Tuesday, February 07, 2006

What is wrong with this guy?

Do you remember this retard who I invited to the barbecue I had over the weekend? I replied to his stupid email with one that clearly corrected his mistake about my name. I never got a reply back to that, so I assumed he was just embarrassed and didn’t want to write back in acknowledgement. Well apparently that wasn’t the case. I received this email from him yesterday:

Joe,
Sorry I was not able to make it on Saturday. I had a little accident but I am ok.

There is just no response to such blatant… moronocity (there just aren’t enough words to express profound stupidity, so we have to start making some up) except to laugh. After correcting the fuckhead three times, he’s still calling me Joe. I give up. What’s a girl to do? He’s obviously fried his brain cells beyond all recognition, and I’m not quite sure what he does at the office. Maybe he counts paperclips or something. Who knows. Rest assured I will not be sending any more invites in his direction.

Oh, and “had a little accident?” Sounds like he peed his pants and didn’t have any clean ones to change into. There’s got to be a better word than “moron” for this guy. What can you come up with?

Monday is the new Sunday

I took the day off yesterday. So it felt more like a Sunday for me instead of a Monday. Apparently this is a very common practice in the beauty salon world. I decided to use some of my time off yesterday to finally get that haircut I’ve been needing. Most places are closed Sunday, so I waited until yesterday. Wrong move.

The lady I usually go to takes Mondays off. Since she’s kinda far anyway (since I moved last year) I was open to trying someplace new. I went to this little shop near my house. Closed. Bummer. I drove a little further and found one that was open! Very exciting. It looked nice from the outside too. However when I went in, it was like a ghost town. Not a single body in sight. Empty chairs, music was playing, but no people. “Helloooo...?” Not even my own echo answered. So I left. Next two places I passed by were closed. (I found there are like 20 barber shops and beauty salons in a 5 mile radius around my house!) So I said fine, I’ll go to a frickin’ Supercuts, despite my sweetheart’s protests. I went in and there were three people waiting for one barber, and she had just started on the fourth person. I would be there for hours! Hell no, I was not waiting for that. I’d rather have bad hair.

I then noticed another beauty salon just a few stores over. How funny, so close by. I went in and asked how much it was for a trim. “Twenty dollah,” she answered in her Korean accent. But she didn’t ask me to have a seat, how odd. I didn’t see anyone else around, so I asked, “Should I pick out a hair style now?” She replied,"Oh, I have custamah righ now.” I looked around again. Not a single butt in a single chair. Okaaaaay… “Oh okay, bye then,” I said and left.

It’s a front, I just know it. They’re smuggling kimchi back there… or something. Wait, kimchi isn’t illegal. Well it should be! Ever smell that stuff?

So anyway, two miles later I finally found a place that could take me immediately. I got my haircut (a little shorter than I expected, but that’s okay. That must means I can wait longer till my next haircut.) Now I can feel the slightest breeze on the back of my neck again… and my ears. Brrrr. I always have to wear a hood in the mornings for a few days after a fresh haircut. But at least now I can fall out of bed and forget to brush my hair again without worrying too much! It’s all about priorities, y’know?

Monday, February 06, 2006

Sex is better than football

Obviously. Yesterday was a goooood day, and not because it was Superbowl Sunday. We spent the day watching back-to-back episodes of Lost on DVD. Very interesting show and lots of good character development. But by far the highlight of the day was when my honey got frisky. We have side-by-side La-Z-Boy recliners. In between Discs 3 and 4 she started reaching over and feeling me up. Rrroowrr! Then she pulled me over onto her recliner and, wow, I’m glad those things are pretty sturdy. Sex on a recliner feels wooonderful by the way. And twice in a row? Well. Let’s just say I was weak in the knees for hours after that.

We had heard a lot about how funny the commercials are during the big game, so we decided to Tivo the game and fast forward through it to the commercials. They are pretty funny. But about halfway through it all we finally realized, “Dude, we’re watching commercials.” We stopped after that.

Saturday, February 04, 2006

And now, back to our regularly scheduled whatever-this-is

Geez I’m starting to look neurotic. My last three posts were nothing but angst about one thing or another. Enough already! I’m starting to show what a whiny person I really am. We can’t have that.

So anyway my honey and I have forgiven each other. We realized we were both mouthing off out of anger last night, and neither of us were being logical or sane. So all is good in the world once again. Whew.

