Birthdays.

My birthday is in one month to the day. I will be 25. I will weep.

With the exception of a pretty decent 22nd and a slightly above average 23rd, most of my birthday parties since I was 12 have sucked. That is not meant as a critique on the company of anyone who spent my birthday with me during any of those times. It's kind of just a statement of my feelings about the whole birthday party situation.

I don't remember my 13th through 17th, 19th or 20th. My 18th, only a few people showed up because I happened to end up in a fairly significant fight with my closest friends the week before. (Jokes on them, I don't even talk to them anymore!) My 21st was just downright pathetic. My 22nd was a relaxed and enjoyable affair as was my 23rd. My 24th was useless.

This, the beginning of my 25th year alive, will be the same. Well, sort of. Rather than celebrate my birthday, I'm going to watch three different couples get married and make $380 while doing it. Because rather than bother planning another disappointing birthday party, I'm going to work. And once I'm done working, I'm going to cry myself to sleep and wonder what it is I'm doing with my life. I figure this way, I'll at least know going into it that the whole thing will suck, rather than get my hopes up that the celebration will finally be a good one and end up disappointed again.

Depressing? You bet!

Distractions.

I've been watching a lot of The Simpsons as of late (for those of you who know me, that means I'm actually busting out my seasons on DVD more than once a week). I came across this great exchange:

WOMAN: Did something crawl down your throat and die?

BARNEY: It didn't die.

Not funny to you. HI-larious to me.

The increased frequency has mostly been as a distraction to take my mind off of all of the crummy, sucktastic things that have been going on. Put another way, it's hard for me to think about things and live inside my own head (which I also do a lot), when I can become completely enthralled in Season 4 and 5 (perhaps the two best seasons) of The Simpsons. Add to that a dash of "my-website-still-doesn't-fucking-work-and-I-don't-know-why" and the fact that my brother recently got Rockband for the Wii, and I'm in distraction Heaven. In fact, it's almost like all of the crummy, sucktastic things have gone away.

Except they haven't.

But that's not the point. The point is that I can't seem to get things done because when I try to do creative work (portfolio, web show, writing and drawing in general) I can work for about a half-hour before I get pulled back into the vortex of suckitude. And then my brain is rendered useless as all I can think about are the crummy, sucktastic things. Which in itself perpetuates the problem, because part of what is so shitty is that I STILL don't have a job-worthy portfolio and thus must still work in retail. But I can't focus because unlike most people, I can't compartmentalize my mind and stow away what I'm feeling. Well, maybe if my full-time job was as a copywriter working in advertising, I'd be able to forget the personal life stuff and lose myself in my work. But that's not the case. The most intellectually challenging thing I face at work is figuring out the best way to not yell at a customer.

What importance does this have in the grand scheme of things? Nothing. This is totally and completely a woe-is-me post. Hopefully in a few minutes I'll feel better.

My Own Mortality.

So it was brought to my attention recently (thanks, mom) that the lump on each of my legs might be cysts or, if I'm really unlucky, cancer.

I've had these lumps for years. They first showed up on college and at first, only showed up when I was putting a strain on my leg muscles. Now, at least the one on my left leg, is apparent almost all the time. It's small, squishy and really just feels like a weird void where there's supposed to be some muscle.

The point of this post though, if there is one, is that to deal with this (most likely) innocuous threat to my life, I have deferred to humor and not-taking-it-seriously. In fact, that's how I deal with most harm or bad stuff that comes my way. When I got laid off, everyone else in the office was upset. I spent the time cleaning out my desk and laughing at everyone who had to go back to the office on Monday. I made jokes and poked fun. I had a merry-good-time making an exaggerated exit. (Low and behold, they won in the end because I've been out of work for a year and a half.) It was really only until the next week or so I realized the serious magnitude of what had happened. That seems to be how I work. The first couple days after something awful happens, I do surprisingly well (especially given my general disposition and outlook). Then all of a sudden, the brevity of the situation starts to hit me and I tumble down into a rut. That being said, I expect "potential cancer rut" to hit sometime around the end of the month. Or maybe closer to when I go to get them checked out. Which won't be for another month. Because new patients REQUIRE a physical. And if you know anything about the way most doctors work, they only schedule physicals on certain days at certain times. And if your schedule doesn't fit around those certain days, you have to wait until the next time. Well, my schedule didn't fit, so I get to wait a month to find out if I am dying any faster than normal.

And I get to pay for it all myself, because I have no health insurance.

Where's that public option when you need it?

Barry.

This is a picture of me and my most favorite rat in the whole wide world, Barry. Barry is actually a Professor of All-Things Rat, which is an impressive title for a rat of only a couple years of age. He likes to smell things and wander around looking for food. Sometimes, he likes to escape from his cage, hoard some Triscuits and steal receipt paper to play with later. Once, he pooped on me. After that we didn't talk for a week, but I forgave him because he's a rat, and my friend. Friends fight sometimes, like when they poop on each other or one of them bites the other while he's trying to feed him, but they get over it and move on. That's what makes them such good friends, like me and Barry.

I like to hold Barry and scratch behind his ears. He seems to like it, too, but sometimes he gets fidgety and wants to crawl around and explore. I usually let him, but I'm kind of allergic to him, so sometimes I break out in hives. Barry is adorable and sometimes he sneezes, which is bad for him but really cute to me. If Barry and I could live together forever, that would be awesome.

Very Funny. And True.

This sums up just about every magazine for women ever published.

Balding: The Upsides

1. I use WAY less shampoo then you.

2. Conditioner isn't even on my radar.

3. I never have bed head.

4. Except for maybe wrinkled clothes or smell, no one can tell I haven't showered.

5. I never pay for haircuts.

6. The hair I do have is oh so soft.

7. My haircuts take 15, 20 minutes tops.

8. Regardless of decade, I'm pretty much always in style.

9. I never have to ask, "Does my hair look okay?"

Tea Partiers

I keep hearing clips and reading articles that quote Tea Party-ers saying that it is time to "Take the Country Back!" I am just wondering: Who are you taking the country back from? Who took the country from you in the first place? I'm pretty sure the country has been here all along for all of us. When my politics were falling on deaf ears, I didn't want to "Take the Country Back," I wanted to vote my guy in so my politics wouldn't fall on deaf ears. No one took your country. The US is still here.