Vanity...definitely my favorite sin.

So it's Sunday again. I always look forward to my time off during the week. On say, Wednesday, I'll be really tired but I'll think to myself, that's ok because when Sunday comes around I can just sleep all day or go to the bookstore or do whatever I want. But Sundays are rarely good days for me. Being alone on a Sunday (as I often am) is somehow even worse than being alone on a different day of the week. I prefer hanging out alone on a Friday night to hanging out alone on a Sunday. If I'm alone on a Friday night, I can at least laugh at myself, sitting around doing laundry and watching Ghost Whisperer. It's still Friday night, a night filled with the promise of the weekend. Maybe it's that I really don't mind not having a boyfriend or someone to go on dates with right now. I'm not worried about it. But Sundays are family days, or at least friend days. And when I don't have family or friends around when everyone else seems to, that's what gets to me. And I can't help it--it seems like on Sundays, all I see around me is tragedy. I live in a city so it's not hard to find something to be sad about--the homeless man standing in the intersection holding up a sign that says "Vietnam Vet, hungry," or the line of people outside the Salvation Army Rehab Center waiting to see if there's a bed available. Even a cloudy, gray sky gets to me. Today I decided to go to the mall. I thought, I could never be sad or depressed at a mall. Malls are so bright and cheerful, with their skylights and shiny floors and jewelery shops and frozen yogurt stands. But I was wrong. Surrounding myself with people all happily Christmas shopping was not a good idea. There were thug-wannabe teenage boys walking around in puffy coats with buzz cuts and fake diamond earrings. They depressed and frightened me. There were whole huge Asian families, standing in line at Villa Pizza or Great Steak Escape joking and laughing with each other and taking turns running off arm in arm to the restrooms. I saw a girl holding one of those photo booth picture strips. Anyone who knows me knows that I love photo booths. But it's way too pathetic to go into one of those things alone, so of course I didn't. The one person I did speak to at the mall was Phyllis, the kindly woman who asked if I'd be willing to fill out an Old Navy survey and in return she'd give me five dollars. She was older and hunched over with scraggly blond hair. She reminded me of the little woman/puppet that lives in the junkyard in "Labyrinth" (starring David Bowie). I thought, what the hell, I've got nothing but time. She asked how old I was and was shocked when I said 25. I said, "Why how old did you think I was?" She just said, "Younger, for sure." So that lifted my spirits a little. Plus, when she gave me my five dollars she said, "There you go. I'm sure you'll have fun with that." She's right. I will. So now that I'm thinking of it, I think I'll make a list of things you shouldn't do alone on a Sunday (if you're prone to Sunday depression):

1. Don't see a dramatic or sad movie
2. Don't go to the mall
3. Don't go to the pet store and think how much better your life would be if only you could have a pet
4. Don't go to Potbelly's (that place gets so busy on the weekends!)
5. Don't pull out any of your old yearbooks/time capsules and look through them while listening to mournful Bruce Springsteen songs

More to come...

I believe in two things: discipline and the bible. Here you'll receive both.

I am now fully obsessed with the Showtime drama "Dexter."
It's the best show I've ever seen.
And that's saying a lot,
because I watch a lot of TV shows.
I've been feeling faint lately.
Dizzy as shit,
is another way of putting it.
Fuck you, inner ear.
I ate a lot of pizza last night.
I think it was a good decision to eat a lot of pizza and I don't care
if you agree.
I actually like that show "Kid Nation."
It's refreshing,
a show with no adults.
Adults can be so awful.
They opened a new animal shelter near my house.
They let the cats roam around in their own special rooms,
which is nice because when I walk by they come up to the window
and meow at me through the glass.
Then again it makes me sad because
I can't have a pet.
I was reading Prevention magazine and it said that if you gain
between 11 and 22 pounds after the age of 18
it can increase your risk of breast cancer by up to 15%.
But what if you gained, say, 80 or so pounds after the age of 18?
I don't know, I'm just asking.
I get it, Prevention magazine.
Why don't you just write this:
Prepare yourself for cancer you fat piece of shit.
That's ok.
I've got the Diet Detective's Calorie Bargain Bible.
So I'm all set.
I've learned that if you go to Outback Steakhouse you should say things like:
Can you cook it without butter? and
Would you mind boxing up half my meal right away? and
Wanna split my 1 lb. baked potato with me?
Maybe a bigger problem is that restaurants like Outback are serving us
five times as much as we actually need.
No, because Outback would never hurt me.
I know that in my heart.
Thanksgiving is almost here.
I got some mashed sweet potatoes from the hot food counter
at Treasure Island
in celebration of that fact.
They were delicious.
But I think that on Thanksgiving day I am going to order Prime Rib
instead of Turkey.
That's what the Indians would've wanted.

