Far be it from me to use this blog to do something selfish, like, oh, I don’t know – bitch about stuff. But fuck it. That’s what I feel like doing right now. I figure if I just sit down and start typing every single little thing that means nothing, but seems to mean something, maybe none of it will mean anything. Which is as it should be…
My beard itches.
It’s Halloween soon and I still don’t have a costume put together. Is it asking too goddamn much of myself to just call Gibson’s and find out if they’ve got a V for Vendetta mask in stock? Apparently so.
My cat is pissing me off. No reason. He’s just running around doing nothing more than being a fucking cat, which is bad enough at the moment.
Someone bought the house next door – not Matt’s blog, but literally, the house next door. And they’re doing “improvements”. Starting early in the morning. Fuck them and their hammering.
Friends who pick fights through e-mail and only through e-mail. Got a problem with me? That’s what phones are for. Don’t play your passive-aggressive bullshit games through e-mail. It’s just childish (much like this entry). On second thought – keep up the e-mail games. That’s why Satan invented the “delete forever” button.
I am surrounded by seemingly endless piles of DVDs and CDs. Seemed like a good idea at the time. Now I just see stacks of expensive looking coasters. Who has time to watch and listen to all this shit?
My beard still itches.
There’s either too much drugs and alcohol or not enough. Never, ever has there been “just the right amount”.
Nip/Tuck just fucking annoyed me last night. Is it too much to ask for just one simple----goddamn cat just walked under my chair!!!!!!!!! Arghhhhh!!!!
Cigarette smoke is irritating my nose this afternoon.
Why do the weather forecasters keep talking about cold fronts when they never happen!?!? It hasn’t been cold at all, you fuckers. Stop lying. 60 degrees is not cold.
Does anybody even read my blog? If not, I can understand why and I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t read my blog either. For weeks now I’ve been wanting to write a simple review of “The Notorious Bettie Page”, but haven’t done it.
My screenplay needs more work. If I get another invite to participate in some kind of filmmaking event that involves dozens of other collaborators I will scream. I am a control freak. You do not want to work with me – trust me on this.
I’ve not spent nearly enough time this month watching horror movies. It’s the one month of the year to really get into that sort of thing, and I keep failing at it.
The workers at the house next door are driving me nuts.
Cat just went under my feet again and almost knocked over some DVDs. I yelled “Goddamnit!” at him. More sneezing. Beard itching. Now my shoulders itch for some reason.
I am not as good-looking as I used to be, but at least my coffee tastes good. Get that cat outta here!!!! Somebody feed him a Tribble.
Will I ever watch all three Lord of the Rings movies again? I need a cigarette. The cat has been moved to his “area”. Temporary peace.
But my beard still itches and people pretty much get under my skin.
I’ve got a good shot at going to a very exclusive movie-watching event in December, but can’t work up the guts to say “aye” or “nay”. Make a fucking decision, Ross. Just make a fucking decision – for once in your life.
People are dying and so am I. Or am I? What’s the opposite of dying? Living? Am I living? I must be. The workers next door saw to that when they woke me up a few hours ago. I should work out but I’m too lazy.
Desperate Housewives is better this season thanks to Kyle MacLachlan. This fact depresses me in and of itself, but the house is still a mess. The cat just meowed. He wants back in. Yeah right.
Game shows with stupid people winning millions piss me off. I’ll never be on a game show. This must be a good thing, right?
It would be so cool to just disappear into one of the Magritte paintings I’ve got hanging above my computer, but that kind of stuff only happens in Terry Gilliam movies, which must be why I watch them.
There’s nothing left to bitch about – and all the stuff I just bitched about wasn’t worth bitching about anyway. I do not feel better, in fact I feel worse. The next time someone tells you you just need to “get it out”, show them this entry. Show them that getting it out doesn’t do a damn bit of good.
I guess I’ll call Gibson’s and find out about that mask. I guess I’ll go take a shower so my beard stops itching. I'd like to go pee in front of the workers next door and make a spectacle of myself. I guess I’ll post this entry so readers can realize they are not alone and that the world is annoying to others as well.
Fuck. Jeanne just let the cat back in.