Confucker

So tomorrow the Conficker virus is supposed to hit (Ha! Get it! Happy April Fool's Day! God it's so genius to do something unfunny on a funny day! How original!) and despite taking all the steps to keep my computer clean and safe (and scanning it like 4 times with 4 different programs to make sure the virius isn't already lying dormant, ready to turn my computer into a zombie machine tomorrow, omfg) I still feel like my computer's gonna crash and burn. Murphy's Law of Computers applies to me - Whatever can go wrong with my laptop, Will go wrong with my laptop. It's a terrible shame.

So, alas, if tonight is the last night my Dell Inspiron 1505 will pseudo-live, then adieu, darling. You were mostly great while you lasted, despite that 6 month period where you didn't want to work and wouldn't start, and the whole battery issue where the battery died then the new one fried itself, and the viruses, and all the rest. Goodnight, sweet prince.

I Don't Want to be the "I" in First

So the other night at dinner, Jen and I were discussing the idea of first person narratives. We'd been chatting with some other writer friends earlier in the week, discussing third person vs. first person, and how everyone generally felt more comfortable writing in the third person. There's something strangely bizarre about writing in first person, because, when writing fiction, you're not actually writing about yourself. My writing jumps around all over the place, from childhood nostalgia to bitter drunken rantings to softcore pornography that would make lots of money on Cinemax Late Night and really, no matter what my topic or audience, first person just doesn't sit well with me.

Whether you're writing horror "My spine was ripped out from my mouth", suspense "I can't believe it's not butter!", gritty noir detective novels "I threw the body into the trunk but it was too big, so I kept slamming the trunk hood onto the guy's head to squish him in properly", happy fluff "I skipped down the bustling street, the sky a cotton candy pink above my head", or porn "I touch your cock, okay?" it just doesn't mesh.

Now, to be fair to first person, I also strongly dislike Second Person, because it's giving me the distinct feeling of being told what to do and/or being unnecessarily scolded for something I'm pretty sure I didn't do: "You went up to the cliff and threw yourself over the edge for being a cheating bastard" (I did what now?) / "You are the incarnation of evil" (but why?) It also gets really weird if the story's dark or depressing or sexual at all in nature: "You bent over and took it like the whore you are" (whoa whoa whoa, are we taking doggy style or buttsex, cause I draw the line somewhere, buddy) because it's almost like you're being told you personally are doing these bizarre things, and it makes you feel oddly squirmy inside. Which, I suppose, is the entire point of second person anyway, because (save for one extremely awkward story someone wrote in one of my fiction classes in college) they're all "modern and edgy" so of course they want to make you squirm. Yeah yeah, I get it. But still.

Yet I still prefer second person to first person. (As I write in first person, but my blog is a blog, not fiction, so yes I am actually writing about my own life, no matter how psychotic and unstable it sometimes seems.) I think another of my fears of writing in the first person is that I'll somehow contract Stephanie Meyeritis and everyone will think my writing is my own sick, twisted fantasy. I guess it's not too much of a stretch, I have always wanted to be a codependent, depressed, can't-function-without-my-male-boyfriend, sex-starved, vampire baby having, sparkly vampire lusting, terrible role model to girls of all ages. I just can't help it.

Gag(a) Me

This picture perfectly sums up why I hate Lady Gaga so goddamn much:

It's literally makes me want to hunt her down and stab both her and that damn hairbow, because jesusfuckingchrist she's walking around wearing a bow made out of her own hair.  Add that she's hiding her face from the paparazzi and she officially becomes the most baffling person in existance. I don't get it. How could she possibly want to "hide" from the paps with all of this going on:

1. Hairbow. Hairbow. A bow, made out of her own hair, sitting atop her head.

2. A flesh. Colored. Unitard. AND THAT'S IT. I get it, she's ~edgy~ but does that really mean she needs to wander around in a nude colored unitard, looking like an unsettling mix of a gymnast, a stripper, and a Cirque du Soleil member? It makes me want to cry.

