Blue Eyes, Psychic Dogs, Prize for the Subway Sandwich Man

Well my ignomious little friends, the word for the day is "Shite". As in my life resembles, once again, a fat steaming turd!

Ah well, whatyagonnado? Call Ghostbusters I guess. Speaking of ghosts I am firmly convinced dogs can see ghosts (if this sounds weird I am not alone in this estimation of their psychic abilities! try checking out the topic on the information superhighway) My parents' dog will actually stare at something in the hallway for no apparent reason -- like she's looking at something that's not there. It's really, really creepy and she did it when my parents were (blissfully, thank you, Jesus) away for the weekend. It was late at night, too. Naturally!

So that was discomfiting to say the least. In other news I continue with my day patient therapy at the hospital and continue to suck down antidepressants like there's no tomorrow. I am having some side effects which I pray will eventually go away never to be seen or heard from again, much like your parents or an ex-boyfriend who did weird things, like drain your bank account or something. Weird criminal things!

And in continued news I still miss the blue-eyed doctor. I hope at some point to permanently remove him from my already addled psyche but for some reason the man will not budge. I have rampaging paranoia about the dude, expecting at any moment to run into him at the 7-11. It's very alarming, but we were never normal, oh, no we weren't, Toto. But life is a lesson and ya learn it when you're through! I heard that in a song, I did.

You know, I really don't know what ignomious means, but I swear if it's insulting I really didn't mean it.

Ah yes...life. I am still wondering about Tom Cruise's baby and I am still unemployed and living with my parents, but I am trying to move forward on these issues before something explodes, like my head. It wouldn't hurt to have a bout of really hot steamy sex at some point, either, but hey, you can't always get what you want. I heard that in a song, too, I did. But sometimes, you get what ya need!

Yes. May it be ever so.

That would be a good note to end my latest post on but instead I have to say that everytime I go into a Subway recently there is a line practically out the door. I guess that Jared guy is selling millions for them! Kerchoo! I asked the dude in front of me if he was in line and he gave me a look like I had just shot his mother. But when people are sitting on tables not paying attention to what the line is doing it merits asking, sir!

Yes. May it be so, Yoda.

May your day be full of protein and that funky Italian herb bread. Or something like that.

Kerchoo.

Gruesome Creatures, Your Local Starbucks, Rocket Ships

Hello, my little dumplings! I am reeling from life's general vagaries and hoping that this blog finds you well. Also reeling from life's stressful uncertainties, but we can't win them all, folks. In other words, who can win at the game of life?

Unless it's the board game, which I think I used to win quite often, actually. Ha ha!

Well, there are some good things in my life, thanks be to God. The bad part is that I'm living with my parents again (can we say, major triggers???) and back in my hell town. This wee little New England town (more medium-sized, actually) may be the least friendly place known to man. Basically, people are either unfriendly and competitive, or they are snobby, friendly, and competitive. Sometimes you meet nice people who, to deal with the former, have developed thick shells to survive, thus making them like eerie holograms of the said snobby people. It's hard to find anyone who is unguarded enough to actually speak with you. It's that famous NE reserve! What can I tell you, it'll help with the future memoirs.

The other bad shite is dealing with medication (adjusting to taking it and the side effects) and the fact that if I eat more than, say, a donut I tend to gain like fifty pounds instantly. But, c'est la vie. You can't win them all! Unlike that board game! I am still pining for Dr. Hottie, who I may think about when I am 93, if I am lucky (or unlucky, depending on your particular point of view about life here on Planet Earth). Ah, amour. He had these wonderful big blue eyes, what can I tell you. I am sucker for blue eyes, interesting mutations that they are.

So it goes. I am trying to destress, which is hard without, say, an oxygen chamber, and in general spend most of the day out of the house so as not to interact with the Evil Parents Of Denial. EPOD are gruesome creatures perhaps known to some of you. Yet, I have forgiven them as much as possible. Cash gifts would help but hey, no one's perfect!

The better news is that I may be moving into an apartment of my very own in a couple of weeks. Now I just have to procure a job faster than you can say, fig newtons! Yes, fig newtons and me. So it's all very pressurized and the triggers do not help. I attempted to decompress the horror at a local Starbucks, which just made me more nervous, since their coffee is like being attached to a giant sonic rocket of some kind. Are there sonic rockets? This I do not know.

And So It Goes. I hope all is well in your life, and I hope that in life, you are well.

Mazel tov.

Sensitivity Chips, Hostels are Good

What is there to say on yet another hot day from hell? Apparently the weather is going to be like this until the weekend, my stress level is pushing the fifty plus zone (whatever that might be), and I am, unfortunately, at my parents' house (Chez Insanity, one could call it) until Thursday morning. At this point I am hoping that God will smile down on me and that some temporary housing will become available, as I lack the courage to ask an old friends' parents for assistance. That's mostly due to shame, as my new therapist at the hospital has told me, and also due to the fact that I haven't seen them for, like, ten years. Makes it a little hard, gang!

Stress is a bad, bad, thing. And yes, Chris Isaak, baby did a bad, bad thing. What can I say? That and ramen noodles keeps us going (Chris Isaak, that is -- there's a man I would swim across the English Channel for. I think). Anywho, I am still pining for the beautiful doctor because that's what romantic obsessional types do, and I am still wondering if we will ever see the spawn of Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes, respectively. Perhaps we will, and perhaps we won't, but we must think positively, people. I am fairly sure they did create a baby, or at least an alien launching pad with a couple of embryos attached to it. Yes, that was disgusting, my apologies.

