Shut The Fuck Up, Eva

"Well, governor Palin, seeing as you watch comedy shows with the sound turned off..."

JON STEWART FOR PRESIDENT!

That out of the way...

An Old Spice commercial just featured a centaur that was half the cutest guy I have seen in a while and it made me laugh. Almost a whole laugh. Almost as much as the intro on the Daily Show that I haven't seen in months. And it was followed by a decently amusing preview for Choke. Like the book, intrigued by the filum.

Plus, Tony Blair's extreme likeness to silly cartoons in pink pink ties has lit up the night.

I guess I enjoy having cable for a night. I suppose this is the silver lining on three hotels in three nights. And an abhorrent amount of calories, taken in during a pathetic, futile and, frankly, repulsive attempt to meet with a moment of satisfaction.

I am revolting. Seriously.

My heart, right now, feels hard and small and ridiculous as Laura's fists. I can quite clearly map how my loneliness right now is both symptom and cause, root and flower of my icky feeling right now.

I hate having had something so nasty and terrible happen then have to put off the fallout, the real reaction. It doesn't get dealt with and disappears, normally in a bad way. Like you don't get to fix it, it just goes on, unstitched, while your insides spill out on the road and you have to fly to Idaho, while your heart bleeds out on your porch.

I am a maniac and an obsessive compulsive dater. I relate to way much of this article. Or I have. Or did. But I think that it's assertion of just stopping is not a broad enough solution. I truly think that there is such a complex cocktail of emotion and needs and stresses and activities and food and drink and biology that even gets you started on such a crazy-pants roller coaster to begin with that, while this remedy is a good step, I just can't buy it wholesale.

I know. I AM that crazy person.

And what about the aftermath? The withdrawal? The shakes? The looking over your shoulder forever? The wondering if you missed out on each other? The mutual enjoyment of Colbie Callait? I mean, you might be on to something but please, do not underestimate the psychosis that goes into this kind of behavior and therefore the far bigger undoing that has to be done. I mean, thats like putting a band-aid on a wound that is the size of the mountain I am making out of the molehill of my emotional and self-esteem issues. And I know it. And you know it. And you know I know it. And I know you know.

I am considering going back to grad school. Somewhere crazy. I am also considering watching Religulous. But for now I am glad that a random black guy told me I had the nicest legs in the bar on Saturday, that another random black guy told me I was increditable and thanked me for "the best view all night" and two people told me I looked like Sarah Palin (either the greatest chic in TV writing or the worst person-with-a-backyard-view-of-Russia she ever hilariously portrayed) on that same Saturday, and that the evil vice grip my own guilt, nervousness, tension and pathetic paranoia about my own behavior this past week and the probably-not-even-that-great-but-god-I-want-it-anyway opportunities and people I have rabidly pushed away just as I wanted to pull it close has only given me a heart murmur and an ulcer but NOT kept me from actually breathing.

Though part of me wishes it had.

At least then I couldn't talk.