I feel like I have so much to say but no words in which to do so. Does that make sense? Like my head is so filled with random crap, but when I make an attempt to piece the thoughts together, it comes out gibberish. And meaningless. And oddly perverted. Like most of that show Jersey Shore. You know, it's not fair of me to even pass judgement when I've never seen that show. It's not just that I lack the desire to watch it - but also that I happen to not have cable tv and because of that, I cannot access MTV or any other reality-show station. Besides, Jersey Shore is like Dancing with the Stars and American Idol. You don't have to watch it to know what is going on with it. You just have to exist somewhere in mainstream culture. It's everywhere. Plus, if I wanted to watch trashy people in too-tight clothing fighting with one another I could just head over to the local walmart. Isn't there a guy on that show named "The" something? The Situation? I'm pretty open minded when it comes to odd names, but I'm pretty sure adding "The" to beginning of anything referring to an actual human being is pretty douche-baggy. Unless, I guess, if you're a wrestler. Then maybe it's okay. Maybe I should start referring to myself as The Fabulous. Or "The Fattie". That has a nice ring to it. I could go into Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling. GLOW. Anybody remember that? Now there's some nice quality television that they should bring back.... I'm so old. Birthdays after 30 are pretty much just a reminder of how much closer you are to dying. Sure, say I'm cynical and bitter all you want but it's basically true. I'm not implying you shouldn't celebrate them with copious amounts of booze and wild love-making, I'm just being realistic about what they stand for. One more year I've made it through. One more year of borderline psychotic thoughts and destructive plans that I have successfully resisted giving into. One more year sober. That's actually a lie. I drank just today. I had to, it's my birthday. It's what you do. But you get what I'm saying I think. At least you should if you're not drunk yourself. Or maybe you can get this blog more when you're drunk. I don't know. Whatever. Life isn't defined by the crap you own or the money in your bank account. It's defined by the relationships you have with other people. Its taken me a long 34 years (to the day!) to realize this small, but important detail in life. That amidst the shitty, irresponsible, selfish assholes - there are some gems of people out there. Good, hard-working, morally correct and mostly decent people who actually look out for you and aren't all "me, me me" about everything. There aren't many! They're like a secret underground organization - like the tea party, only more concerned about things that actually matter (political stab. sorry. It's my birthday. sue me). My transition from one topic to another isn't exactly top notch this time. I blame it on the Xanex I took for my anxiety a few minutes ago and the fact that I haven't written a blog since there was snow outside. Actually, BEFORE that even. So if this seems disjointed, don't get mad at me. My life is a bucket of chaos covered in obligation and surrounded on all sides by a HUGE lack of motivation. It's no way to live, I tell ya. I'm falling asleep and it's only 9:30. And I'm not ashamed. Ok, maybe a little. But at least for the next 3 hours or so, it is still *technically* my birthday so feel free to get me a little something from the following wish list: - tickets to see the New Kids on the Block. I could care less about NSYNC though. You might as well pair them with Menudo. Actually, how cool would that be? Menudo and New Kids? Also Nelson. Oooo, and the Beastie Boys. It's my make-believe concert... I can have whomever I'd like there. Can too. Can too! Also, Air Supply. Sure, I'd be the only one there but that's why it would be so incredibly awesome. - New phone and service. I found out today that someone left me a message two months ago and I never got it. Ever. Where did it go, you ask? Maybe Boost is storing up my message so when I'm famous, they can use them to blackmail me into giving them free money. I'm not sure what they think they'll get with my lame-ass messages. Most of them are my mother accidentally dialing me while she's in the bathroom or collection agencies looking for money I don't have. Nonetheless, I wish I could get new service. And a phone that doesn't suck. One of these days... - Popcornopolis popcorn. If you've never had it, it's the most fabulous popcorn ever. EVER. It's like the crack cocaine of popcorn. If I could cook this popcorn on a spoon and then put it in a syringe and inject it into my arm I would. Seriously. It's *that* good. And you're probably thinking "yeah, Jess but you're a food addict - what do you know" (and you're seriously right-on in your thinking)... but I thought the same thing. I thought, "popcorn is okay. I mean, would I kill for popcorn? No. Would I make love to popcorn on a cool night alone in my apartment? Probably not..." well this popcorn changed all those rules. You won't believe me till you try some so I should just get it and have you over. Oooo - or do a fundraiser for myself. I think that's legal, right? Anybody know?? I tried to link the popcorn's website to this here blog, but I didn't feel like looking it up. I'm lazy and moving my fingers from the keyboard to the touch screen would require me to put down this bag of cheese curls and 40-oz beer can. Ha! I'm kidding. I can only type with a bottle. Stupid blog-reader. Well I'm out of here. I should get some beauty sleep since lately I've been grouchy and irritable. I know there was more I promised to write and someone I promised a shout-out too, blah blah blah... I will just have to write more from now on so y'all don't feel left out and victimized. I have enough to feel guilty about as it is. So long and don't forget to call your Mom. She wanted me to tell you that.