Eventually I’m gonna have to do some redesigning to fix some of the rendering problems this blog has. The biggest issue is that I can’t keep my footer under all three columns. As long as the middle column is longer than my sidebar, the issue won’t present itself, but since some of my posts can be very short, that isn’t always the case. The end result is that the footer gets snaked under the sidebars, crapping out the whole page. I’ve been able to workaround this issue by removing the sidebars from my single post pages, but eventually I need to find a better solution.

I’ve been looking around for blog design consultants willing to clean up this site, and found one called the Blog Studio. It seems to come highly recommended, so I sent them an email outlining what I’d like done and requested a price quote.

They blew me off.

At first I thought maybe they were really busy, so I gave it another week or so, and then sent them another email.

They blew me off again.

Now that’s just rude. They must think I have no money, or they cater only to the rich crowd of A-list bloggers who can afford to spend serious coins to have their sites redesigned. Snobs. Damned, damned snobs. All I wanted was a price quote or some general idea of what it would cost to fix the coding on my site, and if I didn’t have enough now, I could work up some O.T. and maybe use some Christmas money to get this thing done. But God forbid I should even be given the courtesy of a reply.

Well I certainly wouldn’t recommend them now. Nate Whitehill recently started a blog design business as well, which received major attention ever since he redesigned John Chow’s blog, so I might take a look at one of his packages instead, even though he blew off my last email as well. I’m gonna assume he was busy though. I hope. Maybe…? Please……..? …………………….

Hmmmmm….

A few things happened that I wanted to write about, but some of it was pretty sensitive stuff that made the news (like a guy croaking under my agency’s watch. Oopsie! Glad I wasn’t around for that). Then there was some juicy drama that involved a psycho-nutso forum I used to belong to, but I didn’t want to rehash events that would take way too long to explain to my readers, so that’s out too. Hmmm, what to write about, what to write, what to write… …well I heard Britney lost of custody of her kids recently. That’s something right?

Crap.

My blog is ruined.

I resisted for as long as I could, but I finally succumbed to the pinkness. Danielle at Pink Internet Marketing recently offered up a chance to win a Pink SEO Bear for bloggers everywhere, and being enticed by promises that the bear would help me get girls (not to mention the fact that I simply can’t resist a cute face), I decided to enter as well.

But let’s get one thing straight here. I HATE the color pink. HATE it, a’ight? I mean it’s just sooo… well… pink. Me, I dig dark colors. Blackness defines me. My car is black, my computer is black, my hair is black, and my leather jacket (when I get one) will also, of course, be black. Being ensconced in the darkness makes me seem more mysterious, more manlier, and maybe, just a bit more dangerous too.

But now I just HAD to go and pinkify my blog didn’t I. Ugh… It’s ok though, I’m sure this will wash off eventually, and my blog will soon return to its normally dark and mysterious self.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a sudden urge to go window shopping for some Prada shoes.

Mickey walked into work today, and I saw right away that he was in tremendous pain. He looked at me with grief stricken eyes.

“Awww, come here.” I went and put my arms around him. No longer able to contain his emotions, he held me tightly and broke down crying.

“There, there, everything’s gonna be ok. Don’t you worry now.”

“…..why????” He said between sobs. “WHY????”

“It’s ok, everything’s gonna be ok.” I hummed a gentle lullaby to calm him down. “Doo doo dooo doooooo dooo…..”

So why was Mickey in such awful pain? Because, dear readers, my coworker… is a New York Mets fan.

Had a bad dream last night.

I dreamt of having a chance encounter with the very comely Mary Katharine Ham, the conservative journalist and blogger from Townhall.com. We were inside the lobby of a museum, and I somehow managed to engage her in a conversation. Only problem was, I couldn’t understand a word she was saying. My hearing aids completely failed to pick up her speech patterns, so I was left there to helpessly either nod while she talked or give blank stares. She quickly lost interest and blew me off, thinking I was a retard. All I could do was watch while she walked away, knowing I’d never be able to convince her otherwise.

Man was I depressed when I woke up. I think it’s obvious that the new hearing aids I’m trying out has been causing a lot of grief and anxiety for me. I want to hear better so I can engage people in conversation and not be afraid of putting myself out there so I could meet new people and escape this solitary bubble I’ve built for myself. But so far the aids just aren’t living up to expectations. I’m hoping programming adjustments will fix it, but I’ll have to wait till my next appointment before I’ll know for sure.

That dream reflected my worst fears too. People have a tendency to form opinions about me based purely on my disability, and if I can’t communicate with people normally, or have trouble understanding them, it’s automatically presumed that I’m either mentally underdeveloped, or to put it quite bluntly, that I’m just a flipping idiot with the equivalent IQ of a cardboard box. Nothing I say about anything will have any merit. I’m talked down to like I’m 7 years old, and there are times when I’m treated like one too.

Normally I wouldn’t care. But what scares me is the thought that no matter how many single women I meet, they will all look at me the same way because of my hearing loss: like I’m a retard. A handicapped piece of trash unworthy of their attention, much less their love. Whether it’s in dreams or in real life, it’s always been something that weighed heavily on my mind. I fear I’ll never live up to expectations, that I can never be the “perfect guy” they’re looking for, and for that I’ll always continue to be passed over until I’m well into my 70s, living alone in some dinky apartment somewhere with only a few dogs and cats to keep me company.

I can understand why some people settle now. Why they give up all hope and just hitch on to the first person who comes along that pays any kind of attention to them, even if that person ends up being the next Son of Sam. Will that be my future as well?

Crap, I gotta get these hearing aids fixed.