Tomorrow I move.

I'm not moving to Superior anymore; I'm staying in Duluth. I'm moving five blocks away. Tomorrow's going to be hell, but it's going to be worth it.

I'm looking forward to downsizing. I'm looking forward to cleansing myself and my space of all the shit I have that I don't need.

As much as I loved this house, it's time for me to leave it behind. I'm completely different from the girl who moved in last June. I still fall in love with everyone and I still get very excited about everything, but I'm more together, more mature, and I have a planner now, goddamn it, and I'm going to use it. This house represents a certain time period in my life that, while I enjoyed the fuck out of it, it's time to let go.

On a related but bizarre note, I realized yesterday that I had EIGHT roommates during my time in this house. A chronological cheers to each one of you: Sarah S, Jason (in Japan!), Dave, Marisa, Kecia, Sarah B, Pelowski, and D. Laraway. (And Muhs, because we all know he kind of counts.) I learned at least a little something from each one of you, and you all influenced my growth in some way or another.

So farewell, Sixteenth Avenue. Goodbye, green carpeting. Take it easy, Swing of Truth. Good luck, fire pit. Take care, big obnoxious pink couch. Keep it real, S&M door.

Many thanks, House.

I'm moving.

THIS IS NOT A GOOD LOOK.


I don't know where this surge of fannypacks is coming from, but in the last month I've seen four people with them. FOUR.

Convenient? Mildly. Attractive? Not in any sense of the word. I would rather date someone with a man purse than someone with a fannypack.

Women who wear fannypacks baffle me. Just use a purse. It can hold just as much (if not more) than a fannypack, they're (usually) cuter, and you won't get laughed or stared at. And men, I kind of understand your plight. I don't really like carrying a purse -- I like to be able to put all my things into my pants pockets (as previously discussed), but a fannypack is not the answer.

Ugh.

There's so much bullshit out there, but every now and again, I run across something that makes life truly worth it.

I found this about three months ago and have mentioned it here and there, but it's not something that I can accurately describe.

Please, see it for yourself.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present the best three minutes and thirty one seconds of your entire lives.



PS: I'm obsessed with the following songs (aka a drunk and half-assed Weekly Five):

-Buckcherry - Crazy Bitch (15)
-Atmosphere - Pour Me Another (You Can't Imagine How Much Fun We're Having)
-Umbrellas - The City Lights (Umbrellas)
-Brandon Faris - Love Is Blindness (n/a) (this is amazing)
-Big Trouble - Gueniver (live) (this is a band featuring the amazing Twinkie Jiggles from Heiruspecs. I can't find the myspace because I'm drunk.)

There are some fascinating people in my life. I want these people to either develop incredible Capote-like writing skills or hook up with an amazing biographer, because these are people who I long for memoirs from.

One of the many examples is Sammy. Sammy is a DJ at Job #1, and he has gone through a lot in his life already. I have only known Sammy for a total of seven months, but in this short time I've learned that something wholly unbelievable happens to him on a very regular basis.

The first piece to his intriguing story is his luck, or lack thereof. Sammy has the worst luck out of anyone I have ever met. One of the bouncers is fond of saying, "If Sammy didn't have bad luck, he wouldn't have any luck at all," and while I'd really like to punch him in the face if he ever says it again, it's very true. In the last two months alone, Sammy has:
-been arrested for passing out on the sidewalk (while sleeping on a pizza box)
-been jumped walking home and had his collarbone broken
-fallen down his stairs and hit his face on a cement sink
-electrocuted himself

These are just the highlights. Something happens to this kid every week, and most of the time, it's a result of multiple Windsor Diets.

The other thing about Sammy is that he is a very nice guy who tries to get along with everyone... but he does have one enemy.

Frank The Tank.

Frank The Tank is another subject to himself, but I have never seen someone bring out the fires of hell in someone like Frank does in Sammy. One of the more amusing things about this feud is that there is at least a fifty year age difference between the foes. (He's not nicknamed "Old Man Frank" for nothing.) A wiry twenty-five year old has a burning vendetta with an eighty year old man. That, in itself, is extraordinarily amusing.

The other thing that just kills me about this bitter grudge is that it all stems from the fact that Sammy is a DJ and Frank is a karaoke singer. Sammy won't let Frank sing more than three songs, as ruled by our boss, and Frank has been physically threatening Sammy and making special trips to the bar to bitch at the bouncers about Sammy ever since this rule has been enforced. As I've said, one of the things I've learned from this job is that karaoke is very serious business. Every time Sammy comes into the bar to drink, he ends up wishing Frank would show up so he could fight him. Sammy drunkenly stares across the bar at him, wishing Frank would start trouble, and occasionally pounding his chest, trying to intimidate him.

Sammy may be a walking punchline, but.... he tries hard. Maybe he just needs a mother. Last Wednesday, he got up on a very rickety ladder underneath some very heavy speakers and started messing with some very dangerous wires while he was very drunk... and he didn't seem to think this was an issue. He was actually offended when I yelled at him.

Memoirs, guys. Start writing them now. Who knows who will want a copy?

It finally happened today. I had a complete breakdown.

A lot of people saw it coming. My mother warned me on Sunday that I was working an unhealthy amount. Megan's been telling me for the last two weeks that I work too much. My boss at Job #2 has said "How do you do it?" multiple times. I've developed a staring problem, my social skills have plummeted severely, and my hands shake. I told myself that I was fine, I could handle it, it's all good. You're not hardcore unless you live hardcore. Fuck, Stacy works three jobs a day and she's fine. I only work two.

