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I was watching the finale of the a propos, educational Cougar Town's breakout season last night. Oenophilist Alcoholophilist Forever 21s spending a day at the beach with cervezas (gross), snapshots, and sympathetic subterfuge, it was done to break it as "lovingly" to the sole singlet of the group that his ex-wife and one of his best friends are dating. Happy ending night on the beach fire and toast ensued.

Fast-forward to when I had the theme song to Friends resounding through each wall/gyrus/sulcus/ventricle/&c., for about 20 minutes. Coupled with that to which I bore witness last night, I thought about how this tight friendship concept doesn't seem to apply to me. I can't really that I've been denatured by nurture; perhaps it's that human gene for which occurred a knockout or missense mutation in regards to least/moreso when it comes to friendships not buffered with the secure borders of a few devices and a maelstrom of 0s and 1s.

It brings to mind the yesteryears ago when I was a less vibrant and none-the-less-agèd girl of eyne of blue and weight of 102 (I wish...) 102 Googols -- a girl who, just as solitary as she still boasts to this day, had set her hopes and eyne upon the social life she envisioned, modeled after the "tetrafecta" of the cast of Will & Grace. (As evidence, such musings may even be found if you, oh Hypothetical Reader, were to browse/stalk my journal's annals.) x years later, with visions past dashed and bestrewn against the ground of my life more than glass shards over the floor at a Jewish wedding, I sit here and think about how mine own project for myself was basically no less a self-sabotaging sham/false advertising than the whole "It Gets Better" project against which I've cried "foul"/"fake"/"scheme"/"virus"/"demagoguery"/"false prophesying"/&c.
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Doing the Vertigo-sashay down the runway, I'm going to bar entry to this supposed New Year as much as I possibly can. It's time for me to be the Boehner in this "fiscal cliff of time progression" battle -- even though Time has slightly more pull than our president does.

I will most certainly not allow for the passage of 2012 without having posted this pre-written entry from nearly two months ago on the day of the election:

Early to bed, early to rise, makes a girl healthy, wealthy, and wise. This is exactly why I am wealthy in nothing but valetudinary fears. Apparently I made a wise decision today, though, so one out of three isn't terrible in the way that it isn't zero out of three.

My day of wisdom started this morning when I took to my feet and strenuous exercise of walking two minutes to the polling station -- at an hour that's only conducive to me having to register a formal query to myself as to whether I was even myself at the moment. (Apparently I was.) Under the assumption that there was ubiquitous Election Day congestion at the polling stations, I decided to check out for the day before the asscrack of dawn so that I could check back in at the asscrack of dawn and suffer my body with such usurious exercise as to quasi-kill me on my way to the ultimate exercise -- the Nirvana exercise, even: that of my right to vote.

So upon arriving after that two-minute walk that was a single ATP away from bringing about my collapse in the middle of the parking lot and bringing this region of the nation to its first seismic registry, I was pleasantly surprised to have seen what looked like an empty church. Had it not been for the White Sheet Road of signs to the land of Ballot Oz (and for the last-minute wholly-superfluous Obama-Biden pushers handing out superfluous Obama-Biden [plus some local politician] postcards), I would have thought that my relatively early rising before the eighth hour had been in vain. There was no congestion whatsoever; there was a two-to-three-minute wait, a registration confirmation of less than a minute, and the write-in process which took very little time, as I was really only there to vote for the next president and vice-president.

Thankfully I had gone in there determined to vote for a specific candidate. There were many who were still undecided until the last minute -- caught in the impossible gridlock of whom to give support in the polls. Before the previous month, I was also one of these, and could have voted the opposite of how I did today. However, after some transitive properties and value-shaping/malleating, I ended up voting for what seems to have been the wiser choice: the incumbent, Barack Obama. It only seemed right for my girl- and gurl (gays, that is, the ones about whom I even gaf, countable on two hands) compeers and, by the transitive property, for me.

The pot(s) of gold at the end of the tunnel were bittersweet: an underwhelming "I voted!" sticker, but some buttermilk cookies (obviously the rather sweet part). Ratiocinating away my indulgence in these dulcet delicacies with the excuse that I super-endurance exercised there for a whole two minutes, I savored that quite obviously homemade cookie that I took. Just kidding; there was no ratiocination, for I couldn't have been more insouciant about my having adiposal reserves in hidden silos of uncharted territory in the universe, where not even the Daleks have trekked/invaded/prolificated/ensconced themselves. Anyway, I then proceeded to Facebook to deceive the masses of zero people who read my vichyssoise-veering-verbose updates, into thinking that my vote was one for the R-money...and not two for the (second) show.

Clearly I made the right electoral choice. I mean, had I voted Red anyway, my vote would have sat in the benthopelagic depths along with the other Red votes that sank to the nadir of this very deep Blue sea-state. However, there seem to have been signs throughout today indicating that I had voted correctly. Rewards came in the very saccharine form of post-Halloween candy drastically marked down (I had finally found not one, but two -- and then later three and four -- bags of the mellowcreme pumpkins for which I had ransacked many a Target); in the form of gratuitous food at a multi-floor election results viewing on my alma mater's campus (the Fox/Republican viewing room was flooded with those who, like I, were there for the [delicious] gratuitous how Democratic/liberal); and in the form of that good feeling that overcame me when Barack was the projected winner on the screen in the CNN/Democratic viewing room. Unfortunately there were no parties (or people really) of which I knew, so I headed to the library, talked to my friend about what had just happened for about an hour, and am staying here the night with a few books.

