Rock The Trackball

The other day I wrote this completely weird post about Rainer Maria Rilke and decided against publishing it. I mean, c'mon. Who wants to read about how in between bites of Ghiradelli chocolate chip cookie dough, I chanced upon a quote which addressed my current situation perfectly and made so much sense to me in that moment that I actually leaked a little bit of water from my eye holes?

Instead, I will confess to devastating and complete nerd failure: I had to give up my Kensington Trackball. I had inherited it from the MFDC after I complained of Scrollwheelitis. He very generously bestowed upon me his trackball and I learned how to use it, though not exactly the way he does, which is probably the RIGHT way. I was using it the WRONG way. And while this relieved the Scrollwheelitis in my right index finger, which was only ever annoying at worst, I have developed honest-to-goodness Carpal Tunnel Syndrome in my right thumb, hand and wrist.

I found myself running my hand under hot water a few times a day in the ladies' room. When I mentioned this to Dr. MFDC, he suggested I go back to the dreaded Scroll Wheel. I resisted. Why? BECAUSE IT JUST WASN'T COOL ENOUGH.

I took pride in my ability to manipulate the trackball! It's WAY cooler than a mouse and it was fun to watch my boss try to use it the few times he needed to do something on my computer. But, kids, sometimes pain isn't cool. That's a gift from me to you. Pain is not cool.

So, there you have it. My True TwerpsWorld Confession. I'm not even cool enough to hang with the nerds.

I should also admit that I had a raging girl crush on Kat Von D from Miami/LA Ink, but upon learning she'd broken up with Steve-O (due to his drug abuse - what a winner! Did she think she could change him? I mean, seriously. I just do NOT understand girls sometimes. There is nothing, I mean NOTHING about that crackhead that could even remotely lead me or any female I have ever come in contact with to entertain the idea that it might prove somehow beneficial to allow him access to some vagina), which meant that at some point she MUST have had relations with him. EW! EW!

All my starry-eyed girl wonder about her was almost irrevocably lost. And then, after seeing some TERRIBLE pictures of her right before her appearance on Letterman last night, I went to her MySpace page to check in and noticed that she has ALREADY found a new love and! He's FUG! And! Do you want to know why? He has a mustache. A free-hanging mustache. It is not connected to a goatee or, even more gloriously, a beard. No. It is simply a mustache. And a BLOND one at that! I guess love is blind, I don't know. I still think she has rad style, though, pics from the Letterman show notwithstanding.

And while I'm confessing some things, you should probably also know that I love the smell of my deodorant and regularly seize the opportunity to sniff it. I'm a smeller. I don't know how else to say it. And I'm not ashamed!

So, there you have it. You thought you knew me, but little did you know that I'm a Trackball dropout and a former Kat Von D fan who likes to smell her own armpits.

I feel so much better getting this off my chest which, as you DO know, is glorious.