Took the Myers-Briggs again for the hell of it. As usual I came up as an INFP. I am always the INFP. Essentially I am the wiener of the bunch.
From Keirsy.com

Healer Idealists are abstract in thought and speech, cooperative in striving for their ends, and investigative and attentive in their interpersonal relations. Healer present a seemingly tranquil, and noticiably pleasant face to the world, and though to all appearances they might seem reserved, and even shy, on the inside they are anything but reserved, having a capacity for caring not always found in other types. They care deeply-indeed, passionately-about a few special persons or a favorite cause, and their fervent aim is to bring peace and integrity to their loved ones and the world.
Healers have a profound sense of idealism derived from a strong personal morality, and they conceive of the world as an ethical, honorable place. Indeed, to understand Healers, we must understand their idealism as almost boundless and selfless, inspiring them to make extraordinary sacrifices for someone or something they believe in. The Healer is the Prince or Princess of fairytale, the King’s Champion or Defender of the Faith, like Sir Galahad or Joan of Arc. Healers are found in only 1 percent of the general population, although, at times, their idealism leaves them feeling even more isolated from the rest of humanity.
Healers seek unity in their lives, unity of body and mind, emotions and intellect, perhaps because they are likely to have a sense of inner division threaded through their lives, which comes from their often unhappy childhood. Healers live a fantasy-filled childhood, which, unfortunately, is discouraged or even punished by many parents. In a practical-minded family, required by their parents to be sociable and industrious in concrete ways, and also given down-to-earth siblings who conform to these parental expectations, Healers come to see themselves as ugly ducklings. Other types usually shrug off parental expectations that do not fit them, but not the Healers. Wishing to please their parents and siblings, but not knowing quite how to do it, they try to hide their differences, believing they are bad to be so fanciful, so unlike their more solid brothers and sisters. They wonder, some of them for the rest of their lives, whether they are OK. They are quite OK, just different from the rest of their family-swans reared in a family of ducks. Even so, to realize and really believe this is not easy for them. Deeply committed to the positive and the good, yet taught to believe there is evil in them, Healers can come to develop a certain fascination with the problem of good and evil, sacred and profane. Healers are drawn toward purity, but can become engrossed with the profane, continuously on the lookout for the wickedness that lurks within them. Then, when Healers believe thay have yielded to an impure temptation, they may be given to acts of self-sacrifice in atonement. Others seldom detect this inner turmoil, however, for the struggle between good and evil is within the Healer, who does not feel compelled to make the issue public.

This definitely describes me. Except for the ugly duck/swan family thing. That’s just weird.
And then there’s this:

INFPs have the ability to see good in almost anyone or anything. Even for the most unlovable the INFP is wont to have pity.
Rest you, my enemy,
Slain without fault,
Life smacks but tastelessly
Lacking your salt!
Stuck in a bog whence naught
May catapult me,
Come from the grave, long-sought,
Come and insult me!
–(Steven Vincent Benet, Elegy for an Enemy)

This is also me. No matter how much of an asshole or jerk someone is, I know that person has a mother or sibling or friend or child or lover who truly loves them. That there is no one unloved and as such, no one unworthy of at least one kind thought. Even if I do think they are jerks.
So there it is, complex personality analyses in just a few short paragraphs. God bless this crazy modern age.

This is why I hate you.
I have fucking Journey stuck in my head. Over and over again Steve Perry is imploring me to continue to believe in something. Listen, I don’t want to believe in anything Steve Perry is selling. I just don’t trust the man.
Yeah, like the bulk of fucking america I have that damned song stuck in my head right now. Unlike the bulk of fucking America, I did not watch the HIGHLY ANTICIPATED series conclusion to the Sopranos. I did not watch it but everyone has to talk about it and talk about the damned song and then they have to analyze it and break down the hidden messages!
There are no hidden messages! Shows are not written by amazing space aliens! They do not filter onto the television like magic. Shows are written by people. People like you and me. The ending sounded really obvious! Writer sits down and says “man, how should I end this? I want to surprise everybody. Already everyone is speculating about prison or guns or something. If I want everyone to be surprised I have to write an ending no one will expect. No one will be expecting onion rings. I will write about onion rings.”
I’ve just laid out the bulk of the writing process. There were no hidden messages or agendas or clues to the future. Just straight up the least expected thing.
Okay, but seriously, beyond all the weird analysis of the show, could people stop talking about Journey? Please. They suck. They have always sucked. They have never had a moment when they did not suck. Time has not lessened the suck.
Also, Mary Lucia of 89.3 The Current (minnesota public radio’s hip radio station) was interviewing 2 of the guys from Fountains of Wayne and she asked them about the fucking finale and even managed to sound like a gushing 14 year old girl. I’m pretty sure she even used ‘ohmigod!’ at least once. Between her and Kerri Miller I’m beginning to think that the art of the interview is dying a cold and slow death.
ps I’m not actually cranky today! I was running late this morning and David offered to make and bring a lunch for me. Sandwiches always taste better when someone else makes them.

