31 July 2006

So this is Satan's asshole.

Lord almighty it's hot out there. Last night when I went to Rainbow a little before 9:00, it was still around 97 degrees. It was 85 at 6:00 this morning. I think the high for today ended up being 101.

I don't have a clue how anyone could live in a climate where the temperature and humidity are like this for any extended period of time; or even somewhere in the desert where it's a dry heat. I don't understand how I can live in a climate where it gets this hot in the summer and gets down to 30 below in the winter. Thankfully, winter seems like it could never possibly arrive on a day like today.

God, a blog about the weather. I should just delete it now.

Maybe I can salvage it. How 'bout them Twins? The Rangers are looking a bit like Detroit did yesterday in the eighth inning. Kyle Lohse is now a Cincinnati Red. And I certainly won't blame the 'nati for that. That was the only move the Twins made. No Alfonso Soriano for anyone. He stayed in DC.

I've actually been pretty productive at work for a few days. I don't feel that horrible despair that I was feeling about my job. I'm still not thrilled, but at least I'm doing something.

I'm becoming hooked on CSI reruns on Spike. I used to see bits of it when I was at the Y in Mankato. I knew they had good music -- I heard "Scattered Black and Whites" at the end of an episode this evening. *sigh* Oh, Elbow. Please come back soon.

The Raconteurs come to town Thursday for a sold-out show at First Ave. Guess who got her ticket before they went on sale?

30 July 2006

Church and sex.

I'm going to Hell. Oh, it could be for any number of reasons, but the one that sprang to my mind yesterday is probably high up on the list. As I sat through Mass yesterday, all I could think about was sex. Until I realized I was thinking about sex and it dawned on me that in the handful of times I actually go to Mass every year, I spend the bulk of time thinking about sex.

Daydreaming is an activity in which I engage frequently. It's not always about sex. But when I'm in a church, whether it's when I'm home and going to Mass for a holiday (or to avoid a fight with my dad) or if I'm in some other denomination's church for a wedding, I think about sex, sex, sex.

The soundtracks to these church sex daydreams have lots of cursing, too. Because the sex isn't bad enough.

The nun would be so proud.

28 July 2006

I don't want to jinx it.

I think I'm a far more superstitious person than I would ever admit to anyone. Or even to myself. There's something happening tonight that I really want to write about, but I fear putting the words on the screen will jinx things. And quite frankly, I don't need that on my conscience. So, I'll continue crossing my fingers and hope that everything works out.

Though, I'm not sure how writing about it in my blog would jinx it, but all the talking to people I've been doing about it for weeks now will not jinx it. In my mind, anyway, I guess.

I worry about jinxing things all the time. Trash-talking to my friends who are Packer, Badger or Hawkeye fans is always dicey for me. They're Minnesota's biggest rivals. I'm a firm believer in karma and I always think that if I start talking shit too soon in a game or something, it will come back to bite me in the ass. So I wait until the final seconds of the clock tick down before making a call or sending that text message. And even then, if it's early in the season, I'll keep it light. Tides can turn very quickly in either direction. If my team starts going in the crapper, I want my tormenters to remember the mercy I showed them.

The same thing goes for guys. When do you tell your friends? You don't want to talk about him too early because then you might jinx it. Lord knows I'm guilty of that. Or when you're going somewhere with your friends and he has said he was going to show up ... you kinda like him, so you're excited and you slip and tell your friends that he said he was going to stop by. Or you're supposed to have plans with him and you tell a friend after you've had a couple of drinks and your internal censor is asleep at the switch. As the clock ticks away, you find out he's not coming, because he forgot or fell asleep or whatever. And it isn't because he's being lame or doesn't want to see you but can't tell you that for whatever reason -- it's because you jinxed it by telling your friends. Or you jinxed it for yourself simply by believing it might actually happen. Silly girl.

Oddly enough though, black cats, broken mirrors, spilled salt, Friday the 13th, walking under ladders ... those things mean nothing to me. I'm not that brand of superstitious, I guess.

So, I'll keep my fingers from typing out the plans for tonight and I'll write about it after it happens. I'm not going to be the one to screw this up. Now watch me do it somehow anyway.

