random quarter

do you know what the problem with having an eight-year-old blog is? you run out of things to say. or you spend more time racking your brain for something new than you do on actually writing the new post. i like writing random quarter posts the best, but they take forever. still, they are my favorites, and so i thought perhaps since this is so, such a post should be used to mark the occasion. which means i’ve to come up with twenty-five new things to tell you about me. i am not, however, going to reread every rq post to ensure that i don’t repeat myself. and some of you are newish here, anyway, so…

one. i wear the same size shoe as my mother, but i am four inches shorter than she. thank you smoking for stunting my growth. seriously. i would not want to be five foot eleven. that would suck.

two.  the only band i plan on seeing in concert this year is the airborne toxic event–which i have seen twice now–at house of blues houston, which happens to be my favorite concert venue.
three. somehow the psychedelic furs’ love my way got in my head. i have no idea how that happened.
four. i have not been to the gym in four months. and it shows. oh, how it shows. and yet the horror of my flabbiness is not enough to motivate me to drag my fat ass in there.
five. i have no depth perception. i’ve mentioned this before. i’m doing it again because it causes me great trouble. like, while walking in a crowded mall, trying to guess how far away people are from me and whether my projected path will intersect with theirs and when and how do i change my course as to avoid this… calculating this stuff when i have no concept of feet and yards and all that crap, when everything is flat is a huge inconvenience and annoyance, and i’m not always good at masking that annoyance, so people often respond with, “what the hell is your problem?!” so many things come to mind. 
still. it’s not quite so bad as this.

six. i should be working on my novel right now. or doing laundry. or finishing cleaning out my closet. or reading east of eden. or mucking out my car. instead i’m sitting here typing this thing. 
seven. i don’t much care for reality shows.
eight. my favorite food is bread. i think i’m allergic to it, though, and i probably wouldn’t need the gym so badly if i didn’t eat so much of it, but i don’t care. more butter, please. 
nine. in nine weeks, i will be forty. fuck. 
ten. i do not like cats. and this isn’t because i am horribly, horribly allergic to them. i wouldn’t like them even if i weren’t.
eleven. i signed up for a singles event. a viewing of the film safe haven. not because i want to see the movie or because i’m hoping for a good outcome having attended, but because i’m curious to know what kind of guys would willingly volunteer to see a nicholas sparks film. should make for some good people watching.
twelve. i cannot stand jim harbaugh. i don’t like how he treated alex smith this year, how he seemed to have such confidence in him last season and then, post-concussion, relegates him to backup quarterback status. that’s pretty crappy, if you ask me. but i can’t stand the ravens all that much, either. they beat up my patriots. i’m a little pissed. still, i do love michael crabtree. so i’ll have to root for the forty-niners. and oh, how it pains me to say this.
thirteen. i am not religious. at all. perhaps if i were closer to god, my life would be very different. he’s like the gym. i know i should go. i know i should strive to be better. but at this age, does it really matter all that much?
fourteen. i miss san antonio. but i’m certain if i were to go back there, i would be annoyed at its growth and so-called progress.
fifteen. i want to go to austria. and ireland. i can’t decide which one i want to see more.
sixteen. i can’t decide if i want to go to graduate school. a part of me thinks i’d be hiding and wasting time, and i do those things so well already. paying twenty grand to do them so more seems beyond wasteful.
seventeen. i get really bad dizzy spells. daily. they scare me. probably because i eat too much bread and avoid the gym too often.
eighteen. i’ve started to forget what being in love is like. 
nineteen. i used to love to drive. i don’t anymore. in fact, the less i’m in a car, the happier i am.
twenty. i suck at saving money.
twenty-one. i wish there were more great books out there. i want more good love stories in my library, and am seeking recommendations.
twenty-two. every now and then i’ll try to pamper myself with a day at a salon–haircut, manicure, pedicure, facial. and halfway through, i’m chomping at the bit to get out. so BORING. 
twenty-three. i can’t sleep more than four hours at a time anymore. it’s irritating. 
twenty-four. i can’t blow bubble gum bubbles.
twenty-five. i don’t wear yoga pants except to sleep.

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