In today's edition of "Stupid Things I Do" ... plus, my life.

So, I managed to... sideswipe my passenger-side mirror off. Against a concrete pillar. While backing out of my parking spot on my way to work today. Driving was weird -- apparently the passenger-side mirror isn't legally required, but being without it was a little like missing a limb. No, not a limb, exactly, but maybe like missing a finger or something. So I took surface streets and was late to work, but at least I didn't shift lanes into another car on the 405 and die or anything. I'm gonna get duct tape or something at the student store before I leave campus, and reattach it.

I figure the reason y'all put up with the amount I complain is that I tell you about the idiotic things I do and let you laugh?

Ummm, other things of maybe-relevance...
( And somehow this became an EPIC RAMBLE. Oops. )

Hey, why is it that when girls tell you they're drunk, they always sound... troubled, or apologetic, or distressed -- like it's a big problem that they're drunk? Not all women do this, I mean, but it's something I've noticed as exclusive to females -- I've never heard a guy whine, "I'm a little bit drunnnnnk," like it's a problem he wants you to fix. Guys usually sound more casual about it, or happy. What really amuses me are the people who tell you they're drunk like they're confiding some big secret. If you're drunk enough to be telling people you drunk and thinking that everyone can't tell, it's pretty damn obvious you're drunk. It makes me laugh.

And finally, squeaking in just minutes before the library closes, is the song I have had stuck in my head all damn day:

Violent Femmes
Blister in the Sun

When I'm a walking, I strut my stuff, then I'm so strung out
I'm high as a kite, I just might, stop to check you out

Let me go on, like a blister in the sun
Let me go on, big hands I know you're the one

Body and beats, I stain my sheets, I don't even know why
My girl friend, she's at the end, she is starting to cry

Let me go on, like a blister in the sun
Let me go on, big hands I know you're the one

Whisper:
When I'm a walking, I strut my stuff, then I'm so strung out
I'm high as a kite, I just might, stop to check you out
When I'm a walking, I strut my stuff, then I'm so strung out
I'm high as a kite, I just might, stop to check you out
Body and beats, I stain my sheets, I don't even know why
My girl friend, she's at the end, she is starting to cry
When I'm a walking, I strut my stuff, then I'm so strung out
I'm high as a kite, I just might, stop to check you out

Loud:
Let me go on, like a blister in the sun
Let me go on, big hands I know you're the one

HA HA NOW IT'S IN YOUR HEAD TOO

Open Letters

Dear Dirt Devil,

You suck. Or, more accurately, you don't suck, which is precisely the problem.

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Dear Self,

Do not invent hypothetical situations that have a real chance of coming true. That's just asking for trouble. Like with the "broken plant pot" remark.

p.s. Don't worry, there was nothing alive in the plant pot that fell.

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Dear Flatmate,

I don't know if you've looked in the fridge or the cupboards lately, but you probably have about twice as much food as I do. Stop asking me if I have things that you can eat/cook. Also, stop asking me if we have things before you look for them yourself. I am not your keeper.

More on Violent Femmes

Let me go on, big hands I know you're the one <----- I hear this line, I look at my hands on the steering wheel and the gearshift, and I have such a "this song is about MEEEEEEEEEEE" moment, haha.

Except apparently not, whoops.

You know, somewhere out there is a nerd whose dream girl is me, and someday I'm going to meet that person.

Until then, as Dan Savage keeps telling me on his podcast, All your relationships will fail, until one doesn't.