joyfuldemise

So, tomorrow, I head down to the passport office with my application. It'l be the first concrete thing I do to plan for Thailand (money saved not included). I still don't quite believe I'm going, but maybe this will make it sink in. In fact, I think it's almost time to start my official countdown.

Lots of new things in the works these days. I'm shopping around for an apartment and this is the first time I've been excited about it. My last apartment felt like home in a way that no other place ever had and I still desperately miss it sometimes. I have always believed that it takes an extraordinary amount of self-possession to create a home that reflects the way you want to live. I was incredibly proud that I could do that. When I moved out of that apartment, I was just starting to get a sense for what I wanted my life to look like. I'm looking forward to picking up where I left off. Not that that place was paradise, mind you. Actually, it was kind of a shitpile. Thanks to Char1es, it was a surprisingly well-decorated shitpile, but the fact remains that it was no Tribeca loft. If I can get a decent place, I can't even imagine how much I'll love it. I'm also having a lot more fun these days than I was the last time I moved out. It was a somewhat...transition-centric year, you might say. As one of my former roommate's friends once said, 'Oh, YOU'RE the chick who used to sit in the dark, smoking clove cigarrettes and listening to Tom Waits' Makes me sound all film-noir & shit.

I've been working my ass off for the Man lately, which is just plain weird. Hopefully, it'll drive me to crazy artistic pursuits in rebellion. In other news, not everyone else has been working hard: Youtube has videos of the State of the Union address that feature Dick Cheney checking his text messages and Sen. John McCain sleeping like a baby. Go check it out. The fact that both of them are featured on Youtube's 'Most Watched' list warms my little leftist heart.

Oh, and HAPPY ROBBIE BURNS DAY! For those of you of a non-Scottish or non-literary pursuasion, it's a day that's traditionally celebrated by drinking your face off and beating your wife. Iconoclastic punk that I am, I prefer to just wear a kilt and have a pint or three. This year, I'm forgoing the latter, committing a mortal sin against God and Scotland. Working a stodgy corporate job in what is essentially a schoolgirl skirt is a blast, though. Too bad it's only once a year. Some guy showed up in a plaid tie, which was pretty freakin' cool. Hopefully, a little Catholic schoolgirl left it on his bedroom floor...because that's the only dignified way to ever acquire a plaid tie.
Now I wish I had a plaid tie.