Big Pimping

Despite the fact that I still hate you, Blogger, I can't stop posting to you today.

I had to take a minute and pimp out my ex, because really. You should be reading his blog.

Ok, yes. He's offensive. And gross. And has a tendency to make people really angry. On purpose. But. He's also so fucking smart that I can't stand it sometimes.

Take, for example, his most recent entry.

Or this one, which, damn, I just love.


80's writing is the writing that sometimes I wish I could do. He has such a fucked up unique imagination (Bernie, the half cyborg cat? Fur Elise? Really?) that you could swear the man is on meth or something, but at the same time it's very relevant, cutting, and has this witty brevity to it that I admire so much. You're awesome, Mike. I'm really glad that you're writing again.

Also? Wost Boyfriend Ever. Heh.

Shrove me, baby

Ah, Fat Tuesday. Here's what I've consumed to help you live up to your name:

• An Entenmann's donut
  
  
• Three Entenmann's Popems
  
  
• One Girl Scout Cookie, of the Peanutbutter Pattie/Tagalong variety
  
  
• One lage Chocolate Chocolate Chip Cookie
  
  
• One more Popem

What? Ok, you know what? Shut up. Starting tomorrow, I'm not going to have sweets of any kind for 40 days. AND! As appart of the "EightK Is A Heifer And We Need To Be Able To Wear Something Besides A Moo-moo" plan, I am going to be walking with Tamika and Miss J everyday, who by the way, are also joining me on the 40 day sweets embargo. I will also be paying close attention to how much snacky food I eat too. So I am not feeling at all guilty for gluttoning myself.

Ok, well, maybe a little.

And the knowledge that 6 thick, super delcious, sugary, fatty, handmade fastnachts are being frozen for me back in Lebanon for my consumption after Easter...well, it's not helping me.

Good luck, rape and incest victims!

It starts.

Yeah, I'm a few days late on this, but damn. I don't even know what else to say, except to give the link to NARAL.

I want a patch of blue sky to follow me

Oy, vey. So I've offically lost everything, and this makes me very sad. Some of the more treasured entires that have been lost include:

• The one where I found out the Chris was wounded
  
  
• The one where I found out about Wee Wee
  
  
• The one where I wrote about the Dakes family reunion
  
  
• Any entry in which I was chasing after Boy and my follies therein, because I am a dork and funny without trying
  
  
• Any entry in which I wrote about my boobs (and there were several), because I got more comments on those than any other
  
  
• My 101 in 1001 list, which was really stupid of me to only have it stored in one spot -- now I can't remember any of it and I think I am going to have to start all over again, damnit.
  
  
• Rummy Night adventures
  
  
• My "Open Letter" series
  
  
• My Februarium entries
  
  
• The death notices of Red Menace and my fish
  
  
• The birth announcements of Albus and replacement fish

This so blows. I've also lost just random boring entries that probably weren't that entertaining for you, the readers, but really chronicled some great memories and times for me. That's why you should stick with pen and paper, I can hear Kelly saying. Yeah, I know, and I do, but my hand written journal is much more terse -- I write a couple sentences to jog my memory and maybe tape a concert ticket next to it, the end. I type much faster than I hand write and I feel free to be more longwinded and stylish on the interweb. After all who is reading my personal journal, but me? I have a faceless audience here.

Adding to my list of things I don't like about Blogger, I can't seem to find a way to check my stats. I know this seems like an ego stroking type of thing, but it helped me realize who was coming to read me. I could see who had wandered over from Myspace and who had linked to me, or that someone had searched for "Skillet Queso Dip" on Google and found me. Also, that I had an odd number of visitors from the countries of Singapore and Australia. Anyone know how to do this on Blogger? Is this something I can do?

And let's talk about the commenting here for a second. Namely that I don't like it because it doesn't seem as user friendly as Haloscan. What do you all think? Prove me wrong by commenting a lot.

All right, enough mourning of Diary-X, and time to begin actual blogging.

ETA: Also, I can't figure out the time stamping here. Like, they can't just say "Eastern Standard Time" instead of offering me a frillion different time options? I'm currently set for "America, New York" because that seemed the closest to where I actually am, and it's still 45 minutes behind. WTF? Did I miss a time zone lesson in school or something?

Ah, shit.

Motherfucker. Like it or not, looks like I am here for the long haul.

You win, Blogger. You win.

