Can't resist the list...
Friday randomness, thanks to Nobody (she's the super in my superfluous...the spec in my introspective...).

The only jewelry I wear regularly (besides my watch) is a pink sapphire in my left nostril.

I have the following taped to my monitor:
a cookie fortune, "you are a lover of words, someday you will write a book"
a sticker that says "I heart my Dinkidoo"
the words "Glam Rock" cut out of a magazine
a Post-it that says "today is a lucky day for those who remain cheerful and optimistic."

I haven't had my hair cut since last October. I think I need one, but people keep complimenting me on it (my $20 hair conditioner is worth a million trillion dollars).

I've always wanted a Harley Davidson motorcyle and someday I will get one.

I have Ranidaphobia. Seriously.

What I've Forgotten
Maybe it's information overload, loss of brain cells from experimenting with various mind-altering substances, or just that I'm getting older, but I find myself struggling more and more often to remember things. I don't just mean where I put my keys or if I mailed a bill payment, but significant names, dates, places...I know I knew them once. Here's a (very short) list:

* The name of my 5th grade teacher (though I remember 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th and the rest of middle school).
* The phone number of one of my closest friends who is no longer a friend (I probably dialed it three times a week or more for five years).
* The name of the guy I broke up with my high school boyfriend for.
* The address of the house we lived in when I was in high school.
* My childhood best friend's brother's name.
* The year I was born (granted, I lie about my age ALL THE TIME).
* All of 1992.
* The words to The Gettysburg Address.
* The name of the summer camp I went to for three years in a row in New Jersey (but I do remember that one of the counselor's was nicknamed Sniper, all the words to the Bumblebee Song, and how to make God's Eye crosses with popsicle sticks).
* How I broke my thumb in 4th grade (but the boy I had a crush on was named Troy and he signed my cast).

I once called my mother to find out what year I was born when I didn't have my driver's license with me. And I've been trying to remember the name of that guy who stood me up in 1999 so I can call and tell him he's an asshole. It drives me crazy to feel like something is just out of reach of my brain and I'll fixate on it for days/weeks/months. Is that weird?

Episode 58: In which her world feels very small...
I was driving mindlessly home today, the way we do when we know the way, but sort of thinking at the same time how much time I spend inside my head instead of paying attention to what's going on around me. At that exact moment, I stopped at a red light, looked up, and saw this huge rainbow. For a second I couldn't breathe because I thought God could hear my thoughts and it freaked me the f*ck out.

Now that I've got that cat poster discourse off my chest, I'll balance it out with telling you what the saddest thing in the world is: A Precious Moments figurine, the one that hold its arms out wide and has "I wuv you this much" scripted on the base, on a shelf at the Goodwill. Think about it. Someone gave that big-headed little statue it to someone else in an earnest attempt to express love, but the recipient was so indifferent that it ended up in a donation box instead of the back of a closet where it belongs. I get teary just thinking about it.

Happy Kitten Bicycle Time!
Is Gwen Stefani pandering to Asian teenagers for any particular reason? I know she has a song on her latest CD called "Harajuku Girls" (named for the quirkily dressed teenage girls who hang out in Tokyo's shopping district), and much of her L.A.M.B. clothing line (among other things) seems to be inspired by them, but it seems like she has an Asian teen posse trailing her everywhere. I think even to the ladies room. Could this be the next big thing in accessories? Are Gwen Stefani’s Asian girls Madonna’s Kabbalah bracelets? Will everyone want one or two? Is it legal?

I don’t advocate owning people. In fact, I’m pretty dead set against it. But I certainly think renting those who are willing isn’t out of the question.

What I'm doing right now...
Crushing candy "conversation hearts" into dust with my thumb, spreading it all over my desk, and spelling vulgar words with my finger.

What gets my knickers in a twist about Valentine's Day? People who pick this day to fixate on my being single, as if not having someone to shove an unoriginal Hallmark card and sad little box of chocolates in my face ON THIS DAY would be a FREAKING TRAGEDY.

