Sorry little lamb, another year has passed and you're still alive

It's just about 2006, and what do I have to show for it? NOT A DAMNED THING. Oh sure, I've got a job (oh excuse me, a "career," as the folks at UCI like to say, fully aware that no one in their right mind would stay there forever) and an apartment that has all the right number of walls and floors and such, but what do I REALLY have? (A kick-ass TV)- No, I mean really have? Well my health (cross your fingers and poke a foreigner in the eye), my mental health (a tenuous grip at best, but it still counts), and family and friends (probably shouldn't have mentioned that mental health bit-could lose a few over that.) But even with all that, I haven't really accomplished anything. Not that I set out to win the Nobel prize in chemistry or anything, but a New York Critics Association award would have been nice. I mean, sure, many people go years without producing anything of significance. Einstein had his patent office years, Mozart his Baltic mountain years, and Gandhi had his Hawaii period; but damnit, I'm better than all of them! Honestly, I am! Oh well, no use whining about it now I guess. When the end of the year comes and we look back at the black holes of our existences, it certainly is humbling. ("--Really? Because that 'better than Gandhi' thing didn't sound humble." Hey! Shut up inner Jesus! Don't make me lock you up again! "--ok, ok, don't throw a fit. jeezzz")It's the time of year when we take stock of our lives, and if this past year is any indication, my stock will be almost worthless by 2012. But who knows, I could pull an "Apple" and come out with a nifty-looking hand held Anthony which could be a big hit with 20-something hipsters. There's always hope!


P.S. In addition to looking back on your own life, take a moment to look back on the lives of some other people and learn some lessons. Take Paris Hilton and Tom Cruise; from them I learned how not to be a skank-ass man stealing hoe, and how not to corrupt innocent virgins with crazy talk about how psychiatry is evil and how we are all really aliens or some shit.

Happy Holidays!

I have a blog? huh? oh yeah.....

I just moved into my new apartment in Tustin and there is so much to do. I. AM. LOSING. MY. MIND.

Bah!

The Space Between Earning a Living and Not Giving a Shit


Due to popular demand (two people) I will now describe in greater detail the finer points of my sotra-but-not-really-if-you-consider-the-cost-of-living-in-southern-california gainful employment. My official job title is “IRB Assistant, Committee C” (IRB stands for Institutional Review Board). My job is also classified under the broader term “Assistant Administrative Analyst.” The IRB at UC Irvine is charged with reviewing all research conducted by UCI staff, faculty, and students that use human subjects, animal subjects or DNA. I work for the Human Subjects part, called Human Research Protections. There are three committees that deal with human research at UCI: A, B, and C. Each committee is staffed by an Administrator, Coordinator and an Assistant. Committees A and B deal with biomedical studies, in other words, clinical trials of new drugs, experimental medical procedures, etc…anything having to do with medical procedures basically. Committee C, the one I work for, deals with all the social/behavioral studies at UCI, like psychology tests, ethnic studies and the like. In order for a person affiliated with UCI to conduct research involving human subjects they must first apply for IRB approval. I basically help process the applications and get them ready for Committee review. The committee reviews these applications to make sure the human subjects are not being exploited or put into any unnecessary risks. Then the committee will approve the study, and I process the approval. Then end. See, aren’t you sorry you made me do that? I bet you fell asleep while reading it, or didn’t even finish it. Which means you’re not reading this part, so I can say whatever I want. You’re all assholes! I hate you! Bah!

In any case, as long as I got you here, I may as well force my well documented extraordinary musical tastes on you.
Some good albums I recently bought:
“Illinois” by Sufjan Stevens
“Odditorium or Warlords of Mars” by The Dandy Warhols (yeah the title is stupid as all get out, and they think they’re cooler than they are, but some songs are really good.)
“All Maps Welcome” by Tom McRae (yes that tom McRae from the car commercial. Hurrumph.)
“Shout Me, Loud Runner” by Lefty Gainwaller



Happy Link Time!!!
My Office

In other news and let downs:
You may have noticed that right after I said that I changed my subtitle with every post, I stopped changing it. "I ain't hep to that step but I'll dig it" is the title of a song by Fred Astaire. I think it says a lot without saying a lot, you hep? So I think I'll keep it up for a while.

