Thursday, September 01, 2005
With sadness like this, that and the other in this crazy world, it's hard not to over-analyze one's own paltry existence. For instance: how did I make it this far in life? (Not far like "accomplished," because a-har har; more far like: still breathing.) Is it weird to think every year I'm alive, it's mostly due to plain luck? I mean, with all those carcinogens* and speeding buses and drinking too much "Olympus" in a guy named Dave's basement when I was sixteen, what are the chances that LITTLE OLD ME made it to the ripe old age of 187? Yet here I slump.
Sorry to get maudlin.
- In related-ish news, I need advice. What does one say to someone after that person has just gotten a tattoo in memorial of their deceased significant other, and the tattoo is SPELLED WRONG? I ask because that's what's happening with me today. Dudes, take note: all of you should be on your knees and weeping with gratitude that you did not marry into my family. Unless, of course, you were working on a movie script, because then you've missed out.
- Also, I'm apparently going to have to cash out my 401k just to gas up for the beach this weekend.
With all tragedy, comedy.
* (Great choice on that font for CANCER, people!!!! Red and yellow and pixelated all over. Very scary.)