These next four years should be interesting/scary/prosperous, should I live to see all four of them.

BREAKING!: I totally dove head-first over the fiscal cliff of time progression, as can be witnessed by the date and time of this post (when it was started) -- and noticing when this post is actually posting (about 30 hours later).
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Tomorrow I plan on waking up early to exercise this right that we as American citizens have for something called voting. I don't afford myself too many luxuries -- with the exception of pictures of pulchritudes on Tumblr, pantagruelistic toward my plight of #singlegirlproblemsdom (oh and the luxury of libation, though that is totally more of a necessity) -- but since it is a luxury common to the people of this nation, I suppose I shall take at least a minuscule share in it. I mean, it isn't transferrable to someone who transoceanically is lacking of the same right. Additionally, I need only walk about one minute east of my domicile to claim this luxury right.

I already know him for whom I am to cast my vote, but he did not by any sort of default have my vote (especially since I have outliered myself from the established parties). I do wish that I were able to say that tomorrow night would mark the beginning of the suturation of the rift that has as-close-to-literally-as-possible polarized this country. However, as has been iterated in the media, whoever wins the bid for the next presidential term will have an iatric role to master: sutures to apply in Congress and transstatally amongst those being represented; battling anemic morale/patriotism; installing/stimulating economic pacemakers; working with other international "leader-physicians" -- assholes (Chinese leadership) and more trustworthy (Germany) alike -- to provide the best care together for their products.

I think I'll stop there after that little Grey's Anatomy vignette of our world leaders. Regardless of whoever is the victor of the presidential bid, I will be of the first to flail/immolate/fling excrementiferous paper bags/occupy if/when there should ever be an asphyxiation of my personal Oprah supplies like that of free McDonald's fries from game pieces, 50% offs on my knitting insurance à la receiptpons, or my post-Halloween markdown on my month's worth of sugar supply. I'll seize in the middle of the streets, I will!

...wait, but I mean, I don't really afford myself too many luxuries. "I'm a hypoglycemic who knits everything she wears, who also happens to be hyponatremic." Yes, that's it.
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Somehow I managed to get to bed at four and rise at 12. The green dye makeup and hairspray both still have yet to be fully extracted. With the start of this month, there seems to have been a concomitant commencement of that time of year when I feel like emphysema or some terminating pleural/pulmonary illness. From experience of last year, Autumn itself seems to be the trigger of what seems to be, I shan't even say it. Perfect people are immune/incapable of allergies.

However, perfect people also probably don't accrue as much sleep time as I've accrued in the past few days, especially just days before such a big event as Election Day.

Election Day is actually a great segue into the Internet Appreciation Corner part of this post. As I have been faltering in making provisions for these in my posts, I come bearing gems three in number in tonight's post, the first of which is election-based:

I suppose that the second may also be remotely election-based, given a certain headline-making poll:

This third one is the most valuable -- the Tiffany &. Co., if you will -- of the three gems, which may be seen by clicking here. I am not even a watcher of volleyball rugby bobsledding golf (just kidding, not a sport) one of those sports (I think), but I still find this to be a gem.
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This was a day of existential malaise. With cargoes of time weighing in the hourly range being lost and unaccounted for, I am somewhat uncomfortable with SO much unaccounted for "product" of my life -- as I've come to develop a not-so-irrational paranoia about unaccounted-for facticity. I suppose that it is the price to pay for the forgone hangover, i.e. that lingering/adhesive facticity that one could only expect from such a scattered late-night.

Were not the broken SLR screen and the loss of my sweater jacket not a generous enough payment, though? Surely I don't even try to eschew/feign immunity to culpability -- for I'm surely responsible for even the existence of the possibility of these events -- but the sum of these accrued unfortunate events and the sum of the losses/damages, which synergistically formed the hurricane that toppled my emotional composure and crippled my invisible hopes for the future, seems to have been a rather exorbitant charge with interest. Who knew that this phenomenon called 'fun', which humans so glorify, would be so usurious?

At the end of the 'transaction' made in the name of trying out this aforementioned human phenomenon, I found myself in a McDonald's near campus around 7:30 a.m. to wait for the library to start its day. I was in my hat, coat, and jeans -- all stained green and not even remembering re-dressing myself with them. My Halloween makeup (minus the eyeliner-drawn lip color) was still on my face, but apparently I segment-slept/"napped" atop my small coffee for a total of two hours, so most of the patrons fortunately did not even have the displeasure of beholding the absotively posilutely hot nuclear-fusion-in-the-Sun's-core mess that I was looking.

After washing away 0.001% of my shame in the McDonald's restroom with the finest beauty care products of antibacterial hand soap and McDonald's napkins (obviously I still wasn't myself at this point if I used McDonald's napkins), I took a walk of existential shame disgust (shame is a part of the everyday existential experience) to the Office Depot two blocks south, having no regard for the wretched/downtrodden/at least half-reptilian I was emanating. I was even told by an employee to let him know if I should need anything, which means that I really must have been personifying Sorrow or something this morning. (There are more blue moons than times when an employee would brave the extra time/eroding dignity in proximity to me in order to let me know that they're there for me.)

