well, dumbass me
12.17.03 @ 10:48 p.m.
(Afternoon/Early Evening)
I suppose I might just go out to karaoke with Belle and enjoy myself after my birthday. The only thing that's kept Belle from inviting me before now is that the place she prefers is 21 and over, and I am twenty for the next four days. I suppose the change of heart comes after listening to the local oldies station and singing along, gesturing with my glass in a way that makes me imagine it contains a cocktail of some sort rather than sugary Pepsi.
Dad's on my case to try to win the lyric of the day call in at the oldies station. "We could really use that ham," he said. Eh? I didn't even know what the prize was today, I just eventually realized what song the line "In the midnight, moonlight hour," comes from. "Here comes my baby," doo doo doo doo, "here she comes now, and if it comes as no surprise to me, with another guy..."
(In reading over old entries, I see that I very frequently skip letters or mistype words. My apologies. It drives me nuts to see it after the fact, but somehow I'm blind to my own typing.)
My dad keeps telling me they're trying to 'tone down' Christmas, which makes me a little sad because last December I got almost every Who CD I have in the course of the month. Two of them were like appeasement for Dad having bought me a CD I already had. Huh. It's just as well, because I ended up selling that copy of Who's Next which seems to have predated reunification of Germany ("Made in West Germany"!) in favor of the rerelease. I still have the old copy of My Generation that's old and the American version, but Jess in Rhode Island made me a copy of the reissue that I listen to more. Who By Numbers and Who Are You are what I keep telling my dad are my top two desires, materially. Also Quadrophenia on DVD, but there's no way he's going to find that, frankly. Not without having to order it.
(Night)
Goddamn. I'm so stupid. I can hardly type because I burned my right thumb (which is my space bar thumb) on the rack of the oven while making peanut butter cookies. Well, I can type, but I keep accidentally hitting the 'n' with the awkward edge of the bandaid thing I rigged up to cover up the very tip of my thumb, which I burned when my hand slipped and my thumb hit the oven rack. I didn't think I had burned myself that badly until I actually looked at it and saw that the ridges on my fingertip were actually flattened by the burn. Gaah. This is double frustrating because I kind of want to work on a story (either "ICRY" or "Traveler") tonight but now...
But whining achieves nothing.
[title is an old Mike Nesmith quote out of the HEAD recording sessions... I think.]
Previously
fuck it @ 08.01.05
fanciful imaginary sea voyages to come @ 07.20.05
*dies* @ 07.19.05
more ootp @ 07.17.05
harry potter: driving our children into devil worship @ 07.17.05
