I just spent 20 minutes creating myself as a 1960s cartoon character.

This is obviously a good use of your time so go get yours here.

Mint.com email alert: You’ve exceeded your monthly budget for “Bills & Utilities.”

When I woke up this morning I didn’t really think I’d be starting off a sentence with ”So funny story about my day in the ghetto…” but if I’ve learned anything in this life it’s to never discount that possibility, so here we are.  I’ve been sick as shit for the past week but put off making an appointment with a doctor because a) I don’t have a doctor and b) I don’t have a doctor because I don’t have health insurance (raise the roof!).  It’s a self-perpetuating cycle.  I finally made an appointment today at a walk-in clinic because my job required a doctor’s note before they would allow me to return to work because, I don’t know, it’s not fucking obvious through the snot dripping down my face or the hacking cough that’s strong enough to deafen a small child that, maybe, I’m totally NOT faking it and ohmyfuckinggod this shitty retail establishment would still be able to function if Karlie didn’t make it in for her four hour work shift of shitty shittiness?

So the Boyfriend drove me all the way to the clinic location before we realized that the ’south’ we had thought to be part of the address was actually supposed to be ‘north’.  And maybe this would seem like a minute detail except for the fact that North Minneapolis–fondly referred to as Murderopolis (no seriously, it’s really called that)–is the straight up ghetto.  The way I saw it, I either had the sure option of dying by death from the sickness I’ve had for the past week or only possibly dying by stray bullet.  My doctor was refreshingly normal–and he better get a boatload of money from the government for taking one for the team and working to better this  community–and asked the usual questions.  “Yes, I work at the mall but have another, ‘real’ job but, uh huh, right, yea, I don’t have health insurance and, no, I live no where near here, I actually used to have health insurance, live in the sunshine and earn almost twice as much as I do now, uh huh, right” type questions.  Long story short, I either have a ‘really bad cold or a ‘minor sinus infection,’ so, you know, stay tuned there.  Aside from the not one, but two (TWO! Bonus!) groups of two guys, both in to see the doctor from fear of having contracted the same litany of STDs from having sex with the same ‘nasty’ chick within the span of a week, and despite the fact that my nurse used the ‘hand test’ to determine the difference between her ‘left’ and ‘right,’ the entire experience was deceptively uneventful.

At least I have my fucking doctor’s note.  I had to go to the ghetto to get it, but sure as shit, here it is!

I was reminded today what it is like to be the minority and I think it was a valuable experience.

I was putting together a post about my week but then my dog puked in my shoe and, well, that pretty much sums it up right there.

I dont know what I did to deserve this but I promise–I will never, ever do it again. Just please bring back Fall. PLEASE, I will settle for 50 degrees!

One of these days I will get back to writing, explaining what I’ve been up to and fall back into my normal hater-style ways.  Right now though, I thought I’d share something that has made me laugh as of late.

Ok, this one too.

Carry on.

Today I overheard a woman who–while looking at a skirt with a sheer black layer–said, “This looks invisible!”

How can something ‘look invisible?’ Something can be invisible, sure, but isn’t the nature of invisibility the fact that you can’t look at it?

It bothered me all day.

Who is Josh Groban?! Kill yourself! He is an angel sent from heaven to deliver platinum records onto us and if he were here right now, I’d club you to death with his Critic’s Choice Award.

I didn’t know it was possible for ANYTHING to make me miss HIgh School, but holy shit do I love Glee. And show choir. And Josh Groban. I love them as much as Cheese, so you know I’m serious.