Sunday, January 31, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
[largely reposted from my Tumblr from Wed 1/27, sorry for the semi-redundancy]
As you may have noticed, by virtue of being here, I have a blog, right? Like pretty much everyone. And because I am vain and narcissistic, I stuck some Google Analystics up on this shit in November. And actually a few more people have started to read it (My traffic is up 116% whoo!)… mostly I just want to know who. Or where they are coming from. Because then I can pretend I have friends and that I am popular (whoa, flashback to middle school. and high school. and... um... *sob*)
Everyone always seems to have these stories of all these great/funny searches that has brought visitors to their blog. I don’t. Mine’s all been referral/links and mostly from other blogs that I’ve visited, which is cool. Bloggy friends are awesome. I heart bloggy friends. Real friends too. I'm giving all of you a hug right now. I think we're, what, up to 8 people now? Party up in the blogosphere! Whee!
I got my first sexually curious google search the other day.
Someone searching for “French anal sex.” Because, you know. My readers are classy.
Except I’ve never blogged about any of those things in any sort of proximity to have logically resulted in a search string that would have logically led anyone here. I don’t blog about sex, because, well, quite frankly, I’m not having any, and pretty much never about anything anal, anal-retentiveness aside… but I suppose I do write about French fries. And one time I said I wanted to learn French. That’s clearly it, right?
Minus the heavy swearing, my blog is pretty innocent. I like to keep it at a PG-13 level. I’m kind of perplexed. I’m not going to lie. For as crass as I am, I was kind of horrified when I saw that. I am a LADY and we do NOT condone anal sex here at [Insert Clever Title Here]. (Unless that's your cup of tea. I don't judge.)
And of COURSE I have no idea if there is a difference between French anal sex and regular anal sex (I suppose possibly there is, because it was a specific search). I am apparently sheltered. I am okay with that. Please for the love of God don't answer that because it was entirely rhetorical and I don't want to know.
Anyway. I guess that individual was probably pretty disappointed when they got here. However they got here. I don’t even want to know. I’m… going to go finish my ice cream now and ponder the great mysteries of the universe.
* * *
Oh hey speaking of blogs, guess what I did? I started ANOTHER one. Sort of. Yes. I guess it counts. It's a FOOD BLOG. By which I mean, I am going to post all of my wonderful culinary discoveries to it and you can all ooh and ahhh and stop asking me to email them to you because I will always, always forget and I can post it in ONE spot and anyone who wants it can go grab it and find it and everyone will be happy especially me because I only have to type it up once.
And there are pictures. Because my blackberry is only ever mere feet away. And I'm pretty sure it's going to get kind of.. um... (I don't want to say sticky, given the context of the upper half of the post, but...) less than pristine. I'm pretty sure I've already got flour in the keys.
Anyway, go visit if you like food. If you don't like food, well, I don't know why we're having this conversation, but you can just stay here. Or go here. That's right, it's the motherfucking trifecta of kelly bloggy goodness.
Someone please send help
Friday, January 29, 2010
Quote courtesy of one of my awesome new readers, KimD. I yanked it from her blog. (sorry, but not really.)
Seems timely. Given my tendency to rant. All said? I really do love what I do. I want that to be on record.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
One of my projects won an ADDY. (As of when I found out, I wasn't sure what I could/couldn't say, so I just tweeted about an "award"). We won’t find out *WHAT* ADDY until the actual event, but still. AN AWARD. For something I worked on!
To be fair, a lot of the credit goes to my designer. She is awesome and did a great job. But the designers always get ALL the credit so I'm going to take some time to give myself some too. Because I am the one who breathed life into the project, who turned it from pixels on a screen to a living, tangible, beautiful finished piece. My job is just as important as the design of it. It's a team effort, yo. And we rocked it.
I am fucking giddy and excited and YAY. I hope I actually get to go to the awards this year. I’ll be beyond bummed (and a little bit pissed) if I don’t. That’s MY baby too!
This just made my WEEK. Especially since Monday sucked (explanatory post forthcoming).
Still? The other of my projects we entered that I was really proud of, didn’t win. That thing was a BITCH to bring to completion and had all these fancy production techniques and it is probably the single project that I am most proud of pulling off, and it didn’t get squat. That, that project was like the crowning achievement of my life. Odds of it getting fucked up were like 80% because it was some crazy shit, and, as usual, I did not have the luxury of making mistakes, and lo! Everyone came through, I project managed the shit out of that job and wrote the most awesome production order in the history of production orders and I'm not even sure I'd be able to do it again, it was so fucking mind-blowingly complicated... and the judges totally just blew it off. Poo. Ah, well. Can’t win them all. Got one of ‘em, anyway.
Squee squee squee.
In fact, I'm so Squee-a-liscious that I'm making a brand new post tag for "Squee."
(And if you're all, what the fuck is an ADDY... it's an award for advertising/design... a not-too-shabby one at that!)
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Although as I type I am coming to find that I don't actually use my left thumb next to ever so I guess it's not really that big of a sacrifice. Putting down the ice cream, though? Yeah.
I generally don't go out on Sundays. Granted, I haven't really been going out on Fridays or Saturdays either, but especially not Sundays. Sundays, I
So. Allow me to elaborate.
I get a text from a friend while I'm buried under blankets and cat watching "When Harry Met Sally" and in the post-movie haze of "what should I do with myself now?" I vaguely recalled my phone making a fanfare-esque beep.
Long story short, my girls were out with the boy I mentioned the other day - the one I was supposed to meet that somehow wasn't terribly offended/scared off by my crazy. He passed approval with the chimester, being deemed, quote, 'frickin adorable and sweet' and apparently excited to meet me. Squee, right? Except I hadn't showered all
Then... I found out who ELSE was going to be there. This actually made me pause and weakened my resolve for a moment, and then, magically, I was like, fuck it. Because? He doesn't care. And if by some remote chance he did - well, maybe this would motivate him to stop being a dumbass. Besides, I had a cute boy to meet and I didn't have time to be concerned about something that didn't exist.
And really? It wasn't that bad. The mutual friend that tied the whole group together was, um, in good spirits, and chatted happily the whole time so it make the conversations that weren't happening, less apparent.
Then we ended up at a hookah bar, which is not someplace I'd ever imagined I'd end up. I'm really sensitive to smoke. The state smoking ban was probably the single greatest thing that the government has done for me so far in my entire life. I didn't try it; mostly out of my abhorrence to smoke, but also because the night before a client meeting is probably not the best time to get experimental, and also because I didn't know what I was doing and didn't want to look like a dumbass. (Which, really, is the main reason I do or avoid many things in life. To avoid looking stupid.) Either way, I still ended up with a smoke headache and an old familiar scent settled into my hair, but I'm still glad I went.
