A Hot Mess of a Blog Post

So, I took 1970’s Love Story out of the library today because…I try not to admit this, but…sometimes I’m a girl.  I know, it’s crazy.   

Anyway, it just has me really depressed. Because first of all, it’s really dramatic. And also, Ryan O’Neal looks exactly like John McCain.  Not John McCain now, obviously, but this John McCain:

 

 

I don’t know. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I need to push John McCain out of my mind. Then again, it’s not like two blog posts ago was a poem about him or that he’s ended up in my dreams. I think he just really scares the shit out of me, so it’s better to let it out. No use being a repressed asshole.

I also took out Annie Hall. I’m just really in the mood for neurotic right now.  I know Woody Allen is kind of a crazy dude, but I really like him. Not in a sexual way, but in the same way I like pigeons.  

 

 

 

 

 

I’ve decided “Never Have I Ever” is the worst game ever.  I was at a party and this dude starts the bar at, “Never have I ever had sex on acid.”  What??  He proceeded to say that there was nothing else he hadn’t done.  He was wearing a shirt that said “I Heart Hot Moms.”  One of those crappy ones you get at Old Navy on clearance for $5, or you buy it at full price and you’re even more of an ass.  Anyway, I wanted to get angry so I asked him about his experiences with hot moms, he told me, and yeah.  Nothing wrong with being proud of yourself for getting laid, but…have some class.  This guy didn’t.  Plus there were only two girls at this party so the machismo was just way too much to handle.  Gay jokes were flying everywhere, you couldn’t say two words without someone yelling out “That’s what she said!”, and yeah.  I had to lash out at someone, so that was that.  Sometimes I feel like more of a man than the dudes I encounter.  Okay, most of the time.  Is that weird to say?  I don’t care.

Oh, Wristcutters: A Love Story is a really good movie.  It’s about suicide and the afterlife and what could be more romantic than that?  And Tom Waits is in it!  Bizarre.

Nothing really comes to mind to entitle this, so…Untitled

I have nothing to say about Wednesday night’s debate except that my supervisor from my last job spent an entire day with Bob Scheiffer and said he’s super nice.  I wanted him to be meaner to the candidates, i.e., make McCain stop talking about Joe the Plumber, but that’s ok.

I might have to talk to a priest in about thirty minutes, which I’m not all that excited about.  Last time I saw a priest I started laughing.  Sometimes I can’t control myself, but that’s ok, too.

Hey, so I just noticed WordPress now has a poll feature.  Take it.

The Gentleman from Arizona

Charles Gibson’s name was on the tip of my tongue,

and Kathleen was sure I meant Peter Jennings,

“But isn’t he dead?”  Speaking of newscasters,

Tom Brokaw moderated the town hall style debate.

McCain kept calling us “friends,”

but he can’t comb his own hair

and I don’t have many 72-year-old friends.

 

An abandoned Rolling Stone

penned him the “Make-Believe Maverick,”

reporting he called Cindy a cunt who wears too much makeup

after she ruffled his non-existent hair,

but what about all of his cover up?

 

Two nights later we yelled about Sarah Palin in the yellow cab,

our legs grazing, our shoulders bumping,

our political passions on par with

those other passions we feel.  You know—

the ones you feel in places like (to borrow

the word from McCain) your cunt.

Monday Musings

If you have a passport and have experienced jet lag, please apply for this: http://newyork.craigslist.org/jsy/etc/868462315.html

It’s a sleep study in which you get paid to fly to Paris.  All you have to do is spend one night in a New York sleep study clinic, then you fly to Paris, spend time in their sleep study clinic, and fly back. 

At some point in my life I’ll probably participate in a medical research study.  I applied for one a couple weeks ago that involved an MRI and a PET scan, but when they called to interview me it just didn’t work out.  Long story involving pesky intimate details. 

In other news, I’m concerned about Tom Brokaw moderating tomorrow night’s debate.  I find his voice distracting.  And as long as we’re on the topic, Charles Gibson is of concern, too.  I cannot take him seriously.  Thoughts, anyone?

Talkin bout my generation.

Nothing wrong with George Stephanopoulos

Dear Blog, Happy Anniversary

Hey, this thing has made it to its third month.  That’s definitely the longest relationship with a blog I’ve ever had.  

Don’t know why I’m awake right now.  I’m excited because there’s some serious raining and thundering going on.  

But then there’s the whole job front, which is better, but confusing and also contributing to not sleeping.  I’ve been getting more calls for interviews and then some job offers, which is coooool, thanks universe, but I don’t know.  Is it really the best idea to start working in a movie theatre?  I’ve always wanted to work in a movie theatre.  And I’m thinking about getting a degree in Film Studies.  And I don’t want corporate, soul-draining terribleness.     

So it could work.  Because I’m also doing this at-home data entry gig.  I spent most of today typing passages from a book about the nutritional needs of endurance athletes.  Carbohydrates, turns out, is an annoying word to type.  Damn you.  All of you.  Damn the simple carbohydrates.  Damn the complex carbohydrates.  Except I really love bread.   Bread can stay.