Who with the What, Now?

Dude, cold medicine, cough medicine, and coffee is an unbeatable combination.

It's sort of like I'm swimming underwater on dry land, only I can swim incredibly quickly. And I can keep my eyes open. That simile probably doesn't make as much sense as I think it does, but it doesn't matter, because I am wired on caffeine, nodding in and out on cold medicine, and my entire mouth and throat are numb from the throat spray.

Heh. Throat looks like a very funny word on the second and third typing. Throat, throat, throat. It no longer has any meaning to me.

Where was I? Oh yeah, I am sick. Only not bad sick like I usually get, where I'm lying the futon yelling at imaginary dinosaurs. Just "Ugh, I'm sick" sick, where you'd just rather be in bed watching movies and eating soup than at the office wading through paperwork and trying not to look doped out of your gourd.

Ha. Gourd is a funny word too. Gourd gourd gourd gourd. I'm not even sure that's a word now. Spellcheck will tell me at the end of all the typing. Thank goodness for spellcheck.

Last night a bunch of people came over to the apartment for a mini party involving video games, pizza, and movies. Which is always a good time. Mario Tennis may be the most intense game I've ever played with 4 people. You think Halo is tense, when you're taking life-or-death sniper shots from across a grassy field? Try hitting a power shot from the opposite end of the court on a 5 minute rally. The howls of frustration that come up are primal in nature.

I think it speaks volumes to our geeky perseverance that I was able to have a complete night while doped up from this cold and Sean managed a full night while still recovering with a bout of mono. Who says video gamers are weak?

The reaction to the new apartment configuration was mixed. The curtains are a bit much, especially with the color the walls are now, but I think I'm gonna stick with them. Everything seems much cozier now.

Speaking of apartment related news, they got around to replacing the cute little faux-gas lightposts on my side of the street with those hideous flood lights as well. Man, and I said it was bad before. Luckily the new curtains in the living room take care of it quite well. The bedroom is another matter, but we'll worry about that after we pay off all the Christmas debt.

I wish I had some more coffee. There's no more left in the break room, I just checked. And the door to the pantry where the coffee is kept is locked for some reason. Some evil plot, no doubt. Without my coffee, I'm pretty sure a huge crash is gonna hit pretty soon. The cleaning crew will find me face down in a sea of documents and the imprint of a keyboard on my face.

That will be exciting. Huzzah for altered states of consciousness.

The Apartment, She is so Pimp

Since starting next week I will officially begin the second lease on my current apartment, it is only fitting that I got around to doing the one thing I said I would do the first day I moved in, lo those eight (?!) months ago: replacing those godawful blinds over the patio door.

You know which kind I'm talking about, right? Because there is only one kind of blinds that can be referred to as godawful. Those vertical, white, heavy plastic ones. The kind that don't even have a lower track, so they sway with the slightest touch. The kind that make the most annoying sound while swaying, by clinking together. The kind that block practically no light and no matter where you are in the living room, if you fall asleep in there, at the first light of dawn there will be a shaft of light directly across your face waking you up.

Dear lord, how I hated those blinds.

And I think they hated me just as much, considering the lengths I had to go to to get them down. Because it should be easy. The main track is attached to two little metal hooks. There is a little metal lever that you push to release each side and the whole thing comes down. Then you unscrew the two hooks. Voila.

Neither little lever would work. When I finally climbed up on the arm of the futon --

(Note: Do not wear just socks for this manuever - your feet need something to grip with. I'm leaving out the 15 minute break I had to take here when I didn't follow my own good advice and very nearly damaged a region of my body that would have made this experience less 'ha ha, oh Jason and his clumsy antics' and more 'why is Jason curled up in a tiny ball crying'. Instead I just bruised the back of my leg and hit my head on the ground. Good times.)

-- and physically ripped the track away from the little hook, the blinds decided to spite me and the other hook immediately gave way, sending an 8 foot long metal blind track directly towards my head. I did one of those weird, almost Matrix-like moves and managed to slide out from under it just perfectly as it clanged harmlessly on the arm of the futon. I was very impressed with myself, until it rolled off the futon and on to my foot. They are very vengeful and crafty, those evil blinds.

