Old people think they can say anything they like. I think they should all shut the f up.

It's not that I don't like old people. Some of them are okay I guess. Sure, they can be a bit batty and the hygiene isn't always up to par, but some of them are sweet.

Sweeter than others.

Like the ones that weild their canes like they're going to wop you in the knees and ankles. Or them that like to pee on the nice padded chairs at the library [see above: hygiene]. Or the ones that get uptight about a .30 cent library fine. Oh dear, Mr. Whiskers won't have his fifth tin of fish paste tonight.

Feline obesity is a cruelty. We're doing them a favor.

But I digress. All I really meant to say is: old people - learn some tact!

First of all, let me just say: Woot!! Considering this is the day after the election, you should know why. Secondly, jeez I'm sorry I haven't posted since May!?! What the hell? I know all of you have been wondering, "where is she, what's happening, omg, how will I live without this blog?!", but I'm back now. So, chillax. Oh, and by "all of you" I mean the four random people that I think check in here now and then. Possibly some of you are robots. I'm not sure.

Anyways, what's going on with me. Still working in a library, still trying to write shit down in hopes of someday publishing it, still just trying not to freak out that I'm turning 27 next March and ...gasp... still...gasp... not...gasp... published. I'm sorry, am I breathing all of your air and mine too? Yeah, I'll stop hyperventilating now. Okay. *wheeze*

So, a couple of months ago I got this crazy Idea to make a children's book. Not just write a children's book. Make a children's book. This may not sound like a big deal to all you craft-oriented peoples out there, but y'all I'm like the least craft-y person you'll ever meet. Somehow, I always end up with my hand glued to my hair.

So, I bought some supplies, did a few practice stencils, and promptly put that shit aside. Imagine my surprise when out of the blue I suddenly had to do something with myself other than just read or watch TV on a Saturday night. Answer? Abandoned children's book! I'm working on panel three at the moment. It's slow going and heart wrenching, especially when the text isn't exactly straight as straight can be. I decided on an eyeball/freehand stencilling strategy at first, which has worked out better than you'd think in some cases. I still might go all OCD and draw some fricken lines from now on though. Probably because it's getting to be real now in a way it hadn't before and I don't want to fuck it over like I've done other "projects". I have anger issues; don't judge me.

Another problem is my obvious lack of artistic skillz. I'm using stencils for everything at the moment. I thought it might be a fun way to present the text to a potential publishing buddy...and well, just fun. But I'm going to have to visit the local craft store and invest in some more soon. I just hope it doesn't turn into a death knell for the project. I have a bad history of optimistically buying a shitload of craft stuff, only for the project to die a quick death.

*Fingers crossed*

I'm kind of trying to take more of a relaxed, que sera approach to my writing (re:hobby) lately. Don't get so out of whack. Just let it flow and try and have a good time doing it. If it happens, it happens. If it doesn't, it doesn't. And I still have this cute little book I made, no matter what.

Ahhhh...writing is a struggle. Fear. Fear is the hardest part. And punctuation. But fear really takes the cake and I'd still put it pretty high above the whole punctuation/general mechanics of the thing any day. Even writing a blog post is difficult sometimes. So, I like to include a pretty picture. It's a nice distraction. See^, isn't it pretty? I've mostly avoided talking about writing on my own blog, so far, since I frequent other blogs about the same topic and wouldn't want to seem like a copycat. But, they say write what you know; well, I don't know much about writing, so I'll amend that to "write what you're interested in, even if it's in a blog". Thus, from now on I think I'm going to change the tone here somewhat (what? you mean there's a tone here? *shutup* :D), and include some posts about writing, reading, etc. It could be therapeutic afterall, and if anything, I need some therapy (especially about my writing, or lack thereof).

Ch-ch-changes. It won't be so bad. Promise.

(what? you mean anyone reads this? really? *shutup*)

Just wanted to peek in and let everyone know that apparently my rant over Nader was a leetle premature. He came and went with barely a blip on anyone's radar, and whether he still plans to run or not - hey, nobody cares. Nothing kills a campaign better than nobody caring. So, yippee! Srsly, yippee. That's all.

Hello, sluts. And Jen. What? Oh...Okay.

Hello, sluts, including Jen. Satisfied? Awesome.

Okaaay, agenda for today. Discussion. 2 days after my birthday. A year and a day since my debacle with the vodka (I think). And I didn't get drunk this year. So, the question is: how are random people coping in a dangerous post-Samantha's-26th-birthday world? Jen, be the man on the street.

Jen: Well I'm just trying to keep my head down, avoid flying objects, stay out of the way of flash flood waters caused by copious tears, and um, praying that a period isn't coming soon. 'Cause that might just tip it right on over into armageddon.

Really?

Jen: Yeah, it's a really close call right now concerning whether hormones or slow brewing, impotent rage will win out. Thank god there's ice cream and cake.

I think you're over-exaggerating just a bit. It hasn't been that bad.

Jen: Uh-huh. Do you remember Saturday when you broke down in Chili's and listed all the things you're afraid you will never accomplish: marriage, children, awesome job--

Shut up! I don't even want two of those things 364 days of the year.

