Showing posts with label little edie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label little edie. Show all posts

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

dispatches from the deep


how is it that after graduating college i feel more like a dorked-out freak? i mean, i no longer pull all-nighters in the regenstein basement. i rarely cite texts in casual conversation. i don't even own highlighters anymore -and, boy, did that purge feel good. but, today i really threw myself into a tizzy. i woke up in a terrible mood triggered by some anxiety dreams about who knows what only to have it get worse when i realized that i had a cold sore developing. while perusing my natural remedy options on the internet, i checked in on my scrabbulous games, a new-found obsession of mine. instead of the page loading as it normally would to reveal a neck-and-neck array of tiles, it was a terrible dramamine orange box announcing that scrabbulous had been disabled in the us and canada. WHAT? i started to loose it. where else was i going to put all this bizarre, anxious energy that i had been channeling into my verbal competition? what was going to help me keep my mind as nimble and sharp or my spelling so correct? i had an over-the-top, but momentary melt-down. as i was trying to regain my composure, i recalled a message to a fellow scrabbulouser including a prediction about me mapping out conspiracy theories on my walls by age 40. this fear and likelihood was only made worse by going to go see the new x-files movie this evening. mulder is first shown donning a beard and pinning up newspaper clippings near the photo of his sister (duh) and the classic -now titular- poster with the ufo with the caption 'i want to believe.' i realized that i would have to figure out how to denote 'wing-nut' without being able to grow a beard. luckily, i had leafed through erin's copy of bust earlier in the day and spent some time analyzing little edie's outfits. the article was a preview for an upcoming book about the wingnut-turned-post-humous-cashcow/fashionista of grey gardens fame.

when did i turn into a cold-sore scrabble freak who lives at home just biding the time before turning into a full-blown conspiracy theorist and blogging about having a regretted crush on a tv character? in the spirit of henry rollins in live tonight sold out,
WINGNUT? SOMEBODY GIVE ME A DECREPIT MANSION AND A CAPE!