Ah yes, disgusting. Life is so bad it's not funny, and yet here I am, still plugging away, and all without the aid of illegal drugs. In other news, my brother and his cold wife are going to have a real baby in December (not the tabloid variety), and I keep applying for jobs. I also keep hoping that someday I will have an actual life. One can always hope, folks, one can always hope.

She is cold, the wife. I have never thought she liked me, and this was recently proven correct when she and the brother came to visit me in the hospital and she said not a fucking word. Not even hello. In fact she acted like she was visiting me at the local drugstore. Sensitivity chips are missing in both of them, and frankly their future child is one I seriously feel for, what can I tell you. It's not easy being an icy-cold bitch! OK, that was way harsh, toodle-loo la.

Ah, yes. In happier news I made at the strange hostel I can no longer afford to stay at a new friend. She is a lovely young woman from England (I may have mentioned her before), and it is too bad I cannot find her in male form. The kind that does not move to New Jersey, that is, after you've felt all kinds of funny things you've never felt before. We had a great time, and I hope to see her again someday. Sometimes life smiles down on you, it does.

That is all for now. Be well.

Hot Days From Hell

Ah yes, it's hotter than hell here in New England, I feel like barfing, and there are too many people under the age of 16 in this room. Other than that, life is grand, people, it's grand!

I did manage to eat a nice healthy meal yesterday, and to see The Pirates of the Carribean (sp), which, although o'erlong, was still a lot of fun. Plus, Johnny Depp is hot.

Much like the Doctor I Once Knew, who is probably now halfway to New Jersey, where apparently he hails from. It's never fun to have a crush on someone you will, very likely, never see again. Then again, you never know, and the Wellbutrin makes me less cynical than usual. Or is it less paranoid? I forget what the manufacturers promised!

Ah, manufacturers. At any rate, today has been the day from hell, and that's fitting since that's what it feels like, as the first paragraph of my little epistle indicated. I've spent the day in treatment at the hospital, where I sit in little groups with other depressed people, and then I sat on a bench for awhile. The Benchsitter is a most philosophical creature, I have decided. Then I spent approximately 45 fucking minutes waiting for a bus that never arrived, which pissed me off so bad I nearly spit. So I hightailed it to the bus stop at the other end of the city (or so it seemed) after a disgusting man in a van made a kissy-face at me. Why do men travel in rabid packs and feel the need to harrass women? One of the great mysteries of our time, folks! If you can solve it, do let me know!

I then ate a sandwich while reading in a fairly air-conditioned little restaurant known as Subway, and finally returned to the hostel to get my backpack from the morose Asian man who runs the place. That's a descriptor, not an ethnic attack -- please leave me be, PC police. That aside, I procured said backpack after making polite conversation with the hot foreigner sitting outside the hostel. Unlike me, he seemed not only calm, but cool and collected. Then I jumped on yet another bus (which decided to pick me up at the bus stop next to mine, forcing me to walk with several unwieldy bags) and finally I made it here. My shoulders are aching, my tummy is nauseous, my spirits are low, and yet, I still live! It's enough to make Jesus proud. I still have to make another phone call, get through a night at my parents' house (UGH -- UGH -- UGH), and somehow decide where I am going to spend possibly three or four more weeks before my apartment is available. I am on a housing list, thank God. And I got a response from a resume -- thank God! Maybe there is a light at the end of this vaingloriously unglorious tunnel!

Ah, hot doctors in NJ. We loved you, so.

I wish you well, gentle reader.

Stranger Than You Feared It

Well, my kitties, life gets stranger and stranger here on Planet Desperate. There isn't much to say other than I am currently living hand-to-mouth in a hostel populated by the oddest humans I've ever met, and careen back and forth between elation and something akin to despair. Actually, that's a lie -- these are graded levels of depression I'm experiencing here, folks. I haven't felt elated since 1933, approximately! And that's OK, especially considering I wasn't even alive back then!

Last night I hung out with this lovely English girl (lovely and English girl seem to go together nicely, no?) at a local coffee shop, the kind populated by tattooed baristas with bisexual tendencies, and then we went and got ourselves a bottle of wine. I was actually CARDED, people! Since I am 34 this made me happier than I could possibly describe with my limited facility with the English language! We then returned to the hostel to realize there was no bottle opener to be found, thus forcing us to shlep back outside where we found one in a local drugstore. We returned to the hostel and shared our wine with a kindly Italian woman and a traumatized former army officer. The latter human is a very strange dude in his 40's (I told you my life was strange and getting stranger) who will literally talk until he's blue in the fact, mostly about religion and science. Smart, yes, social skills, no.

So that was my evening. I unfortunately got saddled with an awful headache that a couple of aspirin and a good breakfast ridded me of, and the lovely English girl and yours truly have now parted ways. She has gone off to a museum, and I am here, typing this to you! Later on I will make some phone calls and then, hopefully, rest. Rest cannot be underated on an extremely hot day from hell. I'm worried about my skin as it was shockingly hot at like nine in the morning and I only have number fifteen sunscreen. Soon they're going to have to make it in the hundred range, folks. Mark my words!

And with that -- I'm off.