The Peter Bjorn and John album (PB&J, bitches) Writer's Block is so, so awesome (I really need to start using a thesaurus). Who knew Swedish bands were so addictive? Well I guess lots of people considering ABBA but I was not one of them, until now. I get obsessed with one of the songs at a time and play it 500 times in a row, something that I'm sure has not annoyed my dad at all this week. But I gots to have my dancing and singing when I'm getting ready to go out at night, sorry Dad.
Wow White Sox. You really started off the season with a bang, losing 12-5 to the Indians. I know I know (J.P) it's the first game of a long, long season, but if things continue this way, I am going to be crabby about 85% of the time this summer, something I, along with everyone else I know I'm sure, am really looking forward to. (Today at work, the older lady I work with asked me "How many games do the Sox play in a season, 16?" Give or take a few Kathy, give or take a few.)
My mom's been in Arizona for the past week and I have to go to O'Hare to pick her up tomorrow. So, it's just been me and my dad in the house. I know I've mentioned it before, but I have a weird relationship with my dad. I always feel awkward around him when we're one on one, which is completely stupid considering he's my dad and has been there since day one. I'm not very good with small talk anyways, but with my dad I'm just terrible. Even though my mom will be annoying me by tomorrow by 9:00 pm at the very latest, I'm so glad the buffer zone is coming home. Can you tell I'm a daddy's girl?
I can't believe I failed to mention this last time I wrote, but a book finally made me cry, Feast of Love by Charles Baxter. It wasn't the best book ever, but I think I'm learning that not every book has to be for me to like it. If it makes me cry, that's good enough for me. At least it was better than City of God by E.L Doctorow because as soon as I read the last page of that one, my first thought was what the fuck did I just read. It was a super-ass confusing book, one of those books without an ending at all, which I am cool with as long as I fucking UNDERSTAND IT AT LEAST. Christ on a crucifix. Right now I'm working on The Human Stain by Phillip Roth and though it's not bad by any means, I just can't get into it so it's taking me forever. So. There's my monthly book report.
Keri and J.P come home this weekend for Easter and I am so friggin pumped cause I haven't seen J since he left for the semester in January. Keri, eh not so much cause I just saw you, plus you'll be home on the 18th for the Frames (!!) concert, which by the way will be the sweetest concert ever, not counting Rufio. I think we're having a family drinking night on Friday, with some lame-ass theme like Jeopardy or something but don't tell Keri I said it was lame cause she's uber excited for it. So yay! Jeopardy themed drinking night! How does that even work! We'll find out on Friday!
What the fuck, I have to wait two more goddamn weeks for a new Gilmore Girls episode? That is very unnecessary, CW Network.
Last weekend I read the old diaries I used to keep from eighth grade to freshman year and good lord. I was riveted by my own life - the boys I used to have crushes on, going to the mall to get guys numbers with my friends, my obsession with Leonardo DiCaprio, how I first tried cigarettes (and was magically "addicted" a week after trying them), my first kiss, how I got grounded all the time, the boys who supposedly liked me but then never called (if only I could tell the 14 year old me that some things would never change), and a whole bunch of other queer shit. I must have called Megan at least six different times just to read passages outloud to her because the things she and I said and did most of the time were so ridiculous and funny. I was a stereotypical boy-crazy 13 and 14 year old girl that started about 85% of my entries with "GOD, DO YOU EVEN KNOW HOW FUCKIN HOT MATT IS!!" Which, by the way is a hard habit to break. You have no idea the struggle I have each time I start a new post on this blog.
And lastly, for the Picture of the Week, or rather the Picture of Whenever I Feel Like It, the worst piece of mail my dad has even gotten. And of course I say that because they didn't capitalize the D in our last name, which is a major no-no. Jesus christ, you have no idea how long I laughed about this when I got it out of the mailbox, only because my dad really is the most remarkable woman I've ever met.