Funny, By Me

picture is of my Scooter
captioned using wigflip.com/roflbot/

Torch

Since I first heard Alanis’ song Torch, I’ve wondered how she could sing it live without crying, since I can’t even sing it in my car without crying. After watching a few YouTube videos, I’ve decided she can’t; she just has more control than I do. Here are the lyrics, if you’re interested. And for the record, I think Ryan Reynolds is a moron.

Torch

I miss your smell and your style
And your pure abiding way
Miss your approach to life
And your body in my bed
Miss your take on anything
And the music you would play
Miss cracking up and wrestling
And our debriefs at end of day

These are things that I miss
These are not times for the weak of heart
These are the days of raw despondence
I never dreamed I would have to lay down
My torch for you like this

I miss your neck and your gait
And your sharing what you write
Miss you walking through the front door
Documentaries in your hand
Miss traveling our traveling
And your fun and charming friends
Miss our Big Sur getaways
And to watch you love my dogs

These are things that I miss
These are not times for the weak of heart
These are the days of raw despondence
I never dreamed I would have to lay down
My torch for you like this

One step one prayer
I soldier on, simulating moving on

I miss your warmth
And the thought of us bringing up our kids
And the part of you that walks
With your stick-tied handkerchief

These are things that I miss
These are not times for the weak of heart
These are the days of raw despondence
I never dreamed I would have to lay down
My torch for you like this

These are things that I miss
These are not times for the weak of heart
These are the days of raw despondence
I never dreamed I would have to lay down
My torch for you like this

This Christmas

This Christmas I am thankful for time with family; a cousin who returned from his second tour in Iraq safe and sound; generous parents; the creators of Frasier; and the employees at Veoh.com who make it possible for me to watch without cable.

OMGSOBORED!!!

I’m bored at work a lot. I’ve mentioned it before. Today, however, is the slowest day I’ve had in a long time. I’ve been busy, and still the time has gone slowly. Normally, busyness makes the time fly. But today, I am bored. Tomorrow, I suspect, will be even worse. They’re going to let us off early, but not early enough for me to make my family’s Christmas Eve party. But I get to go on Christmas Day, so it’s all good. I guess.

Christ. There are children in the seating area. Just what I need. Can’t they keep the little spawn in the playroom where they belong?

OK. I think I’m bored here, too.

Annual Christmas Rant

Every year, it seems, the Christmas music starts earlier. This is fine with me, as I love Christmas music–that is, most Christmas music. There are three songs that I absolutely loathe. The first two barely deserve a mention, as I loathe them simply because they’re remarkably irritating, and they are: “Simply Having a Wonderful Christmastime” by Paul McCartney and “Happy Christmas (War is Over)” by John Lennon and Yoko Ono. They’re annoying. I hate them. Moving on.

The third song deserves more attention–and it gets it, since I go on this tirade every year–because it is downright offensive. “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” is utterly vile. I know you’re wondering what can be so bad about it; well, I’ll tell you. It’s the following lines:

“Oh, bring us some figgy pudding…
We won’t go until we get some…”

Oh? So you’re making me get off my lazy behind, get dressed, go to the door, and listen to your tone-deaf caterwauling, and you won’t get out of my doorway until I give you some of my food? Fuck you. I bet you’ll leave if I turn the hose on your grinning faces.

See, we talk about the greed of Christmas today, but this song is from the 16th century. Christmas has been about greed for a long, long time. President-Elect Obama has promised change (at least, I think I recall him mentioning it once…), and I hope he does the right thing and stamps this song–and the horrible greed it promotes–out for good!

Make My Decisions for Me, Please

This entry is mainly for Kristi, but I welcome all opinions.

Do I like these boots? I’ve been going back and forth about them for over a month. Then I saw them on some girl at Penney’s and decided for sure that I didn’t–but I’m still contemplating them. Help!

Say no, say yes, say I’m crazy for considering them; just give me some feedback, dammit!

Twitter

What is Twitter? I don’t get it. At all . Someone help a technologically challenged old lady out here?

It Comes and Goes

I think I feel a mixed episode coming on. My thoughts are racing, I’m barely sleeping yet not that tired–but I’m absurdly depressed. Bipolar is actually a very depressing disease. Even when treated perfectly, 75% of patients will continue to have episodes, and there is no cure. Not being able to control your own mind is frightening and depressing.

I really just wanted to complain. That’s all.

WOO-HOO

My last entry reminded me of some very good news: according to my wonderful doctor, the doctor I wanted to hug after he told me, I am not pregnant. This is good news for many, many reasons, and bad news for no reason. No pregnancy, no wondering what to do (in theory, I’d get an abortion, but I know myself well enough to know that I might not be able to do it), no pregnancy, no listening to people ask me why I’m giving it up for adoption, no pregnancy, no stress worrying how all my prescription meds might have affected the fetus, no pregnancy…Awesome.

Strange

I have always disliked children. Even when I was a kid, I disliked children. It used to be that if a person was under 35 or so (which is odd, considering I am), I found them difficult to tolerate. (Two notable exceptions: my sister Kristi, and my cousin Ben.) Lately I’ve noticed that kids–even babies–don’t bother me as much as they used to. But I’ve been hanging around with all my cousins’ babies and toddlers–and I haven’t once wanted to punt one through a window. And I’ve been chatting–mainly via blog comments, but sometimes on IM–with some of Carson’s students, and I like these people, too. Am I getting old? Are the mood stabilizers actually making me less of a grouch? And if they are, then what? Grouchiness is my identity. I’m not smart; I’m not talented; but I’m sure as hell grumpy.

Maybe I just need to go to a nice restaurant. There’s always an obnoxious kid screaming in a nice restaurant.