and one of them is this ageless truth: Bunnies have motherfucking claws.
--If I ever turn out like Debra from "Everybody Loves Raymond", I expect one of you to shoot me. Please. Enough with this "empowered bitchy woman/awkward husband" formula on television-- If I see one more episode of anything where Mr. So and So is made to reluctantly apologize to his wife after some innocent mistake that she rubs his nose in like a naughty puppy, I am sueing the Networks. This is what's going wrong with marraiges today, this sick feminism of the neurotic but empowered housewife on TV. We're all getting a little too much Debra Ramone. I have to rate her in one of my top five most hated sitcom characters, rivalled by Fran's mom on "The Nanny". Carrie from "The King of Queens" is what I'm aiming for-- Smart, sensible, beautiful, and clearly superior to her husband. Sounds about right.
--On a related note, in the same way I don't like comics or shows that are just people making jokes about how black they are, I've realized that "The Nanny" is the same thing about being Jewish-- a lot of idiotic stereotypes and stupid wordplay, and absolutely nothing of substance. "Will and Grace" is getting dangerously close to this with Gay humor-- I find it increasingly hard to believe that they aren't using a laugh track after the twentieth time this season Karen calls Will "Wilma". But at least they explore a variety of stereotypes-- they go into the Jew (/frazzled dependent woman), the Lush, and the Latin housekeeper as well as two different kinds of Gays: The professional homo and the hyper-homo. Jack is gay to the 10th power, giving his character a little something extra. (Sadly, that something is plausibility.)
--I've written this entire entry so far on the toilet.
--I've been meaning to write an entry devoted to making fun of Will and Grace for some time now, and no longer recall whether or not I already have. If I weren't sick of this toilet, I'd check for you, but I'm looking to wrap this up.
--I know what with working (and sleeping!) now being a major part of my schedule I've been slacking a little with this, but I've been brainstorming like crazy as to what quality future entries I will produce soon. You, my loyal readers, can look forward to the following:
The results of my own personal research as to which Travel site really gets you the best deals. (So far, Orbitz.)
A mini-tribute to the new, revitalized VH1, no longer just a sub-par knock off of MTV, but my one and only TV source for trivial bits of information that I'd probably know if I were more in tune with pop-culture (Like the fact that Milli Vinalli were exposed as being a pair of lip-syncing pretty boys rather than actual musicians when the recording they were using decided to skip repeatedly during a concert, as sourced from "I love the Eighties", or that many Rap Artists today are selling their own energy drinks, like Ice T's "Liquid Ice", as I found out while watching "Best Week Ever". Man, Liquid Ice is such a great idea, they should have come up with that before...and called it water. Thanks to Wil Wheaton for pointing out what should have been obvious on that one.)
Vaginismus- a more in-depth look. I really need people to begin to have some understanding of what this really is to me, and to everyone who has it. I've been angry that no one so far has even begun to understand, but I haven't been explaining it well enough. The world needs to change-- there are lots of problems, and I've finally found one I care about. Time to do my part.
--My legs fell asleep while sitting on the toilet all that time. Pity.
On with it.
Sunday, March 07, 2004
The weekend started out strong. Friday morning I was offered a job at Petland, the only place I applied to that I actually wanted to work. And I met my future boss, a businessman with honest-to-goodness integrity. Absolute high point of the day was when he said "Customers aren't always right." I knew right then and there that I wanted to work for that man.
I came home and celebrated to that for a while before celebrating to the idea that I was going to see Casey on Saturday. What a rockin' weekend I'm gonna have, I thought to my naive self, before having to rejoin the work force on Monday. After some unremarkable daytime activities, I talk to Casey that night and he annoys the shit out of me, as he's been doing for weeks now, . This is because after not having seen him in life for months, I have been wearing thin on the understanding of what makes him a wonderful person. To my mind, it's nearly impossible to maintain a real-life friendship on the internet alone. But, hell, that doesn't matter anymore. I'm seeing him tomorrow, right?
Saturday morning I wake up. Not to the sounds of my birds, or Zack's snoring. As lava is to magma, vomit is to what I woke up to. I am about to become Mount Freaking St. Helen's, but I lay there in bed thinking "You can't puke, you can't fucking puke, you're seeing Casey tonight, you cannot be sick." My last chance to see him before, like, May. Motherfucking May.
Beyond that, it's definitely one of the top-ten all-time most uncomfortable sicknesses of my life. I'm nauseous, hungry, going through hot and cold flashes, and very achy, but unable to keep any kind of medication down.
So. Yeah. That was fucking Saturday.
Sunday, much the same, except replace most of the vomiting with pain from a muscle I sprained dry-heaving yesterday, and make Zack sick, too. I go to my computer a few times, and it seems lots of people are getting whiny about *their* weekends in their away messages, and as I sit here, constantly on the verge of blowing chunks all over my laptop, probably about to lose my best friend to the unavoidable impatience I have on him which can no longer be blamed, logically, on either one of us, unsure of whether or not I'm going to have to call out of my first day of work for the first job I've ever wanted, and next to an aching, sickly husband, I realize that I want one thing, and one thing only: To kill every who thinks they've got a motherfucking thing on my misery*.
"They will detail their pain
In some standard refrain.
They will recite their sadness
Like it's some kind of contest.
Well, if it is, I think I am winning it,
All beaming with confidence
as I make my final lap.
