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.

Sometimes ya get Hot. Sometimes ya get Bothered.

Sometimes ya get Hot and Bothered.

Lordy, Lordy, Look who’s forty! (and by forty, I mean “not posted for two weeks”)

Two weeks. Really? Stupid fookin’ time with all of its ostentatious flying. I have no idea how the hell that happened.

Yes I do. The real question is, do you want to hear about it? Are you sure? It’s pretty dry stuff, mostly work related and mostly that it’s hard and takes a lot of time. See? Dry.

I just had some more Jack in the Box. I unlocked the magic (yet again).

Awesome.

Now, on to some more pleasant ruminations, like, my glaucoma is being treated in a very thorough and genuinely fantastic manner. Side effects may include coughing, patchouli, and fits of silly blogging.

(There was a smoke break that took place in this space. I was thinking that it sure would be nice if I had a thinking-to-text piece of software. Dragon Naturally Thinking, NEW version 2.0 without the painful surgically implanted brain electrodes!)

This evening I was speaking to my brother, who told me that today, in Wichita, most of the city was pummeled by baseball-sized hail. I think it goes without saying that I shot yet another giant load into my pants at the thought of us finally being out of that city. I wonder how long it will be before the joyousness of being away from constant mini-tragedy (brought to you by the fine folks at Mother Nature’s Vicious Storms) wears off and I truly adjust? I hope it takes a while, it’s a good joyousness.

But lest you think it’s all Jack in the Box, butterscotch, and good times just let me say this: Fucking Pedestrians.

Instead of just driving, now I get to play a fun new game. It’s called, Try To Avoid Assisting the Crackhead in His/Her Suicide Attempt. People in this area seem to love walking. Or maybe they love crack and just have to walk. I mean, get their stroll on. Actually, it’s not even “stroll.” These fools get their amble on. It’s goddamn ridiculous. Don’t these people know I’m hopped up on processed sugar, low on patience, and long on OCD (I’m always in a hurry, gotta get it done, now. It’s annoying as hell and I’m shocked every day that Mrs. Head endures it)?

Perhaps I need to get my Buddha or my Zen on. The weather is good for it, at least right now. From what I hear though, we’ve been lucky in that respect, as well. It has barely broken 90 since we arrived, although I imagine it won’t be too much longer before the weather becomes less Zen and more Jihad. Whatever, I’ll take it. At least I won’t get hailed on.

I have to stop now as it’s taken me entirely too long to type this small amount. Stupid glaucoma meds, it’s like typing inside a glacier.

(I will try my damnedest not to be gone for another two weeks)