The wedding this weekend was… nice. And that’s about the highest complement I can give a wedding, really. I always feel guilty at them, because I’m pretty pessimistic when it comes to relationships. The entire time they were exchanging vows, all I could think was what would happen when it was over. Like, when the marriage was over, not the wedding. It just didn’t feel real to me… kinda like they were little kids playing a grown-up part, I suppose. I think this is a general problem with society as a whole. It seems like people are all over the notion of getting married, and then it actually happens and it sucks worse than they thought it would, and then they thank Henry VIII for making divorce less of a societal stigma and more of a mainstream concept. It’s not like our parents’ parents’ generation, when they did everything they possibly could to make their marriages work. Nowadays, people rush into it knowing that there’s a opt-out clause, and then they don’t give two shits about making it last. The second it gets halfway difficult, they’re gone.

*steps off the soapbox*

The reception was way better than the ceremony itself (as they usually are), and I spent a vast majority of the night drinking vodka and Diet Coke, and dancing to the likes of Sir Mix-A-Lot and 50 Cent with my 11-year-old cousin. Oh, and I was repeatedly fondled by one of the groomsmen, who later threw up all over the men’s bathroom. Not because he groped me, but because he was drunk. Which was most likely the reason that he felt me up in the first place.

On a completely unrelated note, this afternoon at break I came up with the brilliant idea to rewrite The Bible using modern-day references and language, in order to make it more appealing to the youth of the world everyone. So, instead of:

“God made the wild animals according to their kinds, the livestock according to their kinds, and all the creatures that move along the ground according to their kinds. And God saw that it was good.” (Genesis 1:25)

… it would say:

“G-Dawg made all the animals that you see in the San Diego Zoo, and all the animals the provided that juicy piece of steak you ate for dinner last night, plus all the animals that you accidentally hit while driving your piece-of-crap, gas-guzzling SUVs down Nebraska highways. And then he said, ‘This is some good shit, yo.’”

It’d be fan-fucking-tastic. Especially the part when G-Dawg starts to get lonely and fashions himself some homies out of mud, pop cans, and gum wrappers that he found on the ground, having just invented “litter” the day before that.

This idea is almost as good as last week’s idea, which was to invent a completely non-sensical word, patent it, then ensure that it gradually became part of the common vernacular. That plan was stalled, however, after I realized that every word that could ever be invented had already been invented. I also couldn’t come up with a meaning that needed a word, nor could I come up with a word that needed a meaning. All the words I thought of had already been invented, or sounded far too much like other words already in existence. I guess I just never realized that there were so many words in the English language that rhymed with “nipple.”

Dude. My house is full of nutters. If I stay here much longer I think it may rub off on me. Or perhaps they’re all bonkers because I have rubbed off on them. *ponders*

Abby and I went to Noodles & Company for dinner last night, and once again ran into Noodles & Co. Guy, whose real name I do not know. I should definitely find out, though, because it appears that he is following me, seeing as how he happens to be working every time I eat there - regardless of which Noodles & Co. I am dining at. The past three times I’ve been at the P Street location, he’s come out on to the patio to talk to me while I eat, and last night at the Pine Lake location, he stopped by our table to chat for a bit. I accused him of stalking me, and he readily admitted guilt. He was also thankful that I had yet to call the police.

After dinner, we stopped by Michael’s (the craft store), so B could pick up some yarn to finish the scarf she is making. I have a total love/hate relationship with craft stores. I love going into them and walking up and down the aisles and seeing all the awesome shit you can make and all the supplies you can use and whatnot. So, feeling briefly inspired, I’ll end up spending $50 on paint and brushes and canvas and an easel or what have you, bring it all home, then let it sit for years without even attempting to paint all I had imagined I could while inside the confines of that evil temptress called Hobby Lobby. And that’s why I hate craft stores - they give me a false sense of creativity.