Why I Can't Have Nice Things

So I just saw a commercial on TV with the Tom McRae song "A Day Like Today." Granted it was a really well done commercial for some car (the tag line was "beauty has its dark side"-fitting if you know Tom McRae’s music.) But of all the artists I like, Tom McRae was the last person I expected to sell his music to be in commercial. Perhaps he had no choice; his record label made him do it. But I doubt it. And I really like that song. Not that I won't now. But I have a reputation to maintain people! Oh who am I kidding, no I don't.

I just realized that I never posted anything about my new job on here. Well that just shows you how important it is to me, that is to say, not very. For the record, after temping at the same office at UCI for six months, the offered me a permanent career position as an assistant to the Institutional Review Board, Committee C. Sounds kinda weird, like I’m getting coffee and answering phones for ten people, but it’s not like that kind of assistant. I’d go into more detail but I doubt anyone’s interested, so moving on.

Ummm…ok, I guess I’m not moving on. Oh well. See y’all later. Or as they say in Topeka, “laterz”

Butternut Squash Soup.


Hello, my name is Debby, and today I’ll be teaching you all how to make Butternut Squash Soup. This soup is a wonderful dish for the transition from summer to fall, and can be served anytime from late august to early October. If you decide to serve this soup in November however, you may experience the scorn and ridicule of your lady friends as they realize you’re nothing but a poser and fake trying in vain to keep up the appearance that you have a happy life with no marital problems whatsoever. None! Whatsoever! Plus the fact that you’re serving the soup a month late. (Bigger faux pas than wearing white shoes after Labor Day!) Step one: buy butternut squash soup from Trader Joe’s. Step two: Heat soup and serve. Try and resist the temptation to add various cleaning products to the soup, for as they might provide immediate relief to the constant whining, belching, farting, scratching, non-money earning, gambling, and drinking activities of your good for nothing husband, in the long run it could lead to prison and the unwanted affections of a large woman named “Wedge.” While the soup is heating, you might try and get some needle point done, or, if it is needed, some light dusting. Personally, I prefer to hunt. Currently there is a large family of bunnies living in one of my hedges. I have been able to kill quite a few of the bunny siblings, however the mother and father bunny are much harder to catch. I spotted the mother one, scurrying across my lawn with some greens clutched in her mouth, no doubt for her hungry babies at home. I quickly reached for my gun (I always keep it loaded and ready right next to the microwave), and I was able to squeeze off a few shots, but unfortunately the bunny was too quick and got away. To make matters worse, one of my bullets somehow found its way into the skull of my next door neighbor. The police were very nice and understanding, although I did have to tell a tiny lie, and also leave out the part about how my neighbor and I had been feuding for some time now over his daughter’s strangely close relationship to my husband. His daughter also happened to be outside at the time, but somehow escaped unharmed. Well done dear! I suppose that is all for now, I trust you’ll find your own special way to make Butternut Squash Soup a staple with your family for years to come, and so I wish you good luck and happy hunting!

Is it cheryl's b-day? When did this happen??? Oh well. I guess I'm an ass again. Happy birthday you 'ol so and so.





p.s. sorry 'bout the lack of posts lately, but when it's not happening, its not happening. It's the whole thing about transferring jobs, being all growned up, and then there was the six feet under series finale which felt like a punch in the stomach (the good kind though, you know, the kind that makes you feel all good afterwards....oh nevermind....)and then there was that movie "war of the worlds" in which the whores of the earth saved us all by spreading their skank to the aliens, who I'm guessing died of a combination of the hiv and some type of genital warts. (there was probably some type of hepatitis in there too.... ) In any case its been a slow couple of weeks and I just haven't been able to get it up for this blog much. But that's how life is I guess, and as Nate from six feet under said, "Narm!!" and then as he said later,.."You only have one life, don't fuck it up." and that's my birthday wish to you Cheryl. Only without any of the rude harshness and only the happy lifeness. Or something like that.

pps. Rocket fuel malt liquor. It's crizappy...daaaaaaaaaammmmmmmmn.

ppps. Is it ironic that blogger doesn't have the word (or non-word) "blog", or "blogger" in the spell check thing? Or is it just weird? Ever since that alanis debacle I get nervous calling things ironic. Remember that? yeaaahhhh...........good times.

blah blah blah..i have nothing to say..i am dead inside (for the moment at least)...does anyone notice that i change my little subtitle thing everytime i post? well now you will.

Helpful hint for gays in the military: Avoid baseball bat wielding closet cases. (see: Soldier's Girl )

I know it's been ages, but only a few days more my sweet chickpeas.

Tilda Swinton, is that you?

