I'm sure you're asking yourself how this differs from any other season in Jane's life. I can assure you, it makes little difference. However, I tend to blend in better during the summer. Except that I don't wear shorts...or white...or pastels...or anything but black for that matter. Still...that gin and tonic in my hand goes virtually unnoticed through Labor Day. Possibly because everyone is too busy wondering why I'm dressed like a Muslim.
2) Speaking of Memorial Day...has anyone else noticed a mysterious lack of Memorial Day BBQ's this year? I've not been invited to one single BBQ this weekend. Neither has Acr0nym. We've either become social pariahs or no one's planning on burning any grilled meaty goodness. *shaking fists at the sky* WHY?!
3) I was thinking this afternoon just how much I enjoy contributing to people's happiness. And I was thinking I ought to have tried to follow a career path that would have been conducive to this (not that I'm unhappy in my current career, mind you) endeavor.
But...what makes people happy?
Clowns. Clowns make people happy. Sadly, clowns make me think of butcher knives and serial killer clown puppets who strangle innocent, buck-toothed children in their beds.
I don't know why they make me think of butcher knives. But if I were ever alone in a dark alley and a clown showed up? I'd fully expect to be stabbed repeatedly with a butcher knife. So clowning - clearly - is out.
What else makes people happy?
This makes ME happy. (Plus? Now, I have a raging crush on Hannah.)
Sadly, someone else beat me to it. Plus? Jane isn't really very photogenic. Hence, why I write.
So I guess I'll stick to baked goods and one-liners. That seems to make people happy.
5) With the unusual grey, rainy weather 'round these parts the last couple of weeks, I've realized something Earth-shattering. Seattle is a hot spot for coffee as a necessary defense against the weather. That's why they were able to successfully birth Starbucks. No matter that Starbucks coffee sucks. Those people were desperate. And that desperation spread to, apparently, people who don't know any better. Of which there appears to be a lot...of people...who don't know any better.
6) The other day, a friend expressed discontent with the crazies the Huffington Post has been posting of late and asked for online news suggestions. I suggested BBC, NPR, the NY Times. His response was, "Oh. Well, no. All these suggestions are purportedly unbiased. I want left-leaning."
Huh. That's funny. Those are 3 the right-wingers point to as pinko commie leftist news outlets. So...Um...OK then. How about...Huffington Post? *laugh*
7) This week alone, I've had 3 different people tell me they were afraid I was going to yell at them for doing something of which they thought I'd disapprove.
- A) When have any of you - any of you besides my family maybe 20 years ago - ever known me to yell about much of anything?
- B) Why does my approval matter?
- C) I get maudlin. I never get mean.
8) When did I become such a mom? A drunken, handsy mom but a mom nonetheless.
9) Last week, when Acr0nym and I were flea market shopping (whereby I replaced all of my sadly broken pie plates for under $15), I was both delighted and disturbed to find one of these for sale...
Just the fact that this even exists? Fills me with terrifying glee. It made my entire day. FYI: I did not buy it. But I thought about it. Seriously.
10) Also last week? The Sammich Saturday offshoot of the Denver Masticators group - a group of foodie-types here in Denver - went to Biker Jim's new hot dog restaurant at 21st and Larimer. If you've ever wanted to rapture yourself straight to heaven on a yak, elk or duck dog (Owen said the duck dog was rapture-worthy), this is your place.
Me personally? I want to have heavenly sex with Biker Jim's cheesecake...and uh...yeah, that fabulous old school punk rock, bald guy behind the cash register. Meow. Mama likey. Can I order him for take out?
Sorry, Mom. TMI.
11) I am, apparently, feeling contrary tonight. I keep wanting to post two-way street relationship-type advice on peoples' Facebook posts. I may be too tipsy to Facebook. Hopefully, I'll remember that later.
12) Somehow, when Lex says, "Do you believe me? If you believe me, then that means the rest of them are wrong," I totally do. Believe him, that is. Again. For the record, I love Lex. A whole lot. And everyone else is wrong.
13) When the Fairy Goth Father (hee hee...he's not really a fairy...I just made that up) recently told me to do things in moderation, including moderation, I wanted to poo-poo him. Except...this is day 6 of Operation Moderation and, I hate to admit it but, he's right. This is what my week's looked like (until tonight):
Number of days I've exercised for a moderate 30 minutes: 5
Number of hours I've slept per night: 7.5
Number of glasses of wine: 13 (don't judge me. That IS moderate)
Number of cups of afternoon coffee: 1
Number of times I've wept uncontrollably for no reason: 0
Number of (brief) episodes of free-floating anxiety: 2
Number of (probable) unnecessary, unwarranted, and ridiculous e-mails I've sent: 1
So...fine. Moderation. I get it. Bleah. But OK.
14) This article from NPR touched a nerve with me. If you were around when I was doing #reverb10 and the subsequent month or so following, you know that I became a bit obsessed with my blog stats. First, wondering why any of you read and second, questioning, "Does anyone actually read?"
Reading that article...I felt better about my own, momentary, fall into the trap of statistics. I've not checked my statistics in months other than to look at search results and only because SOMEONE (ahem) I know likes to communicate with me via bizarre search criteria results *laugh*. But I haven't actually looked at numbers in months. I don't assume any of you read. I don't care why you read. This is my space, my words, my thoughts that are subject to change without rhyme or reason. If you're reading and take it personally? That's on you. And, if you were to confront me with what's here? I'd have to say, "Fcuk my blog. Let's talk - face to face - about what's really real and not just my perception during one moment in time."
15) So...a Psychopath Walks Into a Room...
Also, from NPR. I realized I could never be a psychopath. I have WAY too much anxiety. But the excerpt from the book made me laugh when Ronston describes how he decided to see if he fit any of the diagnoses found in the DSM-IV. Because really? Who hasn't picked up a copy and found themselves described in any number of disorders? Really?
16) I'm sick of "it is what it is". No. It's not. Robert Anton Wilson would disagree that anything "is". I'm full up to *here* with stuffing myself with that phrase. Talk to me. Tell me. Ask me. But don't let me hang out here with having to reconcile and adjust and let go with that phrase. You know who the only acceptable "it is what it is" people are? Andy. Who is dead. Debbie. Who is dead. The rest of you?
Man the Fcuk up. All of you.
And with that? I suspect I ought to say g'night.