And that's pretty much the extent of it. Lame story? Yes. But it's still a baby step for me. I dunno. The fact that it wasn't nearly as horrible as I'd feared helped encourage me to maybe dip my toes in the water. Eventually, someday, I will be fearless, and will just dive right in. (To complete the swimming metaphor that I apparently started). As far as the new boy? Maybe I'll have to hit him up on the 'book to see if he wants to hang out. Or maybe I wasn't nearly as charming as I'd hoped, and he won't be interested. At least there is a forward momentum, now. Because I didn't chicken out or take the easy excuse and stay home. Sunday night was totally worth breaking curfew for.
Now, to digress a little to sort out some lingering feelings (sorry, sorry. This blog is my therapist so that's how I work shit out and I know we're all sick of this but whatever, it's not like I'm whining about it on YOUR blog, so humor me.) It is starting to become so very apparent how indifferent he is to my existence. Even as friends, I'm not really feelin' the love. Which is what leaves me frustrated, because supposedly we ARE friends, good enough friends in fact that he didn't want to mess it up by becoming romantically involved and then screwing that up (or so my sources said) - but, then, wtf? It's the most dysfunctional friendship I have, as far as my normal friendships go. I don't even know. I'd give up but I'm way too stubborn. I also think there's a part of me that will never fully give up the ghost, no matter what else transpires. It's been a year and change, long enough for things/feelings to sink in and make themselves at home. I've never had such a sustained interest in anyone, ever. It's hard to explain how it's different, but it is. And maybe it's all for nothing, and maybe (probably) it's not worth my time, but even so... it's there. Hard core. I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me. I suppose I could chalk it up to estrogen.
Seriously, though. I'm not usually like this, I'm usually very sensible and can tell when I'm in a no-win situation, and I don't pine excessively over the uninterested. I'm a smart girl. I'm also very picky. I probably could have had a million boyfriends over the course of time that I sat and waited for all this to go away. It didn't - and still doesn't - bother me that I'm just idly treading water. And I am an excellent observationalist, I've seen and vicariously been through enough outside relationships that it feels like I've been through more than I have. I don't know. I'm not making sense. Like usual.
But. I always told myself I would never be one of those girls who would wait around for a guy who clearly wasn't intersted. But you know what? I'm apparently a liar.
* * *
At the time of this posting: have not heard back from New Boy, though he did accept my friend request on facebook (oh, it's the little victories, right?). So, I don't know. He didn't really answer my casual, breezy message (anyone watch Friends? Monica: "Hey, it's me. I'm breezy!" "You can't SAY that you're breezy." MARIA I NEED YOU TO BACK ME UP ON THIS ONE. Anyway that's what I think of every time I send/leave a "nonchalant" message with a boy.) so either he didn't get it, doesn't care, or is doing that uber-annoying Wait X Amount of Days First. We'll see.
Also, oddly, Old Boy (I really, really need to think of better "code" names) seemed different towards me today... like, nicer. Like, more so. Like, I don't even know how to explain it. I'm probably WAY over-reading that (again, estrogen, blah blah) but if I were to make assumptions, or want to lengthen this blog post, I would wager it was because we've hung out a few more times and maybe we're starting to "be" friends again, OR he's relieved I probably have a different boy to obsess over, OR... yeah. My third theory is absurd and improbable (and mostly just wishful thinking) so I'm just going to leave it at that. Although I would just like to state that, for the record, as much as I've been yammering here, I have been completely good and not ever broached the subject with him again. For all he knows (or for all I know he knows), that rejection last summer was the end of it.
* * *
That concludes Storytime with Kelly for today, tune in next time for a hopefully less psychotic and probably more profanity-filled rant that I wrote shortly after emerging from spending fifteen minutes in the bathroom at work crying yesterday. Whee!
Monday, January 25, 2010
[I wish I wasn't so anal about only-one-per-day posts. But it fucks up the aesthetic of my layout if I do more than one so. yeah. Sorry.]
Hey are you ready for this? It's the follow up to the "Bad Romance" (RA-RA AH AH AH*) post, because things started rolling quickly and I would be the worst blogger ever if I didn't write about it rightaway. (as it is, I didn't post rightaway because other shit came up and I felt I had to edit them and in the process make a giant clusterfuck of rambly nonsense out of them, and so if you're still following this little dramasode, then you should probably win a prize). Basically, all of this is old news, because it's like a week or two old, but I'm posting anyway. Whatever. Let's begin.
I've found that a lot of things come easier when I write them out by hand. I've actually been writing a lot by hand, lately. Eventually they'll get typed but there is nothing quite the same as curling up with a pad of blank paper and just spilling thoughts. It's way better than staring at a screen, I dare anyone to argue that with me.
Anyhizzle, I drafted out what I was going to say to the Ambusher. I didn't particularly want to BE a bitch, even if that's what I felt like. Anyone who scrapes up the balls to confess their feelings to a member of the opposite sex (filled with arrogance, or no) deserves at least some sort of thought-out reply. And I finally pulled together the words to say no.
I've never dumped anyone. Let me just preface that. I'm not good with yanking the proverbial bandaid. I've always sensed the end of relationships before they happen, and I always ignore it. Then, inevitably, I get dumped. And I always curse myself for not doing it first.
That said, I've never really taken the time to craft a rejection. It's not the same as a breakup, sure... but, still. Big steps for me. I generally just like to ignore things until they go away. (Because, apparently, I take my cues from men.) (I did also apologize to another "victim" of this behavior, but I haven't really heard from him, which, you know. I don't blame him for. But I'm selfish and need to assuage my guilt anyhow.)*
And? It went over surprisingly well. He actually thanked me. For being honest. And such.
No hostility, no bitterness. No promises to give up, either, but, meh. I think "relieved" is the best word I can come up with.
*Upon initial writing of this, he did in fact respond, and it made me feel like a giant asshole. Because he HAD been kind of hurt by it. And that is what I was obsessing over the other day and I had to come to the conclusion that I was a wretched, wretched person and hot damn I am getting a lot of mileage out of that link but anyway after a few messages back and forth I think he forgave me and we are going to try to be friends and I am not going to be an antisocial bizzatch, but like I said the other day, it's not my fault, it's science's. Even so. I still felt like a jerk, but, you know, better about things. Mostly that he didn't hate me. Because he is super nice. And doesn't deserve a bitchcake like me.
I messaged my friend's friend that she wanted me to meet, right? He ACTUALLY responded back. Like, positively. Like, if she said we should meet, then he was all about it. I DIDN'T SCARE HIM AWAY. Now I'm kind of intrigued. And kind of suspicious. What guy in his right mind would have any interest in me after such an awkward introduction? Oh, yeah, right, I'm hot. I forgot. ;)
That's all I got for now....
