Clearly, it's an election.
- I have been binge-eating and watching the MSNBC widget (this is what I get for having no cable and being basically, bitchy and in pain all fucking day - I am not watching on television) and if I eat this last fucking cupcake (why did I buy a fourpack of Cupcake Royale cupcakes? Do I WANT diabetes? Do I WANT to sweat when I take a bite of the frosting? (This, by the way, is no lie. I can handle the stump, but when my lips touch frosting now, I start sweating, and not in a good way.)) I will probably die.
Most parenthetical comments ever ftw!
- Earlier, I self-diagnosed with an impending UTI, and am overdosing on cranberry juice in an effort to be, you know, NOT declaring bankruptcy so I can get that taken care of, but now I'm not so sure that's actually the issue. Regardless, I have a quart of the shit to get through in the next two hours or so.
- Mint chocolate cupcake + cranberry juice = NASTIEST TASTE EVER. I am, basically, including every single thing I have ever put into my mouth in any way when I make that judgement. That includes but is not limited to: money, dirt, cat food, wet cat food (I was seven), something that probably should have been poisonous considering what it was made of (paint was a prime ingredient), something that WAS poisonous but fortunately only in relatively large quantities (plant life ftw!), bleu cheese, and circus peanuts. This is kind of like...god crapped in your mouth, smacked you across the face, and demanded that you stop your fucking crying 'cause he don't like fucking sissies.
I would continue with that scary, scary metaphor, but not even I am that mean. I think the next step would be he and Jesus gang-raping Santa, though, if you're curious.
- As totally predicted, I had no lines at all when I voted. I never have a line. However, I did, as per usual, manage to confuse the poll worker with my name. Because, see, let's say for the sake of my Google rating, that my name is Patricia Stephanie Rosenblum. (I don't know where that came from, but it clearly indicates that I am no longer allowed to select nom de plumes for myself.) For some reason, the poll worker always, ALWAYS, turns to the "P" section, despite the fact that I kind of think that Patricia is pretty obviously a FIRST name and Rosenblum is pretty obviously a LAST name. Additional irony here is that they take my name off of exactly the same card form that they're taking from EVERYONE ELSE EVER, and yet, they get my name backwards. WHY NOT. Normally, I gently say "Actually, my last name's Rosenblum," when I get tired of watching the poll worker flip around in the Ps looking for me and not, oddly enough, finding me. This is not always the same time that they start to get panicky that they can't find me, because I am in fact that mean.
This time, though. This was, indeed, a special election! It was SO special that the poll worker turned, on receipt of that statement, to the S section, because apparently I had said "Actually, my last name's Rosenblum. I MEAN IT'S STEPHANIE, WHAT THE FUCK AM I SAYING?" So that was fun.
But hey. I exercised my civic right/duty, and didn't even get a fucking sticker for it because I didn't realise that Babes in Toyland was giving away free vibrators. So now I'm annoyed.
- One person used the touchscreen machine while I was there. Does this mean that WA, too, will soon be subject to the machinations of Diebold?
- This would be a perfect time to watch Iron Man, which I bought the other day in a binge of consumerism (see also buying forty jillion cds) except it's still in the car for some reason and it would take actual excavation to get it out of there at this point. Like, for serious. Maybe I'll just watch gay Canadian junkie porn instead.
(This movie is also known as Twist. It's quite good. But it is a definition of genre film for me, and that genre is gay Canadian drug addict movies.)
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