Things to never click

You know, tbh, I wonder what the "one weird old tip" is that will "reduce belly fat." This stupid malware-gateway sidebar I've seen for like the last ten years, goddamn.

No dorm, no roommates -- my own place.

So I'm talking on the phone with my younger sister (which we both have to schedule, because I HATE THE PHONE and it's really hard to make myself call someone), and she's telling me about the new place she lives, which is sort of a dorm-like building for grown-ups, subsidized by her job teaching a foreign language at a small private high school -- it's a great setup for her because although there are no private bathrooms or kitchens (all facilities are shared), she's single and doesn't need much space, plus it's waaaaaay below market rent in NYC, and an easy commute to her job, and her BFF lives in the same complex.

And then she tells me that one thing she loves about it is that "you never get lonely -- there are always people around, you can always find someone to hang out with any time of day or night."

The hem on my brain fell out, y'all. "There are always people around" is one of the pillars of the room in hell in which I will end up spending eternity. It's why I hated dorm life by the end (as exciting as I found it in the beginning), and why if I were a single person, there is almost literally nothing I wouldn't do to have MY. OWN. PLACE. all to myself. I believe Mr. Gleemonex feels the same way, which is one of the many reasons we are sofa king awesome together.

But like I remember that my sister used to dread summers and look forward to going back to school in the fall -- she wanted her friends around her! Every day! On the regular! Me, I was so glad to be alone (in between shrieking excursions to the mall or the movies or swimming with mine). I love my extended family, I love my friends -- I just ... I can't have them in my LIVING SPACE, you dig?

I'm only happy when it rains

New Year's Potpourri

Girl in a Band, by Kim Gordon
This book, an xmas gift from the marvelous Mr. Gleemonex, is making me feel a whole bunch of feelings -- mostly in a good way, but not always. Nostalgia for old New York mixes with annoyance at all the talk about art shit (I have less tolerance for art talk than I do for podcasts, which if you'll recall, is really saying something), and I'm kind of skimming the deep dives into Sonic Youth's songs (I was never really a fan of theirs, musically -- I just kind of admired their whole deal in general, and the person Kim Gordon in specific). But then Kim will hit me with something like this, and it's devastating:

Writing about New York is hard. Not because memories intersect and overlap, because of course they do. Not because incidents and times mix with others, because that happens too. Not because I didn't fall in love with New York, because even though I was lonely and poor, no place had ever made me feel more at home. It is because knowing what I know now, it's hard to write about a love story with a broken heart. 

Fur Elise
So we were watching the excellent, troubling, tense and strange show The Man in the High Castle, and Fur Elise was playing in the background of this one scene, and I could. not. stop myself. from singing the lyrics, to Mr. Gleemonex's mild annoyance. It has lyrics, and you know them: "Oh I wish I were already there / instead of here / playing this song / oh I would have a big chocolate shake / a cheeseburger / and also  -- whoops -- and also fries / and I would eat / my fries myself / and not give any / to my dumb brother / hands off, they're mine all mine" (etc.). Come on now.

Rain
My SHATNER, how wonderful this rain is! Four blaring sun-baked years entirely without it, and it's all we Californians can talk about -- my brain is a jumble of rain lyrics, which sometimes get released out loud (e.g. I'm bopping across the blacktop to pick up the kid, muttering "and this rain it will continue / through the morning as I'm listening / to the bells of the cathedral ... I am thinking of your voice") and I'm pissed whenever the sun manages to break through -- FUCK OFF, SUN! GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE, YOU BIG SHINY ASSHOLE!