Saying Goodbye Sucks.

I was five and he was six
We rode on horses made of sticks
He wore black and I wore white
He would always win the fight

Bang bang, he shot me down
Bang bang, I hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, my baby shot me down.

Seasons came and changed the time
When I grew up, I called him mine
He would always laugh and say
"Remember when we used to play?"

Bang bang, I shot you down
Bang bang, you hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, I used to shoot you down.

Music played, and people sang
Just for me, the church bells rang.

Now he's gone, I don't know why
And till this day, sometimes I cry
He didn't even say goodbye
He didn't take the time to lie.

Bang bang, he shot me down
Bang bang, I hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, my baby shot me down...

Thank you Nancy.

Man Vs. Wild

So, Bear, the host of this awesome show was "lost in the Everglades" last night.
For the most part when I watch this show, I think,
"Well, thanks to dreamy Bear, I think I can survive and even navigate myself out of most stranded situations."
Not so with last night's episode.
Aside from knee deep water EVERYWHERE, when one gets lost in the Everglades, here's what one has to look forward to:

Mosquitos and Chiggers of epically Biblical proportions.
Knee Deep Water. Everywhere.
Snakes.
Alligators.
Sink Holes (although, thanks to Bear, I know how to get out of one of those now. Always carry a stick, people.)
Foot Rot. And yes, this is exactly what it sounds like.
Having to fashion a treehouse of sorts for shelter due to the inability to lay down in the KNEE DEEP WATER, that's EVERYWHERE.
Nothing but bugs (grubs) and frogs to eat. Unless you're fortunate enough to catch a turtle. Because baby Alligators are a protected species. Because apparently survival takes a backseat to conservation. Um, yeah.
Did I mention rattlesnakes? Like, the bigass ones that don't live anywhere else in America?
Sawgrass. Yes, it is exactly what it sounds like.
And finally, KNEE DEEP WATER EVERYWHERE.

For serious. Stay the hell out of the Everglades. Nothing good can come of that place.

Snow Patrol

I haven't decided whether it's ok to like this band or if I need to lump them in with Nickelback, Fall Out Boy, and Panic and the Goddamned Disco.
There's one song I've heard that is tolerable.
It's abley played. Albeit rather vanilla.
And there lies my red flag.

The Triumverate

It's so nice to be back together.

Um...

Last night I had a dream that Leslie and I got married and the Knights of Columbus wouldn't let us get divorced.

Bastard Ipod!

I'm just sitting here innocently writing copy for my job...Not bothering anyone. Reading about ToCro's bizarre dreams involving birth, olive oil, rabbits and scooters...
and on comes "I Love NYE" by Badly Drawn Boy from the "About a Boy" soundtrack.
Christ on a stick, it's quite possibly on of the most wistful-stare-out-your-cube-office-or-bus-window-melancholic-with-just-a-dash-of-hope-songs ever written and it just bitchslapped me upside the head.

DAMN YOU iPOD!

I Must Really Love Cutting...

METAPHORICALLY.
Here I am, facing reality head-on. Taking it by it's chin and looking right into its beady little eyes and saying "I accept you" in what can only be described as a moment of Good Will Hunting proportions.
So, what do I do?
I go to the bookstore. Innocently...presumably to purchase a book for my Grandmother's birthday. And I think,
"Hey, I'm out of stuff to read...as I've now finished a 3rd reading of one of my many volumes...and I've misplaced the prequel to this one...and I've only read THAT one once...I'll pick that up."
However, as happens, inevitably, everytime I go to the bookstore, I end up enamored with all the different literary possibilities at my fingertips.
"Ah...there's a really cool copy of Stardust. I need to get that one of these days..."
"Oh, Marion Zimmer Bradley...how I miss you. " and
"What's this? 'Mr. Darcy Takes A Wife'?" Could...could it be?
Indeed. It was.
A sequel to Pride and Prejudice (currently my favorite Jane Austen story due to Kiera Knightly and the guy who played Darcy. I don't even want to know his name because to me, he will forever be...Darcy ) written by a woman who seems to love the story as much as I and has chosen to emulate the elegant language of the day.
I buy it.
And now, here's me. Mooning all over the office like some lovesick puppy thinking things like:
"Someday MY Darcy will arrive." and "I can't wait to get a boyfriend just like that." and "Oh, if only...."
Fucking hell!
It's bad enough when I read regular romance novels. But at least then, the tone is always the same and I can honestly say, Love like that just don't exist.
But when subjected to lines such as:
(and anyone who knows Darcy will know why this KILLS me...this is the morning after Lizzy and Darcy's wedding night, in the carriage on their way back to Pemberly.)

