And The Ones That Go Unnoticed Still Leave Their Mark Once Disappeared
Today I realized I do this terrible thing where I'm rude to car salesman. In life I mostly go out of my way to be not rude, to be in fact nice, because what comes around goes around and love thy neighbor as thyself and all that utilitarian stuff, which I totally believe in it. But with car salesmen I go in firing like they're the enemy, and it's a bizarre character flaw, but I can't help myself. The dumbest and ironic part is that each time this happens, I realize what I'm doing about three minutes into our hostile conversation, and then I spend the next twenty minutes trying to make them like me. You can only imagine what I'm like in a relationship.
I think I've almost recovered from my parents leaving. Although when I'm upstairs and someone bangs a cupboard downstairs without caring that it's loud enough to wake the dead I get a little shiver, and sometimes when I walk by the guest room I expect to see someone coughing up a lung or napping or huddled under the covers, but then there's nobody and I breathe easier. It's all so strange because I love my parents and I would hate it if they thought I'd been troubled by them being here, but it was just f-ing hard. Every society but ours believes that you should take your parents in when they're old and decrepit, but I honestly think it's against the natural order to live with your mom and dad beyond the age of 18. Cold-hearted? Maybe. I'm just glad mine are back to being healthy and independent again. Whew. For now.
Back to the car thing. I try to think a lot about what makes me happy in life, and the answer is not much. It's not that I'm overly depressive necessarily, it's just that when you get down to it I don't get too excited by stuff, and so I actively try to recognize it when something makes me elated. And one of those things is American Idol, and another thing is driving. There's a highway here, highway 92, that goes from town over the hill into civilization. It's about 12 miles and takes about 15 minutes, and it's windy in parts and almost g-forcey in parts. I love to drive this road. I've heard girls in the moms club say, "I never go over the hill. It's scary driving that road," and this makes me realize that I am not especially normal when it comes to cars and driving, because I love it. It's at the very top of the happy list. So my daily car is a super-boring Honda Pilot, and Gray's car is a Jetta VRX, which used to be my car before I had to be responsible for another life in the vehicle. When I can, I take the Jetta over the hill and drive the crap out of it. So, very long story short, it's about to croak, and even though the thought of buying a new one in this economy is almost unfathomable, I have my eye on a VW GTI. Now I have to figure out the whole world of leasing.
My local library continues to supply me with music, which I may or may not be duplicating, depending on whether the RIAA is reading and on whether or not it's legal. My latest fantastic find is the sort-of new Alanis Morissette CD from last June, which is called "Flavors of Entanglement." I put it on and was reminded of my favorite songs from her Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie from 1998, which was her last good CD if you ask me. And why this new one sounds so good? It's produced by the half of Frou Frou that isn't Imogen Heap. And it sounds a little BT-ish. It's really good.
In other news, new DM single coming April 7th, and it'll hit the radio airwaves on Feb 23rd. There is nothing better than a new Depeche Mode CD in the springtime. That can go on the happy list, too.
Believe When I Say
My god. My parents just left after living with us for 21 days, and I must say that it was a very difficult month. The baby's schedule got wacked, I felt like I was cleaning up after people twenty-four hours a day, and we found out that there is no sound buffer between the downstairs and the upstairs, which means that the slightest noise carries and drives the upstairs dwellers crazy. And this doesn't mean my parents were humping downstairs, it means that the repeated stirring of chocolate milk with a clinking spoon at 3am woke everybody upstairs and resulted in crying crankiness (me, not the baby) and was probably worse than humping. Also, my parents handed out our phone number to their friends, and I'm still getting phone calls from my dad's people trying to track him down. "He won't answer the phone, can you tell him to call me?" So they arrived, my dad immediately got sick, my mom went into the hospital for her major surgery (and came through it fine), I got sick, my mom came home and caught it, and it was just a whole bunch of misery and despair. If January could be erased, that would be nice.
I wrote this on my social networking site addiction page, but I'll write it here, too: man, I wish I could watch American Idol while sitting next to a shrink. Some of these kids are so crazy and I can't for the life of me figure out what's up with them. Are their IQs a little low? Were they clonked on their heads? Are they sociopaths? Every season I yell at the screen trying to figure them out, and I never can. But my love for Idol burns brightly again this year. If you ask me there's nothing like the discovery of raw young talent.
Today I helped one of my new friends optimize her Macintosh. I've lived here for less than a year and word has already traveled that I'm a Mac nerd, great. And this is ironic because I'm having lots of problems right now with my own -- photos are f-ed, music is f-ed... it's a giant mess. It's probably me sabotaging my machine subconsciously so I won't be able to edit my film. Films. I can't even talk about them because I'm so lame. No talking about them until I actually start to do some work again.
So I'm off to the city tomorrow morning bright and early, and I'll tell you why in a few weeks.