That girl careening down East Lake Street at 7:41 this morning with her entire right hand in her mouth? That was me. Once again Sweden has betrayed me with its shitty cupholders. This is even more of a problem since my new awesome travel mug is much more top heavy than the previous one (please note the super keen features of the new mug such as the built in french press and the hidden storage compartment for more coffee grounds for more coffee later (or I could hide some blow in there and get me a hooker). Apparently one must never go flying around corners when you have a mug of coffee next to you in a flimsy crapass cupholder. The laws of physics do not take into account such factors as 1) the atm at burger king was broken 2) I had an 8am appointment over on riverside 3) i needed to find the other TCF atm which was on East Lake Street to get out the cash that I would for my various activities.
I’m not one to waste coffee, even if it is on my hand.
The completely perplexed girl at the volvo dealership? me as well. There was some sort of recall on the emissions something or other on my car and I figured that after 2 years and 7 letters it might be time to take it in and get it fixed. Of course they also found something that would cost $520 to fix. I told them to hold off on that.
But why, you might ask, why was I a confused retard? I walked into the lobby looking for the service desk. A very very old and mumbly man came up to me and mumbled something at me. What? He mumbled something about “are you looking for so and so?” I was in fact looking for something, but it wasn’t a person. then he said “if you’re looking for the mayor, he just went that way!”
What the fuck? It is slowly dawning on me that this guy doesn’t work there so he’s not responding in some customer service capacity to my “i’m looking for something” face. He is also old enough to be of the generation when the mayor of a town was pretty big stuff. He was kidding with me! oh that goof! Can’t wait to see what the fucking orderlies think of him down at the nursing home. Jesus, I don’t even think I could pick the Mayor of Minneapolis out of a line up. Could I describe him? “standard white guy, middle age, white, and a guy. Also…standard.”
The girl crying in the vietnamese restaurant in St Paul, that was ME! Went to lunch with my dad and lunch was good. My dad is very concerned and was asking all about things, but then we talked about Ghengis and I lost it. I can keep it together so well around most people, but my dad is awesome and sometimes awesomeness means that it’s easy to cry around him. We talked about my depression at length, he wanted to make sure I was okay, and not like “the only correct answer is to say you are okay”. he was genuinely concerned. It made me cry more, but it made me feel better. He promised to do anything I needed, no questions asked, to help me get past this thing.
girl swearing at a fucking mid-afternoon traffic jam making her late for the next appointment…yeah, fuck it.
If you were driving on West Lake Street, just past Lake Calhoun and you happened to look up at the Calhoun Executive Center (the building with the neon windsurfer thing on it) and you saw a naked dugong on the second floor, that was me.
…some minutes later, that vagina you saw was mine as well.
I always thought it was peculiar that my doctor’s office was in an office building (presumably with gigantic rent) and half of the exam rooms faced out over one of the busiest streets on that side of town. The other exam rooms face Lake Calhoun and are very peaceful. I just think that they should really think about what procedures are going to happen before they assign a room. If it’s an old guy with butt pain, he can be in the room over the street. Fat girl getting a pelvic? Put her over the lake, dammit. Do not subject her or the city to this. The funny thing, however, was that I just didn’t care. I was standing there getting undressed, a little mesmerized by the traffic and it occurred to me that I was getting undressed in front of many people…then I realized I didn’t really care.
By the way, my vagina is fine, thanks for asking.
and lastly, the girl in Barnes and Noble shoving various blank journals into her crochet box trying to find one that would fit with all the other stuff in there. Me too.
Dugong Out.

