col’s blog

I’m bummed. Friday nite solo and the guy I met last weekend, who also loves The Roots and can quote Triumph at the Attack of the Clones bit word for word, who seemed real and fun and I thought sweet, has not called.

Plus, the TV stand problem is staring me in my cranky media-deprived face.
The TV set up, basic media/computer configuration … I can handle. But carpentry? I could barely get all 20 parts out of the box. I got one look at the accompanying widgets and screws and what-the-fuck-are-those and well, umm… cried. Somebody call Tim Allen … it’s Tool Time and I’m no Pam Anderson.

So I threw in the towel and decided to make myself a nice pasta dinner. Only to be thwarted by an un-openable jar of sauce. Hot water, slamming the cap with the blunt edge of a knife … nothing worked. Mind you, I hit the weights, do a lot of push ups (75 today) … so I’ve got guns. But this fucking thing would not come off. So I had butter instead. Appropriate, because I felt like a little girl.

wha wha wha whaaaaaaaaa