27 July 2006

Am I really that picky?

Or that shallow? I'd recently noticed a cute guy on the bus during my ride home. He was my bus boyfriend for the ride home. My Bearded Bus Boyfriend was for the ride to work. However, he's now beardless and only on the bus sometimes.

Back to my new, Bespectacled Bus Boyfriend. Yesterday, I guess he ended up sitting behind me. Somewhere along the way, I heard someone talking rather loudly on their cell phone and looked to see who was being the assdart. It was my Bespectacled Bus Boyfriend. This wasn't his most horrible transgression, though. His voice was so. damn. annoying. And like that, my short-lived crush was gone.

The torrid affair with my Bearded Bus Boyfriend pretty much ended when he shaved the beard. I also realized he has a very small mouth. Granted, these examples are merely little distractions to pass the time while I'm stuck on the bus. I've been too unfocused and scatterbrained to read, so I listen to music and stare out the window. Or sneak glances at my cute fellow busriders.

It's not like I'd ever date either of these guys, so the annoying voice and small mouth shouldn't be an issue to me. But ... is it symptomatic of my greater picky or shallow nature? Am I really that horrible of a person? Wait. Don't answer that.

Self-examination is great and all, but I don't like the things I'm learning about myself. I recently came to the realization that I'm as crazy as most other women. Now I'm figuring out that I'm picky and shallow. That's not who I thought I was; it's not who I want to be. I also have no right to be picky or shallow.

What's next? I'm high maintenance? Please, not that. I don't think I can take it if I realize I'm one of those girls who says she's not high maintenance when everyone else knows for a fact that she is. I don't want to be that girl.

25 July 2006

Jesus plays with balls.

I remember seeing these Jesus Inspirational Sports Statues a while ago (maybe at SomethingAwful?) and thinking that, even though they are being sold by a company called CatholicShopper.com, they seem only slightly less wrong than the Baby Jesus Butt Plug.

I Dislike Your Favorite Team provided excellent descriptions of the figurines. But Off The Baggie just took it to another level with "Jesus says: Get that shit outta here!"

I really have to wonder what I would have done if I received one of these pieces as a First Communion gift. Does the God-fearing public see nothing weird about these statues? Why are they disturbing and hilarious at the same time?

24 July 2006

I suck at life.

I finally started contributing to my 401k here at work this year. I've got all of six months (plus one paycheck) of contributions under my belt. We got our statements today with our paychecks and I peruse mine to find that I've lost money.

Adding fuel to the fire is the bag of baby carrots I bought yesterday at Rainbow. They seemed okay yesterday when I ate a few. Today, when I busted them out for lunch, I noticed that they felt a bit slimy. So, I check the contents of the bag to find that there is a rotten, black carrot at the bottom of the bag. I look for the "best used by" date and find that it is tomorrow. Not, say a week ago. Granted, I only paid $1.49 for this bag of carrots, but now I've had to throw the majority of them away. It's still wasting money that I could have spent on something bad for me that I would have eaten and enjoyed. This is exactly what happened the last time I bought a bag of baby carrots, incidently.

I'm trying to save money and I lose it. I try to eat more vegetables and end up wasting my money on rotten ones. I can't fucking do anything right.

Maybe I should just try to drink myself to death.

23 July 2006

A jaunty hat really pulls a look together.

Went to see Pete Yorn at the Varsity Theater last night with my sister, her friend and my cousin. The show was sold out and we somehow ended up about five people back from the stage. Kate is quite skilled at crowd maneuvering. I don't know where she got it. We passed kids buying tickets from a scalper for $35. The face value was $20. Yikes!

The show was supposed to be acoustic and the first couple of songs were just Pete on his guitar. But he ended up with a full band in no time. I'm quite glad. He didn't do his cover of "Suspicious Minds," which is my favorite cover of any song ever. But I'll live. The drummer sang "For Nancy." He's an excellent drummer and quite the showman on the mic. Pete's gotten better every time I've seen him. It was a great show.

21 July 2006

You can't let go because you're not a Christian.

