Random Generation, Pt. 1

My latest project...

Sunday November 5, 2006…
Salt Lake Coffee Break- Wireless connection sucks.
I’m not exactly sure if it’s password-protected, but I’m feeling too sorry for myself today to get up and ask the slightly rude counter-girl if I need any kind of a WEP Key. Information that might’ve been nice to know before I got my semi-decent coffee and found a table. My airport says I’m connected, my browser says otherwise.
Battery life- 45 minutes, couldn’t find a table near an outlet so we’re all spared from rambling. Sort of. Rambling will be kept to 45 minutes, I guess.
Outfit- Cute
Hair- Marginal

It’s been an interesting week in the life of a 30-year-old unemployed semi-orphan. Most people have a crappy childhood on which to blame their entire crappy adulthood. I have a crappy adulthood with a string of drama and mis-steps on which to blame mine. In just the past week, I lost my illustrious radio job, got dumped by my long-distance not-quite-sure-what-it’s-been-on-and-off-since-April “acquaintance,” felt every emotion between helplessness and poverty and elation to not be pigeonholed into a position where the “man kept me down,” ordered a bad chicken bowl and threw up. Add that to the beginning of the month where my father passed away, or even the previous two years when I had to watch him die—maybe the throwing up was finally a culmination of everything and not just a product of said bad chicken bowl. Nonetheless, all of these events were, quite literally, out of my control.

I’m trying to figure out what exactly right now is in my control. I could get the oil changed in my car, I believe I should’ve done that sometime in June, and I guess that would be in my control. But I don’t feel like it. I took control and got out of bed today. I got in the shower, and I even accessorized. It seems that’s what is most important right now, accessories. I should add that to the list above:
Accessories- Fabulous

Right now is a time where everyone’s told me, “You can do whatever you want.” I’m not totally sure what I want to do right now. But what if what I want right now is completely unrealistic? What if selling all my possessions and opening a burlesque showhouse in Aruba isn’t completely realistic? What is reality? Burlesque is to body-glitter, body-glitter is to my ultimate happiness, therefore a burlesque showhouse in Aruba is to my ultimate well-being. Some might say this isn’t necessarily realistic. Do we see the conundrum? Do we see I never did well in Geometry because my way of proving things doesn’t coincide with what makes sense for the rest of the planet, much less the teacher who never seemed to like me very well?

Maybe this is all just the after-effects of the bad chicken bowl. I would consult Web MD and diagnose myself, but as I said before, the connection at this particular coffeehouse sucks. My comment about self-diagnosis might seem flip, but I say it’s funny because it’s true. Rather than actually going to the doctor or staying home or even trying one of grandma’s home remedies, we will take our lives into our own hands because we have a wealth of information at our fingertips.

Speaking of, I just found a table with an actual electrical outlet nearby. Now we’ve got more than just 45 minutes. Now we’re captive to my brain’s ramblings. So, to recap:

Sunday November 5, 2006…
Salt Lake Coffee Break- Wireless connection still sucks.
I’ve given up on trying to fuck with the settings to see why exactly the wireless isn’t happening.
Battery life- I found a plug, the possibilities are now endless
Outfit- Still cute
Hair- Still marginal, and now I’m wondering if I look like a conehead.
Accessories- Fabulous. For real.

I’ve also just switched my phone to vibrate because I just realized my ringtone was New Kids on the Block, “Hangin’ Tough.” Yesterday morning I thought it might be inspirational. Today, here, I thought it might be really lame.

So where was I? I was lamenting about how I’m an unemployed, adult (no need to mention the age again, I’ve said it once), semi-orphan (still have a mom). I was thinking about my reality. I delved into how we’re totally funky for thinking we can log onto some Web site and feed into our hypochondriac tendencies. But we do it, we submit to the masochistic joy that comes through thinking we might have the germs, and we get attention from those around us just trying to make us feel better. Meanwhile, someone who is very sick, terminal, says nothing. Someone who I’ve allowed to dictate my entire life said nothing to indicate he might not be here through Christmas, and now I’m left alone; because to him, the boyfriends I always brought home were never “good enough.”

It's time to blow this popscicle stand.