And sometimes, it’s probably better that you can’t see past the surface because on the outside, they may look like this:

While on the inside, they are like this:

Of course, I exaggerate.  Even my Inner Fat Emo Kid would never pierce his lower lip or wear pigtails.  Tres gauche.

No, my Inner Fat Emo Kid and I are pretty darn close.  And we’ve been a lot closer lately. He has been blasting his death metal and writing sad poems in his journal alone, moping in his room a lot.  This is nothing new, of course.  My Inner Fat Emo Kid has been doing this steadily since 1994, when I was 16 years old, and I discovered that the world is always a more tragic place when you’re driving through the late-night streets and empty cemetery of Albion in a 1989 Mercury Grand Marquis LS.  (And my goodness…you should see home of the horrific emo poetry I wrote back then.  Huh-larious.)

Of course, back then, Inner Fat Emo Kid wasn’t so inner, and he wasn’t so fat.  But still just as emo.  Or rather, as emo as a clean-cut, red-headed, Mormon kid wearing a purple shirt, mustard yellow shorts, and black and brown loafers with white socks can be.  (Geez, that’s a mental image I wish I could erase.  Thank goodness there are no photos of that, or I wouldn’t be able to keep myself from posting them on the blog.  Inner Fat Emo Kid loves suffering.)

As I’ve gotten older, Inner Fat Emo Kid still manages to mope around every now and again.  But these days, he’s a little less Emo, and a little more Fat.  And, I hope at least, a lot more inner.  Except of course, when summer finally goes away, and I find myself staring at the prospect of another long, dark, and wet winter. Then he’s much more emo, much more fat, and a whole lot less inner.

That’s right!  All of that pictorial diatribe above was simply for me to complain about the weather!  Well that, and Halloween. 

My hatred of the miserable “holiday” called Halloween has been well-documented here and here.  My feelings on the subject have not changed, but have, in fact, strengthened. And I think I understand why.  Halloween falls into a bit of a happiness black hole.  During the summer, the sun is out, the days are long, it’s warm(ish) and dry(ish).  People are suffused with an excess of Vitamin D.  There are flowers, sunshine, and lollipops.  Well, maybe not the lollipops.  But there are popsicles.  And in England, they’re called Ice Lollies, so that’s close enough.  But it’s Summer!  And summer is awesome.

And then in November, it’s okay to start decorating for Christmas.  (And don’t you dare even start with me.)  And there’s Thanksgiving, when even Inner Fat Emo Kid can make himself so full of yummy food that there’s no room left for the Emo.  And after that, there’s Christmas.  And Christmas is the calendar equivalent to unicorns pooping rainbows and glitter.  It’s the most awesome thing ever.  And it makes me happy, and it has great music.  And it doesn’t matter that daylight only lasts 17 minutes because there are twinkling lights and pine-scented candles and the promise of presents and going home to visit family and letting my mom do the dishes for two weeks because she is apparently the only person in the Universe who actually knows how to load the dishwasher correctly so instead I get to go downstairs and play video games while she cleans up the kitchen. 

But Halloween just falls smack-dab into the right armpit of the year.  (The left armpit is the Late February-Late March kill-me-now-if-I-don’t-see-some-sunlight-or-flowers corridor.)  Summer’s over, but the real holidays haven’t started yet.  It’s too early to decorate for Christmas, and it’s too cold and wet to enjoy being outdoors. 

But seriously, this year, I have noticed a major shift in my mood when summer came to its very abrupt end.  I’ve been working very hard to keep myself busy, and to enjoy what little sunlight is still available to me, but I’m a bit worried about how I’m going to manage to cope through the upcoming winter.  Normally, the beautiful Seattle summers are enough to keep me going, but the last two years we’ve had very poor, cold, wet summers in comparison to what I witnessed the first two years I was here.  It didn’t start until mid to late July, and was over by the first week of September. 

So, I’m going to try a few things differently this year to try to stave off the Seasonal Affective Disorder of Doom™ that I can feel sneaking toward me on little hippopotamus feet.

#1 Must. Keep. Exercising.  I started swimming several miles in July.  I lost a bunch of weight really quickly, and had a lot more energy.  I was actually getting up and going swimming before work.  I have not been able to keep that up as the days are getting shorter.  I’m a rise-with-the-sun kind of person, and it’s been very, very difficult for me to get when it’s still completely dark outside.  And going after work is pretty much not going to happen.  Once my shoes come off after a long day of work, I’m not goin’ anywhere.  Except maybe to the apartment complex hot tub to soak for a few.  (Note to self: Go soak in the hot tub).

#2 Eat Better. October is very bad month for Matt nutritionally. And I can attribute it to one thing:

Look.  I know it’s horrible for me, but I don’t care.  They start putting those damn little monopoly pieces on the 10-piece Chicken McNugget box, and I will go all SuperSize Me.  (PS.  Did you ever notice that McDonalds doesn’t use the term Supersize anymore?)  So far, I have won 300 Coca-Cola Points, a $5 Wal-Mart Gift Certificate (Megan, I’ll give this to you because I don’t have a Wal-Mart in my area, and even if I did, I wouldn’t shop there.  But you’re strong enough to withstand the evil so I’ll bring it down when I come for Christmas), 20 4×6 Photo prints from Snapfish, and a $40 Tiger Wood 2012 Master Xbox Game.  Oh, and a Medium Fry, two breakfast sandwiches, and two quarter pounders.  Once this orgy of fried foods is over in two weeks (*cough*) I’m back to healthy eating. 

