Singing Christmas Carols in a Minor Key
I gotta admit that I was sad on Christmas.
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Humbug
My second day of Christmas plans with the family don’t commence until 5pm so I decided to spend the day in my torn and sweaty pajamas. The Keathlys left a couple of hours ago, so it’s just me and PJ Harvey, rocking out like 1993. I was looking for a bit of speaker wire to hook up the subwoofer from my old car, but instead I found a million other things and moved around a bunch of boxes here in the basement.
Happy Thanksgiving
Today I made a roux and a green bean casserole to take over to my mom’s. I don’t think that I made enough roux — I should probably have made a double batch, given that I ended up making a half gallon of gravy. Of course, my mom had tossed the giblets because she thought that they were gross, but the gravy worked out okay anyway. This time I did not use too much black pepper.
I had to bug out early because I was feeling a little… I dunno. I could use some super fun party time tonight. Translate my heart into Japanese and back again: “Thousand being broken eyes overnight are not repaired.” It’s okay. I’m fine. That’s not as funny as “Macho Business Donkey Wrestler,” but we can’t ALL be News Radio. Oh, no we can’t.
I know that I had told myself that I was going to save my pinstriped black shirt for a hot date, but I needed extra propping up to make the casserole without freaking out while sweating the onions and mushrooms. I shaved, I looked great, but I couldn’t glue on my game face, no matter how good my grey corduroys look on me. Yes, I understand that marrying the pinstripes to the cords was asking for trouble, but Lisa gave the nod. Shit. I shoulda grabbed different pants.
Anyway, it was nice to see my extended family on my mom’s side. I put the turkey back in the oven right when it was time to be served because tearing off a leg revealed undercooked meat. Fucking great. Somewhere inside I was livid — partly at myself for not taking point on the bird. It turned out okay, the skin crisped up extra nice, but, you know, uh, shit. I’m gonna go watch some Law and Order.
If you like scratchin’ and hip hop and shit like that, yo, you should motherfucking check out the Gray Kid’s weird little online EP thing: “The Pilgrimage: Y’All Some Turkeys.”
Aw shit, motherfuckers, just listen to this fucking shit drop. That’s some fucked up SID chip action:
I don’t think that I can possibly ever swear enough.
It’s Friday, I’m In Booze
Paul is graduating, and Friday was his last day. Every day up until Friday I blinded myself to the immediacy of his departure. I just put it out of my mind because he has been such an essential part of me not losing my shit every day at work. I mean, work itself is not terribly stressful, but it seems to be the fulcrum of the giant lever being operated on by school and my home life. Zach does his part with psychotic psychadelic music and the ensuance of hilarity. Paul is the original other half of Team Kickass, so even gerrymandering to allocate a district of Team Kickass to Zach can’t close the hole.
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What did Noah do?
Noah shoveled the walk.
Noah went sledding.
Jesse went sledding too!
Noah went to the zoo and saw monkeys, penguins, lions, and tigers!
Cake Woman’s Second Birthday
Cake Woman came over last Thursday for a mini-birthday celebration with me and the quasi-fam.
Will Fix Computer For Beer
This weekend was strange. My bike rendered me mostly unwilling to walk around, so I didn’t make it to the MIA at all. I didn’t really leave the house except for some light shopping for stuff.
If you’re the dating type, you might check out OKCupid. That site has soaked up some of my undirected-free-play hours when I have been too zombified to do anything useful but too awake to crawl into bed. I went there after googling someone from personals.fark.com, that place from where my summer dating leads came. It has a very different approach to matching potential mates that involves an MMPI-style series of user-submitted questions.
Monday night Jeremy and Marsha came around for their usual reasons. Jeremy took a minute to calm my fears about random and possibly imaginary clicks that I have been hearing while riding my bike. Give me some more time on the bike and reading Zinn and the Art of Road Bike Maintenance and I’ll be able to talk to him in the appropriate bike language.
Tonight I went to my mom’s house because her husband needed help putting together his big black monster box.
AMD 64 Dual Core 3800+ 2 gigs of ram, ATI x800 pro
Yes, I’m jealous of that thing. It’s an monolith stuffed with computing power. So I’m a nerd. I don’t care.
Oh yeah, I think that I fixed the little camera again.
You may continue to attend bla bla bla
Hey, another semester, another hold! According to my new projections and calculations, next semester will be the last hold, which kind of sucks, because I ordered a big rubber stamp that says “you douchebags had better lift the hold so I don’t have to burn down the Alumni center” — wait, no it says “I dropped all those classes eight years ago! I’m old! OLD OLD OLD!” That usually works, we’ll see what they say. Of course, first I have to get the signature of my advisor, who is probably very tired of me charging into her office screaming hellfire and damnation.
“Take it to the mall with your proselytising!” she shouts, so I retire to the corner opposite the Jesus dude and rant for a good hour or two before remembering that all I need is a signature.
Oh yeah, this is the last semester of math! Ever! I will have beaten it! (this time I’m not talking about beating it in the sense of cranking one out in the bathroom of the local restaurant Pop! during a non-date to stay relaxed. Speaking of Pop!, they are opening a pizza and ice cream shop called Snap! as in “oh, snap!” or “snap, crackle, and constant indoctrination of consumerism.” Also, the Hollywood theater might be reopening?)
With that paperwork filled out, I apparently just have to reapply for a SELF loan for 2005-2006 again, because the U can’t be bothered to keep track of loans for which I am already approved. To reapply I will have to get my mom to fill out the cosigner business again, then fill out the forms myself, then print it all, have her get it notarized and send it all off. Then I get to call my dad and explain why I blew him off at the fair and that he needs to buy 16 credits worth of schoolbooks for me. There might be some lying on my part. I’m just saying. It might happen.
“No, Denise is not an earthly incarnation of Cthulu. Really. She’s the greatest person ever. That goes for you, too! I’m not bitter about you being an asshole at all!”
I may have to work on that a little, but I have at least a week before I have to have him in my place of employment checking out the freshman girls.
How To Make Me Crabby
- Take me to the fair too early — it should be dark when we go home! With fireworks and awesome!
- Have no agenda at the fair — I have no respect for people with no state fair agenda.
- Walk slowly — fortunately once Stan knows where he is going he moves like a New York cab driver. People nearly died. It was awesome
- Surprise me with my dad’s evil shrew demon wife before I have had even one delicious corn dog or for that matter any batter dipped deep fat fried goodness. Oh, hey, it’s you! I have to make a special trip to go… eat something available every ten feet around here. I’m really hungry, so I might run. You can’t just spring these things on me.
I got my fucking corn dog. It was fucking delicious.