I sound bitter...and I'm really not. I just feel like I should have the following printed on a postcard:

Dear "friend,"
I don't like to compromise and I won't settle. I've had good relationships (and some bad ones), but a sufficient number to have figured out what I do and don't want. Stop trying to make me into one of those women who bitch and whine about being single and how haaaaaaaarrrrd it is and how there are no good men out there. I'm just not that kind of girl.

There are about 40 things on my "Kelly Wants" list that come above "Boyfriend," so quit trying to fix me up with guys you wouldn't date yourself and worrying that the world might end if I don't pair off.

I don't give you the number of a divorce lawyer every time you cry about the husband staying out all night. I never told you about the time he copped a feel when I was mixing drinks in the kitchen. And I generally just try to stay out of your World of Couplehood.

Thanks for caring, but trust me, if I spend the next 50 years single, I'll have no regrets about marrying the wrong person, producing his evil spawn, then spending the next 10 years trying to scrape together enough money to divorce his ass.

Not that YOU do that.

A big, fuzzy, happy birthday post...
To my dear, sweet friend Charlie. Charlie, as you turn 29 today, I would like to express how happy I am that you, in your usual random and perverse way, came into my life over three years ago. That first day at work, when we were in the dressing rooms at Grannies Goodies and you came out looking all stunning in that tight, lime green polyester suit...once I could take my eyes off of your polyester enhanced "man area," I knew I had a friend for life. Charlie, dear, you had me at "f*ck off, whore."

Bon Anniversaire, mon ami. Et beaucoup plus.

Votre ami,

KLo

I Heart You...
For Valentine's Day, I was going to buy copies of He's Just Not That Into You for a few women I know (the ones who don't read my blog). In case you've been asleep or without a television since last September, it's the book that a couple of the writers from Sex and the City authored that's supposed to explain that you need to quit making excuses for Mr. Mixed Messages.

But instead of gifting the book, I've since decided that I'm just going to hit each one of them upside the head with it. The hardback version. Just once. Because (how many times do you have to hear it?) it's not that I don't want to hear you tell those sad stories over and over and it's not like I haven't been there myself a time or two but we both know you deserve so much better and HE'S JUST NOT THAT F*CKING INTO YOU.

Now go find someone who is, mm'kay?

And another thing...
Add "I hate web registration" to what I just said. I hate it, I won't do it, and I think it's an abomination. It really gets inane when little pissant newspapers in small towns require registration to view a story about how Elberton isn't gettin' that chicken plant this year after all.

One of the most common suggestions for cutting down on spam is to stop entering your email address into web registration forms. I haven't had to register at a site since I found BugMeNot.com. Come on, try it. Together we can create anarchy.

I always feel like somebody's watching me...
Because I can't seem to stop bitching about all of the little things that irk me, add another one to the list: Shopper "loyalty" cards.

I don't just dislike them because they require me to fill out a form with my personal information, therefore giving Big Brother another way to keep an eye on me. I also find them objectionable because they are a pain the the ass to keep up with (who always shops at the same grocery store?). And it's not just grocery stores anymore. CVS drugstore has an "ExtraCare" card. Video stores have them. Health clubs have them. Before you know it, your keychain is a mass of ugly, plastic tags.

I don't object to warehouse store cards, like Costco. They have to keep the riffraff out somehow. Membership cards are fine (though my health club just looks up your name at the front desk and I no longer get DVDs from anywhere but Netflix). My Barnes & Noble card is a necessary evil, I just don't like to keep track of it.

As a matter of principle, I refuse to fill out applications for loyalty card programs. Why should I take MY time to give a store personal information that allows them to track what I buy? But I want the discount - at BiLo or Harris Teeter or Piggly Wiggly, or wherever I happen to shop that's convenient at the time. It's like a game: At CVS, I tell them I forgot the card and give them my mother's phone number. At grocery stores, I pick the line with the friendliest-looking cashier and tell them my card is on my other keychain, or I left my bonus card at home, or I just loudly announce that I forgot my card and wait for the person behind me in line to offer theirs (they often do). At Barnes & Noble, I give them my home phone (they can easily look it up). As far as Costco is concerned, I only go when my roommate does (with his card).

I have no plastic tags on my keychain. I can't even find my Dillard's credit card (I can still charge because they can enter the card number by looking up my account) and my wallet contains only my driver's license and two credit cards.

