I’ve been working on a portfolio site for the past 72 hours. I’m excited to actually have some of it up on the web now- it’s always like a burden is taken off my shoulders after I upload bits and pieces of my newest web project. Being able to see that it’s finally starting to take shape after endless hours of staring at five different TextEdit pages full of code is what makes the thankless task of web design rewarding to me. I’ll never be one of those people who waits until their entire design is complete before they put it up on the web- never.

Despite having the design mostly done, the content creation part is always the slowest- even more so than creating any graphics. Perhaps it’s because I’m always so vain about my designs that I’ll spend hours of wasted time staring at the overall design again and again when I could be finishing everything up. For now, the “about” and “words” pages are complete. The “resume” page is mostly complete- I need to figure out some sort of navigation thing for it. The “design” page is only partially complete as there are a lot of graphics and writing that need to be added. “Contact” will hopefully be done by tomorrow. As for “musings”- well- that one’s going to take awhile longer, but it’s the least important page at this point in time.

While I was finishing up the “words” page, I received a rejection email from Richard Hugo House for a marketing position I applied for. It’s hard to keep working on a webpage I’m using for job applications after getting rejected for a job I really wanted. I stopped for a half hour and laid down on the bed, berating myself for how my cover letter must not have been perfect enough.

I was really excited about this position and even spent most of last Friday making what I feel was an amazing portfolio complete with matching resume/cover letter to show off my creativity and design skills. To not even get an interview after all of the time I spent on my application is really disheartening. To have them email me a rejection note after having my resume for no more than two or three days is also really disheartening. All of this being disheartened while working on “job stuff” makes applying for other jobs extra disheartening. Right now, there’s a nagging, pessimistic voice in my head telling me over and over again that there’s no point in applying for jobs when I’m so worthless that I’m only going to see rejection email after rejection email.

Even though it’s only been up since mid-January, there’s over 200 signatures on the Pirates of Darkwater on DVD petition. Rock! Even more amazing is that there aren’t any links to the petition on the web- at least none that I can find. I know all of those people didn’t find the petition from my miniscule page views, so I’m quite impressed by the following.

Anyway, it’s an awesome show and you should sign the petition if you haven’t already, or if I haven’t signed it for you yet (though Tyler’s the only one I’ve taken that liberty for).

If you don’t know what Pirates of Dark Water is, then visit Andorus’s Pirates of Dark Water Page, see how wonderful a cartoon it is, and then go sign the petition.

1. I know I’ve been sitting at my computer too much the past few days when I can tell by the sound my hard drive is making that someone is downloading the leaked version of the newest Family Guy through DC++.
2. I know I’m not getting out enough when Tyler opens the door to leave in the early morning and I experience a violent shudder from the light of an overcast sky.
3. I know I need to join the circus when the most exciting part of my day consists of doing handstands on the bed.
4. I know I’ve been watching too much of the same pirated TV shows over and over again when I can qoute a question Darien Lambert asks his computer SELMA and then respond with a qoute from Lion-o speaking to Mumm-Ra- all the while having the patchwork conversation make perfect grammatical and contextual sense. (By the way, is Mumm-Ra some sort of primate, or does he belong to the feline species? I can’t really tell.)

To make myself feel better during the various loser moments I experience throughout each day, my newest mantra is “not having a job will do that to the best of us.”

Exhibit A: One of Mary’s most favorite past-times is being mummified by my favorite fleece blanket.

Exhibit B: Another of her favorite things is raw carrots. She is also fond of broccoli (cooked or raw) and apples (green more than red, but she’s not too picky). But nothing compares to cheddar cheese, which she gets very rarely due to being on a special hyper-allergenic diet that consists of no dairy or meat protein.

Exhibit C: The Lio-Rat Incident. My dog has been mocked, tormented, and stumbled over probably more times than any dog alive. And yet, she still remains faithfully loyal to me, despite having brought her into a household shared by her arch-nemesis- Tyler.

Happy birthday, El Fluffo. It’s been Thirteen long and mostly fun years. Here’s to many more without too many health complications.

I just experienced the misfortune of reading about the newest reality TV show, Show Dogs Moms and Dads. The title makes me glad that my TV is a 13 inch VCR-in-the-bottom contraption that is unplugged and stuffed into a random niche. And yet… and yet… I so desperately want to see this show. Granted, the name lacks all flow and intrigue that the title of Desperate Housewives possesses, but the concept sounds so deliciously demented. I imagine it to be even more outrageous than Best in Show, if only based on the sole fact that it’s a reality show and not a movie. Afterall, reality TV shows are somewhat based in reality, right?

