Sh*t we say in LA, 21 Jump Street, & storm troopers on the highway.
I have actual content, I swear.
But before we get to the fact that Gina Curano is my new girl crush, I thought I’d share a few things with you:
sh*t people say in LA
While I have not snorted coke with Skeet Ulrich, I am verbatim guilty of the parking quotes, and yes, a couple of other things:
21 Jump Street? I am SO THERE.
Much to Sachiel‘s horror in the movie theatre lobby, I fully intend to partake of this, because unlike my erstwhile roommate, I’d already seen the trailer:
I love two things about this movie:
Princess & the Pea: why I’m healing up a hurty knee.
As of late, I have been athletically cranky.
Why, you might ask?
One word, people: Crosstraining. Cross. Training.
Okay, yes. I think it may be two words. shush.
Here’s the thing – when you’re a rower, you can’t just row. If you do, two things happen:
1. you get hurt because you’re overworking those muscles.
2. your brain gets bored & you burn out.
Thus, cross training. Swim, bike, run, whatever – you do something that’s not rowing.
Last May, I joined up at YAS.
YAS is exactly what its name stands for – Yoga And Spin. That’s it. That’s all they do. No upsell, no attempt to get you to do personal training or their diet program. Yoga & Spin, in one form or another. Very cut & dry.
Thus for me, as someone who used to teach spin & is already inclined to yoga, that’s pretty much perfect. And I loved it there. Loved it.
At least, it was until my right knee decided to get all… wonky-like.
Lemme ‘splain.
If you’re going to spin regularly, it’s highly advisable to get shoes & clips. This gives you a better footing on the pedal than using your regular sneakers with a basket on the pedal.
Now, when I was teaching, spin was still fairly new, and I was poor & in college, so I didn’t get clips. This time around, however, I decided to take care of business, & caught a good sale on some Sidi shoes
At the time I didn’t know anything about spin shoes & just went with the philosophy that I wanted the lightest hardshell shoes I could find, because to me that seemed the logical choice. I later learned that I’d lucked out not only in price but also in brand since, as YAS instructors Diane & Gina said when they saw my new shines, “You got the rockstar shoes! Nice!”
However, you also have to get clips to go on the shoes
So, that in mind, one Saturday I stopped by MDR bike on Lincoln in Marina Del Rey & said, “Hey, I got these shoes, I need to get clips, can you help me?” And the guy in the shop said, “Sure, here you go”, installed clips & off I went.
No problem, right?
Wrong.
Bits, bobs, boundaries & being a sleeper agent for the arts.
Well, we’re moved. Things thus far?
- it would seem that, according to DJT, I have an entire magical adventure within my apartment. More on that later.
- I’m pretty sure Zoey thinks we’re house sitting, as whenever we go out for a walk she tries to find the car. Sorry, ZeeZee, this is where we live now, kiddo.
- Ernie just thinks everything’s an adventure. I’m astounded at how well he’s been behaving as of late – he’s even already figured out to wait until we get down to the sidewalk & pee on the streetlight, as I don’t want him to get in the habit of just lifting leg on the stairs leading up to the building… which I suppose counts as me teaching my puggle not to piss off the neighbors.
- We had a moment to appreciate that I had one large box of clothes and seven medium boxes of books — and that’s after I’d culled the herd.
The result is that I’m torn between getting a Kindle Fire
h/t to k-walla for this one.
- thanks to her present decor involving red sheets over the windows until we figure out curtains, Sachiel‘s room looks a bit boudoir-esque. This impression would probably be greatly improved by a lack of plastic bins, but I figure hey – at least she’s got the lighting down. Gotta start somewhere.
- mostly at this point, I feel like the apartment presently resembles dominoes — if I do this, it will affect this, this & this, which is a bit overwhelming.
A tale of moving house: Tumblr style.
First: let’s play a round of “Expectation vs. Reality”
Expectation:
For the record, I had plans for these last two weeks of the year. Seriously. I was going to go through, finish cleaning out my apartment, organize my electronic files, finish up some lingering projects… you know, all those things that allow one to feel like they’re starting the new year in some semblance of control over their life.
Reality:
…did I mention that I’m moving on Saturday?
