I've been away from you even though I did not go to the Rave this weekend like I planned to. The rave was across town and was not easy to get to since the recession has caused public transportation on the weekends to be drastically reduced.
But back to blogging.
I will take an unusual route in our discussion today I'm going to start off by asking you a series of questions.
Have you ever sat around your house in sweat soaked socks with the full known knowledge that taking your socks off could make your less uncomfortable?
Maybe you haven't. Then maybe you have no idea what Kevin Smith is talking about in Clerks when he writes that, "I'm not the kind of person that disrupts things in order to shit comfortably."
Do you wake up with an emptiness in your heart that you can't fill? A lot of people do. Do most of those people become drug addicts?
Can you survive a double drop of E without a freakout? After you discover the vigor that double dropping e can provide, do you then chase the e with a couple of Vicodin? Just to calm shit down, you know, not because you are some kind of crazy drug addict.
Do you need answers now?
Maybe your synapses are stinging from all my questioning. Maybe I should let you go, and we should stop with all this suspicion, and maybe...just maybe the buzzing in your head... (what you have rightfully diagnosed as:) "Serotonin Syndrome" won't be fatal after all.
I say push forward.
I'm sure your good friend Fredrick would think that your "suspicious" are good for you. Of course we should ask if he knows "The Genealogy of Psychology" any better than the Scientologists do. He could be mistaken, and all this questioning may not be good for you. The truth is your brain really may be frying.
First We Should Just Face The Facts.
Some of you should not try to be drug addicts.
Just because I can get away with something, doesn't me that you can. I know you wish to follow me as I slide down the ivory tower of anomie into the pit of absurdity. But you can't. Unlike you, I am a nihilist, and so I can't encourage my (non?) beliefs on anyone.
I have left the rebellion of my 20's and entered the lost era (nihilism) of my 30's.
What's that you say?
In your twenties nihilism can be a a profound rebellion. You can discover Nietzsche and Kierkegaard and get lost in all the negative critiques of our modern age.
But your 30's require something more from you. You are supposed to be able to build from your new found existential freedom "the new man" you read about in the Genealogy of Morals. You are supposed to be a positive force for creation.
But what if there is no superman? What if our time is adrift in the nihilism like so many have posited?
What do you DO?
Maybe you take three days off from work and get loaded on E. Not even good E. And even though it was not "good" E it will be expensive. You will empty your bank accounts. And you will talk about how if you, "had saved all the money you have been spending on drugs you could have bought a car."
You will stand around a deserted apartment building quietly mocking the the nice looking couple holding hands with their toddler as he points at the dilapidated swimming pool.
You mock the couple, but later you realize that you share something in common with the little boy and his parents. Like his parents you are tired. You want to drag the little boy back into his room. And like the boy you have an urge to see wonder. To be filled with awe and worship.
And E provides the only religion you have ever known. The only spark of spirituality you have ever embraced. The only sense of wonderment you have had since you were a tiny boy yourself. E allows you to be memorized with awe. And you count yourself lucky to be human again. To be among the mortals of a lesser age. To be swept up under the tidal imagination of superstition.
"Anything must be better than being one of the automatons of today." You mutter to yourself as the little boy walks past you. A giant smile is plastered to his face. He looks up at you. And you give him a knowing wink and smile. You glance back over at the pool and he shares your glance. Then his gaze returns to his parents with a hopeful beg.
The scene is interrupted by a girl wearing colorful bracelets. She holds a package full of glittery colored pills. And you look up at her like the child of three that you are.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Thursday, April 15, 2010
I have a lot imaginary conversations
Don't like dialing? Then you need Google Voice. With Google Voice you just click on a telephone number from within a Google search and The Google Voice Service will call your cell phone number and connect you to the phone number on your computer screen for free.
It's a kind of cool service, and it is just one more way for me to be lazy. Also, it allows the people who never do evil another opportunity to inculcate themselves into my world.
I don't know about you, but I feel all warm and cozy whenever I give a giant multinational corporation free access to my personal information.
After reading about such a wonderful service I had to have Google Voice make a call for me. So I had Google Voice call me a liquor store. I'm sure Google feels dirty, but I really wanted some beer. To be specific I wanted a 12 pack of Schlitz. And I needed peanuts. Whenever I drink Schlitz I have to have peanuts.
I bet you are shocked that I don't know the local liquor store's number by heart, or have it on my speed dial. Well... I would..., but I don't need people looking in my cell phone and finding a liquor store number and be like, "fucking liquor store in your cell phone contacts...what the fuck man?"
When you have taken as much PCP as I have you might just have a reaction to said comment and have to "decapitate a bitch" if you know what I mean.
What I am saying is that you can't really "know" how the girl you let move in with you just two weeks after meeting her at a rave will react to the fact that you "might" have a problem with alcohol.
I'm sure her Daddy was a drunk and probably let himself into her room on the weekends (when mom went to get her haircut or something) and now she feeds that need to overcompensate by fucking men twice her age- hopped up on pills and coke, but god forbid she gets a whiff of beer on your breath... because then its all over.
None of this has anything to do with the imaginary conversations I had with myself on the way to the liquor store.
The liquor store owner normally closes up at 1am on weekdays, but after I called him and explained the whole Google "thing" he was intrigued, and said something like, "if you can make it down to the store before I close up then you can get some beer," and "maybe I can make sure I will stay open if you give me one of them Google Voice invites."
I told the owner that I had only one invite left and let it be known that I was holding out for pussy (or at least pictures of pussy) before handing out my last GV invite and he said something like "whatever" which I think is Arabic for "douche bag."
But he soothed his smart ass remark over by saying, "Either way I am making 10 bucks on two six packs of Schlitz, so I'm cool."
