2.04.04: Long Time No Update ‹ Blog

My evil genius Procrastination has whispered me to tarry ’til a more convenient season.
Mary Todd Lincoln

Long Time No Update

February 2, 2004

Yeah, yeah, it’s been forever, I know. Blame it on my ISP, which has a limit of 200 hrs/month for each user—you’d be amazed at how fast I can use up those hours. I was offline for THREE WHOLE DAYS, and after February had begun I was well-weaned from the Internet and somehow didn’t manage to do anything but upload a new site design and wonder if Dooce has given birth yet. So you’re probably wondering (in a non-stalkerish way, I hope) what I’ve been up to since I last rambled in here.

First (and most important): I quit my job. So all you readers who have been telling me to “keep my day job” after a) hearing me sing, b) reading my writings, or c) watching me dance can just GO TO HELL, because I am breaking away from the hell of menial labor and striking out on my own. That’s right: I’m becoming a geisha! Wait, no... that was last night’s dream. I can’t actually tell you what career I’m pursuing (come back here, dammit! Sneaky career!) because if I talk too much about it I will jinx it. I am very superstitious when it comes to jinxing things.

I’m really going to miss my co-workers. This job was my first-ever real paycheck-getting job, and boy did I luck out in getting the best group of co-workers anywhere. These people are insanely nice, I’m telling you. I spent the first year of my job just waiting for someone to yell at me, or tell me I did a rotten job, or refuse to give me a ride home—but the anvil never fell, and everyone has remained suspiciously kind and generous to this day. So I don’t want anyone thinking that I’m quitting because I have a problem with my co-workers. I’m quitting because I have a problem with the customers. Like the woman who came in last Sunday and spent 45 minutes (I kid you not) arguing with the pharmacist about her insurance plan and demanding to see a print-out of her insurance company’s policies (WE ARE A PHARMACY, NOT YOUR INSURANCE COMPANY), and then ended up INSIDE THE PHARMACY WORK AREA, behind the counter, arguing with an insurance rep over $17.44. On a Sunday, no less. What ever happened to the idea of peace and love and rest for weary workers on the Sabbath?

So I have less than two weeks to go in retail. Yay for me! Put your hands up for the blue-collar gone pink-collar! Woohoo! (By the way, my last day is Friday the 13th. That is either a really bad omen or a really good omen. Since this is ME we’re talking about, it’s probably a really good omen. I thrive on superstition.)

In other news (god, I sound like Tom Brokaw), I am going to vote for Howard Dean. (Oh man, I accidentally typed his name “Howard Dead.” This does not bode well for him.) I am voting for him because a) of all the Democratic candidates, his views are most in line with mine, b) he screams like that dude in Deliverance (squeal, piggy, squeal!), and c) he came thisclose to saying “ass” on live national television. That last reason might not seem big (especially after the whole Janet Jackson Boob-A-Thon), but I have a great deal of respect for anyone who can tell John Kerry not to “let the door hit him in the—don’t let the door hit him on the way out.” Howard rocks, man. (And so does Tim Russert, who hosts the show upon which Dean nearly made political history. Tim Russert is so cute. I had a crush on him as a kid. Him and George Stephanopoulos, because nothing is sexier than a guy who knows his politics. Okay, shutting up now.)

Since I have brought up the Janet Jackson Superbowl Shocker, you might as well hear my opinion on that. My opinion is: It’s a breast, folks. Get over it. I’m sure that at least 95% of Superbowl viewers know what a breast looks like. And come on, you’re telling me that these viewers watched Janet and Justin singing about how he’s “gonna get her naked before the end of this song” and that’s fine and dandy, but when a breast accidentally gets shown that’s dirty and shocking and should be banned? We are such a Puritanical nation. IT’S JUST A BREAST, FOLKS—it’s not even a sexual object, really; it’s for feeding babies. We show baby bottles on TV—why not breasts? A’right, that’s it, I’m going to France, where tits on the telly are normal.

In school news, I got a letter from my college saying that I will officially graduate in June, and that my diploma will arrive in the mail (I’m not going to commencement; I hate gatherings like that). This is cool with me, because it means I can use the wonderful school library for another few months—free videos! free DVDs! free magazines! woo! But I am still convinced (in my superstitious way) that something will happen to screw up my graduation, like the college deciding my clothes are too ugly and they can’t take responsibility for me going out into the world looking like that. (Hey, it could happen. I hear that’s what they did to my sister.) I am also nail-bitingly terrified that the school is going to want me to return all those textbooks they paid for during my high-school-student-going-to-college-on-the-college’s-dime period. I like those textbooks! They’re useful! I’m saving them for when I have a kid! You can’t have them back, stupid college! Wah!

(Please note that my graduation will in no way prevent me from having bad dreams about school. I still have the stalked-on-campus dream, as well as the did-I-just-wet-myself-in-front-of-the-whole-class? dream, and the ew!-ugly-teacher-molestation! dream.)

In weather news, Minnesota has been walloped with a doodie-load of snow this week. In fact, I don’t think it’s really snow at all; my theory is that a giant sperm whale exploded somewhere and that white stuff falling from the sky is actually its guts. (Hey, whatever gets you through the winter, right?)

Other random notages:

I see that the TV show Enterprise finally got the rights to put “Star Trek” in front of the “Enterprise.” Damn. Now that stupid show really is canon.
24 is THE BEST show on TV these days. That whole twist with Chloe and “her” baby? Brilliant. And the way Ramon shot Hector? Damn, that show don’t pull no punches.
O.J. did it. (It’s good to have a periodic reminder.)
My legs are scary-hairy. Time to shave!
I may be the only person in the world who headbangs to Sarah McLachlan.

Aaaand I think that’s it for now. Must go work on Goal of World Domination. (No, seriously, that’s my goal. I’ve been told I look like the Brain; why not act like him, too?)