#3 Modern Pharmaceuticals.  (And don’t worry…I totally had to look up how to spell pharmaceuticals.)  This year, I don’t care what anyone says.  I am not going to go through this winter on my own.  I don’t believe I need the help of any prescription friends yet, but I’m all about the herbal supplements and all that crap.  Melatonin, Vitamin D, St. John’s Wort, Monkey Placenta…I don’t care.  I will take it all.  Load me up with as many pills as needed.  Hell, if I have to start chugging 4 Loko and 5-Hour Energy, I will do it.  If Nature can’t provide me with what I need to make it through this Winter, then Amazon.com will.

#4 Light Box. I’m pretty seriously considering getting one of those full-spectrum light boxes that you shine in your face for 30 minutes a day to help wake you up.  To be honest, it sounds like a scam…especially considering how stinking expensive the dang things are, but I’ll give it a go.  Especially if someone buys me one.  I’ve got one picked out already and it’s even on my Amazon wishlist—your one-stop shopping destination for buying me Christmas presents!

#5 Create. Look, I’m miserable, fat, tired, and cranky.  So, instead of falling into the trap of doing what would come naturally (i.e., becoming a right-wing radio talk show host), I’m going to try to direct what’s left of my energy toward being creative.  Writing songs, finishing my book, recording an audiobook, taking more photos.  I’m sure that all of my creative efforts will reek of Inner Fat Emo Kid, but that’s okay.  At least he’ll be so busy being tragic that he won’t be able to completely drag me down all winter.

And if all else fails, I suppose I could always dress up as my Inner Fat Emo Kid for Halloween.

This image used without permission from The Oatmeal. Which is why I’m linking to them repeatedly.  Go here.  And please don’t sue me.

I work in the web software and services field, and we often have to do redesigns of our software to improve functionality and appearance.  And much like with Facebook, every time we make a change, somebody is upset by it.  They liked it the way it was.  And usually, I’m of the opinion that look, technology is change.  If websites don’t change and update, they will eventually become irrelevant.  And for a market leader like Facebook, it’s even more important that they continue to change and innovate, or other websites will come in and take over.

So usually, I don’t begrudge Facebook wanting to change and update their service.  I really don’t.  Innovate, build, evolve.  It’s your world, and you can do whatever you’d like.  And as a long-time technologist, I’m extremely flexible.  I can adjust to new layouts, functionality, options, etc., without much effort on my part. (For an interesting retrospective on Facebook designs from 2005 to 2009, check out this blog post.)

The redesign rolled out at the beginning of this week, as well as the announcement of what the new Facebook layout will look like was something else, however.  In one fell swoop, Facebook went from being a fairly passive, static website experience to becoming the web equivalent of a CNBC Screen during market close.

There’s so much going on at once, so many places to look, so much movement.  In addition to fighting itself for attention, Facebook has decided to take away my ability to determine what it is I would like to see in my “feed.”  It’s moving certain stories into a special area to highlight them.  It’s got a constantly updating ticker of every single thing that my “friends” are doing every second of the day.  It’s got a list of friends who are popping online, offline, and into chat.  It’s got advertisements that are often irrelevant (or offensive).  It’s suggesting that I subscribe to people I’ve never heard of.  And navigating the labyrinth of privacy settings, display options, and other configuration variables has become next to impossible without a GPS, a translator, and a couple of Sherpa with mules.

It has become too much for me.  Maybe I’m just getting too old.  Maybe I’m behind the times.  Or maybe I’m just really tired of being unable to focus my attention on any one thing in my life for more than 30 seconds at a time.  It used to be that I would get into a zone, put my head down, and make huge strides toward completing a project.  These days it seems like I can’t focus on a single topic for more than a few minutes before I get distracted by something else.  This new Facebook design seems to require that I sit there in front of my computer for hours and hours on end, watching every little thing that every person I have ever known does during the course of their day and reacting with them.

But I’ve realized something…I know so much about what’s going on in most of my friends’ lives now that when I get together with them or talk to them on the telephone (you know, that thing you use to send text messages…it’s actually capable of voice communication too), I don’t have anything to talk about.  They know what I’m doing, I know what they’re doing.  There’s no joy in discovering what’s new. This redesign reminded me that I really don’t care all that much about 98% of the people that I am friends with, and certainly not to the point that I need to see what photos they are commenting on, or whose comment on someone else’s post they “liked.”  I’m overloaded with information in general. Now, thanks to the new redesign, I’m also getting overloaded with information about people whose lives just aren’t that interesting to begin with.

Then there’s the privacy thing.  Look, I’m not naïve enough to think that online privacy is actually a “thing” anymore.  I know it’s not.  And even if it were, it’s not like I have much need for it, since I spill most of my deep, dark secrets in great detail and many words on this very blog.  But the casual disdain with which Facebook treats my data is shocking.  It seems like twice a week, they make some change to the way they handle my personal data (making sure that I’m opted-in by default, whether or not I want to be), and then forgetting to close some security hole that lets the friend of a friend of a friend find my home phone number even though I’ve set it as being visible to only my family.

