But I don't feel tardy

Ok. There were some ants all up in my space today. They were in a line and shit. I sprayed them with Raid (RAID!) and now my room smells like death. If you don't know the meaning of the phrase "sickly sweet", then snort some Raid and you'll know. After I nuked them and cleaned up their carcasses, I tried to find their origin, which was, surprise surprise, a hole in the wall. So now when I look at my walls, I see them as some sort of teeming, pulsating collective organism and I totally throw up a little even though that sounds kind of psychedelic and cool.

I've noticed that my hit count has included several international visitors, and when I investigated further, I found that most of them stumbled upon my blog by searching for Kermit. I don't really know what to do with that information. Except state it here. Welcome, hola, and gesundheit.

I told my class today about my conflicted feelings about The Hills, they understood, and, bless 'em, they didn't judge. B-ful asked me to expound on the representation of the male within The Hills, and I tell you, I am stumped. Flummoxed. Spencer Whinyface and his merry band of morons is one thing, but Justin-Bobby? Really? I understand that your viewers are the same ones who listen to Maroon 5 and have sweatpants with words written on the butt, but c'mon, MTV, give your demographic a tiny bit of credit and don't introduce a CLOWN as a potential love interest. That guy totally got his PhD in clown from the University of Clown in Clownsville and I would categorize his style as "homeless chic." His hair should have its own show. ("Unwashed: The Story of Justin-Bobby's Curls") Stay tuned to see if I can dig my way out of the Justin-Bobby thought puzzle.

Mind your pews and keys

My roommate has told me for 9 years that I should floss. I hate good habits, so when she tells me about flossing, I hear, "mmmmmm teeth mmmmmmmm gums mmmmmmm." Today, she spoke to me about flossing, and I promptly blocked it out....but 5 minutes later, a wretched notion stole into my large, slow head. I thought, "Man, I should really start flossing! Something tells me that's a good idea!" So I bounded to the bathroom, stole some of her floss (thanks!) and began an enthusiastic pursuit of good dental hygiene. I was my own best cheerleader, chanting into the mirror, "Yeah! Check you out! You are totally flossin, bad boy!" Five seconds later I realized that I had forgotten how to floss. The floss kept slipping out of my fingers. I googled "how to floss", got impatient with all the advice, did a half-ass job and called it a night. Maybe I'll try again tomorrow, but right now I'm resigned to looking vaguely like Grandpa Simpson in my golden years and only being able to slurp down large bowls of melted cheese. mmmmmm, cheese.

Dressed in Locs and khaki suits

I love Target, y'all. Really. There is no other store where you can buy a toilet brush and Scooby-Doo fruit snacks (IN THE SAME TRIP) and walk out looking dignified. But, like any other store, there is a time and a place for Target. If you're in a sad/bad/weird mood, you could end up with 4 Spongebob pillows, 100 Little Debbie snack cakes, a vacuum cleaner and a $5.99 DVD of Three Men and a Baby. (guess what? in some cultures, they'd call that a PARTY)

I was in Target yesterday, feeling tired and ill because every time I swallowed, it hurt so much that I spazzed like Kramer. My goal was simple: retrieve lozenges and a shelving system for my shoes and exit quickly. It was not to be. Target was filled with college students, either with sugar-parents in tow or giddily spending sugar-parents' money on newly leased apartments, and for one brief un-nauseated moment I felt nostalgic-like for college days. Then I started to listen. One young lady, wearing a glittery trucker cap, was yelling into her phone to her parent-servant "CAN YOU PLEASE SET UP MY INTERNET. WE LIKE, NEED INTERNET. I DON'T KNOW, I GUESS YOU LIKE, CALL THEM." My cart and I tried a hasty getaway into the next aisle, but her voice followed me like a banshee "YEAH IT WAS TOTALLY GROSS. HE LET IT GROW AND GROW AND THE DOCTOR HAD TO SLICE IT AND REMOVE THE PUS." ....After that pleasantry, which horrified me enough to forget about my throat ache, I overheard two men talking: "I can't believe they don't sell fans in Best Buy! It's Best Buy! They sell refrigerators in Best Buy! Refrigerators have fans!" ? And then, finally, a professionally dressed woman to her friends: "Let me ask you guys something. What kind of laxative do you use?" Out of confusion and to quell the buzzing in my head, I added a shirt, Frosted Mini-Wheats and a small wicker basket to my cart, and I'm still trying to figure out what to do with them.

For those leaving comments about the Hills, your points are insightful and will be considered. Did you know that every time you watch the show, your IQ goes up like 2 points? FOR SERIOUS. I read about it. In, um, science.

No, it's a cardigan, but thanks for noticing

I committed a crime two days ago. I movie-hopped. I paid for Stardust and snuck into No Reservations. Whatever, call the cops. But a life of international intrigue ruled itself out, since I was god-awful at the stealth and secrecy. I couldn't find No Reservations, so I conspicuously wandered around the theater, carrying a large blue towel since my plan was to hit the beach at some point. I tried to think of excuses in case one of the theater employees stopped me, knowing full well that if I was caught I would just gurgle and start sweating, so I decided instead that I could take them all with a combination of judo, kicking ass, and trickery with the towel. Thankfully, the employees of the 3rd street Promenade AMC are blessed with what Tyra calls the "dead eyes"- a hurdle towards becoming America's Next Top Model but excellent for getting away with petty crimes - and didn't care enough about the theater, the movie industry or capitalism to pay any attention to my stolen double-feature. Stardust was nice and magical and No Reservations was tolerable, probably due to the knowledge that I didn't pay for it, and I'll probably watch it again when it comes on Lifetime in about two years, since it has pretty shiny people, subtly melodramatic music and the message that Love Rocks, and I'm a sucker for that shit.