This week, ESPN.com did a three-part series on the 2004 friendly-fire death of Pat Tillman in Afghanistan. It's the best thing I've ever read on ESPN.com, hands down (sorry Bill Simmons. I still love you, though!)

The first installment, Pat Tillman's Uncertain Death, contains some of the most ridiculous things I've ever heard. Actually, it's beyond ridiculous. I find it absolutely digusting. The Army official who conducted the first official investigation into Tillman's death seems to think that Tillman's family is upset with the investigation results and won't ever be happy with any investigation results because they aren't Christians.

In an interview with ESPN.com, Kauzlarich said: "When you die, I mean, there is supposedly a better life, right? Well, if you are an atheist and you don't believe in anything, if you die, what is there to go to? Nothing. You are worm dirt. So for their son to die for nothing, and now he is no more — that is pretty hard to get your head around that. So I don't know how an atheist thinks. I can only imagine that that would be pretty tough."

Yeah, I'm sure that's why they're pissed. Not because it took the Army more than a month to actually tell them that Tillman had been killed by friendly fire. After they'd used his death to shore up public opinion on the war. What's that? Our government would never do such a thing, you say? Um, remember Jessica Lynch?

The full, three-part piece is really long, but it's worth the read if you have the time. I can't say I'm at all surprised by anything I read in it, save for the atheist-bashing from the Army lieutenant. I'm still angry after reading that. It's not like I'm an atheist. I was raised Catholic and I believe in God. I just quit going to Mass years ago because I can't stand the politics of the Catholic Church.

The family just wants the truth, for Christ's sake. And so do I. So should the rest of the American people. It's obscene for our government to exploit the death of a soldier for PR purposes. Especially when everything I've read about the man said that the last thing he wanted was to be seen as special or different than any other solider, simply because he had played in the NFL. He went to war to fight for our country, and this is how you treat his memory? Nicely done, U.S. Government.

20 July 2006

Balance in the newspaper.

Not that kind of objective reporting balance you hear so much about. I'm talking about balancing a crapass, error-riddled story with this Q&A with Joe Mauer. It was conducted by the one and only Mike Rand, who I worked with at the Minnesota Daily. Mike was the one who nicknamed me "Posse" after I proclaimed my affection for the black cowboy movie of the same name. Okay, so you can't really compare the two stories. I guess the balance comes from the poorly proofread story leaving a bad taste in my mouth, which was washed away with this gem:

Q Do you think you could bake a delicious cake with just four ingredients and no recipe?
A No.
Q Do you think there are some Twins fans out there who maybe think you could?
A Well, I don't know. Maybe.

Where have all the copy editors gone?

As I'm perusing the Star Tribune today, I realize that I've been seeing far more stories with mistakes in them than I ever used to see. Is it the advent of the online newspaper that has brought about more errors? I really don't remember seeing so many when I would read the actual paper.

In this AP story about the first wave of evacuees to return to the U.S. from Lebanon, I find this sentence: "Amal Kazzaz, who had been visiting relatives in Lebanon, was sadden to see a once-beautiful country torn apart." She was sadden, huh? It reads like one of those Nigerian scam e-mails. Toward the end of the same article is this paragraph:
He said some could be children traveling alone. Others include students, government employees and people on vacation. They may need help with food, lodging and connecting with loved ones, he said. The health department planned to have licensed social workers on hand for those who might need counseling, especially any children traveling along.

I'm going to go ahead and guess that social workers might be more necessary for children traveling alone, rather than along.

I saw a headline link somewhere else on the Strib's site that had the word "Europ" in it. I'm fairly certain there is an "e" at the end of "Europe." Of course, I can't find it now. But it was there. It may just be my imagination, but I could swear I see more mistakes on Thursday than any other day of the week. Or are my eyes hypervigilant on Thursdays? No, that's silly.

Whatever the reason, it's inexcusable. With the sheer number of eyes that read each news story before it gets to the printer/uploaded to the website, silly errors like that should be caught. Have a little pride in your work, people.

19 July 2006

Why do I bother?

Disappointment after disappointment, all day long.
Sometimes I wonder why I get out of bed.