I'm not entirely sure why things appear to be going so well. Possibly it's karma's way of apologizing for dragging me through the mud for a year+ with a tortured, unrequited obsession. That would be nice, right? Highly unlikely. This little burst of activity is kind of unsettling. But, we shall see, we shall see.
And hopefully all future updates will be ever-so-slighly more coherent.
*ohmygod, I'm sorry, guys. This song is like an infectious disease.
Friday, January 22, 2010
I don't understand what the hell people are saying anymore.
It's really, really not a surprise that I'm very particular about the usage of the English language. I've been pretty much obsessed with it since sixth grade onwards, and I've come to appreciate it like some might appreciate a fine wine or a piece of art in a gallery.
Watching it deteriorate before my eyes among the masses... well. It makes me really sad. And sometimes it makes me concerned that I will have an aneurysm.
I don't even know where to start. There's the obvious problem of people mixing around homonyms. There are the basic ones - they're/their/there, are/our, your/you're, two/to/too, then/than, etc etc. Seriously? You look like a fucking moron when you use the wrong one. I am willing to be more forgiving of the difficult ones like affect/effect and who/whom (I'm not sure even I always get that one right)... but seriously? I could pick out the right usage of a lot of these since I was old enough to write. I remember one day in kindergarten (Kindergarten! I was five!) when we were doing some project or another and one of my classmates wrote "form" instead of "from". And I mentally JUDGED THEM. I was five years old and I was like, "man, that kid is stupid, he/she totally just used the entirely wrong word. God, learn to spell."
I didn't have a lot of friends when I was little.
But it's more than that. It's just a general I-don't-give-a-fuck mentality about the integrity of the language. If it's your second language, then by all means, there's a learning curve. English is a messed up language, I am not going to argue that. I'm not even sure I could teach it properly, it's so messed up. It's one of those things I just kind of inherently knew and learned, growing up smack dab in the middle of a (formerly) predominantly English-speaking country.* I realize not everyone loves it and wants to snuggle with it the way I do, but for the people that grew up with English as a first language? You really have no excuse.
*My two cents on people who are all "Learn English or get the fuck out"? They're kind of assholes. The whole point of this damn country was that it is a melting pot on purpose. I will bet you a million dollars your ancestors didn't speak English when they got here. Unless you happen to be of British descent. Which, I doubt. We're all mutts here, pretty much. Also, frequently, it strikes me as being more than just a little racist.
And I realize there are other factors. Not everyone gets a top-notch Iowa public school education. (Wow, with a straight face and everything). Not everyone gives a shit. Still? You sound like a goddamn idiot when you say things like "I ain't seen nothing" or whatever. I can't even come up with other examples. It makes my brain hurt.
And then, there is the Internet. Oh, the Internet. I love you dearly. But you are killing - KILLING - my beloved language.
I'm all for slang and memes and, yes, I love me a good "LOLCat" as much as the next person. But there is a difference between butchering the language on purpose to make it entertaining, and to generally not know that you sound dumber than a third grader.
Also? Sentences comprised mostly of numbers and capital-lettered abbreviations? Make me want to hurl. "U" and "UR" are horrid, "2" is not generally an adequate substitute for "too," and God help you when you start leaving out vowels to start condensing words. Is it THAT MUCH WORK to say "text" instead of "txt"???? It's ONE FUCKING LETTER.
As previously established, I love Twitter. Love love love. And I understand that with the character limit, sometimes you have to abbreviate to squish everything in. But if every other word is shorthand, maybe it's not an appropriate Twitter message, because it is clearly too long. Also? You still look like an idiot.
One of the senators of this great state, who shall remain nameless at this point because I don't want to get in trouble with the government (they're clearly reading this), is perhaps the very best example of how not to communicate. Holy dear Jesus, I could not decipher half the shit he tweeted. And yet, I couldn't unfollow - it was like watching a train wreck. The concept of vowels and complete words and sentence structure was so completely lost upon him. I don't even think he used real words. I... I don't even know. I remember when they used to tout Iowa schools as being awesome - clearly, there is some discrepancy there.
But my whole point is circling back to the fact that not only is it a common trend to massacre the language anyway, but EVERY. FUCKING. WORD. is being chopped down into an unintelligible shorthand version of its former self. "Ridic" and "obvs" and "whatevs" and "totes" (I swear to God I had to look that up on the Internet to see what the fuck it was supposed to be. "Totally," in case you were wondering.) and those are just the ones I can think of offhand. People don't know how to talk anymore. That, or they don't care that they sound like an idiot.
I will sometimes use slang, yes. I'm still only 25 and I do hang out on the Internet a lot and sometimes it's just funny. But you know what? A little part of my soul dies whenever I have to use "u" or when I read something on the Internet by somebody who apparently genuinely thinks that they are making sense.
I weep for the future.
And if you are offended by this? It probably means you use this messed up incantation of English, or that you are a teenage girl. Either way? I don't feel sorry for you. You have to know that you sound like a dumbass.
Because you do.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other things to attend to, and I'm going to go stash this soapbox for future use.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
I mention this because one of my really good friends mentioned it to me and I felt guilty. And then I felt defensive. And guilty again. But then I remembered why I was doing and saying the things that I was doing and saying, and I want to explain myself.
Because? Cancer is huge too. Cancer is more real to me. Cancer, I can wrap my head around. Cancer is what killed my grandfather when I was thirteen. The grandfather who never got to see me graduate high school, or college. Who will never see me get married (if it happens) or any kids I might have (IF it happens). Who only knew me as a bratty kid who fought with my sister all the time. I never got a chance to appreciate him like I could as an adult, the way I appreciate my other grandparents now.
To me? Cancer is more tangible, more immediate. In whatever form it takes.
I'm not saying it's more important, or even that it's more important to me. It is what it is.
My other point was to emphasize how caring and generous people can be for someone they barely know. How people can band together and do something good. Even if it seems small, it's huge. I was really moved by how a group of complete strangers would work together to do something for someone else. Someone who needed them, their support, their help. And you know? It kind of restored my faith in people, a bit.
And it's not just about one guy. One guy, one girl, one situation. The fund I mentioned and linked to is for the research fund for the disease as a whole. Sure, it was motivated by the desire to bring hope to a specific couple - but it's so much bigger than that.
So maybe I think small. I do a walk for breast cancer. I donated a few dollars to MM research. I'm just doing my itty bitty part to help the world.
So, lest you think I'm being an insensitive bitch... I'm not. I am just focusing on what my brain can handle and trying to show something positive in this great big world of suck.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Where to start?
Hell, I don't even know.
Let's start with an update.
