My So Called Happy New Year

2010 is the last year of my life.

At least I won’t have to write in this blog anymore.  I won’t have to come up with new ways to describe how urine puddles around my feet at public restrooms.  How when when I am done pissing I shiver and my feet do a tap dance and splash dirty, yellow piss on the cuffs of my pleated khaki pants. 

How I don’t notice it, or how I pretend not to notice it.

I think I am going to start acting differently.

I am thinking about not washing my hands after urinating anymore.  I am thinking I will talk to the homeless girl that asks for change from me.

I am thinking I will invite her to get a coffee.

No.

I will invite her to my house for a beer. 

“A beer and a warm bed.” I will tell her. 
She will tell me all she wants is change.  That she does not want to get a beer with me.  That she does not need a warm bed.
Where does she get off looking at me like that?  Like I am going to cut her up and throw her body parts in a dumpster and set it on fire?

She is not model pretty.  She is not even aspiring model/stripper hot.


I should scream at her fucking face or something.

“You’re not gonna get my fucking money, whore!”

"You are not even pretty enough for me to leave your burning corpse in a dumpster, you dirty faced slut!"

Something completely inappropriate like that.

I know just because I plan to off myself that doesn’t mean I need to become a dick.  It’s just that I am never am the dick.  Just in my head.

Now I am going to be something out here.

It’s still your fucking world and all.  I know that.  But I might just say hi to you.  I might just take back all the defective shit sitting in plastic bags in my bathroom.  Receipts stapled to the bags.  Bags just sitting around waiting to get a refund. 

I just might do it.

But I have an idea that all this liberation people say they feel when they kill themselves is bullshit.  How when they talk about the peace it brings, or about how it gives them a sense of purpose they are fooling themselves.

Maybe peace comes later.

Maybe I just have to get used to the idea.

When I get to 100,000 unique views on this blog something dramatic has to happen.  I have to go out in a blaze of glory.

Did any of you read the note the guy on the plane left as a comment card and how it made the plane get diverted and how he is now facing like a 20 year sentence?

The guy is a fucking awesome writer!

I thought I was going to die, we were so high up, I thought to myself: I hope we don’t crash and burn or worse yet landing in the ocean (?) through it, only to be eaten by sharks, or worse yet end up on some place like Gilligan’s island stranded, or worse yet be eaten by a tribe of headhunters, speaking of headhunters why do they eat outsiders and not the family members? Strange…and what if the plane ripped apart in mid-flight and we plummeted to earth, landed on Gilligan’s Island and then lived through it, and the only woman there was Mrs. Thurston Howell III? No MaryAnne (my favorite), no Ginger – just lovely! If it were just her, I think I’d opt for the sharks, maybe the headhunters.

He should be writing vanity cards for Chuck Lorre or something.  Not sharing a cell with terrorists.

This world is so BULLSHIT!