Because I am incapable of just letting things be

I'm like a fucking drug addict. I can't help it.

Which is to say, I'm messing around with the template again, so if things look wonky for a little while, that's why.

UPDATE: Okay, I think I'm done. I like it. Not that I necessarily hated it before, but I realized my problem is that I don't like using the default Blogger templates because I don't like having the exact same design as zillions of other blogs out there. I need something that's all my own.

And thus concludes the latest episode of Jolene Changes Her Template AGAIN And Tells You About It AGAIN Because It's Not Like You Don't Already Have Enough Reasons To Want To Kill Yourself Over The Monotony Of It All Because You Can't Tell If She's Ever Going To Write Anything Worth Reading Ever Again.

UPDATE UPDATE: I was just adding a few more links, and I noticed that I don't know the fucking alphabet. Like, I apparently thought G came before F. I have no idea what THAT was all about.

UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE: I forgot to add, now that I'm done, that if the blog looks like shit, please tell me. I looked at it in three different browsers, but I'm sure someone will come along with some wacky alien browser and tell me something's amiss. And I would like to know if that happens. Thank you muchly.

Please help a language-challenged person

So I was rereading my previous post, and I got this funny feeling that I used the term "critical mass" wrong. So I looked it up. And I was right, in that I was wrong. And this is extremely embarrassing to me. I am so paranoid about sounding like an idiot, that if I have any doubt that I don't know the exact meaning of a word, I'll look it up before using it. Yes, even on a blog that about five people read, or on a message board where it really doesn't matter.

But more than the simple embarrassment of using the phrase "critical mass" incorrectly, it is now driving me nuts trying to figure out what phrase I was looking for. I know there's a word or phrase out there that means what I want to say, but I can't think of what it is. Critical threshold? That doesn't sound right, either.

What is it???

Please help.

God, I am just a big baby; plus, bonus paranoia

How do people deal with chronic back pain? No really, how? Because I done went tweaked something in my back this weekend, and I WANT TO DIE. And it's not even that bad - I'm pretty sure it's just a minor strain of some sort, probably the result of sleeping on a rickety sofabed Saturday night (either that or it's a kidney infection, and I'm only saying that because it's in the general vicinity of where I believe my kidney to be, and not based on any experience of ever actually having a kidney infection, or even having any idea what the actual symptoms are supposed to be, and how do you like THAT expert medical diagnosis?) - but seriously, I cannot stop thinking about how I want to just curl up in a ball and whimper right now, and it's times like this when I really wish I had a boyfriend who could do nice things for me while I whine like a baby. And wow, that was an excellently-crafted run-on sentence, don't you think?

In other news, I had a brief moment of terror this weekend when I overheard my mother having a conversation containing the following excerpt: "Blah blah blah put it in a blog blah blah blah."

WHAT?!?!

My mother is not suppopsed to know what a blog is. She just isn't. Here's the thing about my mom - she actually knows quite a bit about computers. She even makes a living as a freaking programmer, if you must know. But she's just not the type who's ever been into things like "surfing the internet" or "pop culture" or stuff like that. And definitely not blogs.

And definitely not THIS blog. I know this site isn't exactly the raunchiest place, but there have been at least a few scattered allusions to, you know...sex, and when it comes to my mom, that is not stuff I want her anywhere near. Seriously, my mom is the one everyone in both my immediate and extended families mocks mercilously because she is such a prude (I'm not kidding - we really do that - but it's in a "we kid because we love" kind of way, so don't go thinking I'm being mean to my mom or anything).

But I wasn't worried, because, well, she wouldn't even know what a blog is, right? RIGHT? Aaargh.

Granted, it's not likely she'd ever actually find my blog without being explicitly told about it, but it could happen. I did put code into the template that renders Google useless (go ahead, try to find my blog using Google - can't do it), but there's always the "Next Blog" button up there, and for all I know, my mom is sitting at her computer clicking away at it, and one day she could land here. I know I try to be anonymous, but still, there are stories I've told here about people, and if those people (including my mom) ever read them, they'd surely recognize themselves, and thus, me.

I think what I need to do, clearly, is swear more, because my mother HATES that. She'd probably flee at the first sign of "fuck," and then I'd be home free. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Ass. Fuck. Shit, shit, shit. Goddamn.

Yeah, I think that should do it.

False alarm! I'm not dying.

(Not yet, anyway. That I know of.)

So I'm in the shower this morning (okay, stop right there and get your mind out of the gutter before I go any further, because this is not that kind of story, Dweeze), and I'm washing my back, and I feel a twinge of pain. I go back to the spot where it hurt, and feel a bump, and it's, well, not quite hard, but not soft, either. And I kind of freaked out a little bit.

You see, right in that place, I have a mole. Every time I go to the doctor, she looks at it, determines that it poses no problem, and tells me to watch it in case it changes, in which case it should come off. Problem is, it's on my lower back, and even with a mirror, it takes a fair amount of contortion to see it, so I usually forget to pay much attention to it.

