God Bless You And Your Greasy Mullets Of Liberty!

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"Heinz - It's America's Favorite Ketchup"
2007-03-14 - 12:43 a.m.

So, you know Stickies? Okay, unless you're a Mac person, you probably don't (Unless it's yet another thing Windows stole from Mac, and they call the Windows version "Shtickies" or "Wickies" or some fucking thing that sounds almost exactly like the Mac version, and does the exact same thing as the Mac version except in a vastly inferior and suckier way, but then whenever asked about it, the Windows people are all "Oh, that? No, no, any resemblance to the Mac thing is totally coincidental! This thing that is not even remotely like the Mac thing is something we created all on our own, we totally swear! Yup. All ours" followed by shifty eyes, innocent whistling and an immediate subject change.), but Stickies are awesome. They're like little electronic Post-Its for your computer desktop. You jot down whatever, and they stay on your desktop and pop up whenever you turn on your computer. I'm a big fan of notes to myself and lists and Post-Its and stuff like that, and how much more awesome are the electronic kind, right? If I'm doing something online, and I happen to have a thought about an errand I should run or something I need from the store or something like that, I type up a reminder on a Stickie. (Sticky? Is that the singular do you think? Or is it Stickie? Hmm. I don't know.) I also used to have a bighuge Sticky (Or Stickie? Something.) devoted to random ideas about which I eventually wanted to write in my diary, which was totally awesome because sometimes I'd have this thought or a fragment of an idea that I would later flesh out, and I'd put a few key words on the Stickie (Thing.) so I would remember later when I had time to actually type up an entry. Anyway, the whole point of this, the reason I bring it up is...so you notice I used the phrase "used to have" when I talked about my diary idea note? Pick up on that, hmm? Yes, well, see, I used to have that note...before I had to wipe my entire hard drive and reinstall the OS. Which was, as you might imagine, totally awesome. Yup. Awesome. Awesomest thing ever, I swear. And, and, so and...yeeeeaaahhh, that's it. I just wanted to mention that and, you know, stuff. Le sigh.

*****

Hey, can you help me with this form? I have to somehow cram all this information on it, and there's no room.

No problem at all. I can cram all kinds of stuff all kinds of places. Let me take a look at it.

Heh, um...

What? Do you want--OH! Shutup, ass. You know what I meant.

I'm just going to go now and leave you to your, um, cramming.

I hate you. Go away.

Crammer. Heh.

SHUTUP. YOU CAN CRAM YOUR STUPID FORM IN YOUR STUPID CRAMHOLE, JERKFACE.

*****

I cannot seem to open my mouth these days without sticking my foot directly in. Cramming it in, apparently.

*****

Dear The Kooks,

I like you. Do you like me? If you do, please put a check in the box: [ ]

Sincerely,

Idiot-Milk

*****

Seriously, I have the hee-YOO-gest crush on the song "Ooh La," I really do. Every time I hear it, my heart does that little fluttery thing that always brings back memories of my first Tiger Beat magazine and the article about Eric Stoltz, the reason I purchased the magzine in the first place. Oh, Eric Stoltz, how I loved you.

*****

For 34 years, I got a birthday card every year signed "Love, Mom and Dad." This year the card read "Love, Mom." It's such a small thing, but it hit me fairly hard, you know? I don't know. Things are good, things are easier, then something like that comes along, and it's rough.

The birthday came and went, and it was quiet, but nice, and that is that. I wasn't in a birthday extravaganza place this year. A mellow celebration at home with cake, because my roommates are good and lovely people and know that cake is important. There was wine and some bad sci-fi, and all in all, it was a fine way to celebrate another year passing.

*****

It would be nice if I could stop finding all the weight that people around me keep losing. "Hey Pam, you know that 10 lbs you lost? I found it! ON MY ASS. FUCK YOU, PAM." The muumuu plan is looking more and more likely for vacation.

*****

I took a couple of days off recently, days off that I spent doing fuck all. Oh, oh, oh the dreaminess of two full days of nothing to do and nowhere to be. One day, I had myself a little Don Knotts mini-marathon with The Incredible Mr. Limpet, The Apple Dumpling Gang and The Ghost and Mr. Chicken. Spectacular. The other day I spent napping on and off and watching cartoons. I did manage a couple of loads of laundry, so the days weren't completely useless, but still. Two loads of laundry spread over two days didn't not impact my slothiness much at all.

*****

Dear Mexican food,

All your base are belong to Marcelita's, delicious delicious Marcelita's.

That is all. Carry on.

