red shoes do unmentionable things to my unmentionables, too

First things first before I start rambling on: Happy birthday yesterday, boyfriend! You are now older than me. This is an attractive quality in you and I compliment you on it. I'm so sorry I forgot to say happy birthday to you yesterday morning before I went to work. In my defense, you will have to admit that it was before noon. I'm gonna try again today to be a better girlfriend. For instance, I fully intend to bake you a cake and then put two inches of chocolate frosting on top of it, which is the other thing I forgot to do for you yesterday, fuck.

Hang on, I've had an idea. How about this: I will bake you a cake, if you will allow me to change the settings on our cable box so that the channel that automatically comes on when I turn on the TV isn't the one that shows commercials for pay per view porn about 40% of the time. Yes, it is Channel 1, and I agree that Channel 1 is, technically speaking, the first channel in the series, but pretty, pretty please, can't I exchange a little traditional girl behavior for the removal of all the skanky, exploitative pornography from my living room? I mean, seriously, Erotica Boxing? It makes me want to cry.

Yes, okay, I will bake the cake for you anyway, because I like you and you like cake and it's your birthday. But I'd really, really prefer not to be assaulted by underwater thong-shots every time I turn on the TV, and I thought it might make you feel better about it if you could tell yourself it was for cake.

* * *

So, I've recently been trying to remember the exact words of the mantra that this guy named Bill — who was sporting the most impressive gin blossoms I have ever seen — offered me at the insurance company Christmas party I attended during my first week at my current job. He informed me, apropos of nothing, speaking over his shrimp cocktail, from his perch on the edge of a putty colored file cabinet, that every time his boss treated him like dirt he found it soothing to repeat the following sentence to himself: "Scream all you want, catshit, they're gonna put you in the ground someday." It was the moment I really began to believe in that visceral poetry which belongs exclusively to the intellectual proletariat.

Have I mentioned lately that my job really sucks? I'm currently locked in a battle of wills with the most manipulative, kleptomaniacal, devilish little Wilford Brimley lookalike you've ever met. Plus, as an added bonus, they're dicking me around in re my salary. Sigh. Time to apply the Catshit Anodyne.

Aside from work stuff, I've been feeling really overwhelmed lately. It's fine, but if I freak out a little bit every time you speak to me, this is why. Summer classes start in ten days, and once they start I'll be in class three nights a week from 6:00 - 9:00 pm. And that is only the actual in-class time for one (1) of my four (4) classes. I'm having trouble imagining how I can possibly manage 14 units in 8 weeks on top of working full-time, especially if I'm already feeling this frazzled now, when all I have to do other than working those emotionally debilitating 37.25 hours per week is to study for one stupid insurance test. However, I suspect that much of my problem is anticipative stress and it will get better once classes actually start.

* * *

Tragically, we all missed National Emo Kid Beatdown Day. But speaking of beatdowns, did anyone else get that letter from Dwight the hair guy about how he broke his back diving into a pool on Memorial Day and was paralyzed for a while and then had to have lots of surgery to put his spine back together and so he's really sorry he hasn't been able to cut our hair but he'll totally be back at work really soon, right after he finishes undergoing rigorous physical therapy or whatever and can stand up again? Man. Having a kidney out was one thing, but now the dude fucking broke his back. It's because I don't have him cut my hair anymore, isn't it? Isn't it?

* * *

Yo, so, I totally have 4 MySpace friends now. How do you like them little green apples? Don't be jealous of my popularity, it's just because I'm such a positive person. In other news, this week I saw a woman in a red windbreaker pushing a squat, yellowed dog in a stroller at the beach. I also saw a man with a teardrop tattooed on his cheekbone. It's like a fucking carnival out there, man.

* * *

Also, I have this friend who had a dream that she was, like, dating Mick Jagger. What do you think that means? In the dream, she had a phone conversation with someone who was all, "Ew, gross," and then my friend was like, "But he's not really like an old person."

* * *

My mother now knows that my sister is pregnant, because she drove the hour and a half to my sister's house and showed up at her door unannounced. My father has not yet been informed. Oh, sis. The good thing is, once you get through telling the parents, the actual giving birth part will seem super easy.

* * *

Here's some good news. Anyone out there who has been made to sit on our couch at any point during the past three years will appreciate this. I am so buying a new futon mattress on Sunday. Once we manage to wrestle it onto the frame, I am never, ever getting off my ass again.

* * *

Oh! Hey! I had totally forgotten about the ipod fortune-telling game after that attempt at writing my own questions went over like a lead balloon. But Shosh (Hi, Shosh! Hi, Shosh's future red shoes!) reposted the original questions and now I'm all excited again! In fact, this time I even listened to the songs instead of just skipping through to write them down. It turns out I actually really like this listening to music gig. Who knew? I press the ipod's clickwheel tenderly. Its little heart flutters in my palm.

How does the world see you?
Creedence Clearwater Revival, "Bad Moon Rising"
[That's right, you better run through the jungle.]

Will I have a happy life?
The Lonelyhearts, "The Museum of Tolerance"
[Dakota winds cannot erase / the mistakes we make in haste / enough to keep the country lit / if we could only harness it.]

What do my friends really think of me?
Imperial Teen, "Yoo Hoo"
[Oh my god, do I love this song. I actually danced around the apartment last night lip-synching to it. Hey, remember when the Idler shared that special moment with Roddy Bottum?]

Do people secretly lust after me?
Nick Drake, "Things Behind The Sun"
[This is some of the sexier folk music out there, so it could be worse I guess.]

How can I make myself happy?
Iggy Pop, "Main Street Eyes"
[My head keeps tryin' to sell me ambition. But in my heart, I want self-respect. There's a conflict.]

What should I do with my life?
R.E.M., "Ignoreland"
[Uh, ipod, that was future subjunctive, not pluperfect. (Well, grammar-hounds? Am I close?)]

Will I ever have children?
Lets Go Naked, "Three Limbs"
[It has no place being there / as far as I can see.]

What is some good advice for me?
The Mendoza Line, "Baby, I Know What You're Thinking"
[And if it's face that you're saving / to yourself you're more unkind. (That's awkward.)]

How will I be remembered?
R.E.M., "At My Most Beautiful"
[Aww. You guys.]

What is my signature dancing song?
Blind Willie McTell, "Talkin' To You Mama"
[I sure am rocking to it. Now, you all know I love Jack White like I love soy milk, but Blind Willie sure turns my damper down.]

What do I think my current theme song is?
Kinky, "Field-Goal"
[There's been a mistake here, I think.]

What does everyone else think my current theme song is?
The Gothic Archies, "The Abandoned Castle of My Soul"
[Oh come now, I don't think I've been quite that bad.]

What song will play at my funeral?
Tori Amos, "Happy Phantom"
[Presented without comment.]

What type of men do I like?
Uncle Tupelo, "I Wanna Be Your Dog"
[My puppy. You wanna be my puppy.]

What is my day going to be like?
Wolf Parade, "I'll Believe In Anything"
[Hell, sounds like fun to me.]