Fast-forward past the two hours of zombie-sleeping with interstitial bursts of half-awakenness in the library, I macked no dudes up; was made tardy by some super-sized coupe failing multiple times to back up (but did a superb job of backing up traffic...into which it was backing); and mentally chucked the deuce or eight up at my life or lack thereof. By having completed only one of the three, I am therefore not Nicki Minaj. Q.E.D.

Now I just need to flush this green dye from my hair and body.
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To Party City, and beyond! A rainbow tutu I was determined to have for this festive day. As predicted, I never made it to Party City, but did procure what seemed to be too inadequate of an amount of green makeup. If Lucille Bluth was not happening, then one of my costume ideas was going to happen!

Happened it did...not until the twenty-first hour of the day, but it still happened. After slothing in the in the university library for no significant number of hours ov'rybeating/apodyopsizing/cursing/mentally fucking myself with/everything libertine under the sun-ning with this university student who was shirtless on the computer in the library. Of the paucity of attractive males of which my alma mater may boast, my lips could have met -- inter alia -- the tellurian be-littered grounds in gratitude for at least one of them baring for the apodyopsizing connoisseurs/trolls/troglodytes/gargoyles/the singlegirlproblems- and coituslessgirlproblems-riddled damsels (and gaymsels too, but damsels more importantly)/all of the above a.k.a. me -- all of whom are subsisting in a grim market of scarcity that not even the world's best, widely-acclaimed economists/economics majors would have been able to touch. The boy with the bod even let me take a picture of him in his full abdominal/toned/dorkswaggerly/centaurian/exhibitionistic beauty. (This moment of photographership was made possible thanks to this one girl who was actually not too timorous to ask if she could capture this rare find. I took his picture and, I mean, can you hear that boom badoom boom boom superbass that is the sound of my ovrybeats coming your way?

He couldn't hear the boom badoom boom boom superbass; he and what seemed to be his girlfriend were busy embracing, intimating, and caressing each other. Gross; he should have been doing such activities with me, damn it. When it wasn't her, then it was his other girlfriend: his paper. An incomplete form is getting more action than I. #singlegirlproblems

Reverting to my compensatory ways of olde, I took to the stacks for close encounters -- with books. I left a pile of them atop one of the desks embedded in the crannies of the stacks, should I return inebriated just in time ere the doors close. Since "local" Part city stores had no more rainbow tutus for my costume, I just traveled to Walgreens in the hopes that there at least would be green hairspray or some sort of green helmet to mask my hair. Fortune shown upon me, for there was also a fuschia-colored tutu there which, though "unisize" and designed for three-and-ups, actually fit me in spite of the seeds of doubt that had been planted!

Back to the library I went to use one of its restrooms as a Batcave of sorts. Though not without the befuddled/affrighted stare similar to that of one watching an apocalyptic unraveling before his/her eyne, there were quite a number of people who stopped and tore the antisocial walls/DMZ asunder to ask what my costume was and to proffer words of acclamation. This made me proud to be associated with this institution -- though I am a distanced and distancing alumnus though relations with a current could totally lasso me back "home" ;).

My destination, however, was not the library; it was a bar some ten miles north. Being one who takes public transportation, this converts to a three-ish-block walk to the bus stop; a five-minute wait for the bus; a transfer to the train; an eight-minute wait at an outdoor station in the middle of the expressway for the train to arrive (thank you, oh Good Lord, for the one day-early operation of the heat lamps); and the approximately five-minute walk to the bar itself -- all in 40-degree weather scantily clad in a tutu that was shorter than Nair's short shorts...and a thin tee (I had no jacket or jeans on because of the green makeup with which I had painted myself). I thought about how providential it would be if I were to escape pneumonia after tonight, and thankfully my friend actually answered her phone (no, my friend is not imaginary) and talking to her helped.

I was on my way to Homosburg. Yes, I am actually giving the gays a cent/peso of my fortune or lack thereof. Anyway, though I dreaded arriving at the stop (not that the inside of the train itself was cozy at all), I knew that at the end of the proverbial tunnel was an intoxicating fishbowl -- and hopefully a decent-sized pool of one-night-friend potentials with whom to pass the entire night (or at least until two). At least the former -- the more indispensable one -- was true and happened. It also, however, led to the erasure of no small portions of the night. With gaps wider than that between the 1% and the lowliest of the 99%, my memory has managed to retain walking up the street with a Hispanic their car; freezing my mammaries off; being struck in the head from behind by some ruffianly blacks; breaking the screen to my SLR; apparently resting in the lobby of a Hyatt Regency; waking up at the end of a bus route; and patronizing a McDonald's until the opening of the library.

What the Bahfuckinghumbug. I at least like how I look in my costume, though. Can I take on this form permanently?
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Apparently this Halloween Eve, Hurricane Sandy brushed the borders of my hamlet today. I don't know about the other three or four thousand inhabitants (nor do I particularly care), but I felt as if this was an eschatological graze. I'm afraid that I will be washed into a nonexistence that differs in no great way from the nonexistence in which I currently nonexist. However, given that Cassandra seems to have taken her meds, whose potency seems to have taken effect, the fears that I didn't even really have regarding a siphoning into meta-meta-nonexistence seem to have been allayed.