The gold medal gleams
so hang it around my neck
cause I am deserving it:
the champion of idiots. "
~An all-too relevant quote from the Bright Eyes (as all Bright Eyes quotes are all-too relevant), "Going For the Gold"
I'm trying to pass on this band, as of late, the way Christina L. was so magnanimous in passing it on to me. It's either that Bright Eyes fans are so genuinely devoted that they want to spread their love to deserving people, or that we're so scarred and bitter on the inside that we want to give to others the kind of raw pain that can only come with an understand of Conor's lyrics onto the whole world, eventually causing one willing demise of the human race-- The world won't end because of nuclear war, not because of race riots or some geological disaster, no, we'll simply all experience the same kind of power and superb misery that I feel when I listen to "No Lies, Just Love", and every last one of us will lay down to die, simultaneously (despite it's hopeful message at the end). I suppose if I had to rally behind one cause, at this point in my life, it would be that we stop looking down so on suicide. It's the safest alternative, after all.
If you'll pardon me, it's been a bad weekend.
Also, I watched a "CNN Presents" special tonight on Howard Dean's own "go for the gold". It's funny, I meant to educate myself, at one point, genuinely interested in the turn that the presidential race might take this time around. But, as ever, I was always too busy with something else-- watching "Family Guy" or writing blog entries about Nike ads with 50-year-old-ass-- and tonight, I sat and watched this whole stretch of very recent history, thinking of how I just missed it, as I seem doomed to just miss everything, by my own sickly volition. I sat and watched and thought, as people always do when they didn't act on something they meant to act on, that I could have been the one to make the difference. Anyways, my inability to write, as disoriented and dehydrated as I am, is skewing the one point I had any intention of making when I came here to post-- I know there are a few die-hard Kerry supporters out there, and if you read this, I'd very much like at least on one of you to convince me that Dean losing isn't a total loss. I can only take so much heartbreak in one weekend.
On with it.
*Except for Jeremey. Because, fuck, man. Fuck.
I came home and celebrated to that for a while before celebrating to the idea that I was going to see Casey on Saturday. What a rockin' weekend I'm gonna have, I thought to my naive self, before having to rejoin the work force on Monday. After some unremarkable daytime activities, I talk to Casey that night and he annoys the shit out of me, as he's been doing for weeks now, . This is because after not having seen him in life for months, I have been wearing thin on the understanding of what makes him a wonderful person. To my mind, it's nearly impossible to maintain a real-life friendship on the internet alone. But, hell, that doesn't matter anymore. I'm seeing him tomorrow, right?
Saturday morning I wake up. Not to the sounds of my birds, or Zack's snoring. As lava is to magma, vomit is to what I woke up to. I am about to become Mount Freaking St. Helen's, but I lay there in bed thinking "You can't puke, you can't fucking puke, you're seeing Casey tonight, you cannot be sick." My last chance to see him before, like, May. Motherfucking May.
Beyond that, it's definitely one of the top-ten all-time most uncomfortable sicknesses of my life. I'm nauseous, hungry, going through hot and cold flashes, and very achy, but unable to keep any kind of medication down.
So. Yeah. That was fucking Saturday.
Sunday, much the same, except replace most of the vomiting with pain from a muscle I sprained dry-heaving yesterday, and make Zack sick, too. I go to my computer a few times, and it seems lots of people are getting whiny about *their* weekends in their away messages, and as I sit here, constantly on the verge of blowing chunks all over my laptop, probably about to lose my best friend to the unavoidable impatience I have on him which can no longer be blamed, logically, on either one of us, unsure of whether or not I'm going to have to call out of my first day of work for the first job I've ever wanted, and next to an aching, sickly husband, I realize that I want one thing, and one thing only: To kill every who thinks they've got a motherfucking thing on my misery*.
"They will detail their pain
In some standard refrain.
They will recite their sadness
Like it's some kind of contest.
Well, if it is, I think I am winning it,
All beaming with confidence
as I make my final lap.
The gold medal gleams
so hang it around my neck
cause I am deserving it:
the champion of idiots. "
~An all-too relevant quote from the Bright Eyes (as all Bright Eyes quotes are all-too relevant), "Going For the Gold"
I'm trying to pass on this band, as of late, the way Christina L. was so magnanimous in passing it on to me. It's either that Bright Eyes fans are so genuinely devoted that they want to spread their love to deserving people, or that we're so scarred and bitter on the inside that we want to give to others the kind of raw pain that can only come with an understand of Conor's lyrics onto the whole world, eventually causing one willing demise of the human race-- The world won't end because of nuclear war, not because of race riots or some geological disaster, no, we'll simply all experience the same kind of power and superb misery that I feel when I listen to "No Lies, Just Love", and every last one of us will lay down to die, simultaneously (despite it's hopeful message at the end). I suppose if I had to rally behind one cause, at this point in my life, it would be that we stop looking down so on suicide. It's the safest alternative, after all.
If you'll pardon me, it's been a bad weekend.
Also, I watched a "CNN Presents" special tonight on Howard Dean's own "go for the gold". It's funny, I meant to educate myself, at one point, genuinely interested in the turn that the presidential race might take this time around. But, as ever, I was always too busy with something else-- watching "Family Guy" or writing blog entries about Nike ads with 50-year-old-ass-- and tonight, I sat and watched this whole stretch of very recent history, thinking of how I just missed it, as I seem doomed to just miss everything, by my own sickly volition. I sat and watched and thought, as people always do when they didn't act on something they meant to act on, that I could have been the one to make the difference. Anyways, my inability to write, as disoriented and dehydrated as I am, is skewing the one point I had any intention of making when I came here to post-- I know there are a few die-hard Kerry supporters out there, and if you read this, I'd very much like at least on one of you to convince me that Dean losing isn't a total loss. I can only take so much heartbreak in one weekend.
On with it.
*Except for Jeremey. Because, fuck, man. Fuck.
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