haven't you heard? i thought everyone heard that the bored is the word.

Let’s face it, we all get bored at work sometimes. For the most part this week and last, I haven’t been awarded that luxury. Yet, right now, I find myself comforted by the slovenly arms of my buddy I like to call ‘boredom’. I’ve been working in DC and this is the first time I’ve experienced a ‘scheduling lull’. Rather than use my time constructively to volunteer for Big Brother, Big Sister or patch the ozone hole, I’ve decided to discuss something that we all experience.

Boredom is unique in that it is a physical and mental activity, or rather inactivity. For instance, I just sneezed. If I weren’t bored and otherwise occupied, that’d be it. Since I am bored and by myself in a forgotten about corner office, I spent some time noticing this sneeze. First thing, I said ‘Bless you’ to myself. Then, I realized that my ribs/abdominals hurt during this sneeze. Could I be doing too many crunches at the gym? Or maybe I’m not doing enough and this soreness is a reminder to stop eating so much Taco Bell and jump on the stability ball to strengthen my core. Next, I readjusted my nose screw. This promptly made me sneeze again. My abs still hurt. However, three minutes went by. That’s a bit of a success.

I haven’t been silent about my boredom. Obviously, I’m updating the blog but I felt the unequivocal urge to whine to everyone just how bored I am. Because they’re my friends, they didn’t (all) tell me to fuck off. I was told that I should either “practice armpit farting” (Clyde), “do a little dance” (Aaron), “masturbate” (nameless friend”, or my favorite, “do all three of those” (Karli). Do I have the best friends or what? Needless to say, I’ve only done the armpit farting and I’ve improved my technique. Yet here I am, still bored.

I see how much faster information and technology are than they previously were. We can communicate faster but as a result, we get bored faster too. Rather than spend days pining for the postman to drop a letter from your boy overseas, we complain if it takes more than 10 minutes for someone to respond to a text. Thus, we fill that span of time with mindless apps. My new favorite, ‘Words with Friends’ is a rip-off of Scrabble. I’m doing pretty well on here, and it is my turn on the game. Sadly, I didn’t bring my iPhone charger and the game is stagnant. My lead is secure but inaccessible. And so my boredom grows.

I’ve already checked the news sites a bunch, as well as my Facebook newsfeed. Some people seem just as bored as I am. Walt Whitman once penned, “The powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse”. Yet, if we’re too busy being bored, how will we ever muster the energy to create such a personal memento? Nowadays, our verses are under the same restraints of a tweet and treated with an Internet attention span of not much longer than a goldfish’s. I shudder to think how short my future children’s attention spans will be, provided that this offspring somehow bypasses all the roadblocks I have set for them (I’m seriously considering putting the Great Wall of China in my cervix).

Anyways, the point is that I’m bored. This post helped but now I’m just going to slog home on the Metro, where I will assail my ears with songs I’ve heard. I’ll only listen to roughly 45 seconds of them before I hit ‘next’ on my iPod. I’ll charge my iPhone at home and play a killer word on Words with Friends, as usual. I’ll wait for my next turn in the game in between downloading episodes of Modern Family and folding laundry. Even at my doctor’s appointment today, I was told my numbers weren’t exciting. ‘Oh, you’re exactly five feet. Oh, you’re exactly 100 pounds. No fun remainders with you, just round, whole numbers! Your blood pressure is too average!” I should have had a stroke or something to liven the place up. Ho hum. In the great scheme of things, I know I’m always engaged and energetic, but I’ve got the Wednesday blahs. So much for hump day. Unless somebody wants to volunteer ;-)

the post in which i finally come out.

Well, I made it through Valentine’s Day last week without too much anger. I didn’t set rosebushes on fire or pop all the heart balloons the homeless guys were selling on 193. I took the high road and tried not to let ‘it’ get to me. I had the support of a secret Valentine gift swap with my girlfriends. When it came down to it, Valentine’s Day itself was a good day but I was left with one dawning realization: I don’t know what love is. Even Forrest Gump knows what love is. Maybe I should have had a white trash friend in elementary school who taught me how to climb trees. We would have been like peas and carrots. I’ve always wanted to throw rocks at a house or ruin her roommate’s bathrobe.