It is so interesting how this psychotic, trashy sorority chick from the subtropical/tropical chapter of ατλ would come and crash the electoral party here in sister υσα's sororipad. It is rather unjust that all in the easterly lands had to endure the wrath of this med-skipping psychopath...because of some of our forefronts of douchebaggery who have used and abused ατλ. Just so you know, Cassandra, we are not all dickholes with rapacious souls -- just a majority of us. Might you be passive-violently-aggressive with a sprinkle of Paranoid Personality Disorder? ~*Write me back if 'YOU'RE NEXT' isn't the reply.*~

So after the graze and the allayed existential false-malaise, I wandered a little beyond my hamlet and into a beauty supply store that made me consider lifting my bahfuckinghumbug embargo on Halloween -- made me consider rescinding my appeal to the Law of the Land to abolish the day altogether. However, finding the closest match to my desired wig came just a little or a lot too tardy to the fait accompli party (partie accomplie?) I have already moved on to searching ransacking the surface of the barrel of creativity for lesser costumes. (Don't worry; I haven't given myself to total abnegation and actually considered the Lady Gaga costume I posted a few days ago.)

On a tangential note, I have come upon a dilemma that is slightly less serious than the pendulous/filipendulous 225-ton crane dangling in the New Yorkian skies -- but more serious than who our next president shall be. If you tell someone you will be first-time-patronizing his /her establishment and s/he is basically disregarding you, should you take it as an omen that you are unwelcomed and should not even go? That you will be a prebranded heterochtone in an allochthonous jurisdiction? That I would be the drop of H2O in their moonshine? Help me, chimerical readers; all of you are this askhole's only hope.
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While it was considerably sunny in this part of the nation, some of my easterly friends and acquaintances were/have been emotionally tossed and turned by some curmudgeonly bitch by the name of Sandra. From my knowledge, all my friends and acquaintances (who cares about my acquaintances?) are faring just fine. Power has left their buildings, but they are still faring just fine, thanks be to God. Some even have taken to hurricane parties, which partially has me in inclement weather envy -- or geolocational envy, because I have no friends in this part of the world to invite me to a hurricane/&c. party. (See: Saturday's post.)

Meanwhile, on the sunny side of 'Murricastan (sorry, Central Asia), I made these:

This has become tradition around this exact time of the year. I borrowed the recipe from this site, and I made brownies instead of cookies. I also added butterscotch morsels in addition. This would have been much more enjoyable (and less sadly homely) had there been stormy weather as I made these. I mean, ugh though.

Here are some less important pictures before the finished product:

Also, I have decided that I, at some point, shall own my own hard copy of Catch-22. What juxtaposition of comedy and tragedy.
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Convalescing from a dispiriting Saturday -- which left me with an emotional pneumonia from being in the Arctic cold my afore-spurned friends blasted at me -- I went to the local, desolate mall in which a Bath & Body Works somehow still stands. A free candle that smells like Winter certainly helps -- especially since (a) Winter is at least nearer than it is to Winterfell, and (b) I have been daydreaming about owning and burning down dozens of candles during the upcoming Daylight Recession phase. I also helped a less-than-grateful woman save at most $13 with a coupon that I decided I was not to use -- which was only repaid with a bombardment of coupons to use during the upcoming holiday season. How rude to flagitate me to squander myself into penury and my wallet into a thinspirational figure, especially as I'm still cauterizing the the cold burn marks from a holiday backfire that happened just yesterday. I will certainly be rising up in a dissipative protest... Michael, where I also went to use my 40% off a single item receiptpon (coupon on a receipt #ecofriendship). Having swiped my LifeAMEX for a two-ish-hour charge, I contracted the Midwestern simplex virus and, following a cerebripetal deluge, seemed to go to infinity and beyond in the ideational department. Circular needles, calligraphy brushes, tutus, tulle, tulle, candles, candle (which I actually bought). Now I've been re-lured with a receiptpon for 50% off a single item. Be it astrally written that my wallet is to become a model of thinspiration? EVEN MODELS HAVE SOME WEIGHT; WHY DO YOU HAVE TO TRY TO TURN MY WALLET INTO JACK SKELLINGTON, STORES?? Well since it's Halloween that would justify consuming all the way down to zero this week. Halloween for my wallet!

Also, I ought to share these, since I'm quite ready for this to come along, even with the upset of yesterday:

I tried to take a picture of the moon behind the clouds, but I apparently failed at doing so. It was in the car but I stopped driving:

Also, for Almost-Everyday's Internet Appreciation Day, there are three screenshots of internet glory/inglory, the immediate picture being one of the best election-related responses I remember seeing thus far (far-reaching generalizations aside):

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Today I learned a valuable lesson from the headmaster of life. Actually, it would be more accurate to say that I relearned it in a remedial class I've failed for the 897683468th time: never look forward to something so much that it leads to non-alocoholic inebriation (i.e. drunk on excitement).