Speaking of love, did anyone else tear up slightly when Spencer proposed to Heidi on the Hills? If you did, holla. Yes, I understand that Spencer's a toolbox and Heidi's a ninny and the whole thing is terribly, painfully, obviously scripted, but that mess was touching, y'all. Somebody at MTV needs to get their ass over to Hallmark and start making greeting-card magic.

That's the second post in a row where I mention the Hills. I must seem a Loser with a capital L on my forehead. Get off, it's research, and MTV reality programming is the pot of gold at the end of an already beautiful TV rainbow. And when we play Trivial Pursuit: Millennium Edition, I'll BUST IT UP with my Arts & Leisure knowledge, and my team will get the pie piece, win the game, and drink up all the beer 'cause we brought our A GAME. Who's laughing now?

Isosceles Kramer

You know that Backstreet Boys song that goes, "You are my fi-ire...."? (this can go several different ways. a) you know the song and proudly admit to it, which subsequently makes us friends b) you know the song and won't admit to it, which makes me want to weep or c) you don't know the song, which I respond to with a mixture of admiration and disgust) Anyhoo, the guy who sings that middle part "Now I can see that we're falling apart" - the Old Guy who negated the "boy" part of their boy band - I swear I saw him at Ralph's yesterday. He was in my elevator, and I wanted to say something, or maybe sing a few bars, but I got cold feet. Maybe it wasn't him and he merely shared the same skeezy goatee/moustache combination as the Backstreet Man - who's to say in this funny town? I think we can agree that it was him, right, just so I have another A+ celebrity sighting on my list, someone to topple the current record holder: the guy who played the janitor in The Breakfast Club. Oh, and the entire cast of The Hills, whom we saw in all their angsty blonde glory at Geisha House. For those of you unfamiliar with The Hills, it's a gift from God in a televisual format.

I made some fried rice today and it sucked. I thought so during the first bite, but I kept eating in hopes that my latent cooking skills were hidden somewhere deep in the bowl. Nope. The main problem in my opinion is that I didn't use enough soy sauce. Also, I am impatient by nature and when the recipe says "simmer for four minutes," I'll cook the stuff for 30 seconds and get really fed up with the whole process and convince myself that it's done. And then I'll wallow in self-pity as I eat, for there is nothing more pathetic than eating your own mediocre, half-cooked food, even though the fault is entirely my own. Bah.

If I can't dance, I don't want to be in your revolution

Hey, I just saw this movie, The Number 23. Don't judge. It sucked, but not as badly as I thought it would. It started out with some absurd numerological conspiracy stuff and ended up being a far more complex study of how many concerned and crazed expressions Serious Jim Carrey could manage. It also led me to the wikipedia (you wiki, I wiki, we all wiki) entry on conspiracy theories surrounding the number "23," all of which added such nuance to an already finely textured film. Curiously, when I looked for the film at Hollywood video (continue not to judge) on Friday night, all 20-something copies were gone, which meant that 20 OTHER family units sought out the film, paid money for it, and spent their precious time watching it. It made me realize that a) I love America and b) when the Declaration of Independence says "we, the people," I can proudly include myself as part of that "people." w00t.

p.s. I typed Constitution first instead of Declaration of Independence. Summer school in 1999 called, and they want their "A" back. Burned.

Like a child misses a blanket

I just saw The Bourne Supreme Ultimatum, or whatever its called. I'm wondering how to get involved in a life of international intrigue, where people drive cars really fast and no one goes to the bathroom. Do you just fall into it? Do I have to be in the right place, at the right time, and what time is that? I'm always late, so I need a 15 minute head-start. I did just get my watch fixed, so that's a start. And one might argue that people who lead lives of mystery and intrigue don't use watches, and to that I say, WRONG. Check out Jack Bauer with his schmancy watches that along with telling very good time, also untie ropes and torture people from the Middle East. That's totally sweet.

I read a dear Abby column today where a guy finds a hearing aid behind his wife's pillow, but neither he nor his wife is hearing-impaired. Abby said, wisely, that he should check that out and maybe, um, ask her? I don't understand why he's sitting on this information long enough to contact Abby. If you found something odd in your bed, like a crutch, and nobody has a broken leg - wouldn't you just ask your partner upon discovery? Maybe Abby made it up, 'cause it did sound different in tone than other Abby questions. Uh, not that I would know from being an avid Abby reader or anything. What am I, 60 and wearing a mumu?

I'm back like something chronic.

Totally, totally re-testing the waters, trying to find out if my feet and the water are ready for the experience.

I'm still always hungry and I still think Old School is funny. And I still look for answers to life's big questions on MTV reality shows or What Not to Wear.

Here's the darkest confession of them all, what you didn't know about me before, what might make you stay away: I kind of like movies with Rob Schneider in them.