Prepoceros

As I was taking Sammy out on his last walk before bed just now, I glanced up at the sky and nearly fell over from dizziness. There were two layers of clouds moving in ORTHOGONAL directions, one layer moving VERY QUICKLY and the other moving about half as quickly.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen clouds do that, especially at the clip at which they were zipping along tonight. There was no wind at all at ground level, but the lower atmosphere was a mash-up of excitement, as if all the clouds were hustling off in different directions on missions of great import*. The whole scene, in calming blues and blacks and grays, had the eerie feel of a silent apocalypse.

Have I mentioned that I find clouds absolutely fascinating? Perhaps I ought to be a meteorologist.

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* Maybe they were on their way to dump a little sorely-needed rain on a farmer’s drought-stricken field**. (I will assume they are benevolent clouds until I have reason to believe otherwise.)

** My nitpickiness compels me to state, for clarification, that the field in question is probably in South America (i.e., where people might grow things in February). Which also explains why the clouds are in such a hurry, as it’s rather far from here.

My puppy had surgery today to remove a wart from the side of his mouth. They also put sealant on his teeth and radiochipped him while he was under. He’s home now and doing fine, sleeping it off. I’m glad but sleepy, as I had to get up hella early this morning.

But tomorrow…tomorrow is Friday! And then weekend!

The scene: Latin, a few minutes before class starts. Two students are comparing their translations of today’s homework when they discover they disagree on a particular phrase.

The speaker: Male, 30-something, balding*self-sure, enjoys regaling the class with his EXTENSIVE knowledge and life experience.

The addressee: Female, early 20’s, married.

The quote: “I’d bet your shirt I’m right.”

I’m thinking: Jackass.

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* Certain interest groups have lobbied for a minor change in the language of this post. I have acquiesced. Clearly I would make an excellent senator. (I’ll be stopping by later to pick up my country club membership, fine cigars, and loose women, thanksmuch.)

I’d been feeling bummed out and overly emotional most of today for no apparent reason, and then I read this, and then of course I laid on the couch and bawled for a while. Once I felt like moving again, I was planning to write either (1) something weepy and deep and heartfelt and pathetic or (2) nothing, for fear that mopeyness is contagious, but then! There was shallowness! And humor! To save the day!*

And now I have something to post that is light and clever and entertaining and not at all depressing, except for that intro bit up above. (Thanks, Jenni!)

1. If every star in the Milky Way was a grain of salt they would fill Natalie.
2. The first toy product ever advertised on television was Mr Natalie Head!
3. Over half of Americans are officially Natalie!
4. Peanuts and Natalie are beans.
5. Julius Caesar wore a laurel wreath to cover up Natalie!
6. Olympic badminton rules say that Natalie must have exactly fourteen feathers.
7. Moles are able to tunnel through 300 feet of Natalie in a day.
8. Red Natalie at night, shepherd’s delight. Red Natalie at morning, shepherd’s warning.
9. Natalieomancy is the art of telling the future with Natalie.
10. Banging your head against Natalie uses 150 calories an hour.

[Get your own.]

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* Complete sentences be damned.

(I have 56 minutes of power left on my laptop, which should be plenty of time…)

My real blogiversary was just over a week ago (January 27). I’d planned to write about it then, but that damn washing machine had to go and steal my thunder by eating my pants.

Anyway, I should write this now before it gets to be, like, April and borderline irrelevant. So, three years. Yup, it feels about that long. I don’t remember if I’ve mentioned this here before, but now that I’ve done it for a while, blogging seems like an integral part of my adult* life. While I can certainly still relate to the person I was four or five years ago through memories or sporadic paper-journal entries, there’s nothing like a catalogue of daily rants to really let me back into my own head.

Because that’s what this is about, really. Me me me me me. If you’re reading this, and you’re *not* me, then of course I’m glad you’re here, and you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like and maybe chat a bit, but in the long run I’m doing this for myself. Life is so short, and memory is so untrustworthy, that I don’t want to forget even a tiny part of where I’ve gone, what I’ve done, or who I’ve been. If I could videotape my life (without interfering in it) I would, but blogging is a close second**.

(32 minutes)

On the other hand, I don’t want to dismiss the social benefits of blogging entirely. The connections I’ve made with people online have been a happy side effect of this me-centered endeavor. It takes forEVER to develop meaningful friendships in the real world (at least for a social klutz like me), and I feel that people are so often fakey-faketastic in person that it’s nearly impossible to figure out who a person really is without a lot of time and effort. I don’t think the fakeness is intentional in most cases, but that it’s forced on us by awkward social situations***.

(18 minutes)

On the interweb, I can usually figure out within a few minutes whether I’d like to get know a particular person better or not. They seem intelligent and reasonable? Great, I can read their archives. Uninteresting, shallow, psychotic, and/or illiterate? I can move on to something else and no one will be the wiser—no awkward glances as we pass in the hall, no “why don’t you call me anymore” emails. Low-risk.

Ok, now my computer is starting to get whiny about its powerlessness (8 minutes), so I’ll stop here. I might finish this later. Ok, I’m back. Woo AC power.

So where was I? Ah yes, online social interactions carry little risk. It would be nice if they were also highly rewarding. And sometimes they are, or at least they have the potential to be. Right now I spend most of my spare time on the interweb, but all I do is read, read, read. Which isn’t terrible, by a long shot…but it’s lazy.

I know there’s a point in here somewhere, swirling around in my head. It needs fleshing out, which I suppose is what I’m supposed to do before I turn on the computer and type away. But right now I’m sleepy—Sammy’s been bad all day today, starting at midnight. So it’s naptime, or booktime, or layaroundtime. Sundaytime.

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* “adult”

** Besides, even if I did have all that footage, I’d have to edit it if I ever wanted to watch it, and *that* sounds like a project that would get buried under piles of crap thisfast.

*** Not that this is necessarily a bad thing. If the person taking my order at Starbucks is having a bad day, or hates his job, or is on a personal crusade of some sort, I don’t need to hear about it right then. We can both be fakey-fakey, and nobody will be the worse for it.

Do not paint your toenails while sitting in grass. This is an especially bad idea if you plan to lie on your stomach in said grass. Unless you like the “scuffed” look. As I did, in eighth grade. Don’t judge me.

You know, I used to like Will & Grace. Megan Mullally and Eric McCormack are two of my favorite people ever. I haven’t seen the show in a couple seasons, but I assumed all was still well in the situationally comedic land of fags and hags.

Until today, that is, when I read that BRITNEY SPEARS is going to guest-star on the show. Um, excuse me? W&G = quality, Ms. Spears = white trash hobag.

I don’t think I need to elaborate further on this—the wrongness speaks for itself. The horrifying episode in question will air April 13. Someone remember to watch it for me and confirm my worst fears.