Why does the attempt to write something honest about myself always turn into whiny emo bullshit? I'm sick of it.

I was trying to describe this recurring anxiety dream, and purely through the words I used to describe the dream, it became a little bit clearer.

"It's like I have to get somewhere, and I know how to get there, but I keep getting interrupted by inane things in my normal life that prohibit me from getting to the place where I know I'm supposed to be. I know how to get there. I just can't get out of where I'm at."

I always say "Your 20s are for when you think you know everything, and you know you've passed that stage once you realize you know nothing at all." So here I am.

I know nothing.

Now what?

Welcome to my sixth mid-life crisis. I wish I could just admit that I'm not special and move on, but I'm a child of the '80s. I was born to be special. Thank you and good night, ladies and gentlemen.

When I mess up in video games, even over the littlest things, I press the reset button. Unfortunately I can't do the same thing with my life.

I'm over it. I'm 31. I'm not allowed to write emo posts in my LiveJournal like a 20-year-old anymore. Those are the rules. I'm a wicked rule-follower, after all. I just hate being invisible. When I was "AimeeG... from the internet!" it felt like at least people paid attention.

Now I'm just boring depressed unemployed Aimee.

Go braid your armpit hair, you jerk.

My mood swings based on what TV series I am currently obsessed with. It was a lot more... simple(?)... when I was watching "How I Met Your Mother."

"Six Feet Under" makes me feel like Brenda. And I hate Brenda. But here I am. Call me Brenda.

I think I have only used this thing to re-live my life as a whiny teenager. Or live A life as a whiny teenager, because aside from here, I'm not all that whiny.

Hi. How are you doing? Can you give me tips to not get bored to death while working from home? I am already bored of TV and the internets, and I can't seriously work all of the time, can I? Can I?

I am considering getting a part-time job making pizzas. Because why not?

So I guess I forgot to tell you all in livejournalland that I actually have a blog that I update semi-regularly. It's called "From the desk of AimeeG." I realized that I have a hard time blogging without any sort of limitations, so I have decided to use this new blog to post photos of me eating at my desk. Seriously. I mean, it's probably going to end up more interesting than that, but I needed a starting place and that's what I chose.

So, henceforth... GO TO MY REAL BLOG.

(I still come here and read my friends page and everything, but I just wanted to let you know where I'm actually writing something.)

Apparently now they're afraid of the Russians. Or Sputnick. Oh you silly Americans.

Ooh! Explosions out of martini glasses. Deep. "We got the wrong Germans!"

Location: Apparently now it's the 50s, and they're no longer fixated on the Nazis.

This play is almost too good for a theater this big.

I'm here. In the balcony. This play is too good to blog through and I can't see my keyboard in the dark. Then again, this play is over 3 hours long, so at least I have something to do if I'm bored, right?

Location: Portland Center Stage

Weird thing, OK?

So there's this play, Apollo and tonight they're having this "Balcony full of bloggers and tweeters" thing tonight, and my girlfriend just so happens to be in charge of this thing. But hey, the play actually looks interesting:



Now, I don't "blog" and I rarely "tweet," but for tonight, One Night Only! I will be captive to a computer screen for 3+ hours as I watch what could be either interesting theater or a very long pretentious play. Who knows?

So I will be Live LiveJournaling (as compared to Live Blogging or Live Tweeting) and I may or may not turn on my webcam or tweet or post journals here. I may just spend the entire play playing Diner Dash! The sky is the limit!

If you want to play along, come back here tonight @ 7:30-10:30ish or IM "EvilAimeeG" or something. Or if you just want to talk to help me kill time. That's where I'll be.

Aw man... thanks to my teammates for voting me "Most Inspirational."

I'm not exactly sure how I am more inspirational than anyone else, but if watching me huff and puff as I ran thousands of yards in the rain inspired them to do greater things, I'll take it!

I wrote this on the airplane:

"Books are my religion. I highlight passages in fiction like my grandma highlighted passages in her bible."

In a way, it's true. Finding snippets that bring you peace in an otherwise turbulent world. How is my highlighting any different from my grandma's?

