Scraping the bottom of the barrel

I am cynical because:

It has been my observation that the people who do all the actual thinking and creating in this world only stand by and watch as those who do neither get to float along all accidental like on a breeze (tm Forrest Gump) have sweet-smelling things happen for them. Including one Ms. Ashlee Simpson, though it’s hard to fault her, given Creepy Pa Simpson’s (tm someone on the TwoP forum) machinations. I don’t know enough about Ryan Cabrerra to say, but something tells me he’s dumb like a fox. I love that phrase.



I am hypocritical because:

My job is to create compelling presentations to help sell “terrestrial radio”, and I do a pretty damn good job---but aside from Howard Stern in the morning (for the next 9 months & 20 days anyway), I haven’t voluntarily listened to it since December when I got Sirius satellite radio for Chrimmas.



I am obsessive because:

I can’t stop taking pictures of my cats with my nifty new camera phone. It’s all I can do to not constantly post the pictures on this here blog. I understand that while my cats are ridiculously cute and silly and odd, they are no more cute or silly or odd than anyone else’s cat, but I can’t help secretly reassuring myself the contrary. Also, um, that whole Stamos fascination. At least it’s not someone totally left-field, like Dave Foley or anything. Oh yes I did!

Work is weird because:

The table in the kitchen is usually a spot where people put cookie-trays or leftover birthday cake, a bounty for all to pick on throughout the day. I’ve found without fail that you can put ANYTHING on the table and SOMEONE will eat it or take it home, including but not limited to half of a sandwich, uneaten Biggie Fries, 3 fried dumplings & used dumpling sauce, an old not-so-sure it works deskjet printer, and a box of “thermal register tape” that was erroneously ordered from Quill. No, they weren’t simply thrown out, believe me, I looked.

I am over winter because:

My windshield wipers are whack. Whenever it snows or sorta snows, it just turns into a clusterfuck of wetness, salt, and blue windshield wiper fluid that I futilely squirt on top of it all to try to remedy the situation. Thus, I drive to work with about 3 square inches of useable windshield space. Not so safe when your peepers have taken the hit that mine have in the last year.


I am asking for trouble because:

Even though I TRULY AM OVER a former friend whose initials are (redacted!), I can’t help but poke with a stick the hornets nest that is her immature need for validation.