Stickwithitness

So... I don't blog any better than I journal. Whatev. I kinda banked on that when I started this thing. There have been days when I compose a blog in my brain, beginning to end, and then forget to type it out. And then forget about the blog completely. And the forget about the day completely. It's part of the sickness. Flakiness, eternal symptom of ADD.

I'd like to blame my schedule, but let's face it, I do nothing almost all day, most days. Lately I've been digging into this wedding planning business, and I fail at documenting that too.

There is a post, sitting, waiting patiently, that I need to finish, whether I think I can or not. And I need to finish it before the end of this month. I don't think I owe him that per se. I don't really owe him anything; I owe myself a little therapeutic purge. A real discussion about him and how his life, or lack thereof, still affects me twenty-five years later.

And whether or not one of the memorial candles on the altar will burn for him.

But DAMN I'm Debbie Downer today... I's gonna go back to bed and start this day over in a few hours.
Fair?
Fair.

My birthday.

Tomorrow I will turn 26. Today, my body is protesting that idea with all its might.

At this time last year, I was vehemently denying my ever deepening attraction to David.
At this time next year, I will be his wife.
This is the year my life revolves around my wedding. Our wedding.
This year, I contemplate calling in sick to work.

Revisited Resolutions

So... it's be almost a year since I wrote this post...

Let's see how I did.

Shape up (why should this year be different from every other year of my adult life?).
FAIL...

Fix my problem with "da Benjamins."
Eh, could go either way. I'm getting better, but I don't think it's fixed.

Blog at least once a week.
To be fair, I do have more than 52 posts. Eh, more win than fail.

Meet Him. (No, not that Him. I'm not ready for Him. I mean Mr. Right.)
Win, big ugly beautiful hairy expensive amazing disgustingly wonderful win.

Become something meaningful.
This might be a draw. While I don't doubt I'm something meaningful to someone, I'm still not sure how meaningful I am to myself.

Do something substantial.
I said yes, and next year I will embark on the greatest adventure I've had yet. I may or may not kill someone in the process.

Love myself a little better (So that He can love me at all).
He loves me just the way I am..

Not break a heart.
Win.

Find patience.
Uhm...

Find happiness.
Double win, triple win even.

Not roll my eyes when someone (anyone) reads this and mentions my relationship with that Him.
Win, since no one read it.

Hone my wordsmithing skills. (Not a word, I know.)
Win...ish.

A long overdue up date.

OMG, two months (ish). And so much freaking stuff happened.

October:

24th: David received a call from this web design firm for a job he really wanted, requesting an interview. He floated about on cloud nine for a while

November:

1st: David was transferred from the deli (that he hated) to the Starbucks (that he loved) in Target (where he worked).

2nd: Interview with Firefly. Nailed it.

9th: Second interview with Firefly, this time the Owners and not the GM. Hashed out salary, but was not actually offered the job.

11th: Firefly did not call back as expected. We pig out in a pity party.

13th: David called Firefly to see where he stood. The GM apologized for not getting back to him sooner and offered him the job. Woot, woot!

During all THIS nonsense:

David's grandfather had his knee replaced, his brother had his gallbladder removed and spent three weeks in two different hospitals due to still unknown complications, and his mother had a breakdown due to exhaustion. He spent and week in Jackson with them, right across Thanksgiving. So I spent Thanksgiving with Oliver and Daisy and my pjs. Score.

Everyone is better now, healthy and home. But now we have to contend with the pooh that this whole thing stirred. And I've been asked to keep my explanations as vague as possible. Grumble. The one time I'm willing and prepared to expound upon the details is the ONE TIME I can't.

Damn.

He started his first real grown-up job at Firefly and loves every minute of it. And... we're not broke and poor anymore. Bonus!

So, that's what's happened in our little corner of the world since I fell off the radar.

What the hell this is

I've seen this hideous amalgamation of discombobulated textile regurgitation at least ten times since Friday, both in person and on television.

And I absolutely must know... what the fuck is it called, where the fuck did it come from, and when the fuck will it be returning?

Jinxing it

Seems I spoke to soon.

It's muggy, it's gross, it's HOT. Summer hasn't given up yet.

Damnit.

A drop in the mercury

After a vicious fight and a final, swampy rally, Summer has finally released her unrelenting stranglehold on South Louisiana.

The air out side is crisp, chilly, and beautiful.

Time to revel in every second, because we all know it won't last.