3. She's carrying around a cotton candy pink bag with a Playboy magazine clearly (and, I'd assume, purposely) hanging out of it. First of all, who the hell walks around with a Playboy these days, besides old men wearing trench coats in vans? (And even then, most of them are carrying around pictures of prepubescent children, as opposed to naked adult ladies.)

She tries so goddamn hard to be "unique and edgy" that's she's driving me to seriously abuse the use of italics. No one in their right mind - who's not desperately trying to garner as much attention as humanly possibly - would actually throw that outfit on without thinking or caring about what it actually looks like. This bitch plans all of this out in advance (probably days in advance) and probably obssesses about every little detail (such as: will my tampon string hang out of my unitard today? Man, that was awkward the last time that happened!)

I'll take trainwreck Britney over this bitch any day.

AOL Doesn't Understand Concept of "Best"

So AOL Music and Movies  made a list of 10 Movies You Need to See Before You Die (someone's not great at PR over there) and came up with a few great hits:

- The Shawshank Redemption

- Witness

- Citizen Kane

- The Deer Hunter

- Life is Beautiful

Okay, pretty damn good movies. Then there was:

- Amelie

Fun? Sure. Quirky? Sure. A movie you absolutely have to see before you die? No. Not even a little. Not even remotely. Not on any planet. 

But it gets worse, because someone - someone getting paid to have an opinion on these sorts of things - added these "movies" onto the list:

- The Notebook

- Mamma Mia!

- The Others

I don't give a fuck if you're pissy at me for knocking The Notebook, but there is NO WAY IN HELL that movie is a must see before you shuffle off this mortal coil. It was so boring, so insipid and obnoxious and borderline mentally retarded, and I couldn't even finish the movie, it was that bad. 

Mamma Mia? Couldn't pay me to see it.

The Others? The Others? Funnily enough, I was literally talking about this movie at dinner tonight, commenting on how absolutely stupid and painfully obvious it was (this from a 6 Degrees Of thing, where we were discussing Michael Jackson's Glory Days > Michael Jackson's Revival > Michael Jackson's Plastic Surgery > Michael Jackson Spoof in Scary Movie 3 > Scary Movie 3's Michael Jackson + The Others Spoof > The Others) and how it only deserved to be mocked, and nothing more.

And yet AOL thinks we haven't lived our lives if we haven't seen it.

Can I take that person's job, please? I promise I won't force you to see movies that will end up killing you, rather than fulfilling some greater purpose in life.

GraphJam = Awesome

I'm so tired I have nothing even remotely witty to say, so here are some graphs fromGraphJam:

In Vino Mood Swing

Note to self: When feeling a mood swing coming on, do not continue imbibing wine, it only leads to very bad things. Very bad things. No matter how good of an idea it seems at the time, or how good it tastes going down the hatch, it is a recipe for emotional disaster.

Hasn't it been almost a year since I went off th Lupron? Good lord. 

Let the Countdown Begin

So in 17 days I will officially be in my mid-twenties. Gone are the days of college, the sleeping till 2pm, the drinking at 2:30pm; gone are the days of my early twenties, being broke and nomadic, moving from city-to-city; now all I have to look forward to are the new gray hairs I spot every now and then. Thanks grandma, for passing on your "gray at 30" genes!

Tomorrow begins my "attempt to diet and look good" extravaganza, which will have to begin with losing the 10 or so pounds I put on over the course of today. Handful of Cadbury Cream Eggs? Check. Pepperoni pizza for lunch? Check. Pizza for dinner? Check. Half a freaking loaf of bread before the pizza? Check. Four drinks at dinner? Check. I think my waistline's expanding as I type that out.

I'd like to pretend that I'll have an apple for breakfast, nibble at a salad for lunch, and eat a small portion of protein and veggies for dinner, but then I have those Cadbury eggs in my desk drawer, and someone will suggest Panera sandwiches for lunch, and then my mom will cook me a massive dinner and ply me with wine, and by the time I turn 24 I'll be 400 pounds and I'll need to be rolled around on a forklift. Ah, ambition. 