Miles to Go Before I Sleep
(but like literal sleep-not death sleep)

You may have noticed that I haven’t posted anything since the 15th. Now some of you may be wondering where I’ve been and why haven’t I posted anything new, and why should you bother coming to this site if I’m not going to put any effort into keeping it up to date like I said I would a while ago, besides-you never really liked the blog anyway, you just visited cause you were my friend but always secretly thought me annoying and self centered and when you think about it you don’t know why you ever wanted to be my secret lover in the first place, and what’s that strange smell coming from the mattress? Well, I say calm the fuck down. Don’t make this blog your main source of vitamins and minerals ‘cause you’re gonna end up pale and with fragile bones. And take that dead hooker out from under the mattress; she’s stinking up the whole building. As far as the whole secret lover thing, well, you’re still on your own with that one, so nothing’s changed. But give me a call; I’ll see what I can do.

San Francisco! City of lights and fog! Metropolis by the bay! Home to scallywags and un-stanched wenches! Jewel of the Mississippi!
Well, at the very least, San Francisco is a city. I spent the first part of my vacation in said city and it was all that the names suggest, except that I didn’t see a steam paddle boat even once. Obviously Mark Twain was crazy. I stayed with my friends Christine and Caroline, whom I have known since High school. They live in the sunset area of San Francisco with two other roommates, both from Europe and both gone for the summer. It just so happens that a friend of one of the other roommates was in town visiting the same week as me, and also stayed at the house. Dimitri lives in Switzerland but is originally from Belgium, and was quite surprised that any of us actually knew where Belgium was. In any case he was a really cool guy and the twins and I spent some time that week hanging out with him. We went to a theater festival in Downtown, Muir woods and various other San Francisco-y things. We also had some fun nights at the house, just sitting around taking and eating. Eating sweet delicious carbs. And babies. Ok, not babies. They were more like toddlers.
All in all I had a great time, got to meet some cool new people and also visit with friends that I hadn’t seen in a long time. I kinda didn’t want to leave but the funky whispers and gamey scent of Arcata was calling me and I had to answer, ‘cause If I didn’t Arcata would just keep calling, and calling and calling-untill I would loose it and yell “Is Wayne Brady gonna have to choke a bitch??!!!” Then Arcata would look at me all weird and say “I don’t get it. Who’s Wayne Brady?” Then frustrated I would just turn and walk away and Arcata would yell after me “Fine then, just leave! That’s what you’re good at, you emotionally dead eel lover!” But that’s a story for another day, onward and northward!!!


Arcata!!!...........uhh………Arcata!!!
My time in Arcata can best be described by a word I first heard from Stacy. Boozery. Yes, Arcata offered up its alcohol filled teats to me and I suckled like a wee little babe. First night –bar. Second night-drinking at Kelsey’s. Third night-bar. It was great to be back up there and big thanks go out to Stacy and Chris for letting me stay with them.. I Also got to visit my old place of sort-of gainful employment; HSU Media. My old co-workers were still up to their same ol tricks. Kelsey was still trying to pass off baby powder as high grade cocaine (to make a little extra on the side), Raphel was still plotting world domination (her current plan involved cotton candy and North Korea, but I was too scared to delve further.) Will of course is still bat shit insane. But really, who isn’t these days? So Wednesday night Stacy, Chris and I went to Toby and Jacks, my fave Arcata bar and had a leisurely time of it. I didn’t drink too much but I did get buzzed. The next day I went to go see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory with Will, Kelsey, Raphel, Kalindi and her friend Tom for Bob or Rupert or whatever. After the movie, Kelsey and I went back to her place to hang out and we were soon joined by Will. I was treated to an impromptu performance by Will on the bongos and Kelsey some big drum which I think was called a mokimbu. Or a Fortuna. Whatever. I just kinda stood there and watched, because although I am half Latino, I was born with no innate sense of rhythm. I was however born with an innate sense of what animals are thinking, which I will put to use on my new television show: “Mr. Anthony Communes with the Beasts of the Forest.” The next night I was able to convince Will to join Stacy, Chris and I at the Bars where we had a jolly good time. Stacy became inebriated quite quickly thanks to a large VODKA and redbull. I, however, was a little slower in reaching my saturation point. After a pint of Guinness, 4 or so glasses of Newcastle, a mai thai, and then a few more glasses of great white, the bar decided to do its best impression of Gumby, and got all bendy on me. Which of course means it’s time to drink more! So I had a shot of tequila with strawberry stuff and I was gone yo, just gone. When I got back to Stacy’s place I was quite nauseous, and almost didn’t fold out the futon and considered sleeping sitting up. But eventually I did unfold the bed, but I also didn’t turn off the light or change my clothes. Sweet lady Alcohol is a harsh mistress. Before I knew it, my vacation time was up and I had to start heading home. Stacy and Chris tried to get me to stay a few more days, but I resisted their bribes of money and sexual favors and drove back to san fran on Saturday.