Over a month of anticipation of the Halloween season and Halloween Day itself, I have been issued an injunctive backhand against having any holiday spirit (issued by the city and my noxious lot of locally-situated Facebook friends list people). Halloween this year was apparently Halloweekend. The chabouk has struck; "FRIENDS" used INJUNCT; it's super-effective! Bah humbug. Bah. Fucking. Humbug.

Conducive to the infarctogenic, vertiginous, ebullient fury from bearing witness to these people participating was the fact that much of the lot needed not even belabor their minds over particulars such as venues or costume ideas; they just had to show up to one of the parties to which they had been invited, being able to assume that their friends would plan their Halloweens for them. Last-minute spiriting is obviously the way to go -- or having friends. As the sage words have too many times been tweeted: "Friend? Sorry, I don't have that Pokémon." Perhaps I'm eligible to go on friend welfare and collect stamps allowing me to subsist socially IRL on rent-a-friends. Or something of the sort.

There will not be any Internet Appreciation today, as I did not appreciate the internet at all today.
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Yesterday was what seemed to be the last vestige of what was once intempestive temperatures, but global warming has very much taught that temperature does what it wants; it fights for the eleutherian cause. Anyway, I translated this into an opportunity to keep running on hope reserves to go out and hope that I would be able to piece together my entire ensemble for the coming Wednesday.

Reserves of hope weren't depleted, but materialization of my costume is yet to take place with even a single accoutrement. Why? Well, I ended up not even going out shopping on the last foreseeable warm day of the year excepting Thanksgiving, given my fortune. I did bear witness to actual ribs in the ribbing which I had been doubting myself as to whether I was doing correctly (and based on the right side, which looks as if some knit-bomb had been dropped on the ribbing, I still have reason to doubt myself):

Today, however, is the day that my hope reserves suffered significant losses. Store-hopping for a specifically-coiffed wig, I left a little or a lot of hope in each store out of whose doors I was walking empty-handed. The silver lining of the empty-handedness, though, is that my wallet hasn't suffered catastrophic weight loss...especially since there hasn't been much weight to dissipate in the first place.

Without the wig, there shall be no costume, for my hair texture and shape drastically diverges from that of Lucille Bluth's. To try and take on her form with mine own wilting cranial garden would be no less blasphemous than a North Korean citizen anthropomorphizing the late "deity" Dear Leader himself...and I'm too old (internally) for any sort of gulag. So the only accomplishment that came from today was buying a pumpkin from Target...oh and the Ovaltine that it's taken me forever-and-3/2 to buy.

Oh, and since Target is Target, I of course suffered with bouts of consumptive lust (and surmounted, thanks to my penurious life status):

Also, my Summer life to-be just achieved 1.2% of completion, thanks to the availability of these (surely they are self-bartender-/alcoholic self-doctor-approved for the other three seasons as well):

I'm still pining over these just looking at the picture I took of them:

Read the caption for the above picture, and apply it to the following picture. I actually discovered these a few days prior in my visit to another Target:

Also, between you, lot of imaginary readers, and me, do not let Lucille know that I actually considered taking on her form using this (to serve as consolation, I didn't actually buy it):

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I may have wasted an hour when I lapsed into unconsciousness, but I did eventually end up ambling out to the other Target that is about equidistant from my domicile. I was set to have my costume ready for the holidays, and apparently one of my Facebook adds from a couple of yesteryears ago also willed it that he will also have his costume by the end of the day today. Had I friends in this geolocation (he is, by the way, in my geolocation), then I would have successfully used my gift from Burger King that was sent to entice me to their franchise/drive-thru window. There was a huge productiveness/success gap in our common goal, though: he procured a costume; I did not. (Thanks for not carrying two-piece suits, Target.)

Frustrations aside, this afternoon was a very pleasant one and has me in a bit of an emotional morass. I do love Fall and the rugged drop in temperatures that is packaged with it, but I also took a liking earlier today to this conflictive equation of leaves on ground + circa-80 degrees . I had a Kelly Clarkson concert yesterday, and the venue was my iPod. It felt great to have Since You Been Gone induce a resynthesis my more youthful, immediate post-undergrad months -- and Sober remind me of Smallville (actually this one didn't happen, but it did remind me of Grey's Anatomy). After that concert, there was a concert of replaying Christina Aguilera's climactic E at the end of Candyman about 15 or 2938 times. Then came the last 45 seconds of Dreamgirls on cyclic mode about 278 times, all the while pretending that my synthetic gays and I were the voices behind it at some karaoke venue.

Then there was Target itself, in which I of course had the natural, unvarying reaction of wanting to acquire everything in the store. Goal: costume materials and accessories; pumpkin. Achievement: can of pork 'n beans to have for dinner tonight (only half of which I had). The pumpkin was too heavy for one already overexerted by the decade's worth of exercise I had already done, and tempter discounted athletic shorts almost caused a dangerous rate of wallet-slimming even though I would have had more underwear~!

Of course my setbacks weren't enough. On my way to Target I was affrighted by this snake, and I saw either the same or a longer snake (it certainly seemed to be more sinuous than the snake I had seen earlier). It was thankfully in the street/a safe distance from me, and it even seemed as if the car that was passing me would run over it. It would be just my misfortunate being -- or maybe enchantment, like Don Quixote said -- that happens to bring about a clear pass over that serpentine threat to my parasympathetic system's security...leaving this very direct threat unscathed. Thanks be to God, however, that there were no opossums, skunks, or other wild fauna, whose potential attacks I tried to hedge as much as possible by walking in the street itself. (Cars are great deterrents most of the time, right?)

