good grief…

Okay.  It’s been far too long since I have been updating this thing.  And why is that?  Probably the same reason why nobody else seems to be rocking their blogs.  

Real life.

Well that, and I have been seduced by the facebook.  Maybe it’s the combination of speed, feedback, and instasnark that has me so beguiled.  Why spend an entire afternoon spell-checking something that may or may not be read by anyone when I can throw out one or two smart ass comments every hour or so?  

On the downside, I think that my writing skills have atrophied beyond redemption.  So October ninth resolution, get back to it.  

Egad, this is like taking antibiotics.

confronting the butterface

It was at Lil Yum’s going away, Jersey Shore extravaganza where I learned the term “Butterface.” Since most of y’all are well versed in the lingo, I’m not even going to try to explain it. Suffice it to say, the good feminist in me could not believe that the term even existed. I believed it to be the ultimate in obnoxious, frat dude mindset.

With that said, here is a special message to those who know and love me: I get it. Seriously? Woof.

November 9th resolution: No more drunk blogging. Starting now.

a laundry list…

Lists.

There are just so many of them.  To do lists, priority lists, Top 10 lists, shopping lists…  the list goes on.

Personally, I love them. I’ve got a list for everything. My favorite list is my “100 things to do before I die” list.  It’s a mess of hopes and dreams, casually enumerated for my perusal.  The reality is that some of those things might never get done. Actually, a lot of those things might not get done. After all, when am I going to find the time for Number 19:  Be on the lam.

So it was with a little jealousy, I will be the first to admit, that I am witnessing the ever shrinking list of my righteous Ms. Al. With all the things that she can inspire, strange that she drives me to make yet another list.  This particular one has taken me an eon to accomplish. To make excuses, it’s not as easy as one might believe to come up with 101 Things to Do in 1001 Days.  It’s not the same as putting together a list of things to do before I die.

I’ve already done some of the things on this list, but who cares.   I want to do them again.

After all, this is a list of things that I want to do.  It’s a list of things that I love to do.  It is a list of things that I’ve put off.  It’s a list of things that would make my immediate world kind of great.  It is a list of things that have a reasonable chance of accomplishment.  After all, I only have somewhere in the neighborhood of 2.75 years to get it done.

Feasibility changes scope.

March 24, 2010…

when snarky comments happen to good posts…

For those who know and love the machinations of wordpress, you might have noticed that the feed stats have been retired. It was fun while it lasted.

In any case, there was a bit of a fracas that erupted on the forums that made me laugh. I know I shouldn’t but it is kind of fun when techies get into a slap-fight.

June 13th resolution: I will not laugh at the wounded ego of others.

when not to send in the British…

Last Wednesday, I asked the relatively new imperialist, aka Steve History, what he would be doing over the weekend. He answered that he would be going to the track.

Wait a second. “The race on Saturday?” I asked. His response: “I have no idea. It might be.” For those who are countrymen of the relatively new imperialist or have been living under a rock, Mr. History was to see the Belmont Stakes, the third in the Triple Crown, the “run for the carnations.”

Me being me, I asked Mr. History to put down a few bets. He kindly agreed. To make life easier for the lad, I sent him an email:

Hey Mr. History,

Can you place a few bets for me? They are contingent on these post positions being final:

1 Imawildandcrazyguy
2 Tiago
3 Curlin
4 C P West
5 Slew’s Tizzy
6 Hard Spun
7 Rags to Riches

If the post positions don’t change, you can just show this to the guy at the betting window:

Race 11: Belmont Stakes

$5 exacta box 7, 2, 3
$5 exacta key 2, with 3, 7
$5 Superfecta 7, 3, 2, 6

HORSES!

Simple enough. I figured that Rags to Riches would win, but there would be an outside chance that Tiago would rock it. Hedge the bets, right?

The race results: 7, 3, 2, 6.

Okay, not that the outcome was a huge surprise, and it wasn’t like there was a huge field, and it wasn’t like I know too much about the horses. Turns out, I know enough to hit the superfecta. In this particular race, it wasn’t brain surgery, but it still felt nice!

