Hello, sluts. And Jen. What? Oh...Okay.

Hello, sluts, including Jen. Satisfied? Awesome.

Okaaay, agenda for today. Discussion. 2 days after my birthday. A year and a day since my debacle with the vodka (I think). And I didn't get drunk this year. So, the question is: how are random people coping in a dangerous post-Samantha's-26th-birthday world? Jen, be the man on the street.

Jen: Well I'm just trying to keep my head down, avoid flying objects, stay out of the way of flash flood waters caused by copious tears, and um, praying that a period isn't coming soon. 'Cause that might just tip it right on over into armageddon.

Really?

Jen: Yeah, it's a really close call right now concerning whether hormones or slow brewing, impotent rage will win out. Thank god there's ice cream and cake.

I think you're over-exaggerating just a bit. It hasn't been that bad.

Jen: Uh-huh. Do you remember Saturday when you broke down in Chili's and listed all the things you're afraid you will never accomplish: marriage, children, awesome job--

Shut up! I don't even want two of those things 364 days of the year.

Jen: Right, snickerdoodle.

What did you call me?

Jen: Something delicious.

Did someone miss their 3 o'clock feeding at the zoo. 'Cause you're not making sense.

Jen: Omg! See if I ever try and cheer you up again with an adorable pet name that includes both a candy bar and a funny word.

Whatever. Slut.

Jen: Ha! Duh! See above, ho-bag!

I just let an inanimate blog call me a ho-bag. My self-esteem must be at all time low.

Jen: What did you call me?

What? Inanimate or blog. If you can spell either I'll tell you what they mean.

Jen: :sniff:

Awww, don't cry. I'm sorry.

Jen: Ha! Sucker! Munch my butt!

I think I just threw up a little in my mouth.

Can you say "mini-meltdown"? Apparently, I can, blog. Hmm, you know what? I think you need a name. I think I'll call you "Jen". Jen. That's a nice name, isn't it? Do you like it? Okay, good. (Btw, I have a cousin named Jennifer, but we're not close, so I think we can ignore that and pretend otherwise).

So, now that we're on a first name basis let's just pick up like normal and continue on with our regularly scheduled rant/boredom/breakdown (whichever is on the plate for this foray). You pick.

::You have chosen boredom:: /automated voice

Why would you go and do that? Who wants to be bored? Who wants to talk about being bored? Hmm, Jen, let's pick another. I already did breakdown last week so I guess we should go with rant. What to rant about, what to rant about - Oh! Ralph Nader! He's back! You didn't know? Um, don't you have a yahoo account? You're a blog and don't have hands to type with or eyes to read messages and therefore have no need for e-mail. Right. I forgot. So silly of me to completely overlook the limitations of a friend. Oh, don't get in a snit.

Anyhoo, Ralph fucking Nader. What the hell. Does he want McCain to win without a fight? I know "everyone" is going "green" and this might otherwise be an awesome time to strike for the cause, but doesn't he know this is just going to be Gore/Bush 2000 part 2? I already think it's going to be a pretty close race between Obama and McCain (I'm predicting Hil isn't going to make it much further) and Jesus if the dems aren't going to need every vote they can scrape together. Sheesh! Again, Nader, what the hell?

Swallow and breathe. Okay, that rant's over. Should I pick another? Okay, hmmm, hmmm...God I can't think of anything else. I know, srsly. Me. I always find stuff to be a bitch about. The Queen of Bitchery? I don't know if I would say that. More like an enthusiastic practitioner of Bitchcraft. snicker

I'm bored. And we already decided that wasn't an option for this post, so I guess we should wrap it up. Ha! I just got a visual of that Chapelle Show episode. The one where they have those "wrap it up" machines...You've never seen the Chapelle Show? No, it has nothing to do with David La Chapelle. How high-brow, Jen - if you like the artfully photographed boobs of famous chicks. Which I do. So, whatcha wanna do now?

Play "Jaws" with staplers? Yes, awesome! Wait you don't have hands.

"I do get lonely so many nights, spent soaking beans and listening to my ears; you are what you hear" - Dog by Emily Haines.

Car troubles, job, mother, aunt, brother, sorrow, books, music, chocolate. Turned up a little there at the end of that sentence. Still pear shaped.

You know what I enjoy? Fucking with people's heads. There's nothing better than getting a good old manip on. That's a lie. Maybe. I do like to play with things. Guess it's just the drama ho in me coming out. Mix that with an apathy jag and you get this blog post.

I'm sitting here wearing Mardi Gras beads around my wrist trying to think of shit to say. I have nothing to say and everything in the world to say. I just can't.

My coworker is talking to me about her 87 year old mother who hoards junk. She has a middle room full of it. My mother is the same. She has the same room in our house. She's taught me to be the same way. With everything. Everything. I won't go into details, but you can imagine the emotional baggage I drag around (watch for falling cliches).

I'll be pushing my way out of a cluttered middle room for the rest of my life. I think. I hope not. But I think. That's like the saddest, boringest metaphor I've ever come up with for this craptastic voyage of mine. I came up with another the other day I liked: like pushing sand away from the ocean floor. I often have dreams that involve petty little frustrations like that one.

I've decided to stop apologizing for what I write here. It's not like I'm unloading on a friend that's needs to be coddled just to get through my neuroses. I'll take a note from Mike Birbiglia and just make this my "secret, public journal".