As noted the other day, I have, apparently, been spending too much time inside the male psyche, because I can blow off guys and not think twice about it and not care. Which is kind of awesome, until my estrogen kicks in and calls me a bitch and makes me feel guilty. So. There is one guy I definitely owe an apology to. And I'm a chicken shit and will probably send a message because I hate confrontation and I hate talking on the phone and on the off chance he is sitting around thinking stabby thoughts about me, well, I'm going to keep a safe distance. Because, well, I was a bitch. A bitch by default, really, because I pulled a marvelous disappearing act and was gone, with very few words. Sure, in my head, there were lots of words, as I was trying to figure shit out and make sense of things and find a nice way to say, "you're nice but there's no butterflies and I am still holding out for those elusive goddamn butterflies" and so instead I said nothing at all and then it was really too late. But, I don't think it's too late to apologize. Right? It's never too late for that.
The other dude? Well. He is entitled to a very unambiguous rejection. Which I've been stalling on. Because I don't want to deal with it and I don't really know what to say. Which, you know. You'd think would be a red flag. When she ignores your lovespeech for two months. Hey, buddy, she's just not that into you. But, no. I'm still getting the occasional facebook message which leads me to believe that my silence is ineffective. So I'm going to have to woman up and just crush this poor lad's hopes. I feel less bad about this one, because I never went out with him, never gave an inkling of interest beyond that of being friends, and then whaBAM, ambush at the bar, awkward, awkward come-ons, and admirable restraint in not fleeing out the back door. (Believe me, I thought about it.) (it. was. AWK.WARD.)
Whatever. It's not like it hasn't happened to me a million times. I am generally the rejectee, not the rejecter. You'd think I could manage to pull it off with some semblance of grace and a vague idea of what is asshole-like behavior (you'd think). I mean, if I wanted to, I could issue a rejection using no original thought whatsoever and just piece together something using the various thanks-but-no-thanks spiels I've gotten over the years. (I am a horrible, horrible person.)
And speaking of rejections... we won't even get into the fact that I'm still smitten over the guy that so very obviously wants nothing to do with me. Because that would just make me sad and pathetic and we all already know this without it having to be reiterated, AGAIN. I kind of just want to dropkick myself for being such a fucking moron. Never thought I'd be one of Those Girls, but, here we are. And I'd almost be willing to cut myself some slack because I am doing Much Better and stating to finally finally let it go... but the face that my breath still catches when I talk to him and I can't get my heart to slow down or that barely-distinguishable hot, blushy phenomenon to go away... yeah. Really, we're getting nowhere. At least my head's in the right place. I am just waiting for the rest of myself to get caught up. Someday, right? Let's hope. I'm getting kind of bored with this whole unrequited-pining situation.
Let's move on to something new.
One of my friends had this guy that she wanted me to meet. Ostensibly because I was one of the only single female friends she had left and what with her and everyone else acquiring new boy toys, it was the charitable thing to do. That or a lightbulb went off in her head and she was all OMG PERFECT. (The last few times I've tried to play matchmaker, it initially went well. And ended up with said male speciment cornering me over beer and declaring us to be meant to be together. Even though we have little in common and after any extended period of time together I would probably have to stab him. See: previous paragraphs) Either way, it was a friend of her ex and so she was really not in a position to facilitate a meet up. So she's been pestering me for months to drop him a message on facebook, or something. I've been stalling. I've also been preoccupied (see: previous blog posts). But on Friday I was bored and feeling adventurous, so I stalked him on the 'book and send probably the most awkward and incoherent cracked-out message ever (basically, a normal Kellyesque message). Which, you know. If he scares easy then he's probably not the best match for me anyway. I am 99% certain I will never hear back from him. But, at least I "tried," right? Just kidding, I'm socially retarded and I should not be allowed to interact with males that I don't already know.
Now, let's briefly move on to my mother.
Seriously, guys. If you haven't heard the FULL story... goddamn. But, I'm not going to blog it because someday it's going to be the feature essay in my memoirs so I need to, you know, actually write it, for one, but secondly, this plan only works if I can somehow make money off of it. Because that is the American way, is it not? Profit of the pain, bitches.
Her ex is WRITING her LETTERS from prison. And she is FALLING for it.
So, yeah. Tune in next time for another exciting installment of "wow, I'm glad I'm not her."
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Anyway. Someone on Twitter linked yesterday to this MSN article about how January 18th is considered to be the most depressing day of the year. (I'm not entirely certain that is accurate; February 14th, I'm looking at you.) Some combination of winter blahs and post-holiday fuck-alls. The whole article is here but I would just like to point out that I am incredibly, freakishly by the book on this one.
Also, that I apparently have an excuse for my behavior. Because in addition to my *regular* depression, I get to be sidled with *winter depression* - 2 for the price of 1! whee! I told you I was thrifty.
Says Michael Terman, Ph.D., director of the Center for Light Treatment and Biological Rhythms at Columbia University Medical Center, “Most people with winter depression feel fatigued during the day, have difficulty getting out of bed in time for work, and start snacking—or even gobbling—carbohydrates. But that can also happen with nonseasonal depression. Seasonal or not, we usually see reduced work performance and concentration, reluctance to engage socially or sexually, underlying anxiety, not to mention despair.”
So, let's recap.
Fatigued during the day? Check.
Difficulty getting out of bed in time for work? Daily. Check.
Carbs? Well, that's a year round fixation, but sure. Check.
Reduced concentration? Check.
Reduced performance? Eh, not really. I slip a little bit, sure, but there's less work to DO right now, so... maybe we're even??
Relunctance to engage socially/sexually? Well, there's really not so much sexual action to engage in currently, so we'll call that null. But otherwise, antisocial tendencies are at an extreme high right now.
Underlying anxiety & despair? Check check.
Let us continue.
He adds, “Some people with depression—whether seasonal or nonseasonal—experience insomnia, reduced appetite, and agitation more than lethargy. All taken together, it's not so much the symptoms that differ but rather the timing. In one sardonic sense, you're 'lucky' if you have seasonal rather than nonseasonal depression, because you can be confident about when you'll feel better!”
Insomnia? Fucking check.
Reduced appetite? HAHA. Nope. 1 point for me.
Agitation? Checky check check.
Also, fuck you Mr. Dr. Terman whatever the fuck your name is. There is nothing LUCKY about any of this. Because while the Seasonal Depression goes away, I'm still fucking left with everything else. And even if you only have Seasonal Depression, it still blows the big one. Douche.
I will give him this:
“The symptom picture is the same,” says Terman, “But the effects are not so debilitating. You may prefer not to socialize, but you go through with it when it's called for. You push harder to get work done, but you do it.”
Yeah. You still pick yourself up and do your shit anyway. But you know what? You do that with regular/nonseasonal depression too. Because you have to.
Except when you pile seasonal on top of nonseasonal, it is kind of fucking debilitating. Because then you never fucking want to get out of bed and you don't give a shit if you don't shower all weekend because you don't leave your goddamn apartment.
(I totally shower, guys. Come back!)