Watching all of this go on for years and years now, I’m beginning to wonder why I’m still taking part.  I don’t enjoy the time I spend on Facebook. Yet I’m going back several times a day, every single day.  I don’t want to know every little thing that goes on in the lives of people I barely know.  I don’t want them to know how to get ahold of me on a moment’s notice.

So, this week, I’ve decided that I’m leaving Facebook.  I don’t like what it has become and what it is becoming.  I don’t like using it.  I don’t trust them.  Regardless of what you think, Facebook isn’t free.  You’re paying to use Facebook…just not with money.  And for me, the cost isn’t worth the benefit anymore.  I already live my digital life within the Google ecosystem.  They have just as much (if not more) personal data on me than Facebook ever will, but I get so much more out of it.  I use Google search, Gmail, Google Voice, Google Music, Google Docs, Google Shopping, Google Reader, Android, The Android Marketplace, Google+, Picasa, Picasaweb, Google Contacts, Google Calendar, Google Maps, Google Finance, Google Earth, and probably a bunch of other products I don’t even realize.  If I’m going to sell my personal identify and online privacy, I’m at least going to do it for a good price.  And Facebook can’t meet the reserve.

I’m leaving my Facebook account open, with only the barest of personal information available.  And my blog will still post links to my new blog posts in the status update field automatically.  But I’m done with Facebook otherwise.  I’m tired of living in a world where I’m drowning in the minutae of other people’s lives.  I’m tired of inhabiting a universe where every millisecond of my attention is being vied for by tickers, and blinking lights, and scrolling feeds.  I’m tired of a computer algorithm telling me what I’m most interested in.  And I’m tired of trying to negotiate “friendships” with the woman who sat next to my mom in church one Sunday 15 years ago, and decided that, because she knows my name, we’re now BFFs. 

Life is short, and Facebook is stealing too much of it away from me.  So I’m leaving.  And this time, it will probably be for the long haul.  I won’t say never, but I just don’t see the benefit anymore.

I will still be on Google+ (which is a much better “social” network experience), and available via email at matt (at) mattarmstrongmusic dot com.  And of course, I’ll still be here on the blog, spilling my guts to the anonymous world.  I mean, it’s cheaper than therapy, right?

***

So, I took a hip hop dance class yesterday.  It was pretty tragic.  Turns out that I still have a pretty good mind for choreography.  I could totally remember what steps came next, I just couldn’t make my body do them fast enough.  Also, I did jumping jacks as part of the warm-up for the class.  Apparently, jumping jacks are really bad for your lower back, because the act of doing jumping jacks hurt so badly I could barely stay upright.  I’m going to blame having to counterbalance my gut for the back problems.

***

My staycation ends in about 90 minutes, and I don’t want it to.  This has been perhaps the single most relaxed, enjoyable, and fulfilling week of my entire life.  I cooked, baked, gardened, played video games, did laundry, worked in the garden, watched TV, saw Harry Potter twice, saw Captain America, saw another movie I can’t remember (it obviously made a big impression on me), took Luke swimming, got a gym membership, swam a mile and a half, took a dance class, got the car cleaned, and took lots and lots of naps. It was awesome.

I’m not looking forward to the state of my inbox when I return tomorrow.

***

I re-hired my cleaning lady this week.  I’m having her come once every two weeks instead of once a week like before.  And I’m going to be getting rid of my cable television shortly to help cover the cost.  Part of me feels bad because I know a lot of people can’t afford to pay someone to come to their home and clean, but at the same time, I’ve just decided that this is one of the perks of being single.  There are a lot of things I can’t do because I’m single, but being able to afford to hire a cleaning lady is one of the things I can do.  So I’m going to do it, and I’m not going to feel guilty.

Also, she rocks.  She cleans my apartment better in three hours than I can do by myself in two days.

***

Back with Siskel and Ebert/Ebert and Roper were on TV, I used to love watching their movie review shows.  Then, of course, Siskel died and Ebert lost his lower jaw.  So, instead, Ebert and his wife are now producing a new movie review show for syndication. 

Me no likey.  Look, I get it.  People who love film really love film.  And many of them love “art” film.  They’re more interested in “films” than “movies.”  I really do get it.  But the problem is, I don’t really care that much about most art film.  When I spend $15 to go to the movies, I go to the movies for entertainment.  I get next to nothing out of the two chowderheads Ebert hired to host the show.  Christi Lemiere has, ostensibly, the worst taste in movies of all time.  I mean, she actually gave a thumbs up to Mr. Popper’s Penguins.  And don’t even get me started on that pompus windbag, Ignati Vishnavetsky.  Iganti is the ultimate in movie hipsters.  He just did his “5 Best movies of the year so far” list, and not a single one of his films was even remotely approachable.  And I think it’s great that he cares so much for the art of cinema.  It’s just completely WORTHLESS to me as an interested viewer.  It’s unfortunate, because I really like watching movie commentary—I just can’t stand the commentary of these two. 

Instead, I guess I’ll just have to keep sticking with one of the best movie reviewers out there: Mr. Eric D. Snider. At least he doesn’t have his head so far up his own rear end that all he ever watches and reviews are limited release art films that are more torturous to sit through than a Jr. High Production of Shakespeare.

It started off with the realization that on my next birthday, my IQ, Waist Size, and Age will all be the same number.

