An Open letter to all you goddamn spam commentors

not 11 minutes after I posted the last post, 2 damn spamentors put comments on my damn post. this pisses me off for several reasons, and here comes a numbered list.

1. Your stupid blog is advertising something crappy enough to have the only advertising be done on a FREE site.
2. Your blogs are all shitty tripe
3. They totally fuck up the reason for the "next blog" button because they are equivalent (in quality and relevance) to local telelvision commercials
4. You are the natural offshoots of spam email and are therefore the spawn of satan
5. People who read my blog (those 2 or 3 of you out there) may actually think I support whatever crap you are selling if I don't immediately delete them.
6. The new comment messages muck up my hotmail account.
7. you suck.

I would post more, but my arm is stuck under a boulder and I have to cut it off with cuticle scissors to survive.

Hello productive citizen

so I have started volunteering. and for those of you who haven't seen me in a while, this may come as quite a shock. I used to be violently anti-altruistic. A nihilist by trade, I wouldn't be caught dead doing something for someone I didn't know (or wearing anything other than black). But those times are dead and I retired my wardrobe and signed up at a couple places and started taking psych classes so I could go to grad school for psychology with an emphasis in art therapy. I know it sounds new agey, but I get to fuck with people's heads and play with paint at the same time. I believe that's called heaven.

Yes, it's a thursday...

does anyone else hate getting older? it's getting to that point,the dreaded quarter century turn, quarterlife crisis time. yes, I have two more months to hang on before it happens, but I've always been someone to be prepared, so I am starting my freakout now. why does it have to happen this way? why can't I just skip it and opt for a midlife crisis that is extended by two weeks longer than it should actually go. Like a crisis extended payment plan. And why do I have to be held accountable for every damn thing I do? It used to be, if I fucked up, I would run as far as possible in the opposite direction and created some disturbance over there, then go back to my little mess and cover it up like cats do in litter boxes. Sure it would stink, but you couldn't tell exactly where it was coming from and by the time you dug it out, it was so coated with super-freshness crystals, that you couldn't recognize the original form. There. Problem solved. Now, I'm like the dog I used to have (her name was mandy and she was very ugly and everyone loved her for it). She also had a guilty conscience that would force her to lead us to her mistakes. When I would get home from school, there would be our mangy little Mandy with head lowered wagging her tail at half mast waiting to be scolded. When I would ask her where it was, she would lead me to some magnificently torn up trash or a small pile of poo in the corner of the downstairs den. And now I've turned into that, cowering at the door and leading people to my little pile of poo and looking up expectantly at someone else hoping that something can be done about it.

Where's the slots again, Mr. Skinner?

And the devil took jesus up to the top of the mountains and showed him hotmail.

B.F. Skinner (psychiatrist famous for messing with rats and some sort of box) did a whole bunch of studies with said rats and came up with operant conditioning. Operant conditioning is basically something one does to the environment in order to to cause an effect. This effect can be positive or negative and the effect influences whether or not one commits the cause again. I watched a tv program on this years ago and it explained how rats press levers to get food pellets and they were alternating the video of the rats pressing levers with videos of fat people in vegas playing slots. Turns out if the rats never get any pellets for pressing the levers, they stop. Bored now. If the rats get pellets all the time, they stop. Bored now. If the rats get pellets at random intervals they will keep pressing the lever 'til doomsday. Literally, they'll press it until they're dead. Which is why so many people go to vegas to die. Not with the noble purpose of drinking themselves to death while dating a down-on-her-luck prostitute and getting increasingly more digusting in order to win an oscar (Nick Cage, I'm talking to you). But they just get stuck at the slots with nothing better to do than get fatter and more pathetic.

Which is how I see myself.

