Is it bad that the only reason why I would ever want a dog is so that I could name it Falcor?

Time for yet another hair cut. My hair has been growing unusually fast as of late. I almost wrote that my hair has been growing unusually long as of late … which makes no sense on this side of the universe. Any case, I wish my hair was emo so it would cut itself.

• In a night club.  The only type of clubbing I’ll ever be a part of is that of clubbing seals.  I kid, I kid.
• In a dark parking lot.  Alone.  Just doesn’t bode well.
• Wal-Mart during the holiday shopping season.  Or for any season that matter.  That place is a nightmare.
• In the kitchen.  I’m relieved the bf can cook a nice meal, otherwise he and I would settle for frozen dishes every night.

Things that are enabled to “rock”:

• This town (inside out)
• Your body (at least according to Justin Timberlake)
• You (by Queen)
• The boat
• The cradle … so the BF claims (though I believe it’s rob the cradle)
• The vote
• The casbah

That’s pretty much all I got.

Potato Scream, among others.

I recently received a letter from the San Diego County Credit Union, the folks who generously loaned me money to purchase the car my parents sold me. Before opening the letter, I figured it was a statement explaining that my second payment was late and the consequences of late payments made to the SDCCU would involve stripping me of my savings, my beloved new computer, and my sanity. But my second payment was not late. And my sanity has previously abandoned me anyhow.

Instead, the letter contained details that I was still eligible to receive x-amount of dollars of complimentary Accidental Death and Dismemberment (AD&D) insurance coverage in my name. I’ve never taken life insurance policies quite seriously because, well quite seriously, I want to live. I’m already burdened by thoughts of dying - not to the point where I dwell on it daily, so please refrain from suggesting I seek psychiatric help - I mean, not to sound morbid, but haven’t we all pondered our deaths? I’ve always hoped for a swift and painless one, perhaps a bullet to the head or passing in my sleep due to someone passing gas while I am sleeping.

Now I am burdened with the notion of accidental death in conjunction with dismemberment. Or perhaps accidental death followed by dismemberment.

A few weeks back, during lunch with my fellow colleagues at work, we went around the table and shared our encounters with famous people. One mentioned an encounter with Dennis Rodman, and almost instantaneously I had a mental image of Rodman in full bridal regalia because … didn’t he marry himself sometime ago? Another colleague mentioned meeting the band Sum41. When it came time for me to share, I felt like I didn’t really have the right to speak. My closest encounter with someone ‘famous’ was the time I went to Disneyland about 7 years ago and I was in line for Autopia and a few of my friends were perusing leather goods at the Indiana Jones souvenir shop. As the line moved forward, my friends came running up to tell me they met Mimi from The Drew Carey Show.

And that my good friends is the closest I’ve ever come to meeting someone famous.

I’ve been 23 for some time now, out of college and with a full-time job. I own my car, and am slowly establishing credit (something I should have done eons ago after I turned into one of those teenager-adults that aren’t of legal age to consume alcoholic beverages but can volunteer to shoot a gun against an enemy in a time of war). Anyhow, I’ve been feeling very in-independent as of late. Un-independent? Non-independent? I think the qualifier I’m looking for here is ‘dependent’ - I moved back in with my parents and it feels like I’m re-living my high school years. Except no one is asking me to the Prom. Wait, that didn’t happen in high school, either …

Granted, living at home with the ‘rents has its perks, such as a nice home-cooked meal, free access to the Internets, and did I mention free food? That said, I know I should appreciate these years that I’m not knee-deep in debt or living in squalor. I’m just really anxious to finally fly away from the nest already.

I heard this song compared to the likes of Barry Manilow. I’m officially a fan of Mr. Manilow.

ABC’s Lost has an area on their website, aptly named Connections, which shows how characters are connected to one another. After spending an inordinate amount of time on the site, it became evident that I need a life and that Hurley is the character with the most connections (probably attributed to the fact that he garnered quasi-celebrity status with his lottery winnings). I smell bacon - of the Kevin variety.