Oh, and if you were wondering: Endo Diet? Total failure. Back to bread and caffeine for me!

xkcd (gesundheit?)

So my friend Erin linked me to this blog called xkcd, which is described as a "webcomic of romance, sarcasm, math, and language." Obviously I know nothing about math (or physics, or computer programming, which are frequent offenders there) but holy shit, the rest of it is magical. And I suppose, if you're intelligent enough to be able to understand more than basic addition and (some) subtraction (i.e. you're not me) then it really is magical.

Also? they have this:

And you know if the internet ever got wind of someone actually saying that, it'd probably blow up from all the excitement. 

See? Making Strides Already

"I have twatted" - Stephen Colbert

Oh, Stephen; you can twat me anytime you want. I can barely restrain myself from twittering every ten seconds, which is odd because I'll only update my Facebook status once a day, if that. I think it's because I hate the goddamn status updates on FB, because they're the least interesting thing on there. On Twitter? Obviously there's nothing else on there; no wonder it's so damn addicting.

I didn't want to follow celebs or anything, but then John Mayer went and posted something about "his penis falling asleep" and I just couldn't help myself. I also kind of want to follow Britney, but I don't think it's really her, and that would be very disappointing. I also want to see Britney in concert at Mohegan Sun - who's in??

And before I keel over from exhaustion: Anyone watch E! News at midnight? They're swearing and being really dirty, and it makes the show 1000000x more interesting. I kind of love it.

I'm Sorry for Sucking At Life. Also, for Sucking Face.

Okay. OKAY. I know, I know, I'm the worst updater in the history of Blogger. At any rate, I have somewhat of an excuse as I have mono, and I've pretty much been a zombie for two weeks now. At least if I bit you you'd only kind of die.

Anyway, one of my four thousand new years resolutions was to actually update daily again, and so today I take the pledge to do so. Also, I just remembered I had Twitter, so I think that if I can update the stupid Twitter (which, who am I kidding, of course I will - I update my Facebook status like every ten seconds) then I can update my damn blog. I know that no one's expecting anything overly-intelligent from me, so it's not like my updates will disappoint. 

And with that, I leave you with a picture of Jazz not understanding how to properly use her bed:

Whit's End

So after reading the so-called "gospel of endometriosis" everyone seems to agree that yes, indeed, a diet free of wheat and dairy is the way to go. Most people see dramatic changes in 2-3 weeks.

It's been 3 months, and I feel exactly the same as I did when my diet consisted mostly of wheat and things I wasn't apparently supposed to be eating. I've tried surgery, herbal supplements, vitamin regiments, medically-induced menopause, therapists, massage therapy, and just about every other fucking ridiculous means of relief there are, and nothing's worked. 

So... now what?

What's 12 backwards? 21! Vegas time!

Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh. My. God.

Tonight = Season Premiere of America's Next Top Model Season 12! Hard to believe that we've already seen 12 winners crash and burn; where has the time gone? It seems like just yesterday Adrianne Curry was still pretending like she wasn't a raving psychopath.

Tyra didn't disappoint, with her keen observation that 12 backwards is 21, and thus they should jet (er, bus?) off to Vegas. Yeah, Vegas! If only what happened in Vegas actually stayed in Vegas this time.

I won't be able to see the entire finale (hello, Lost at 9) and I already know the 13 Finalists, but let me just say that my entire life has just become real and meaningful, because I got to see Angelea declare she wasn't there to make friends because she was going to be a model - I'm sorry, is a model - complete with her 3" talon acrylics, hair so hairsprayed it looks like a helmet, and enough acne to frighten off the bravest of makeup artists.

And yes, Cynthia, Tyra certainly is extraterrestrial. I think that's the smartest thing anyone's ever said in the entire history of ANTM.

I love this show.