Thanks, Dad, for my Ability to Wake the Dead...

...and have them ask me to roll the fuck over 'cuz I'm fucking snoring.

Snoring. One more thing to add to the list of things happening to my body as I approach 30. Awesome.

Growing up, my father was the worst. Bringing up a close second was my brother. Now, it seems, I join the illustrious fold. AND it seems that rolling over on my side doesn't work to quell the ungodly noises escaping my lips as I sleep.

I've done some reading. As is my wont whenever there is a problem that needs solving, and turns out, that some people suffering from depression are actually suffering from sleep aopnea (sic) and sleep disruption. Could this be my problem? Could all my woes be due simply to a lack of good, solid sleep? Well, a novel idea to be sure. One worth looking in to. Also, apparently, Snoring can lead to diabetes, stroke, and heart attack. So, I got THAT to look forward to. Which is nice. I have some ideas for remedy however.

In the freakin' meantime, something's gotta give. Cuz, nothin' says lovin' like driving The Boyfriend out of the room and on to a too small sofa with a very convincing portrayal of a 450 pound man passed out after drinking an entire keg of Milwaukee's Beast.

"My Aunt DIED of Influenza...So They Say..."

Greetings from the otherside of the dark side of the moon.

My God. When last we spoke, I was midday and climbing towards being retardedly sick. By 3:00 Friday, I had officially run out of voice and could barely speak above a whisper. I decided to go to the doctor. I NEVER go to the doctor. But, I was so pissed off about being that sick that I wanted something done about it. And done right the fuck now.

So, turns out, I had/have the honest to goodness Flu. I spent Friday night, all day Saturday, and Saturday night in pajamas at The Boyfriend's house, convalescing. You'd think I had the Consumption for Christ's sake. I half expected Katharine Hepburn to come stumbling in the room to deliver one of her morphine addled speeches from A Long Day's Journey into Friggin' Forever. Jesus, O'Neill, could that play be ANY LONGER????

There is a nap in my near future.

It's Going to be a Long Day.

Everybody and their mom, including fucking me, is sick.
I can't even express how pissed I am for any number of fucking reasons.

Let's list some:

1. My throat feels like it's coated in gravel from my mom's driveway. When not taking Advil for the pain it graduates to shards of broken glass AND gravel from mom's driveway.

2. My ARMS ache. What the hell is that??

3. Talking sucks. Which sucks because I answer phones all day and, hence, TALK ALL DAY.

4. I just had the stomach flu two weeks ago. Give me a fucking break!

5. I'm supposed to have pretty kick ass plans tonight and now, thanks to germs, I might be home sick instead. Thanks Germs!

I could go on, but since my arms ache (again, what IS that?) it's uncomfortable to type.

Motherfuck.

Thought Police

http://money.cnn.com/2005/02/14/news/economy/blogging/index.htm?cnn=yes

I suppose I won't be blogging about work anymore...

I Choo Choo Choose You!

So, my doctor told me I wouldn't get so many nosebleeds if I just kept my finger out of there!

Happy Love Day everybody!

I'm waiting for the deluge of flower deliveries to my desk. None have come yet, which is rather surprising at this point... but I'm guessing later in the day I'm going to want to punch someone.
Why? Because EVERY time there is a goddamned flower delivery, until it gets picked up, every nosy woman in the office has to come up to my desk and look to see who they're for. Unless I've emailed you ladies, Four Words:

They're. not. for. you.

Christ! Seriously. It's almost like going through someone's mail. And then there's this ALWAYS FUNNY NEVER GETS OLD JOKE:
"Oh, LC, that's so nice..you didn't have to get me flowers!" HAAAAHAHAHHAHAHAHA.
Shut up.

Anyway, lest, you, gentle blog readers, think I'm completely without Valentine's Day joy, I'm not.

I'm wearing a red sweater today.

And yes. I do have a Valentine. And he's pretty dreamy.
So there.

It's Ash Wednesday...

...And guess who brought a turkey sandwich for lunch?