18 July 2006

Crappy lunch.

I hate when I bring my lunch to work and it ends up tasting like ass. Well, it didn't taste like ass, exactly. I don't think ass would taste so sweet. Last night I made this Thai peanut noodle thing. Now, I've had homemade Thai food, so I wasn't expecting much. However, I tried a bite last night and it wasn't too bad. Apparently, though, the refrigeration and reheating process are too much for this packaged noodle dish to overcome. The noodles got very dry and the whole thing was almost sickeningly sweet. Ew.

God only knows how long that box was in my cupboard. I'm not even sure how I came to be in possession of this Thai Kitchen monstrosity, nor it's cousin, the box of Pad Thai. That'll probably just go in the trash when I get home. Why go to the bother of cooking it and all that when I know it'll end up there anyway?

So, I'm left to cobble a lunch together out of the bits of food I have stashed here and there. Right now I'm eating these. While pretzels are nearly always yummy, I could really go for a beer now. I may bust into the cheese (sharp cheddar, natch!) that I have in the fridge. I'm hoping that a) the cheese isn't moldy and b) my Rosemary and Olive Oil Triscuits are not stale. If that's the case, I may be at the mercy of the vending machine. If I wasn't flat broke, I could just venture out into Dinkytown in search of sustenance. But alas, I am.

My lunch fiasco isn't making me a happy camper. But I was a long way down that road before the lunch incident. Yesterday, I felt like I'd turned a bit of a corner. Maybe I was a bit too hasty in my proclamation. My friend's band is playing tonight and I should really go. All I want to do is hide at home. They play early. There is no cover. I could be home in an hour, most likely. There's no reason I shouldn't go, and yet, I'm looking for one. Where I really thought I'd turned a corner though, was in matters concerning Whatshisfuckingface. I feel like I've gone backwards a bit today, though. I'm sure it's hormonal. That's what I'll tell myself, anyway.

17 July 2006

What is wrong with me?

I am so completely roadblocked on this project at work, it's no longer funny. Quite frankly, I'm not sure it ever was funny, but that's not the point. I don't know what the problem is. Could it be that in the nearly two years I've been there, this is the first real report I've had (the opportunity) to write? Have I gotten so entrenched into the slacking off mode that I can't come out of it?

I'm trying. I really am. But I spend day after day looking at this thing and not having a clue where to begin. At the moment, I'm combating that by doing little things. My hope is that starting small will get my brain over whatever is blocking my path. If I chip away at whatever is blocking my creative juices a little bit every day, eventually the dam will weaken and the words will flow. Also, a deadline might help motivate me. I work well under deadline, what can I say? I will procrastinate like a motherfucker until the last minute if I'm allowed.

Yes, it's been almost two years at this place. This is usually the time I start getting bored, frustrated or some combination of the two. And I can feel that happening. I'm not quite ready to update my resume and take the plunge back into the job search, but I'm getting very close. My worry is that after two years at this job, I have exactly jack shit to show for my time. Oh, there's that one brochure I did. And some editing and captions for another. One whole proposal that was funded. Whooooo! I'm awesome. Also, as I have mentioned previously, I don't know what I want to do. I'll find something, though. I'll be okay.

As for other areas of life, I feel like I've turned a bit of a corner. I'm over my burning desire for solitude for the time being. That's good, right?

14 July 2006

Itching for ink.

I was noticing the tattoos of the girl sitting in front of me on the bus this morning. Hers were situated so that if you were facing her and looked down at the insides of her wrists, the tattoos would be right-side up for you.

My tattoo is situated so that it is right-side up for me. If I'm going to show it to someone who is facing me, I have to hold my arm up and turn it around. When I got this tattoo, I thought long and hard about which way it would go. Ultimately, I decided since it's for me and I'm going to want to look at it, I don't want to have to be doing all kinds of maneuvering to be able to see it. I have to do enough of that with the two on my back. And I'm a major dork in that I do often stare lovingly at my ink for ridiculously long periods of time.

What this all boils down to is this: the itch came back today in full force. I've known it was lurking in the shadows for a while now. But I'd not yet felt that deep, burning desire for the needle. Not any more. I need a new tattoo, and soon. Next month, it'll have been two years since my last one.

