Archive for January, 2011

January 29, 2011

Boredom: Day Who-Cares-Anymore?

I think I’ve figured out the problem. 

Well, some of it, anyway.

Three-tenths of it, at least. 

The problem—or the trouble, depending on how you look at it—is that I’m excessively bored.  I blame Mother Nature for a good portion of my boredom.  She’s seen fit to grace my house with fifty plus inches of snow in the past month.  I don’t mind generally because I feel that it gives purpose to winter and it makes the world look magical and filled with promise.  So, props, MN, good job on the white stuff.  However, the snowstorm every three days?  It’s making me flat-out stir crazy.

The other significant source of my boredom is due to being straight-up poor.  Kind of.  You know how everyone has all that jazz come January 1st about the resolutions and the whatnot?  Well, Mbrotha and I have decided this is the year we get out of debt. 


Yeah, I know.  We’re just so chock-full of awesomesauce and win your mind is literally boggling right now.  Go ahead, take a moment and wrap your brain around it all.  I don’t mind.  In the meantime, here’s a visual aid depicting how I feel about debt:


So that’s kind of where we stand right now.  Mbrotha and I vastly dislike debt and we’ve decided we just don’t want it no’ mo’.  And truth be told, it’s something that we started prior to Resolution Saturday.  We’re just making a more concentrated effort to eradicate most of the debt that we have in 2011.  Unfortunately this has put us in the poor house and I can no longer justify spending erroneously because that money could be used toward the debt. And being responsible and mature makes Ali bat-shit crazy. 

Sometimes being a grown-up sucks some giant donkey balls.  I apologize for the crudeness in the former comment but that’s just how much being an adult sucks sometimes. 

Giant donkey balls.

And not the Giant Donkey Balls at Surfin’ Ass in Kona, HI.  (So many different shades of awesome, I kid you not.)

Just plain old giant donkey balls. 

So that’s where I’m at right now.  Bored out of my skull. 

And I’ve already written an ode to Spider Solitaire.

January 27, 2011

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…

Cover of "Shadowfever"

Cover of Shadowfever

Oh God, I’m depressed. 

So utterly depressed, Internet. 

Why are you depressed, Ali? You ask.

I’ll tell you, Internet.  I’m depressed because I finished Shadowfever by Karen Marie Moning.  Perhaps you feel this is not a proper reason for me to be depressed.  If you feel this way I must assume you have not read Shadowfever and therefore you should not express an opinion on the matter.  I assure you, this is plenty of reason to be sufficiently depressed. 

I loved this book.  Like I love s’mores.  And Thirty Seconds to Mars.  And Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  So you see?  Now that I’m finished?  Depression city.   

I’m quite certain I will never love a book again as much as I loved these books.  All hope is lost.  I doubt I’ll ever crack another book’s cover because I’m eleventy bonkzillion percent positive that I cannot heart it as much as I heart the Fever Series.  Gah, my soul weeps just thinking about it.

Has this ever happened to you?  Have you ever read a book that you just freaking adored and you don’t think it’s possible you’ll ever find another book that you adore even ten percent as much?  I feel your pain, my peeps. 

No, I’m sorry.  That was just wrong.  My peeps?  WTF? 

See?  See what the depression does?  It forces me to use idioms I should never try and use. 

I’m probably never going to recover.

January 21, 2011

Now back to our regularly scheduled programming…

Hey, Internet. 

I know, I know, I’ve been unapologetically absent.  I fell victim to one of those classic blunders.  You know the one that falls after “Never get involved in a land war in Asia.” and right before “Never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line?”  The one where I used to be this super awesome blogger but then I was lazy and didn’t blog? 

That one? 

My apologies, Internet.  I’ll try to not let it happen again.  The holidays happened and my grandfather passed away and I was wrapped up in all of that.  But now I’m back.  With a vengeance. 

No, no, make that a grudge. 

So I’m on this path for self-acceptance, right?  Because of that, there are certain areas of my life that I’m examining and trying to restructure to help me on this quest.  Recently I’ve started thinking that something I’ve always thought I knew about myself, something that I was positive was true about me, is, in fact, a giant lie.  And here’s why.

Recently a series of events occurred.  The details are essentially unimportant, but suffice it to say I was screwed over.  Not in a major way, but in the kind of way where you find out the true measure of a person (whom you’d already suspected, so it’s really no surprise things turned out this way).  Anyway, I was screwed over and my suspicions where confirmed as to the nature of said person. 

(The worst part of it all is said person was all, “Are you mad?”  I really hate that.  Don’t screw me over and then ask me if it upsets me.  No, you rhino’s butthole, I thoroughly enjoy getting the short end of the stick due to your douchebaggery.)


So this series of events happened and as I was processing the whole thing I realized something that is, essentially, the inspiration for this post.  I realized that I wouldn’t forget this series of events.  I realized that I’d remember this for years and years and years.  I realized—gasp!—that I’m a grudge holder.  I never knew this about myself, but it makes so much perfect sense that according to occam’s razor, it must be true.  All these years I’ve thought I was a forgiving person, but alas, nothing but lies.    

(Side note:  I asked Mbrotha if he thinks I hold grudges.  His response?  “I don’t know, do you?”  Thanks, Mbrotha, helpful as always…). 

Does anyone else have a sour taste in their mouth?  No?  Just me then?  Oy.  I really hate it when I discover something about myself that is not proof positive that I’m eleventy bonkzillion percent awesome.  Since I’m feng shui-ifying my life in general, this is clearly an area that needs restructuring.  Oh, but how?  I’ve been holding onto some of these grudges for ages.  Admitting is the first step to acceptance right?  Alright, here goes.

Hey, I’m Ali and I…I’m a grudge-holder. 

Okay.  So that was kind of anti-climactic.  I was expecting some sort of fanfare.  Like a parade in my honor.  Or at least a float dedicated to me in a parade.  Or sheesh, balloons at the very least.  I’d even settle for a balloon animal in the shape of a snake.  Don’t they say admitting the problem is the hardest part?  Well, I admitted my problem.  So that means I get a prize, right?  I was brave and admitted that I’m not perfect and here’s why, so surely, I deserve some sort of something, right?



Fine.  Keep your parade then.  But don’t think I won’t remember this.  I’ll remember this for a looooooooooooong time.  Years.  Decades.   Centuries.  I’ll remember this for the next ten lifetimes.  Yeah, I will.  When you discover the cure for cancer three lifetimes from now…guess what?  Yeah, I’ll remember.  And I’ll tell the world.  Your bubble?

Consider it burst. 

How do you like that apple crumble with a slice of cheddar? 




Well, hell.  Hey, at least I’ve figured out the problem right?