I’m blogging right now in a distinct effort to procrastinate. I hate house cleaning. And by “hate,” I mean loathe. Detest. Despise. Abhor.

A friend introduced me to clementines last year. I can’t eat one without singing the tune in my head: “oh, m’dar-lin’, oh m’dar-lin’, oh m’daaaaaar-lin’ Clementine…”

Sometimes I imagine that another person has transmigrated into my head, and can see and hear everything that I see and hear. They can’t access my thoughts, though, so they are constantly wondering what the hell I’m doing.

An amusing thing about having a baby would be that you could legitimately call the father a mother fucker.

I worry that my cats are bored and are not living the happy, carefree cat-life they could be living elsewhere.

The most vivid dream I ever had was an end-of-the-world scenario involving King Kong and a traffic jam. I think I was in college at the time. In the dream, I was riding in the car with my mom along a major interstate when we come upon a huge standstill — no traffic is moving as far as we can see, and people are getting out of their cars, wondering what is wrong. On the radio, we hear an announcement: “Well, this is IT, folks — the end of the world! Get ready. Here it comes. Prepare yourself NOW!” Suddenly, we see a 60-foot-tall, very angry gorilla-monster stand up from behind a bridge, and he’s roaring and grabbing every person within reach and eating their heads. Yikes! I woke up in a sweat, convinced that the END was imminent. Took me several minutes to shake the fear. Weird, man. It was crystal-clear real.

The most sexually amusing dream I ever had was last year. I was on the official US Olympic sex team. There were 10 or so of us, women and men, and we were all strung from the masts of a sailboat so that fans could watch from the shore. Oddly enough, we were dressed — in long-sleeved pro-cycling-like gear, but with “appropriate” holes for easy access. Ha!

My favorite republican presidential candidate is McCain. This is partly due to process of elimination because Mitt Romney and Ron Paul both have exhibited slacker-design-student typography in their signage. Romney’s small caps are not “true,” which is a pet peeve of mine, and Paul’s kerning is so bad it’s offensive.

I can’t pinpoint my favorite democratic candidate. I thought I had a pretty good idea until Clinton and Obama acted like spoiled playground bullies in their Charleston, SC, debate. John Edwards began looking a lot better after that.

I’m DVR-ing VH1’s “Celebrity Rehab” nowadays, and am trying not to be ashamed of myself for my fascination with the show. Remember the handsome guy from “Taxi” with the lion’s-mane blondish hair? Today he is a pathetic, empty shell of a man who was a train wreck in BETTER days. He’s in a wheel chair all the time, and acts like a person who’s had a severe blow to the head. I feel bad for what he’s going through, but….well, he did bring it on himself. I hope he gets it together.

Hmmmmm, my confessions are getting progressively more serious, so it’s time to get off my couch and clean. What a bummer of a buzz kill, man.

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