Sunday, May 01, 2005
I Was Happier Then With No Mindset
I don't mean to get all fancy metaphysical on you people, but sometimes situations call for it. What has occurred to me lately is that sometimes life gives you a massage with "happy ending". And sometimes life kicks you square in the nuts, and not just a graze either, I mean a full-swinging steel-toe kick that lifts you off the ground upon impact.

And there's no middle ground. No. None. Happy ending or testicles in the abdomen, that's it.

I've experienced both extremes as a blogger in the course of the last week or so.

I remember the heady days of one week ago when the Bucket was being launched into the stratosphere by the catapult that is the Beneficial Link. I spent my next few days all mooney-eyed and dazzled, drunk on my own imminent superstardom. I mindlessly doodled the pet names I'd be giving to my groupies ("Sweet Cheeks", "Muffin", "Happy Fun Ball") in anticipation of their arrival. I ran out to the scariest street corner I could find and bought myself the Big Bag Sampler Pack of narcotics from a very nice man named Ice Pick for the three-day bender I was planning.

Day by day, though, a harsh lesson began to dawn on me: what Sitemeter giveth, Sitemeter taketh away.

The Law of Diminishing Return Visits has been beating me down until yesterday when the number of visits to the Bucket was right back down to where it had been pre-TBogg. I had done it, just as I had predicted: I'd driven them all away. My mom was wrong: they didn't like me once they got to know me.

I spent this weekend in the steadily strengthening grip of a shame spiral, watching the Lifetime Movie Channel (all men are BASTARDS!), drinking brown-label vodka mixed with Shasta Lemon-lime Cola, listening to the saddest two songs known to man ("The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" by Gordon Lightfoot and "Song Sung Blue" by Neil Diamond... come on, "funny thing, but you can sing it with a cry in your voice..."), constantly refreshing my Sitemeter page and masturbating to lesbian clown porn. You know, all the things you hear about in country songs.

My wife has hidden the extension cords and all my belts and no doubt would have removed all the laces from my shoes if they weren't all velcro. She says it's because "if [I] think [I'm] leaving [her] alone with these little devil spawn, [I'm] out of [my] fucking mind", but I know deep down it's because she loves me so.

What saved me is that I know I still have you, my loyal core readers, for now and forever. I know none of you took me seriously when I told you to I had "used you for all you were good for" and that I "don't lay in bed and snuggle with a whore when I'm done with her" or that any of you were best suited for work in, say, the food preparation or automotive hygiene fields. Our affection for one another runs too deep to let one little bout of (totally justified!) megalomania come between us.

All I can do is push on, pointing out the trivial and inane and then writing 5x as many words as are necessary about it.

As an example, I present to you all a picture of a blonde Asian woman.
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She is local (KCAL channel 9) newscaster Mia Lee.

I would like very much to give her the benefit of the doubt and assume she has one blonde Aryan parent, but I don't that genetics can account for a hair shade of Highlights In Distressed Tangerine.

I give her credit for going whole-hog and matching the eyebrows. Whether the carpet matches the curtains is a question, like Fermat's Last Theorem, that will confound the ages.

There. I feel better. Stay a while, won't you? Did I mention there's cake?

This post on the Narcissus Scale: 9.995


PS- I'd like to thank the good people at KROQ 106.7 FM for re-adding Blind Melon's "No Rain" to their playlists. It took me 8 fucking years to get that song out of my head the first time. If I relapse into dementia, it's on you.


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