What a Feeling! Except Not Really.

You know that feeling where you just want to go home? Well, I just felt that way, except I am home.

The Times They Are Indeed Changing and the Nomenclature is All Wrong

So I just confused a scene from Cold Case for being from the show Swingtown when I realized I’m no longer certain why CBS is called “The Tiffany Network” when clearly it sucks so very long and so very hard.

Imaginary Pathos

Just now I saw an elderly woman walking a large, orange and happy dog. The woman looked happy as well, although not orange, and the dog was wearing a t-shirt. A big, orange happy dog in a t-shirt on a sunny day in October. The whole thing made me want to cry, a little, because I am bonkers.

The Charlie Keep On Giving

John McCain just addressed a group of supporters as, “my fellow prisoners”.  I have to admit to not minding it so much, a rare moment of honesty from the elderly Republican. I felt for him for a hot second, as I too quite often feel trapped in America.

And Other Things I Don’t Care About…

Victoria’s Secret is having a panty party!

My Idiot Thinking

So I spent the last few days in Las Vegas. It was ostensibly for work, but a big chunk of time was spent by the pool or at various slot machines wasting my friend Matthew’s money. The city is hot and weird, certainly, and having spent my entire life in the Northeast, I found it vaguely offensive in its grinding efficiency. Perhaps because I didn’t really see much of where people actually live, but the sight of a squat, overtanned Mexican man scraping wads of gum off a paved walkway between The Excalibur and Mandalay Bay summed up the city pretty well for me. Perhaps it was the pack of corpulent tourists, studiously pretending that he wasn’t there, or perhaps it was just me, resentful as ever, in a strange town on someone else’s dime. I don’t know.

Admittedly, I’ve wandered from what I was thinking of writing here. I had a nice time. The sun was nice, and the frozen drinks, and the giant ridiculous wave pool. But I felt out of place, and I began to fear that even just a few days of relaxation would equate to some hardship at home. I convinced myself alternately that my cat would be dead upon my return, or that I’d get fired, or evicted from my apartment, or some combination of the three. Like karma but pointlessly vengeful, something nice must be balanced with something much, much more horrid. In the car home from the airport, I thought about how I’d cope with all these things; broke and homeless, carrying around my dead cat, all because I’d spent some time in the sun.

Of course nothing was wrong when I got home. My cat is here with me, and based upon my work email, I shouldn’t have anything to worry about there. My apartment has not been seized so I dutifully mailed my rent check two days late. I am thirty years old and increasingly aware of the fact that I will be nervous and insane for the rest of my life.