11/10/2004 - 8:34 a.m. | too tired to title

It would seem I hate sleep, just hate it, despite any positive effects it might have on my life. I was all happy and energetic yesterday, and now my functioning is severely impaired. Example: My concept of self seems to have shifted to the point where I believe I am the protagonist in Aretha Franklin's "Respect" - "Ooo, your kiss is sweeter than honey / And guess what? So is my money." Somehow thinking that I am a wealthy black woman avoiding gold diggers is one thing; what troubles me more is that I haven't even heard that song for at least three months.

Luckily, there was very little of note yesterday. I finally took it upon myself to look at my car. Give her a jump, and it started up, and I was soooo, sooo happy. I was already planning what to do henceforth. But then, as soon as I pressed the brake to shift the car into reverse, fucker dies. Come to think of it, I believe that's what happened before. So, just in case, I went through the whole process again, with even more charging / running time allotted, and it still crashed right when I hit the brake. God only knows what that means. So! I will be taking it in soon, right after I find a place to actually take it in to. My ironic inclinations keep telling me I should take it somewhere shady and hilarious, the type of place that has Spanish translations in its Yellow Pages ad. Or that is named after a guy. Sammy's Electrical. Yeah, that's confidence inspiring; just like Ted Danson's character from "Cheers!"

The other night I was in the bathroom, obstinately getting ready for something, and I kept hearing Shelly do these really big, exaggerated yawns every couple of minutes. I'd start counting the seconds between them, dreading the inevitable onslaught of the next. I was about three moments away from crashing into the living room with a chair leg. "WE GET IT! YOU'RE TIRED!" This has nothing to do with anything.

During Fortyhands, there was a hilarious mishap where Shelly wanted to look something up and decided she could probably still type even with the two open bottles of liquid latched on to her hands. Subconsciously, though, I think she knew something was up because she went to Kyle's computer and not her own (Make your own assumptions about how hidden resentment of Kyle's gaming). Anyway, of course, she ends up pouring some of her sticky gross drink onto the keyboard - the best part was that she seemed legitmately surprised ("Who would have guessed that could happen?!") - gumming up the works for Kyle and turning him into a neurotic mess ever since. His left arrow and enter keys are sticking, for the love of God!!! Anyway, I felt pity for the poor guy, and I sort of miss the days when I had four long tasks of just amazing banality, so I took it upon myself to Q-tip the motherfuck back to health. God damn, keyboards get gross. Pubes and weird "sauces" and dust bunnies and little particles of hand. All in all, I had a great time. I made sweet, sweet sweatshop money: a buck for four hours' worth of tiny, detailed labor!

I kept meaning to sleep, but I kept finding the most ridiculous reasons not to. I started searching for more and more in-depth, bizarre things on ebay, including like a six hour foray into the world of penis enlargement scams. Then I decided I had better read the entirety of a "Boy Meets World" episode guide, because God damn I would not have been able to sleep anyway if I never knew who Brittany Murphy had played on 2 episodes (Topanga's short-lived best friend "Trini"). And then Debbe Dunning was in one episode, so I had to see what she was up to, which led to an extensive look into the "Leprechaun" movie franchise. And then I went onto Facebook for a while and went through every single group offered on campus - over a thousand of them - and joined the few I deemed truly relevant: Bony hips, Future Housewives of America, and Illini Against Propped Collars. Then, not satisfied with the one group that had been set up against redheads, I started my own - one that explicitly stated that they should all be destroyed. Throughout all of this, two songs were on repeat (repeat and shuffle actually, so that sometimes I would hear the same song twice in a row): Geggy Tah's "Whoever You Are" and REM's "Crush With Eyeliner." I forgot how good they both were (especially the latter), but I sure as hell remember now! Then at six in the morning the sun dawns and it's my bedtime.