That night Christine and I went out to Cheesecake Factory and had a nice meal, but I was very tired from my long drive that day (which, by the way, wasn’t helped by the fact that I was still kinda tipsy from the night before.) and I’m afraid I wasn’t much of a companion that night. But Christine was still nice to me, and great hostess to boot, and I was sad to leave on Sunday.

The drive from San Francisco was long and tiring. Bugs hit the windshield, I stopped for food. More bugs. Stopped for gas. Bugs. Slow cars, honking, bugs. Home! Sleep.

Much fun was had by me, and I hope fun was had by others, namely the others mentioned in this post. I hope I can see everyone again soon-like.

Random Quote


"Each night the hunchback came down the stairs with the air of one who has a grand opinion of himself. He always smelled slightly of turnip greens, as Miss Amelia rubbed him night and morning with pot liquor to give him strength."

---from "The Ballad of the Sad Cafe" by Carson McCullers

(fun with Google image search)



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All persons admitted must be in good health and must sign waiver before entering. No one under 5’ tall allowed in. No pets, plants, outside food or dink, females, or children admitted.
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Falling Down and other redundant quips.

What to do, what to do? Should I take the job being offered to me at my current place of employment, or take my chances up north somewhere? I could take the job down here, it would look great on a resume and really give me the experience needed to get a good job somewhere else…but…I don’t really have any friends down here at the moment which kind of leaves me bored at home every weekend. Up north I have no job waiting for me, or any place to live for an extended period of time. There are, however, friends, which would make my weekends more interesting and therefore the rest of my week. Anyway, that’s about all that’s going on right about now. Well, there was this one thing about TAGSMS, but it’s kind of stupid. It seems a disgruntled nurse deliberately switched the medication to several patients, making the depressed even more down and the manics even more manic. This caused no small amount of irritation to the guards, doctors and staff at the sanatorium, because they had to deal with the aftermath. (The nurse took the next flight to Florida where authorities and a private group of sanatorium employees are tracking her down) To make a long story short, it was ten hours before things were returned to normal, although it seems that one of the affected inmates got down to the basement where 4782 is being held and it is not yet clear what, if anything, occurred. Everyone is back in their rooms and on their regular meds, which is great news to me and the board of directors. No one really knows why the nurse went all sabotage-y on the place, but I don’t really see how it matters anyway. You know what else? trying to write something with talking eyelashes, floating offices, and crumbling churches is really hard. who woulda thought?

ok, maybe there weren't any other redundant quips. but there is a comma crazy sentence!

Me. A Jello Shot. Halloween.

As you can clearly see, my parties are so crazy, people have trouble maintianing their dignity and composure

EELS with STRINGS

If you've never seen my favorite band EELS in action, nows your chance! they'll be on David Letterman thursday night.

What you know won’t affect what you know

Last night I witnessed my fist hate crime. That’s right, a hate crime right here in Cleveland! That starts with C and that rhymes with pee which is a gross sexual fetish that I don’t want to get into right now. So anyway, it amazed me that while hate crimes continue to occur through out the United States and the world, politicians endlessly promote legislation that I know they know causes more hate crimes. For instance, the marriage protection act, or whatever it’s called, is just bigotry tied up in fear and presented with a scratch and sniff sticker on it. The scratch and sniff sticker? It smells like roses. It has to, to cover up the rotting sink of hate underneath. This amendment only provides more fodder for the evil people all across the country; now they have something new to be mad about. I really don’t know what exactly needs protecting anyway. Half of all marriages end in divorce, and a lot of people don’t even get married anymore. While they weren’t looking, the traditional family packed up and moved to Finland. (or wherever-its not like I have gps tracking ability) This whole country sometimes seems to feed on hate. Like we need to feel gross and degraded in order to feel anything at all (oh wait….I think I’m beginning to understand the whole pee thing. Still gross though.)
Siiighhh. Sorry. It’s hard for me to talk about today’s political climate without going totally bitchcakes. In short, republicans = evil, cognitive dissonance causing freakazoids.
And really that’s all anyone needs to know.