Thank goodness because today is the big barbecue! I dragged out the grill and stared at this thing like it was from outer space. First thing to do is to check how much propane is left without blowing myself up. This is my first time using the thing, really. Before we moved here my sweety’s brother (who was living with us at the time) was usually the grillmaster. I peered at the label on the side of the tank and it has all these instructions. I was like, “Oh good, it tells me how to check the propane level.” Unfortunatley the diagram is either really bad or really washed out. It makes no sense whatsoever.  Here, see for yourself:

So rather than trying to follow those weird instructions, I just turned it on.  There was a hissing noise, so it had propane in it. How much? Who knows. I prefer using the stove anyway. I’ll just cross my fingers and hope I didn’t just do another Stupid Thing.

Now I gotta make spinach dip, hamburger patties, clean the cooler, and avoid tripping over Big Pest who is following me everywhere hoping I’ll drop some tidbit of food that I’m not even carrying. Back to work I go!

When your big fat mouth gets you into big fat trouble

I should be sleeping right now. If you’re not ready for some drama perhaps you should come back when you are. I personally am never ready for it.

My sweetheart (who currently doesn’t love me all that much right now) had to go somewhere and was going to come back late, so I went ahead and went to bed. I heard her come home and waited for her to come into the room so I can ask her how it went. I waited for awhile while she shuffled around the house. Then I hear a lot of clattering noises in the kitchen. She’s making all this godawful noise like she’s getting ready to cook a banquet or something. Annoyed, I get up to see what’s going on.

Me: “What are you doing?” (in an annoyed voice)
Her: “There’s all this water all over the floor and you don’t care!"
Me: “What? Well I didn’t know the stupid thing was leaking again!"
Her: “Why didn’t you fix it like you said you would??"
Me: “I thought I did!” (I’m feeling very defensive now.)

There’s a stupid water hose going from the fridge to the pipes under the sink so the thing can make ice. It was leaking where two pieces of hose were joined together. The morons who attached it for us crimped the hose in a way that made it leaky. I suggested cutting off the kinked part of the hose and reattaching it to the connector thing. She suggested I tape it with some super-sticky plumbing tape I have. I chose the easier route and taped it.

Didn’t work. I went to bed without checking the leak, and the fucker created a pool in our kitchen.  So she’s pissed off at the leak, which translated into her blaming me for not fixing it. I get defensive, feeling totally unappreciated for my prior efforts (even though they failed). I don’t like her attitude towards me one bit. After another short exchange of raised voices, I stalk back to the bedroom. Here’s what I’m feeling… I’m feeling like her whole accusatory attitude towards me is equavlent to her telling me “fuck you and your lazy ass.” On the way back to the room, I am, in my mind, retorting back to her, “And fuck you too.” Only my mouth, my big fat stupid mouth, actually says it aloud. It’s muttered under my breath, but audible. Oh shit.

Her: “What did you say?"
Me: “Nothing."
Her: “No, what did you say?"
Me: “Good night."
Her: “That’s not what you said."
Me: “Then why are you asking me!"

Nothing creates more antipathy and hurt feelings than an unintentional “fuck you” between lovers. Shit shit shit. What the hell is wrong with me? Can’t I hold my tongue for one lousy minute? Can’t I just shut the fuck up and let things settle down? No, I always have to have the last word, no matter how hurtful. I feel like such an asswipe. Right this moment I wonder what I’m doing in a relationship. How can a social gimp like me possibly carry on a meaningful relationship? I’m constantly apologizing for moronic things that spill out of my mouth. And this one is quite a doozy.

She’s constantly telling me, “Why don’t you think before you speak?” I honestly can’t help it. Anytime I try to explain that it’s an Aries thing, we tend to blurt, she’ll have none of it. “Don’t give me that, that’s no excuse. You’re not a child who can’t control her actions.” (That last one is her favorite.) But… that’s the thing!  I can’t!  I try, and sometimes it works, but it’s just my nature to be tactless, stupid and mouthy in an argument!

*sigh* ...I don’t know how to face her now. You don’t say “fuck you” to someone you love. You just don’t. How do you take back words you didn’t mean? It’s impossible. I’m impossible. Gaaaahhhhh!!!!

Friday, February 03, 2006

The terror of possibly turning into my mom

As much as I dislike feeling obligated to stay in touch with my mom, I am absolutely terrified of turning into her. Most of my friends who have met her think she’s annoying, even if they don’t tell me that, I know they’re thinking it. No way in hell I want to become the very thing I dislike!

