Tag Archives: Random Thoughts

My Mind’s on Random: Thoughts Pinging through My Poor Brain (UPDATED)

I have to pay my parking ticket or my registration’s going to be revoked. I think of this almost every day, and still I don’t seem to do it.
I have something in common with Barack Obama. Turns out when he was a student at Harvard, he lived in Somerville and had a number of unpaid parking tickets. He just paid his, and I just paid mine.

Yesterday I started crying when I got ready for work. I really didn’t want to go.
I’m taking Prudence’s advice and taking a couple of days off.

Today is David Hasselhoff’s birthday. KIT got him a Speedo. Also, a ticket to Japan.
Today is not David Hasselhoff’s birthday. It is a better day.

I looked up my birthday on IMDb too. I share a birthday with one Ugo Bologna.
I also share a birthday with Kristy McNichol. Ain’t I cool?

“My Favourite Book” is my favorite song on In Our Bedroom after the War, the latest release from Stars. I feel a bit guilty about downloading it from iTunes months before it’s available on CD. It doesn’t give retailers much of a chance in this ever-shrinking music business. What will this world come to, I wonder.
B***** in Tokyo is another beauty. I got a snazzy speaker set up for my iPod, so now my downloaded music is no longer confined to little ear buds.

Why did I take so long to pick up The Wind Up Bird Chronicle? Talk about addictive reading.
What is going on with this guy? He’s having psychic sex and hanging out in the bottom of a well with a portal to a hotel? I want whatever drugs he’s taking.

I finally went to an IKEA store. It was completely overwhelming. I’ve never seen so many shovey people jockeying for Swedish meatballs in my life.
The flies on the wall were laughing their arses off watching me attempt to assemble my clothes rack. I felt like a high school boy—If I just shove it a little harder, this thing will get in there!

There’s a ton of my useless crap in my future roommate’s room, and I have to get it out of the room by Friday. Ordinarily I wouldn’t balk at such a task, but since the last time I schlepped stuff up and down stairs, I couldn’t walk for a month, I’m not eager to try it again.
It’s out of her room and all over the apartment. Hence, the days off.

I’m sick of being an adult. I want summer vacation.
Unchanged. Will probably remain unchanged for the rest of my life.

Fifteen more minutes, and I get to go home.
Sigh… More than that.

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Pity Party the Second and Grey’s Anatomy as a Shakespearian Tragedy

Pity Party the Second
Pity Party the Second is in full swing—c’mon over. My effing leg hates me and wants to see me dead. I went to the doctor, but there wasn’t much she could do for me, aside from telling me that I might need to get a cane. I have a surgery consultation scheduled for next week if it doesn’t clear up. If it doesn’t clear up BEFORE next week, I might have to die. Or at least cut off my leg with a hacksaw. It might make a nice cane.

Just to be safe, my doctor sent me to get tested for blood clots today—an unpleasant exam if there ever was one. It’s an ultrasound that starts at the crotch and consists of having a tech pressing down with this little reader all the way down the leg. It tickles, and it’s incredibly embarrassing (having a little towel tucked into one’s panties like a dinner napkin makes one feel foolish). Sure it was cool to see my blood vessels and to hear what my blood sounds like, but all in all, I don’t recommend the experience. The upshot is that I don’t have blood clots, but I do have a motherload of pain and aggravation.

This sucks. Pass the rum and Moxie and Kool-Aid pie. Pity me!

Grey’s Anatomy as a Shakespearian Tragedy
In anticipation of tomorrow night’s two-hour episode of Grey’s Anatomy, Carissa and I tried to come up with some over-the-top things that should happen during the show. I think this could make for an excellent drinking game (if someone’s over-the-top plot point actually transpires during the episode, the others have to drink). Mine reminded me a Shakespearian tragedy.

Burke and Christina’s wedding is off.

Izzy eats all of the red velvet cake to try to get over George and requires emergency MacGyver surgery.


Meredith and Derek are quits, and Meredith does McSteamy in a fit of drunken self-loathing. She then jumps back in the Sound. She dies. Derek finds out about McSteamy. They kill each other.

Callie finds out about George and Izzy, and boots George out on his ear. George returns just in time to find Izzy on the operating table, her innards a mess of red velvet cake. Izzy dies. George commits suicide.

Burke gets shot again. He dies. Christina delivers a depressing speech and then goes on to perform some kickass surgeries in her wedding dress.

Your suggestions are welcome.