My alarm went off this morning and I hit the snooze button. Ten minutes later, I got into the shower and stared at the floor until I realized that if I was going to be to work on time I should have left five minutes ago. Megan drove me to work and I told myself I was going to talk to my manager about maybe cutting back my hours.

I started stocking wine while my manager finished up a meeting. I was hitting the bottles together because I couldn't keep my hands steady. She asked me what was wrong and I started to weep. I sat in the basement and cried for ten minutes. I cried so hard I couldn't breathe. She sent me home.

Something needs to change. I can't do this anymore. I have no problem working Job #1 every night. I like Job #2 too much to quit. There will be a lot of evaluation in the next few days.



So the breakdown happened, I drank some coffee, and I listened to Radiohead. I'm going to sleep for a few hours, and then spend the rest of the day outside.

Thank you.

I signed into my email account this morning (....this afternoon....) and found this:


Ten? Really? Naturally I was curious to see if maybe my emails were getting caught in my junk filter, so I clicked on it:



Let's take a look. These are all coming from the same source, as you can see from the subject lines.

The problem I have with this spam (aside from the fact that I got ten of them between 4am when I checked after work and 3:30pm when I woke up) is that it's not interesting spam. There's no false promises of larger genitalia or naked women or even free Razrs.

Have spammers lost their creativity? What happened to the days where people were actually duped into opening these? Aside from the curiosity of who the sender is ("Muriel Melendez"? Really?), there is nobody out there who should fall for this. I wasn't tempted to open a single one of these... except maybe "hyena exquisitely," just to see what the fuck that means.

I'm not asking for more spam. I just want everyone to strive for quality. QUALITY OVER QUANTITY. If I got one awesome spam email, one that makes me laugh or even consider popping pills to enhance some body part, it would be worth the half second it took to click the "delete" button. With this shit, I just feel like I'm wasting my time.


Want another Red Hot Chili Peppers tune that I'm addicted to? Yes. You do.

Death Of A Martian (right-click, save as)

Like "Wet Sand," the whole song is awesome, but it really kicks in at 3:05.


Oh yeah. I have a ticket to see them at Xcel. That's right. Anthony Kiedis is going to get naked onstage... and I'm going to be there to see it.

Hey.

"Stadium Arcadium" is the best thing that's ever happened to me.

I had a really rough weekend. I missed ALL of Homegrown. I flipped out on a customer for no reason while bartending in a very childish way (for whatever reason, it was hard to let go of that one). I didn't get my requested nights off this week. My roommates are graduating and progressively moving out.

But today I bought "Stadium Arcadium" with Tony Jacobson, Jason Staab, and Jon Skrip, and it was almost a religious experience.

I was going to go into details, but Pizza Luce, RT Quinlan's, and Duhblin's all make very strong drinks so all I can say is that if you're looking for a song that's going to change your life, the following is it (and you don't really have to wait until 3:39, but that's when it starts to gets epic):

Wet Sand (right-click, save as)

You have no idea. I made one of the DJs at work download it and I fricken cried in the bar when the harpsichord started. This song moves me more than anything I've ever heard. I don't have words.

Good luck not tearing up, guys. I may be crying now.

Hey, remember that time when I updated a lot? I don't know if that's going to happen again anytime soon. Either I'm working or I'm sick or goddammit, both. A lot of shit has gone down, a lot of shit will go down, and we're all trying to make the best of it. I don't want to not live with Megan next year, I don't want Carissa and Marisa and Kecia and everyone to graduate, I don't want Jen to be gone and Chelsie to leave, I don't want the Bud Lights to fucking freeze in the coolers, I don't want to feel like I'm sucking on shards of glass every time I swallow, and I don't want my fucking phone to drop every single fucking call I get... but it's happening whether I want it to or not, and I've got to deal. Drinking gigantic white russians and blaring Wilco into my headphones at top volume are doing nothing but hurting my liver and my eardrums.

But there are some awesome things happening. I'm taking bellydancing. I bought a car. I'm paying off debts (check your mailboxes). The Heather Locklear - Ritchie Sambora - Denise Richards - Charlie Sheen awkwardness is amazing. And these five songs.

Tom Waits - Hope I Don't Fall In Love With You (The Early Years, Vol. 2)
Duke Ellington - Rhapsody In Blue (Recollections of the Big Band Era)
System of a Down - Aerials (Toxicity)
Lou Rawls - I Got It Bad (And That Ain't Good) (live)
Journey - Wheel In The Sky (Journey's Greatest Hits)

(That has got to be the most random Weekly 5 I have ever done. Get 'em while they're hot.)


The only parting advice I have for you at this time is to NOT rent "Paradise Alley" unless you want to hear Sylvester Stallone sing the theme song. Despite the Tom Waits appearance (which is totally worth the two lines I heard him say), it sucks. So... don't watch that.

EDIT: Very important information. I'm getting my phone fixed tomorrow, but the catch is that it will be turned off for............ 24 hours. God. I know. So if you need to get ahold of me between the hours of 4pm Thursday and 4pm Friday... well, good luck. I'll be the one in a complete wreck, pacing back and forth, wondering who is trying to get ahold of me and whether or not it's a matter of life and death.