The question now is which one do I get next? Probably the Celtic knotwork bracelet that's been filed away for a few years. Of course, the urge always hits when I'm broke as fuck. I'm hoping to swing it by the end of the year, but I might just wait until the big 33 in February. Regardless, I want it, I need it, I have to have it!

12 July 2006

These dreams go on when I close my eyes*

I had a dream last night that my parents sat us down and told us they were getting a divorce. It was really disconcerting.

After they leveled this blow, the dream switched to me and my sister walking down the street. It seemed as if we were in Janesville, walking past the Lutheran church, and then further down the street, past what used to be Johnson's house and Mr. Burns's house. Apparently, at some point earlier, I'd met a guy or we'd gone out or he liked me or something. I realized he was walking behind us, calling to me; but I was ignoring him. Partly because I was freaked out to have received such devastating news from my parents, and partly because I was wearing no make up for some reason.

He did catch up with me, and then my sister was gone. His brother or friend was there, though. Suddenly, I'm walking alone on the sidewalk, plowing through waist- to chest-deep snow. But it was summer. The guys were wearing shorts and they were walking above me, on the slope. The snow didn't look or feel like snow, though. It felt more like ice and looked like hail.

I made it through the snow/hail and then was standing on the sidewalk talking to this guy. Then my nephew was there and he was crying. Where my sister went is beyond me. Do you ever have dreams where someone is in the dream and you know it's that person, but they look like someone completely different? At the same time my nephew was my nephew, he was also my little brother. It was weird.

Then it was over. So, I pulled out my Dictionary of Dream Symbols (I have a previous version). The few dreams that I do remember tend to be rather bizarre and I often can't find symbols from my dream in the book. Like the dream where I was sculpting queen candidate's noses in butter and ended up doing a full carving of Whatshisfuckingface's head in butter. Sometimes, though, there are symbols that I can find in the book. For instance, the dream I had a few years ago about being in a sausage factory with Chris and Jonny from Coldplay. I actually woke up laughing from that one and didn't really need to read the book to find out what the symbols in that dream meant.

But, I digress (shock! horror!). The first symbol I looked up was:

Snow (also see Ice): as well as symbolizing frozen emotion, it may symbolize a new, clean start.

Being the good girl I am, I then looked up:

Ice (see also Cold):

1. as water may symbolize emotion, so ice may symbolize "frozen"
emotion, emotion paralyzed by fear or guilt.

2. ice may be a symbol of sexual frigidity.
In either case, melt the ice by warmly embracing the repressed feelings

Finally, in the interest of psychology, I looked up:

Cold (see also Ice): coldness in a dream may symbolize a cold, hard heart. Have you become emotionally frigid? What traumatic experience may have caused this?

Oooooh! A recurring theme. How interesting. I'm fairly sure that the last thing I am is sexually frigid. As for the repressed emotions ... I think I've been embracing and experiencing more emotions than normal over the past few weeks -- difficult, painful emotions. I haven't tried to push them under a rug or shove them into a ball, deep down in my soul. I've been reveling in them.

So, perhaps the snow/ice in my dream symbolized a new, clean start for me. I can kind of see where it would apply.

*Every title my brain threw out for this blog entry was a song. "Dreaming of You," "Dream a Little Dream," and on and on. I finally settled on Heart. Ah, the Wilson sisters. You brought me much joy over the years.

11 July 2006

They say that scent is the one sense tied closest to memory.

Or something of that nature. Christ, I think that's from a commercial or something. The two scents I'm thinking about don't necessarily remind me of a specific memory, but more of a place, or a feeling.

Today on the bus, I smelled something that made me think of Booty Call Matt's cologne, post-coitus. But only if he'd been out drinking before he came over. I can't remember the kind he wears. It's one of those fairly ubiquitous ones, though. Like Cool Water or Aqua di Gio or some cologne that I used to really like the smell of, until it became tainted. Not that he tainted it. The tainting comes from the assdarts who bathe in the stuff before they go out for the night. Dude, come on.