Idiot-Milk

*****

I've been sleeping on a bare mattress lately. I have sheets I could put on my bed, but I don't. It's not that I prefer to sleep on a bed with no sheets, because I totally like sheets. But see, okay, here's the thing: My bed is of the super squishy pillow top variety, and the sheets, they slip off the corners. It doesn't matter how loose or how tight the sheets are, it doesn't matter the thread count or material. I get one, maybe two nights' sleep, and the corners are popping off. And once they come off, you can never get them to stay even another night. I tug and pull and tuck them into place, they look fantastic and secure, but two minutes after I get into bed, off they pop. Do you have any idea how insane that makes me? I cannot even begin to describe my anger and irritation. The last time it happened, I ripped the sheets and mattress pad off the bed in a fit of pure rage and hurled them out my door onto the landing where they sit to this day, thinking about what they've done. (Well. They're probably not thinking about what they've done because they are very unrepentant sheets, ornery and ill-tempered sheets. They just don't want to be good, you know?) My little hissy fit was, eh...two weeks ago?...maybe longer? I don't know...and I've been sleeping on a bare mattress ever since. The problem is that I did some research about possible solutions to the sheet slipping dilemma, and now I am faced with too many options. Sheet suspenders? Sheet clips? Little stretchy mattress corner sheet huggy things? Straps for the corners of the mattress? Staples? Duct tape? Hot glue? I just don't know! There are too many options! I mean, what if I pick the wrong one? Do any of them work better than the others? Should I use more than one at the same time? The thought of wasting my time on an inadequate method fills me with despair. But the thought of wasting time on more than one method when one would have been sufficient is equally upsetting. And what about all the people in the world who don't need to take such measures to keep their sheets on their mattresses? I mean, what about those bastards? It's not fair, you know? It's just not! Why should they get a restful night's sleep on secure sheets when I toss and turn on my ornery and ill-tempered sheets? Bullshit, I say!

Soooo, does anyone out there in Internetland have any suggestions? What works? Anything? Or is it all just a waste of time, and I'm doomed to sleep on a bare mattress for the rest of my life? Hmm? Help!

*****

Have you ever known something about someone, something that would make everyone think differently about that someone, and you desperately wanted to spill the gossip, but you knew that it was not the right thing to do so you kept the information to yourself? (Also, you couldn't think of a way to tell people without appearing to be a petty, small-minded, hateful little creep.) Sigh. I hate being a grown-up.

*****

We've got a wireless router, and all three of us use iTunes. Since we're all on the same network, we can see and listen to each other's iTunes libraries. The other day, in addition to the roommate's libraries, I noticed one belonging to a Michael Tobin. Odd, I thought, who is this Michael Tobin? At first, I couldn't figure out why I could see his library, but then it occurred to me that he must be weezing off our wireless connection. iTunes, being the innocent and trusting program that it is, doesn't know from bandwidth stealing, and just thinks he's a legitimate member of the network. Poor trusting iTunes. At any rate, I started turfing through his library to see what sort of musical taste he has. I'm sad to report, his taste in music is not so hot. Oh, he's got some okay stuff, sure, but he has an assload of Dave Matthews, which is enough to condemn him in my eyes, especially when combined with the even larger collection of Beatle's songs. Bleh. I don't hate the Beatles, but I eye with suspicion anyone who loves them as much as this Michael Tobin character clearly does. The rest of his library consists of things which seem to go hand and hand with the Dave Matthews: Jack Johnson, Blues Traveler, Phish, Rolling Stones, ACDC, etc. He also has some football games, some files of some show called "Bob and Tom" or something like that, and a bunch of rap like Wu Tang. Basically, it appears to be the library of a late 20s/early 30s white guy (Of course, having said that, it will probably turn out that Michael Tobin is actually a 57 year old Asian woman, and I'll look like a racist ass, but whatever. 30 year old white boys love their Dave Matthews. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.) Except! In addition to the white guy standards, he also has a number of of bubblegum pop teeny bopper stars such as Hilary Duff, Kelly Clarkson, Brittany Spears and Christina Aquilera (Agisomething) lurking in his library. Interesting selections, Mr. Michael Tobin. At any rate, I felt it my duty to help improve Mr. Michael Tobin's musical taste. I created a playlist on iTunes called "Hello, Michael Tobin," and I filled it with all sorts of excellent music. My hope is that the next time he's scamming our signal, he'll take a moment to check out my library and discover his playlist.

On a side note, we've taken to blaming mishaps around the house on Michael Tobin. Whenever anyone spills a soda or something, they scream, "Damn you, Michael Tobin!" usually with fists upraised. If something is missing, Michael Tobin took it. If someone left the milk out, it was Michael Tobin. If the litter box hasn't been cleaned in a while, Michael Tobin was the one who was supposed to clean it out. Sometimes I wonder if Michael Tobin ever hears his name being yelled in anger and wonders what the hell is going on.

*****

That is all for now, I think. There is more I would like to share, so much more, but I am weary and, you know, stuff. Soooooo, yeah. Carry on, bitches.

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