But we are! The week before Christmas, Sachiel & I took the Friday beforehand to go look at a couple of possible apartments… and came away completely disheartened. Personally my favorite was the guy that was willing to rent to us and then when he found out I had two dogs, told me the rent had just increased $100/mo. Seriously, dude? I mean, I’ll pay a full deposit or a pet fee, that’s fair, but you want me to pay you $1200 more a year for the entire time I rent from you?
Yeah… we decided to pass.
source
Episode II: The Search Continues
Christmas Eve, we had one place to look at before Sachiel went to visit with Polgara’s cats for two weeks & I migrated with the puppies to the Long Beach Menagerie for a week. When we’d looked at the ad earlier in the week, I’d said to Sachiel, “I vote we just show up at the open house with the dogs and let them charm the landlord the way they do everyone else in the entire world.”
Puggle-bomb: why we’re looking for a 2 bedroom
As we’ve mentioned, Sachiel migrated to LA right before Thanksgiving this year and, while in pursuit of gainful employment, took up residence on my couch. Since I’d been looking for a new place anyway, we decided to just chuck in & get a place together.
Thankfully, in what I may dub a Holiday Miracle if it goes through, I think I may have found a place yesterday (application pending).
In the meantime, I took a picture this weekend which best illustrates why we need to get a place so that Sachiel can have a room with a door:
Trust me – it’s even cuter if you click to enlarge.
Ernie: He know when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake.
Zombie Abandonment Poll: A holiday activity
The right side of my body is a bit for sh*t. And it turns out – so is Sachiel.
As I’ve mentioned in other entries, I’ve been having some issues since September with strain in my right forearm/elbow. I’ve also been having twinges in my right knee, which of course is just fantastic.
One Friday, after a technically challenging erg set, Sachiel & I went out to do errands. In the course of this, we were walking up a set of stairs from underground parking, and just something about the way I put the weight on my right leg to go up the step caused my right knee to take out a cleaver and attempt to sever the bottom half of my leg from the rest of my body.
My response was to make a[n admittedly rather] girly noise of pain and shock. Sachiel, ahead of me on the stairs, started walking up them faster, yelling, “What is it? Are you okay? Is everything all right?” as she’s running away.
Once I recovered and got to the top of the stairs, I made two statements:
1. We’re going to stop at the Sports Chalet in that shopping complex and get me a sleeve knee brace because whatever the frig that was I do not know but have no desire to ever experience it again.
2. Sachiel is a bad friend.
Claris: Dude. You ran away. Sachiel what was I supposed to do? Claris: Stay! Help! I could have been in mortal danger! Sachiel Okay, you know what? Look at you. Now look at me. I am 5’2″ & 3/4. You are a big strong rower type. What could I possibly do to defend you? Claris: Hello? Safety in numbers! Sachiel Oh, no. I’ve seen the zombie movies – the people that go back for their friends inevitably end up getting eaten too. Number one rule – don’t go back to save others if you want to survive. Claris: Did you seriously just say that? You are totally a bad friend! Sachiel No, I’m realistic. Because I know you, and if there’s something bad enough to make you make that girly scared-girl noise, it’s really bad. Like, ridiculously bad. And if it scares youthat much, the best thing I can do is get myself to safety & see if I can find reinforcements. Claris: Are you seriously going with the “when scary things get scared: not good” defense? Sachiel yes. That. Totally that. Claris: And you’re doing this on a day where I’m your ride home? Sachiel As long as I’m still alive, I can call a cab. Claris: Whatever, Zombie Abandoner. Whatever.
When we got to our destination that day, we were still going strong, & upon explaining what happened to the person we were visiting, Sylvie looked at me & went, “So now you know – she is a bad friend.*”
*Due to Sylvie’s country of origin, we also discovered this statement is even funnier when expressed in a French accent.
As such, it’s somewhat possible that in our household, the word “zombie” has become a Pavlovian trigger for Sachiel to begin an increasingly eloquent defense of her actions, which I graciously offered to allow her to present here.
The “girly noise of pain and shock” was a SCREAM. A “OH MY GOD SOMETHING REALLY SCARY AND REALLY HORRIBLE IS NEARBY!!!” scream. The parking garage wasn’t well-lit and I was walking up stairs that were open stairs where something could have been in the process of trying to grab me.
This was the thought process that occurred (more or less):
Lalala. Stairs. Not a fan. I hope I don’t trip.[Claris' SCREAM OF FEAR!]