Anyway. I don't really have much left to rant about because my entire point is that I'm fucked and for once I am completely and totally a textbook definition case of... something. Also: fuck you, winter.
(Also, I'm not ranting further because my eloquence has devolved to only using the word "fuck" over and over, so, you know. Not really helping.)
But anyway, there you have it. That is why I am more messed up than usual right now. Scientific FACT.
Monday, January 18, 2010
The weekend, by the way, was nothing to be excited about. I slept a lot per usual with the major difference being, I was sleeping because I was bored, not because omg I don't want to do anything else. So, we're making progress.
I did, however, do something very awesome on Saturday. Are you ready for this? I learned the motherfucking Thriller dance. This is a pinnacle of achievement in my adult life and it is the single greatest thing I've done with myself in recent memory. It's not perfect, yet, and I have no video documentation, YET, but come February at our throwback prom you better fucking believe that shit is getting video'd. There will be A PERFORMANCE. And I am fucking psyched. And then I can cross it off my list but I can't do it until I have the video because then it doesn't count. Well, maybe it counts. But it's a boring blog post if all I say is "yep, I did it." There must be video.
After that, well, it was all kind of downhill from there. I took a nap and a shower and hung a couple shelves (which, I might add, involved the use of power tools, unsupervised, and I didn't lose an eye, so, you know. Bonus points.) and then watched a movie and stayed up til midnight and then made muffins (yeah, I don't know) and then slept a lot on Sunday and was a complete bum and I really need to do laundry soon and all in all it was a pretty typical weekend.
Then this morning, which brings our post back full-circle to why today fucking sucks, besides the fact that it is Monday, which, I might add, I was actually looking forward to because it is something to do and I was getting a tad stir-crazy in my apartment. I get up, I go to work, and wha-BAM, angry client. I'm pretty sure this client is perpetually angry but I don't like it when she makes me feel like an incompetent idiot. Generally speaking, I am really fucking good at my job. But, it doesn't matter how many things I do awesome or how many clients I make happy or all the things I do right... all it takes is one person pointing out the things that DON'T go right to make me feel like a complete and abject failure. And some people just know how to drive it in to make you feel really horrible. (Hint? Putting an email in a large font in red type is a good way to be obnoxious. Especially if you're resending an email and highlighting the part which your recipient already knows they fucked up on. But, thanks.) Misery. Woe. Self-doubt and all of that. Fucking super.
Anyway. I have chosen to drown my sorrows in a nice cup of pumpkin-spice chai latte, and so all will be well again, eventually, probably. Also because I wandered away from this and totally lost my train of thought. So, I guess we're done now.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Which got me to thinking (insert joke here). I'm very much a girly girl when it comes to the dating game, and committed probably all of the stereotypical female dating sins and eye-rolling behaviors and obsessiveness... but I've appeared to have picked up some tricks from some of the Formers (Note: using the phrase "ex" wouldn't be entirely correct here, because I did not officially date all of them. But, their existence should at least be acknowledged as well.) I've learned how to be an asshole.
Some days, this is an appealing thought. Go around, stomping on innocent victims, leaving a trail of broken hearts in my wake. Pull all of the same shit that guys do - karmic retribution on behalf of all the girls everywhere that have suffered through that bullshit behavior. (To be fair, not all guys are assholes. And a lot of girls are bitches.) To just do what I please and not care. Ah, fabulous.
Except for the fact that I am a nice person (as well as being rather estrogen-laden), and I have this pain in the ass conscience that gets in the way. I don't fuck people over, not because I couldn't, but because I'd feel bad.
Because sometimes? It'd be easy. And other times? I don't even realize I'm doing it.
I will concede that I am a bit of a hopeless romantic. I will also admit that after being single this long, I've gotten a bit selfish.
I do things for myself, that are in my best interest, because that is what I am used to. So maybe I'm involuntarily treating guys like shit. Some of them probably deserve it. Most of them probably don't.
If I catch myself doing this sort of negative stereotypical male behavior, I usually attempt to correct it. And sometimes? That involves an apology. Which I am finally adult enough to make, instead of just disappearing altogether and avoiding the situation. Usually.
Sometimes, though? I wonder what it would be like to play that part, to play the game like a man. To be the savvy, sexy bad girl that breaks the boys because she can. To beat them at their own game. To go into it to get out of it only what she wants, and only letting emotions get involved when she chooses, if at all.
I'd almost venture a guess that if it weren't for that pesky guilt, it would feel pretty damn close to victory.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
I found myself lying in bed the other night, staring at the ceiling, listening to the trains and pretending it wasn't 2 in the morning. Thoroughly tossed and turned, blankets askew, the picture of a sleep-aid ad. Except I lacked the means to an "after" picture.
Or did I? Secret weapon, more magical little anti-anxiety pills. The ones I save for special occasions. So I can calm the fuck down and chill the fuck out. And sleep.
I'm down to 9 pills left. The bottle has lasted me just over two years. I don't have anyone to write out a new prescription. Shit, the doctor that wrote it was a specialist I went to see about my stomach issues. Anyone will write you a script these days. All you really have to do is ask.
I just don't want to go find a new doctor and explain all over again why I'm fucked up. I'm dealing with it. Just sign that slip of paper and I'll be all right.
But I digress.
I need to fix some shit again. I need to manage my life better. I need to not waste it in front of a computer. I need to set limits. Take a break to hang something on the wall. Unpack a box (shut up.) Toss some clothes into a pile to donate. Read a book. Do something more meaningful than hitting the refresh button on Twitter, waiting for the world to entertain me.
I feel like this particular spell is starting to wear off. The tunnel exit has been sighted. As usual, I just had to push through it. The dark never lasts forever, it just sucks when you are stuck and fumbling for a switch.
[Edit - even when medicated, I had problems sleeping last night. I apparently can't win. Say it with me: SIGH.]
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
So if you're out there, say hello.
We will return to our regularly scheduled "Kelly is a rambling idiot" posts probably tomorrow.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Sometimes, it sneaks up on me, and it's only after a length of time that I realize I'm not myself. Except maybe this is me, and the functioning part of myself is the facade, the mask.
It's an existential identity crisis that I don't usually bother to examine too closely. I don't really think I'll like what I find.
It feels something akin to realizing I've been playing a part, an act. And when the depressive spells sink in, it becomes a routine that I don't want to play anymore. The hairspray and bright lights and adoring fans all fade into a surreal memory, and is replaced by a weekend of lying in bed, hiding in the blankets, debating what the point even is of getting up.
On some level, it is society's mandates that actually save me from myself. I get up, I clean myself up, I groom, I apply makeup. The public awaits, and it is only allowed to see the me that is worth showing. The sweatpants are checked at the door. And for a while, the apathy is too.
