According to the USPS, we have a new person living with us here in #83. Some cat called Terrance Johnson. Well, I’m sure this fucker is a nice fella, and I hold nothing against him (which isn’t really readily apparent from the fact that I called him a “fucker” just now, but if he’s old enough to be living outside his parents domain, I suppose he is old enough to technically be a “fucker”). Just drop it in the outbox with a small note that says “wrong fucking address, fucktards”, and that’s the end of that.
Well, until I check the mail today. Nothing for our new “imaginary roomie”, but the mailman saw fit to tag our box with a little card that lists the residents. The first name being this “Johnson” fucker. Then mine and Kev’s. And they misspelled Kev’s name. Now, this in and of itself is not really a big deal, and it is something I imagine I’ll get very much used to in future days, but it was the fact that they fucked it up so badly, AND decided that they were absolutely RIGHT about this Johnson-fucker living here, SO VERY RIGHT about it that they listed him as the FIRST RESIDENT OF THE GODDAMNED RAGE SPIT HATE AND RRRRRRRRRRGH.
Yeah. It just kind of… pissed me off.
So I kind of ripped up the little “residents” card and left them a nice note. Which is much much nicer than the first two (the absolute first being a rather delicious collection of four-letter no-no words).

I hope this is the end of the whole “Johnson” debacle, because the next time this happens, I’ll likely be carted off to jail for defacing a mailbox.

The news of the day isn’t all bad. I finally got around to dropping by sQecial to pick up a carton of cloves. I really wish I could’ve bought a second, but hopefully we’ll find a friendly overseas supplier before we run out entirely.

Yeah yeah, I really need to post more than just videos every now and then, but there are some things that just need sharing. And as soon as my bank account recovers from paying last month’s mobile bill, I’m snagging that track off Amazon and making it my new obsession.

I love The Guild. Love.

Anyway, news… news. Eh. School is coming up next week (gasp, oh noes). Later this week, I have “pre-employment testing” to go to, for whatever that means. I don’t even rate an interview. I just get tested. THE REAL WORLD IS JUST LIKE COLLEGE LOL. Oh, and I love a guy who hits you with flowers, chocolates and love notes, all on separate occasions, but well within a week’s time. Ok, so the chocolates were M&M’s, but I LIKE THEM OKAY. THEY WERE YUMMY. And also a surprise, so I count them! Officially. Hehe.

Want to hear a joke? Ok. Radiohead, [Your Favourite Hippie Stoner Band Here], and Faust walk into a bar…

PUNCHLINE: These Are My Twisted Words  (Advance / Leak / 2009)

Well. If this is really genuine, at least Phil still knows how to play drums.

H’okay, so. It seems that ever since I started taking Ortho-Cyclen, my moods had greatly improved during the three weeks of pillnommin’. More high-spirited than usual, skipping around all tra-la-la like, and everything was good. Better than usual. But then on the off week, I would always take a total nose-dive and be highly irritable, crying, screaming, depressed and all sorts of nasty things. I didn’t notice how serious it was, or that it even was cyclical, until Kev moved in and I started paying more attention to my behaviour. After our most recent blow-up event, I realized that it happens every single time. Not PMS or PMDD, because it doesn’t “fade shortly before your period”, but started as soon as my progesterone dropped low enough to start insulting my uterus’ interior decorator.

I decided that I’d try a little experiment this month, and just not go off the pill at all. And so far, it seems to be working. Not being a totally raging hormonal bitch, AND helping to save our environment by not littering landfills with feminine hygiene products? Pretty sweet. Getting cancer because I of taking birth control nonstop? Yeah, well, who needed a uterus anyway? To the garbage heap with that worthless POS!

Now, it makes me wonder. I reckon this little experiment is suggestive that I will be a wonderful, happy, bubbly Miss Optimistic sort of person should I ever find myself in a knocked-up state. The post-partum depression is going to fucking kill me, though. So no screaming hellspawn until I can afford a full-time, live-in nanny for the first two or three months. I hope she cooks and cleans. I’d like that.

…and I jizzed in my pants.

Needless to say, I cannot wait til March.

…this year, I am quitting smoking. I think. Last time I quit was right after I got back home from my trip to St Pete in February. I can’t begin to say why I quit that time… whatever inspired me to do it, but it sort of worked for a few months until I realized that buying cigarettes at your friendly corner convenience store was a somewhat easier (and a lot more legal) than buying Xanax at your friendly corner convenience store. So now that I only have one month left before class starts (read: one month left before I’m covered by University Health Services and can legally obtain said Xanax), I figured it’s a good time to try again.
Actually, I’m only doing it because Kev said he was going to try. But he seems determined to be self-defeating, which is going to make it all the more hard on me. Because yes, this is all about me and I’m the centre of the universe here.

Anyway. I’ve had since April to officially apply to the College of Social Work at UK, and I finally did my entrance essay just this morning… less than a week before I have to have it turned in. Luckily I can deliver it by hand, so I know it’ll hit their desk(s) before the first.

Finally, it takes a special kind of girl to fuck up Tuna Helper. And I am a very special sort of lady. What should’ve been cheesy noodles with tuna has been transformed into yellow mushslop with tuna flakes and burnt bits. I am not happy about this. But at least the salad part of dinner was okay. It’s just impossible to jack up lettuce.

Speaks for itself, I do say.

Nothing to report today, I’m afraid.  Just some cleaning here and there… sat and watched some Buffy for a while.  Still need to do this thing with laundry, what where you hang it up or at least put it away in some form or fashion after cleaning it, but I’ve been nursing a sore shoulder since Monday morning.  Is this a good excuse for not doing what I should?  Well, I’ve seemed to let it make sense in my mind.

Keep in mind, things in my mind rarely make sense to anyone else.  But that’s ok.