Return (loosen up my buttons baby) Plus - I should write all my blog entries while drinking whiskey

Hi kids. I got my sweet new apple laptop weeks ago, but haven't had time, or felt like, updating. Maybe blogging isn't fun for me anymore. Or, maybe I'm just in a low blogging mood, and I'll rebound in a while. Usually talking about how I don't want to blog anymore does the trick.

Let's see, lots of things are new. First off, I got myself an iPod to match my shiny new apple. It's engraved on the back with "christymonster say play at your own risk." Hopefully this blog will last as long as my iPod does so anyone who finds it and tries to return it to the respective owner (does that even happen?) will have an easy go of it.

Part of my rationalisation for buying a laptop includes interviewing my dad's dad, who is in the process of succombing to dementia, before all his delicious brains get eaten up by old age. I'm making my first trip down to blossoming steppe this weekend. I'm a little nervous, especially because my dad can no longer make the trip and I've never hung out with my grandparents without someone else present. They're wonderful people; I'm not worried; I'm just... nervous. I'm more shy than people think I am.

I met a new boy a week ago. He is nice, geeky, into music and men's movies (Apocalypse Now, anyone?). He wears chucks every day I've seen him (4 and counting). I stopped by on Sunday night to give him my number (he'd asked me out Friday and hadn't asked for it... why do guys DO that all the time?) but he was there. I watched Star Wars 4 with him and his roommate. His name is Kit (what the hell kind of name is Kit?). OH yeah, and I said that R2D2 was just like an iPod and his geekier roommate got really pissed. Poking people is fun. We joke about me being a zombie. We kissed for a long time. I was impressed by his stamina but couldn't stop wishing he was Russ.

Oh, oh, also, I totally got Kit's name wrong. I'm still not sure I have it right. Kit, Kip, huh? ANYWAY, I totally wrote him a post-it with my number on it, and got his name wrong. He hung out with me all Monday night before telling me. Damn.

Speaking of Russ, he bugs the hell out of me. When I first started working there, I debated over whether or not to make a move, and concluded that he was going to bug the hell out of me in 6 months, so I wouldn't bother. Then I decided I couldn't resist, but I think he'd changed his mind about me in the meantime. Also, I'm a little crazy. I think he probably is, too. So... bugging part. Today, we all went out for lunch to watch part of the Twins game (they lost, pout pout pout) and Russ and I ended up sitting next to each other, even though I tried to sit three tables away (I'm a little bit ditzy lately, that's all I'll say about that). He ordered coke and water, and I ordered cherry coke and water (the bar where we were doesn't do free refills, and I like to stay hydrated). He called me a loser and said, "Why do you always copy me? I'm not even that cool." in this totally pouty voice. Goddamnit, I can't believe I found another asshole with an inferiority complex. That is the last straw. Straight assholes, I can handle, but this passive aggressive shit is driving me crazy. He throws his caramel candy wrappers on the floor of my cube and I want to tell him to go away, but I miss him when he doesn't. Boys suck.

Speaking of going crazy, I went back to therapy. I've had a couple of compulsions pop up that I haven't struggled with in a long while, so I figure it's best to get these things taken care of before I go bald and suffocate on my garbage (I can't clean when I get too OCD because I can't bring myself to do a chore unless I can go all in. I hate doing laundry with any leftover dirty clothes, i hate cleaning my room if i can't go through every last bit of garbage and thinking about it -- and who has time for that shit?). And, then, you know, there's that whole Autofin thing, and the J thing, and the fact that I vacillate between letting guys get away with anything and not letting them even knock on the door. Yeah, I'm sorta damaged goods. I am also pretty freaked out by working and having to claim my therapist appointments. Even though mom reassures me that no one can question it, HIPAA and all, I'm not really the type to hold anything back, and I hate-hate-hate lying, and I dread leaving early because everyone notices, and I dread being asked. The woman at work whom I adore and I hope I can be half as cool as when I'm her age asked me about my doctor's appointments, suggesting that I'd accidentally made the appointment recurring on the company calendar. Wish that was all, lady. When I tell her to have a good night and say I'm leaving for a doctor's appt, she shrugs her shoulders as if to say, "I thought we'd kicked that by now!" I told Russ the (partial) truth when he asked. On the advice of my therapist, OCD is a glamourous mental illness.

My favorite line from tonight's Veronica Mars ep: "Look at her! She's like boy-nip." Goddamn, I need some boy-nip. My T&A just ain't cutting it anymore. Also, I realised that I totally squandered my college experience. Why didn't I go to school in LA? I could have laid out every day while I still had a slammin' bod, and I would have totally missed meeting J. Goddamn, I might still be skinny if I'd transferred to UCLA. Eh, who am I kidding? They have Fatburgers out there.

I found a gigantic spider on my laundry basket this morning. I shuffled it into a plastic bag and brought it outside, even though I had to put on a bathrobe over my naked body to do it. I'm a good hippy, what can I say?

Cigarettes and ice cream. That Rufus Wainwright is a pussy.