I wrangled it into the closet, never again to see the light of day, and then got to work getting rid of the hooks. Hook one - no problem. Hook two - no. . . it won't come out. No manner of brute force will remove this thing from the wall. And let's be honest, when you're talking about shows of pure strength, if I can't do it, ain't nobody gonna do it. I mean, have you seen my biceps?

Ahem.

So now I am stuck between two very difficult options. On the one hand, the hook is in the way of the new bar. It would probably be impossible to put the new one up with the hook still there and it would look horrible even if I managed it. On the other hand, fuck if I'm gonna pull that Rack of Blinds of Death out of the closet ever again.

So I go ahead and install the new fancy wooden hooks around the one painfully white and metal one that is still there. Dear God does it look hideous. But it is done. Now all that is left is to put up the new curtains on the rod and we are done.

Oh wait. I haven't mentioned the best part yet.

The new curtains.

I really gotten into it lately, but my apartment is looking pretty damn good. The new entertainment center is installed and it matches the television with a shocking color sense. I've actually hung pictures and posters and clocks on the walls. The futon is covered with darkly colored blankets that make it look less hideous than it really is. The rug is a testament to the pure, unadulterated awesomeness of the 70's.

Not to mention the lava lamp, the stoplight, the Mustang Band blanket, and the glowing, wall-mounted, color-swirling picture of the Virgin Mary that Devon got me for Christmas.

In short, the place is rockin'.

And as such, it is important to find curtains that match the decor that I've so boldly and seemlessly integrated. What possible style could match a black shag rug, a yellow plaid couch, and a black and sagging 5 year old futon, you ask? Without overpowering the glowing Virgin Mary, as well?

Dark brown faux-fur curtains, of course.

Let us all pause for a moment, lest we be overwhelmed by my own good taste.

The new curtains are not at all spiteful. They went on gracefully, confident of their newfound status as the coolest thing in the apartment. And I was able to place them, bar and all, onto the hooks without the slightest issue.

And they are perfect.

I dare anyone to walk into my house now and tell me it is not the epitome of flawless design. Because if you do, the curtains will destroy you.

Post Holiday Wrap-Up

So Christmas was fun, wasn't it?

I headed out early in the morning on Christmas Eve after a long night of World of Warcraft which continues to run my life.

(Sidebar: How much does it rule my life? That night I had a dream that the Undead had planted an evil plague in my office building that turned people into zombies. But you couldn't necessarily tell which people were zombies. So I enlisted Sean to come to the building to help me fight the zombies, but he just wanted to kill everyone in the office, regardless of whether they were zombies or not. And then one day he showed up to work with an axe and I was all "Dude, you can't bring an axe to work," and he was all "But it has, like, a 18.9 damage per second rate." And then I was like "Oh. Wow, that's really good. Okay then.")

I hit the homestead around noon and proceeded to lie about the house doing a lot of nothing and playing video games with the brother. We then had Christmas Eve church service, which never fails to delight, especially when the minister busts out his favorite line of the night "And on that day, there was a ripple in the fabric of space and time, which resulted in the miracle creation of our lord Jesus." It's like a freakin' episode of Deep Space Nine lodged in between carols.

After that began the ordeal that is gift-giving, which in our house is something of an extravaganza to say the least. It lasts from that night up through at least noon the following morning.

(Although the interlude that was that night was fun. Jason - falls asleep. Ishbu (the cat) - decides to come over and meow at him all night long. When this does not get the expected response, he climbs on top of Jason and begins to bat him in the head while meowing. Jason pets him to calm him down and then falls asleep again. Repeat all night long. Good times. Turns out the cat does this at night when he wants to go outside. No one tells me anything.)

That next morning, I rocked out with: a new video game, a new beaver, an awesome entertainment center to house my TV, replacing the current set up of two ugly end tables propping the TV up in the middle of the living room, much like a car up on cement blocks in someone's front lawn, a set of most awesome coasters, a new chair, and a branding iron (yeah, I don't know, but that's totally what it was).

All of my gifts I gave were very well received as well, which is awesome, considering my general suckiness at gift giving usually. So that's cool. Especially the video game I got my brother which features a 2cm tall Prince of All Things and his quest to roll everything in the world into one huge ball. I ran around the house for 2 days humming the theme song. And it was awesome.

