The Cynical Life of St. Erin the Pessimist
Complications are full of life.
We cannot get out!
…Doom doom.
Doom doom….
—-
I may or may not have the entire 9 disc LOTR audio drama box set at my disposal.
No. I do. And it is corny as hell. And I LOVE IT. And that, without a doubt, is the scariest part of the whole trilogy.
DOOM BOOM DOOM.
So in the world of managing my budget, I’m on that stupid level of Mario Bros 1 when you’re doing ok and you’re almost at the flag, and you reach the two sets of pipes (or was it blocks?) where one has ground between it, and the other one doesn’t. You know there’s a hole on the last one, and if you can just get over it, you’ll beat the level and you psych yourself up and you psych yourself out…and you jump right into it. Like a lemming. Like there’s a black hole full of demons down there where the green platform meets the oak box containing your tv. Every. Single. Time.
…Except in this case, we’re dealing with money, not Mario. And that hole is overdraft. And that overdraft SUCKS DUCKS and instead of starting over with a new guy, they just charge you $40 and say, “Yeah, you suck so much we’ll take money you don’t even have! How’s that for a new man, huh, punk?!”
So, I am once again full of screw and fail right now. Sigh. City of Wichita want to raise my paycheck 2% for no good reason? I sure as hell don’t make $75,000, and I have a diploma, dang it!
I’ve reached a point in my life where I want to challenge everything. Authority. Morals. Life. Powdered beverages. Everything. It’s like I’ve been socially stunted for years—-I was far too mature and responsible in high school—-and now I’m experiencing everything that everyone lived through when they were 17. It’s far more satisfying at 24, though, because people don’t attribute it to your teenage hormones and immaturity. They just think you’re retarded and they probably want to buy you a drink.
Still, I do all this with every intention of returning to my quiet, good girl existence once I come to my senses. But I’m rather enjoying the sport of life at the moment. I do hope I forgive myself later…but for the time being, I regret nothing.
Where is mah convertible and 19 year old boyfriend, beetches?!
I said I’d go home friday night, no matter what. Nothing he could say would convince me to do otherwise.
I was wrong.
I didn’t.
There’s a first time for everything.
Sitting at starbucks. My bottle of rittalin is empty, which is probably why I’m here. God bless self medication.
There’s a young man sitting across the shop with his nose in a book looking like a buisiness casual Adonis. His long, curly blonde hair is pulled back into a tidy ponytail and he has a smile that could be seen from space. His skin is that soft honey color that makes his blue button up shirt look less like a work staple and more like something a girl would buy him because he looks damn good in it. I wish I didn’t look so dumpy. I wish I had my pills. Michael Buble is on the radio. I wish he wasn’t. The man is leaving. One of those who come here with the intention to read, but find it too distracting to get very far. He probably just ended up reading the same sentence over and over without realizing it. I wish he’d come back and talk to me.
I’m tired and lonely and yet not lonely at all. I like this caramel brûlée drink thing they have. No one else did, but it hit the spot.
I’m going to distract myself now.
The Right Man must have moral values equal to or greater than my own or bad things will inevitably happen.
The Right Man must be able to see the invisible audience when we stand on the stage in Riverside Park in the dark at 11:00 at night. He must also be able to perform on demand, and should at least have “I’m a Little Teapot” or “The Wise Man Built His House Upon the Rock”, complete with movements, in his repertoire.
The Elephant Show theme song would just be a bonus.
GPOYMW
So, today is my mum’s fortyn*nth birthday. This is her up in North High tower doing her trademark smile/grimace that actually used to make me cry as a child. But really, she’s just smiling.
All the same, this is very…odd for me. She’s the baby of her family. She doesn’t act fortyn*ne. Life is really weird ish.
Happy Birthday, Mum. You don’t know about this blog, but I still love you. :)
On 16 November, 2004, Rufus Wainwright put out Want Two. This is only historically important because it was the first physical album I ever went out of my way to purchase on opening day. However, it was so peculiar and different from Want 1 (or any of Rufus’ other fare, for that matter) that I wasn’t immediately enamored; but it was a gloomy, cold walk-out day (oh, how I miss those…God bless college sports.) so I drove to Best Buy (Drove! to buy music! People did that once!) and snagged it before I went Christmas card shopping. Little did I know that I would fall deeply in love with the strangely female, richly ornamented album and listen to it far into December, even replacing Christmas music (although Agnus Dei is, by its latin nature, quasi-Christmas.) From that point on, when the mood is right and the day is grey and it is November, I must listen to it; it’s simply tradition.
Today is one of those days. Now I want to walk out and buy Christmas cards. Curse you, adult life.
Two current favourite songs:
Memphis Skyline
Art Teacher
That being said, I think Rufus makes a spectacular fair maiden as well as a knight.