It's all a temporary reprieve. Because left in the solitude of night, the demons come out to play. And the little white pills can only hold them off for so long.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Ok, no, that's actually initially a lot of why I hate it. It invaded both Twitter and Facebook with a stream of updates. "I'm at such and such [insert address here]" "I'm mayor(?!) of such and such" blah blah blah.
It wasn't that bad until our area got opened up. It had just been one or two random stragglers on my Twitter feed and I was prepared to ignore it. But then the floodgates opened and now I want to stab someone with a spoon.
I don't really care where you are. To a degree, sure. But tweet about it the old-fashioned way, and make it interesting. "I'm at the post office and HOLY SHIT SOMEONE IS TRYING TO MAIL A LLAMA!" I dunno. Some commentary beyond "I am here" is all I'm really asking for. Put some effort into it, at least.
Automated tweets = epitome of annoying.
But then! I thought about it some more. And really? It's a safety issue. You're just asking for trouble. Especially if you're a young, single gal like myself. I don't really need to announce my whereabouts to the potential lurkers and creepers and rapists out there.
Sure, you can make a reasonable assumption that, during the day, I'm at work. But I don't need to shout out the geographic location to those who don't already know. And I may mention where I went for lunch - or maybe when I'm out shopping - but a lot of times, I wait until I leave. I'm not stupid. I know what makes me vulnerable.
I know that a lot of my personal information is out on the Internet. I put most of it there myself. But that doesn't mean I'm not at least attempting to be smart about it.
So, friends, whatever benefits this Foursquare biznass might provide? Don't expect me to get involved. Also, if you come visit me and "check in" and broadcast my address to the world? We're not friends anymore. Because that kind of crosses the line and disrespects MY choice for personal safety. Do what you will, just respect my privacy, mmkay?
Now, off with you. I'll be watching your every move. Completely, totally, unabashedly UNINTENTIONALLY.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
What happened to my life? I used to go out on weekends. I used to shower and pretty up and, while never sluttified, was at least somewhat cute, and went out to bars with my girls and drank alcoholic beverages of whatever form seemed most appealing on any given night, come home, and sleep it off. Lather, rinse, repeat for Saturday.
Now? I stay at home in my sweatpants with my cat and consider it a successful weekend if I (a) shower or (b) have contact with another human being.
When the hell did I get so old and boring? I mean, shit. It would be one thing if I was at least in some sort of relationshippy place and stayed in to cuddle or watch movies or what have you, but I don't. I have no reason to be staying in. Other than sheer laziness and/or social apathy.
And you know? Twenty five is NOT OLD. I am pretty much doomed, I think. I may as well collect a few more dozen cats and resign myself to my fate.
Please send help.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
It appears as though the next thing that will get crossed off is learning the Thriller dance. I am so fucking excited. I can only hope and pray that there will be video.
Hells to the yes.
Happy weekend, bloglets.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Your nature is both dramatic and romantic.
And my boss* was the one who was all, "don't forget to add the 'in bed' to the end!" and I was all "awkward" but it was hilarious especially because we went around the table and everyone's fortune was rather smutty if you added that.
*this is funnier if you know my boss. She is very sweet and quiet and proper. Not loud and crass like I am.
And then we came back and my stomach got pissed at me, like it does, and so later on I felt normal again and then I ate some ice cream. So far I am still alive.
(I have a very sensitive stomach.)
So, you know. TGIF and all that.
No plans but to hang out with the girls this weekend, weather permitting. We are long overdue.
I might work on designing some stuff - I cranked out some mediocre posters for said birthday celebration and I was nervous about sending them on but everyone thought they were great and really I have always hated everything I've done but the fact that it's been almost 3 years since I could legitimately call myself a graphic designer, I am super self conscious. I have some "freelance" to do but the motivation is a big sagging since, you know, I'm not getting paid for any of these things. I don't value my work enough to charge friends and family and that's why I'm a failure. Or something.
Anyway. Nice relaxing Friday afternoon. Half hour to go and then I'm out the door. Into the fucking cold-ass snow. Then home. Where it's cold everywhere but in my bedroom.
But, you know. Other than that? Everything's grand.
And according to my fortune cookie, I am quite a catch. Take note, boys.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
But, no. They made me leave at 3 like everyone else. Even though I live like four blocks away and it really wasn't that bad driving home at all.
(Yes, I am quite possibly the only person who complains about going home from work early.)
On the flipside... if you're not following me on Twitter, you are perhaps unaware of our grand tradition of naming winter storms. Our web designers (affectionately known as the "Dot Pod") started this last winter and this year it is still going strong. People are even asking me what the new names are. I had to actually nudge them to name the second one. The phenomenon, it is spreading.
The first one was Winter Storm Keith Murphy, the next was Winter Storm Cloris Leachman, and right now we are in the midst of Winter Storm Terence Trent D'arby. You can follow our current hashtag trend here (apparently old ones don't show up in Twitter searches, sorry). Feel free to play along!
Anyway. I'm going to drink some hot chocolate and possibly take a nap. Cause I really don't know what else to do with myself today.
Anywho. I need to write about something, anything else. For you and for me.
I really don't have much. It's supposedly snowing again, but I can't see out any windows from my new desk (all I have is a weird marbly window where I can gauge the degree of lightness from outside, but that's about it. So, basically I can tell if it's sunny, cloudy, or night) so I haven't confirmed it yet. Strangely, I am not terribly perturbed by this, even though I Hate Snow. Possibly because I don't really have to go anywhere. Except Target. But a little bit of snow isn't going to stop me. I need to put gas in my car too. It's kind of the rule that in these parts, you keep at least half a tank full. I am horrible at this. I'm down to 1/8 of a tank. I know, I know. I fail.
Also, I had a Pampered Chef show last night. Free stuff, bitches! I'm kind of excited. (Ok, I'm always excited about free stuff. To be fair.) I don't really enjoy haranguing people I know to buy stuff, but, well, sometimes my greed wins and I do it anyway.
Also, I am seriously, seriously contemplating becoming a consultant. Which I know is terribly obnoxious and perhaps lame. But, my friends, here are my thoughts. I am in dire need of some extra income. Dire. And with the workaholic hours that I put into my full-time job, I am not terribly available to work a traditional part-time job. I don't want to sacrifice every available evening and weekend. Because I tried that, once, and I worked a 28-day stretch and then almost died. Just kidding. But I was really worn out.
But - with P-Chef, I can pretty much set my own hours. And if I do a couple shows a month, that's an extra $200-300 for me, approximately. And my current consultant (who would be my "boss" so to speak) absolutely loves it and raves about it and makes it seem fun - you get money for hanging out with other ladies and eating food. And it's a good product. I am absurdly in love with my P-Chef products. So, the enthusiasm and brand loyalty is there. Plus last year I went to a show my sister was hosting and her consultant was horrible. I knew more about the products than she did. (After a while I realized she was starting to ask me questions and then I realized I'd been talking too much so I was embarrassed and shut up.) Granted, yes, she was new to it. But I had no training or anything, and I was already ahead of her. And then I went home and emailed my consultant and was like, "Ok, I'm ready to start thinking about this seriously now." Because if she [the bad consultant] could do it, I could do it. Right? Right.
