SPAZTASTIC

I fell down the stairs twice today.

Owiieees.

All I want

All I want is someone to save me, but everyone says I’m the only one who can save myself.

Dear Chronic Curmudgeon,

I am already mourning the loss of your blog. I am truly devastated.

At your going away party, I laughed. I cried. I threw up five times. This was truly how upset i was at your leaving us.

I was so upset in leaving you that I threw up all down the road over New York. All down the road in Connecticut. Two states will soon smell how devastated I am at your departure.

Caption This…And Have Some Fun With It!

At 4 am, occasionally, I am sensational

At 4 am this morning, I awoke with a start. Assuming my Tylenol PM wore off, I rolled around trying to fall back asleep. No luck. So I thought about things that were happening in my life. I thought about ends and new beginnings. Starts and finishes. The people who walk into our lives and affect us. And during this process, I developed a theory on friendships.

My theory is that there are three types of friendships. The first type of friendship is Hotel Friendship. They’re not always open and the food might not be to your liking. (If your tastes are too expensive, or cheap, depending.) The second type of friendship is Gas Station Friendship. While gas stations may be open twenty four hours a day, the food is usually junk. The third type of friendship is Diner Friendship. Diner friendships are the best, because the diner is always open, and you’re guaranteed to find something you like. Pudding, hash browns, anything. I have a select few friendships that are Diner Friendships, but I believe the majority of friends you make in life are Hotel Friendships.

What do you think?

Foodstuffs Irk Me

I was talking to a friend of mine who was watching Law & Order: SVU, and it got me to thinking about one if its stars, Ice-T.

Let’s talk about this for a moment or two.

This is the man who said “Fuck the police!”

Dude. Your name is Ice-T.

You gave yourself the name Ice-T.

The only thing you’re fucking is Sweet & Low and a slice of lemon. Maybe some ice and a stirrer if you’re lucky.

I Need Your Help

I’ve been spending too much money.

And I really can’t help it.

I tell myself I’m going to save, but then I end up spending it.

I’ve tried the stopping and thinking “Do I really need this?”, and I’ve tried transferring to a seperate savings account, but nothing seems to be working!

Any suggestions?

Guys… it’s not a credit card. I don’t have any credit cards. Just cash and an ATM card….

Speaking of Journalism

It’s been a while since my Journalism class met, what with the snow day and President’s Day. But today it met as usual and was essentially a repeat of last class. (I swear, we have every class twice. It’s deja vu.) But here are a few things I’ve learned about Journalism.

First, it’s a hell of a lot harder than I thought it would be. Writing a news lead is possibly the most difficult thing I’ve ever done in terms of writing. You need to fit all the essential information from a story in a one sentence first paragraph. Thankfully, I’ve gotten a bit better at it, but the better I become at news leads, the worst I become at conclusions. I must be the most wordy, verbose, inarticulate person I know. The article that was recently returned to me by my teacher made it quite clear that I write far more intelligently than I should for the average newsreader. (Apparently, only the New York Times is allowed to do that. No joke. They’re also allowed to have 50 word news leads when I’m only allowed to have twenty-five. Stupid New York Times. Just kidding, I love you.)

Secondly, it’s really hard to interview stupid people.

Thirdly. Actually, I don’t really have a thirdly. The class isn’t so bad, so I haven’t got anything to bitch about. Oh, actually wait, yes I do. Why are there no cute boys in my class? Seriously? Is it that hard to give me someone good looking to stare at in my moments of classroom despair? Honestly? Give me a break here.

A Question I asked in Journalism Class Today

I am so tired of hearing about Britney Spears. I honestly couldn’t give a hoot about the talentless hag. So why must I constantly be barraged about the state of her hair? Of her life? Of her rehab?

When did we as Americans stop caring about real news?

Why is Britney Spears shaving her head the top story when we’re spending billions of dollars on a war in which over 3000 soldiers have been killed?

Somewhere, Walter Cronkite is really pissed.

And so am I.

The truth comes out…

It’s official. I need to get a root canal.

Also, the root canal specialist forgot that the 80s ended. He was wearing a dentist suit that looked vaguely like Dr. Evil, unzipped a tad to show his tufts of gray chest hair. His belly strained against the zipper. I know aging must be hard, but please, is it that difficult to buy some new scrubs? Really? At all? Nobody wants to see that fuzz, man.

Also, I had an amazing weekend. Saturday night there was a Pirate Party. (Arrrr!) It was a blast. It was the first time I’ve been to a party since I left college, and it’s wonderful to be with people my own age, as opposed to watching TV with my parents every night. Not that my parents aren’t wonderful people, but, you know, even they get boring after a while.

As I can’t drink, my friends were kind enough to drink my share of alcohol. In the above picture is my friend Harry and I about to get completely destroyed in a game of Beirut. And by completely destroyed, I mean he got completely destroyed, as he was forced to drink all the alcohol with no assistance from me. I’m just not good with aiming ping pong balls.

Also, I got to wear a temporary tattoo. It was extremely rad.