Frequency...

I'm trying to do better about blogging. I've been neglectful, for no real reason.

But I don't have an overarching theme today. More randomness about my life. You love it, admit it.

No response from failed paramour. Technology is a gift and a curse. I know he read it because I saw him logged into G-Chat today several times. Which means he checked his email, at the very least saw my email and chose to not read it, or even worse read it and not respond-which is the more likely scenario. Who gets an email with the subject, "Why I Don't Call" and opts not to read it? No one. Especially not him. Of course I want feedback! I want a discussion, some acknowledgment of my feelings after having committed them to (paper?) gmail. Instead I got nothing, and won't likely get anything, which is one of the subjects of irritation in the email. Also, why can't I just make him go away? I always think getting my feelings off my chest will provide me some relief, and it does, right after I send it I feel so much better, lighter, relieved, unburdened. And that lasts for all of a couple hours. Then the pondering of if/when/how it will be received, whether it will get a response and when. It just goes on and on, until that curiosity is satisfied by me likely picking up the phone and calling to investigate-or so history says. I guess it could be worse, back in the day ppl sent telegrams, hoped it got there, and had to wait weeks for the delivery and any possible response. I guess that's worse. Although I think the need for instant gratification is a modern development, and let me tell you, I got it bad.

I went and hung out with my whites the other night, a couple of them smoke, and some others decided to have a cigar since it was superbowl sunday...my hair reeks! It smells so bad that I wanted to wash it when I got home but it was too late and too cold to go to bed with a wet head. But I am going to have to change my bedding as well, since I think the smell permeated my pillow cases. You know its bad if I'm willing to walk around with a bun in my head-willingly. This is precisely why I avoid smokers everywhere I go, not to mention I'm pretty sure that I got second-hand smoke cancer last night.

Can anyone explain to me what a urinal cake is? I guess I could just look it up online...Ok so it is what I thought: Urinal deodorizer blocks, also often called Urinal cakes, are the small disinfectant blocks found in urinals. But in this show that I watched tonight the guy lamented that b/c the urinal cake was missing he splashed all over himself. So then I thought perhaps its some sort of anti-splash mechanism contained in urinals...still the secret life of men's bathrooms...all the peeing together, all the rules about which urinal to take if there is another man in there, when its appropriate to take the stall in lieu of the urinal, all of the looking without looking...its fascinating really. Oh, is it fascinating only to me, and kind of gross and appropriately not a topic of conversation to other ppl? Hmmm. Perhaps.

Alright that's all I have for you tonight-stinky hair, love letters on def ears, and urinal cakes! You're Welcome!