I also thought that I'd include this picture, whose out-of-focus aspect (thanks to relatively low light source and an auto-adjusted higher ISO) actually did the picture justice:

For Internet Appreciation corner, I have this to add from one of the Facebook communities of which I am at least a part-time fan:

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I am going to take a stand against my shifted-scheduled sleeping schedule by going to bed at, basically, the same asscrack of matutinal time. Noontime was the time around which I woke up, and I fortunately was still able to clock in to Domino's offers of gratuitous pizza slices (which certainly doesn't subtract from the benefit of driving past the Pizza Hut, serial offender of being nauseatingly generous with their tomato sauce, that is five minutes nearer), which ended at two:

Since the weather was still nice and cloudy, I decided to meander on down to the local Party City to see if it would serve as a Comeback Team for my Halloween costume spirit. Though it proved super ineffective in this aspect, visiting that store wasn't a total disutility to my life. For example, it was further solidified in my brain that I would not be going as this:

Everyone's sister's friend's half-cousin's gecko's ex-owner's one night stand's butthurt boyfriend's video game store employer's boss's landlord's cousin in Kiev's half brother in this city is going to be dressing as this Empress of Homopolis for Halloween.

I was also given topics to discuss at my locale(s) of fine imbibing and holiday festivities/hoping that some ruffian and/or psychopath does not get the best of me/my wallet/my life. My mentor/coach for this extraterrestrial phenomena called socializing:

A verdict is needed on whether the fact that this picture which directly follows, bodes well or bodes hell (either way, that would make for a perfect prop for my costume -- almost as if it had been made to complement it):

Forgoing the last rainbow-colored tutu in the store, I decided to spend responsibly by not spending anything at all...but that deterred me not from still discreetly taking more pictures (discreetly lest I take on the image of a sub-chic but not slovenly undercover person from the retail Gestapo):

From Party City, I wasted a trip and ended up not even borrowing the Do-It-Herself car repair book. Then, serving as no consolation, the picture that I took from behind the windshield ended up much less rich in color than expected (which invariably occurs, but still):

Oh, and I happened to find this in a search online. Since it is rather relevant to my beerphobic interests (the cigarette part doesn't apply), this shall be presented for the Internet Appreciation section of my entry:

narcississy: (Default)
I. Did nothing today. I. Did absolutely nothing today. It was beautifully nebulous outside -- and the highs pierced into the 70s. Yet I did absolutely nothing...but watched a couple of General Hospital videos on YouTube from when Liz apparently cheated on Lucky with Nicholas -- and a video or two that has demonstrated to me that I've been purling incorrectly. My practicework apparently mismatches that which I've seen in videos.

Well, my brain has also been subverted by the politicovirus, i.e. I watched tonight's final presidential debate. "No, no, I don't want to watch the debate. No, no, stop," went I as I clicked on the C-SPAN link to the live debate, which most conveniently appeared in a post on my Facebook feed.

May I be presented with distraction(s) that will deport/phagocytose/dissolve this politicovirus and help my brain return to its 2% rate of efficiency.
narcississy: (Default)
I took mine ass of plenitude and went some distance today! Surely, as most likely was foreseen by my Supreme Court of judging, chimerical readers, I did not go the entire distance -- just some of it. It would have been too unnatural and time-space-rifting to have gone the entire distance. Many pictures were taken of my Sunday adventures of basicity pH 1414.

Half of the day was gone after ashamèdly sleeping from 7 a.m. to 12:30 p.m., but the nice weather that was forecast for today inspired me either to walk or make use of vehicular transport to get to Target (the real one, a.k.a. the Super Target that actually harbors alcohol) and, with a shot of ambition coursing through my veins, procure a pumpkin. Spoiler: The shot of ambition, albeit potent, did not result in my procurement of a pumpkin; the few remaining ones at Target were riddled with contusions, and each of them were misshapen in their unique ways.

Let us start with the unsurprisingly first section in which I lollygagged:

Target, when I was in this glorious section -- actually, when I was in your store, period -- I just wanted to emulate the following gif:

That and this would have been my alcoholic potion of choice, which I would have been too prissy to have drunk because it's always too damned pretty (the turquoise one, of course):

Now, for most girls, picking a deodorant and/or body mist and/or body wash is a To Do item to check off in about six or seven (or 16 or 17) seconds. For me, however, I could easily stay in such an aisle for forever.2 years, trying to match each of the above-listed items with my mood swings or whatever it is I would think would make me feel most like a bitch atop the world-of-her-comforts-of-home. I bought absolutely nothing; I'll worry about that the next time emolument shall reach my hands:

One of the reasons I needed to go to Target today was to start shopping for my costume, a prerequisite of which is foundation that will effectively mask my current lack of skin tone and help me take on the complexion of a Caucasian proper. (Being that this will be a one-time occasion, one needn't call upon the great names of MAC or Nars and pay the premium for better quality...especially since I will most likely just be patronizing some bar.) I eyed this row in particular, but didn't commit myself to anything before doing further research on how to be the very best at frugalling:

The rest are just pictures of my basic adventure around the store and of various items after which my consumptive self lusted, especially this neck scarf:

Yes, there was even the "LOL BUTTER", which instantly invoked the following macro in my mind:

After doing enough damage and looking like some sort of undercover reconnaissance agent who took her role way too seriously and dressed up like a hobo proper, I headed next door to Michaels. Since every cell in my body has apparently been suffused with the Fall spirit, that store and Jo Ann Fabrics are my seasonal BFFs.

