Filling the time

Another weekend spent by myself. Seems to get a little easier with each passing week, which kind of scares me. But I guess it's a good thing, as no changes appear to be coming down the pipeline. After I pissed Jennifer off, and pretty seriously I might add, something felt final. Hopefully I'm wrong, but I doubt it.

What I'm amazed at is my ability to fill the time, even if it's simply with watching TV. And aye, a lot of that's been done. Today I've spent a good portion of my time online, reading up on the latest ARGs (Alternate Reality Games) and finding instructions for getting started with this stupid SimCity 2000 I've had sitting around forever. I know, it's sort of an old game to be messing with, especially with the wealth of entertainment options available at my disposal. But it's just one of those things that sort of seemed to call out to me to mess with. So right now I'm waiting for the first tutorial from the manual to print out, so I can refresh my memory on how to play the stupid game. At least tonight there's a new episode of Six Feet Under waiting for me, new episodes on Adult Swim, and tomorrow I'll get another movie from Netflix. Thank God for modern conveniances; otherwise I might go mad all by myself. Anyway, the manual's done now, so I guess that's all I have to write for the time being. Does this excitement never end?

Oh, and I forgot to add this: R.I.P. Rick James. We hardly knew ye and your wicked ways. Mind you, I'm not terribly knowledgable when it comes to his music, but I like what I know. Hearing stories of his funeral, which was officiated by Louis Farakhan and where numerous joints were sparked mid-service, makes me wonder how I'll be remembered when I go. Rick lived hard, probably died hard, and look at the fond memories so many people have of him. His funeral was virtually a party. Would that my passing could have half that impact.

One more push, Mrs. Henderson.

And I wonder why I'm still single. I have a feeling this exaggerated face has a lot to do with it. Probably pretty representative of my demeanor a lot of the time. God, I look like I'm either severely constipated (how crass), or trying to vomit up a watermelon. Either way, not a pretty sight, and probably not one to share with the kids. Or anybody who's not blind, for that matter.

Thanks for the offer, but I'll pass.

I speak to a lot of weirdos every day. Most of them are a bit on the whiny side, but some of them are just plain weird. And being weird by nature the things they say are, by necessity, weird as well. The other day I was leading this student back to my office to answer whatever repetitive and mundane questions he might have. As he's walking (directly behind me), he suddenly blurts out, "I like the way you dress, sir." Now I know there's no inherent harm in that comment. But what a very strange thing to say to someone you've never met, and who has the potential power to cancel your enrollment for the term.

It reminds me of a time in college when I was sitting and chatting with a female friend of mine. I believe I was complaining (big surprise) about how ill-fitting some piece of clothing I had was. She asked me why I thought it fit badly, to which I responded, "I don't know. Maybe I'm shaped funny." Now of course I meant this to be filled with wit. A joke, if you will. But her immediate response was, "I like the way you're shaped." I realize I can' t really express emotion or subtle nuances of speech through the modern miracle of the keyboard (NOW IN ITALICS!!), but I wish I could express the oozy quality this statement had. 'Cause it did. Ooze.

I like compliments as much as the next guy, but why do mine always have to be so strange? And occasionally from freaks? Like when a shrill and slightly annoying girl (who wore about a gallon of Vanilla Musk perfume every day; I still hate the smell of vanilla) told me I had "bedroom eyes" while we sat in our university's chapel. And what, exactly, are bedroom eyes? I've wondered that ever since I heard it, but no one seems to be able to give me a concise answer. Does it mean, as I suspect, that I look like I just woke up (probably)? Or that I make people desire to be in the bedroom with me (doubtful)? Or that my eyes smell like mothballs and plastic clothes hangers (don't I wish)?

God I'm bored.

Grrr!!

Dammit!! I had some good stuff written, and this stupid thing ate it!!

The customer is almost never right.

I freakin' H-A-T-E customer service. It's so bass-ackwards from real life. In real life, the biggest jerks are the ones you disdain and ignore. In customer service, they're the ones whose boots you have to lick the most. I'm going through a terrible phase in my personal life, but I have to shuck 'n jive to satisfy these self-important jerks who come into my office every day. Sure, some of them are okay, but for the most part?

Jerks.

Sigh...

I don't know why I start these things. I know I'll just give it up in a week or two. And I'm starting right before my really busy work time hits. Oh well. One more dead site in the graveyard of www.world_wide_interweb.com/net.

I'm so incredibly bored with work. I'm tired of the whiny people, I'm tired of the ridiculous power plays, I'm just tired. Or maybe weary is the word I'm looking for? Eh, either way it works. I hate that I can't get out of my own head for five minutes and enjoy the nice weather we're having, or the jokes of my friends, or whatever absurd crap is currently coming out of my boss' mouth. All I can think about is how bored, or tired, or lonely, or ignored, or just good and damn beaten down I feel. God, I'm such a whiny little bitch. But hey, at least I'm not suicidal!

Just finished watching My So-Called Life on DVD (well, not just; I am at work after all). God, what a great show. I've heard a lot of people say how great it is, and always wondered what the hype was. Erin loaned it to me, for which I'm eternally grateful. I'm pissed that it ended so damn abruptly though. What a terrible waste. I hate how blind we are, except in retrospect. Wasting talent, wasting time, just wasting everything. And here I am typing a self-indulgent post into a meaningless blog that only one or two people will ever see. Irony tastes like strawberries and aspirin.

I guess it remains to be seen if this will continue.