The rest of Christmas was filled with: eating, football, more eating, cleaning, eating pie, moving furniture, more pie, emptying out what was once my old room, a little more turkey followed by pie, and the systematic disassembling of a bed. And then some more pie.

The Day After Christmas was a blur of packing up tons of stuff. My sister is moving in to the spare bedroom of my Apartment of Too-Coolness, so we loaded everything she owns into the back of my truck and I set off for home. Navigating the Truck of Malfunction weighed down with a thousand items, combined with a mattress blocking the entire back window and a computer monitor and television blocking the passenger side mirror is something akin to steering a cow on rollerskates across a frozen lake. While blindfolded.

It took forever, but I got home, recruited Frank to help with the heavy lifting, and got everything into the house with minimal injuries.

I then proceeded to break tons of stereotypes by building not one, but two pieces of furniture, as well as breaking down the old bed from hell, again with only the slightest injuries. Although I did wickedly bruise my index finger which is making it hell to type pretty much every 3rd letter.

After that I went on to reinforce several thousand stereotypes by redecorating the living room while listening to Mandy Moore's CD. The new arrangement is a little quirky, but I'm very impressed with its lack of sucking, thus far. Today I will get the new curtains that will finish the room. Putting those up will be an entirely new adventure, mostly in the art of tackiness.

We finished the night with a rousingly horrible movie, The Girl Next Door, which seemed to show so much promise, yet left that cute boy from Joan of Arcadia looking absolutely horrible, and caused us to constantly yell at the screen. Oh, and I kept prompting the actual dialogue in the movie 5 seconds before the characters said it, which either means that - A) I think like the screenwriter (DOOM) or B) It's really obvious dialogue and the screenwriter is a hack (YAY). Guess which one I'm hoping for. Oh, and I finally went through the process of getting an account at The Movie Trading Company, which means that it's official - I can never move.

Man, that was a lot of crap for one weekend. I rule.

Happy Holidays and Whatnot

In case it was not readily apparent from my lack of posting, I'm on Christmas sabbatical.

New stories after the holidays, when I will have a new roommate! Who is my sister!

Oh, I can already feel the wacky antics begining. It's like a sitcom. Or Devon's house. Either way, a laugh a minute.

Have a safe and happy Christmas, y'all.

Ice, Dorks, Whatev

Update on Blinding Death: Somehow I managed to engage Creepy Neighbor Across the Hall in conversation yesterday. He said that he had the same issue with the lights and went to the office to complain. They told him they were adjusting the brightness and it should be better that night. They were right, in that it was still bright but I didn't wake up constantly. Of course, that might have just been because I was exhausted from no sleep the night before, but whatever, we take what we can get.

Okay, so it is freezing outside. Literally freezing, as in I went to get in my car today and had to pick the ice off around my door lock. And I swear, on Saturday it was like autumn and too hot for a light jacket. Today I am still freezing indoors because I have no work-appropriate jacket-like object (the only one I have is blue denim/corduroy and barely works outside the 1980's, let alone a work environment) and I haven't done work laundry this week so I had to wear my one clean work shirt left, which is the white one that is about as substantial as old tissue paper. I might as well have gone to the office naked. Although, ew, scratch that. No one needs that image this early in the day. Anyway, I'm cold. And old, so I complain a lot.

Last night I went to Best Buy to complete the last of my Christmas shopping. Three presents and I was done. It's a very heady feeling, being finished before the 15th. Usually I'm scrambling through the malls on the 23rd, pushing aside small children for the last item on the clearance rack. So that is cool. Non-stressful holidays, I wonder if such a thing is possible. Not bloody likely.

Anyways, while I was finishing the shopping, of course I had to pick up The Return of the King EE, it's hard coded into my computer scientist DNA. Just the knowledge that I had a movie in my hands that was over 4 hours long, with 3 separate commentary tracks made me a little light headed. That's an easy 16 hours of entertainment where I don't have to do a damn thing but microwave the popcorn. And then there are 2 more discs with documentaries! Be still my tiny, dorky, heart.