Not a good start.

Fun fact about Ash Wednesday: The ashes that they put on your forehead making you look like the victim of a mob hit are created by burning the palm frondes from the previous Palm Sunday.

Last time I participated in the Ash Wednesday festivities was two years ago at Holy Name Cathedral. I went during my lunch with a friend. We just felt like going, I guess. It was the year my brother joined the Army. As fallen away from my faith as I am, there's still a part of me that craves a relationship with God I suppose. I went to Church a few times that year.

Anyway, this was also the year that the big "Priests molesting little boys" scandal broke. So, there I was, at church, in line to be blessed with the ashes and there's a news camera in my face. Now, it's nothing new for the news to be covering Holy Name services, as they're pretty big deals-what with Holy Name being the Catholic hub of the city. But I KNEW that this particular year, that coverage would go something like this:

"Today is Ash Wednesday. The beginning of the holiest of seasons for Catholics. And in spite of recent scandals involving Catholic clergy, Chicago's faithful are still turning out in impressive numbers to observe the holy day."

I was angry. I was just trying to feel a little closer to God that day. Worship is a private thing. I didn't need a news camera in my face distracting me from prayer. I don't have much to say about this ... except that it just kind of sucked.

Anyway... I promise to not go all religious on y'all. But it seems as I get older, I seem to pay more attention to this time of year.

Whatever. I'm hung-over. Damn you Mardi Gras! Damn you to hell!!

Now, everyone, Bow your heads and pretend to be serious...

Dear Blog Readers,

Well, it's Mardi Gras. The Fat Tuesday. The day before the Ash Wednesday...the beginning of 40 days of Atonement aka Lent aka Feel Really guilty Every Time You Forget and Eat Meat on Friday for the Catholics of the world.

Brings me back to grade school.

Some highlights. (font= Lenten Purple)

Confession. My FAVORITE thing EVER to do as a child. Get into a box and confess sins. Feel guilty! Feel guilty about not having anything to confess! I used to make stuff up. I mean, really, how sinful can a child of 10 or 11 be? Well, pretty sinful apparently, because in sixth grade we got a little pamphlet entitled "Examination of Conscience". Upon reflection, I think this was the Churches thinly veiled revelation that Pornography and Masturbation were sins. Why? Because there was a list of really lame things that one MIGHT have done worthy of confession...and then right in the middle of the list:

"Have you ever looked at pictures of naked men or women engaging in unwholesome activities? Have you ever touched yourself while looking at these pictures?" No, I'm not kidding.

The first time I masturbated I thought I was going straight to hell. There was NO FUCKING WAY I was going to tell Father Sullivan I was jilling off. Wait. Guys "jack off", and Girls "jill off". Jack and Jill. HA! Yep, I'm almost 30 and I just now figured that out.

Stations of the Cross. Oh my god I fucking HATED Stations of the Cross. For those not familiar, this is when the priest walks very slowly around the church visiting the placards depicting the Passion. "The 6th station, Jesus falls a 42nd time". Every Friday during Lent. At 2:15. Guess what THAT meant? If they let slow readers read the service, and depending on what building your classroom was in, chances were, you missed the damn bus. Also, someone ALWAYS either passed out, or threw up. Which meant a pile of puke and sawdust to smell and then view upon leaving the church. Good times.

No good songs during church. It's ATONEMENT. No celebrating, which meant, CRAPPY SONGS. The worst song? Lord Let Me Walk a Mile in Your Shoes (Under the Weight of the Wood). This song makes me want to poke my own eyes out and stick fondu skewers in my ears.

No Meat on Friday. No big deal...except I can never remember. One year I pulled into McDonald's and ordered two burgers and some fries and was halfway through the second burger when one word went careening through my brain:
"fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck."

Lenten Promises! Woo hoo! NO CANDY! NO VIDEO GAMES! NO SASSING YOUR PARENTS, NO SNACKING BETWEEN MEALS... whatever. Sacrifice! Feel bad when you fuck up! Hey! Something to confess!!!
"Bless me Father for I have sinned. I broke a Lenten Promise and ate a Hershey's Kiss."
"Say 10 Our Fathers and a Decade of the Rosary."
Goddamnit.

