Wait... Who are you again?

Hey! Hey you! Yeah, you. Look at me. Look over here. Hey. Hey hey hey hey look here. Are you looking? Do I have your full, undivided attention? Good.


Yes, the excessive greeting was completely necessary, as my slacking has reached it's prime and I have gone an entire 13 months without stepping foot in this corner of cyberspace! My apologies, lovelies.

I have a new layout and new digs, and a renewed resolve to start blogging again! So bear with me while I wipe the grime and rust from my keyboard and the space in my brain that keeps the blogging knowledge. But where to start, dear readers? There's so much new! Oh, you want to know about my penchant for breaking things that I like a lot? Well, I suppose I could oblige. Anything for the audience. :)

I'm the type of person who doesn't love easily. Unless it comes to objects. In which case, if I find something I like, I'm prone to loving it to the bitter end. My ways of showing affection, however, are quite unconventional, to say the least. In short: if I like something, I beat the shit out of it. Boots barely last two months before the soles are worn out and I've torn through the tops of them from all the activity (my career as a professional ass-kicker requires that I kick... lots of ass...) that I engage in. Jewelry tends to break at the most inconvenient times, scattering beads and string all over the lovely customers in the grocery store where I'm paid to entertain the masses and take their money in exchange for over-priced goods. And I even beat the shit out of kiss my lovely boyfriend too much to show my affection.

But today, dear friends, I was plunged into the dark ages as a direct result of my over-love. Mind you, I know how I treat material objects, so as a rule, I can't have nice things. But I fell in love with a little Palm Pixi in August and had to have it for my own. While it's no I-phone, the Pixi is no joke. This phone does everything I could ever want, and it's worth a nice little chunk of change. So I made an amendment to the rule (and, since I had smashed the screen of my previous phone in my car door on accident, I really needed a replacement). Seven months, so far, so good, right? Wrong! I can't have fully-functional, expensive, pretty possessions! This morning, I loved a little too hard on my phone as I was angrily shutting up tenderly caressing it to turn off the alarm and knocked it off my nightstand where it resides, and as it fell a grand total of two feet, something amazing happened. The screen broke... from the inside. This feat could only be accomplished by my hand, I swear it. As a highly advanced piece of technology, of course this phone cannot operate without the touch-screen. So, alas, I had achieved a disconnect and could hear texts and phone calls trying to reach me, but could not obtain the content of such communication.

I will not have another chance to reconnect with the cellular world until tomorrow, and this lack of texting/stupid-game playing/setting myself reminders and schedules electronically has taught me something. Not that I'm too dependent on my phone, no. Nor is it that I should unplug more often to get back to a natural way of living. On the contrary, it has taught me that I need my little Palm Pixi fix, much like a crack addict. So, as I count down the seconds until I'm reunited with my lovely, I may perhaps learn morse code as a means of communication. Or maybe pigeon mail would be better suited for me. If you hear the loud thud of bird-on-glass at your house, most likely at an ungodly hour of the night, know that my efforts have succeeded, and I'm trying to connect with you! So feed the pigeon and send me words of hope and inspiration to get me through this hard time, wouldja?



-Sass.