I really have to get more dorks as friends, though. No one else seems to share my pure, unadulterated joy at this concept. They're all just very skeptical. Whatever, I shall soldier on alone then! It's not like there's a lot left to do elsewhere, considering I'll ice over if I step outdoors.

Bright Lights, Big City

Last night, I finished watching Monday Night Football (at like midnight. Do the games always go this late? It was the same way with the Cowboys game last week. This is what I get for starting to watch TV on Monday nights. Stupid enticing glowing box.) and decided it was time for bed.

I look around and realized that the promise I made to myself on Sunday to clean up the apartment tomorrow had gone completely unfufilled. I contemplated actually doing something to end the relentless horror of dirty dishes, clothes, and graham crackers everywhere, but in the end decided to just freakin go to bed, it's midnight, fool.

I go through the house and systematically turn everything off, lock the door and whatnot. I turn to head over to my room to get some sleep - hey, the light is still on in there! Jesus, I'm losing my mind again, aren't I? This is gonna be another butter fiasco, isn't it? Damnation!

So I go back into my room. No, the light isn't on. It's that there is a light so bright outside my window that it just looks like my light is on from the kitchen. I mean astonishingly bright. I have Venetian blinds on my window. In general, no light comes through during the night. This light, whatever it may be, can apparently penetrate opaque plastic.

I peek through the blinds. My apartment complex has decided to replace the cute little faux gas lanterns that line the sidewalk around the main office with huge, brilliant white flood lights. It's practically daylight outside. You could play sports or perform tricky surgery under these lights.

I try in vain to close the blinds even tighter. Now that my eyes have adapted, it just looks like the window is glowing. Better than any nightlight I ever owned as a small child. Brighter than my computer monitor. And, just for kicks, there is one strip at the very top of the window that is uncovered. So this one blinding shaft of light is painted across the opposing wall.

I am so doomed. I need intense darkness to sleep, these days. Once upon a time, I could manage to sleep with the television on and 3 roommates playing a rousing game of Halo less than 5 feet away. Now, the old man in me needs no interruptions, aurally or visually. I briefly consider commandeering the empty bedroom for my own needs, until I remember that I think it's haunted and rule that out. I briefly try the futon in the living room, but the lights get in there too, since I still haven't replaced the blinds on the patio door.

Doom.

My final solution is to use my comforter and my extra pillow as a blind against the light and sleep diagonally on the bed to minimize my exposure to the other wall. This is about as successful as you would imagine. I estimate the number of times I woke up due to blinding white beams of pure energy assaulting my eyeballs at 7. And somehow, I don't think tomorrow will be any better.

On a completely unrelated note, I've been looking for a new hobby lately. What do you think of the slingshot?

On Housing

A photo essay on the art of perfect gingerbread house construction:

1) Who needs gingerbread and icing when you have graham crackers, frosting, Skittles, M&Ms, and Fruit Roll Ups? We obviously start at the advanced level of house building.

Here we see the early levels of construction. Notice the multiple layers of crackers to create the soundest walls possible:



2) Soon, it becomes apparent that utensils are useless. We must forge ahead with the tools God intended for use with frosting: Our fingers:



3) With an exterior base complete, it is time to work on the roofing. Here Emily serves as point man on the careful construction of the dark shingled, most delicious chocolate roof:



4) As anyone who has ever watched Extreme Makeover can tell you, exterior decorations are just as important as a roof. Here Sean begins the laborious process of beautifying the place up as Emily prepares the roof for placement:




5) Emily's master design completed, it is time for the roof. Notice our precision in placement - we could very easily be mistaken for professionals at this point in the process:



6) Alas, it was not meant to be. The roof was too delicious, and also too heavy for the house. Here we reinforce the ground floor by adding an attic to what is soon to become the most awesome edible house not contained in a fairy tale:



7) Frank poses with the new attic level, while Sean points out the awesome attention to detail taken in his creation of the door. Yes, that is a door knob you see, and yes, it might be a Skittle:



8) Finally, while Sean looks on in disbelief, as a unit we hoist the roof and begin viciously spackling every available surface:



8) The world waits in breathless anticipation - will the entire house collapse under its own sheer too-coolness? The answer is awesomely no:



9) From here on out, it's all just detail work. Bonus features added on to the best house in the world at no additional cost: Fruit Roll Up tarp covering the holes in the attic walls to increase livability, Graham cracker dog with red eyes and red nose out on the front lawn (a lawn created entirely out of astroturf flavored Fruit Roll Up, by the way), and an Evil snowman to scare away burglars and unwanted children.