Liberally yours,
Anthony g. s.


Oh, and I don’t really live in Cleveland, or witnessed a hate crime. But you already knew that.

You're The Sound and the Fury!

by William Faulkner

Strong-willed but deeply confused, you are trying to come to grips
with a major crisis in your life. You can see many different perspectives on the issue,
but you're mostly overwhelmed with despair at what you've lost. People often have a hard
time understanding you, but they have some vague sense that you must be brilliant
anyway. Ultimately, you signify nothing.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Chaka Khan and Other Non-Edible Celebrities


I've mentioned this to a few other people, but I wonder if chaka khan ever wonders if her name, when said repeatedly, elicits laughter from many people. (really...my chaka khan bit kills in Toronto and up and down the east coast.) But I guess celebrities, or in Chaka's case not-really-celebrities, have better things to do then wonder how many in-jokes they are a part of. And speaking of not-really-celebrities (or NRC as I call them), am I the only one who thinks Crispin Glover is Danerously underrated? I mean dangerously. I get the feeling that if that poor man doesn't get a good part soon; someone's gonna pay and it will probably involve all kinds of evicerated animals. Again, speaking of celebrities, as I still am, the whole TomKat thing is getting out of hand. Tom Cruise is already creepy-what with all his shortness, scientoloculty, and uneasy homosexual vibes- but now there is this added factor of his crazy obsession with pure, virginal, cloistered Katie Holmes. Katie, best know as the 25 year old teenager from Dawson's Creek, says she's in love too, only sans the couch jumping and fist pumping (it seems that her diet doesn't completely consist of crazy crackers). In any case, I think if they don't "simmadawnnow" the public will turn against then and they will head to NRC-ville on a bullet train made by underpaid and overworked Americans. And we all know where that can lead.

Well, I'm sorry for lowering the lever of this blog by talking about common celebrities, but I do feel better now...ahhhhhh.....
I leave you with some advice: Beware the traveler that wakes the sleeping whore.

Fromage!

I finally updated my webshots album. I put up some photos of Christine when she came to visit me in Arcata as well as some of the Redwood National Park. I might put up some pics from my going away party, but I'm not sure-seeing as most of them consist of me looking like an ass with beer all over my clothes (i had an accident or two...) anywhatsitz, check out my photo album by clicking on the "pictures" link on the right.


Here's just a small taste:


Christine at Trinidad beach

Living Dead


It was announced today (via email of course) that the husband of a woman who works in my office died the other day. Now I don’t know this woman or her husband (our office is in two different locations on campus) and I know it’s tragic and such, but as I was reading the obituary I couldn’t help but think “this is a terribly written obituary” it was all I could think about. I mean, the thing was horrible! It had sentences like “He was such a great provider.” That’s it. End of sentence, on to another topic. There was a bunch of “He was such a….” sentences. It was obviously written by 6th grade AP English student. If youre gonna go through the trouble of printing an obituary in the paper (which seems kinda weird to me cause everyone who cares about that person has their own memories and feelings about the deceased but whatever) you should at least write something of quality. (blogs don’t count-no angry letters). Also, I don’t like the fact that obituaries gloss over the bad parts in a persons life, because more often than not those difficult times had more of an influence on how that person turned out than anything else. But I digress….

The digression:

So heres my obituary, written by me. Feel free to use it as a model for when I “move on,” “pass,” or “bite the big one”

Anthony G. Saldana was great man. And also kind of an ass sometimes. He owned an imaginary sanatorium in Texas, which he ran to the best of his ability. (he was also a little looney.) When he was young, he did a lot of stupid shit, but got away with most of it, ‘cause cops are idiots and really more open to bribery than you think. During his teenage years he lived at an artist commune and spent his time creating great works of art about the immigrant experience in America. When he was 21, Anthony invented the hydro-copter, a helicopter that worked underwater. Since there was really no demand for an underwater helicopter, the plans for a large manufacturing plant in Bakersfield never really took off, and Anthony was left impoverished and alone. At the age of 32, he adopted 16 Nicaraguan babies but they were taken away from him soon after and he was arrested for abuse of the welfare system. After his release from jail he had a hard time, never really adjusting to “life on the outside.” His life was tragically cut short during a trip to New Jersey where he was devoured by a large robot shark. He is survived by practically everyone he knew ‘cause no one else was stupid enough to taunt an angry robot shark. Funeral services will be held on the large empty plot of land where his “sanatorium” is located.


