Goodbye Houston, Hello San Fran!

The last piece of my life that remained local to somewhere other than San Francisco is no more.

I have changed my phone number.

I know, I know, seemingly unnecessary. And I might regret it. Particularly since my new number is almost entirely odd numbers. Which kind of bothers me.

I'm weird like that.

Ready for "I'm weirder like that?": the first and last numbers are square numbers, and all the other numbers are prime.

Regardless of this instant analysis of the new number, I have not a clue what it actually is.

Here's to me, Internets. Here's to me.

Thank you, and goodnight

Today marks the end of my six-month match.com subscription. I know many of you have done the internet dating thing, and let me tell you, it's... an experience. This past summer, the Summer Of Weddings, about one out of every three of the couples I played for met online. In my current office, the woman in the happiest (from the outside) relationship met her boyfriend online. So I know it can be done. And I met several very nice people. But folks, I also met some real... characters. And I cannot
cannot
deny you the pleasure of a little pained laughter at my expense. Because we've all been there. So, without further ado, the top ten

WORST THINGS I WAS TOLD ON A MATCH.COM DATE
1. I'd give you a six out of ten.
2. I'm an art photographer. I'm really good. How would you feel about posing nude sometime?
3. So, when you say you haven't been in a relationship for a while, does that mean you're looking for a relationship now? Because, to be honest, I'm just looking to get laid.
4. I can tell that you're the kind of person who has a great personality, but you'll never stop traffic. You're just too short.
5. You know, I really like you, and we have great chemistry, but I can just tell that you're never going to want to have my children.
6. So, this one time my ex and I got high, and...
7. I was really drawn to your picture. You remind me of this cousin of mine...
8. You're a flutist? I used to play the tuba in high school. Actually, you're pretty tiny. I bet you'd fit inside my tuba case!!!
9. I'm getting a master's degree. Here's my resume. You should read it. I'd be a really great catch for a girl like you.

And last, but certainly not least:

10. You know, you're a really, really beautiful woman. I mean, you have a great body. But I can just tell that, once you get a rock on your finger, your ass is just going to start getting bigger...

The cherry on top!

What could possibly add a little bit of extra sparkle to a January like this? I'd frankly already reached a point where it was just too ridiculous to care anymore. Once I discovered the degree to which someone has been using my bank account, all bets were off. The past month simply became funny.

So what, you ask, could possibly have just topped it off?

How about getting stuck in my extremely creepy, ancient elevator for over an hour? Yeah. That would probably do it. The good news? I was coming home from the grocery store, so at least I had cold beer in there with me.

Anxiety much?

M'kay. So it is becoming painfully clear that I need to chill out. Why, you ask? Oh, believe you me, either A) I need to calm down, or B) I need to lay off the drugs. And, seeing as I'm so boring that I've only been high once (by ACCIDENT), I think option A is probably a safe bet. (As an aside, this might actually be best achieved by picking up a drug habit, but that's neither here nor there.)

What could possibly be my reasoning for this thought process? I'm so glad you asked! I went to bed last night at 8:30 after attempting to watch Batman Begins and crashing about halfway through. And I had one of those nights when I woke up a good six or seven times. But this time, I know exactly what was waking me up: my dreams. Which were seriously vivid. In my dreams, I repeatedly messed up several millionaire's Gala orders. And they were angry. So they sent ninjas to kill me. That's right, my generally sensible mind repeatedly awoke convinced that there were ninjas in my apartment.

crickets

A mind is a terrible thing to lose.

Who knew?

I just got a call from an old friend in the orchestral world. Apparently everyone in the New World Symphony is under the impression that I am getting married.

Congrats to me! Let's open the champagne!

Il Divo

is basically the worst thing I've ever heard in my entire life.

I just threw up a little bit in my mouth.

Pout

I've been floating around in a bubble of contentedness all day. My bubble has been impervious to a vast array of negative things, including: 1) The incorrect information on the DMV website that caused me to waste a significant amount of time this morning. 2) The death (again) of my beloved computer, which will invariably cost me three-hundred bucks to fix. 3) A stomachache. 4) One of my friends being treated abominably by a jackass.

But my bubble could not withstand someone lying to cover their own behind and implicating me in the process. And yes, it could not have been a more obvious lie. But lord, folks, are we five years old???

I feel grumpy!

Sweet Jebus

I have just learned something that I never needed to know. Prepare yourself.

Deep breaths.

There exists in the world a jazz band called
The Dick Hyman Chorus and Orchestra

I only wish I were kidding.

People are stupid

That is all.

Bourbon

I love bourbon. I especially love bourbon when I've had an incomparably crappy week. I really have nothing more to say. I know that the blog has, of late, disintegrated into inane prattle about meaningless daily events. Or worse, pictures of said meaningless daily events. But dude, it's Nablopomo. I am not interesting every day of the week. Sorry!

Are words even necessary?

Sometimes I find things funny, even if they're just wrong.

Talking dirty

Ah, gentle readers, prepare thyselves. This is not a story for the faint of heart. Nor for the underage. Nay, I say unto you, continue reading at your peril.