Wherein I talk about figure skating because I have no life

Last night I had a lot of crap work to get done -- I needed to do laundry, straighten up my room, revise Kate's business cards, do a little more Ireland research, cut photos out for my mentee, etc. I spent the majority of the night holled up in my room and as some background noise, I decided to turn on the Olympics.

I haven't watched the Olympics at all this time around because -- and I don't mean to sound callus -- I just don't care. Winter Olympics kind of suck, and the only thing I even am remotely interested in is the figure skating, which I guess makes me a typical double X chromosone toting human. Worst of all is the way NBC has chosen to broadcast the Olympics these last couple of times. Remember when you could tune into the Olympics and watch a block of skiing and then a block of hockey followed by a block of speed skating? No more. Now everything is sort of smooshed together and NBC is catering to the ADD crowd. Because I see two figure skaters perform followed by 15 minutes of curling or some such shit, and then 2 of those dudes who do the big ski jump and then we're back to figure skating. God, pick one and stick with it.

Anyway, just after I had turned the Olympics on, I decided to go online and check out flight costs again, and in opening the browser window to my Yahoo! Page, I saw the newsheadline "Sasha Cohen takes Silver." Like, THANKS Yahoo!, you just ruined it for me.

So, whatever. I'm doing my stuff and keeping an eye on the skating when Sasha Cohen comes on. Now let me say that I really love Sasha Cohen ad think she's a fantastic skater and all that. So when she fell I was bummed but not surprised and since I knew she was going to take silver, I wasn't too concerned. And I thought after her two falls, she still performed well, and poor girl has a possible groin injury and it was her first Olympics so she didn't do too shabby, right?

But the commentary, people, the COMMENTARY. Whoever that chica is who was with Scott and Dick? Girl needs to be put down. Because as Sasha is skating off the ice after her performance and they're going on about how despite her falls she had a solid strong ending blah blah blah and then Chica says the following, with absolute gravity and sincerity, "You know, the difference is that other girls may skate to Romeo and Juliet, but Sasha is Juliet."

And I said, out loud, to nobody, "OH YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!"

Shut up, Chica.

Blech -- Self pity

I miss boys. I miss kissing.

No wait, strike that. I miss decent boys. I miss kissing decent boys.

Why is it that I will never find one?

Dis and Dat

In fun, unordered list form:

• Oh my. Last night's Project Runway reunion show was delicious. Lupe had obviously snorted crack prior to the show and Tim's bitchy no-nonsense response to her when she couldn't even answer a yes or no question without being a total fucktard was beautiful. I also quite enjoyed the Andre montages and Timpressions (Tim really is my Lord and Savior, I think). But best of all: Project Runway -- The Musical. I have never laughed so hard in my life. I only wish it had more numbers. I'm getting geared up for the finale, but then I realized that I won't be around for the first part next week since I'll be stuck in rehearsal. Damn.
  
  
• Despite my missing Project Runway, I really am sort of looking forward to doing the show over at Colonial Playhouse. I am not looking forward to the drive to Aldin or being in a freezing cold light booth for 4 hours a night all next week, but I am looking forward to seeing the people, for sure. I have to break it to Marta and Dick that this will be my last show with Colonial, which I am not looking forward to, but it's just too far to go for me.
  
  
• So after Prince Fucking Charming exited stage left, my WHITE HOT RAGE simmered down into a cynical look at love and deep sadness about how undesireable I am. This is a silly thing because, really, even before I found out that Prince Fucking Charming was using me to cheat on his girlfriend, I wasn't all that wild about him. I had known from the very start that something was off about him and that he wasn't right for me. So why all the saddness, especailly when he got what was coming to him in the end and, as everyone tells me, I did the right thing and alerted his girlfriend to the situation? Because it's just my luck. I've never been the pretty girl. I never will be. I will never "get the guy." What's also not helping is that Kelly, who deep down I am geuninely happy for, has met this incredible dude and she's over the moon about him. I can't help but be really envious. And I hate being jealous, because jealousy is a stupid, pointless emotion. Somehow, being single was eaiser to take when Kelly was by my side wanting to down pints of Ben and Jerry's with me.
  
  
• All that being said, in order to make myself feel a little better, I dressed up in a smokin' hot outfit today: Tight black sweater that accentuates my assets, sleek black skirt with slits up both legs, and the sex kitten shoes that I bought myself on Valentine's Day that make my legs look bitching. Dudes, line up to my left for makeuots!
  
