State of the Mess

-As you saw in Yesterday’s post, I had phone problems for most of last week, although it’s fixed now and I’m starting to get the new phone put back together.

-Partially as a result of the broken phone, and partially as a result of the 4th of July being basically in the middle of the week, I got almost nothing done all last week. I should have taken the hint and spent the time recovering from my really stressful and overheated stay at grandma’s. Instead I tried to work, failed to do anything productive except chase that damn phone across the LA basin, and ultimately gave up and played video games with an overbearing feeling of guilt for the rest of the day. Repeat procedure for nearly every day except Saturday and Sunday.

-By the way, thank non-God for weekends, or else when would I ever get the hint that maybe it’s time for a break. I’ve worked through the last 3-4 weekends already. The more that pile up behind me, the more I get the idea that I may be too burnt out to produce. It’s hard to get it in my fat head that I have to take care of myself first or nothing else works right. I’ve even written about it on this very blog and I still don’t remember that. I just think I haven’t been getting any good work done, don’t make the connection, and attempt to push myself to work even though I have nothing left in me. I’m a dummy.

-Speaking of idiocy, I went to Target on Sunday (where I spent over $100 stocking up on things we weren’t out of, because scarcity anxiety hooray) and I left my birth control in the cart. It took about 8 hours until I realized what I’d done. Then I was supposed to go reorder it today, and I didn’t remember until 8 p.m. Lucky for me the Target pharmacy doesn’t close until 9 on weekdays. Double luckily for me somebody had turned in the very birth control I abandoned so I didn’t have to pay for it again. But for real. Imagine if that pill pack had been any one of the thousands of babies it’s prevented me from having? I’m a terrible person.

-I am in love with my nails right now. It’s the perfect summer manicure.

-Did you know that Instagram redesigned their display and made it crazy hard to get the URL? I just learned that. BTW, Ben has joined our hipstery ranks. You can find him @Benspants

-I am quite enjoying this joint from Chiddy Bang ATM.

It makes me slow booty dance at my standing desk.

– In addition to going to the dentist this morning (Thanks but no thanks for showing me a picture of my tooth all drilled apart madam dentist. You absolutely convinced me to buy a SoniCare, never again will I brush too hard. Hand to God. Or whatever), and having a lunch/staff meeting, I took care of nearly half my to do list in a single afternoon. Next time you guys find me working through the weekend, remind me of this beautiful shit right here. Because this is what some actual rest can do for a person.

-In other news, did you hear about how much of a tool Orson Scott Card is? Here’s an article about him spouting some morally superior ballsackery in which he tries to equate being homophobic to being gay. As in now that the gay lovers are in power he wonders “whether the victorious proponents of gay marriage will show tolerance toward those who disagreed with them when the issue was still in dispute.” Look, I’m all for keeping the bigots from breeding, but unless we’re prepared to wipe out our entire military budget in a single sweep, I have no idea how we’d finance such a program. Didn’t Star Trek say that the Eugenics Wars would start right about now?

-In case you were wondering, no I will not be seeing Ender’s Game. And not just because of OSC’s dual diagnosis of homophobic fuckbucket. I myself have never read the book. I mean, how good can it be if it was written by such an obviously stupid man? Much like the films of Woody Allen and Roman Polanski, the scandal reached me before I ever had a chance to fall in love with the material, although what few Allen movies I have seen were slow and boring and juvenile. I’m just happy that terrible people seem to also make terrible art. Except for Michael Jackson. I really wish somebody would have told me he was a molester before I made all those great memories of trying to moonwalk with my dad and dancing to Billie Jean by myself in front of MTV. Because joke about OG MTV that makes me seem like a total tool for being 28 and trying to act like I have anything remotely resembling a connection to history.

The Internet has made us all prematurely sentimental. It’s crap and it has to stop.