So raise your hand if you think that was a Russian water-tentacle.

Sundays depress me. I saw "Into the Wild" tonight and it made me want to go into the wild myself. Not eat the wrong wild potato root and die a slow death, but live off the land in other ways, sure. No really. There's not nearly enough nature in my life. I miss grass and trees and quiet.

Flippin' sweet.

I was wrong about Dexter,
because it is the best show ever.
Michael C. Hall makes me smile.
Dexter may do bad things,
but I never want him to get caught.
Michael C. Hall is very in-shape.
Look at his round behind.
I never notice guys' butts,
but I noticed his.
Just because it is so round.
In a good way.
I bought a book called "The Diet Detective's Calorie Bargain Bible."
It makes me realize that a lot of the things I eat
have a lot of calories.
Damn you, mozzerella sticks,
jalepeno poppers,
omelet sandwiches from Einstein's,
chocolate chunk cookies from Einstein's,
etc.
I have learned that when you go to fast food sandwich shops
(like Subway)
it is best to get the soup.
The soup at Einstein's is a calorie bargain.
Today I ordered a bowl of Turkey Chili from Einstein's
and the girl gave me two cups (to equal one bowl).
I was ashamed of myself carrying two bowls to my booth,
where I sat alone doing a crossword.
Tonight I saw a rat the size of a tiger cub.
That's a large rat,
my friends.
Then I saw another rat.
What a night!

Are you having a holly, jolly Christmas?

It makes me happy that even though we haven't hit Thanksgiving yet the Christmas ads are already popping up on TV. I'm not being sarcastic. It really does make me happy. I love Christmas. I love snow, I love decorations, I love hot chocolate, I love holiday movies, holiday-themed pies and cookies, footy pajamas, holiday cards (preferably with long letters inside about how "The Orsons" or whoever are doing), snazzy holiday outfits, crunching ice beneath the toe of my boot (you know when the ice is real thin on the sidewalk or somewhere and it breaks like glass?), sledding, rosy cheeks, sitting on Santa's lap (yes I still do that), thinking about reindeer, buying gifts for everyone (and receiving a few, too), the Abruzzo family Christmas party with Aunt Susan's little weiners wrapped in those pillsbury croissant biscuit things (and hopefully a rousing game of whatever that game is with the dice and the money), cats lying in empty gift boxes and dogs shredding up discarded wrapping paper... But mostly I love the cakes and pies. Cakes and pies, cakes and pies!

Cheese, if you ever disrespect her again like that, I'm gonna pull your fuckin' card, okay?

I don't have much to say today. But I enjoy writing this bloggestat (I think I'll start calling this a bloggestat, just for fun) so I thought I'd drop by and see what comes out. So...I netflixed season one of Dexter and I watched the pilot last night. I love Michael C. Hall. He's snazzy and a great actor. I thought the pilot was really strong. In fact, when I was done watching it, as I went over to my DVD player and ejected the disc, I thought, what a strong pilot. Back in the day, pilots used to be kind of iffy and that was ok (check out the Seinfeld pilot). Nowadays though, the pilot of a show is expected to be representative of what viewers will see if they tune in each week. I guess that's fair. But Dexter is a disturbing show. I know that Dexter kills people who deserve to be killed, but I couldn't help but feel for them once they got all wrapped up in plastic and strapped to a metal table in the middle of an empty old shed or an abandoned warehouse. Maybe it's because I didn't get to see the so-called "bad people" do their killing/raping/abusing. I have to see it to know that they deserve to die. Plus, Dexter is so emotionless. It's scary. Even though he uses his powers for good, it's still killing. Hmmm. It's a real ethical pickle. Anyway, I had bad dreams last night. I dreamt that I was at this woman's house and she was begging Dexter not to kill her. I convinced Dexter not to kill her, but then I kept thinking, if I was that woman I wouldn't be able to sleep at night. I'd just be waiting for the moment when Dexter was going to show up and wrap me in plastic and then knife me. So what kind of life is that? That's no life. No life at all.

Jimi Hendrix, deceased: drugs. Janis Joplin, deceased: alcohol. Mama Cass, deceased: ham sandwich.

I died last night, just like I thought I would. Ok, ok. I'm not dead. Michael Myers showed up at the movie, just as I suspected. He took mercy on me and only cut off one of my hands. Lucky for you, I'm a lefty. Otherwise I would not be able to type this.