%@&^&!!!! WHAT’S WRONG? IS THERE A HUGE SPIDER HEADED TOWARDS ME?! IS THERE A RAT BY THE STAIRS?! IS THERE A SNAKE?! IS THERE SOMETHING REALLY GROSS BY THE STAIRS?! IS THERE A CREEPY PERSON?! OMG! IS THE CREEPY PERSON TRYING TO GRAB ME FROM UNDER THE STAIRS?! MOVE FASTER! FASTER!!! GET AS FAR AWAY AS POSSIBLE FROM THE SCARY!!!
Running was the best option. If Claris were in actual danger, then me and my six months of fitness krav wasn’t going to be of any help to the girl who used to like to beat things up.
By running away, I was putting distance between me and the scary, which would allow me to assess the situation from a safe distance. My sense of self-preservation is strong. I may be selfish, but as at least I’ll be alive when the zombpocalypse occurs.
Truly, 1049 is currently a house divided, and there’s only one solution:
Let the internet decide.
So, what say you, interwebs? Is Sachiel’s Zombie Abandonment approach to friendship valid, or am I right in my “bit for shit” classification of her actions?
Welcome to the Holiday Zombie Challenge.
The Game:
- Get Facebook Like count to 100
- Have a minimum 100 votes in the poll below
Reward:
Whoever the internet proves to have the lesser moral compass will make a $100 donation to Toys for Tots in the winner’s name. Word on the street is that this year, the Marines could use a little extra help.
Deadline:
- December 21st
So c’mon people – share us on your social media, spread the word, get your friends in line and help Sachiel and I decide whose morality should win out. Just remember – it’s for the children.
Step 1
Why the Facebook like count? So that neither side in the argument can stuff the interweb ballot box by simply ditching the cookies on their browser & voting again. 30 people have already liked us, so each of y’all just need to get 2.3 friends to come play the game. Assuming, that is, that you’ve got 2.3 friends…
Step 2
Music: Baby You’re Gonna Have to Pay – Victoria (Alcazar) 
Thinking in colors, dating like an Austen novel, & how to booby-trap a brand identity.
Sorry, fellow miscreants. I’ve been pretty sick for the last week with what I can only describe as The Head Cold From Hell – to give perspective, I’ve only worked out once in the last five days, it’s been that bad. And even then, on Tuesday night after I did spin, I admitted to Heekin that I was still feeling like arse, & it’s possible that she as the instructor kinda kicked me out of yoga & told me not to come back until I was actually better instead of trying-to-act-like-I’m-okay better.
Fun part of life right now is the fact that I’m not used to taking drugs of any kind, so this week has been quite entertaining for Sachiel. Amongst other things, it’s possible that at one point I declared that I could only think in colors. These & other moments of fun were brought to you by the letter P & the good cold meds that federal law makes you swipe your license to buy at Target.
I don’t get sick enough for meds very often, so I was unfamiliar with this little pharmaceutical snafu, and since at that point I was basically wandering around Target like a grumblingly cranky 3-year-old that’s missed naptime, it may have taken more than one attempt to explain the necessity to produce ID.
Finally, things cleared my brain fog & I said, “Wait, so you guys weren’t kidding about that? Seriously, I couldn’t even remember to bring the coupon so we could get $1 off 2 cartons of juice– at this point in time, do I really strike you as someone capable of starting a meth lab?”
Things I’ve learned in the last week:
1. Zoey does not have cancer.
…and it only took a burst cyst on her butt, two vet appointments, and the low low price of $500 to help us determine that. This is also my mental reminder that I need to start Ernie‘s pet insurance policy from the same company as his sister ’cause oy, with the checkbook.
2. Neti pots only work under certain circumstances.
The present state of my left nostril, it would seem, is not one of them.
Neti Pots are supposed to help irrigate the crap out of your nose, and during the Target excursion wherein I reaffirmed my disinclination for meth addiction, Sachiel & I had a convo that we’ve heard Dao Jones talk about how much she likes them. So when when we saw one
It worked okay on the right nostril – not the nice neat stream they show in the illustrations, but still, air flow was achieved.
Left nostril… well let’s just say that if the nostril prefers to remain blocked, the warm liquid you’re attempting to run through doesn’t really have anywhere to go, at which point things can get backed up and you just might end up spitting out neti pot saline solution that’s leaked down the back of your throat, thankful for the decision to attempt this particular procedure over a bathtub as opposed to the sink as suggested by the directions.