Triumph!

And just to show off the design team, here's a couple gratuitous shots of the master craftsmen:



AND



We are too cool for words, if you haven't realized it yet. Go us!

Bad Habits

I cannot stop any of the following:

• Biting my nails. I think it's more of a perfectionist thing than anything. I can't stand it when my nails look or feel uneven. So I bite them to get them more orderly, but then they are uneven in a different way and I have to continue biting them until, well you know, Doom. That's a little more OCD than I like to sound this early in the day, but whatever.
• Running my hands through my hair. Especially now that it's all long and unmanageable. Which is no good at all, because when I do mess with my hair, it retains the direction my hands took. Which makes me look all wild-haired and shifty. Or "more shifty" as the case may be. Sometimes when I go to the bathroom at work, when I go to wash my hands I physically recoil when I see my reflection in the mirror. Thank God I don't speak to many people face to face at this place.
• Saying the word 'totally.' Because I am an incredibly shallow 13 year old girl, apparently.
• Talking to Edgar in the TOM. Talking to inanimate objects is creepy, I am told. Naming said objects and then talking to them? More creepy. Blaming external events on the named object and discussing the blame with them? Apparently that's when people just start to back away slowly, no sudden moves, and don't make eye contact.
• Doing the little good-luck superstition move whenever I drive through a yellow light, wherein I kiss my hand and touch the ceiling of the TOM. I don't remember when I picked it up, probably from friend Brint back in the day, but now it's weird and automatic. And I totally (shit, see?) don't even realize that I'm doing it until someone calls me on it, and then I try and be all nonchalant about it, but they just look at me funny and sigh. I find it sad that I've become That Weird Guy. But that's a whole other topic.
• Using random quotes from Daria episodes in real life. This isn't a big deal to anyone except me, since I'm the only one who has watched a Daria episode in the past 3 years, but it annoys me to no end when I say something and then think "I totally stole that from someone. Where did it come from?" Because it's almost always some throw-away line from Daria and I feel very unoriginal. Stupid lack of imagination and/or conversational skills.
• Making really bad jokes in business related situations. This so not good, but it's one of those nervous tics that I picked up from my dad. I always add some stupid comment to the end of any stream of information that I give, or receive, that is completely irrelevant and grinds the flow of the conversation to a halt. It is usually accompanied by The Stare of Why Don't You Shut Up and Go Somewhere Else, which just makes things worse. And no one ever laughs. Because, really, who would?

One might say that since we're this close to the end of the year, it might be a good time for some New Year's Resolutions to fix some of these issues. I say "Nuts to That." I am an individual and I don't care what "The Man" or "Polite Society" or "Everybody Else in the World" says. If I'm already That Weird Guy, I'll be the weirdest damned Weird Guy out there. Dammit.

Vertigo

[Scene: Jason's Living Room. The Amazing Race has just ended. Jason is lying on his luxurious rug, finishing dessert.]

Jason: Mmm, cookies...

[The phone rings]

Jason: What the hell is that? [Jason's house phone does not ring very often] Oh right, I have a phone.

[Jason goes to stand up. He makes it 3/4 the way to vertical, before completely losing his balance and slamming back into the floor.]

Jason: Ooof. Woah, headrush, I guess.

[He tries again. He makes it to standing, takes two steps and then tips over and slams into the wall.]

Jason: What the hell?

[He tries a couple more steps and finds that he is so intensely dizzy that he's totally about to fall over again. Meanwhile, the phone is still ringing.]

Jason: Must...answer...phone.

[He drops down and attempts a fast crawl to the phone, finding that connecting to 4 points on the floor minimizes the chances of falling.]

Jason [answering the phone]: H-hello?
Goddamn Telemarketer: Hi, can I speak with Jason [Totally Mispronounced Last Name]?
Jason [the vertigo about to destroy him]: No, you really can't. Have a nice night. [Hangs up.]