But I’ve got a couple things going against me: genetics and imprinting. There’s the stuff you inherit, like temperament (bad temper, not good). Then there’s the stuff you pick up as you grow up. My mom was very big on lists. Lists for everything. Must be organized, thought out and completely planned to death. It was hard to have fun on trips because she was constantly stressing out about every little detail. I just wanted to say, “Dude, chill out mom, can’t we just play it by ear?”

I know I’ve picked up some of that. I make lists for everything too. That alone isn’t bad since it helps with my shoddy memory. But it’s a sign I tell you. A sign that I could easily fall over the edge and become the total control freak she is. I know I’m already a bit of a control freak. I like to know everything. It bugs the hell out of my sweetheart. Who just called? What’s going on tomorrow? Is someone coming over? It makes her want to scream, I know. I’ve gotten into trouble for it so many times. It’s not that I don’t trust her, not that at all. I just like to know.

Is that so bad? I’ve only recently realized how incredibly annoying it is to her. I need to reign myself in a little more. Tone it down and relax. If I keep this up I’ll not only risk ruining a great relationship, I’ll become the most annoying person I’ve ever known. My nightmare will have come true—I’ll turn into my mom.

And nobody will like me anymore.

Feeling Obligated (and Annoyed)

Obligation is probably one of the most annoying feelings one could possibly have. It’s basically a war between the “right” thing to do and what you want to do. It happens a lot around Christmas-time. But it happens all year long as far as parents are concerned.

I’ve never felt very close to my parents. Not sure why, but I just didn’t. Time passed by at an excrutiatingly slow pace as a kid. I escaped into books and movies when I could, and I just could not wait utill college when I could finally move out. I made sure I got accepted someplace far away.

As an adult now you can pretty much do whatever you want. It’s one of the fabulous things about being an adult. However. Mom is still there. (Dad passed away a couple years ago.) I don’t like going to visit, but she’s only a three-hour drive away and I feel guilty if I don’t go at least once every 3-4 months. Is that bad? Am I a bad daughter for hating to take time away from my life to share it with hers? She emails me about what’s going on (though I rarely care what she’s up to). I’ll usually wait a few days before I reply and then blame it on work. It’s terrible. I’ll feel like, “What kind of a lousy, ungrateful child am I? Am I that selfish?"

I’ve tried to pinpoint where these feelings came from. Why do I dislike having anything to do with her? I know it has something to do with my childhood. Kids are very impressionable and easily become screwed up adults if treated the wrong way. I never thought of myself as an abused child, though there was quite often excessive discipline, I thought. An extreme example:

My mom had cooked up some steaks for dinner. I had encountered one of those nasty pieces of gristle in mine and couldn’t swallow it. I was afraid to spit it out because my mom was this really scary “you NEVER waste food!” kind of person. So I excused myself and went to the bathroom. I spit it out into the trash can and covered it with some toilet paper. Whew, nasty gristle gone. I went back and finished my dinner. Later that evening she pulls me aside and asks me, “Is there something you want to tell me?” I was perplexed. I was like 11 years old or something, what could I possible want to tell her?

"Uh… no...” I replied.
"Did you throw away food?"
I thought really hard. I only tossed that gross thing I couldn’t chew up. That wasn’t food. So I answered, a little unsurely, “No..."
Her expression hardened a little and I got scared.
"Then why did I find some in the garbage? You lied to me."

WTF? No, I need to spell it out. WHAT THE FUCK?? She went digging through the disgusting bathroom trash can to find the one tiny wad I had spit out? How neurotic is that?? What kind of an uptight, high strung mother was she? You know what my punishment was? She made me kneel down and hold my kid’s rocking chair over my head for, I don’t know, a long time. This is very bizarre. This is not normal. Luckily it only happened once, but still, shit. Usually I got spanked or hand-smacked with a spatula, but that day she must have been hormonal or something. On my knees with a chair over my head… to this day I cannot believe a parent would do that as punishment.

It’s remembering events like these that make it no small wonder why I don’t like having anything to do with her. I just wish I didn’t care. I wish I could just close off my heart and say “fuck you mom, stop bothering me.” But I can’t. She truly regrets a lot of the things she did when I was little. She’s even cried about it in front of me. How can you not forgive? So I try and make her feel better. I remind her that I didn’t turn out to be a pregnant teen or a coked-out whore.

But in the back of my mind the damage has already been done. I don’t feel close to her, and I never will. So I’m stuck feeling obligated to visit and write, to make her feel like she hasn’t failed completely as a mom. It’s almost time to pay her another visit, it’s been a few months. Ugh. Maybe I can get away with another month…

Thursday, February 02, 2006

You think you know someone...