The end result of this experiment may have been me cracking up Sachiel by stumbling out of the bathroom with red-rimmed eyes and the violent snuffles of a cokehead as I coughed, “Oh yah. Check it out – I’m wicked f*ckin’ sexy.”
3. Oh, TV – teacher mother secret lover…
Ne’er was a truer word spoken by Homer Simpson, my friends. Little did I know at the time what a fortuitously-timed purchase my Roku
However, even hunkered on my couch under a blankie & the 21-pound Puggle who thought me being home all day was great, I still had the interwebs.
Sleepy Zoey vs. Getting Out of Bed: a dog tail.
Once upon a time, there was a morning.
A morning when Zoey did not want to get up.
Unfortunately for Zoey, her mommy uses the iPhone as our alarm clock, and thus started taking pictures of the process.
The following is that story.
k-walla: Wait, is your dog sleeping with its head on the pillow? Like, like a person?
Claris: Yup.
k-walla: did you teach her to do that?
Claris: :sigh: no, she figured that out all on her own.
passing the wil wheaton test & puppies building forts
So. That happened.
Wow. Not gonna lie, last week was kinda rough. Lil’ heavier than any of us were probably expecting. That in mind, I figured we’d take a moment & hit up some shiznit that’s making my world better.
it’s okay, we can all be kinda crazy in the head together.
While my confession of small mental breakdown wasn’t intended to be so, it would seem that several of you found great solidarity & comfort in knowing it’s not just you.
Guess what, people? It’s not just you.
:insert chorus of small children crying out with delight:
…plus it would seem we could all use some freakin’ cake.
source
Claris: ooh – momentary freedom? k-walla oh yea, i am leaving at 5:15 then – I”M OUT BITCHES!!!!!!!!!
i really know how to push the envelope
lolClaris: :snerk: me too – tomorrow, I don’t come in here to work, so I’m going to be at home working! k-walla woo woo – we crazay
i very much liked your blog post today, always good to know other people spiral out of control with the weird and downer head thoughts as well!Claris: HOLD ME BACK
omg, it’s like freakin’ rampant lately
we’re all taking turns, just not on purpose.k-walla there was that great cartoon on hyperbole and a half too Claris: omg, I love her.
but yah, it’s especially hard for single girls I think because if there’s a guy at home he’s like, “Okay, you know you’re being crazy, right? Do you want to have sex? Would that help?”
and then you might be crazy, but at least you’re crazy & getting laid.k-walla haha, totally and that would help! Claris: I know, right? Instead I’m sitting here emailing eHarmony to see why they rejected my affiliate program application for Project!Site — so that at least if people other than me are gonna get some, I’ll get paid for helping them get there, dammit.
–> For the record, eHarmony’s reply was that they only look to place with affiliates who will be able to offer meaningful content for dating & relationships, & how would my site fit into that?
Taking my life into consideration, I sat down to write a reply explaining what kind of meaningful content I could bring to the subject of finding compatibility with others and…
…yeah. I’ll get back to that one later.
Seriously, people – I just want to put up a damn banner sometimes & probably poke fun of your company during early February – why does that have to be so freakin’ hard??
Tru fax, peoples
When I went to put an ad up there, I originally thought I’d put up something for like, Chemistry.com or Match.com just to be a smartass to eHarmony. However, when I clicked on the “Dating” category on LinkShare, I found — and I swear to $deity this is true — that under Dating is Chocolate.com.
You have to appreciate the sheer awesome of whoever it was in their office that decided to be totes McGotes real about the way life is… or possibly they were going through a breakup when assigned the task of setting up their company’s affiliate network. Either way, I’m in favor.
Normally I don’t go for this sort of blatant, slightly schmaltzy advertising on a blog, but in this case I’m going to go ahead & make a one-time exception to let you know that from now until the end of the year, you get 10% Off at Chocolate.com With Code MYCHOC10.
Because let’s be honest – in this day & age, a company that employs someone willing to run with that brand of truthiness deserves to stay in business.
Speaking of advertising – I passed the Wil Wheaton test, y’all. :fist of triumph:
I’ve been looking at ad rates on other blogs lately for an ActualFaxRealLife project of mine, & I decided to see how much it might cost to help support the Bloggess’ Wine-Shushee Habit.
