Tuesday, June 02, 2009


A wee update. In a list!

- Operation Six-Pack is underway. And by that, I mean I will have a six pack this summer. Of beer. Not. Honestly, I don't know what I'm doing -- I mean, at age 17 I worked out twice a day five days a week and never achieved the elusive six-pack, but dammit, it's worth a go 11 years later, no?

It's unrealistic to think I'm actually going to work out twice a day every day, but I think I'm going to have to do the inevitable and cut out my beloved junk food during OSP. That and beer. That pretty much sums up everything beautiful in life. Oh yeah, and exercise, exercise, exercise.

Dear Pizza, #8 meal from Whataburger, Jack in the Box Egg Rolls and JalapeƱo Poppers and Beer,

I love you but we're through. This has to be a clean break, so I won't go into how much you've added to my life with your awesomeness. Don't look at me like that. We had a good run, but I'll always think of you fondly. Well, eventually. For now, I must think of you as disgusting. Like turds. No, worse than turds. Like baby turds that are all yellow and smell like milk. Yeah. Get out of my life. You disgust me. Go now. Shoo.

(But bear in mind, that I fully expect you to take me back should I decide to return. Got it?)


The D.

P.S. Please return my Bjork CD.

- Matt is in love with Natalie Portman. He is watching The Professional. Again. 'tsokay. I'm not jealous.

- Wait, back up. He just paused the DVD to watch Conan on The Tonight Show. I think he's reading my mind. Not like I was jealous or anything. Pshhhhhh.

- So it occurs to me that I've had this blog for four years and I've never explained my choice of name, Deconstructionist Diaries. I don't really feel like going into it in great detail, but to sum it up, it's because I was an English major and my favorite approach to literary criticism was deconstruction.

- I am full of shit.

- But only about 76% of the time.

- I have some very credible sources who have all come to that same calculation. 76%.

- So some interesting things have happened as of late. For one, we are now an economical statistic. Yes, ladies and gents, this awesome recession has not spared this household in that Matt has been laid off from his job, which was totally dumb and stupid and who needed that job anyway, right? RIGHT? Bah, I hate you, recession, but at least my house is now clean all the time, and he has time to fulfill his life-long dream: becoming a dog party planner. You heard me.

- Just kidding, Matt hates dogs.

- Another interesting thing. I played open mic night at this deliciously divey dive of dives last Monday. Where did this come from, you ask? My crotch. No really, I would've been terrified three months ago, but I'm afraid this music thing has become kind of an obssession. It's an unstoppable force, this music. The thing is, my brother, the guitar wunderkind, asked me if I wanted to go and it just sounded like a good idea. Kind of like when you're hanging out, having a good time, and someone passes you that 5th beer, and even though you have to drive home, you take it because eeeeeyyyyy, you're having a good time anyway and one more beer won't do much harm, right? Well, it's kind of like that. Except, ew GROSS, I hate beer.

In short, we rocked it, it was fun, and I totally want to do it again. Un.Stoppable.

- I am going through a phase in which I am convinced EVERYONE is on blow. Fuck the swine flu, if I see you sniffling, you don't have a cold, you are on coke, you dirty bastard.

- When Mando and I worked at the college newspaper together (the second time around), he gave me a certificate labeling me as "La Accuser," which I accepted graciously, with all the poise and humility of the queen of England. And then that rat bastard stole my red pen. I KNOW he did.

The end. BTW, Conan's current guest is on coke. Don't believe me? Watch it. Do it now.


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