*rim shot*

But seriously, this year’s birthday was not so much fun, I have to say.  I went to work for the first half of the day.  I had originally planned to take the whole day off and have some fun.  But mandatory work meetings cropped up, so I rolled into the office and did my due diligence.  (I’m such a dedicated employee…)

At lunch time, I took off for the day, and went to putter around in my garden for a little while.  I did a tiny little bit of weeding, and watered the place, then I harvested another plastic grocery bag full of lettuce.  I was bringing the salad to a little dinner gathering with some friends on Friday, and I wasn’t going to have time to harvest it then, so I had to get it the day before.  Then I took a nap, woke up, took Luke for his walk, and then got ready for my big birthday evening.

A month ago, I had purchased tickets for the first night of the new stage version of Disney’s Aladdin.  They’re doing an out-of-town tryout to see if it’s something they’d like to workshop for Broadway.  Plus, I had a friend from college who had come out to Seattle to be in the show, so I wanted to go and support her.  I was going with another friend of mine who used to be my next-door neighbor.  He was going to get out of work at 6:30, then we were going to drive into the city to get dinner and see the show.

Well, his assistant over-booked him with clients, so he wasn’t able to get to my place to pick me up until about 7:15.  At that point, we had to rush to get into the city, park, and pick up the tickets before the 8PM curtain.  So, we ended up not getting any dinner.

I realize I may hurt some feelings with what I’m about to write next, but the show was really bad.  Really bad.  First the good, though.  The cast had some of the best voices I’ve heard on stage in a long time.  Everyone (with one major exception) sang quite well.  The guy who played the genie was amazing.  He saved the show.  The production values and lighting were spectacular.  The big problem was the script.  Apparently, they were still doing rewrites up until the day of the show.  And they still REALLY don’t have it. 

I understand that when you adapt a movie to the stage, you have to make some changes.  I totally get it, and I don’t begrudge them the changes.  However, they changed the basic personalities of the major characters.  Instead of being a smart-alec street rat who does, in fact, break the law on purpose, they turned the new Aladdin into this after-school special who just wants to do good because he promised his mom  he would before she died.  (I mean, really.)  Jafar became this poncey, effeminate joker who didn’t provide any menace at all.  (There was no real, scary bad guy).  Jasmine was a spoiled brat with no real, redeeming qualities. And, most painfully, instead of being palled up with a monkey, Aladdin was a member of a band of street musicians, who served as a sort of Greek chorus.  That, in and of itself, isn’t a bad thing, necessarily, but the other three members of the “band” completely pulled you out of the story.  The writers went the cheap direction, bringing in all sorts of modern references when the chorus broke the 4th wall.  An typical example:

Band Mate #1: So, Aladdin was in trouble.  Meanwhile, back at the ranch…
Band Mate #2: What are you talking about?  There’s no ranch here?
Band Mate #3: I’ve got some Hidden Valley (pulls out a bottle of Hidden Valley Ranch).

What made Aladdin the movie so effective was that it was immersive.  The characters grew and changed. Even though the actual scenario was fantastic, the character’s reactions to it were based in reality and grounded thoroughly.  The soul of the film was completely massacred by the script for the stage version.  And the acting style was SO OVER THE TOP.  With the exception of the genie, there was no subtlety at all.  It was like watching a theme-park show version of Aladdin.  And I didn’t for one moment believe the relationship between Jasmine and Aladdin.  Watching them “fall in love” was like watching a 14-year-old gay boy dancing with a girl for the first time at a church dance.  (And trust me, I know what that looks like.)

I would love to see Aladdin make it to Broadway, but NOT this version of Aladdin.  It was painful.  Apologies to my friend who was in the show.  I wish I could be more complementary about the whole thing.  I will say that the cast was quite good (except for Jasmine) and, if the script was re-written, I really think the show could do well.

In any case, we finished the show, and then went to look for a place to eat, and everything was closed.  Even Denny’s.  AND IHOP.  I thought those restaurants never closed.  So, my big birthday dinner was eaten in truck in the parking lot of Wendy’s.  And I’m thankful to my friend who took me there, but it was just a little disappointing.

The biggest problem was that, for the first time in a long, long time, I really fell into a birthday pity party.  I’ve been actively trying not to evaluate my life too much lately.  I’m trying to get out of my head and just enjoy my life as it is.  And I’ve been relatively successful.  It’s the reason why the number of blog posts I write has dwindled so significantly.  Without complaining about my loneliness or lack of a partner, I don’t have a lot to talk about.  But after the show, I got into one of those ever-dangerous contemplative mood pockets. 

This is the first big professional show that I’ve seen since I retired from performing.  It was also the first time that the desire to quit my job and go back to performing hit me so hard.  It was a real, physical pain in my chest.  I spent half of the intermission nearly hyperventilating when I thought that I would have to back to work and sit in that little office in front of a computer all day long, every day for the rest of my life.  I wanted nothing more than to go back to my hotel room, stay up until 2AM, sleep in until 10 or 11, go to the gym, then go back to the theater at 5:00 for another show and repeat it for the next two months before moving somewhere else and starting the whole process over again. 

Then, after I got home, I fell into the “I’m So Lonely” hole of which I seem to be constantly skirting the edges.  My mind spiraled into this black hole of thought that usually goes something like this:

* I’m so lonely.  I need to find someone to share my life with
* I don’t know how to even go about finding someone.  It’s a skill I never learned
* Even if I did know, it wouldn’t matter, because I am so fat and ugly
* I’m going to be fat and ugly forever, which means I’ll never find anyone
* And because I’ll never find anyone, I’ll never learn how to find someone
* Etc., etc., etc.

