I must be lonely.
Pay no attention to the little timestamp above this entry. It's wrong. It really is 3 a.m. and this time, 3 a.m. means I am wide awake bored and dry coughing. Apparently, my body is trying to reject my lungs. Which, I am gonna be honest with you, I need. Believe you-me, I wish I didn't need 'em. Cause gills are where it's at.
I think this "all-work, no-play" lifestyle has made me a very dull girl indeed. It's definitely made me a very sick girl. I know, I know. I'm ALWAYS sick. This is one of my favourite topics. I've written entries before about various ailments and illnesses and my health. It's what I do. Hilarious, right?
What's not hilarious is the way I bark out a dry, racking cough every time I try to speak. This is why I'm silent when I'm sick. Or, near silent. Because talking while coughing is one of the most annoying things in the world. My dad does it all the time and I'm like "Yes? And? What then? Come on! Spit it out! Ew. Not literally." But I think his comes from smoking for thirty some years. Mine comes from this persistent and nagging cold that is like "You are going DOWN, hear me?"
Where did it come from? Well, drinking champagne outside in a hot tub on New Year's Eve turned out to be a not so hot idea. I only stayed in for a little bit before getting a chill and the creeps from there being waaaaaaay too many bald, single guys in the tub with me. Not bald, like, balding, but bald, "I shave my head, is it because I'm balding or because I'm edgy? The world may never know!" bald. So I got out. And getting in was an ordeal because I had to get into my bikini. And to get into my bikini, I had to get out of my costume.
Oh, that's right. My costume. We had an '80s costume party that went very well indeed. I promised I wasn't going to reveal my outfit until I had a proper pic of it but... (You should buy me a digital camera. Just kidding. Sort of. I don't have an Amazon wishlist, but I have an e-mail address and if you want to send me a digital camera, or any kind of correspondance, you should click on the 'epistles' button. I know. It's a hipster way of sayin' letter) I dressed up like Pat Benatar circa Love is a Battlefield.
My costume was so rad. I was in full-on, hooker dance fight, shredded dress, teased hair mode. My friend Meghan was dressed like Cyndi Lauper and when she hugged me in greeting, I was like "It's like the end of the video! You stay strong, hooker! We are young! Heartache to heartache we stand!"
There was also a very committed Billy Idol clone, a Challenger astronaut, Joan Jett, Tiffany, Debbie Gibson, a Robert Palmer girl and the usual assortment of 'bangers, swatch dogs and diet coke heads. Oh, and there was at least one person at this party who has only nascent memories of the 80s. And that made me feel very sad and old indeed.
But I rocked on with my bad self. And forgot my bathing suit there. Which is nice. It'll have company, because I left my SHIRT there on Halloween. My too-expensive, probably shouldn't have worn it out for a Halloween costume, Rolling Stones concert t-shirt. It was great. I was Roller Girl. It's probably stuck in some old couch/being used as a jizz rag somewhere. Oops. Don't let small children read this blog. You don't want them running around yelling "Jizz Rag! Jizz Rag!"
Trust me. No. Don't ask me how I know. Just trust me.
My new year's resolution for 2007 is simple: Stop losing clothing at the hot tub house. Should be relatively easy to accomplish since I am also becoming a nudist. I'm nude right now. Nude typing is so... so... freeing! I also plan on significantly lowering my alcohol intake, which I hope will have an effect on my next resolution: to lose 20 lbs. while training for a half marathon in June.
To that end: Happy New Year's everybody! Here's to me updating Geek Chic more often!
Tube: Well, I'll be truthful here. Right now? I'm watching The Substitute 3 on Citytv and it is really terrible. This is what happens when you stay up late enough. If I had gotten home earlier, I would've watched NBC's two-hour comedy block of awesome. The Office, My Name Is Earl, Scrubs and 30 Rock are why I do not understand everyone lamenting the death of the sitcom. Really, it's just that the traditional sitcom is dead and the single camera, non-laugh-track sit-com is in. It's just that Arrested Development had to die to make that happen. Hold me Jason Bateman. I need you now. More than words can say, I need you now.
Text: I just cracked the spine of A Spot of Bother by Mark Haddon. I like Haddon's slightly detatched writing style, but find it a little hard to get into his books because of it.
Tunes: I just bought When the Angels Make Contact from Matt Mays & El Torpedo. I'm going to see them play Mac Hall at the end of the month and I'm looking forward to a good show.