Serpent Slayer

Dear David just iced a snake for me.

Turns out it was completely benign and none of us were in immediate danger.

But why take a chance? Or so he said.

Common Sense

Jesus Christ, woman, either you want a private life, or you don't. But you cannot, repeat, cannot have it both ways.

You cannot in one sentence discuss a desire to protect your family and their privacy, and in the very next sentence discuss plans for picnics and effing cruises you want to take with you're creepy blog followers.

Jennifer McKinney, I liked you better before you were famous, back when you were cool, and edgy, and different, and only a little religiously irritating. Now you're commercial, preachy, contradictory, and almost totally irritating. If not for the train wreck effect, I'd have quit watching long ago.


Sorry... just wanted to get that off my chest.

By the by, and totally off topic, I got back teh intratoobs today, and full two weeks later than expected. Eh...

Teh IntraToobs...

I misses dems!!!

A cable man...

He has an appointment at my new digs for next Tuesday.

And then I can quit sneaking onto Blogger at work.

Oops.

Some fairness out of the universe.

Why is it okay for this douche to screw us out of money he owes us, but it's not okay for us to do the same to him?

You used the power in this house, asswipe, used way more than the two of us combined I'll bet, and you're refusing to pay for the third I'm asking for... yet because he's a good guy, David to refuses to take from you what you owe us.

...

My roommate, who will read this, is refusing to pay his share of the July power bill, but is insisting we pay him back for his share of the washer and dryer. David said he would gladly pay for the washer and dryer if Adam will pay him back for the stool David bought for the pub set (the set came with two stools and there are three of us), and then there's STILL the matter of the power bill. My solution? Take the stool AND the washer and dryer and call it even.

Aaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnnnndddddddddddddddd... this just in...

David's just spent the past forty minutes in Adam's room and walked out with cash, saying Adam will give him more tomorrow... WTF just happened?


UPDATE:

See post dated 10/19.

A new place to live.

Today's the day. In three hours - three teeny, tiny little hours, we meet with the world's most useless realtor to sign a lease on the cutest little duplex bungalow thing.

Pictures to follow.

Scout's Honor.

But first, lunch with David, Jo, Gramma, and The Flower Girl.

Score!

In other news, I have a humungous ulcer on the left side of my tongue and talk like my mouth is full of cotton. Lunch will be FUN.

People who will burn in Hell

And Michael Vick is at the top of my fucking list.

But wait, there's more.

It's not enough that this abusive bastard got to do what he did to those poor dogs and live to tell about it, but now, apparently, the NFL is letting him back in.

Spot number two is now occupied.

How the FUCK does that happen, people? How the FUCK does that asshole get to kill, maim, and abuse dozens of dogs - animals who exist only to be loving and devoted COMPANIONS to your sorry fucking ass - and STILL get to make millions upon millions of dollar playing fucking football?

Where's the justice in that? How can you let that happen Mr. NFL? This man, upon whom the world should only look with disdain and disgust, who should be literally spit upon everyday for the rest of his life, who should be torn apart limb from limb by the very animals he so GROSSLY mistreated, is now being allowed a position of possible respect and hero worship? What the FUCK kind of message is that sending to the public, to the twelve year old who will now watch Dogkiller Vick with admiration in his eyes? JoeBlow Fuckup in Florida horribly mutilates seventy or so cats and now he's incarcerated, but I bet if that little asshole could throw a pigskin or hit a fucking baseball we'd all be giving him another chance.

And I don't care if "we're talking about a young man's life here." You fucked up. You should be forced to clean toilets with your fucking tooth brush for the rest of your life, and then forced to repeatedly watch reels of the dogs for which you demonstrated such HEINOUS disregard suffer AT YOUR OWN HANDS.

You do not deserve a second chance.

This is ridiculous, ree-GODDAMN-diculous.

We as a nation already put sporting events and sporting clubs before academics and education (don't get me started), and NOW, NOW, we're putting a man's ability to THROW AND CATCH A FUCKING BALL before the LIVES AND WELL BEING OF DEFENSELESS ANIMALS...

My God people, what's next? Yeah he raped and murdered that hooker, but he throws a mean curve ball. We'll let him back in.

Fuck you Mr. NFL.

Fuck you and fuck the sport you have so immensely disgraced.

The cutest little thing

I don't do this too often, but oh my god, go to this blog and check out Miss Harper.

