Transitions are for sissies

I have been sitting up for hours now with awful things happening inside me that I thought for sure were going to end in a night of gastrointestinal violence, but so far? A quiet stalemate in my gut. It’s (presumably) germ-infested baby carrots vs. whatever natural defenses I still have on retainer. My natural defenses, which, early on, seemed ill matched for the viciousness of the microscopic things unleashed by these tiny carrots, have managed to parlay with the enemy and reach terms that do not include me horking up orange awfulness. To which I say, bravo, natural defenses! I thought six months of not eating vegetables had killed you by now. You have proven yourselves honorable to the end.

My mind is all over the place tonight. I’ve bitten my nails to the quick and I’ve got fifteen tabs open. It’s after 4 a.m. and I know bedtime is nigh but I swear I just can’t start the bedtime routine just yet. Bleh.

Random shit:

• The 2010 BSMF lineup is, by all accounts, decent. Fuck the naysayers! I wonder if I’ll get to blog for the CA this year. I’m betting not, as we have had layoffs in my department since last year, and we are basically running on a skeleton crew so it’s generally all hands on deck. Suck. I always have a good time covering MusicFest, even when I nearly die in mosh pits. So if you find yourself thinking, “Meh, think I’ll skip it this year,” feel fortunate. There are people out there who’d like to go who can’t.

• Linden Avenue is a two-lane road, you fuckwits! As soon as I hit “publish,” I’m gonna search this house for my police report that explicitly says so. And post it.

• My addiction to American Family Radio is getting out of control. I have my radio tuned to it pretty much constantly. The other day I was going to visit Coco and Dustin and Daphne and I went miles out of my way because I was so entranced by crazy that I missed the street I was supposed to turn onto. My nightly ritual now has become listening to some crazy call-in show on my way home from work. The lady who hosts it is this contemplative, breathy type who talks a lot but never really says a goddamned thing about anything. She gives advice to lost souls. Really well-intentioned but horrible advice to people who really, really need a sane person to listen and empathize. Last night’s show featured a moment of spectacularly subtle racism, in which a woman was calling in, wondering how to fill her spiritual void. “Are you being spiritually fed”? the host wondered, referring to the lady’s church. The lady confessed with nervous embarrassment that the majority of people at her church were black — “not that there’s anything wrong with that” — and instead of asking the lady if she was scared to reach out to her fellow members of the congregation and encouraging her to try and be more of a part of the congregation, the host straight up told her she probably needed to find another church. Another church that would better suit her spiritual needs. Egads, woman. Egads.

• My nails hurt.

• Someone from my Formspring wants to know: Do you prefer salty or sweet? (flavors or language) Chocolate or Peanut Butter? To which I say: Big fan of both, in flavors and language, depending on the time of month and my mood. I’m not ashamed to admit that salty language gets me going, especially if you whisper it just right in my ear. And only a cruel person would make a girl choose between chocolate and peanut butter.

• My taxes are being processed. Finally. This whole time I had this irrational fear that the envelope was still stuck to the side of the chute in the Union Avenue post office.

• I love The Daily What but FUCK I wish it wasn’t such a straight-dude wankfest.

• Since finishing The Wire, my Netflix queue has basically been paralyzed. I accidentally let The Constant Gardener and An Unreasonable Man get to my house but they’ve been sitting on my coffee table for weeks. I just have no desire to watch them. I guess I should send them back. I was advised to move Black Adder to the top of my queue, which I did, but I’ve made an executive decision and bumped Spaced ahead of it. Now the catch is finding the Lost disc I’ve had since September and sending it back in so I can actually get a new disc here to make my monthly $16 subscription worth something.

• COMPLETELY UNRELATEDLY, I am sort of broke. Sort of. Not in the “I can’t eat today” way, but more in the “WTF when did my checking account get down to this many digits and oh my god I don’t get paid for another week?!” way. The way that means I need to hunker down and start clipping coupons and stop buying tasty beer whenever the mood strikes. The first-world way.

• Further proof that “fashion” needs to be murdered.

• I’m not taking photos very much. I miss taking photos. Why am I not taking photos?

• I’m excited for spring to put a crack in this winter, even though I am not ready to relinquish hoodie weather.