I hate it when I feel like I should update my blog, but I have little to nothing of substance to write. Often, it’s not that I have little to nothing of substance to write, but it’s that I have nothing to post that is appropriate for public consumption.

I mean, I guess I could rant about how Obama needs to accept that he received the country is such crap condition that he could very well be a one term president, so he should act accordingly (hai “PBA” ban!); I could also complain about how Ron Paul is anti-big federal government except when it comes to abortion (cause that’s just ooky); I could go into a long, extended rant about no matter how much Libertarian Boyfriend and I see eye to eye, our class backgrounds will prevent us from agreeing on economic issues; I could rant about how I just sat in (what feels like) spray adhesive; I could rant about how much class matters and how entitled white brats make me want to slam their heads into something over. and over. and over again; I could weigh in on the whole Meghan McCain/Laura Ingraham debate (for the record: never thought I’d love a republican as much as I’m lovin’ Meghan McCain); I could post about any of the wonderful things I love about Libertarian Boyfriend; I could freak out about the economy; I could talk about silly things like ethics; I could make a list of 100 facts about me; I could go into an extended rant about what exactly “shooting oneself in the foot” means; I could talk at length about how I shop like a dude and how I don’t want to hear small talk, I just want to get in and out with my purchases and be about my merry way; I could bitch about how my being blunt is perceived to be harsh and mean; I could complain about how I miss a few certain individuals who I haven’t seen in awhile, but our schedules make it a bit prohibitive to hang out regularly; I could post a thinly veiled, passive-aggressive little rant directed at those whose stupidity makes me want to put my hands around their throats and squeeze until their eyes bulge out (and if you think that’s serious, you’ve obviously never seen my weak little grip use a garlic press); I could talk about Libertarian Boyfriend and my theories on child rearing; I could talk about what a surreal experience it is to realize you’re going to be 30 in less than a month; I could bitch and complain and throw an e-tantrum about how everyone is a hypocrite and how much that realization blows donkey balls; or I could put up a string of videos to keep you all ever so entertained.

But honestly? I’m so fucking emotionally and physically drained right now that none of that shit is happening. (Well, with the exception of a possible list of 100 facts. That might entertain me enough to write it up. Oh, and the “I think I sat in spray adhesive” thing. Cause seriously? My ass is now gummy. WTF?) I think I should possibly make an attempt to write about some of these subjects, especially given that I’ve had a few of them bouncing around my head for awhile – namely anything involving class disconnect.

So, instead, have some Mickey Avalon. Because that’s happy times.

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