09.02.2009 looks like an IP address.

All right, I've had this blog for about ten months, and readers are finally starting to creep out of the woodwork. (And I just lost about 90% of them by making a termite analogy when referring to them. Good one, e.) Nevertheless, it is an exciting thing to think that people find what I say either interesting or worthwhile, but it also about quadruples the pressure. I write something, I read it, and I think, "hmm, is that just me being weird again?" To be honest, even with the entries that have made it past the 'do or do not click the publish button' phase, the answer has been, "yes. yes it is." Yet, a lot of times, weird can be construed as funny. I just hope that my tendency to overreact, over-think and hyper-analyze can remain in the realm of humorous, before completely passing into the dimension of "friggin' neurotic."

In other news, I seem to have found a rhythm to my essentially-unemployed morning routine. I get up when my alarm goes off (in an attempt to pretend, even for a moment, that I have a reason to get up) and trek downstairs to make some breakfast.

Author's Note: the phrase, "make some breakfast" means something very different to me than it would to anyone else. I really don't like breakfast. There isn't a breakfast food that I can get excited about, and I hate having to eat that early in the morning. So when I say 'I'm gonna go make me some breakfast!' what I mean is, "I'm going to grab a Special K cereal bar and drink some chocolate milk." Breakfast of Champions, sure, if you consider my life to be particularly heroic and/or exciting. So to recap: I hate breakfast. My favorite meal of the day is lunch, and dinner is only exciting when there's something particularly interesting to eat. Why lunch? Because for lunch, you get to eat sandwiches! My favorite food? Freaking sandwiches.

So I take my breakfast, and I go upstairs with Dexter (my MacBook Pro laptop, for those of you out of loop,) and we watch an episode of Degrassi on MTV while I make my first lap around the world wide web. Now, generally, after that enthralling half-hour, I'm usually awake enough to feel guilty about my lack of initiative.

Yet lately, MTV has been playing episodes of MADE, and well, I love that show. Especially since, for the past week or so, all the episodes have been about tomboy girls getting girlyfied via becoming a model, or a prom queen, or whatever. I find myself completely endeared to these poor, awkward girls. Why? Because I absolutely used to be one of them, only maybe with a fraction more of a clue. (A very small fraction, and only because I had better friends than they did. Kudos to my high school friends.) So I say, forget the shower, forget the errands, and absolutely hell no to going to the gym right now. I want to see how these kids survive. Plus, they always cry, and I find it fascinating to see what makes other people cry. Like, there was the girl that cried cause she had to wear a bikini to the beach, or the one that cried cause she had to drop out of a three-on-three basketball tournament (which I totes get, by the way.)

But the best part of these shows is watching the first dates. Because that seems to be a requirement for every single one of these non-girly ladies, is to be forced on an awkward, videotaped date. One that you can't even be sure if your boy agreed to because he likes you, or because he wanted to be on television. So they go somewhere hella lame, and MTV likes to emphasize the awkwardness by editing lots of silent moments in. Then there's me, sitting in my chair, holding my breath every time she opens her mouth, waiting in eager anticipation of the moment when it either clicks or ends. And when they interview the girls after, and they're just beside themselves with first date bliss, I'm saying things like, "good for you, girl!" or I'm clapping, or worse, I'm tearing up at how excited and happy they are. Why? Because I've been there, I know what they're feeling, and I don't wish it upon anyone, really. But when the moments are good, they're great, and every tomboy lady should be cheering for her sisters. We're a rare breed, and we're incredibly misunderstood. Can I get an AMEN!

So when that's all said and done, and the credits are rolling, I feel two things. 1. better about myself because I didn't need an MTV reality show to fix my life, and 2. useless, because it's 11 o'clock and I haven't accomplished even showering. So essentially, when you mix those two feelings together, I feel pretty much the same as I did before the episode started. Except now maybe I'm a little hungry.