Look: I’m not saying its logical.  Or even correct.  And I’m certainly not saying it’s a healthy train of thought.  But it is the train of though to which I seem to have purchased a season pass.  It was particularly bad that night, however, because I was realizing that, at the age of 33, there are so many things I have never experienced.  And, the older I get, the less and less likely it is that I will ever get a chance to experience them.  I was freaking out, because in a lot of ways, I’m still an emotional adolescent. 

And then, to wrap it all up, Luke the dog woke me up at 5AM on Friday morning to run outside, eat grass, and puke.  It was the perfect end to the perfect day, pretty much all the way around.

The crankiness of the day has mostly passed, and I used my wallowing as an opportunity to develop a bit of a game-plan for dealing with some of the unhappiness that engulfed me on Thursday.  I’m re-initiating my weight-loss/healthy eating/exercise regimen, since that’s one area that I actually can control.  And next year, I’m going to do a better job of planning my birthday.  Unless someone else wants to volunteer, in which case, just make sure I don’t get any alone time with my thoughts.

“Lefew I’m afraid I’ve been thinking.”
”A dangerous pasttime”
”I know.”

And then there are days like today. When my crankiness overrides my ability to be grateful. And even my exercises to try to list all of the things that I’m grateful for ends up as an exercise in sarcastic bitterness.  And, let’s be honest, sometimes everyone needs a good whine.  I just happen to need them more often than most.  So, below is my grateful list for today.  Please imagine it being read in the sarcastic tone of voice that only I and a few other masters of sarcasm can pull off.

1. I’m grateful for a job that pays well under the market rate for the type of work I’m doing.  It helps remind me what it’s like to be a working actor.
2. I’m really grateful for the new “Consumer Driven Health Plan” that we got at work this year.  It’s been really great to figure out how to fix all my medical issues myself rather than rely on the medical profession.
3. I’m grateful that I’ve put on these extra pounds.  It’s really helping me stay warm in this cold weather.
4. Speaking of weather, I’m super grateful for the cold rain we’ve had this year.  It really helps me appreciate the three days of nice weather we’ve had since September 2010.
5. I’m extra grateful that gasoline has gone up to $4.20 a gallon.  I was afraid that I might actually be able to start saving up a little money so I wouldn’t have to live paycheck to paycheck, but now I don’t have to worry about that anymore.  It also helps me from leaving my house that often.
6. I’m grateful that it’s finally time for the presidential race to start spinning up.  I was running out of things to listen to on the radio.  We’ll be able to have stuff to listen to for the next year and a half now.
7. I am really glad the rapture didn’t happen yesterday.  Because I figure that if I’m going to get screwed in the next life anyway, I might as well be getting screwed in this life too.
8. I’m really grateful for my wonderful dog, who shows his never-ending devotion to me by growling at little children at the farmer’s market, requiring home-made dog food because of his allergies, and needing hundreds of dollars in medication.  (See #2 – he gets better health care than I do.)
9. I’m super glad that the slugs, rabbits, moles, and voles are eating all of my hard work in my garden.  I was afraid that I was going to have so many vegetables that I was going to have to give them away to friends.  Now that won’t be a problem.
10. I’m extra grateful that my apartment complex (Archstone, I’m talking to you) keeps upping my rent every time my lease expires.  I was starting to worry that I might have a little extra money left over.
11. I’m grateful that I still have $30,000 in students loans toward a Music Dance Theater degree that still need to be paid off.  That was a really great investment in my future. 
12. I love payday.  I get to empty out my bank account by paying my bills in one fell swoop.  Then I don’t have to worry about all that extra money laying around for the next two weeks.
13. I am grateful for the IRS and the way our Federal Government act as wise stewards to our hard-earned money.  I would hate to think that the massive amount of taxes I pay ever year gets wasted.  Instead, I know that they’re going into Social Security and Medicare for me when I retire.
14. I’m happy that Netflix keeps sending me broken discs in the mail.  I wouldn’t be able to keep up with all my movies if the discs that can in the mail actually worked.
15. I glad Food Network stopped showing shows that actually teach you how to cook and started showing only shows about food competitions and eating oversized portions of meat.  I had pretty much learned everything there was to learn about food, so it wasn’t interesting anymore.
16. I’m really, really ecstatic about all the movies that are coming out in 3D.  3D always makes movies So. Much. Better.
17. I’m super happy about my baldness.  I was getting so tired with having to pay for all that product.
18. I’m really glad I have all these credit cards.  That was a really smart, amazing thing for me to have done.  I would totally do it again.
19. I really glad my car needs an oil change and to get its tags renewed.  It couldn’t have come at a better time, financially.
20. This headache is truly a gift.  It makes me feel so alive.

Well.  That was cathartic.  Thank you for your time.  I’m really grateful.

Let's call a spade a spade, shall we?

You're a spade.

I hate cleaning.  I’m pretty good at it, but I just don’t like doing it…especially because I can’t seem to stay on top of it.  But, the one time I feel it absolutely mandatory to thoroughly clean is when I get sick.  I somehow feel like I wouldn’t be sick if only there were the fumes of Formula 409 and Pine Sol wafting through the air in my apartment.  In reality, it likely has more to do with the fact that my co-workers all have kids and carry their germs to the workplace, but it’s one of the things I feel capable of doing to help alleviate my sickness, so I do it.