However, such an inquiry is not without risk — as Bloggess readers know, should you strike the wrong note, emailing on such a subject can earn you Wil Wheaton collating paper. For a moment, I totally considered trying to sound professional, but we all know that would be a short-lived effort, so instead I sent an email regarding the use of the word “Dickensian” and the fact that I’d put on my Big Girl Pants for the occasion.
What’d I get back?
This? Is an awesome email. I’m giving you the slow clap. But softly because my daughter is sleeping.
~ @TheBloggess
This email may have caused me to swing by Polgara’s desk yesterday & say, “So… I got a slow clap from the Bloggess.”
Polgara: What? How?
Claris: I emailed her about ad rates. I’m just really proud I didn’t get Wil Wheaton.
Polgara: She only does that to people that email her stupid stuff. What did you say?
Claris: Well I wrote her like… ya know, the way I normally talk.
Polgara: oh.
Claris: Yeah, so I’m not gonna lie — slow clap? Kinda proud of that.
…and then Polgara had a huge coughing fit. This was more due to her salad dressing than our conversation, but as SarahNicole will tell people, “Claris is a choking hazard. I can’t sit near her at meal times.”
It’s animals, people. TALKING IN CAPS. How do you not know about this already??
SOMETIMES I FEEL FEELINGS, YOU PERT, JUDGMENTAL EATING DISORDER BILLBOARD! LEAVE ME ALONE!
Much in the same spirit as the guy who Facebook msg’d me after my post regarding the word faggot to say that he would now be looking for an opportunity to shout at someone that they are, indeed, a bundle of sticks, I kind of want to call someone a “pert judgmental eating disorder billboard”. I think this could probably be contextually achieved if I walk down Sunset Blvd on a Friday night, most likely somewhere between the Viper Room & the Hustler Store. Oh yes, it can be done.
also?
THIS IS AN ENCYCLOPEDIA. IT’S LIKE WIKIPEDIA EXCEPT YOU CAN TRUST IT.
–> for the young’ins in the audience, I shall put this in a context you can understand.
They don’t talk in caps, so it’s a good thing they’re cute.
Sachiel arrives on Friday to begin what we’re calling #OccupyCouch for a bit. As part of #OccupyCouch, we’re going to have to re-stuff the back cushions of said couches due to the fact that as of late, the canine children have taken to burrowing into their favorite place in the whole wide apartment to make sleeping forts.
Case in point:
…right? I KNOW.
You argue with that.
Go on. Try.
Music: I Can Get Drunk & I Can Sing Songs – Two Man Gentleman Band (Live in NYC)
a week of depression: piece of cake.
Hullo. I’m back now.
After my mixed bag exercise at Head of the American, last week was my week off.
Why did I take a week off?
originally asked by Sachiel.
In most training plans, athletes are encouraged to take at least one week a year off. For a lot of rowers, this often happens in August/September — it’s a natural break between sprint season ending & fall head racing beginning.
In my case, it happened in July — I wasn’t going to Canadian Henley, so after tearing down the course at Mercer like a bull in a china shop, I’d had a break and started training for the fall in August.
With my right arm injured & the decision not to row NARF, I took the week after Head of the American off — not only in the hopes of allowing my elbow/forearm to heal up, but also so that I could do a second step test to be compared to the one from earlier this fall. I’ll most likely do lactate testing with the kids at Beach!Boathouse in December, but since my first step test was done right after I’d been Sick Because of the Wheat, we did another to see if there was any difference or I just… suck.
(no, I don’t know the answer to that one yet, The Man Doing the Math had two high school regattas to run that Saturday & Sunday – we squinched it in last Friday due to timing of training schedule, so we both knew he’d get back to me with actual results when he gets a chance to breathe.)
For the record, a week off doesn’t mean I sat around on a couch watching TV & eating bon-bons. Instead of doing say, seven workouts in five days, I only did 3, and I was indeed completely off the water for… actually come to think of it I still haven’t been back on the water – my first days back that the boathouse have been erg workouts. #sad
so this is what other people do…
It’s an odd thing, a week off. The only comparison I can make is that it’s like when you work a 9-to-5 job and then there’s that one day when, for one reason or another, you’re not at your job and are instead out & about in the world. You drive around, go to the grocery store, Do Things Out in the World, and think, “So this is what happens in the rest of the world when I’m avoiding meetings and playing WordsWithFriends compiling code? Huh.”