There are pretty babies, and there are beautiful babies. These babies aren't cute, but they are gorgeous. they are model material. They are babies like Suri Cruise, and the Gerber baby.

Then there are the cute babies, the ones that aren't model-perfect but are just so freaking adorable you can't stand it.

And can I please say that Harper is the absolute pinnacle of adorable? Because holy crap, is she ever.

She's not pretty and she's not beautiful, she's just down right UH-dorable.

Can I please be this lucky one day?

Holy OMGWTFPoptarts!!!!

I luuuuuuuuurv him.

And I luuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrvvvvvvv this.

So want kind of obsession-bordering-on-stalker effing mania is this going to produce?

I just had a little brain orgasm.

I fear I may succumb to Gollumitis shortly.

A Train Wreck, or Something Like It.

Internet rubbernecking.

I'm guilty of it.

You might be too.

Just like real life, driving along the highway, traffic slows to a crawl, and you find yourself decrying those nosy, nosy fuckers 18 cars in front of you who insist on oogling the vehicular carnage as they pass. Then comes your turn to creep by, and instead of maintaining a constant speed out of courtesy for the bazillion drivers behind you, you do it. Right foot shifts from gas to brake-tap, tap, tap- eyes drift to the left (or right), and the rest of your face follows slowly. Before you realize the crime you've committed, you become one of those nosy, nosy fuckers oogling the vehicular carnage.

Same rules apply to the internet, and all this blog lurking of which we are so heinously guilty. Yes, yes you too, because if you're reading this, and haven't made known your presence, than you too my friend, are a lurker.

But I digress.

What started as a simple plea for pray has become this clusterfuck of unadulterated adoration, bordering on celebrity for the internet's favorite Jesus-Loving, organic-eating, sometimes-cloth-diapering mommy blogger. You know who I'm talking about. And I'm guilty of it too, don't get me wrong.

I just wanna know how it happened. I mean, I'm sucked in same as you, and I only have a furbaby. Recipes - meh, good but could be found almost anywhere. Photography lessons - again, easily accessible on the web. Her cute kids with their ridiculous nicknames - okay, I'll give you that. You can ONLY find adorable children with fast food internet names over there.

She's preachy, and commercial. She's still funky, fresh, and lets face it, really fucking cool - most of the time. But her Old testament devotion to her husband, her nauseating use of alliteration, advert-saturated homepage, and utter insistence of use of those Godforsaken nicknames drive me up a wall, as I'm sure it does you.

Yet, I get her blog updates everyday. I read them everyday. I'm addicted, and I can't help myself.

So I ask, what's the appeal? Why do we keep going back for more? What is with this voyeuristic tendency, Blogshpere?

Don't all speak up at once now.

Crazy Angry.

And boyohboyohboyoh, was there a shit-tonne of that stuff flying around here last night.
Some people, gauh!!!
And when you live with them, it only gets worse.
Buuuuuut.... 45 days.
I can do it, I can do it, I can do it.

You know what, fuck face, you fucking deserve to know what people think of you.
So take it. Take it in the ass, where you deserve it.

I hate you. Die in a fire. Die alone - sad, pathetic and alone.

Oh, and we finished alright. On your bed. That you slept in last night. All up in my sex juice.

A brain for my roommate

Or at least a fucking off switch. This guy is an IDIOT. Why does he keep talking?
He's one of the those assholes who can't be wrong, and ALWAYS has an opinion.
He BEGS for argument. I want to stick my foot in his fucking mouth.

Thirty more fucking days of this asshole and his asshole face, with his asshole voice, and asshole opinions. He's going to die alone. He's 24 fucking years old going on 45, and fancies himself this wealthy bachelor type. He's neither. He wastes his money on credit, and often buys $500 worth of Cuban cigars from Switzerland. He's arrogant and self-serving, and if he's not stretching the truth to have a reason to complain, he's outright lying.

But to his friends (read: Not Me.), he's this great, giving philanthropist. He can't buy groceries, take out the trash, do the dishes, or contribute to this household in any meaningful way, and yet he can PAY the PHONE BILL of some stupid fucking slut with whom he works. He's always broke, but always has money. He had these delusions of being some panty-creaming Lethario, yet we - the people who LIVE with him - have never seen proof of this.

I can't wait to not live with him anymore in hopes that our friendship can be salvaged.

Whew... sorry, I needed that.

Thanks.