We’re hosting a barbecue this weekend (why wait till summer?) and inviting various coworkers. It’s a great way to get to know them better in their “natural environment”. In captivity we all have our professional faces on. It’s interesting to see how they are “in the wild”.

I sent out an invitation a couple weeks ago. I had attended a little bar gathering before, organized by my supervisor (a cool guy by the way, for a supervisor). Definitely not my scene (I drank water all night and played pool, occasionally going outside to gulp some clean air), but the banter was fun (when you could hear it over the deafening music). I made sure I included the attendees of that gathering in my invitation distribution.

Yesterday I sent out reminder email to everyone. A few minutes after sending out the reminder, I get a call from one of recipients:

Him: Hi, can I talk to Joe?
Me: Uhh… no, but you can talk to me.
Him: Joe [my last name]?
Me: My name isn’t Joe.
Him: [silence] ... Ohh I’m sorry! I’m real bad with names.

He then says he was trying to figure out who’s party this was. Now, I had met this guy at the bar gathering and he was very outgoing and friendly (and plastered by the time I left). I thought he would be make a fun addition to the barbecue dynamic. He had already accepted the first invitation. How many party invitations does this guy get, and am I really that forgettable? My other point of contention was he had obviously gotten my name off the email, which included my extension number. It is clearly spelled there and since when does a Z sound like a J?

Okay that’s fine, people make mistakes, especially if they’re scatterbrained party animals who are bad with names. I let it go. But TODAY! Today I get an email from him:

Hi Joe!
Can you please resend the invitation, I lost the address. Thanks!

Dude, what is wrong with you?? First of all, I sent a reminder email with the address just yesterday, do you have Inbox clutter issues or something? And even if you deleted the message, it should still be in your Deleted folder. That’s what it’s there for, dumbass. And what’s with the “Joe” again? Even my corporate email address clearly states that my first initial is a Z, where the hell are you getting Joe from?  I forgave you the first time, but this time you are officially a MORON.

As promised...

If you can follow the string of comments found here, you’ll see that I am accepting donations of money, food and power tools in exchange for mentioning your name in my utterly fabuous blog. It’s a totally cool thing to beg for money these days, everybody’s doing it. But I thought I’d go one step further and accept food donations as well. I’ll eat anything, provided it hasn’t become fuzzy or smelly. Ms. Chatty was kind enough to squish a shitload of comestibles (and Jello) into her CDROM drive and it oozed out of mine a few minutes later. Very kind. (The Jello was especially generous, how did you know I prefer the green kind?) And now I have mentioned her here, as promised.

Don’t you feel completely fulfilled and whole now? That’s the kind of service I provide. You, too, can have your name mentioned here, for a modest donation of course.

Wondering about past American Idol winners

It’s my first time watching the show, so I’m not all that familiar with how everything works. Was Kelly Clarkson the first winner of the show ever? I know I could Google this and be done with it in 5 minutes, but then what would I blog about this morning? Why do in 5 minutes what could take me half an hour instead? (You’re thinking, “Half an hour?? Did you, like, lose an arm or something? Or are you just… slow?” Hey! I put a lot of thought into my blog! It may not show, but I do. I have to sort through a lot of crap in my head. PLUS I proofread! If I didn’t do any of that, this thing would be a complete mess.)

Now, what was I saying? Oh yes, past winners. How come Kelly Clarkson is the only one I hear on the radio? What happened to the other winners? They mention “Fantasia” as a previous winner, but I’ve never heard anything about her. What happened anyway? Perhaps the music industry decided they didn’t want an artist named after a weirdo feature-length drug-induced cartoon? Speaking of which, what parent would name their child after an animated movie featuring dancing pink elephants? And if she picked the name for herself as a stage name… WHY??

It just occurred to me that I might have heard some of the other winners on the radio, but didn’t recognize them because I just don’t know their names. Not likely, but possible. Maybe their songwriters were just untalented and horribly generic. Maybe they weren’t all that talented to begin with? I dunno, never watched ‘em.

But Kelly Clarkson made it, and I think that’s cool. I tried not to like her because, well, I don’t know. It’s like we’re supposed to like her because American Idol pronouced her a winner. I don’t like being told what to think. But I hear her on the radio and… I don’t change the channel. I find myself actually… liking her songs!  She really is a good singer, and the songs are kinda catchy. I’m not going to rush out and buy her albums (is there more than one?) but I will tip my hat to talent when I encounter it.