Ahem.

My sister works at a mental health "halfway house." It is, frankly, as shitty a job as she could possibly have, but it pays the bills and is helping her save up some cash for her imminent return to the U.K. Sis is a remarkably normal person, at least in my view. We'll get into a philosophical discussion on the definition of "normal" some other day. I consider her to be a lovely human being, and so should you. Many of her co-workers at said institution, however, defy conventions of "normalcy," blurring the lines between what is socially acceptable and what is, shall we say, creepy. Or gross. In this case, I think "gross" is as apt a word as any.

It has recently surfaced that one of the counsellors has been viewing pornographic websites on the company computer at night. As in, while everyone else in the house is sleeping, this guy has been... uh... enjoying himself. Literally. The company, however, cannot fire him without meeting a sufficient burden of proof. That means that each day, someone has to go on the computer's history and print it out. Today, however, the printer apparently wasn't functioning. Meaning that my sister, my sweet, innocent, normal sister, had to read the listing of websites out loud over the phone to her boss. Let's just take one moment to ponder some of the options here:

"At 4:25 a.m. a site called giganticgonads dot com was accessed. At 4:42 he moved onto lusciousboobies. Next was a site named hotkittymonkeylove."

Way to go, sketchy co-worker. Way to go.

Blargh

I feel like I could sleep for the rest of my life. My brain is like mashed potatoes in my head right now. Too much partying this weekend? Yeah, you could say that. I have started and deleted this post at least ten times, and I still have no idea what to write about. So, here's some stream-of-consciousness dribble that's been swirling around inside my gray matter.

I hope Barak Obama runs for President. Every time I hear him speak, I find myself nodding in agreement. I also like the idea of having a President who can express him/herself intelligently. Imagine the possibilities. By the same token, I hope to god that John Kerry does not run again.

Apparently John Cougar Mellencamp's Jack and Diane is following me around.

Why is it that certain days I can't seem to find enough to write about, and some days I want to post six or seven times? And why, on the days that yield several good ideas, do I never remember to write down the "extras?"

I can't get the image of Sely in Renaissance garb out of my head. I love it!

I wish it would snow. I miss the smell of the air before a snowstorm. The fog rolled in today, and somehow simulated the feeling of that anticipation before the sky opens and the snow falls. I am absolutely dreaming if I think I'll see snow any time soon.

This post is abysmal. I do not know if I'm going to be able to complete this. Maybe I should just hit the hay. This is ridiculous!

Ew

This has to be the most disturbing thing I've ever seen.

My Mother's Daughter

My entire life we have given my mother crap about being scatterbrained. She says things like "Did you tell your sister about the thing you tried to do but didn't?" Um, what? Or she'll make a list with random words on it, and later wonder what it was about. Or get in the car, drive for ten minutes, and realize that she can't remember what she was about to do.

My plan all day was to head to Trader Joe's tonight to pick up groceries. One of my all-time best friends is coming to town tomorrow, and I didn't want him to walk in and find an empty refrigerator. Also, we have been ordering food WAAAAY too much this week. So all day I kept a grocery list on a sheet of scrap paper. Every time I thought of something, I'd check to see if I'd already written it down. If not, I'd write it on the list. So imagine my surprise when my sister/roommate began cracking up while reading the list in the car on the way to TJ's! When she read it aloud, I started laughing so hard that I started to cry. I literally had to pull off the road because I couldn't see.

Here's what my list said:

Berries
Tomato
Lettuce
Potatoes
Garlic*
Peaches
Morels
Garlic*
Onions
Shallots
Avocado
Garlic*
Shrimp (2)
Salmon
Chi**
Cream
TJ's***

*Reasons that I am not currently making out with anyone. Do I really need that much garlic? REALLY?

**I think this was supposed to say chicken. I can't imagine what else it meant.

***What? Was I planning on buying the whole store? Was I afraid I wouldn't remember the reason for the list???

Like A ДЕВА

My day generally begins one of two ways: Either 1) my alarm blares at me, causing me to groan, roll over, and cover my head with a pillow, or 2) Puck begins biting my big toe, causing me to leap, screaming, from my bed. Today, however, my neighbors provided the most amusing wake-up call I've had in quite some time.

I awoke at 7:30 a.m. to Madonna's "Like a Virgin" being played louder than I have ever heard it in my life.

I should add that my neighbors are in their 80s and speak only Russian.

The scariest thing of my life

Meet my dad:


He's a college marching band director. Now, meet his Mini-me:



His students had a bobble-head made of him as a fundraiser. Seriously, this might be the creepiest thing I've ever seen. At the same time, however, I'm feeling a need to acquire one for myself. Really, how many of us know someone who is a bobble-head?

One more photo, just for good measure.



P.S. - If, for some unknown reason, you also feel the irresistable pull to own one of these fine pieces of history, click the link.

The story of my life

After this happened, I made a vow to drink no alcohol until August 1. Then I ended a six-year relationship. Then, today, I learned that another ex is being ordained tomorrow as a monk. And tonight I needed a drink. So I had two. Yeeeehaw.