I remember talking to one of the junior alums Alle when she came home for Christmas her freshman year. After four years rowing in high school, she got to uni in NY and decided that college rowing was not for her.
“It’s kinda weird at first, isn’t it?” I’d asked her.
“Oh my god,” she’d exclaimed, “I got like, twenty hours a week of my life back. I didn’t know what to do with myself!”
…and in a way, it’s like that. You look at your schedule & decide it’s going to be an All the Things! week. You’re going to Clean All the Things! and Make All the Food! and Catch Up on All the Client Work!
…and that totally, totally, completely doesn’t happen.
You think you know … but you have no idea.
What actually happens is that you get home from the regatta, and after having driven 12-14 hours in three days, drop all your crap in the middle of the living room, consider a shower, decide that you’ll just sit on your couch for a moment first, and then wake up on your couch the next morning.
Awesome start to what should have been The Week of Efficiency.
The next morning, when you were going to pack your boat on the car then row Z‘s Filippi before driving to Beach!Boathouse to drop off said boat & then pick up the Canine Brigade from their stint as part of Doggie Devo, you discover that it is not only pitch dark, but the coast has also been enveloped in a fog wall roughly the consistency of pea soup.
Good times driving the 45 minutes south on the 405 with that one, especially since my roll of twine disappeared & I couldn’t tie down the ends:
by the time I got to Beach!Boathouse and stopped after the speed bump to take this picture through my windshield, the fog had thankfully gotten a bit better than when I’d left LA. and yes, it was only my second time driving with $5k of hardware on the roof, so these conditions aren’t nerve-wracking at all.
…and the whole week just kinda goes from there. I got some things done, but not nearly as much as I really should have, or honestly, needed to.
The Week of Efficiency turned out to be The Week of Sludgery. Every time I’d be home to do something, I’d end up putting it off. Or sleeping. Or getting distracted by the dogs because I’m home for once & I should spend time with them. Or…something.
But most of all, last week reminded me of just how much the structure of having an athletic schedule helps to stave off depression.
silver lining: modern creatives have learned to abstain from ear amputation. (mostly)
Here’s the thing about creatives – we’re all a little crazy in our own way. That’s what makes us able to see things differently enough to comment on it in some form which gets your attention. If our brains worked like “normal” people, you’d only get “normal” stuff, and then we’d all just be really friggin’ bored at the office.
and in case anyone’s wondering, I actually did buy my parents AAA for Christmas last year.
And for the public at large, this great — these are the kind of minds that think up how to win a debate with your husband over whether to buy new towels by putting a 4 foot high metal chicken on the front stoop, or Seven Games You Can Play With a Brick.
But it also gets you into places where you freak out because all you can think is that you have no idea what the f*ck you’re doing and you have to be honest with people that the reason you haven’t been writing is that you’ve been trying to figure out why you don’t want to get out of bed.
I think part of it is that it’s just that time of year. Here in SoCal, summer ran out on us faster than a whore the morning after payday, leaving behind cold winds and a fog worthy of a Brontë novel, and everyone’s just like, “ugh… great.”
But across the board, I have several highly creative, incredibly smart friends who are having Life!Crisis!Moments! Whether it’s from a book deadline, job uncertainty, or in one case dog training, there’s a high occurrence of us each talking one another off the ledge as of late, and it just keeps reminding me to thank $deity for the internet. Years ago, we’d have each just been the town weirdo, isolated & told by others that there’s something wrong with us, but thanks to the power of the interwebs, town freaks across the world can connect & discover that it’s not that you’re the only person having these issues, it’s simply that geography separated us from meeting face-to-face, so let’s just go ahead & create our own electronic-based support group.
In terms of helping to create an emotionally stable place for creatives to innovate the ideas in their head, the internet just might be the best thing to ever happen for that weird kid who sat in the back of class in high school.
why? because our fellow crazies help us feel better.
Here’s the thing — just like the brains of creative people have the ability to bring about really great things, it also works in the way of being able to see life in creatively bad ways, the thinking about which can cause one to go completely over the edge — not necessarily into Hacking Apart My Neighbors Mode, but more into a despondent sort of Why the F*ck Am I Even Bothering Mode, where you’re so apathetic that not even the possibility of unicorn bacon could make things better.