I’m not always retarded
The other day I was at Target getting those boring things that you don’t care about but need (animal control febreeze, socks, underpants, condoms, scrubbing bubbles, clif bars). I was getting ready to go and decided to take a brief look around at the bras. I have an ample bosom. A really ample bosom. Big, pendulous boobs combined with really narrow shoulders is a problem that television is too ashamed of to talk about. I suffer in silence. Not really, i complain about it alot. The issue is that if you have heavy boobs and narrow shoulders, your boobs pull your bra and your brastraps cannot stay on your shoulders.
For years I had permanent indents on my upper arms from where my brastraps dug in. I would get giant granny bras with 5 hooks and huge padded straps and missile-like cups. It didn’t make a difference, the boobs would pull, the straps would fall and I looked like I was about to engage in some mutually assured destruction with my feet.
All this changed when I discovered the convertible bra. hhhwwwwaaaaaaaa the angels sang to me. A convertible bra is essentially a strapless bra that comes with straps. You can connect them in all manner of configurations or not connect them at all. Of course the very thought of me not using the straps has most major governments pulling out the Geneva Conventions and trying to find the section that applies to charging me with crimes against humanity. I take the straps and have them criss-cross across my back. They can’t fall down my shoulders because I’ve got physics on my side.
Okay, so the STYLE of bra is taken care of, but finding it in my size is sometimes an issue. The thing is, big titted women generally have bad luck with strapless bras because there’s really only so much you can reasonably expect from some fabric, a couple of underwires and fervent prayer. Technically the convertible bras are sold as strapless bras in lots of places. Also, it is assumed that if you have such an ample chest you are either buying your bras at Sex World or you are buying the aforementioned giant granny bras.
So, back to Target. There I am just wandering through, kind of envying my flat chested sisters and all the amazingly cute options they have when i spied GIANT CONVERTIBLE BRAS!!!!! They were big! and convertible! and available in various colors!!! I grabbed one and tried it on and again the angels sang to me (or it was the lady at the desk by the dressing room, i don’t know). It fit! The damned thing fit! The last time i bought a bra at Target it came in a box and reminded me of retirement homes and oatmeal.
I grabbed 4 of those fuckers.
As I was checking out the cashier stopped and looked perplexed. The first bra rang up at the $14.99 suggested retail price, but the other three rang up at $3.74. We were confused. The UPC codes were correct and the description in the computer was correct. We declared it a good day and she was going to go buy a bunch on her break. I would have gotten more, but I felt that karma had already gifted me big time both with finding the bras and with giving me 3 of them at a ridiculous discount. i decided to accept that moment as ‘good’ and not strain the universe.
I love my new bras! The old ones were purchased about a month after I met David, so they’re 2 1/2 years old. They’re tired and busted. The elastic was shot, the underwires were drilling into me like an amoral oil company in the wilds of Alaska, and my boobs were always trying to escape out the bottom of the cups. The new bras hold everything in place. The old bras got old slowly and gradually, I forgot what a new, functional bra felt like.
It kind of feels like it’s pushing your tits up to your chin.

Why is it that my retarded moments always have so many steps and variables.
1) I can never remember the URL for adding a post to this site. It involves the IP address a ~ and lots of bins and mt’s and whatnot.
2) I can bookmark the link and I have
2a) it’s bookmarked on my work computer
2b) it WAS bookmarked on my currently incapacitated laptop
2c) it is not bookmarked on David’s computer because It’s David’s computer and even after almost 3 years I’m still all about “this is your computer, I shall not sully it”. Also, he is really meticulous about his computer and he has systems and whatnot and I’m not one to mess with things.
3) when i want to post from home, I have to use David’s computer because my laptop is currently (and for a few long months now) incapacitated
3a) Keith and I are going to work together and install the damned hard drive even though I have a fear of opening the damn thing because apparently they used tiny premature chinese orphan babies to construct the very tiny insides of the 12 inch powerbook. All of the instructions say things like “remove CAREFULLY” and “find the very small yellow tab”.
3b) If it doesn’t work out I’m just gonna yell ‘fuck it’ and buy a new MacBook Pro through work where I get a discount and interest free financing…except I’ve heard rumors that they are coming out with a 12 inch version and i will wait for that as I have freakishly small hands and I love the smaller laptop even if it means that I must import my own set of illegal chinese orphan babies to maintain the fucking thing. Also, I want the Pro simply because I like the silver and do not like the white and REALLY don’t like the black. i know that’s dumb.
4) David quite often cleans out the history in the browser when he goes through and tidies things up on the computer. This means that I must REMEMBER and actually TYPE OUT the websites I visit regularly instead of just lazily hitting the first letter and scrolling down until it appears on the list. I try to explain this to him. He is not sympathetic to my laziness.
5) Since I cannot remember the address for adding a post I have to seek it out.
6) to get the address I have to log into the control panel for my domain at the host and look at the stats (‘vet numbing lube’ is the number two search term bringing people to my site this month, it comes after ‘velvet-c’. god bless you people)
7) the address shows up under “connect to site from” in some form or another.
8) I am at David’s computer now and I was thinking of writing about my sudden obsession with the New York Times crossword puzzle but as I was trying to find the link I decided that writing about how I was working to find the link was more interesting.
9) maybe I just should have stuck to the crossword puzzle bit.