  
• Ireland -- oh how I want to go to you. Why I decided to tell my parent's about this opportunity right away I don't know, because they were the biggest rainers on the parade ever. But you know? I am sick of being a responsible adult. Being a grownup can be so dull. I'm going, if I can swing it.
  
  
• Renee describes Rang De Basanti really well.
  
  
• I finally got my iBook. I named him Stanley.
  
  
• Because I am mental and seriously my culture is going down the tubes, I downloaded Cascada's "Everytime We Touch" from iTunes yesterday. I cannot get this song out of my head and it is slowly destroying me. Never heard of the song? Allow me to describe it for you. It's every 1994 dance song that was played at your 6th grade mixer rolled into one very poppy unforgivably catchy song. I hate it. And yet I just payed 99 cents for it. And then I had severe buyers remorse. But it hasn't stopped me from listening to on repeat while I try to layout charts. I was feeling shallow from my purchase, so to make up for it I downloaded KT Tunstall's "Black Horse and the Cherry Tree" (very fun Scottish Girl Rock) and David Sedaris Live at Carnegie Hall (The Cartoonist was wondering what I was laughing at as I formatted Excel spreadsheets, I'm sure).
  
  
  
• I really wish I had a Martin in my life.
  
  
• I really miss Diary-X, you guys. A lot.
  
  

Oh my buttons!

I just got the following e-mail from Kate:

Wanna go to Ireland for a week, the first week of April? After the Prim talk at St. John's cathedral. I am sooo serious. Patrick is going to be there and invited me to meet him. You have always wanted to go and this is a good opportunity. It would only be for a week and we could most likely get a good deal. What do you think? You could drink real beer and meet a hot Irish man.

I just did a quick search on expedia.com and US Airways (Thanks, red-head!) and it seem like I might be able to get a roundtip flight for around $400.

This is a very exciting possibiliy! I'll keep you posted on more details as they come in.

P.S. -- Can't you just see me bashing around Dublin? I know I can.

Because I'm sure you're all fascinated

Right now my ovaries feel like they are about to cut their way out of my body and march down to South Philly for a gang fight.

For real.

Say my name, bitch

OK, now I'm convinced that you really are just trying to fuck with me, Blogger, because miraculously stuff is showing the way it's supposed to.

Or maybe I scared you by the way I was yelling. That's right Blogger, I'm the boss of you, and don't you forget it.

Boo-ya.

HATE

Ok, officially now? I fucking hate you, Blogger. I just tried for the fourth fucking time to change my template, and for the fourth fucking time you've not changed it, despite telling me that the changes had been saved. In short, you're a damn liar, Blogger.

Also, I'm not stupid. I know how to check a box next to the template I want and click the button that says "save changes." What's even more damning to you, Blogger, is that you'll tease me by showing me a lovely preview and then when I think that the change has worked, you'll then change back on me.

YOU'RE A LYING LITTLE BITCH, BLOGGER AND I HATE YOU BECAUSE YOU MADE ME ALL SHOUTY.

Suck it, Blogger.

And another thing...

What's up with me publishing my posts and then you telling me that it was all successfully uploaded 100%, but when I try to preview my blog there's nothing there? And then 10 freakin minutes later it finally appears?

No, really. That's goddamn obnoxious. I come from the instant gratification generation and my last post was all of 3 paragraphs long. There's no reason for something that short to take TEN MINUTES to upload.

God, get it together.

And I don't think I like this pink crap. I think I need a different template. What do you think?

Open Letter

Dear Blogger,

Hey. I think I am going to be posting on here from now on. I don't know, I haven't fully decided yet.

I can't figure out if I like you. I don't think I do. Thanks to Brian, I've gotten a grasp on how you work with my Mac, and that's OK. But...you feel weird. You don't feel like home to me.

Part of the problem is that I can't have the domain that I want. Both "8k" and "eightk" are already taken so I had to do this retarded hybrid that I don't really like. And the two girls who already have my domain names? Well, "Eightk" only ever posted once and it was sometime in 2005. And "8k" stopped posting about 4 months ago. And to both of them, I say fuck you, I'm the REAL EightK/8K and I want my damn name.

And I don't like your templates. And no one knows I'm here or how to find me. And...and...

I WANT MY OLD BLOG BACK!

Poutily,

EightK

Hello?

Uh, testing one, two, three?