Having 2/234928379 vision, the glasses weren't available in my prescription. Also, since I have no specific project in mind, the two skeins of yarn were also left behind unpurchased. The following, however, was almost not left behind unpurchased (until I found a pen which I had though was only available transpacifically, which was bought in its stead):

Besides, I could use one of those for my highly-anticipated drinks in the bar, which I actually have picked out -- thanks to their drink options!

Thanks very much to these arts and crafts stores, I become a walking Pinspiration...a Pinterest personified. I suspect that I have caught the airborne strains of Midwest viruses in the air, for now I am also into making jewelry after having seen these:

Other symptoms of viral infection include desires to decorate one's entire place with this:

The following isn't necessarily a symptom (wrong season), but how could I not take a picture of this, being ready for it to arrive and everything:

It's rather fortunate that I did do some (minor) wallet-trimming in Michaels today (yarn needle is needed for my practices), for they are apparently giving these out to purchasing customers, which very much guarantees my return to the store even before Halloween (thanks, Michaels!):

Oh, and I would be rather remiss if I weren't to include a picture of tonight's/this morning's dinner (obviously far from beef)...and let's sweep the fact that I've had macaroni and cheese for dinner for the last two nights:

(If this has not been a photo entry, then I shan't ever make a photo entry.)

Now for the Internet Appreciation section of my journal entry:

This was extracted from this article that I've forgotten how I've come across it. The wavelengths of the commenters match mine to the picometer. Those are the exact two men on whose behalves I cry, "injustice!"

I would also cry injustice at this weather forecast for late October, but this would be foolish not just because I have to be out in such temperatures but also because I have all the time this week to enjoy it whilst it lasts -- provided that I don't wake up at 12:00 noon et al. every day this week, which is likely not to happen.
narcississy: (Default)
I was unsure whether today would be a(nother) day of lackadaisy, or whether I would be invigorated by the fact that it's a fall Saturday and go out and accomplish anything. Without any need for spoilers, the former actually ended up happening. I figured that, since the next three or four days are to be met with warm, cloudy weather, I can put off such activities as costume-shopping, pumpkin shopping, and pumpkin chocolate-chip brownie baking until the last days of October are not so distant -- a rationale which of course has contradicted my desires to go relatively ostentatious during this Halloween season. Yes, ostentatious.

What did I do in lieu of achieving the object of a displaced impetus? I sat here and wasted my senescence on watching Doctor Who to the end of Season Five and rather unexpectedly having what Temperance Brennan calls "bodily responses" toward him whose name I shan't disclose due to feared distaste-shaming. Having earned my Medal of Multitasking Honor long ago, I also accomplished alternate rows of knit stitches and purl stitches (in which I leveled up earlier), which has since been undone and restarted. For example, the below-pictured is what was undone:

I also managed to reunite with this game of olde, which I still love to this day. I was ♫ reuniiiited and it feeelt so gooooood♫ after having restarted mid-game from having made the most feckless mistakes from having been too presumptive of familiarity with the map and the precision required for the game (e.g. clicking on Ireland instead of Iceland). I still happened to maintain my 129 Traveler IQ , which was as high as 142 on Orkut back in the day. Here's the game to play from the comforts of my journal:

The Traveler IQ challenge ranks geographic knowledge of cities such as: Ottawa, Bakersfield or Bangkok by comparing results against 9,075,862 other travelers. Brought to you by TravelPod, a member of the TripAdvisor Media Network

Also, for the 94 imaginary readers reading this post, who may be wondering what that chic-looking contraption is to the left in my picture, that is a sample-sized perfume that was sent to me from Guerlain. It's definitely more of a classic type of perfume; it's definitely something that a cougar such as I could sport without depriving too many the wrong eyebrows of their natural gravitational pull. I simply adore just the packaging/boxing alone (it even includes Arabic!):

I'm actually glad that they had run out of the gratuitous mascara samples, for I don't need -- and therefore don't ever use -- mascara.

P.S. Another added perk of offputting any impeti is espying such internet jewels as the following, found and captured by a student at my alma mater:

narcississy: (Default)
This would have been a better day if it hadn't rained. Of the synergy of rain and cold I am not a fan. Should I be branded an irascible person under normal circumstances (though I know of no one who would attest to this even if I have as many friends as a Greek indigent has currency), then take that irascibility and amplify it, and then one would have what I was yesterday afternoon. From being drizzled on after happening to take a seat underneath one of the propped-open emergency exits on the bus's ceiling, to having all the educative wealth which I've worked so hard to build and conserve all my 18 years of life here on Earth exorbitantly taxed and pilfered by way of all the subject-verb disagreements and egregiously anomalous word order constructions -- in conjunction with the cold rains, this was certainly a day that could quickly make shift into the past.

