Saturday, April 02, 2005

"If I Could Be Who You Wanted..."

The Pope died today. I'm not really sure how long it takes to appoint a new Pope, but for now, the Catholic Church is Popeless. Although I'm not Catholic, I do care. Good for me.

Terri Schiavo has been cremated. We've been heavy on the death as of late. It's a bit depressing.

Erica and I are going to see De Novo Dahl tonight. How exciting. I've never actually seen them, but I know several band members, so I've opted to drag my ass out there tonight as promised, if I didn't have to work (I got off around 5:15).

I came home today to find my apartment completely unlocked, which makes me so mad I could start throwing things. I have lots of stuff, some of which has value, and I don't much appreciate the door being left unlocked because I know I locked it before I left for work yesterday afternoon.

I have a scratch on my bumper. I think someone hit me. I really don't know, though, because I haven't had this car that long and I don't know what my sister hit or what hit her when she had it, but it looks like I have a fresh scratch. My bet is it happened in a parking lot. That happened with my last car. Oh well. I'm not filing a claim over a bumper scratch.

Random Post-It on my desk:
i like to eat . . .
i like to eat . . .
i like to eat apples
and bannannas!


Yes, that's how everything was spelled.

And now, the song of the day: "Fake Plastic Trees" by Radiohead...definitely a favorite.

Her Green plastic watering can
For her fake chinese rubber plant
In fake plastic earth.
That she bought from a rubber man
In a town full of rubber plans.
Just to get rid of itself.
And it wears her out, it wears her out
It wears her out, it wears her out.

She lives with a broken man
A cracked polystyrene man
Who just crumbles and burns.
He used to do surgery
For girls in the eighties
But gravity always wins.
And it Wears him out, it wears him out
It wears him out, it wears him out.

She looks like the real thing
She tastes like the real thing
My fake plastic love.
But I can't help the feeling
I could blow through the ceiling
If I just turn and run
And It Wears Me Out, it wears me out
It wears me out, it wears me out.

And if I could be who you wanted
If I could be who you wanted,
All the time, all the time, ohhh... ohh...

1 comment:

Manda said...

Check me out, readin' your blog, biotch!