Shower show

Today I have to go and get a present for my friend's baby shower. I have never been to a baby shower before, although I have a few chums who have done the breeding thing and I've gotten them various random presents. I don't know what to get. She's registered at Target and Babies R Us, but I think you have to get all that stuff online or something, and this being the day of said shower, I don't think I can just turn up with a printed out gift receipt and a promise that whatever I got will arrive within five to ten working days. That seems like it would be breaching some kind of offspring-celebration etiquette. I have about five hours to figure it out.
I need to write about how All-star and I had a yelling match at the six corners earlier this week, and how we made up by drinking our weight in beer at a baseball game, and also about yesterday when we packed up his things because he's moving tomorrow...and about how I went out with Kitty last night and experienced Wrigleyville in all its douche-y glory, and ended the night fuming because All-star wasn't answering his phone and the door-man wouldn't let me in. All of these things were quite interesting and had a lot of amusing details, but right now I have to go and get some kind of baby-centric gift and try not to freak out about how school is starting in two days. That is all.

A little assistance?

Today I filed for a petition for the dissolution of my marriage to Drummer, spun hula hoops for an hour on various parts of my anatomy, paid someone to stick needles in me in the name of health and wellness, and purchased a very moderately priced desk. In that order.
I was married for a year, and I suppose no one was really surprised when it all fell apart fairly early on. Or perhaps they were. I didn't really talk to many people about it at the time, for reasons that I'm still not sure of. I'm keeping up with that trend by not really talking to anyone about the long-awaited divorce. I tried talking to a few people about it, and as is often the case when I try to talk to anyone about anything, it didn't go well. I don't know whether that was because of my choice of confidantes, or because I'm just crap at sharing. Probably both.
I know I wasn't surprised when Drummer and I broke up. Disappointed, maybe. But not surprised. We'd been unhappy for quite a long time, and had a few pretend break-ups in the lead-up to the big show. You see, I'd been married before for much the same reason, and that went down in flames in about a year, too. A pattern had already been established. I was sad that I had once again failed, and sad that we didn't love each other any more. I was also angry about various things, but that's pretty standard for me. Maybe I was a little angrier than usual, but after a summer of sleeping on my friend's boyfriend's couch and living off beer, bagels and cigarettes, I calmed down.
Drummer and I are both a long way from where we were when we broke up, and both much happier, I think. He has a dog and a beard and a girlfriend back in his hometown, and I have full-time student status and a savings account and All-star, who bought me a zombie finger-puppet for our anniversary.
In regards to the divorce, it was all relatively straightforward. We didn't have any kids, and were too pitifully broke to have any mutual property to divide. And since it would be a cold day in hell before Drummer could provide me with any kind of alimony, that wasn't really an issue either. Hell, he couldn't even keep me in ramen noodles and K-mart underwear most of the time when we were actually together. I don't think it's entirely fair, though, that I'm the one who had to go through three separate trips to the Daley Center, wait in countless queues, deal with surly underpaid, overworked government clerks, type up the petition and judgement, make copies and get them notarised, pay the fees, and set up the court date. Oh, and actually appear at said court date next week. Although Drummer did say he'd hit me up with half the dinero if I went into his work to pick it up. Another fucking mission over to the north side, hooray.
The long and the short of it is that in about a week, it will all be over and done with. Then I can concentrate my attentions fully on ruining my current relationship. Oh, I'm sorry. Did that sound bitter?
The nice people at Target designated the desk I bought as a "Team Lift" item. It was apparently too heavy or bulky for one person alone to handle safely. This didn't stop me from carrying it all by myself through the store to the checkout, through the car park to the bus stop, home on the bus, and up the stairs to my apartment, however. I am beginning to think that there are a great many "Team Lift" items in my life, but much like my fellow Target shoppers and CTA riders, no matter how much I appear to be struggling with them, no one I know is going to offer to help.

Let's get beginnings begun...

...and roll-call the components. Ten points if you can pick that reference.
So the goal is that people will read this thing, but that no one I actually know in real life will ever see it or know of its existence. I'm not entirely sure how that's going to work, but I'm still going to give it a red-hot go. In my previous blogging existence, quite a lot of things got censored because everyone I knew read what I wrote. Since I am a big nancy-pants, and actually care about what other people think of me, I didn't write anything too inflammatory or hurtful. Perhaps in the magical land of blogger I'll really be able to twist knives and name names. Or not. We'll see.
My housemate and her boyfriend were wandering in and out as I was dicking around with the backgrounds and things, so I suppose the title will be familiar to them. If they were so inclined, they could google said title, and there would go my plan of anonymity amongst my peers. It's pretty unlikely that the housemate would get all up in my bloggin' grill, though. She's severely dyslexic, and doesn't like to read things unless absolutely necessary. And John, if you're reading this, that whale joke is funny, but needs editing. Ten seconds of whale noises is more than enough.
I used to have a blog on MySpace, back when MySpace was still relevant. I also write things down on actual paper, but for some reason the idea of rambling incoherently on the internets appeals to me. Maybe because I have been reading more and more blogs that entertain me and don't make me want to shout "Oh shut up, you whiny little bastard!"
I was going to write all about stuff and things, but now I find I'm tired and irritable and in need of sleep.
Maybe I'll be inspired tomorrow. I'm filing my divorce petition, so that should be pretty interesting material.