See, that’s what I want. The good stuff, the bad stuff, and full of lies. Malicious, hurtful lies.

Rest- in-peace out!

God Coughed and Called It Billy


Okay. It's gotten to the point to where I either need to shit or get off the pot, and well, I've decided to shit. I'll shit at least once a week. Even if its just a little shit, or kinda runny and sad. It might be a big meaty shit with bits of corn too, you never know.

In case you haven't figured it out by now I'm talking about my blog, and how often I update it.

Speaking of corn; I miss corn. Now that I'm doing the low carb thing, I can't have yummy things like corn and lolipops anymore (and you know me and lolipops-I'm like some deranged club kid with those things) I can't even tell if I've lost weight, seeing as I don't have a scale anywhere in the house. My pants are a little loser, so I guess that's something. I grasping at burning hay here people.

I imagine that somewhere in the world there's a man named Billy wandering the streets. He's kinda smelly, and has a scraggly face with a smile that has forty some odd years of sitting on the porch on Sundays sipping mint juleps discussing "the negro problem" behind it. You know, just damn creepy. Anyway, I'm guessing that a man like that would feel kinda like god's cough.


I've decided that barring some crazy miracle, I'm probably going to move back up to Arcata In late July or August. It can't be any worse than here, that's for sure.

that's all for now. Stay tunes, same sanatorium channel, same sanatorium time. Well, don't worry about that so much cause I control all the TV's in the place anyway and it's not like you can change the channel cause you're wearing a straightjacket. ha

TRY NOT TO GET WORRIED, TRY NOT TO TURN ON TO PROBLEMS THAT UPSET YOU, OOOOO………..



Writing utensils simply disappear when I’m around. They jump into any hidden crevasse, any dark corner, or any opportunistically placed stacks of paper, absolutely determined not to be used. “I will not be drained and discarded!!!” they shout, while scrambling to the nearest hidey-hole. I suppose they do have cause for fear, for I am inclined to chew on the unused end of the cap while using a pen. But it’s still annoying. If the pencils and pens do not fall in line soon, I shall be forced to impose stricter rules regarding their anthromorphic activities. In other news, I have been busy at work scanning master protocols into the database. (Master protocols are basically descriptions of the study to be performed) one of the more interesting protocols to cross my desk was one entitled “A mulit-center, randomized, double blind, sham controlled trial investigating sub mucosal delivery of radiofrequency energy to the anal canal.” And right beneath this title were three square, small drawings of an anus into one of which had been inserted what can only be described as “Mr. Good Time Johnson” or perhaps “Good Times Jones and the Vibrations” or maybe “The Big Anus Penetrator.” (that last one may be a bit vulgar and crass but it gets the point across to anyone dumb enough not to understand the pervious two). I can only imagine that this instrument is the vehicle that they plan to use to deliver the “radiofrequency energy.” I wonder about the side effects to such a procedure. I would hate to have Star 98.7 or even 89.9 to emit from my ass at the most inopportune time (a society luncheon or while having tea with the duchess of Canterbury). Could one pass it off as indigestion? I think not (although there is a certain pleasure and logic in imagining hearing Britney Spears or any of today’s pop coming out of someone’s rear). In any case, I fear for the participants.
Well I’m afraid that’s all for now, I hope you didn’t read this while eating, or while in the bathroom. Everything else is going fine, same as always.

SLEEP AND I SHALL SOOTHE YOU, CALM YOU AND ANOINT YOU, MYRHH FOR YOUR HOT FORHEAD, OOOOO……….

Work, Work, Work, Grendel, Grendel, Grendel. Thats me these days. "being Grendel in the basement" (TM: sean). Not doing great, not doing bad, gettin' by, wish i could fly, etc....
nothing much new otherwise. I need to get more sleep though, been having a hard time waking up in the morning and ive decided that it's because i dont go to bed till 12. (i'm smart!) and by the way, have any of you read rosie o'donnell's blog? its kinda cryptic and creepy. she writes in what is supposed to be stream of conciousness prose (im guessing) but it reads like the last words of a dying developmentaly disabled child. if that makes any sense. i would link to it, but i already did a link in this post and im too damn lazy. you'll just have to google it yourself. ungrateful bitches!!!.

j/k

p.s. i don't like the cut of your jibb

--TAGSMS

I "heart" Tilda Swinton

APRIL 26, 2005

Blinking Lights and other Revelations