[He slumps against the wall. What could possibly be causing this? He hasn't had anything to drink besides a glass of milk with the cookies. Bad milk? No, bought it two days ago. Bad dinner? It came from a restaurant. Unlikely.]

Jason [goes to the computer. On IM]: Jim! I'm suffering from extreme vertigo. If I die, I want you to avenge my death!
Jim: Okay. Who do I need to exact it on? Frank?
Jason: Yeah, Frank'll do. Not sure what is causing it. Maybe it's a carbon monoxide leak. I would open a window, but it's really cold outside.

[At this point Jason falls out of his chair. Deciding that frostbite would completely be worth getting rid of the falling, he stumbles out of the apartment in his pajamas.]

Jason: Christ! It's freezing out here.

[He runs back in, trips over a dining room chair, knocks over his big bowl of candy, which then begins to rain down Sweetarts on his head.]

Jason: This is not my beautiful life.

[He grabs his keys, runs back outside and to his car. Turns it on and waits for the heater to kick in. He waits out in the car, reading a book and hoping that this whole thing will blow over. 10 minutes pass.]

Jason: Well I feel better. Thank God. It is a carbon monoxide leak.

[Takes one step out of his car, tips straight over, trips on the curb, and slams into a tree.]

Jason: Maybe not.

[Deciding it's not an environmental thing, Jason goes back into his apartment and settles into his computer chair, determined to wait out the vertigo. He only falls out of the chair twice more, once when he goes to the bathroom, the other when he brushes his teeth. Eventually he gives up and goes to bed, still really dizzy. The night passes without event, and in the morning, everything is fine.]

[End scene]

Didn't my stories used to have endings to them? Or morals? Nowadays it seems like everything that happens is just completely random and pointless. Whatev. File this under: Not only is Jason clumsy, he now has Tennessee Williams-like spells.

So that's fun, right?

Traffic School

Okay, so I've tried to avoid this topic for months now. It's just so cliche. Before you know it I'm gonna start ranting on about the weather (Insanely sunny. Is there anything worse than bright sun first thing in the morning? (No.)) and/or how boring work is (you have no idea).

Oh well.

For the love of God, are all the drivers in Dallas sharing one collective brain? And is that brain the size of a small walnut? And is that brain always thinking about boys instead of watching the damn road? I know Dallas is a moderately big city. And that there are a lot of people here. There's bound to be accidents, and resulting traffic jams. I can deal.

But seriously people, when neither of those things exist, the highway is a place where you go fast. Rapid transit from point A to B, C, D, and beyond by ingenious design. It is not a place to decide that 45mph is God's designated speed limit and that you must convert every other car out there to your will. (There's an extended metaphor available here about Jehova's Witnesses, cars, and the highway but I don't think I have the literary skills to pull it off.) And this totally means you too, Mr. Police Guy Who Was In Front of Me on the Way to Work Today. I don't care if you have a shiny, pretty, able-to-flash light on top of your car, the actual speed limit is still your friend.

Last night on the way home from work it had rained pretty hard about 20 minutes beforehand and it was still sprinkling when I got on the highway. Traffic proceeded to move at 19mph the entire way to my exit. (The one thing keeping my sanity mostly intact is that my actual highway route home is only 4.3 miles long.) When I get to the salvation that is my turning lane, I speed up to get the hell off the Highway of Doom, Slowness, and the Occasional Ugly Couch (HDSOUC). As I'm heading off, I look over. There is no problem on the HDSOUC as far as I can see, and that's at least for the next 3 exits. These people just feel the urge to go 19 miles per hour, for their health, enjoyment, and the love of tormenting me. There are huge gaps in the traffic ahead. It is roughly 7 cars, apparently filled with people channeling sloths, doped up on morphine, and/or under water, that are keeping the traffic going at this pace.

That is not healthy for my rage.

Because when I am alone in the TOM (Or, for that matter, with friends and family. It don't mean a thing to me.) in addition to rocking out to the music on the radio, I develop a mouth like a longshoreman and will rant and rave at everyone from teenagers to nuns and the elderly. Anyone who feels the need to cut me off, or go slow, or, heck, mildly annoys me with their selection of car color (Who the hell buys a lime green PT Cruiser? Someone who should die, that's who.). My anger knows no bounds inside the TOM (Motto: "Where no one can hear your insults.").