At least it did for a little while. Dreams of new 500 thread count sheets evaporated like the steam off a pile of horse manure. It seems that Mr. History didn’t go to the track that afternoon, but attended a barbecue instead.

June 10th resolution: Never send in the British when cash is on the line.

girlfriend can do SO much better…

Boarding a plane is an insane experience. There is the slight flush when you see that your row is empty. Could a girl be so lucky? Usually not. You hope for the best, but to no avail. You make the best of a situation and hope that the person next to you is either cute, interesting, or very sleepy. You hope that they don’t smell, have an ample supply of gum. You hope that they won’t roll their eyes when you accidentally start making small talk. Any hope that one might harbor is immediately dashed when a gushy couple invades your beautifully empty row. Welcome to my world.

It was 0700 hours, and there I was on an ATA flight out of LaGuardia. As I said, it’s probably too much to think that I might get an empty row. They appeared out of nowhere. Actually, that’s kind of what it felt like. I was in the exit row, and they went around the row in front and snuck to the inside seats. Like skulking Jedis. Guess you had to be there. Kind of hard to paint the word picture. Anyhow, it was not a minute before they started with the canoodling.

Seriously, get a room. It was seven in the morning, and they were being ridiculous. I try to ignore it, but they were right there. So then I took a good long look. The girl was kind of adorable. She had that slightly aged, varsity cheerleader look to her. The guy? Egads. I don’t like to think of myself as vain, but woof.

There was nothing pretty, or even slightly charming about this dude. Greasy hair, bad skin, little teeth. How on earth did he get this chick. I really don’t get it. To pad his resume of charm, he whips out a photography magazine and starts lecturing his gal pal on the pros and cons of aperture settings. Not for nothing, but half the turds flying from his mouth were totally wrong. That just made him uglier. Of course, me being me peeked over to see what magazine he was using as his prop, and he thought that he had captured another admirer. My luck, it encourages him. He starts speaking louder, in that bizarre, slightly strained tone that one takes on when they want others to overhear their conversation. You’ve done it, so don’t pretend you don’t know what I am talking about. FYI, not everyone is interested. I privately cringed and then put on my iPod. That’s right. We weren’t even at 10,000 feet! I am such a rebel!

May 11th resolution: Tune out the ugly man. Tune in AC360.

360 degrees, imaginary weekend style

My life in turn around might have turned all the way around and come back to where it started. I received a bit of news today that put a crimp in my six month plan. A plan that didn’t exist before Saturday. With everything that still might happen, I can’t help but feel that I imagined everything. All I am saying is that I probably should have left the SI Cover off of my blog.

Still cryptic? As always. Suffice it to say, I am not too concerned.

It is a world of extremes, I guess. Either I am too careful, in a “Watch out! You’ll break it!” kind of way, or living at the polar opposite, overly enthusiastic “I am the coolest human alive, so stuff that!” manner. Kind of a strange way to live, but it works for me. Sort of.

The first leaves me in the protective, cotton wool of honest pessimism. Don’t put yourself out there, you might get hurt. Don’t tell that person something, you might be wrong. Don’t want that, you will just be disappointed. Don’t open that door, there might be a boogie man on the other side. Not the best attitude I will admit, but it has kept me alive. Alive, and very, very bored.

It wasn’t always like this. My duvet of safety is a product of my ridiculously enthusiastic brain. As a rule, enthusiasm is a dangerous toy. Things have a tendency to lean towards ruin when propped up with too much joy. They become pipe dreams of a tier one school. They become a job that, as of now, is going through serious materialization problems. They are cute boys with histories longer than the Napoleonic Wars. Maybe that last one isn’t so bad.

ARGH! April 25th resolution: to heck with it. Don’t worry so much. Be excited. Disappointments are temporary, but time bored is gone forever. I guess that whatever happens, happens. If I am staying in Chicago, it is hardly what I can call a bad thing. After all, barbecues!

I am off to paint some faces!