On a slightly upward note, I did commence in leaf-picking today. Fina-fucking-lly, after 2.5 decades, I picked up my first three leaves of the year with which to decorate this place:

I imagine that the color representation would have fared better had it been taken in its natural surrounding, but again, it was raining (and I was making haste to a destination, anyway).
narcississy: (Default)
January 16th in the 1980s must surely have been a propitious day on which to conceive a child, as I had an astounding total of six friends who had birthdays today -- including two people who contribute to the momentum behind the continual rotation of my world, despite the lack of a life that lies within. The date, however, does comply with the seasonal requirements and thermal incentives for Wintimacy.

Most of the day was rather atrophic, but it was still a beautiful, rainy Fall day. Of course this allowed me to procrastinate for another day in my leaf-picking endeavors, so thank you for the boost in indolence. I at least exercised today by knitting another row of stitches, a glimmer of positivity suppressed into a sterile darkness by the likes of occurrences such as seeing a Halloween list without candy corn on it (I nearly x-ed out of the "new and improved" TL;DR or TL;DA [didn't answer*] war-à-la-survey declared by Influenster on its users, in my path of uncontrollable tab collapse):

...or finding yourself lowly enough to give the gaunt-bottomed boys who're making the rocking world go 'round -- a.k.a. One Direction -- even a modicum of consideration in just the fantastical compartment of one's constitution. Worst yet, perhaps, is the asymptotic pattern in morale in the defending my frontiers from the likes of this election. I have even taken a test on ISideWith, but I only screenshot the results; I won't even post them here, to be honest. The overlaps and margins of error were too widespread for me to have included, because it would have distorted me worse than Picasso or Dali would have done...and I would not even have been cutely distorted.

Then, as you're crashing and burning, America comes through in those once a Plutonian revolution occasions and saves the day night for a few minutes. Behold a moment that will go down in American history -- an occurrence that the American people will immemorialize while marginalizing the Civil War, Apple, World War II, and the first black president: The Amazon Binder Market Flux. What a piece of American history, and I would have been proud to be 100% 'murrican if I weren't Arctic-American.

Also part of today was the following:

(both from Catch-22, a book I'm rather enjoying for the most part)

Since I have noticed this since before Summer -- and it has been annoying me how I haven't shared my astute, obviously MENSA-worthy observation anywhere else, I'm just going to point it out here for my -23 readers to view/congratulate me on my Nobel-worthy discovery/aspire to become me one day:

It spells "meow"; "meow" it spells. :3
narcississy: (Default)
Today was rather uneventful. For day #28392398 of Fall, I've forgotten to go leaf-picking to decorate the table and around this place more to remember that it actually is Fall. A big demotivator lies in the fact that, after the de-arboring of this particular block. I wish that this side of the highway had trees with leaves just as variegated in color as those on the other side.

In other news, there was a debate -- part of which I missed tonight, part of which I watched in the middle of a McDonald's. Then I ordered a sweet tea in order not to be rude and freeload, and it was not hot tea to warm me up from the 55-degree outside from which I had just come. One knows that s/he is living the life when this is all there is to archive for the day.
narcississy: (Default)
I hope that this email in broken English which I have received from my dishonest seller/sanctioner from refuge in my laptop, is a legitimate gesture of reaching out to inform me that s/he is on top of this disgruntled eBay consumer's case of injustice; I know, however, that it was a far from personal message (I had sent pictures and even circled the anomaly in the product delivered) and that I'm going to have to assume an Iron Lady role in rectifying my situation ere everything is lost to me and I'm a destitute wench with my face downward-ass upward along the street curb for unexpecting almsgivers pitifully to pelt pesos inherited from their co-workers' garbagemen's local Home Depot's lawnmowers' next-door neighbors' transborder families.

I just spent $20 (including free shipping) on the part, but I was just putting my Ph. D. in Melodrama to use.

In order to avoid total deracination of my neurons, however, I have invested my energies in trying to derive and integrate the most knowledge that I can from this knitting book that I've had for a month, and in which I've looked maybe thrice before today -- the day on which I must return it to the library. At least I did my first basic knit-on cast-on and knit stitch, which also lead to the discovery of this:

If I were an avid YouTube junkie, then I would squander my lack of a life and opulence in the currency of Time on sundry YouTube videos, then I would totally forage the abysmal vault of videos in order to find invaluable rarestones such as the following:

That comment was extracted from the yay- and naysaying plebeians of this video, in which the tutelary of fine, neophytic knitting has an English accent. The comment was most likely made by one across the Atlantic from that land mass between Canada and Mexico.


NOOOOO, JASON, NOOOOOO! I mean, I haven't watched your show for what might be four years now (because of Samantha's and your reunion), but I've been thinking of taking the four-year trek to catch up to you Port Charles distant family quadruply removed. However, now that you -- the partial reason for my early burgeoning -- are riding off into the distances across the Port Charles River, I'm just going to remain seated here and marinate in my spinster girl problems with my crochet hook, knitting needles, and the yarn that has been through trial and unraveling and re-raveling tribulation.


narcississy: (Default)

January 2013

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