Big time boredom

Boredom has set into every crevice, pore, crack, hole, and festering sore in my being. It has to do with this time of year–it’s hot, it’s the end of summer and fall is right around the corner, then maybe winter. Who knows, however, after last winter. We won’t know until it happens.

Back to my boredom. I can’t even think of what to write next. That, my friends, is how bored and uninspired I am (YES! I knew that word would make an appearance eventually).

The Dog Days of Summer are inspiration killers for me. Oh and that pesky unemployment dance I’ve been doing for the past 20 months or so — a bit of news on that front–I have an editing job for a few weeks starting tomorrow. Should be interesting since I don’t have any work clothes. Stuff has been tossed out due to normal wear and tear, and being too big. Most of it has been sacrificed to the fashion gods as a way to beg for forgiveness–let’s just say I was trying to revive the whole “Working Girl” look a few months ago. Hey, my shoulders aren’t big enough from years of swimming, LET’S MAKE ‘EM BIGGER! That whole experiment went buh-bye when I donned a blazer with shoulder pads out to *here* and they made my shoulders stick out to *HERE*.

 

The one look I will stick with is this one, since well, it is so me. So much so it’s frightening.

 

Since that’s settled, let’s see what other shenanigans I can get myself into.

I spent about 10 hours in the ER yesterday, dealing with unbelievable gut pains. Horrible. I had blood  & fluid tests and CAT scans up the ying-yang. Even telling my tale of woe to countless nurses and a few docs proved that the human body is one big clusterfuck. A mystery, actually. I am convinced after spending time in one of the few Level 1 trauma ERs in Chicago that if something was really wrong with me, my body would tell me somehow and I’d just naturally listen. How do I know this? It’s tough to explain — you’d have to know my body as well as I do, which ain’t gonna happen unless you buy me dinner, lots of flowers and even more drinks. Top-shelf too, I don’t drink swill.

Back to the Camp ER, all is well–I think. Will know more later.

During my time on an ER bed, under blankets and in fab hospital haute couture, I had time to peruse the web for stories. I even deemed a few worthy of y’all’s attention.

The Dude’s Abode has sold.

 

According to LA.curbed.com, the Venice bungalow court used for the exteriors (interiors were shot on a soundstage) of the Dude’s house in “The Big Lebowski”, has sold for $1.59 million, down from the asking price of $2.25 million. Six one-bedroom bungalows make up the court, and each one has garage parking and hopefully enough rugs to really tie the rooms together. Here’s to hoping the new owners pay homage to the Dude in some manner–maybe with a White Russian Fountain in the courtyard or daily swirlies and rug-pissing sessions.

Farts. Where would the world be without ’em? Think about it. We’d all be a little more uptight and bloated if farting was not an option. This is why this particular toy is the shit.

(courtesy evansville.com)

When the South Koreans aren’t perfecting the ultimate fart-inducing food–Kimchee–or keeping those pesky North Koreans out of their country, they’re coming up with cute, yet educational dolls for kids.

My explanation won’t do it justice, so just read about it here.

While we’re on the subject of toys, here’s one for girls that bellows “you have no future so give up now!”

 

Think it’s a mistake that the little girl featured on the box is Hispanic-looking? Naah. I’m sure the toy above is satire, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it, um, isn’t.

Finally, any normal person is ‘interested in voyeurism’, but we don’t need to act on it — especially in such a public manner.

A weekend of longing ends

‘Twas a stormy weekend, which made the air smell like ass after each downpour. I don’t get it — it’s summer, yet the air doesn’t smell all that fresh and clean like it’s supposed to, at least that’s what I gleaned from those commercials about summertime fun. Also, I find these monsoon-esque, daily storms unsettling as do many others I know. Ambien kept me from enjoying the one that rolled through here late-Friday/early Saturday. There’s nothing like sleeping better through chemistry.

The rest of the weekend consisted of reading, writing and watching the tee vee. I couldn’t watch the goings-on between our fearless leaders because it’s the biggest farce so far this decade. Get over it folks, we have a black president. Quit being doooooshes and solve this thing already. The one piece of political news that made me smile was this. Looks like the tea bagger fuckery is imploding. Good thing too, their racism veiled as progress is embarrassing and counterproductive. That’s all I’m going to say about politics. If someone wants to pay me to write about politics, I’ll do their bidding. Until then, meh. I’d rather bitch, gripe and reflect on other stuff I observe.

Like this for example: It’s deja vu all over again. Yes, those shoes that are the staple of the preppy look are gracing the feet of folks who weren’t even alive during the first go-around with this once desired fashion staple. I had many a-pair because I was quite the prepster. But, I never owned that insipid
Preppy Handbook that many of my friends studied back in the day in order to live a more preppy lifestyle. What killed me about their dedication was that they didn’t realize the book was a joke. I didn’t have the heart or the guts to tell them either.

When I first spied these shoes, I thought they were called “Vajayjay.” I told you I need glasses.

I dig these haunting images. And, I feel better knowing this too. Where in the hell IS Montenegro? Feh — don’t bother telling me I need to learn more about countries ‘over there’ or sending the me the link — I don’t particularly care. I’m sure Montenegro is a lovely place filled with marshmallows and vodka.

We need more propaganda art like in the good ol days. This church is so eerie, I wanna see it up close & personal. Keep scrolling for ideas about what to do with that ship you’ve been looking to ditch.

Looks like I’ll be mapping my way to the St. Lawrence Seaway tomorrow.