But then today, suddenly, it turned hard and painful, and that is not good. So I'm in the shower, and my mind is going over all the things you do when you think maybe you have some sort of abnormal growth that might even be the dreaded cancer, and what are you going to tell your parents, and who's going to take care of your cat, and who would most appreciate inheriting all your CDs, and you hope people won't be too sad because really, you've had a good life, and all that. Believe me, you can think a lot of that stuff in just a few minutes.

So anyway, I finish my shower, and I get out, and I put on my glasses and look in the mirror, and I go, "Huh." There was the mole, looking pretty much the same as it always has. And right next to it was a huge, red ZIT. (And you know what that means, right? Just go there already. Say it. I'm a dirty girl.)

Good news is, I'm not going to die, unless it's, like, a killer zit or something. Such good news that I had to come here and tell you about it, and in the process reveal something kind of personal, and, well, disgusting. But that's how much I love you, internet, that I would allow you into my world like that.

Sweet, sweet relief

There is nothing worse (okay, there is, I know, it's not like 60,000 people dying or anything, but it's HYPERBOLE, people) than realizing, the night before you're supposed to go on vacation, that you can't find your plane tickets.

And there is nothing better (again, there is, I KNOW) than calling the airline, and having them confirm that it is in fact an electronic ticket, and all you need is your ID, which you haven't managed to lose (yet), and having the customer service rep think you're just a little bit crazy (just a little) when, instead of hurling the verbal abuse that they're probably used to hearing on a regular basis, you practically start crying with joy and telling them they are the best ever.

I am such a fucking mess.

Stop the Insanity!

(*Editor's note: The events of this post actually happened over a week ago, but I've been too busy to update the blog, so I'm only posting it now. I'm insane, but not insane enough to wear a long-sleeved sweater in mid-90 degree weather.)

My life is so bizarre (of course I am speaking in relative terms. I know it's not really all that strange, but I live for the small things). Taking the subway home from work today, I recognized the same woman I had seen earlier wearing the sweater that I also own. It was a classic Seinfeld moment. You know - where you see the same person you don't know, again.

But that wasn't the weird part. This time, I was the one wearing the sweater, and she was wearing something else. It kind of freaked me out.

It's official. I've gone insane.

So I'm riding the subway home from work the other day, and this woman gets on, and she's wearing the exact same J. Crew cowl-neck sweater that I also happen to own.

I felt this sudden need to go over and tell her I had the same sweater, as if we somehow shared some sort of bond.

Over a sweater.

It's not like they were even the same color. Mine is blue. Hers was red. And I wasn't even wearing it at the time.

Thankfully, my senses took over and kept me from making a complete jackass of myself by saying anything to her.

*****

Last weekend my friend made me go see The Matrix: Reloaded. It was my own fault, really. There were three movies she wanted to see: Finding Nemo, X-Men 2, and The Matrix. I had no desire to see any of those, since I can't stand either animation or science fiction, but I made the mistake of saying that if I were forced to see one of those three, I'd see The Matrix, because at the very least, there was some minor curiosity over the special effects everyone was talking about.

Somehow, she construed this as an actual agreement to go see the movie with her, and I had no real way of getting out of it, especially since she had some free passes, and I wouldn't have to pay for it. Even after she explained the plot of the original Matrix to me, I left Reloaded wondering what the hell was going on, and, more importantly, what the hell the big deal was.

So yesterday, I rented the original, so that maybe it would all fit together, and I could better understand what was going on. I didn't. They are just two fucking stupid movies with some snazzy special effects. Blah. Whatever. Special effects do nothing for me if they are just trying to cover up the fact that there is either no plot, or a really lame one. And yeah, Keanu is certainly prime eye candy, but as soon as he opens his mouth, it's all over. Boy cannot act to save his life.

When the third installment comes out, you can bet no one will be dragging my ass anywhere near it, free or not.

Aaargh!!!!

This will teach me. From now on, compose important entries offline and then post into Blogger.

Why does this happen again and again, and yet I don't learn?

I had this whole entry typed out about the great irony over the fact that I had posted this ridiculous entry the other day, and then today ran into the last guy I had dumped, and how it was hysterically funny.

I just couldn't get over myself about it, actually.

Perhaps you had to be there.

Anyway, I go to post the thing, and Blogger craps out on me! And I lose the whole thing! Bastards!

Yeah, yeah, I know I don't pay for this site, and I should be grateful I have it at all. But shit, man, I want to whine about it, and I'm going to, dammit.

That is all.

What is it THIS time?

I hope it's only Blogger acting up, as it does from time to time, but my May archive link won't show up. The individual link to the last post works just fine, but there's no May link under the Archive heading on the right.

A bigger question might be, why am I obsessing over this to such a degree? A simple answer might be that I obsess over everything. A more complicated answer would probably delve deeper into my psyche than I care to venture at this juncture.

Okay, one more republish, and then I'll go to bed.

I swear.

No, I don't have OCD, why do you ask?

