Before I Close My Browser…

Today is the pleasant result of my newly reduced work hours and I’m following a chore chart like kids do, taped up on the wall in check-off form and everything. It’s my big plan to solve the build-up epidemic and so far it’s working very well, basically showing me that we’re going to need to execute more daily tasks – the whole “less procrastination” thing, in order to reduce stress.

Most of Brad’s days just say “dishes, trash, poo” with the occasional “scrub toilet” but if you ask me, those are the worst things in the world. I’ll do everything else with a smile as long as there isn’t any shit in my way.

How we budget the grocery fund has been tweaked, too. As good as I am at being a cheap-ass, not every best buy has brought satisfaction in the past. I’ve found that some things are very necessary for better living, such as a squeege for streak-free mirrors, outrageously expensive kitty litter that actually freshens the air and top-of-the-line toilet paper.

This afternoon was partially spent oogling every Ebay result of a “Britney Spears” search, fanaticism as strong as ever. While a lot of fans pay tribute by plastering her face all over their walls, I’m very much into owning the music tracks more than anything else. I officially have every single from some country or another and I’m now bidding to expand my collection of vinyl and Pepsi exclusives.

Sometimes I want one of her dolls, too. There are a shitload of those, now valued around $40 a plastic body. I’ve always kinda wanted the Oops! costume one, the bright red suit with a high ponytail. But it’s a toy, nothing practical about it, and I question my own level of taste when imagining it sitting on a shelf at my residence.

Still want it. Maybe.

I’ve been asked how I could possibly be a fan of someone whose music sucks almost as hard as her personal life is shameful, and I just kinda shrug. All of the media coverage is so outrageous that I can’t take anything seriously. It’s Hollywood, so far removed from anything like the real world I live in, every story about court dates and driving and kids and the album – I just regard it like a twisted movie. There’s no way to know what’s real or who said or did what, so I just look forward to the next interview or album promotion. I like the machine and I like the mess that’s inside it, but I won’t strike up a conversation about her antics because there is nothing to discuss besides an opinion. Who cares if I like the way a song sounds and, harder to answer, who really gives a fuck if you don’t like the fact that she seemed to stumble while holding onto one of her kids? Or did this or did that?

So many times during the day, I’d like to suggest to someone that they take their passion and find the appropriate club or message board for venting and obsessing. Like Eric at work, my god – if he finds one more way to tint our communication with some reference as to how he’s so totally direct-descendantly-Scottish, I might have to sever all ties. Slap the fuckin’ caladdaugh thing up on your desktop and spare me. You’re crapping up the information between me and you.

More good news – I found my missing decorations and got my tree up last weekend!!! Once my place looked beautiful I went out and got a third of my xmas shopping done, too. I’m on a roll.

Now I need to do some sorting to the various gigs of music lying around the hard drive and watch recorded eps of “I Love New York” and “Project Runway” before it’s time to decide what to make for dinner. I know that this isn’t a fair substitute for actually getting a hold of several friends who check up on me here, but it’ll have to do for now. Take care, everyone.