Must go to Target and buy a wedding gift for my cousin. She’s gone crazy and has decided that she wants to commit to one boy for the rest of her life. The ceremony is this weekend. I’m hoping that she wises up between now and then and realizes that she is better off unmarried, since that would mean that I wouldn’t have to sit through another shitty wedding. I’ll keep the receipt, just in case. *crosses fingers*

Amazing how your head feels a trillion pounds lighter after you get a haircut. Did those two inches my hairdresser trimmed off really make that big of a difference?! I feel like my head might detach from my body and float into oblivion. Strangeness. o_O

The past few days have been quite shit. Not really shit, per say, just sorta… blah. I guess. I haven’t really got anything of interest to talk about. Not that that’s different from any other day, really. The blah-ness will continue through the weekend, as I am forced to go into work on Saturday morning by the evil powers-that-be. Six days a week at work?! Fucking bastards.

On a completely unrelated (though possibly related?) note, why am I so tired lately?! Every night for the past week, I’ve been sound asleep within five minutes of my head hitting the pillow. I’m fucking knackered, dude. I feel like I could sleep for a whole straight week right about now. *yawns*

I got bored yesterday, so I took an online IQ test and scored a 127, which I guess is pretty good. The IQ test is omnipotent, apparently, so it also said: “Your Intellectual Type is Insightful Linguist. This means you are highly intelligent and have the natural fluency of a writer and the visual and spatial strengths of an artist. Those skills contribute to your creative and expressive mind.” Though, if that IQ test was really accurate, it would have known that I am a crap artist, and I haven’t a creative cell in my body. My artistic ability is limited to random geometric shapes and stick people. The linguist thing I can see, but an artist?! Uh… no.

I was pretty proud of my results, until my little sister informed me that she also took an IQ test and scored a 130 - while she was stoned out of her mind. Which makes me think that either A) She cheated, B) Marijuana does make you smarter, or C) She’s a fucking genius. I’m leaning toward the last option.

I love days like this - the weather is overcast and rainy (what I like to call “Seattlish”) and I have no commitments to busy myself with, so I can just sit on the patio at The Mill and drink coffee and smoke cigarettes and watch the people and read a book and surf the interwebz all at once. It’s fantastic.

Is this what retirement is like?! If so, then I’d like that job. Please and thanks.

As I was sitting here typing away, Boy With The Pretty Blue Eyes Who Used to Live Next Door To Me just walked up to chat for a bit. This is the second time I’ve seen him this weekend. That’s luck, that is. If you saw him (which you can’t, because you’re the internets), you’d know why I say that. He’s way dreamy. *swoon*

And because I feel like sharing, I’m currently reading a brilliant novel by Mark Haddon, called The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. It’s absolutely marvelous, in an eccentric kind of way. Plus, it’s reteaching me all of the math that I conveniently forgot when I graduated high school, so now I can multiply and divide again! Woo hoo!

I’m thinking that I need a life goal. Like, professionally. Because, although I’d really like to retire at 26, I don’t think the gov’ment will let me. And I most definitely cannot work the job that I’m at for another 40 years. So, I’ve decided that if I’m not at a job that I actually enjoy by the time I’m thirty, I’m packing up my shit, moving to Europe, and living the rest of my years hopping country to country teaching English as a Foreign Language. My Russian degree will come in handy, as I intend to start the process by becoming TEFL certified in Prague. I’m hoping to teach a couple years in the Czech Republic, work my way through the rest of Eastern Europe, and then find an adorable Baltic boy to get married and have babies with. The pay is pretty shit, but it would be an amazing experience. Unfortunately, Mr. Visa (and Mr. Mastercard and Mr. Best Buy card, and Mr. Visa again) does not receive payment in “amazing experience,” so I have to take care of the bills before I go. And to do that, I have to work this shit job for a few more years. It’s like an endless cycle.

I just hope I make it out.

I have been granted the amazing gift of being able to make any given situation exponentially worse. This is due to my tendency to jump to conclusions which may be entirely false and then confront people about them before I know the facts.

Despite the fact that this may be the end of one of the greatest friendships I’ve ever had, part of me is actually thankful for this. I feel so… free. Does this make me a horrible person?

Oh well. Best not to dwell on it. The sooner this is over the better.

</end cryptic rambling>