In my mind, Show Dogs Moms and Dads has fanatical dog owners imposing their own personal failures onto their dogs— much in the way those satanic parents everyone knows force their children to succeed in the stead of their personal shortcomings. As I type this, I can almost see vivid scenes play out on my computer screen of the sweat, the tears, and the temper-tantrums the various dog owners display. The owners put so much of their lives into their dogs- dogs that must win awards and be admired at any cost. Before even the first episode is over, I’ve decided that all of the dog owners are psychotic freaks, and that makes me feel better about all of my personal faults. I turn triumphantly to Tyler and say, “See, look at those people. I’m not nearly as much of a freak as they are! Now you can’t give me a hard time about my dog any longer.”

But, alas, I don’t have cable, and I’ve already exhausted my pirating resources for an episode to download. That means that even if I did want to watch this show, my soul has been rescued by the unfortunate circumstances of it’s unavailability.

Note: For this post only, you are allowed to insult, mock and verbally abuse me in any way you deem suitable.

I may have lost my “motor skills”, but I still have the sensibility to wash a dirty pitcher that’s been sitting on the counter for seven days before refilling it with lemonade. This, I am quite proud of.

I’m also feeling proud of the fact that I can coherently write (and spell) while drunk. Go on; praise me. Praise me, damnit!

1. I was barked at three times today; once by a black standard poodle, once by a man, and once by a male mallard.
2. A female mallard (the mate of the mallard above) vigorously attacked my shoelaces while I waited for the bus.
3. A mob of at least twenty Japanese tourists in business suits took pictures of the mallard attacking my shoelaces, then of a bus when it rolled up to the stop, and then of both mallards as they strutted back and forth across heavy traffic.
4. I was yelled at by a bus driver for standing a mere three feet away from the curb as it pulled up. Didn’t I know it was dangerous to stand only three feet from the curb, even though that’s how far the bus shelter I was standing next to is?
5. My dog slept in her bed for most of the day, ignoring me even when I came home.
6. JamesandSarah, the evil upstairs neighbors, signaled their return at promptly 2 PM with screaming and crashing sounds after blessing me with only two days of peace.
7. As I was picking up various articles of clothing I had dry cleaned, a large mass of cigarette ash spilled out from the plastic bag covering my clothes, presumably coming from one or more articles of clothing. That’s funny, I thought I didn’t smoke.
8. While riding the bus home, a man sitting behind me “accidently” pulled on my hair because he “thought it was the cord you pull to stop the bus”. He didn’t get off for four more stops.

Who are you? Why are you reading this site?

“I think this should be present tense,” she told me, beginning to change the words without my approval. She was the special edition editor, and I a mere writer.

“Well, I think that’s a matter of personal style. I’m a past-tense person, myself. Also, present tense will make it sound awkward towards the end of the article,” I told her.

I watched bitterly as the blinking cursor chewed strong past-tense endings and left weaker present tense remains. I squirmed, causing the low computer chair to creak.

“Um… you missed ‘explained’- it should be ‘explains’, And ‘chops’ has one ‘p’, not two,” I said feigning impartialness. What I really wanted to tell her is that if she was going to bastardize my words, at least do it correctly.

“How’s that?” she asked after reordering the clauses in a sentence mid-way through the piece.

“Again, it’s a matter of personal style. I wanted the name of the bakery at the beginning because it stands out in the reader’s mind more,” I said. But I relented, straining my arm forward and pecking at the see-through keys to bandage the wound inflicted on my words.

“I don’t understand this quote,” she told me, reading aloud the sentence in question. It was a fair criticism, so I explained what it meant. “We need to add something there to fix it, because I really don’t understand it.”

She offered a long diatribe to clarify the quote, often rephrasing it mid-word as she struggled with wording. I saw the idea she had formed in her mind and wasn’t convinced. Finally, I pecked out something short and awkward which seemed to appease her.

“Look, I’ll just rewrite the tenses- you have a lot more to worry about. Just let me know about any major edits.” I said, the impatience and frustration seeping into my voice. As a fifth year senior majoring in English and Comparative Literature, how do you gently tell a mere college freshman what the difference between editing and rewriting is? How do you explain that people have different writing styles you need to consider when editing?

She laughed softly at something I had written. Well, at least she was enjoying my article, I thought darkly. Continuing to laugh, she changed the tenses to random words- missing others and increasing my bitterness.

At five in the morning, the fire department busted our door in because our neighbor is a dumbass. At first, when Tyler and I were awakened by the banging of what I presume was our door being busted in, we thought it was JamesandSarah being their usual annoying selves and making extreme noise at an ungodly hour. It’s happened before.

Anyway, here’s some photos of the sorry state of our door. I’ll write a more detailed account later, after I recover from the rage at the fact that our next-door neighbor caused this by taking out the batteries in all five of his fire alarms and by burning something so strong that it woke up one of the other neighbors who thought it was a fire. If I see that dumbass today, I swear I’m going to castrate him.