So, today, when I woke up with my stuffed sinuses and Barry White voice, I decided it was time to do a deep.  One of the things I decided to do was to clean the floor of the front door closet where I keep my jackets and shoes.  I’ve been here since February, and I haven’t cleaned it out once.  And you can imagine that, with the constant rain and mud here, it had gotten pretty gross.

It was during this cleaning period that I realized something: I have too many shoes.  I don’t particularly like shoes.  I don’t enjoy shoe shopping.  In fact, despite how much I love shopping, I’d rather clean the toilet than shop for shoes. 

When I was in college, my shoes were limited to 1 pair of tennis shoes for everyday wear, Jazz sneakers, Ballet Slippers, and Tap Shoes, and, of course, my one pair of dress shoes for church.

As you can see, my shoe collection has, um, expanded since those days.  And the biggest problem is that I hate every single one of my shoes.  As I have expanded along with my shoe collection, I have found it increasingly difficult to find shoes that don’t make me want to cut off my feet at the ankles.  

Tennis/Running shoes are the worst.  I used to be that I would buy Nike shoes exclusively.  They were the only ones that felt comfortable.  But the last pair of Nikes that I bought had a problem where the insole wasn’t tapered on the sides, and so I could feel the edge of the insole—rather like my sock had folded over on itself.  It was so uncomfortable that I wore the shoes for a week and then donated them to Goodwill.  (Don’t know why I didn’t notice the problem in the store…)

The next pair of shoes was an expensive pair of Asic Gels that I tried on and that felt really comfortable.  I liked these shoes a lot, but less than four months later, they sprang a leak, and would squeak every time I took a step on my left foot…which is enough to drive a person crazy.  For a pair of shoes that cost $125, they really ought to last more than 4 months.  I mean, it’s not like I’m running any marathons or anything.  I don’t even like walking to the mailbox.

The next pair of shoes, I decided to go with another pair of Nikes.  This time, I did check to make sure that the whole insole edge issue wasn’t a problem.  And it wasn’t.  Until two days after I bought the shoes.  Now they’re used only to walk to the dumpster to take out the garbage.

Then I bought another, less expensive pair of Asics.  This time, the shoes are pretty comfortable, but the insole of my left shoe won’t stay in place.  It keeps sliding back toward the heel until it’s sticking out of the back of the shoe.  Essentially, I can feel the toe of the insole underneath the arch of my foot after about 2 minutes of walking.  I have temporarily remedied the situation by sticking double-stick tape in between the sole and the insert, but really, these shoes are less than a week old.  That shouldn’t be necessary.

I’m not really sure why I’m having such shoe trauma.  Perhaps I’m getting more sensitive feet ever since I stopped cramming them into over-small dance shoes and beating the ever-living hell out of them.  Maybe in steadily increasing girth is the culprit.  All I know is that I am really starting to hate shopping for shoes.  It shouldn’t be this difficult to find a decent pair of shoes at a decent price that will be comfortable to wear and will last for more than a week and a half.

And that doesn’t even include the drama surrounding my work shoes…But that’s another blog post.

I mean, really?  What girl wouldn’t be all over that?  (BTW, I just interrupted the writing of this blog post for 15 minutes watching Liberace videos on YouTube.  He was quite the fruitcake (hold the nuts) but man, could he play the piano.)

Anyway, last night, it was raining.  And I was running across a parking lot to get back to my car.  I also wear glasses, since I have an active, passionate loathing of contacts and sticking things in my eyes (but that’s another blog post.) In order to prevent my glasses from getting all spotted up, I tucked my head, and ran toward the car.  Along the way, I happened to trip over one of these stupid things.

Or, more accurately, the tip of my shoe landed on the edge of one of those stupid things, and in the process, my foot got folded back so far my toes were nearly touching my shin. 

I won’t tell you the words that came out of my mouth, but it was something along the lines of "Dang it.  Poo.  That smarts!"  Or something.   My memory of that night is a little hazy.

It did, in fact, hurt, as would be expected in any such situation.  But I was able to drive home, and spent the next four hours playing video games and simply enjoying the last few fleeting moments of my freedom before I had to prostitute myself again go back to work.  While the ankle was certainly tender, I was able to walk on it–even taking Luke out for his evening constitutional (is that what they call it these days?) before bed.  I went to bed at midnight.

At about 1AM, I awoke in excruciating pain.  Epic, miserable pain.  My ankle hurt so badly I found myself whimpering involuntarily.  It hurt to leave it still, it hurt to move it.  And worst of all, I could feel myself going into a mild shock.  I started shivering and trembling.  (Luke was laying on the bed and it freaked him right the hell out.  He started trying to calm me down by licking my hair.  It was gross, but also very sweet.)  I was so cold, and I couldn’t get warm. 

My ankle wasn’t bruised, and had very little swelling, but it was very hot to the touch.  I had pain radiating half-way up my shin, and over the top of my foot down around the ankle to my heel.  I could feel it just throb with pain…a sensation I don’t know that I’ve ever experienced before. 

