Overheard among 7-year-olds.

"It's every man for himself! ...
No, it's every fish for himself!"

Children are so weird.

No, I'm not trying to make this into a post by post list of things I obsess over, but...

Little did I know how "Oh yes oh yes oh yes" things could get, until today when in my inbox I found a bulletin from the Firefly gods delivering news of...

An ADVANCE screening of Serenity!

On one night, in just 10 cities...

And VEGAS was one of them!

!!!

Every showing sold out in just hours, and I, my friends, I have two tickets. (tingletingle) It's like I woke up on Christmas to a Pumpkins reunion concert in my living room. May 5 feels just as far away as September did yesterday.

Oh yes oh yes oh yes oh yes...

The movie trailer for the Firefly movie Serenity has hit the 'verse.

"Let's be bad guys."

And I'm as giddy as a kitten in a furniture store.
Why, God, why is September five months away??

I'm an ass.

I'm sorry, Becky.
I just get very touchy about the things I obsess over, and you have to admit, you were biting pretty hard.

But I shouldn't have said that, and I'm sorry.

When the truth is...

[Listening to: Coldplay - Warning Sign (5:28)]

Weddings are boring.
Most people's weddings are boring.

I've been tangled in my contradictions of wanting frills and wanting real, debating myself on the finer points of name cards and invitation tissue inserts. And at my cousin's wedding last night I realized... That's all so very boring.

I let the bride books brainwash me into believing I needed personalized bubble bottles and napkin rings and engraved cake cutting tools. But I don't.

I just need him and me. ...And maybe the reassuring whisper of a calm sea meeting white sand.

...A girl can still dream...

Something to sleep on.

I get bored and Google the names of people I knew far too long ago in school, that dredge up memories that have nothing to do with the them and me of right now.

I need to go to bed.

For Godsakes, turn around.

"Oh Ruby, don't take your love to town."

God damnit.
Someone, anyone, entertain me.

Expert On October

I knew I recognized him from somewhere.

Ronnie Vannucci, the drummer for The Killers, used to play in a Vegas college band called Expert On October with a guy I went to high school with, Caleb Lindskoog. That's Ronnie, there on the right. I even got to see them play at Cafe Roma where The Killers got their start.

That puts me within 2 degrees of separation from my latest sick obsession.

Holy crap is that cool.

And hey, I've got a copy of the quite good but singular album from the now defunct Expert On October, so I'm already ahead of the game in my quest for obscure memorabilia. Score.

"Jenny Was A Friend Of Mine" ...Yeah, that song's about me.

April 15, Las Vegas, The Joint.
The Killers.

Brandon Flowers strides to the mic.
"It's good to be home."

I think I now know how Cubs fans feel.
...Only better and with guitars.

Exhibit C

Signing up for two mortgages at age 24 is exciting enough, but throw in a full (and I mean full) home remodeling at the same time and boy oh boy, what a thrill ride we've ridden...

My house is slowly . . . s l o w l y . . . becoming a home. The biggest improvements though are the amazing things my dad and others have accomplished in the kitchen and hallway bathroom. When we bought this 1970s house, it came complete with 1970s floorplan, cabinetry, and yes, an olive green refrigerator we promptly evicted. But now...

And maybe one day I'll also be able to unpack the thirty boxes of books sitting in my living room. But for now, this'll definitely do.

Sinking.

I feel like I'm drowning in a sea of mistakes. Every day that passes finds me clutching at the air for a grip on competence, and every day I end up empty-handed. I've never felt as inept as I have in the past month in my new position at work.

Overworked, undertrained... If I could quit and take up watercolor painting... I would, in a heartbeat.

But there are mortgages to pay and creditors to feed.
This water feels so cold.

Wow.

I overheard a woman at work today saying, "I'm just glad the Pope died so we don't have to hear about Terri Schiavo anymore."

The honesty - and brutally impersonal insensitivity - is staggering.

I'm still wrapping myself around that one.

All the words that won't come out of me.

These days I'm living outside my head. The view is different, wider and flatter, less frightening but more boring.

I can't get over this Rilo Kiley song, "A Man/Me/Then Jim."

"I had one friend in high school recently he hung himself with string. His note said
'If livin' is the problem, well that's just baffling.'"

The more I 'live,' the less I'm alive.

For instance, this week, I'm working 46 hours. Good money, good "living", but my life is three hours a day of dinner, time-hungry television, and readying for the next shift of bacon-bringing.

And all I ever write about any more is how much I work.

Have I given thought to recent events? Sure, but in the soundbite, four word form that my limited free time allows.
Schiavo - Congress is insane. Life for life's sake is not sacred.
Michael Jackson - Don't care, don't care, don't care.
Bush - Still the worst president in American history.

What is this paper bag I've found my brain inside of? And how do I fit inside there with it?

Shhh.... (creak) ... Ack.

There's a stilling unease that comes from watching a cat's body stiffen and its ears flatten, sitting alone in a night-darkened house.

"What is it? What are you hearing?"

And if the cat could talk, he'd probably say, "Nothing, I just like freaking you out."

Random Babble {Do Not Read}

It's way too dusty in here.
Someone should really clean this place up, damnit.

I demand satisfaction!
Ummm.... yeah.

Save the pinky toes!

"Don't even act like I didn't get that donut..."

Oh Mitch, you will be missed.