I think it was brilliant advanced planning on my part to have preemptively not bought a gun to keep under the passenger side seat. Well, that and the fact that guns scare the bejesus out of me. Although I'm pretty sure I could get over that fear upon the 3rd time some church van merged into traffic in front of me going 30mph down Highway 75.

So that's that. Learn a lesson from your Uncle Jason: Don't incur my wrath. Especially on the highway. Or I might. . . seethe and call you names. . . from the inside of my TOM. . . where you can't hear.

Sigh. Leave me alone.

Check the Banner, Yo

Mad props to Frank for the influx of Christmas spirit up on top there. Isn't it awesome?

Heh.

And in one of those pictures I'm drunk. Guess which one.

Happy Holidays, y'all.

(Oh, and 'cause some people asked, here is the other Christmas banner. It'll be going up next week, probably. It's not as cool as Frank's, but I did it all on my own.)

Commercialism

It's been a while since I've watched actual TV.

Which seems sort of ridiculous to say, seeing as all I do these days is watch TV shows. But go along with me: I've discovered the joy that is Dvd box sets of TV shows; all the goodness of a serial, but no interruptions and multiple episodes in a row. So now when I actually sat down for some real-time prime time sitcoms (Arrested Development still rocks my world) I was shocked, shocked I say, by the levels to which commercials have sunk.

Although nothing reached the horrors that were the Levi's commercial of death, or that horrific Juicy Fruit debacle, instead we have hideous celebrity hawkings to deal with. Elton John for something resembling a bastard iPod? Sarah Jessica Parker running about in a GAP commercial? And did I just go temporarily insane or was that a member of nsync that I just saw?

People, this will not stand. It offends my delicate sensibilities when the weirdly famous start telling me I should buy stuff. As if Catherine Zeta Jones shilling for T-Mobile wasn't enough. At least she's smokin' hott enough to warrant an appearance on my television. Shouldn't that nsync kid be in some sort of rehab center by now?

Oh yeah, and in conclusion, each and every one of those Old Navy singers should be tracked down and shot. For the good of mankind.

---------------------------------------

In other news, my hair and I are in a vicious fight to the death. As of this writing, I am winning, but just barely. I'm attempting to grow it out at least some, to get out of the same haircut I've had for the past 6 years. (And we're not gonna count 2 summers ago when I grew out to that Dumb & Dumber chili bowl cut. That never actually happened.) This will be one of those historically epic struggles, so if you see me in real life, try not to shriek in horror at what may result in the immediate future. Sometimes good things can come of hair after a while.

Yeah, I've totally got nothing to talk about today.

Sharing the Pain

So yesterday I got to experience the joy of a hangover for the first time in, oh, 2 years or so.

For future reference, never skip dinner, eat a bunch of refined sugar in the form of 100 pixi sticks and then drink enough vodka and rum to sink a small ship. You will end up near death. And of course the sun will be shining so brightly that you will wish for a nuclear winter just to keep the rays from drilling any deeper into your skull. And you will get up, vomit, brush your teeth, vomit, shower, vomit, and then still need to go to work. And when you get there, you will have to deal with a thousand inane people all day who believe that their one common goal in life is to do and say anything that will allow them not to do their jobs and screw you over. And then you will get stuck in traffic for an hour on the way home because someone thought it would be cool to transport a couch on the back of their truck without anything tying it down and it managed to end up lying in the middle of 75, looking very forlorn. And of course everyone will then slow down to look at it, because it is 1) a couch on the highway, and 2) possibly the ugliest couch ever designed by human hands. And then you will get home and your house will reek of vodka and rum and spoiled bacardi mixer because you left the bottle out last night when you made up those daiquiris that got you into this mess in the first place. And then you'll try to make dinner, only to burn everything and make an even worse smell in the apartment. And so you'll make a frozen pizza for dinner, down enough Advil to make you wish you had stock in the company and collapse on your futon and end up in bed before 10:30 at night. And it will suck.

This has been a public service announcement brought to you by Jason's 20/20 Hindsight.