Oddly enough, the other memory-tied scent is from the bus, too. Actually, it's not that odd. There are smells on the bus. Loads and loads of smells; like the guy who sat in front of me yesterday and ripped ass the entire time. Nice. Should I ever end up pregnant, I will not be able to ride the bus. There are days that the smells are too much for me now, especially in the morning.

Anyway, the scent from the bus last week was identical to the smell out in the concourse of the Metrodome -- sweat and onions laced with spilled beer. The bus was even kind of humid, just like the concourse at the Dome. I could have sworn I was at there, getting a beer and a hot dog before the game.

I actually really like how smelling something can instantly transport me to a specific time or place, or to a memory. It's a pretty cool phenomenon.

A wasted good hair day.

I hate when I have a good hair day and it's going to be wasted on, well, nothing. I guess it's not a complete waste if it makes me feel good. But still ... why can't it come when I'm going out or when I'm going to be around people who care?

Then again, my hair can look like whatever it wants the next several days, because if it's going to be in the 90s, it's going up.

10 July 2006

Sweet, sweet justice.

Francisco Liriano is an All-Star.

Even though that malcontent A.J. Pierzynski made the team via The Final Vote (that's the problem with a democratic election ... people are stupid), Liriano will make the team as a replacement for Jose Contreras. Thank you, Jeebus. He's leading the league in ERA by about one full run, for Christ's sake.

It's not like I wasn't going to watch the game tomorrow night or anything. I mean, not only are Supernatural (Batgirl's Nickname Guide) and The Chairman playing, but that hot piece of Republican ass Barry Zito made the team, too.

Still, I am thrilled to bits to see that justice has been served and a deserving player made the team. It gives me hope.

I didn't know if I should laugh or cry. So I did both.

I am a moviegoing fool! Well, by my standards, anyway. Saturday, Carrie and I went to see Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest. It was everything you could want in a summer blockbuster -- lots of action, physical comedy, swashbuckling at every turn, Johnny Depp in eyeliner and semi-shirtless, often-wet Orlando Bloom. I loved it. Carrie wished for more plot development, but ... it's a sequel, for one thing. It was eye candy, pure and simple.

Speaking of candy, I saw Strangers With Candy yesterday. It's the movie prequel to the TV show of the same name. I laughed until I cried. I laughed so hard I couldn't breathe. I need to see it again because I was laughing and missed dialogue. It was wholly inappropriate. It was just what I needed yesterday afternoon.

However, the laughing/crying dilemma referenced in the title to this blog entry was not about Jerri Blank's attempt to bring her daddy out of his coma. No. It's about one of the previews we saw before Pirates.

The preview for Rocky VI.

You know, it was all fun and games to giggle about the possibility of this movie when I first read about it (and the Rambo sequel). But actually seeing the trailer really messed with my head. Carrie thought it was a joke. Had I not read about this months ago, I would have sworn it was a preview for some Rocky parody movie. Alas, I knew this thing was in production. Or at least I knew that Sylvester Stallone was trying to make the movie. Perhaps I went into denial after reading the initial reports.

Quite frankly, it makes me a little sad. I LOVE the Rocky movies. If pressed to pick my favorite, I could get as close as a tie between "Rocky" and ""Rocky IV." Yeah, the first one is cool and all, but come on. "Rocky IV" had all the classic lines. Okay, maybe I'm picking that one for the wrong reasons. Whatever. They're my reasons.

But let's face it, by "Rocky V," things were getting a little pathetic. I'm not going to say that I won't watch it if I come across it on TV, but I have low standards when there is nothing else on. It's like an great athlete not knowing when to hang it up (*cough*Jerry Rice*cough*). They were so incredible in their prime, but when they're rocking cornrows with a fivehead bigger than Tyra Banks's and trying to catch on as a fourth or fifth receiver with a team, it just makes you sad to watch it happen. And then they end up on "Dancing With the Stars" and you wonder if there really is a God.

I digress. "Rocky VI" is real. It looks like it might end up being terrible. The chance for unintentional hilarity is very, very good. One of the scenes had Stallone saying something that was completely unintelligible. It's like he's become the parody of himself that I've seen on "Family Guy."

