I bet my boyfriend could beat up your boyfriend.

That Lady Gaga song is playing again.  This shit music's always been totally off my radar.  Man this song is awful.  And absurd.  And the reference to "disco stick" makes me think of the sex I had last night.  And then I get turned on--to this.  

There are many absurdities.  I ponder them while I pour drinks.  Half the time I try to think about what med schools I want to apply to: try to convince myself I'm productive, I guess.  That's absurd.  Another absurdity: this article someone in the archaeology department posted to Facebook.  Her comment: "I'm glad I'll never be this."  And then a whole fucking gaggle of arky kids made similar comments.  It must be hard to type when your nose is so high in the air.  Half of them have undergraduate degrees and are taking courses as unclassified students so they don't have to leave the protective wrapping of the ivory tower.  And when they do leave, there won't be enough jobs as Hole Diggers.  Some of them'll get jobs as nondescript employees, at nondescript offices, buy moderately priced houses and like-new used cars.  If only you could get that new car smell back.

Here's the one that tops it all off: one of the commenters is an ex of mine.  When we were together, he hated himself so much that he made valiant efforts to convince me that I was crazy.  Or at least, getting there.  Out of control.  Wild and unpredictable.  A total asshole.  I guess he didn't understand that I am kind of an asshole, but in the fun way.  Not like Plato.  Since I am not crazy, I kicked his pathetic, insecure, and really not hot or smart enough to date me ass to the curb.  

On the morn of April Fool's day (3:30 am, to be exact), he decided that we needed to talk.  About what, I'm not exactly sure since I had just finished working a double at work and was bed-headed with my brand new beau; I refused the invite.  After attempting to buzz my apartment for ten minutes--shockingly without success--he climbed onto my first floor balcony and tried to break in to my house.  It was so romantic that I just had to go out there and talk to him about calling the police.  I should have let Ev punch him in the face like he wanted to, but I guess I wasn't feeling full-throtle asshole that day.  

Email the next day: "I'm really sorry.  The one good thing that has come out of this is that now I know I need help.  The worst part about it all is that I wasn't even drunk."

Comment left on article about quarter-life crisis: "Ya, we are lucky.  Its [sic] comforting to know that we will never be unhappy in our line of work or go crazy from it!! ;)"

Now that, is fucking funny.  :)