Not literally, I assure you. But, figuratively, every damn time I check my email at work. Sometimes 40-50 times a day. I'll check my email when I think someone's trying to send one. I'll check it when I think no one could possibly send one. I'll check it when I've just signed out because I might have just missed it. I'll check it whenever I get back from some place. Just in case someone is trying to get ahold of me. I've tried weaning myself off it, you know, slowly. I won't check it until 9am today. And even if I manage to stave off checking until 9, then I'll check five times in ten minutes to alleviate all the anxiety that built up between the hour I got to work and the point where I was miraculously allowed to enter the magical world of hotmail. And I don't just do this with email, I'll do it wth my cell phone, whenever I'm around an answering machine, I used to do it with mail. It's pathetic, that's what it is. Sad and pathetic. I am a fat, middle-aged, overweight, socially-pathetic rat in tweed pressing my feeder bar. And you know what? I'm going to go do it again. Right now.

Swear to god.

Job hunting on Capitol Hill

See, I got this friend, she really needs a job. It's not like she's desperate, but you know, she kind of wants to switch it up, you know, try something new. But she doesn't really have any experience. And apparently one needs to magically have experience to get a job. If anyone has tried to get a good job right out of college, you know what I am talking about. Even the shitty jobs. I remember being crushed in high school because I couldn't get a job at a cool clothing store. I ended up making sandwiches for fat people and cops, smelling like yeast and onions after a shift and nary a hot guy in sight because I had no experience. It's hard times out there. Say it with me "hard times" and shake your head. Trust me it will be cool.
But where could she get a job? I know, how about the Supreme Court! Apparently they're hiring just anyone. You don't even have to be a judge. I know, I know, the whole point of electing people who are already judges is just so passe. Really, If you seen one judge you've seen them all. Just watch some reruns of night court and Judge Judy and you're in like flint. But I can't promise you a quirky bailiff or bantering sex-crazed lawyers. Oh, don't even say anything about how lawyers are bred to be strictly partisan and experience on the lower courts would let them stretch their little non-partisan muscles that have atrophied since law school. No, that would be silly. Almost as silly as hiring someone qualified for the job.

Christ, I can't keep this up anymore. Was kind of irresponsible moron would make a political move like this just to stack the courts? Does he give a shit about anyone who isn't filling his coffers? And apparently hiring people who have never been judges to the supreme court is tradition going back to Lincoln which makes me lose my last ounce of faith in the courts which is unfortunate as I have always had a phobia of being wrongfully imprisoned.

And why does she look like skeletor? And he like curious george? I got ten bucks the next one's going to have a curiously freaky, but altogether uncanny resemblance to Peter Griffin. Then again, don't all republicans resemble Peter Griffin?

Serenity, Fuck Yeah!

Subhead: The post where I lose any cool points I have gained from previous posts. Don't make a lick of difference to me, as I have met many cool people and you're all assholes. But I still liked your band. Call me okay?

I saw serenity this weekend. Huge fan. HUGE. We're talking about months of anticipation, like about nine months anticipation culminating in the birth of the worst fan-freakness I have ever experienced. Yes, there were temptations to purchase a brown coat to wear to the movie and show solidarity to the independence. Luckily, meager bank accounts and aversion to leather prevailed where good sense could not, and I arrived at the theater entirely unclad in leather.

Plus it was damn hot.

So, there's me twitching in my seat 45 minutes early in case other people decided to see the movie. And lo and behold, not only do I get to see Serenity, but I get to see two of the most ass-kickin' trailers I have ever seen. I'm sure Chris still has fingernail marks on his arm where I was clutching like a maniac and nearly crying from excitement during the Harry Potter trailer (yes, I said Harry Potter, and wtf was up with the end of book six? 'Taint right I tell ya). I mean crap, that is the coolest looking movie ever. Then the chronicles of Narnia trailer comes up looking as cool as Lord of the Rings without those creepy hobbits mucking things up.

Then Serenity. Oh Serenity, how we missed ye. You better turn into a damn trilogy or you're not getting any supper and you can just forget about that pony I promised you. My gawd, can Joss Whedon be more of a genius? For those of you reading this post, if you haven't seen the entirety of Firefly, then you won't understand most of this and I am not explaining it to you, because you are banished to time out until you watch the whole thing and it will thenceforth be self-explanatory.

side note* we're very sorry for the loss of you two. would that I had watched the movie in a non-public forum, for I could have cried properly for your untimely ends.

2nd side note* I didn't actually cry in public. I swear.