With Harris Teeter's "e-VIC" program, you can enter your VIC card number online and it creates targeted weekly specials they send you via email. I did it for a while, but it was a little creepy to get emails announcing weekly bargains on Fancy Feast, Ben & Jerry's, NyQuil, and KY Jelly. Or Mentadent, Lean Pockets, E.P.T. Home Pregnancy Tests, and Mrs. T's Bloody Mary Mix. So I took my email off the list.

I'm not one of those paranoid conspiracy theorists who think there's a bad guy behind every marketing campaign. But we shouldn't need cards to be a VIP or preferred customer. If a grocery store wants my loyalty, they should forget about specials, lower prices across the board, hire cashiers with customer service skills, carry the organic milk I like, and quit asking me to fill out their f*cking forms.

End of rant.

Baby I Love Your Way
Since the nephew is a month old today, I thought this would be a good time to post everything I learned in the past four weeks:

1. Babies want to eat every two hours. Even at night. Even when you're sleeping. Even when you don't want to get up.

2. I screamed for real the first time he "made a poopie" in his diaper when I was holding him, because I could feel it on my arm. The times I screamed after that were just for effect.

3. Taking a baby out of the house is a task I'd put right up there with backpacking in the Himalayas without a Sherpa.

4. Too few public restrooms have baby changing stations...you know, where we used to put our Orange Julius and shopping bags while smoking in the mall bathroom.

5. I used to think that when you have a baby, you just pop them in a snuggle sack and carry them around on your chest. Or put them in your pocket and feed them a goldfish cracker once in a while. Apparently, babies are not Tamagotchi.

6. Babies are the highest of high maintenance creatures, ranking just above Jennifer Lopez. They have accessories: bag, car seat, stroller weighing over 45 lbs., all which must be lugged from place to place, repeatedly disassembled and reassembled. This is why so many women with infants drive huge SUVs.

7. I am not one of those aunts who thinks everything the nephew does is cute and fabulous. For instance, he cries every time his diaper is changed. My question: "Hasn't he gotten used to it after the, I don't know, TWENTY times a day or so you change him??"

8. Speaking of changing diapers: I can't do it. My sister thinks her baby's poo smells like wasabi, which I may never be able to eat again just from her saying that. What it really smells like is extraordinarily foul cheese (you have to know that I gagged a little while writing that last sentence). On the other hand, my sister thinks nothing of putting her nose near his ass to smell if he needs a-changin'.

9. I am the wrong person to leave alone with the baby. That's why he got baby barf - sorry, "spit up" - in his eye.

10. I was pretty sure I'd love him, but I didn't know I'd cry on the drive home because I missed him. Or that I would call my sister and ask her to put the phone next to him so I could hear the little noises he makes.

Don't start thinking I'm getting all sentimental. While I love the Sweet Baboo (yeah, that's my nickname for him...don't make fun, bitches), it doesn't mean I'm going to start cooing over babies at the grocery store. And I still hate going to Baby World or Baby Universe or whateverthehell that store is. Babies, baby supplies, baby accoutrements = bor-hor-hor-hor-ring.

Why do you still like me when I'm so ill-tempered?
Since I've been a snarky girl for a couple of weeks now (I'll make no excuses, though you probably should know I was sick...and overworked...and my neck hurt...) I'm going here this weekend for a little R & R. No golf, just shopping. No beach, just sleeping.

I won't promise sunshine and pink Twinkies, but do expect improvement in my bad attitude when I return. And if it's only because I got the bargain on new J.Crew or Ralph Lauren, well, do you really care why?

If someone called you a cynic, would you take it as a compliment or a criticism?
Let’s just say there was a war between good and evil — evil being Cynicism and good being, well, the opposite of cynicism. I think we all know that Cynicism would score an easy win.

But then, at the awards ceremony during its victory speech, Cynicism would take the black villain’s mask off and everyone would see that it’s not really evil, it’s just misunderstood.

Though “cynical” does imply a sneering disbelief in integrity, a cynic isn’t necessarily a pessimist or a misanthrope. Or jaded. Can’t you just hear Cynicism saying, “I want to believe people are inherently good…I really want to”?