Eva Randine Westlund Genter : January 18, 1917 - August 10, 2008

Yesterday I got the call. My dad told me last week that they'd moved her over to hospice care, so we knew it was only a matter of time. I was riding my bike past the Peninsula Park rose garden, so I stopped and sat for awhile to remember my grandma. I stole a rose (shhh) and saved it for the funeral.

Gramma G lived the next town over from me all of my life. My family spent every weekend of my childhood with my grandma. She taught me all of the German cookery that I will ever need to know. She taught me the "psychic" game that we played over and over again to trick people out with our "psychic powers." We had art shows and wrote plays and went on long walks, and she bandaged me up when I fell off my bike. Her house was full of all sorts of "old people" things, I usually spent hours every time I was at her house exploring through all of the old people stuff. She loved tabloids, and when she was done reading them, she'd give me a grocery bag full of them, and they were always marked up with her notations on things she found interesting. I have a million and one memories of her, and I don't even know how I'm going to pare them down for when I speak at her funeral.

But now she's finally no longer in pain. And now she can be with my grandpa Dave, who was gone long before I was born. Rest in peace, Grams.

Apparently, I have had the same hairstyle for 30 years.



Thanks, everybody, for the birthday spankings and for the parties people didn't know they were throwing me for my birthday (i.e. the debauchery of LCP, someone else's birthday party, Keri & Kwame's wedding, etcetera).

The real party? I don't know when or where or what it'll be, but I'm thinking we'll kick it off with a little Quizzy at Billy Ray's Neighborhood Dive Thursday night. If you're interested in joining us, let me know!

My horoscope says that somebody I care about will throw a wrench into my plans today.

So... if you're going to throw a wrench, will you please do it right now? So maybe then I'll have time to deal with it? Pretty please?

Thanks.

I'm cleaning out my camera today. Here is a photo from when I was doing research for the Tillamook Cheese Cookbook at their corporate headquarters a few months ago, and was digging through all of their old advertising and marketing materials:



Yes, I do have the maturity of a 12-year-old boy.

Also, I'm totally going to miss my dog when I move out next month:

I like to confess to minor things all of the time. Last night I confessed that I have written a letter to Taco Bell because I like it when you go through the drive through and they ask you how your day is going and they genuinely seem to care about your answer.

Today's confession: When I am writing e-mails to our printer in Hong Kong, I respond in broken English.

The Editor-in-Chief and I have taken to posting passive-aggressive quotes over the copy machine for the people who think they can do our jobs better than we can (and apparently I am a time-traveling quote maker).



(This quote to the right is related to a sales guy taking a cover I designed out to a client and coming back saying, "They like it, but they want you to remove the color bar at the bottom." If you know anything about balance in design, removing an entire color bar (but leaving another one) makes absolutely no sense at all).

So I have had a problem for a very long while. I do not have a lawnmower. And my grass* has grown increasingly higher and higher, about 3 feet, I'm guessing.

Here's Porkchop in the "shorter" area of the grass*



So I felt bad for my neighbors. I posted on damnportlanders that I needed help. (Specifically I was looking for a lawnmower to rent or to use myself because I would feel awful if anyone else tried to tackle that mess.) Lo and behold, neighborly love swept the nation and Mr. supresmooth offered to do it for me. I don't think he knew what he was getting himself into. After filling a garbage can with grass* in about 15 minutes, he ended up filling most of the bed of his truck with the "overflow" grass*. I have no "after" picture, but believe you me, nothing can ever get as large and luscious as the grass* that once was.

So this is my toast to the dude who defeated my yard. Cheers!

* Upon closer inspection, the grass was found to be mostly weeds, as it has always been and always will be.

This video made me very happy because it includes 3 of my favorite things: board games, Rich*, and name-dropping**:



*Rich is an old friend of mine from home. We were in the same freshman orientation group (go Cobbers!) where we quickly found out that we knew each other from ComedySportz HS League. He was the only boy I ever snuck into my dorm room (which is absolutely hilarious for a lesbian to do... I understand this). I remember playing Simpsons Chess and other assorted board games with him until sunrise many-a-night, and so I am equally impressed with his growing collection of board games and the fact that he's all famous and shit.

**See how I dropped it without actually dropping it?

Congratulations, Rich!