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

What a Spazz

Ever since the day I followed a link to ITalk2Much.com, I’ve become addicted. It’s the funniest shit I’ve ever read in my life! I’ve left dumb comments here and there on a couple of their posts. One thing I keep wondering about is how come some people have icons next to theirs and others (losers like myself) don’t? So today I took it upon myself to ask. I sent quite a spastic email to Ms. Chatty and, considering how tangential and confusing it was, I don’t really expect an answer.

This is what happens when your brain whirls out thoughts at 300 mph while your fingers try to keep up. You’re curious now, aren’t you? How bad could it be? Well it just so happens I’m going to share it with you. Be glad I didn’t send this to you.

Ms. Chatty,
You probably don’t have time for stupid messages from annoying people like myself, but I had a question, obviously. I was kinda wondering why some people had photos next to their comments and some didn’t. The answer has to be somewhere obvious but I’m so new to the world of blogs that I still have that awful new blog smell on me. Sorry about that, I’ll try to shower more.

So anyway, I thought maybe they were registered members of this site. Valid guess, right? So I clicked on the Register link. The registration page is… unbelievably UNsnarky! The Terms of Service even stated “By registering at this site you agree not to post any messages that are obscene, vulgar, slanderous, hateful, threatening, or that violate any laws. We will permanently ban all users who do so.” Now this REALLY confused me. Isn’t obscene, vulgarous slander all we do around here? (That and make up words like “vulgarous”.) Heh, listen to me using the word “we” like I’m a part of all this. Delusional. I’m just so hooked on this site and its brutal, side-splitting honesty. I think I’ve actually gotten used to liquids being snorted out through my nose. Okay that’s gross, stop it.

So, um, my point… what was it? Something about member registration and what the heck is it for? Because if it’ll make me cooler then I’m in like Schwinn baby. Er, in like sin? Kin? Ambien? Nevermind. I’ll never be cool.

-The Geeky Dragon Girl

Yes I actually sent this.

My Embarrassing Problem

It isn’t feminine itch, that cleared up last month. (Please realize I’m kidding. It hasn’t actually cleared up. I’m kidding! Confused? Good, let’s move on.) I’ll just spit it out. I have dandruff. I will never speak of this to anyone except my honey… and the entire world too, if in an anonymous format. Like this blog for instance.

Why is this such an embarrassing topic? Because of the stipulations that come with it, and general lack of knowledge. If a person has flakes all over themselves, the first thought that comes to mind is usually something along the lines of, “Wow that person needs to wash his hair more.” It’s like you’re labled as this dirty person, when in actuality it has nothing to do with hygiene. Well, occasionally it does. Some people really are gross.

But for most of the other poor bastards such as myself, it’s more of a scalp PH thing. Not PhD (the top of my head has not, to my knowlege, achieved a higher degree than me) but PH as in acidity. Mix in a little unique body chemistry and you’ve got yourself a blizzard. I run my hands through my hair and I’m a walking snowglobe. I hate it.

I’ve tried washing my hair more. I’ve tried washing it less. I’ve read about certain foods I should avoid to help change your PH balance, like cutting out animal fats and dairy. Cut out my ice cream, yogurt and cheese? Oh hell no! I’d rather be stuck wearing light colors than be deprived of dairy.

Apple cider vinegar was recommended as a “magical” way to eliminate dandruff. I tried it once. It wasn’t magical enough for me. Not only did the smell make me want to vomit, it was cold. Again, I would rather be stuck wearing light colors. That smell really clings to you, yech.

I also tried Nizoral, a dandruff shampoo. I think that might have worked if, well, if I wasn’t me. The instructions say to leave it on for 5 minutes, then rinse it out. Five entire minutes? That’s the length of time it takes me to get into the shower, get clean, and get out! You’re telling me I have to stand around in the shower for five extra minutes? I have no patience for such things! So I think I usually ended up rinsing it out after about one, maybe two minutes tops. *sigh* Maybe I’ll give that stuff another try. It’s better than my other options.

Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Reverse Darwinism

Society isn’t natural. It rewards people who should have killed themselves off long ago. Case in point:

There’s this lady, I don’t remember what her name is, nor do I give a rat’s ass. She buys a 32-foot Winnebago and, on one of her trips, does something completely… so utterly… off-the-charts… I just-  okay. I’m obviously at a loss as to describe the magnitude of her stupidity, so let me just tell you what she did.  She’s driving on the freeway and sets the cruise control on her RV to go at 70 miles an hour… then proceeds to climb into the back and fix herself a sandwich…  ...  ... Yes, I know. It boggles the brain.  Let me say it again, just to be clear.  She sets the cruise control on her Winnebago RV to go 70mph on the freeway, and then leaves the driver’s seat to go fix a sandwich!

