It’s like a playbook that digs other playbooks…
Don’t make it weird.
As I find myself on many a later Friday evening (thanks J.Dane for bitching out of our playdate), I am in the position where driving is problematic, my DVDs are worn out, and there’s nothing on the telly. Couple that with another 24 hour media cycle, new magazines, a computer designed during the second Bush administration, and the day-to-day insanity that is my life, and you get one hell of an update.
That Seth Meyers is a stud. Admit it.
Anyone that read yesterday’s rant knows that I have wanted to punch this past week in the face. Like many past relationships, March of 2013 is one that has been abusive and petty, but ultimately one that has reminded me that I need to start sticking up for myself. And yet, as is par for the course, Thursday into Friday have provided me with so much more ridick-ammo that you better hold onto your bobby-socks. We’re talking family, work, and housing cray-cray.
And we’re just getting started.
I walked through another house, this time on the west side but just shy of the ghetto, and it is super-cute. Some updates, good neighborhood, close to the po-po office which I like, with some little projects to keep me busy. Of course, the owners are underwater and want 20K more than the property is worth. Long story short I am still trying to figure out how to move forward on that place, along with the condo in the Aves, while still looking around because my grip on reality in terms of my personal finances is beyond tenuous.
Update on my computer woes: I found out my hard drive might be salvageable (stop with the crude innuendo, we’re better than all that!). I tried to resolve certain matters over the phone, but after Auto-amoton-Antoine decided it wouldn’t let me speak with a human being, I trekked back to City Creek
LDS Church to get the skinny on whether my poor laptop’s data may be saved. I wanted to be a shit because I hate automated systems like poison, so I was prepared to be a total d-nozzle to whatever “Genius” happened by.
Then the eye-candy arrived.
Apple knows what they’re doing. “Oh, you’re upset that your three thousand dollar computer shit the bed? Check out my abs while I casually bend closer to you with my insanely dapper smile and an ass that won’t quit.” To which I respond, “SPLOOSH.” Devin** went on to assure me that the hard drive was probably in decent shape and to go to Simply Mac tomorrow to sort it out.
HARD DRIVE. So much double and triple entendre to engage in.
After I stopped drooling, I then happily set out to make my trek home, stopping at the Smith’s to grab some essentials (hello, Fresca). Imagine my surprise when yet another hottie made their presence known in the frozen/chilled food section. For the record, clueless cute dude whose biggest decision today was deciding which Ben and Jerry’s Frozen Greek Yogurt flavor to buy (we’ll call him Devin Two**), you can spend as many hours as you want assessing the situation at our local grocery story.
I’ve got time.
While disappointed to have to reschedule dranks with a certain drag princess, today’s turn of events made me feel slightly less awful. I finished my latest zombie trash book; I have offers out and a bunch of places lined up to walk through; my grandfather the cat pulled his fifth health rebound in as many weeks, proving once again that some people thrive on the threshold of death, if only to make every- and anyone around them slowly but surely lose their minds.
Oh, and did I mention that I received word today that Komen for the Cure accepted my grant proposal for breast cancer screening? Because they most certainly did. And this isn’t some “buy pink” media campaign, this is for (pardon the entendre) hand’s on screening and prevention efforts that will ultimately save lives.
Let’s do this thing.
I won’t lie, I am bred from stock that constantly waits for the other shoe to drop. And as I type this gibberish out on a laptop whose temperature on my lap has rendered me infertile, I am cautiously optimistic that my grandfather will gain enough strength to be discharged home (where he can meet his maker on his own terms), that my laptop’s brains can be extracted from the hulking mass rendered useless by a dram of liquid, and that tomorrow my dear sweet toaster of a vehicle passes inspection the day before its registration expires.
** = names were changed to protect the hopelessly innocent eye candy. Again, SPLOOSH.