Kill the white boy....and the dog.

( oh no, I've become one of THOSE people )

Yeah, I don't know what the hell it means either, but I'm mildly obsessed with it right now. Especially the last line -- say it aloud. More than once.

I could have stayed home under the covers all day today, but here I am. With unusual facial hair, because I altered my morning routine. I used to always stumble out of bed and go right to the bathroom where the second activity of the morning was showering. Somewhere along the way I started doing other things first, like making coffee and watching porn and eating breakfast and checking e-mail and not that any of those things need to be dropped from my morning routine, but showering before all that might be better. I'm more awake so I move faster. Plus I'm clean. If I put off getting under the water, I'm more likely to run out of time and go to work not-so-fresh.

But not this morning. I'm clean and washed and I took the razor and shaved a horizontal line across my cheek to separate the top from the bottom and shaved my neck. It's weird, not radically different, but I like it.

Last night I dreamt in car wrecks. More than one. The first happened when I wasn't in the car - I had left the engine running and in park, but it started sliding down the street on the ice and I was running after it, trying to wave my arms and warn other drivers. Later spinning and more sliding happened while driving. I'm hoping by writing about it here I will ward off the possibility of this happening tonight when driving home from Hyde Park in the sleet that's forecasted.

I wish I had more fun in my dreams.

After my afternoon nap yesterday I met up with Former-Texan for coffee and a chocolate tort/tart and really great conversation that made me feel less crazy about my brain and relationships and life in general.

Mentally I'm still in bed right now. I'm debating whether I should go for a second cup of coffee or just work in the haze. It's possible I might be more productive while foggy -- I won't have the capacity to realize otherwise. But when I get awake I can go back to looking forward to my weekend of social outings. I'm also looking forward to possibly getting to hang out with my girlfriend in two weeks when she goes from "orca busy" to "crazy busy". Or maybe it's the other way around.

I would climb a mountain high.

My journal hasn't been terribly fluffy or amusing or pop-culture laden lately. Who have I become?! So here's a collection for Friday afternoon.

* This morning on the news they had a "story" about people in the northeast in the -237489 degree weather who were taking cups of hot water being thrown up into the air and coming down as ice crystals. I rolled my eyes at such stupid non-news information being aired, but immediately felt completely jealous that I couldn't go outside and try it. It's a balmy 24 degrees here in Chicago, not enough to flash freeze.

* I wrote a short story featuring Tammy Faye for my packet I sent off this week. I came up with the idea right before I found out she was on The Surreal Life, which I thought was impeccable timing but then I've had no urge to watch the show, even though it also feature Trischelle, my favorite horrible Real World Las Vegas chacracter who I almost dressed as for the Sin City play party (if by "dressed" I mean "wearing a name tag that says 'Trischelle'", which I do because I wouldn't look good in a sex apron). So instead of watching the show, I've been going to Tammy Faye's website [http://www.tammyfaye.com/]. Under the guise of "research" for my story. I'm not sure which is my favorite: the daily feature which repeats itself and just changes the date, or the daily mail.

* Emma Caulfield (aka Anya from Buffy) is in a new show premiering next week also starring Jason Priestly. Um, I have no idea what else to say about this.

* We've been watching season one Angel like it's going out of style, in part just so we can get to season two. I'm amazed at how I went from "hating him" to "hopelessly addicted". The show is so erratic in its writing quality, which doesn't help, since some episodes I'm ready to kneel down and pledge eternal love and devotion to Cordelia because she's fabulous and smart and funny and other show I feel like her voice is nails on a chalkboard that's located half an inch below my skin. My netflix is slowly being converted to only television shows -- coming up in the queue is the season of Sex and the City I missed and Curb Your Enthusiasm, which I'm sort of suprised I liked since I didn't really get into Seinfeld.

* This last one is a rather dirty and sad confession: I'm amused by the Arby's "oven mitt" in the ads.


Back to work so I can get out of here by 4:30....