Uck. It's no wonder I have shame issues.

So, Happy Mardi Gras everybody!!

And you locals! Come see my show! Tonight, Saturday, and Valentine's Day. Hungry Brain. 8PM. Be there. It's Free!

The Boy on the new British Airbus monstrosity:
(paraphrased as I was laughing too damn hard to really get every word)

"It's a HORRIBLE idea. You know how many people that thing seats? 800. First of all, can you imagine the amount of feces that thing is going to expell?? 800 people dude. And how do you get off the fucking thing? It takes a half hour to get off a 727 that sets 50. 800 people? And what about the luggage?? 800 people standing around a conveyor belt? And how bout the poor bastard who has to sit by the bathroom the whole flight???"

this is when I cut in:
"But wait, weak, if it's only a two hour flight it wouldn't be that big a deal."

"No, dude. There's no way a plane that huge is going to fly from England to like Scotland. No, it's going to fly around the entire planet. Spreading feces and urine all over the globe. It's an AWFUL idea."

I didn't stop laughing for 10 minutes.

Also this weekend, I attended a surprise party for a friend. It was just as few of us lying in wait for this poor, unsuspecting guy to get home from a movie with his girlfriend. What movie you ask? Hotel Rawanda. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!

The door opens, all the lights are out and we just jumped out. Kinda panicked because our attention span is so short and he kind of surprised us. Our line was supposed to be: "SURPRISE!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" But I think what came out was: "RAAAAHAHAHAHHAHAHHRGH!" at which point he screamed and FELL DOWN. It was really funny but Jesus, we scared the piss out of him. He was frightened. We terrified this poor man. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!
It was then I was reminded of the scene from Oleana by David Mamet when the professor gets off the phone in the first act after he's discovered that his wife and friends are throwing him a surprise party. He muses "it's an act of agresssion...a surprise party."

I'd say that our friends reaction is a damn good case in point for how it could be.

Urge to Kill Rising...

I am walking a very thin line between anger and absolute madness right now. I attribute it to my hormonal state as there is no other rational explanation for the shortness of my fuse.

Things that have made me homicidal in the last 24 hours:


My insurance company can fucking rot in hell for all I care at this point. Thank GOD I'm not diabetic, suffering from heart disease, or some other awful malady that would result in DEATH if I didn't get my meds. It's always wonderful when you're at the pharmacy picking up your medication when the insurance company picks THAT moment to start enforcing a rule never enforced before, forcing you to pay full price for a very necessary, very expensive drug. AWESOME! Fuck the Healthcare system in this country. It can just fuck right the fuck off. Cuz, you know, crying at the drug store is totally dignified.

My fucking lower half feels like it wants to seceed and form its own nation, but not before turning boyonettes and other sharp objects on my insides. (I think there's a sottering iron involved as well, but I can't be sure.)


oh yeah...and I missed the bus this morning.

Check back later today. There may be more.

Opening Night Revisted

I love Opening Night. And I hate it. I love the anticipation of showing off for my friends. I hate the idea that I could quite possibly completely fuck up.

I have these dreams sometimes. I'm back in High School or College and it's either Tech Week or Opening Night of a show that's been rehearsing for weeks. I have the lead. And I know NONE of the lines. And invariably, there's dancing involved. Don't know any of that either. And the pervasive feeling is this: I'm so excited about this show, but so disappointed and scared that I didn't prepare.

So, there's always this little tickle in the back of my brain telling me I have no idea what I'm doing and I'm going to fuck up huge. Keeps me on my toes. It's a sick addiction.

Well, anyway, Monday went wonderfully. And I was even presented with flowers. FLOWERS, people. Do you KNOW how long it's been since I got flowers on an opening night from a friend/family member/boyfriend? College.

And I don't even remember what show.