No Need for Angel Wings

When I use the word "interesting", it's usually in a fairly unequivocal sense. As in: Oh, the Burj Dubai is that tall? How interesting. Or: You thought Elizabeth Smart's dad was so annoying that you secretly prayed she'd never be found? Me too; how interesting.

Next up--brace yourself--I'm going to use "interesting" in an entirely different manner. Today, Tuesday, June 16, 2009 was interesting. The "interesting" I mean here translates roughly to "sucky and/or boring."

I always approach my days off work with a certain no-nonsense "I'm gonna entertain myself in ways that are both scintillating and productive" attitude. Hmmmm. . . that sounds oddly dirty. Ribald connotations notwithstanding (as if scintillating my product was a worthwhile free day activity anyway), I feel like I've wasted my day if I laze around watching Buffy or playing Xenosaga all day.

Within the first ten or so minutes of waking up, however, I should have assumed that today was going to be singularly unproductive, an especially embarrassing entry into the canon of my awesome life. Why? Despite my uncharacteristic awakening at 10 AM--a personal summertime record--I decided that leaving my room to eat breakfast was a silly idea. Wasteful portent number one. Screw wholesome breakfasts in their buttholes! I thought to myself. What else are days off for? I proceeded to anally penetrate the idea of something healthy and/or delicious and reached for my trusty box of granola bars. Trusty? Yeah, I've had these for about two years, and they've always been there for me.

I munched my granola bar, simultaneously wondering if the little brown bits in it were supposed to be chocolate and contemplating how to proverbially break a champagne bottle on my glorious day. I think I mentioned earlier that I usually try to avoid Xenosaga on days in which I plan to be productive. Well, I'm close to beating it, I reasoned. Doesn't get more productive than finishing a turn-based Japanese RPG that I've already devoted about 50 hours of my life to, right? Wasteful portent number two. I popped that summbitch into my trusty PS2 and picked up my wireless controller. Trusty? Well, no actually. My trusty PS2 was a piece of shit; this one is the replacement. . .

About 3 minutes into playing, I got into a fight with a couple of fucking robots that were. . . beyond my abilities. They kept dodging my attacks. Oh pussyfeathers! I thought, this is pretty darn hard. Look at that! I just had an inoffensive thought! Guess today isn't a total waste. Well, my mind may have had a relatively calm reaction to the virtual ass kicking, but my hand had a different idea. At this point, my wireless controller went sailing into the wall opposite me (I really should use the wired one if there is any chance for meltdown), and it broke open. One of the batteries rolled under my door.

Now, if I had really been gunning for a productive day, I should have gone for a bit of rage counseling. Why, just last week I got an insanely strong urge to play Pokemon--I'm not a pedophile, I swear--but had something of a gaming snafu and ended up breaking my Nintendo DS. Word to the wise: if any of your media equipment has a clamshell design (ie cell phone, Nintendo DS), keep in mind that it's only supposed to fold one way. How was I supposed to know that? I'll make sure to remember that tidbit in the future.

Needless to say, karma decided that I was to keep my no-Xenosaga-on-productive-days pledge, because that gaming session ended rather quickly.

Fast forward a few hours. The worst thing about waking up during this whole AM thing is trying to fit in lunch. I much prefer waking up and BAM! it's lunchtime. But no, I just had to stop sleeping in the morning. Well, I can always finish my book, I thought. That's pretty damn productive. So, I leafed through my book until I found something I hadn't yet read (bookmarks are for fuckers) and plopped down on my bed. I kept looking at my clock to see if it was lunchtime. Wasteful portent number three. After a couple hours, I couldn't handle the stress anymore and took an early midday meal. It must have been 1:30 or something . . . like I said, early.

Here's a confession that's sure to surprise: I didn't finish my book.

I got back from my burritogasmic lunch and decided to finally tackle my computer issues. I had tried the night before, but luckily I realized in time that my laptop has a clamshell design. Voila. A little self control and I'm not computer-shopping today. w00t. Basically, my internet hasn't been working. Aside from sheer laziness--the nearest internet-able computer is blocks away--this is the prime reason I haven't been super faithful with this whole blog thing. To my millions of readers: I'm sorry. I'm sure the reason for the lack of public outcry was tied to to the shock about that dude from American Idol being gay (who knew?) or the fact that Jon and Kate plus 8 may soon become Divorced Jon and Kate plus Marginalized and Exploited for Fame and Financial Gain 8. . . or that one plane crash or whatever.

I finally managed to get my internet up and running like a black man on the Underground Railroad. It's fairly glorious. Now I know how disconnected all those people in Third World countries must feel. Yes, I'm quite certain I sympathize with their plight. In fact, the next time my Human Resources Manager at work asks if I want to donate a portion of my paycheck to United Way, I will calmly consider it and politely decline instead of telling her to go shove her copious ass onto a training manual.

So, my children, I have returned. I have recrudesced after a time of electronic death. And look, you haven't even been burned or smashed by holy rocks. Watch out, though. My Second Coming was mild, but if you're reading this, the next one on the cosmic docket might not be so pleasant.