Let's face it; my blog hasn't been very good lately. Usually I am the last person to say anything negative about myself, due to a combination of vanity and delusion, but I can admit it. My last funny entry was "Domestic Angel". It was charming, and warm, and relatable--all the same things that made the Sonny and Cher Show popular. Now my blogs are more like those depressing attempts Sonny and Cher made to have a variety show after they got divorced, the ones where instead of singing "I got you babe" they shook hands formaly and glared at eachother.
This downturn in quality, believe it or not, weighs heavily on my mind. I'm not good at very much, but by God, I want to be good at making people laugh. But I don't have any heart-warming tales of domestic bliss, lately. I haven't gone on any trips. I haven't tried any new recipes. Last night, I went with some people from work to Trivia, drank 3 German beers in about two and half hours and then went home and trimmed my cat's toenails while she flailed desperately to get away from me. It was actually kind of a production and I thought about blogging about my feline grooming attempts last night--but it's just too depressing for me to blog about my cat. She already is my greatest source of pride and unconditional love; isn't that enough of an idignity? Other sources of indignity: staring at my compuer screen and fantasizing about the sushi I am going to eat for lunch in order to get through the morning, looking forward to waking up weekend mornings, alone, and with a cat's anus in my face because it's better than the alternative, when I wake up alone, and with a cat's anus in my face and have to get up and go to work.
Such is my life. And I'm decently happy about this. I like my job, I'm making new friends. I'm settling in to my life's routine. Still, most of the things I do nowadays are work related, unfunny, or lame. Like this morning, I seriously had a boiling hot rage because I was out of the kind of yogurt I wanted to eat with my omega-3 laden flax granola. Lack of my morning dose of active cultures can illcit rage in me.
Hopefully, I'll have another charming blog about my attempts at domesticity, because it's my six month anniversary with Matt tomorrw, so I'm cooking. But really, even I think celebrating for a sixth month anniversay is kind of lame. We're not doing presents or flowers or anything really romantic, so it's not really an anniversary celebration--I just am desperate for something, anything, to give me a reason to celebrate. I picture a beautiful dinner, laid out on a nicely set table, in a clean, fresh apartment smelling of lemons. In reality, I'll probably burn the fucking dinner, my house will smell like cat pee, and Matt and I will fight, just like during the last 2 out of 3 dinners I've cooked for Matt. Bah Hum-bug!