Tuesday, April 25, 2006

My dogs are ruing the day they got covered in fur. It’s not even truly hot yet and they plod around looking at us as if to say, “Why did you make us come here?” That could be a mistake, though. The look could very well mean, simply, “Why am I not eating something right now?”

It’s a tough life they have.

I’m so damn behind on the goings on within the sphere it’s just getting damn depressing. I got caught up on a few, but I’m really not even making a dent. I miss getting neck deep in one of Iggy’s uber-posts. A happy belated birthday to the almighty purveyor of oversized junk, The Heads wish you well as you go kicking and screaming into the more mature realms of old age. Speaking of 30, I’m only 6 weeks away from it myself.

Perhaps someone can explain to me just how that happened. Truly, the days pass slowly and the years pass quickly. It’s all making me feel quite behind, like I need to catch up to something. Am I a product of my own hectic pace? It would certainly explain the increase in OCD symptoms. I’m in a race with my own mortality. It’s a race I’m bound to lose, but I’m compelled to run as fast as I can anyway, which in the end means that mortality will win even sooner. Boy, my attitude is awesome today, a nice combination of the prospect of starting decade number three and having fucking news on one of the big monitors at work all day. All. Day. I don’t know how much longer I can listen to GW blurbs, Duke inanity, and updates on the latest incorrect Natalie Holloway suspect before I start deliberations on the best way to end it all in the workplace. I was thinking something along the lines of crucifying myself with gel pens, breaking one of the 19-inch flat panels over my head and leaving it there as a pseudo crown of thorns. Just think of the tizzy this would cause in various circles. Pure bedlam, wheeeeeee!

And Hannity and Colmes can go fuck themselves. Their brand of hard-hitting noise creates a din that is particularly annoying. For some reason they just tipped me over the edge today. The truth is that most news shows and organizations can go fuck themselves. Even truthier still, pretty much everyone can go get fucked. Right in their stupid asses. Except you guys, that is. You’re all some goddamn fine people.

Fuck you, fuck you, okay, you’re cool, fuck you……..

I'd also like to thank the Arizona Motor Vehicle Bureau for their contribution to my wonderful mood. It’s like they’re actively trying to prevent me from getting my vehicle registered in this state. I could sit across from a life insurance agent, chain smoke Pall Malls, eat Crisco from a serving spoon, have a scotch IV, and getting a policy would still be easier than getting plates for the car. Transitions are FUN.

I still love it here, though, regardless of what my nasty mood might tell you.