I just spent way too much time mucking around with the template. The color scheme has been bugging me for a while, but I haven't had the motivation to do anything about it. Mainly, I hated the pale green in the title bar, and I also wanted to change it to something, anything else, so that it would look at least a little different from all the other Blogger blogs that used the same template.

Unfortunately, I have an exceedingly small amount of knowledge when it comes to these types of things ("these types of things" being computers, the internet, programming, html, etc.), so I assumed I would never be able to figure out how to change things, and all I would succeed in doing would be to fuck the whole thing up so badly it would kill the blog. I've avoided trying to change anything until today. I would have waited even longer, except that I was using it as an excuse to avoid doing something more pressing in my life.

Once I finally decided to do something, I figured that if I went in and changed the color codes by trial and error, I'd find something I liked fairly easily. Not so.

For some reason I can't figure out, there doesn't seem to be any pattern or correspondence between the color codes and the actual colors they encode. I tried code after code, sometimes attempting to try them in sequence, sometimes doing it randomly, and all I kept getting was an assortment of black, dark blue, and occasionally, variations on chartreuse.

Despite all the time I was wasting, I became obsessed with finding an acceptable color scheme. I did finally settle on what you see here, although I'm still not entirely crazy about it. I'd like to make the title bar a paler shade of blue, but I just don't know how. It's going to have to do for now.

Next project: changing the link color to anything other than that horrid orange. Don't even get me started on the abomination that is the color orange. That's a rant for another day.

Why should I be surprised?

Yet again, I went and did a search for something after having made some major decision about it. Yes, rather than before. Why do I do this? It's like I'm intentionally trying to aggravate myself or something.

Remember back when I first started this blog, and how I named it Have Fun, Go Mad? And then after I named it, I did a Google search and found out about the line dancing? Yeah, remember that?

Well, I gone done it again. Recently, I gave a heartfelt eulogy for my Clairol True-to-Light makeup mirror, which had died. In its place, out of desperation, I spent obscene amount of money on a new one.

A few days later, I decided to stick "True-to-Light" into my handy-dandy Google toolbar, just for the hell of it. Again, perhaps I should have thought of this before I went to the store, but alas, hindsight is 20/20. Always is, isn't it?

What should come up as the first hit? By golly, it's the Remington True-to-Light deluxe makeup mirror, on sale at your local neighborhood drugstore.com. It's virtually identical to my Clairol True-to-Light. And it costs, no, not $100, but $35. Thirty-five. Are you fucking kidding me? Is this some kind of cruel joke?

I mean, yes, I was desperate for a new mirror. But I think I could have waited a few more days if I knew for sure I'd be getting exactly what I wanted.

Honestly, what is wrong with me? Why do I never think to do informational searches before I make decisions? Why do have such a morbid curiosity to find out just how much I may have screwed myself?

And before you say anything, yes, I suppose I could probably return the expensive one I bought and order the cheaper one. However, the major obstacle is that it takes time that I don't have, and hassle that I simply can't deal with right now.

At least it's a pretty nice mirror. It's not like I paid $100 for the exact same mirror I could have gotten for $35. It's much nicer. Well, maybe much is too strong a word, but it is nicer. Don't you love my extraordinary ability to rationalize?

It’s been over a week now that I’ve had this blog. Well, to be more accurate, this blog, plus the Blog Formerly Known as Have Fun, Go Mad. I thought it was time to do a little week-in-review post. Actually, more like a week-plus-in-review. Something like that.

As I stated in a previous post, this blog exists to give me a place to write. I suppose there’s no reason why I couldn’t just sit at my computer and write things, but the motivation is really much stronger when you know someone will be reading what you’ve written.

I still don’t claim to be anything but a non-writer. None of my posts so far come close to approaching the longer essays that I would love to be able write. Part of the reason for that is that I don’t have a lot of time. It’s also because I’m using this blog as a place where I can just let my thoughts out. If those thoughts are short, they’re short, and if they manage to form themselves into a longer essay, that’s great.

“Just letting your thoughts out” can have its disadvantages, however. It has a lot of them, actually. I don’t do much editing or spell-checking, so my posts tend to have more typos than I’d like. Occasionally, I’ll go back and read over some posts, and I’ll find new typos every time.

Even worse are the glaring grammatical mistakes. For instance, I just noticed that in the first sentence of the previous paragraph, I originally wrote “it’s” rather than “its.” It’s mistakes like that that mortify me, because mixing up “it’s” and “its,” “they’re,” “their,” and “there,” “you’re” and “your,” etc. are major pet peeves of mine. I may not be the greatest writer of all time, but I at least like to think that I know most of rules of grammar and punctuation (even if I break them, on purpose or not, on occasion).

All in all, I think this has been a successful endeavor. I’m really, truly enjoying it. If you had told me five or ten years ago that I would actually enjoy writing, I would have asked you what you were smoking. But I am. I’m really wishing now that I had paid more attention to learning how to write well while in college, because if I could get paid to do this, I would be in heaven. It would sure beat what I'm doing now.

So sit back, enjoy the ride, and I’ll do my best to entertain you.