Makes me a better writer.
However, it totally robs me of common sense, the censor that tells me to shut up, and a handful of my inhibitions. Sort of like alcohol, except much more infective for me.
Someone (out of the three people who read this thing) may have noticed that in my last entry I said that I beat a friend of mine at a video game without him changing his handicap. I changed that to without him raising his handicap, because I beat him on one star to my five. The result of this typo was him reaching into my virtual reality chest to render my soul from my being and crush into a fine powder about ten times.
And then doing it again, except on Marvel V Capcom 2.
I can't lie, I'm ashamed of myself. I haven't seen my family and I can only assume that's because they heard of my disgrace and abandoned the house to distance themselves from me. We're like Phoebe from Friends. Saving face is very important in our culture. By culture, I mean house, and by saving face, I mean me attempting to hide from the ridicule that comes with such a colossal failure.
However, I wasn't immediately cast from the guy's house, so we ate some pizza and watched Role Models, which is the movie that made me realize I wanted to know Paul Rudd. I think mostly we watched a movie, actually I know, because there was no way for me to further embarrass myself and he felt me too weak a target to keep pulverizing with minimal resistance.
So, life has been marching on, marching on, marching on. Sarah's phone is from T-Mobile, so it broke. This has lead to us talking on Facebook (because who doesn't love that amazing updated chat option?) and with my lack of sleep, it's been an interesting conversation. I don't understand why it still effects me, to be honest, I pretty much live in a cloudy haze of delirium half the time because of lack of sleep. I demand my body adjust to these standards.
So, after dinner and a few hours hanging out with Dawn, my dollface from work, at Applebee's with the illustrious Becky, our favorite server, I got home and pretty much jumped online.
So far, Sarah and I have eluded to Charlie Sheen (my new life coach) via his cooking video ("Winning tastes so good!" "Go eat your tomato salad."); Nightmare on Elm Street ("How do I kill sleep?" "Refer to Freddie Kruger movies. Eat coffee, have sex, or just don't freaking fall asleep."); and the concept of whether or not I actually had judgment at some point in my life. That last one is still up in the air.
God, I should go to sleep before brutal honesty kicks in. I have to work tomorrow and I'm pretty sure I've already nailed my coffin shut there. No need to do it with overkill by adding being a total bitch to the scenario. I've already argued with my store manager once (or three times, but once this week). And one of my favorite coworkers quit today, so that sort of sucked. We played the ending song of The Incredible Hulk show, you know, the one that's slow and sad as he's hitchhiking down the highway? Yeah. Good fun.
So, Elizabeth Taylor died. I remember watching her in a version of Taming of the Shrew and she was just gorgeous. Those lashes, those eyes. Beautiful.
What else? Hmm. Well, President Obama ordered the bombing of Libya. I'm not going to lie, I have't looked too far into that yet. I'll look up an article or seven on the details to see what's going on. On that note though,Congress still not done confirming the federal budget.
Not much else to say, except if I don't go to sleep now, I'll hit my second wind and end up staying awake for several hours bored and contemplating things that are not quite what I should be focused on at three in the morning.