"She steeled herself for a reproach upon her more prevalent personal shortcomings. As punctilious as she knew he could be, she was determined to weather any criticism with forbearance.
'My own routine is thoroughly entrenched.'
She nodded in acceptance of this irrefutable likelihood.
'Yet, I have an admission.'
'Have you?'
'This morning, I could not bring myself to bathe. I could not bear to wash your scent from me, Lizzy'" (Berdoll).

THAT'S ON PAGE FUCKING FIVE!!!

Goddamnit, Darcy.

Whoa

Why, hello there PMS! It's been a while since I've felt the need to drown squirrels and wring the necks of puppies.
Good to see you!!

Not even the soothing tones of Teenage Fanclub or the Angsty wailing of Weezer's Blue Album can cut through this haze of rage that has set up shop 'round my cube today.

No longing today. Just the shadow of a full on Hulk-Out chalkboard-scratching the back of my brain.

This is a run-out-to-the-edge-of-the-lake-and-scream-your-Goddamned-head-off-while-throwing-clumps-of-sand-at-the- water-and-frightening-children,-the-elderly-and-seagulls kind of angry.

This is a destroy a living room kind of day.

This is a toss-heavy-things-off-a-high-roof-onto-horrified-onlookers-sort-of-pissed.

I think I might need some chocolate.

And Hey!

This was my family reunion a few weeks ago.

Watch me sing a song

Addicted to Longing?

"You're worth MORE than that."
"There's something BETTER out there for you."
"Always strive for MORE."
"Think of what you could be MISSING!"

Ok, but what about just being satisfied with what is right in front of you?
Ever tried it?
Ever looked at something and said, "This is just fine and enough, thank you."
Is anything missing? And is what you're missing supposed to be missed?

It makes me wonder if our generation has been poisoned by that greener grass over there. Or the myth of it. Consequently we are forever searching. Forever wanting. And never content.
Is that right?
Is it healthy?
Fucked if I know.
And is that searching merely an addiction? Something that provides purpose in an otherwise purposeless existence? Something to look forward to?
What do we miss right now with all that forward thinking?
What is real?
Right now.

How Much Would it Suck to Molt???

Asked by my brother and illustrated by this photo.

He's upside DOWN for Christ's sake.

Fuck You George Stephanopoulis.

This moderate lifestyle has it's ups and downs.
One of the downs is being up in time to catch "This Week" on ABC.
After round-table discussing the very important possiblity of Cold War-like relations with Russia lately, George cuts the conversation due to the show ending and says...ACTUALLY SAYS:
"ok, so, predictions: Will Tony Soprano survive?"
WHAT???
You go from talking about how Bush has botched Russian relations to the outcome of a fucking FICTIONAL television show?
Seriously. WHO FUCKING CARES??
America cares. That's who. As long as we have McDonald's, HBO, Hasselhoff and SUV's, America can't be bothered with anything else.
I think those people in Vermont just might have the right idea.
Although, Ironically, their website features an essay by Putiin.
Go goddamn figure.

Moderation

That is the latest buzz word in my life.
Also.
Insanity.
The art of doing the same thing over and over again getting the same result but expecting it to be different.