Whatever you like

The new blogger seems much like the old one, but we live in a society that demands that things be updated every three minutes. Or, three seconds, whichever you prefer.

I have come to a point in my sad, overmelted, underachieving little life in which I realize that the worst thing you can do is compare yourself to anyone else. Occasionally I mistake the tragic mistake of googling old classmates from my alma mater, all of whom seem to win the Pulitzer prize on a weekly basis. Christ in a handbasket, at least I didn't go to Harvard. Failure there must require jumping off a tall building, although I bet many rebel from the institution's rigid ways and graduate to become goat farmers. In Vermont, where they drink milk they gather themselves from the willing teats of their loving animals, all of whom are named after characters in Greek tragedies. Medea, darling, what a bad goat you've been today!

Yes, I continue on the twisted path to absolutely nowhere. However, God loves me unconditionally, and positive thinking, according to Joel Osteen, will get me to where I need to be. Where I need to be is underneath the warm soothing hands of a really good masseuse, but maybe once my birthday money comes in. I love birthdays, because gullible relatives are oh-so willing to send me cash. Not a lot, just enough to sustain me. There's nothing like crisp bills in your faded red wallet with the yellow flowers on it to make you feel happy. Then, I can buy all the cups of coffee I want. I have found that buying a cup of coffee is a very grounding act, even if you have to sit inside a Cosi's full of screaming children (see: prior post on the new breeding ground de google). So is washing your hair, or watching The Sound of Music. Like I said, it's vaguely erotic, really. Then again, I am so lonely, and 34, and still dreaming of blue-eyed doctors. In between dreaming of Mandy Patinkin (sp), who was oh so hot once upon a time. Yentl is such a good movie, although it's hilarious to think of Barbara Streisand actually cooking and cleaning for her Papa. She looks more like the kind of woman who gets her nails done every day. I mean, can you see her as a common laborer of some kind? She'd be screaming at everyone like she was the boss. Barbara baby, you are the boss. It's why we love you.

Oh, the perfidy of everything! Alas, alas, alas. I am looking at the diaries of Courtney Love with the obligatory preface by a famous person just like Courtney, in this case Carrie Fisher. They both like to swear, I have noticed. I am tired, finally, of people using the word "fuck" and have decided to herewith ban it from my vocabularly. It dilutes the beauty of our language, adds to the general brutal crudity of our culture (don't believe me? watch a game show!), and in short makes me feel worse than I already do. And I am really am on the path to a better life now, so wish me much luck. I wish you all that and more.

Until we meet again, random stranger.