thatnight.net

Nablopomo is over. Did you make it?

This is the first day of the 30 that I’m not home, at my Mac, and speaking of which, are you using IE? Everything just looks all wrong and dirty. So please, raise your hands. Don’t be embarrassed. Snicker.

Congratulations if you went all the way. I’m thankful to have added more than several new websites to my reader. And I suspect that tomorrow will be an especially quiet day. Or you could totally trick me. Wouldn’t that be clever?

It’s been fun. See you in 12 years.

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It was after midnight and I was driving through the Liberty Tunnels, which run about a mile and connect the south part of the city with town. My music was turned down low, barely audible, and I was in a daze, aware that there weren’t any other cars around me.

As I drove, and my mind drifted, an ambulance quietly entered the tunnel and sped forward, inching up to my back bumper. I was about halfway through at that point, and I hadn’t glanced in my rear view mirror since I had noticed that there was nothing behind me just moments ago.

All of a sudden, and for no apparent reason, as my car softly drifted past the cracked cement walls and soft, yellow lights…

BWIP BWIP BWWWEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA / WHA WHA WHA WHA WHA WHA WWHHHHEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWW

I jumped two feet in the air and lunged forward as I was slammed from behind by NOISE. That tunnel is two lanes. That ambulance waited until it was right on my ass.

And that is how nervous twitches are made.

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Today was crap, Nablopomo. I feel UGH, Nablopomo. You are no kinds of awesome, Nablopomo, and I’m glad this was an iffy month because YOU DESERVE IFFY.

By the way, without her glasses, Emma thought you looked like NabloPORNO. And with all the grief you’ve given me, I WISH SHE WAS RIGHT.

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It’s 11:50pm and I have nothing to say to you. Unless you want to hear about my trip to Blockbuster. No? How about Taco Bell? You think it’s gross? Well, then you don’t belong here.

If I had more time, I would create a list of all the reasons I’m looking forward to December 1st, with points including, it is no longer November: praise all that is holy, and, I still have a whole 24 more days of having an excuse to avoid department stores.

In the meantime, I have a new puppy I can further exploit without having to provide much of my own thought or discourse. Please excuse us as we transition to Cute Overload. Teehee!

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It’s interesting and disheartening that the only time I’ll be able to truly enjoy learning, without having the constant torment of insufficient finances that I need to make it through, will be after I’ve graduated and finished with higher education.

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Here is the 24th consecutive post I’m writing in the month of November. Here are the words I am typing. Type, type, type! Here is the show I am watching. Here is the drink I am drinking.

Here is some food from Thanksgiving.

Here is the winter that’s coming.

Here is a moment I’m missing.

Here is the dog, who is sitting.

Here are the things I am thinking. Here is the life I am living.

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Today I am thankful for the things that do not get much recognition on Thanksgiving. Things like:

Accents. So when I finally go to England, I’m sure I’m there.

Grass. Could you imagine a world without grass?

Anesthesia. I’ve been reading Sex with the Queen and there are several instances of sex-related surgeries. The numbing process (if you could call it that) was, primarily, a swig of strong whiskey. I don’t like whiskey.

Cereal. Otherwise, I’d never get breakfast.

That I don’t have a headache right now. It’s easy to forget how blissful it feels when something isn’t hurting.

Flickr.

Pigs. I just like how they look.

Greeting Cards. Without them, I’d look careless on birthdays.

Halloween. Otherwise, the Christmas decorations would be going up in September.

State Colleges. Because people wear pajamas to class. In the snow. And it makes me feel smart, because I don’t do those things.

Your face.

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He’s home. Guard your heartstrings.

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“Oprah’s Favorite Things” was on today. I hate those. They make me jealous. Uncharacteristically jealous. I was the kid who ignored the toy and played with the box. And then delivered both to orphans. On foot. In the desert.

Here are some things I really like that I paid little or no money for, and that Oprah didn’t hand to me.

I’ve never been one to wear much jewelery, but I saw the top ring in a $.25 vending machine at a grocery store and have been wearing it since. My finger has yet to turn blue or fall off, so I consider it a successful purchase. The black band is made of some sort of stone, and I like it more than diamonds. I found it in the grass as I watched a joust at a Renaissance Festival. They’re both the perfect size.

My first English class at my first college was American Literature. The professor was horrifyingly strict. Our term paper topic was open, and I decided to focus on Hawthorne’s short stories — the one’s we hadn’t covered in class. When I nervously showed up to his office one afternoon for guidance, he gave me this book. He’s still my favorite professor. They’re still my favorite short stories.

I was socially clueless during my years in the dorms, not that that’s changed much. On the first occasion I attempted the party thing, I dug through my closet for something that wasn’t a t-shirt. I didn’t even own a purse. A girl down the hall stumbled upon my impediments and let me borrow some sparkly shirt thing. She also gave me this bag.

Did you know I coached a lacrosse (”lax”) team? Last year was my little sister’s first time playing. She made me this lamp in her middle school, asexual wood shop. I have yet to hook it up. Not that I’m scared of it burning my apartment down, or anything. Yep.

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Here are some aspects of others’ blogs that keep me reading, with some examples thrown in for good measure.

A wicked sense of humor. Have you read MermaidPark? Leslie has a raw eloquence. There’s something brilliant in taking a raunchy subject and dissecting it without being too icky. Also? Taking a clean subject and making it raunchy. I enjoy posts that are short and sweet while retaining their juicy goodness. Having a decent vocabulary packs the punch for quick blurbs.

This book needs pictures. Have you read toastier? Girl can shoot. If you’re having a dull day and all you can offer in word form is a list of things wrong with Paris Hilton, show me a picture. Of that guy in front of the laundromat. Of that grammatically-incorrect graffiti. Of that shoe your dog mistook for delicious pancakes. (Preferably not of Paris Hilton.)

Keep it together. Have you read PittGirl? Unless you’re somehow connected to Pittsburgh, probably not. But she has more local readers than most blogs have nationally. Why? Because knowing what she’s talking about makes me feel special. I get the jokes about the pigeons. You, in Wyoming, probably do not. Ha-ha.

I know what you’re saying. Have you read cloudyday? If she brings up a character in her life story, she’ll fill us in, at least briefly, on their background. If you want to tell the world about that awesome thing you did today with Regis, by all means, elaborate. But remind me who Regis is, because if it’s my first time at your place, I’m probably not going on a manhunt through the archives. That could be dangerous.

Give me more. Have you read intensify? She fulfills my organizational compulsions. I like clicking around, and she gives me plenty of roads to take once I’m done reading her main entry. Picture a happy town with lots of buildings and windy roads, as opposed to a dark, dead-end alley. It’s like a Chuck E. Cheese playground, with all those colorful tubes, or something.

2/3rd mark of Nablopomo. The well is getting dry.

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