I’m not totally clueless. I know I love my friends and my family. Chances are, if you’re reading this blog, I love you too. Congratulations. I’m truly blessed, at least most of the time, to have you in my life. All I’m saying is that like people who are lactose intolerant, I can’t process love. My body literally cannot digest it, I get a stomach ache and maybe diarrhea.  Those who know me very well know that hearing the words ‘I love you’ provokes me to vomit. It’s happened twice.

I’ve heard that love is when you would go above and beyond yourself for another when they can’t. I’d sure as shit would take a bullet for you all but I know, or at least would like to believe, that most people who I consider my friends would do the same. It doesn’t have to be a bullet. I don’t really like guns. I’d do whatever Bruno Mars is talking about in that annoying but catchy song Grenade. I’d do that, but I wouldn’t actually fall on a grenade, Jersey Shore style. Seriously, no fatties. Anyways, I realized that I am in love with someone who I’d do anything for, regardless of if they’d return the favor. Because you love them despite the imbalance and if they don’t reciprocate emotions. That’s right all. I’m coming out. I love Penny.

Chill the fuck out. This isn’t another “OH MY GOD—I HAVE NEW PENNY PICTURES—LOOK AT HER—SHE HAS A NEW TOY AND SHE FELL ASLEEP ON ME AND SHE CHASED HER TAIL AND WE WENT FOR A WALK AND SHE DID THE CUUUTEST THING”. I subject you all enough to that. I’m sorry and I’m trying to eliminate the annoying puppy talk. Penny is getting spayed tomorrow. I didn’t think this would bother me. Hell, I even joked that I’d get my uterus taken out right next to her. (It’s not like I need it anyways. I could just take it out and pop in a backup liver. Much more efficient use of space). But now that it’s a reality, I’m upset. The fact that I know that Penny-pie is going to even be in discomfort actually upsets me. Not to be graphic, but thinking of her opened up like a bag of chips and then sewn up like a loose button actually makes me frantic.

She’s not even my dog. Maybe it’s because I never grew up with a dog that I’m acting like a total moron. I grew up thinking and still thinking that stuffed animals are the best listeners in the world and that they have their own stories too. But now that I live with a breathing and moving stuffed animal, suddenly I’m confused. So there it is. Monday is going to be terrible because I’m going to be anxious about a routine surgery. I totally believe in spaying too. Bob Barker had it right, just like ‘the price is’. It’s not the process, it’s actually the emotions behind it.

Mock me, whatever. I’m in love with a puppy that chews holes in my socks, barges in on me in the shower and farts in my face. I’m in love with a puppy that is deliriously happy when I see her in the morning and when I throw sticks for her to retrieve.

So I’m opening this up to you, blog readers and hopefully lovers of Sharon. In the spirit of Valentine’s week, tell me what you think love is. Because I don’t. I’m the one who cares more about the state of Penny’s uterus than finding a human soul mate. Maybe that’s why I’m still single…sometimes these problems just solve themselves. 

You know what sucks more than Valentine’s Day? The other 364 days of the year.

I bet you’re assuming that I’m going to rant about being single and lonely on Valentine’s Day. ‘Here it comes’, you’re probably thinking, ‘Sharon is going to whine that she’s going to spend her V-Day alone. Sharon is just afraid of love. Sharon is going to spend Monday with her two male lovers, Ben and Jerry”. Well, the jokes on you all. I prefer Breyer’s. That’s a sexy name, but also not the point. Valentine’s Day might pointedly remind you of your single status, but on February 15, we’re all equals again. I’m still single the day after the Cupid storm . Plus, I’m more into celebrating the other V-Days, such as VE-Day and VJ-Day. Buy me red, white and blue roses on May 8 and August 15. Now that’s love. 