I pulled back the covers and went to go get a couple of extra blankets, and the instant my injured ankle hit the ground, I collapsed in a heap with another mild exclamation ("Fudgesicles," I think I said.)  I couldn’t put any weight on my injured ankle at all.  I hopped to the bathroom, got a couple of blankets and about 800mg of Ibuprofen, and went back to bed, where I spent the next two hours shivering, in a significant amount of pain, and wondering if I needed to go to the hospital.

Here’s the problem, though:  I drive a stick shift.  It’s REALLY hard to drive a stick with one functional foot.  And by hard, I mean impossible.  And I wasn’t about to start calling up people at 2:30AM to take me to the hospital over a mangled ankle.  So, I posted an update on Facebook just to take my mind off of how miserable I was, and eventually I went back to sleep.

This morning when I woke up, I was fully prepared to call someone and ask for a ride to the doctor’s office.  I even called my parents and asked them if a broken bone is something you can go to a doctor’s office for, or if you need to go to a hospital.  (My last broken bone was 26 years ago…I don’t remember it so well.)  After I got off the phone, I got out of bed, and I was able to put weight on my leg again.  The ankle was still very tender, but I was okay.

I ended up going to work, and hobbling around most of the day.  As the day progressed, the muscles relaxed a bit, and I am now back to about 1/2 speed on my walking.  I can even rotate my ankle slightly without discomfort.  I can tell that the muscles are still very tight, and that, if I were to pivot on that ankle, it would hurt like a mother, but I’m taking it slow.

The whole experience freaked me out a little.  When it comes to little hurts and scrapes, I tend to be fairly stoic about the pain.  After I had my (less than successful) hair transplant surgeries, I didn’t even use my painkillers.  (Well, I used them, but not for the pain associated with the surgery.  Demerol or Vicodin knock the socks off of a Tylenol PM in the sleep aid department.)  I mean, don’t get me wrong, I complain about pain a lot (like after a workout, when I want to look all impressive), but I know that I’m being a drama queen and just playing it for all it’s worth.  I totally get that.  But this time, it was different.  I don’t know that I’ve ever felt that kind of physical pain in my life before.  I was mentally trying to figure out how I was going to manage to pay for the X-Rays and hospital visit because my crappy insurance wouldn’t cover it until I had blown through my $2,000 deductible.

I’m glad that everything appears to have worked out fairly well.  At the rate I’m going, I figure I’ll be back to normal on my ankle by Wednesday or Thursday at the latest.  This was a learning experience for me.  In review:

• It’s always better to just take off your glasses if you have to go out in the rain. 
• Look where you’re going
• Once again, I have proof that those 5 years of dance classes in college were a complete waste of money.
• I should have gotten the automatic transmission instead of trying to save $1,000 by getting a stick shift.  I knew I hated driving a stick.
• Dogs are the best when you’re feeling vulnerable, scared, or in pain
• Miracles sometimes even happen to the heathen among us
• If you’re limping, just be prepared to be asked about 5,839 times a day why you are limping
• Companies that don’t provide their employees (who have been working there for 2 1/2 years…I’m just sayin’) with decent medical insurance should be ashamed of themselves–it’s called loyalty. 

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to wrap up my ankle and go to bed…and hopefully this time, I won’t wake up whimpering in agony.

I dislike the term Mouth Breather as a derogatory term for one simple reason:  I am a mouth breather.  I sit at my computer screen with my jaw slack.  I have to replace my pillows every six months due to copious amounts of drool.  I often look as though I am the slack-jawed love child of an unholy union between two backwoods cousins in West Virginia.  But I can’t help it.  I breathe through my mouth.

There are several reasons for this:

1. I physically can not breathe through my nose without it whistling.  And which is more annoying?  A mouth breather, or a nose whistler?  I thought so.
2. I have been sick with bronchitis nearly 1/4 of my life from the age of 0 until I turned 25.  I used to get sick every single time the seasons changed.  I used to be able to call up my doctor and tell him what medication I needed.  ("Hey Dr. _______.  This is Matt Armstrong.  Could you call in a prescription for 21 500mg pills of Erethromyacin?  I’ve got bronchitis again?  No Keflex doesn’t work for my anymore, remember?  Well, Zithromax worked pretty well last time, but this time it’s just the lung congestion.  I’m not sure we need something as strong as Zithromax.")  It’s hard to breathe through your nose when it’s constantly filled with snot.  And anyone who says that I should just blow my nose and I’ll be fine has obviously never experienced what it’s like when I’m sick.  If I were to blow my nose every time it got clogged up, I’d look like this:

   

3. I’m fairly certain I have a deviated septum or something, because I can’t get a full lungful of air when I’m breathing through my nose.  So even if my nose didn’t whistle like Robert Stemmons on a concert tour, I still couldn’t breathe through my nose because I’d suffer brain damage from lack of oxygen.  (And it’s not like I need any more brain damage than I already have, thank you very much.)
4. One side of my jaw is about an inch longer than the other side of my jaw, so it sort of hurts to keep my jaw closed tight.  The fix: a very expensive surgery requiring splitting mandible on the short side of my jaw, extending that split, screwing the bones back together, and then wiring my jaw shut for six weeks.  While I can’t deny that that might make for a really killer weight loss plan, I’m fairly certain that my wonderful "insurance" coverage wouldn’t pay for that since my jaw being off center does is not equivalent to a sucking chest wound–apparently the only thing my insurance company actually will pay for.  (I’m really glad I pay so much money for health care that doesn’t cover anything at all. No.  We don’t need health care reform in the US…)  (Also parenthetically [I love parentheticals] this is why I can’t get braces to straighten up my nasty-ass teeth.  I’d have to get the surgery before I could get the braces, and I can’t get the surgery.)
5. Sometimes, when I get really engrossed in something–reading, playing a video game, looking at porn beating up hookers, writing a blog post, I forget that I am educated above a fourth grade level, and I just let my face go slack.

