Tendonitis

I had a cool graphic here with my Nerd score from nerdtests.com, but apparently I can't even copy and paste html code correctly. It should come as no surprise that I'm only 22% nerdy.

I really thought my score would be higher. However, they just used math/science/computer proclivity as a measure of nerdiness. I'm way nerdy, dude. I can diagram a sentence like nobody's business, yo. You know what I would like to see? Freestyle diagramming showdowns like rappers do. Eminem should make a movie about that.

I read on the dust cover of the book I read this weekend (Kissing Bill O'Reilly, Roasting Miss Piggy) that the author was a Pulitzer Prize finalist for criticism. Criticism. Then he went on to work for Entertainment Weekly for 14 years. Ah, there's hope for me yet. I can be a critic -- a prize-winning one at that. Why, I'm a critic every day.

My tendonitis is acting up again, but I spilled -- or, to be more precise, the ex-boyfriend spilled -- honeybee food all over my sling. We were transporting a hive in the middle of the night to the Nature Center and I gave him one and only one direction when we got in the car: "Make sure the bee food doesn't fall over." Bee food is 50/50 sugar water syrup. And it spilled all over my new (1997) car and sling which was sitting on the floor. Anyway, if I want a new sling, I'll have to sew my own, which just isn't going to happen. Typing is a trial itself, but it's what I do for you. Actually, I think I'm the only one who will read this (or at least read this far -- really, how interesting is someone else's life? I take that back. That's the genre I'm into right now and I just read a riveting blog about some chick's chin implant surgery). So, I guess typing through the pain of tendonitis is what I do for...posterity.

I just realized I can change colors. How thrilling. I promise not to overuse this feature.

So, on tap for tomorrow: picking up the rental van for summer camp; hoping the summer camp counselors who I only marginally trust at this point don't kill/lose/maim any kids; planning my quarter-life crisis. I'm on the verge of really hitting the peak of this crisis; I've had the requisite panic attack and the period of questioning my career. The crappy thing about it was that the ex-boyfriend started having his mid-life crisis at about the same time (he's 38). Dude, I thought you were supposed to keep the hot 24-year-old girlfriend, not dump her.

I can't act out a whole lot for my crisis. I guess that's what makes the mid-life crisis more popular -- usually by that point of your life you have a bit more money than I do to blow on toys, or girls/boys, or...blow, I suppose, too. I can't afford to move; work owns my soul and I'm in too good of a position for someone my age to just quit; men are hard to meet outside of Spring Break (got to love living in a beach community -- for two months a different school is on vacation. Indiana! Ohio! Michigan! I love the Big 10); and I sure as hell would never get a new car because my minivan is just so uncool it's cool. So, I don't know what I'll do. Go to wine country maybe. Or Costa Rica. Or a bar I haven't been to, if there are any left.

Final thoughts:

1. Good Dr. Seuss reading: "The Pants with No One Inside Them."
2. Alcohol I'm into: cheap beer, which is weird because I've spent the past 5 years being such a relentless beer snob, only drinking local microbrews. But I suppose this shouldn't be a surprise given that there are no local microbrews down here.
3. Plan for getting my stuff out of storage in Montana (I've been paying for a rental unit for the vast majority of my belongings for 2 1/2 years): fly to Montana, box and ship what I want, and sell the rest.

If anyone is willing to drive from Montana to Florida with my stuff (books, clothes, pint glasses), let me know.