Nothing gets people hotter than defeating the Axis.

I’ve never been in a relationship on Valentine’s Day. I realized this yesterday when I was getting ready and put on a necklace with a heart on it. I’ve never had anyone buy me heart jewelry. I could rant about how sad this makes me or how empowered I feel because I don’t need a man to buy me jewelry and in the 21^st century, a woman can buy her own sterling silver pendant. Or I could just not give a shit and wear a necklace I bought for myself because I liked it. It’s similar to the bra I just bought because it makes my tits look fantastic. I bought them both on my own with no specific person in mind. Now that's self-actualization.

Valentine’s Day, I’ve realized, makes people hyperaware of their status in life. Do they let their relationship, or lack thereof define them? Do I really need a boyfriend to feel complete? Or do I need the ‘misery loves company’ attitude of my other single girl friends console me? I don’t need that one day in mid-February to feel loved or unloved. I’m very conscious about this the rest of the year, believe me. Sometimes it sucks. Sometimes it’s great. Most of the times, like everyone else, I get through it with a constant stream of beer. But that’s how I deal with everything now. I don’t drink more because I'm single anymore than I do during football games, baseball games, episodes of the Office and Law and Order: SVU and my personal favorite: body shots.

All I’m saying here readers, is that you can be single and miserable on Valentine’s Day, but suck it up, you’re going to be single and miserable on February 15, and 16, and 17. Same thing with my friends in relationships. Sure you’ll have sex amid a string quartet and a box of chocolates, but on February 15, you’re back to missionary position. Sorry to be bleak but you can just snap out of it. Don’t let this stupid holiday for a misunderstood Catholic saint bring you down. Just treat it like every other day, and hopefully, like a bee, if you ignore it, it will ignore you. If you don’t, you’ll get stung, your arm will swell up and you still won’t get laid. Spoiler alert: getting some on February 14^th feels just like it did the day before. 

I’ll Huff and I’ll Puff but I’ll Never Sell this Blog to AOL

As I was so kindly reminded by my friend Liz, I haven’t updated this blog in a while. No excuses. I’m actually reading about SEO (search engine optimization) to improve this little blog. But then I remembered I was an English major and can’t do tech things that involve acronyms and promptly gave up. So, what does giving up mean? Perhaps I’ll follow suit, pull an Arianna Huffington, and sell my blog to a (maybe) dying web company.

Anyone else remember those trial AOL CDs that used to assault our mail boxes? And I’m not talking e-mail inboxes. I’m talking that metal box with a flag on it that you had in front of your house growing up. We used to be able to get 45 days of FREE AOL dial-up Internet! Remember how exhilarated you felt waiting those 5 minutes to connect to the web? I used to actually hold my pee and time my advent online so that I could maximize my usage of Internet and not pee during the actual experience, only the dialing part. And that part, when I wasn’t peeing, was pretty cool too. I memorized those beeps and noises so I sang along with the dialing tone of AOL and (RIP) Prodigy. Man, connecting to the Internet was like a trip to Disney World back then. So magical and full of strange sounds. I take my WiFi for granted now and get pissed when I have to use 3G on my iPhone instead. Where’s the magic? Does AOL still have it?

Long story short, in my mind, no. In my mind, AOL is just corporate media and the Huffington Post selling out for $315 million is a disgrace to this quirky and liberal media site. Don’t agree with me? Well, actual real writers who write about real things that matter do. Says blogger Dana Milbank of the WashPo:

“There are also some indications that she has [Huffington] sold out in the ideological sense and committed the Huffington Post to joining the mainstream media - the evil "MSM" of "HuffPo" blogger ire. Announcing the deal, she and her new boss went out of their way to say that the new Huffington Post would emphasize things other than the liberal politics on which the brand was built”.

