February 2010
I would livetweet The Grammys, but my self-loathing is nowhere near that intense.
January 2010
An ex-girlfriend is cyberstalking me. I would feel less threatened if her husband weren’t also cyberstalking me.
Peekaboo Radley
n. the moment when you make a show of looking away as someone types their password in front of you, a treaty between naked emperors that encodes their mutually assured disinterest in the tempting caches of cookies that underlie their online Eden.
Via dictionaryofobscuresorrows
We used to write dollar signs with two vertical lines. Trivial, you say? I have to update the symbols on my comically oversized moneybags.
I’m glad everyone enjoyed Misanthrope’s Day 2010. I truly am. But now I have 500 unsold commemorative tee shirts. Some help here, please.
Essential Oilspill
n. delight in pronouncing the names of your shampoo’s chemical ingredients—cocamidopropyl betaine, polyquaternium-10, methylchloroisothiazolilone—whose crisp syllables snap together like Legos, which momentarily reassures you that life is a cumulative stack of discrete accomplishments, not a shapeless continuum of extracts from abstracted tragedies like family, entropy, or papaya.
What more...
I’m going to take it to the next level. (By “it” I mean the-cereal-bowl-out-of-which-I-ate-dinner and by “next level” I mean the-sink.)
Scabulous
adj. proud of a scar on your body, an autograph signed to you by a world grateful for your continued willingness to play with her, even when you don’t feel like it.
Via dictionaryofobscuresorrows
My Sexy French Maid outfit once again failed to inspire the reaction I was anticipating. Faculty Senate is so lame.
I recognize the trainwreck my life has become. However the arrival of Amtrak investigators and the jaws of life are just superfluous.
It’s settled then: Starting with this month’s paycheck, I’m debiting all of my disposable income directly to Apple.
Considering my mailcarrier’s insistence on going to every single house on the block, I guess I truly should have put a ring on it.
The First Rule of Apathy Club is to
Purchasing this rumored Apple tablet computer will finally make all the pain go away. Right?
I wanted to make a good impression on my students for the first week of the semester. But man, these assless chaps sure are breezy.
So, what do you all think of that major sporting event whose outcome produced animated reactions from my neighbor’s apartment?
Americans are known for their individuality and self-reliance. That’s why I go it alone to Office Max. Stoically and misty-eyed.
In the wake of Angelina and Brad, what will happen to Trig?
I sense that my waiter dislikes me. But I find it gratuitous that he compiled a list of my qualities that he finds repugnant.
My fragile coalition between dorks and geeks teetered on the brink until the goth-led junta seized power. I’m now tweeting from nerd exile.
In junior high school I failed Human Sexuality class. And based on recent experiences, my failure follows me to this day.
I feel deeply connected to our sangha and richly rewarded by its members. Yet I question the wisdom of the new hot tub. Um, bodhi svaha?
The free coffee refills I provide out of the goodness of my heart. It’s on the llama rides that I gouge my patrons.
69 Love Songs, Illustrated
Via evanfleischer:
69 Love Songs, Illustrated
An illustrated journey through the heart-breaking, wildly creative, and brilliant album “69 Love Songs” by The Magnetic Fields.
After a jog, the friction-induced bleeding nipples don’t make me feel ruggedly athletic. That feeling vanishes with my tears and whimpering.
While hipsters flock to SXSW and @Bodhipaksa has instituted NXNE, personally I prefer hanging off Lincoln’s nose at NXNW.