So, in conclusion: yes, I breathe through my mouth.  I also managed to get an MBA with a 4.0 GPA.  So please, before you denigrate someone by calling them a mouth breather as an insult, think of those of us who wish we weren’t mouth breathers, but have to be.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go wash my pillow cases.

Seriously?  SERIOUSLY?  It’s no wonder nobody uses you anymore.  It’s not enough that you fill my mailbox with so much junk mail that I could use it to reconstruct the Taj Mahal out of Paper Mache twice a week.  It’s not enough that I get stuck with the surly mailwoman who writes pissy little messages on my Netflix envelopes about the fact that my address is so long that the apartment number doesn’t fit in the window.  It’s not my fault that they named the street West Lake Sammammish Parkway NE, nor is it my fault that Netflix INSISTS upon using the USPS standardized address, which, in turn, makes the address too long to fit in the window.  But today was the last straw.  Four months ago, I purchased a piece of electronic equipment, and got a rebate form.  I went through the ludicrous hoops of getting said form filled out, sent in with all of the documentation and UPC codes (paper clipped, not stapled) and I waited.  And today, I got my rebate check.  Or, to be more accurate, I got 25% of my rebate check.  Because the other 75% was apparently shredded by your automatic sorting machines.  But that’s okay.  To make it all better, you put what remained of my mangled check in a giant plastic bag with a printed message explaining that, sorry, that’s just the way it is because you have machinery that operates at a really high rate of speed in order to provide fast and friendly service, and you apologize for the inconvenience.

Well how about this, dimwits: how about, rather than being sorry for the inconvenience, why don’t YOU write me the check for $40.  Because your machines that sort the mail in a more convenient fashion managed to tear off the contact information for the bank, the check number, and the rebate number, thus making it impossible for me to contact the company and see if it would even be possible to get my check replaced.  In fact, all your damn machine managed to save was half of the bank account number, the last three letters of my name, and the amount of money I will NOT be getting because you’re sorry for the inconvenience.  I WAS going to use that money to buy the ridiculously overpriced stamps that I was planning on using when I sent out my dozens of Christmas Cards this year.  But since you’re sorry for the inconvenience, I will be sending out my cards via e-mail to my friends and family.

Suck on that.

With Coldest Regards,

Matt

***

Dear Häagen Dazs,

This is going to be one of the hardest letters I have ever had to write.  But recent changes in my life have made this absolutely necessary.  It pains me to say what I am about to say, but it has to be done.

I’m breaking up with you.

It’s not that I don’t love you.  I do.  More than you know.  But I can’t trust you.  I can’t rely on you.  You let me down time and time again.  Every time it seems like things will get better, that you’re getting your act together, you pull something like this last stunt, and we’re right back to where we started.  And I can’t take it anymore.  I need the kind of stability and support that you’re just not capable of giving me.  It’s time I move on.

Wow.  That was hard to write.  I wish it didn’t have to end this way.  We’ve been together through so much over the years.  You’ve been there when times are good and life is happy.  You’ve seen me cry.  You helped pull me through times of depression or dejection.  We used to sit on the couch in the living room together and make fun of the people on the Biggest Loser while we basked in each other’s company.  I’ve told you secrets that I’ve told almost nobody.  I gave you my grocery money, I introduced you to my friends and family.  I even took you home with me for the holidays.  And you repay me by running away.

First it was the Chocolate Brownie Walnut.  Then the Sticky Toffee Pudding.  And, finally, the last straw, the Fleur de Sel Caramel.  Each time, I’ve given you my heart, and you’ve just thrown it away.  I’ve written and called, I’ve begged you not to change, not to disappear again.  But nothing seems to work.  All I ever get in reply are these terse, formal, cold letters explaining that sometimes, you just need a change.  Well, I don’t need a change.  I need the Häagen Dazs that I fell in love with, the Häagen Dazs that I always turned to in my hour of need, the Häagen Dazs that always seemed to love me in return.

So, I’ve moved on.  I can’t afford to give my heart to you if you can’t guarantee that you will still be there in six months or a year from now.  I’m leaving you, and I’m moving in with a delightful new couple, Ben and Jerry.  They can’t compete with you on any level, really.  They aren’t anywhere near as classy or sophisticated.  They don’t know me as well as you do.   Nor can Ben and Jerry excite me the same way that you do.  But I can trust them.  I may not ever be able to give my heart fully to these two, but at least I know that what I do give them won’t be ripped out and thrown away.  There are even moments while I’m with them where I almost forget the beautiful thing that we shared together.

I still love you deeply.  And if you come back with Fleur de Sel, I’ll be right by your side again.  But until that day, I just can’t look at you anymore.  It’s like I don’t even know who you are.

I hope you have a good life, and that someday, you will grow up enough that you can realize your true potential.  And if that day ever comes, you know where you can find me.

Have a wonderful life,

Matt