That’s crap. Like so many great liberal things, Arianna sold out just to make a quick million bucks. AOL is in the hole anyways and selling to them is the equivalent of Luke Wilson gaining face weight for those AT&T commercials. I miss you in Legally Blonde, Luke! That was real acting.

Needless to say, if AOL offered me $315 million, or what my blog is actually worth, $3.15, I still wouldn’t take it. Liberal news is taking a beat down thanks to fear mongering from those crazy Republicans and I won’t stand for it. It’s a shame that Huffington felt the pressure to sway her previously unique and upbeat content to ‘the man’. I’ll miss the HuffPo’s coverage of Sarah Palin’s crazy antics. It was real. I used to want to blog for the Huffington Post but not anymore. It’s me against the world and I can only hope us liberal writers stand strong and proud. You’ve got mail, AOL and Arianna Huffington, but I have something I like to call integrity. 

Getting school’d in winter, when most schools are ironically closed.

The only good thing about winter--seeing Jake in a scarf. Why can't he come over and plow me...my streets, I mean!

It looks like a lot of people are either delayed or canceled for school or work due to the snow. My poor mother in Connecticut is dangerously close to declaring jihad on Mother Nature and if my friends in Chicago ever get dug out, I’m sure they’ll share the same vengeance. The Maryland winter in comparison isn’t as bad, but it is still annoying. In this past week, I’ve learned a couple of things about myself, snow and humanity in general. 

I found out the hard way that if you spend thirty minutes shoveling a parking spot in front of your house, some jabroni will park there when you leave. I now understand that I need to claim my spot with a lawn chair, garbage can or some other white trash lawn ornament. Except knowing my neighborhood, some privileged white kid will steal our garbage cans, just like they broke into my roommate’s car. 

Speaking of Alex, I learned that he cannot be trusted with my car keys or a car in general. I drove Alex to work last Thursday since he couldn’t drive his car back on his own on Wednesday due to the blizzard. He accidentally took my spare car keys with him instead of his own keys, thus negating the awesome driving job I made to Bethesda. I’m not mad because I picked him up and we went out for pizza. Although I am mad because the snow knocked out power to our first pizza choice, Mia’s, which I had a Groupon for.  We were stuck eating my new favorite pizza place, Pete’s New Haven Style Apizza in Friendship Heights (Okay, I love Pete’s a lot—shameless plug!)

Also, Alex’s car battery died this weekend so I was able to witness firsthand just how you can jump a car. I kind of zoned out of all the maintenance parts of driver’s ed because my Dad told me we had AAA. Is there really any point to listening to blather about  brake fluid when I have a gold membership to AAA? Plus, I save on tickets for everything. That, combined with my student ID gets me into movie theaters for the low rate of $9. Stupid Majestic. Also, and don’t hate women, but let’s face it, I can’t work a car, at all. As I’ve said before, who needs a manual when I have a man (guy roommates). Although Alex would have been SOL if I hadn’t been home with Bruce’s revving engine.

Also, the snow and ice are knocking down trees faster than Paul Bunyan in the streets. Seriously, there’s more wood here than at a screening of a new Jenna Jameson pornography. I saw cars smashed into and learned that my own trusty car can drive over branches and power lines. I also drove over someone’s lawn, but only after I saw everyone else doing it. I guess the lesson with winter is that you’re allowed to be white trash (leave lawn chairs out and drive on said lawns) because there are no rules for winter. I mean, if winter is going to pound us, we should pound back with the same fury.

However, there was one sparkling instance of a Good Samaritan in my neighborhood. I was trying to pull out (this was before I shoveled out a spot) and my wheels were spinning. Some neighbor of mine I had never met just shoveled me out. He spent about ten minutes clearing all the snow from my wheels and pushing the Taurus until I was moving. So thank you guardian Ford angel, I really appreciate it. There are some good people still out there. And the rest are just mindless fucks who don’t know how to drive in snow. Be safe blog readers—hopefully you have power and aren’t stuck in a snow drift somewhere. Because if you were, then who’d read my blog?