I had so many plans for posts this week, blog-clickers. Seriously, you would’ve had something new and fabulous to read every day. But somehow, I never got around to any of it. And I think I know why.
I need to confess something: I sort of miss my tiny apartment. Only sort of. And only in specific situations. But this happens to be one of them.
See, in my old apartment, the computer was in the living room, just a few feet away from the couch. So my husband and I would spend a lot of afternoons with one of us watching tv or playing a video game, and the other would be on the internet…or playing a video game. What?
But now, the computer is in a whole separate room. Which means that computer time = alone time. Not only that, but I’m extremely jumpy, and if I’m by myself for any length of time, I get really absorbed in my own thoughts. So when I’m having computer/alone time, and my husband walks in, I react like it’s Michael Myers. (Not Mike Myers. Well, not 90s Mike Myers.) Which is to say, I jump about nine feet in the air and accuse my husband of sneaking up on me while spewing profanities. (To be clear, I’m the one spewing profanities. I’m not accusing him of sneaking up on me while spewing profanities. That would make it much harder to sneak up on someone.)
All of this means that computer time = alone time = having the proverbial shit scared out of me. (It’s only proverbial shit, people. Don’t get any ideas.)
So anyway. Sorry.
One of the posts I’m planning is the story of Mitch Hedberg signing my underwear. I even took pictures of the underwear. (Not on me. Worry not, Dad.)
So that will be my first post with pictures. I’m a little nervous, I’m not gonna lie. Will I conquer this technical challenge? Stay tuned.
*cue organ music*
Why does Fred Phelps even care about Comic Con? Have colleges stopped putting on productions of The Laramie Project?
(I have another confession: I don’t like The Laramie Project. It’s right up my alley, I should really love it, I know. But it’s kind of boring to me. I just don’t generally like plays where all the cast members play several different characters without ever changing costume. It makes me think, “Did I accidentally go to an acting workshop instead of a play?”)
(Is that mean? Sorry again.)
Anyway, I particularly love the guy in the Bender costume with the “KILL ALL HUMANS” sign. Yay Bender!
So, I was reviewing my tag cloud, and I realized I have only one post in which I mention books. Yeesh. Ten-year-old me would be so ashamed of 26*-year-old me. I need to do some readin’.
Right now, I’m wanting to read Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, which I haven’t yet read for some reason. Anyone have a copy I could borrow?
An update from the car situation: the Acura is dead. Boo.
So now we have to buy a new car.
I’ve never actually bought a car. It sucks so far. Salesmen are annoying. Now I understand the stereotype.
Let’s see, I feel like I should have another confession, to make it three.
Okay. I love Tears For Fears. They’re splendid. Every time I hear any of their songs, I think of the end of Real Genius, with the popcorn exploding out the windows of Dr. Hathaway’s house. And that movie is transcendent, so why wouldn’t I feel good about a band that reminds me of it?
You know what? I take it back. This isn’t a confession, because there’s no reason for me to be ashamed of my love of Tears For Fears.