Jen: Right, snickerdoodle.

What did you call me?

Jen: Something delicious.

Did someone miss their 3 o'clock feeding at the zoo. 'Cause you're not making sense.

Jen: Omg! See if I ever try and cheer you up again with an adorable pet name that includes both a candy bar and a funny word.

Whatever. Slut.

Jen: Ha! Duh! See above, ho-bag!

I just let an inanimate blog call me a ho-bag. My self-esteem must be at all time low.

Jen: What did you call me?

What? Inanimate or blog. If you can spell either I'll tell you what they mean.

Jen: :sniff:

Awww, don't cry. I'm sorry.

Jen: Ha! Sucker! Munch my butt!

I think I just threw up a little in my mouth.

Can you say "mini-meltdown"? Apparently, I can, blog. Hmm, you know what? I think you need a name. I think I'll call you "Jen". Jen. That's a nice name, isn't it? Do you like it? Okay, good. (Btw, I have a cousin named Jennifer, but we're not close, so I think we can ignore that and pretend otherwise).

So, now that we're on a first name basis let's just pick up like normal and continue on with our regularly scheduled rant/boredom/breakdown (whichever is on the plate for this foray). You pick.

::You have chosen boredom:: /automated voice

Why would you go and do that? Who wants to be bored? Who wants to talk about being bored? Hmm, Jen, let's pick another. I already did breakdown last week so I guess we should go with rant. What to rant about, what to rant about - Oh! Ralph Nader! He's back! You didn't know? Um, don't you have a yahoo account? You're a blog and don't have hands to type with or eyes to read messages and therefore have no need for e-mail. Right. I forgot. So silly of me to completely overlook the limitations of a friend. Oh, don't get in a snit.

Anyhoo, Ralph fucking Nader. What the hell. Does he want McCain to win without a fight? I know "everyone" is going "green" and this might otherwise be an awesome time to strike for the cause, but doesn't he know this is just going to be Gore/Bush 2000 part 2? I already think it's going to be a pretty close race between Obama and McCain (I'm predicting Hil isn't going to make it much further) and Jesus if the dems aren't going to need every vote they can scrape together. Sheesh! Again, Nader, what the hell?

Swallow and breathe. Okay, that rant's over. Should I pick another? Okay, hmmm, hmmm...God I can't think of anything else. I know, srsly. Me. I always find stuff to be a bitch about. The Queen of Bitchery? I don't know if I would say that. More like an enthusiastic practitioner of Bitchcraft. snicker

I'm bored. And we already decided that wasn't an option for this post, so I guess we should wrap it up. Ha! I just got a visual of that Chapelle Show episode. The one where they have those "wrap it up" machines...You've never seen the Chapelle Show? No, it has nothing to do with David La Chapelle. How high-brow, Jen - if you like the artfully photographed boobs of famous chicks. Which I do. So, whatcha wanna do now?

Play "Jaws" with staplers? Yes, awesome! Wait you don't have hands.

"I do get lonely so many nights, spent soaking beans and listening to my ears; you are what you hear" - Dog by Emily Haines.

Car troubles, job, mother, aunt, brother, sorrow, books, music, chocolate. Turned up a little there at the end of that sentence. Still pear shaped.

You know what I enjoy? Fucking with people's heads. There's nothing better than getting a good old manip on. That's a lie. Maybe. I do like to play with things. Guess it's just the drama ho in me coming out. Mix that with an apathy jag and you get this blog post.

I'm sitting here wearing Mardi Gras beads around my wrist trying to think of shit to say. I have nothing to say and everything in the world to say. I just can't.

My coworker is talking to me about her 87 year old mother who hoards junk. She has a middle room full of it. My mother is the same. She has the same room in our house. She's taught me to be the same way. With everything. Everything. I won't go into details, but you can imagine the emotional baggage I drag around (watch for falling cliches).

I'll be pushing my way out of a cluttered middle room for the rest of my life. I think. I hope not. But I think. That's like the saddest, boringest metaphor I've ever come up with for this craptastic voyage of mine. I came up with another the other day I liked: like pushing sand away from the ocean floor. I often have dreams that involve petty little frustrations like that one.

I've decided to stop apologizing for what I write here. It's not like I'm unloading on a friend that's needs to be coddled just to get through my neuroses. I'll take a note from Mike Birbiglia and just make this my "secret, public journal".

Happy New Year!!! everybody!

I know, it's a little bit late, but I've been busy...and lazy... and boring. Okay mostly lazy and boring, buuuuut I've got a few minutes right now so I decided to do something really cliched and pathetically desperate (for blog material, perv) like wish you a happy new year two weeks late. As you've most likely ascertained, I'm really reaching here. Nothing is going on.

Jeez.

I go to work, I come home, I squeeze a book or movie in somewhere, and that's it! [did that even deserve an exclamation point? - I think it was more like a whimper] I'm totally blaming this on the writers strike. And entropy. Which apparently sets in like rot at age 25 now. I need an adventure or something.