N. D. Wolfwood

SO I am supposed to have a PT test here soon, and my educational benefits for the near future are riding on my passing of this test, and I had to promise to give heart and soul, yadda yadda, which of course I swore (promise them anything in the last ten minutes, anything.). Then, coming up the steps to my third-floor walk-up, I realized I haven't given heart and soul to ANYTHING in recent memory. And I thought, Jesus Christ, when did I become such a broken-hearted jaded freak? I can't even blame it on the ex--well maybe I can (and if there's something you'd like to do/just let me continue to blame you), but I'm not sure it's the problem, I think it was before that, but damned if I know when it all started. Have I ever not held back? What's the point of giving your all? People always--always--fuck it up in the end. By "people" I include myself.
So I cranked up the Alice in Chains and took my drugs and I guess I'll eat dinner now.
Christ on a stick, people.

So....yeah. I just got a tooth filled. This was great fun while the Sanicaine lasted; now it is less than fun. Nonetheless, there is rum to be consumed for the pain relieving and disinfectant effects.
In other news, a few links:

The Yuppies of Zion
Sure, you can get there from here!
Lion and Lamb Ministries

(Modified from Ocean's 11)

R> God, I'm depressed.

D> You *look* depressed.

R> I *am* depressed.

Why is this not surprising in the least?

My inner child is forty-five years old!

I've never really liked children, not even when I
was one. I want things neat, ordered, and
adult--fine wine instead of french fries, pina
coladas by the pool instead of beach sand
between my toes. Now if only my fellow adults
would stop acting like such, well, children!


How Old is Your Inner Child?
brought to you by Quizilla

God, I knew it.

A long hiatus, see, means I'm busy and lazy. I've finished school, taken 3 weeks of leave, and spent almost a month ABEND, and now am back online! whee...with a fat pipe, so maybe I'll write more.

Yeah, right.

Four weeks left. That's 18 working days; the rest is weekends. Three more weekends to putter around little Italy and smoke cigars and sit on the piers and drink and get into sort of a strange head-space.

Damn.

I wish I could freeze-frame a weekend and keep it there for as long as I wanted.

There is nothing quite as awful as having to hear the equivalent of fingernails on a chalkboard first thing in the damn morning. Whose brilliant idea was this? Some people ought to have their voiceboxes removed on general principle, and speak with a little voice-stick like Ned Gerblansky (sp?). For the comfort and health of those of us who are unable to bear the geshrei.

Secondly, why do I have the unfortunate tendency to fucking RUN OVER THINGS like disks, with chairs? I am still galled about the destruction of my 'cu amarizz' non ammazzare' disk about four damn years ago.

Thirdly, why in the name of the blessed saint FUCK can't I have an internet connection so I can build my website?

Behold the deadly power of the USB port.

whatever happened to the craptacular websites of yesteryear? I'm nostalgic for the animated-gif-filled, angel-strewn, midi-spouting horrors of the web circa 1998-1999. What have we done? What have we lost in our relentless pursuit of ever-more-streamlined and appealing websites?
Oh, the humanity.