There's a certain freedom to posting on a blog, as opposed to, say, BotF, that seems to be rooted in the knowledge that here I'll only be read by about 4 people (high estimate?) whereas on the fray I'll be read by, say, 11 people. It means I'm free to hit grounders down the line as opposed to swinging for the fences every time.
Still, I miss the attention.
Gradually catching up with Big Brother 8. Danielle is utterly captivating. This season reminds me of Deadwood, were Deadwood staged in a house no one can leave in SoCal and all the characters are not armed (that we know of) and the bad words get bleeped. And people bathe somewhat regularly. Other than that, factoring in all the alcohol, the 2 shows are practically mirror images of one another, were the mirror one of those funhouse mirrors, and the room is dimly lit.
But, yeah, Danielle.
It's really nice to see twiff's and bacon's babies. It makes me happy. I suspect I'll never get married or have children, which is just as well because they're so expensive and needy, and I'm poor and selfish. Me and childlessness will continue to be a good fit.
I've not been lonely very often, and I'm not now. I've almost always preferred my own company to that of others, with a few major exceptions. What I am is indescribably frustrated and discouraged by the-one-that-got-away's disingenuousness and obtuseness. She works now only three days a week in B'ham, invites me over to her hotel room to get high, then proceeds to browbeat me about my drinking. "You know, I'm not going to sit around and watch you drink too much. It's not fair to you or to me. It's really unhealthy. Now finish this bowl I've loaded for you after you've passed me that carton of cigarettes, ASAP." Yeah, that makes sense. Thanks for holding me to higher standards than you hold anyone else to and then not really ever treating me concordantly when I meet those standards.
Say, you two: Remember the privacy fence, that glorious 9-foot wall of empowerment I built last fall? Remember that one poor dog I felt bad for? Well, one of my other neighbors, a truly excellent neighbor who had a 6-foot fence built to block out the ignorant retards, who was trying to socialize that awful dog because she, like me, loves dogs and, unlike me, is a saint, she finally broke down and called animal control because that dog wouldn't get socialized and found a way to get back into her yard and my other great neighbor's yard and bark at them for being in their own yards. Animal control picked it up last night. I expect some sort of dust up.
Which reminds me: I should probably finish my "Michael Vick, Some Final Thoughts" post for BotF. Or not for them. Don't know.
Yep: Worm-burner down the 3rd base line, runner advances. Not bad. Doesn't mean I won't occasionally lean back and turn the hips on a hanging corn-cutter (Iowan for curve ball) out over the plate. I mean, it's me, right?