Sunday morning.

I've been up for three hours and I've accomplished two things: laying in bed and a shower. And if you count getting back into bed as another accomplishment, then I guess I've accomplished three things.

Maybe it's just Sunday morning talking, but I'm seriously contemplating booze-free summer. I did No-booze-vember last year and still managed to have a lot of fun. But in the interest of my checking account and not acting/looking like a wildebeest I think I might give the ol' heave-ho to the booze cruisin' as the heat descends on my beautiful city. I'm gonna marinate on this one for a few days and see how I feel when I'm not suffering from an over-indulgence of sorts.

Yesterday. Kentucky Derby slopfest. Awesome race. Fun day. Calvin Borel kills it again. Screw betting on horses. I'm betting on Calvin from here on out. The dude is a winner. A small, toothless, crack-head-like, chest-thumping winner. I like him. Over and out on that topic.

I love to read the news, and lately I've been realizing that I have my own mental boycotts on the things I will not read. I will not read about Heidi and Spencer. I will not read about Jesse James and Bombshell whatever. Pretty much anything adultery related, all on ban. Tiger Woods. I feel like it's the human version of coprophagia. And I wont be a part of it.
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I will read about Lady GaGa though. (She's celibate! And apparently on the baby food diet!) She's infinitely cool. Judge me at will.

Comedy. I took a break for awhile. I'm jumping back on that disco stick (GaGa'd!) as of this wkend. But yeah. I've been burning myself to the point of mental cremation with all the shit I've been trying to do. My job is demanding and stressful. Comedy is the best but it goes late. I was even volunteering on wkends. And then just trying to keep up with my regular things like laundry and cleaning and what have you...well, I'm serious ADD and my ability to get shit done in a timely fashion is seriously being tested right now. I give myself a D grade on completion and an A for fucking effort because holy balls, slow down, life. You're moving a little too quickly for me. And towards what? I dont know. I really dont.

I had a talk with a pal recently and ended up realizing that a big source of my stress is coming from the fact that I'm in over my head. On my menial corporate salary (it's more menial than you may think, believe me) trying to afford my cutesie apartment, my lovable Sebring, and a mix of student loans and whatever else is haunting my finances, well, it's hard. Real hard. Some of you can prob identify.

So my new goals are to find a roomie and transfer apartments...which is a very daunting thought. Craigslist, here we go again. Also, the Sebring is going to go bye-bye. And I'm going to be looking for the sweetest and cheapest ride out there. I'm hoping for a Chrysler Le Baron convertible. Or like a t-top Trans Am. Something a little cokehead-ish, just because those are the kind of cars that I think are hilarious. I'll probably end up with a Saturn. Or like a Ford Escort. I'm excited for my shit not to own me. It's gonna be a great kind of freedom.

With that, I've got shit to take care of. Outies.