I am still dragging my feet. Because I'm hesitant and scared for some reason. EVEN THOUGH there is a rebate thinger for January and I can use part of my free product value to buy the new consultant kit and so basically if I do like 2,3, maybe 4 shows in my first 30 days... I can pretty much skate through without having paid much of anything at all. And then if I hate it, I can quit. And if I don't hate it? Cash moneys, baby.
I don't know. What do you guys think? We all know I am incapable of making decisions.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
It's been kind of a gradual blah that I didn't even really notice it creeping in. I noticed the uneven-ness from this past fall when I had a hiccup with getting my prescriptions renewed in a timely manner and I went about four days without any and managed to have a small, neatly-contained, and yet no-less-unpleasant anxiety attack in the middle of the day at work. It's been such a long time since I've had any sort of such reactions that I didn't even know what was going on, other than that I was panicky and shaky and couldn't breathe and just had an immediate desire to run outside, away from everyone, and then possibly curl into the fetal position. I calmed down after about twenty minutes of focused effort on doing so, but... yeah. Being back to being consistently medicated = good. It's been so long since I haven't been on any sort of crazy pill that I honestly don't know what would happen if I stopped. I remember when I graduated to the grown-up antidepressents from the pissy weak ones that I'd been on since ehhhhhh I don't know, eighth grade maybe, and suddenly I felt a hell of a lot better. And then two years ago (has it been that long? yeesh) I got switched to a generic Rx, which, by whatever stroke of luck, costs me $4 per month AND actually works better than the fancypants name brand stuff I was on before.
I don't really know why I'm going on about this. Quite frankly, I don't want to rehash the whole thing nor do I want to run around going I HAVE PROOF THAT I'M CRAZY and such... It's just... bah. I don't know. I got stuck with a bad set of genes that traces Teh Crazy back through I don't even know how many generations. (If you were to guess that this is on my mother's side, you would most certainly be correct.) However... I know I'm not the only messed up one out there... and I am fairly certain that almost everyone I know has taken the medication route at least once... I'm also fairly certain that a lot of people believe it to be a magical cure-all for any given low point in their life. It kind of annoys me when people just decide to hop on the magic pills when they don't really need it. I'm not any sort of shrink, obviously, but it was actually a route I considered (and then decided against staying in school for another million
I don't know where I was going with this. (Like usual). Basically? If I know you in real life already, none of this should be any sort of new revelation. Probably. I sorta suck at actually talking about this. WHICH is why I've been blogging for the past however many years. It has to go somewhere. I can't really afford a therapist nor do I really want to even try because we all know how hard it is for me to talk about my feelings. I can write about them until my hands fall off but when it comes to verbalizing them? uh-uh. That, and I tried going when I was at ISU cause it was free and all, and it was utterly the most un-helpful thing I could have done. I suppose it was better than nothing, at the time, but I don't think unceremoniously dumping me into group sessions when I don't like talking to one stranger let alone a roomful, was necessarily the wisest choice on their end. But the Internet? The wonderful, vast, mysterious abyss of the Internet, where even if you are talking to yourself, there is a chance that someone out there will see it, and maybe relate? That was the very best option I could ever have wanted.
Here's the other thing - which probably spawned this post moreso than the fact that earlier I found myself lying on my couch staring at the ceiling and deciding that something was off... in a very peculiar emotionless sort of way... Since I've starting wandering around the Internet more lately and reading other people's blogs and finding more people whose voice sometimes echoes my own (only usually more eloquently) - I've found a lot of people have similar, well, issues. I'm not the only one, I'm not a stray freakshow with uneven chemical levels in my brains that make me unhappy. I'm not the only one that struggles with this sort of shit on a daily basis. Except lately, because I haven't been struggling, because I haven't been noticing, because for whatever reason, a lot of the feeling-parts of my brain have decided to take a vacation. Which? Is kind of okay by me. I would rather have the no-feeling safe haven of being a tad bit numb, than the wretched soul ache that used to make me lay in bed and just wish the sky would fall down on my head so I didn't have to force my way through another day just like the one before.
So, even if you have no idea what I am talking about (which, honestly, for your sake, I hope you don't)... Right now, I feel better about the fact that I'm not "normal" - because I am not alone. That, and I have this little space of my very own to say what I probably otherwise couldn't, in regular human interaction. I'm actually very contented with where I am. And I'm sorry if I've weirded any of my real-life friends out, because I never really talk about this stuff, ever. Also, I'm sorry that none of this really made any sense at all. Buuuuut to be fair, y'all should be used to at least that much by now. ;)
[Also], now that I wrote all this up and let it sit for two days in which case I've wavered back and forth about fifty times about actually letting it post.... Gack. I am obsessing and it is making me sick and sad and so I have to add on to this post and make it even longer because it NEEDS to get OUT of my head. Anywho: so I had my monthly catch-up one-on-one with my supervisor today and we talked about the usual stuff and then she was all, you've kind of been calling in a lot/coming in late a lot (I never call in for a full sick day hardly ever, it just takes me extra time some mornings to not be dizzy/ill/messed up), and I was making up my time and doing my work and everything, but she was worried and some of my other coworkers were worried and I'm like Fuck. My. Life., now it's obvious that I'm fucked up, and I was all ashamed and embarrassed and awkward and I hate it when I let this shit actually get to me. I always prided myself on being stronger than the bad shit in my head. But sometimes, I let my guard down, and it kicks my ass. How do you explain that? I stammered a bit and felt really stupid and then obsessed about it all evening and finally I sent her an email just now trying to explain what the hell my problem is. I hope she understands. If she doesn't, well, I'll probably just sound weird and crazy and extremely neurotic. But, really? I went 4 days without my meds and had a fucking anxiety attack at work and then pretended everything was okay. Everything was NOT okay. I hate that I ignore it. I hate that I ignore it so much it builds up and then interferes with my life. It makes me want to cry because I love my job and what I do and if my fucked-up-ness fucks it up for me, then, I don't even know. I don't know how to fix it, either, other than to just pull my shit together, suck it up, and work through it like a big girl. This needs to stop. All of it, needs to stop.
Anywho. Enough of this. Next time I post I promise it will be something stupid and fun. (Possibly stupid or fun, but ideally, both.)
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Can we pretend I posted this at the beginning of the year like I meant to, instead of putting it off til now? Good.
It's not even that it's such a long time span. I have a good memory. I can tell you things from when I was three. But, quite simply, the last ten years are probably the most significant ten years I will ever have in my life. To do them justice would take more space than Blogger would probably allow, and my blog posts are generally long enough as it is.