I still don't know whether to laugh or cry.

08 July 2006

Why is it so wrong to want some time alone?

"You're not going out?"

No, I'm not. I stayed home last night, too. And I don't want to go to brunch in the morning. Or early afternoon, or whatever the hell time it is that you're going. Why is that a bad thing? I like being by myself. I enjoy my own company. As it turns out, that's actually supposed to be a good thing. Or so I've heard.

Can't a girl be a little introspective and want to fly solo for a couple of nights? It's not like I've not had any interaction with people at all. I saw my sister and cousin and was around a shitload of people at a soccer tournament this morning. There were a number of people at the mall, liquor store and grocery store. Carrie and I went to a movie and had a drink before. I did stuff! I talked to people!

I'm not an antisocial loner. Really. Sometimes I need to pull the circle a little tighter, though. I crave alone time. I didn't have any for several days and I need to replenish the reserves. Believe me, I'll get sick of my own company soon enough. Bottom line is this: I'm okay and perfectly happy to stay home.

06 July 2006

How to make my day, in 10 words or fewer.

I wrote recently about how I allow little actions or words from people with whom I interact to affect me on a fairly deep level, either positively or negatively.

This time, it's one simple sentence that totally made my day. Jen was in town over the weekend. On Sunday we drove to Duluth to see Wilco. On the way up, my favorite Slats song came up on the iPod Nano and I made a point to tell Jen. She asked if they were on MySpace and I said they were indeed. I meant to e-mail her the link or something, but of course I forgot. She just sent me an e-mail saying that she sent a friend request to The Slats last night and got a response that said "any friend of Jess' is a friend of ours."

Now, I don't really know why something so simple made my day, but it did. And that's really all that matters.

05 July 2006

Vote Liriano!

Deadspin thinks you should do it. The Daily Quickie wants you to do it, too. And of course Batgirl wants you to do it.

Vote for Francisco Liriano for the final spot on the AL All-Star team. The voting ends Thursday at 5:00 p.m. Liriano's currently leading, but those crafty Bitch Sox fans could pull together and vote A.J. Pierzynski in ... or God forbid Cleveland fans somehow rally to vote in ugly-as-sin Travis Hafner.

This is a fight for the little guy. A chance to jump on Liriano's bandwagon early. It's a short week. You know you don't want to work. Come on. I'll be your best friend. I'll love you forever and ever, amen. Pretty please, with a cherry on top?

Sleep is a fickle mistress.

I'm on week ... two? three, maybe? of sleeping for shit. I can't remember because I'm sleep-deprived, you see. It all started with a phone call at 12:50 a.m. on a Thursday night, maybe? I think it was two weeks ago. Still no idea who it was that called. But that phone call set this all in motion. Add some stress, a dash of depression, an out-of-town guest, crazy girl hormones, weed whackers at 7:00 a.m. on a holiday, fireworks until 3:00 a.m. ... and here I am today.

I've never been a good sleeper. The story is that when my parents brought me home from the hospital as a wee baby, I slept a grand total of eight hours over the course of the first three days. Apparently, I did nothing but scream for the first 24 hours. I'm sure that's just slightly exaggerated, but it does show that even as a baby I didn't require much sleep. Nor was I able to sleep that much. I've never been the kind of person who will sleep a weekend away. If I'm completely exhausted, I might sleep eight to 10 hours on a weekend. Once a year I might sleep 12 or 13 hours.

Even though I've never needed much sleep, two weeks of sleeping three to five hours a night takes a toll on a girl. Eventually, I'll reach the point where I crash and go back to sleeping (somewhat) normally. I'm really hoping that comes soon. Perhaps I need a catalyst, much like the phone call that started all of this. What that catalyst could or would be though, is beyond me.

04 July 2006

I'm under house arrest.

Self-imposed house arrest, that is. I spent entirely too much money that I didn't have over the weekend. I had lots of fun and all that, but now I'm even more broke than before.

Lucky for me, I have a lovely deck and I'm not so broke that I can't find money for beer and and the like. I just have to hope that my friends take pity on me and hang out here every now and again.