[.Channel 10 Sucks Hard.]

Current mood: frustrated

Countless man hours and millions of dollars have been invested in weather satellites, weather radar, and remote sensors to generate sophisticated computer models of the world's atmosphere to make detailed weather forecasts. So what do I get when I tune into the news to find out the weather?
"Tomorrow there's a chance it'll be partly cloudy with highs from mid, to upper 80's"
What the heck is "partly cloudy" supposed to mean? When is it not partly cloudy? Even if it is, or isn't, does it really matter? Does anyone really need to be reminded that it will be partly cloudy tomorrow?
As ambiguous as the phrase is, they water it down even more with the word "chance." How useful is it to know that there's a chance it'll be partly cloudy on any given day (as opposed to all those other days when there isn't a chance it'll be partly cloudy)? Weather men use the phrase "partly cloudy" as a buffer every chance they get.
Don't believe me? Just tune into a weather forecast. Chances are you'll hear the phrase at least 3 or more times.
When the use of the phrase "partly cloudy" has been exhausted, they turn to yet another empty phrase, or the phrase "mostly sunny" in particular.
The inverse of "partly cloudy" is "mostly sunny." So what new information have they given us? Nothing. You want to find out the weather? Look out the your flippin' window.
I feel like I've been raped after I watch the news.

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[[.attributes of mind, such as idiocy.]]

Okay, so now I've been receiving all sorts of messages and texts asking why I'm blogging in myspace and not on my blogspot. Friends, my family and co-workers are subscribed to that blog. I have nothing family friendly to blog about at this time. I have to protect my public image, whatever it is.


Most of the people in my life I can only communicate with through the computer or phone, I understand that when I stop writing, signing on to my fb/myspace and ignore texts/calls, it could cause suspicion that I may have joined a cult, am spending another couple weeks in rehab or am possibly dead.


Sadly, that is not the case.

INSTEAD, the case is that I have been so suddenly and painfully overwhelmed with work that I have completely lost contact with the world outside of my office,

OH! Speaking of the 80's! (someone out there has to be speaking about the 80's), nevermind, lost that thought and I am far too lazy to backspace and delete that...

My house is dirty and I have officially entered that point in Poltergeist where the little girl gets all sucked into the TV (only to be spit out 20 years later as the Ring girl? Hello, new theory!), because clearly, this house is not clean. It is not at rest. The house is haunted by the dead love of Shelley Long and Tom Hanks in the Money Pit (oh look, there you go, an 80's reference!), and I am kind of to the point of recognizing that, if it happened in that movie, we can be relatively certain it’s going to happen at my own address. The ghosts have been watching late nights on TBS, and they have been taking notes.

If you work your ass off and are consistantly so stressed out that it's painful to even speak, and then you finish everything and realize that, oh: now I kind of have a nice weekend to look forward to, then maybe you will do something productive with your random abundance of time. Maybe you will volunteer for the Peace Corps, or learn how to cook. Maybe you will take that opportunity to catch up on your pathetic emailing, because every time you even look at your inbox, the weight of the unanswered and unread mail makes your brain go hazy with terror. Or, hello, maybe you will just do some friggin' laundry already, as you have pretty much reached the point where you are clothed only in a loincloth and hair, because nothing is clean, exactly NOTHING, and you are seriously considering just BUYING some socks and underwear instead of actually washing those which you already own, because that is the kind of laundry-backlog we are discussing. Maybe that is what you will do with your unexpected downtime.

Or. On the other hand, you could just sit on your ass and stare vacantly at the television set watching everyone become infected with Rabies and brutually killed in the cinematic masterpiece that is "Quarantine". Ugh. After the movie was over, it was time to go to bed. Before this could happen, I had to clean Jack's cage. I knew that the broom was in the attic.
Here is how the conversation with myself went.

-"Um, I'll just clean this with a paper towel".

- "Are you too scared to go into the attic?"

"NO! Watch me."

I enter the garage and stare at the ladder.

- "You know I hate ladders and have this unrelenting desire to live."

- "Well, grow up namby pamby and just do it!"

I then quietly step up the ladder.

My heart was beating out of my chest. I shook the ladder and yelled "RABIES!!!!"

I cracked myself up so hard.


Do any of you have any good movie suggestions? Like Suspense? I hate the gore and the lines they love to cross nowadays, which obviously is overcompensation for lame dialogue.



All right, back to life...back to reality.

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[.kind of a drag.]

Current mood: amused
Hi there! Hope you are not looking for something good! Because, I have been a little busy. And apparently, as demonstrated below, I do not have the time for complete sentences. Aren't you psyched?
No?
Hmm, predictable. So like you.
Ahh, I really don't have much to say. I just sorta felt like blogging. You see, I am alone right now. And these sorts of things happen. I've got so much on my mind. And just SO much that I want to talk about which I cannot...and so I won't. I will say that I really wish I could turn back time and I will leave it at that.

Y'know how you can be really smart about some things, but really, phenominally stupid about others?
It is about sixteen hundred degrees in this house. I am informed that the heat is stuck on high, but I do not know how to fix this.. This does not help me very much.
I actually called the Police about 45 minutes ago...
And which is also just wrong, but additionally scary as all hell, and at one point, I became convinced that I was about to be murdered. Because I kept on hearing these huge banging noises, when I was supposed to be all alone in the house, but guess what?! It was not a murderer. Instead, my neighbor was outside, fixing his lights, and through a miracle of physics and what-all, it was echoing into MY house. It was all a load of fun and terror, and before I learned this helpful bit of information, it is possible that I armed myself with scissors and a stapler, and roamed the house all Mission-Impossible-ing around the corners, scared out of my friggin' mind. And totally prepared to prod and collate someone to death. Because you NEVER KNOW. KILLERS FEAR STAPLERS. I believe.
Dude, kind of scanning over this blog. What the EFF am I talking about? Two glasses of wine will do that to ya.
g'night.

-C

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[[.Accentuate the Positive.]]

Okay seriously, where do some girls get off being such wenches?
This isn't a personal deal, I'm not having any social issues, but seriously...some chicks think they can just speak their mind without being reprimanded.
A lot of my guy friends are with these girls that are just....sick. Like, I literally get bubble guts imagining their snooty little faces.
I'm pretty chill, I like almost everyone, I'm a down to earth kinda gal. I guess it's because I don't put myself on this pedestal.
Meeker's girlfriend Sarah, is a darn dirty ho. Sometimes, I daydream of slapping her face upon a cheese grater and tuning up that pointed nose of hers.
Is that mean? I'm sorry. But a lot of guys that are in my life right now are dating the SKANKIEST, GREASIEST, filthy a** slutbags I have ever met. A couple guys even MARRIED them.
RANK.
Gosh, such effin' hoochies. All I have to say is

LIFE IS NOT A GARDEN, SO STOP BEING A HOE.

I need to stop drinking Hatorade.

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