But, I will summarize for you, lest you think I am being a fun-hater.
I was in high school when the decade began. Sixteen. I got my driver's license. I graduated high school. I went to college with a vague idea of what I wanted to be when I grew up. I worked hard, I succeeded. I learned things and was spat out four years later with a piece of paper saying I was thoroughly educated. I met the best friends I've ever had. I found myself, lost myself, and found myself again. I turned 21, and learned to love girly cockstails. Years later, I learned to appreciate (or at least drink) beer. I got my first cell phone. I got my first computer. I got my first car. I lost one of my best friends in a car accident. I learned to take life more seriously. I got my first apartment. Facebook. Twitter. Google. Blogging. "Social media" and widespread connectivity to everyone I've ever even said hello to. I got a job. Then I got a grownup job. I met more awesome people. I voted for the first time. I learned to budget. I started paying bills. I got my heart broken, or at least I thought I did. I gained weight, I learned to hate my body. I learned to not care. I learned that magazines lie and life never happens like in the movies. Digital cameras. Text messaging. Better, more advanced cell phones. I got closer to my family. I moved away from my hometown. I learned how to do things like check my oil and put air in my tires. I got a cat. I got a credit card. Student loans. Hatred of money. I learned to focus on what was important.
In short? I grew up.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Anyway. I got a Tumblr and it's serving quite nicely as a little storage hole for my random little oddities that don't really warrant a full blog post. Although to be fair, I could probably use some shorter posts here. I dunno. I'm not sure what Tumblr reminds me of or why I like it so much but it feels like it fills a niche I didn't know I was missing.
The only thing I don't like is the inability to leave comments. I
Another noticeable difference is that I was actually able to NAME that one. You will notice that this blog STILL does not have a proper name. I can't remember when I started it but I am reasonably certain it was either 2007 or 2008 and now it's 2010 and it's still a bracketed nameless-name. Kind of like how I named my cat "Kitty" except I am probably going to keep that and I am just amused at how ironic it kind of is that someone such as myself who was supposed to be such a creative personality can't come up with, well, clever names for things.
Such is the way it goes.
In the event that you don't care to add another kellysite to your rotation, I shall share with you some of my recent Tumbles. And, yes, I really am that narcissistic that I need to have my thoughts lodged in TWO different spaces on the Internets. This should not be surprising.
Anyway. Here are some mini-posts, if you will. For your enjoyment. "Enjoyment" to be open to interpretation, of course.
1/3/10 - I'm going to eat as much as I can before my NY Resolutions take effect
These extended weekends back-to-back are killing me. I have been very indulgent in my laziness and pretty soon I’m going to have to be Focused Responsible Adult again.
Tomorrow is the first Monday back to work in the New Year. For some reason… it doesn’t feel like the new year officially starts until tomorrow. This weekend is just a collection of bonus days.
Tomorrow? Shit gets real. It’s 2010, bitches!
1/2/10 - Allow Me to Settle This.
It seems that everyone STILL has their panties in a twist about whether 2010 is technically the start of a new decade.
I have decided to end this problem once and for all by weighing in with my two cents. Because I am always right and then we can please talk about something else. Like how it is fucking freezing cold outside and why the hell did I choose to stay in Iowa.
Anywho. My logic goes like this:
1980 is considered part of the 80’s. 1990 is considered part of the 90’s. 2000 is considered part of the whatever the hell we decided to call that decade.
Thus, as logic would dictate, 2010 is part of whatever the hell we are going to call this next decade.
Words and Phrases I have made up: (so far)(this will likely be a recurring theme)
spinster pad [think, bachelor pad, but for me]
Remember how I wasn't going to try to do any sort of music/movie/book wrap of 2009 because there was so much of it?
Yeah. I will confess my guilty pleasure of 2009. Besides the fact that I have seen the Twilight movie. more than once. (DON'T JUDGE ME! PEER PRESSURE! MORBID CURIOSITY! HILARIOUS ANGST! Oh, hell. I don't even know. Can we still be friends?).
Specifically? I think my favorite song of 2009 was "Paparazzi" - don't judge me. IT'S CATCHY DAMMIT.
I’m your biggest fan, I’ll follow you until you love me
Baby there’s no other superstar, you know that I’ll be
Promise I’ll be kind
But I won’t stop until that boy is mine
Baby you’ll be famous, chase you down until you love me
Also, I learned that GPOYW means "Gratuitous Picture of Yourself Wednesday" which means I might totally have to do it. If you're lucky, though, I will keep it to Tumblr and not here.
So, I'm totally stalling cause I need to clean my apartment because I have People Coming Over on Tuesday and it's an embarrassing pit-hole and so I'm going to... go do that instead. Also, I totally wrote this on Sunday but I have this weird OCD thing about not having two posts in one day so I'm scheduling it for Monday which means I am going to have a backlog of irrelevant posts because I have another one too that I started and so that one will now probably have to wait until Tuesday and my original plan for that one was for yesterday. You see, it's hard work being crazy.
And this is why I needed another outlet. Because I have way too many thoughts and not enough places to put it all. I have had to make myself A SCHEDULE.
PS - I totally found the scented flameless candle box thingamajigger - it was totally stuffed into one of my desk drawers. Which I totally don't remember doing. At all. But, it would explain why I could smell it while sitting at my computer. So, I'm not completely crazy.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
I am going to make a concerted effort to stop looking like a slob. Or, I guess, like a college student.
I went out and bought CLOTHES PIECES. They're layerable! And grown-up! And were on clearance at Target! (Cause that's how I roll.) I also bought two new pairs of jeans. At Goodwill. Because I'm poor and anyway these are already all broken in and they were $5 each. I am really quite pleased with myself. Plus I have my new fashionable Snowboots which for some reason instantly make whatever I am wearing look Put Together and I actually got some clothes for Christmas that I like and wanted (I've stopped dropping hints, it's more of: "hey I saw this in the Target ad this week and I should like to own it" or "I need a sweater of [insert specs here]" plus I'm fat right now so having new stuff that fits and is cute is kind of a daunting prospect.)
Anyhizzle, this is my plan. I am going to be a Well-Dressed Girl this year. I am going to wear reasonably put-together outfits and do something with my hair so that I look presentable and adorable. Every day.
I give it 'til Thursday.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Also, if I had balls, they would have frozen off today. Apparently we were at about -15 degrees Fahrenheit today with a windchill that made it more like -33 which is fucking crazy. I chose to stay in this miserable climate. I have no one to blame but myself. To be fair, if I had relocated, I probably would have ended up in Minneapolis whiiiiiich is even farther north so it's kind of a moot point.
Also, we are apparently all going to die on Tuesday according to the local weather forecast online:
And, I will leave you with a picture of a giant sandwich.