The Cliffs of Insanity

And I don't know why.

Well, maybe I do. ::looks at calendar:: Yeah. PMS or PMDD, as "they" call it in me. I prefer to call it MCD: Mad Crone's Disease. Although I think a lot of male humans call it Mad Cow Disease, but not in front of the Mad Cow having an outbreak, lest they get their necks snapped like stale melba toast.

I'm still watching CNN, Paula Zahn, and that story about the Xtians is coming up. Do I change the channel? Do I have a choice? No. Aunt Tudi wants to see it. My curiosity won't allow me to leave the room. My head is going to blow off in the next few minutes, I just know it. Or I'm going to turn green, grow really large and pound things with my hammer-like fists. Actually, that sounds like a great idea. It sounds like a wonderful way to blow off steam.

I kinda hope it is the End of the World, but that's really not a huge piece of news, now is it? I hope it's nothing like what the Xtians believe it's gonna be. I hope the Four Horsemen of the Alpaca Lips come and wipe every last human off the face of the planet RIGHT THE FUCK NOW. I just hope I get to stick around long enough for all the religious freaks to get theirs and good.

And what the hell is it with these hypocristians who lift their hands up during some mealy-mouthed whitebread spiritless so-called 'gospel' song? If I were god, I'd play all sorts of tricks on these bozos. I'd reach down and yank the fool up to the ceiling and knock their dumb ass out, then let their limp body fall down upon the congregation below. Enough times of doing that, then maybe the idjits would keep their hands to themselves.

I dunno. I just want to run amok right now. I want to do something, but I feel powerless to do anything of any real worth. And that pisses me off even more. And I want chocolate. I want a Snicker bar and, when that weird guy with the guitar shows up to sing to me while I try to eat it, I will to shove a chop stick in his eye. Then I'll eat my Snicker bar in peace. And I want a Slurpee, but there are no 7-11s here, so I am deprived. And this pisses me off to a most dangerous point.

There are levels of pissed-offedness: Level 1-3 is Lou Dobbs. You're pissed off, but you can still articulate why you're pissed off and maybe even present solutions to solve your pissed-offedness. Level 4-7 is classic Ice T. You're pissed off. You don't care who knows it. Your creative edge is honed by your pissed-offedness. You're pissed enough to diss on cops, but not so pissed that you won't play a cop on TV. Level 8-10 is Janeane Garafalo. You're so pissed off, you vibrate PO waves that can knock down chauvinist pigs from a mile away. You open your mouth to explain what's bothering you and people laugh, which pisses you off even more. Level 10 and above is Ren Hoek pissed off. You're so pissed off, that you can't even articulate how pissed you are. All you can do is breathe heavily, turn red, let your eyes bug out, and scream "YOUUUUUUU!!!!"

I'm Ren Hoek pissed off.

EDIT: I am apparently so pissed off that I am incapable of noting and correcting typos and grammatical errors prior to posting a rant. I stand corrected, and so does this post. Now kindly piss off.

I have slept for the majority of the day. After having my Lunesta replaced with Ambien CR, I enjoyed my first horrible-tasting free night in quite a few months. But it seems a tad more powerfuly than the Lunesta....like way powerful. Like, I'm gonna knock yo ass into yesterday powerful. So I didn't get up 'til after 5 PM. The knee feels better for having not been used in many hours, but I feel like a total slackass. I'd probably not feel like that so much, but I'm eager to go back to bed now and it's not even 9:30 on Saturday night.

I took Aunt Tudi to the grocery store but failed to put on my glasses first. As a result, I kinda rand into a poll (no damage to the poll or car), freaking out Aunt Tudi and making me feel like a useless pile o'crap. Our collectively moods went down from there. By the time we got home, we were both crying and aiming to hurt the other with our warchest of words. It was a brief battle, but one I'm not wholly over yet. My PMS drives me to conflict then gives me flashbacks. I hate that. I fucking hate it. If this is any indication of what my first Moon of 2006 is gonna be, I'm looking forward to being a swollen-faced crybaby with a penchant for insulting the last person on Earth who deserves it. Please. Just stay away. Give me my menstrual hut and send chocolate via a third party.

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Battlestar Galactica last night. Whoa baby! I'm glad that bitch Cain is gone, but I as really disappointed in Star buck's admiration of that crazy admiral. What the hell is she thinking? Oh and Gains Altar? He's my favourite fucking character on the show. Not only is he brilliant and imaginative, but he's also quite keen on the reality of their situation and is, therefore, a Cylon sympathiser. Humans suuuuuuuuck. I'm for the Cylons all the way baby. Sign me. up.

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Speaking of signing up, I got a postcard from the SCETV endowment thanking me for my $120 donation and that they'll be sending me a Roy Orbison DVD as a token of their gratitude for my generosity. I don't recall donating anything to SCETV or National Public Radio or Television this year. I'm wondering if I should try to reach out to them and tell them I'm a greedy non-donating asshole, but would still like to get the Roy Orbison DVD since I have family who worships at his bolo tie.

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I'm gonna lie down here on the couch and try to watch the telly with Aunt Tudi for a while. It's gonna be a cold and miserable night so we've decided to be warm and not so miserable in response. A simple folk, that is Aunt Tudi and myself.

Take Aunt Tudi for a hair cut at 3 PM, come home and die.

Here's a quiz.

I tried to call Llew because I get the feeling he'd attempted to call me earlier and I couldn't answer the phone. Gretchen answered and, when I asked for Llew, she said coldly, "Llew is working on a film project right now and can't be interrupted. He will call you when he's on his break. When he's interrupted, he tends to get confused and mess up, so he can't take calls unless it's an emergency."

So I asked if she'd let him know that I called. She said she would.

After I hung up, it just hit me the wrong way about being talked to like that. I mean, it's not like I call him every day. I average maybe once a week and that's always returning his call. Usually, I'd just get pissed off about it and enjoy fuming for a while, but not today. Today, tears welled up in my eyeballs and I sniveled. I fucking hate it when I snivel.