Lately I’ve been jamming out to some classic 70s tunes. It all started with Queen. I was in the mood for some Queen. So, with the help of Pandora, I’ve slipped into a world of guitar melodies and male vocals. Today a song which reminds me of elementary school popped on my Queen radio station: “Another One Bites the Dust.”

Back in the days when Rollerblades were the “it” thing (the 90s, kids — ah the 90s), me and my elementary compadres would meet at a rollerskating rink for some novice flirting and rollerblading fun. Round and round we’d go as music from different genres blared from the speakers overhead. Every week, without fail, the rink DJ would spin “Another One Bites the Dust.”

This song always accompanied a contest of some type — speed skating, musical chairs or some other competition which weeded out the losers from the Rollerblading stallions.

Ah, the memories. If only life was still that simple.

If any of you have not seen the original, a British film released in 2007 and directed by Frank Oz, YOU SHOULD! Fucking hilarious.

All I have to say about the remake is: Are you shitting me? Next thing you know there will be a Americanized version of The IT Crowd.

So here I am with a huge pumpkin beer and a flick about people with special gifts. I also picked up some Swedish Fish. Tasty, gummy treats which my dentist must abhor. Oh well.

I picked my fish from a see-through bin (*bah! sea-through!*). A plastic shovel attached to the bin helped me weasel around the yellow fish and scoop out as many green fish as possible. But there was one green fish which I avoided.

Amidst the rainbow of gummy fishies was half of a green fish. Yes, just the tail. The head was bitten off — there were distinct teeth marks. Maybe some of the other fish are cannibals. Maybe a rabid child mangled the sweet flesh. I don’t really know, but it didn’t stop me from using my square plastic shovel like a reel. I just made sure to steer clear of the green halfsie.

Yes, I may still lose my head even if I seal myself off from the other bins out there. Poor green fish never saw it coming. It’s easy to close the door, but there is still someone out there waiting to bite your head off.

Jake Shimabukuro.

I saw him perform live tonight in Eugene, OR. He is fucking amazing. I’m hooked. Not only does he play his instrument well, but he has a fun and charming stage presence. **Sigh**

Ow.

Every bone and muscle aches. You know that feeling you get after a boxing match? No? Me neither. But I imagine that your bones might ache like this. Sore I can handle; exhausted muscles that can’t find the strength to function. This is different. I don’t hurt because of rigorous exercise. I hurt because I was stupid enough to believe that a camping mat was comfortable enough for one night.

Live and learn, I guess. I feel more like a true twentysomething every day. Sleeping on the floor, simultaneously “living” in two locations (neither of which actually feels like a home) and using coffee for motivation.

Bleh. This stage needs to end. I want to sleep in a bed for more than four hours and have all of my personal belongings in one location. Grumble, grumble. Pass me another coffee…with an extra side of coffee.

I wore the coat a few days ago. As I was sitting at the bus stop, enjoying the sunshine, I noticed a wiry white dog-hair on the front of my coat.

Not so unusual? Wrong. This was a hair from my Jack Russell Terrier…my dog that lives in another state.

Hmm, how did it get there? I suppose I can craft an elaborate story to explain the hair. A story complete with transporters. Make it so, you say? Yeah, I should. My four-legged friend transported from the Land of Enchantment to the grey skies of Oregon. Then he proceeded to raid my closet and take a nap on my new coat. When his day was done, he beamed back home. But not before eating the crumbs off my kitchen floor, of course.

Or perhaps the story is simpler. The hair came from some other clothing item which I wore the last time I was near him.

Naaaaaaw. I’m sticking with my transporter theory. Maybe I should watch a non Trek-related show for a few days…

When I rolled out of bed, things were still okay. But when I started to make breakfast, the general good-morning feeling changed. The coffee brewed and the eggs cooked. All the while, I longed to curl back in bed.

With my mug of coffee in one hand and my eggs with salsa in the other, I shuffled back to my desk chair and checked my email. Damn. I wish I hadn’t checked my email. I hate those emails. The emails that change your plans. Those emails that either sit in the Inbox with bad tidings, or those emails that aren’t there yet.

Okay, I can deal with the emails. Not a big problem. But then, as I shovel a fork full of eggs towards my mouth, I noticed a hair in my food.

Eh…a hair, probably my own, cooked into my food. Yes, the long string of peanut-butter brown hair woven into a chain of scrambled eggs. Gross. I think I am going to crawl back under my covers and pretend that the egg-hair never happened.

How…errr…romantic?

I’ve never felt inspired by this holiday. No, that is a lie. When I was younger it was a fun holiday. Back then the holiday was all about making crafts, handing out cards with candy and an innocent crush hidden behind each sentiment.

Now, as an adult, the commercial holiday force-feeds me pre-packaged love. But I guess it’s not all bad because I still want the candy. Yumm.