Things That Are Tacky and/or Trashy pt.1

Animal print:

When used sparingly, it can be fun. On some people. However on most people, and/or when used more often than one uses the tredmill that you got and swore you would use but it is such a pain to drag out from under the bed and unfold and by the time you do there's only five minutes before you have to go to work and then it just sits there for a week and a half awkwardly in the way but you can't put it away until you use it and then you will have gotten it out for nothing and yet all that happens is it gathers paraphernalia that people are too lazy to put away but want to remember like unmatched orphan socks and dirty coffee cups when the sink is too far away and that sweater you spilled the coffee on and needed a place to lay it out so the spray n' wash has time to really soak in, then the animal print is clearly a mistake. Look at your closet. If there is enough animal print in there that you could wear an outfit entirely made out of animal print, then you have too much. If you can wear an animal print ensamble and still have pieces left over, you are probably a hooker. If any of it is in unnatural colours, you probably had a very rough childhood.

Also see: Faux Fur

Exceptions: Drag Queens (They have enough flair to pull off pretty much anything.)

All this happened, more or less.

I am having such an itching to buy books. I haven't been to a used bookstore in ages. It was that urge that engouraged me to update my Goodreads booklist. Which of course reminded me of the list of authors to acquire I have. Naturally I ended up with ten different tabs open, cross referencing and comparing prices versus shipping charges.

Naturally I then chickened out because money is money. So I am left with an empty feeling and a burning desire to read about Prague and the Dalai Lama. Every time I turn around there is another entry for my list. There's not enough time in the day to buy all the books I need -- much less enough time for actually reading them.

Of course dwelling on those lists brought me to whistfully read my other lists. Things to grow, books I already own, air filtering plants, movies to see, projects in the queue... The faux-excel in Google Docs has resulted in a ridiculous number of lists for me.

Among my current projects is building a bookcase, building plant stands, and finding a haircut. Even though I know that I will probably start growing my hair out again immediately I still want a change. I've wanted it awhile, but I still haven't found a style I like. It's a hard decision, especially considering I haven't had a haircut since 1999.

I wish I had more activity to report, aside from an antsy feeling that I should be doing something. I miss my cats. Next year I will have an adorable Jewish couple for landlords. I want to pierce my ears again. I might have a job. It's another retail slave job, but it is something. Oh, and I want goats and chickens when I have a real home. Fresh eggs and cheese. At least, in theory if I find out how to deal with farm animals.

Douglas Adams Is in my Brain

I'm back in the college town after a sojourn in the tourist trap, and life is dull. Nice, but dull.

Paul: "I've been playing Metal Gear for almost two days."

Me: "It has been two days. 42 hours is two days."

Paul: "What? No, two days is 48."

Me: "No it's.. it is 48. What's 42? Why did I think 42?"

Paul: "I don't kn--"

Me: "Oh wait, 42 is the answer to the Universe. Nevermind."

Paul: *stares quizzically*

Days consist of clawing my way toward employment, evenings I hang out with Paul. As he plays Metal Gear Online, I surf the internet. Or we read. It's like we're already a stodgy geriatric couple. A technologically adept geriatric couple.