But wait, that’s not the best part! Not only does the bitch survive the crash, she sues the manufacturer for “neglecting” to write in their user’s manual that she was not supposed to do this. She sues them. And wins.  She wins the fucking lawsuit.  What. The. Fuck.

First of all, I seriously doubt she even knew where the manual was, let alone read it. Secondly, did she get smacked in the head repeatedly with VHS taped episodes of Knight Rider or something? Since when do cars drive and steer themselves?? It’s Cruise Control, not fucking Auto Pilot!

And what did this… this fucktard (hooray I got to use my new vocabulary word!) get out of all this?  She wins a brand new Winnebago and ...a million dollars. A million fucking dollars awarded to the queen of morons who long ago should have chopped her own head off with a butter knife because the manual didn’t tell her not to.

Maybe I should go back to my home planet.

Powerlessness

Today my sweetheart requested a particular gift for her birthday. It isn’t a crazy expensive item, but it’s a little more than we can afford right now. I can’t say no to her, I just can’t. Whatever she desires, I want to get it for her. I want to make sure she’s happy at all times. It really pained me to say no. The mortgage (shit, that thing is due AGAIN??) and my car payment just about wipes me out, but there’s still the gas bill, the electric bill and all the other fucking blood-suckers out there.

None of this is new. And I’m sure most of you have no pity for my situation, because it’s the same situation that the majority of Americans find themselves in. But here’s the thing—nothing frustrates an Aries girl like myself more than the feeling that she can do nothing. It’s this excruciating sense of absolute powerlessness in the face of no options. I stared at my bank balance, did the math, and came up with nothing. Nothing. I could do nothing. The thought reverberated through my skull like a church bell. Frustration filled me to the point of overflowing… and the tears fell. I was mortified, crying over not being able to buy the gift. Why was I being so stupid and emotional? It’s not like we lost the house, or even my car.

My honey assured me that it was fine, we didn’t need to get it. It can wait until later when things were better for us. She reminded me that she would love me no matter what. And I knew that already. That’s not what had crushed my spirit in that small moment. It was just everything banding together into this overwhelming weight.

I decided to go walk off the depression (and pick up some yogurt too). I listened to some music while I walked. A song came on from BT called “Simply Being Loved Is More Than Enough”. The walk helped me get past my emotional state, and the song helped put things into perspective.

By the time I got back, I was all better. And I had yogurt. I was ready for the world once again. Bring it on.

Memory Like a Sieve

I meant to post something about this earlier, but I forgot… and forgot again… and again. I’ve mentioned before that my brain churns out thoughts at 300 miles an hour. That might make me seem like a genius. Unfortunately I can handle only two to three of them at a time. Usually two. That means I have several brilliant thoughts a day, but I only act on a fraction of them (if any at all… of the brilliant ones anyway. The non-brilliant ones tend to crowd them out.) It’s sad.

At home when I try to act upon more than one at a time, here’s what will usually happen. (Note, the following example contains no brilliant thoughts because, well, I can’t remember what they were.) I’ll be watching TV and decide I need a glass of water. I’ll get up, go to the kitchen and notice that the garbage if full. So I’ll take it outside. While out there I’ll notice how bright it is and wonder what time it is. I’ll look at my watch and find out that I didn’t put it on that morning. Better put that watch on. On my way to my room I’ll think of a couple other things, like “Is my blog putting people to sleep?” and “I really need to wash my car.” When I get to my room I’ll have a Beavis and Butthead moment. “Uhh… huh huh huh… what did I come in here for?” I have about a 50/50 chance of remembering my watch, higher if the watch is visible on the nightstand. Afterwards I’ll go back to the kitchen and see the big bag of M&Ms we bought last week. I’ll cut it open and, upon throwing the piece of plastic away, notice I forgot to replace the garbage bag. I’ll replace the bag and bring my M&Ms back to the TV room, finally sitting down again. It’s then that I realize I never got that glass of water I originally got up for.

It’s worse when I start doing other things after I fill up a glass of water. Because later on I have to backtrack to figure out where the hell I left it! I need more RAM to better process all these thoughts flying around. Where can I get an upgrade?

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