At the store I bought 2 six packs of Schlitz and two bags of 50 cent peanuts and paid with my debit card.
I walked back to my apartment where the whole time I was having a conversation with the starting QB of the flag football team that I backup in my day dreams.
(If you are wondering why I can't even be the STARTING quarterback on a FLAG FOOTBALL TEAM in my daydreams that would require a lot of back-story as they say.)*
*I keep a Excel spread sheet of my stats from my day dream seasons. E-mail me if you want them.
The conversation was about a play where I had to take over and throw a pass on 4th down and ten.
I took the ball from under center and drifted back behind my line. A defensive man ran towards me and I shook a fake at him and hid behind the well timed block of a teammate. As I ran toward daylight I spotted my first option just past the first down marker.
My receiver threw up his arms at me, but out of the corner of my eye I say my second option streaking towards the goal line with nary an opponent in sight.
I faked a pass towards my fist option and let a long throw go towards the player deep down the field. I angled the ball slightly to the left to avoid worries about the out of bounds sidelines, and gave the ball some loft allowing it to be securely captured by my number 2 receiver. My teammate's flag was pulled down quickly just as he caught the ball.
We had the ball at the opponents 10 yard line and the starting QB comes racing back onto the field shacking his head at me.
"You've got some STONES to make that throw." He yells at me and smacks me on the helmet with both hands.
"Not really." I confess to him. "I gave it some air.. (took something off the pass to make sure the pass would be caught.)
Starting QB just laughs at me. His blond hair just visible under his helmet. 'Your a trip, old timer. A trip."
[This post is dedicated to me i-pod which has everything from music videos by Lindsay Lohan to iconoclastic you-tube lectures on Heidegger.]
It's a kind of cool service, and it is just one more way for me to be lazy. Also, it allows the people who never do evil another opportunity to inculcate themselves into my world.
I don't know about you, but I feel all warm and cozy whenever I give a giant multinational corporation free access to my personal information.
After reading about such a wonderful service I had to have Google Voice make a call for me. So I had Google Voice call me a liquor store. I'm sure Google feels dirty, but I really wanted some beer. To be specific I wanted a 12 pack of Schlitz. And I needed peanuts. Whenever I drink Schlitz I have to have peanuts.
I bet you are shocked that I don't know the local liquor store's number by heart, or have it on my speed dial. Well... I would..., but I don't need people looking in my cell phone and finding a liquor store number and be like, "fucking liquor store in your cell phone contacts...what the fuck man?"
When you have taken as much PCP as I have you might just have a reaction to said comment and have to "decapitate a bitch" if you know what I mean.
What I am saying is that you can't really "know" how the girl you let move in with you just two weeks after meeting her at a rave will react to the fact that you "might" have a problem with alcohol.
I'm sure her Daddy was a drunk and probably let himself into her room on the weekends (when mom went to get her haircut or something) and now she feeds that need to overcompensate by fucking men twice her age- hopped up on pills and coke, but god forbid she gets a whiff of beer on your breath... because then its all over.
None of this has anything to do with the imaginary conversations I had with myself on the way to the liquor store.
The liquor store owner normally closes up at 1am on weekdays, but after I called him and explained the whole Google "thing" he was intrigued, and said something like, "if you can make it down to the store before I close up then you can get some beer," and "maybe I can make sure I will stay open if you give me one of them Google Voice invites."
I told the owner that I had only one invite left and let it be known that I was holding out for pussy (or at least pictures of pussy) before handing out my last GV invite and he said something like "whatever" which I think is Arabic for "douche bag."
But he soothed his smart ass remark over by saying, "Either way I am making 10 bucks on two six packs of Schlitz, so I'm cool."
At the store I bought 2 six packs of Schlitz and two bags of 50 cent peanuts and paid with my debit card.
I walked back to my apartment where the whole time I was having a conversation with the starting QB of the flag football team that I backup in my day dreams.
(If you are wondering why I can't even be the STARTING quarterback on a FLAG FOOTBALL TEAM in my daydreams that would require a lot of back-story as they say.)*
*I keep a Excel spread sheet of my stats from my day dream seasons. E-mail me if you want them.
The conversation was about a play where I had to take over and throw a pass on 4th down and ten.
I took the ball from under center and drifted back behind my line. A defensive man ran towards me and I shook a fake at him and hid behind the well timed block of a teammate. As I ran toward daylight I spotted my first option just past the first down marker.
My receiver threw up his arms at me, but out of the corner of my eye I say my second option streaking towards the goal line with nary an opponent in sight.
I faked a pass towards my fist option and let a long throw go towards the player deep down the field. I angled the ball slightly to the left to avoid worries about the out of bounds sidelines, and gave the ball some loft allowing it to be securely captured by my number 2 receiver. My teammate's flag was pulled down quickly just as he caught the ball.
We had the ball at the opponents 10 yard line and the starting QB comes racing back onto the field shacking his head at me.
"You've got some STONES to make that throw." He yells at me and smacks me on the helmet with both hands.
"Not really." I confess to him. "I gave it some air.. (took something off the pass to make sure the pass would be caught.)
Starting QB just laughs at me. His blond hair just visible under his helmet. 'Your a trip, old timer. A trip."
[This post is dedicated to me i-pod which has everything from music videos by Lindsay Lohan to iconoclastic you-tube lectures on Heidegger.]
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
I just changed my personal ad on yahoo to reflect my true self
I think I am going to get laid now.
I need to stop reading your personal ads
If I read how one more person likes to watch movies and enjoys listening to music I am going to puke on myself. Then I am going to make you eat it off my stomach, because that's how I roll.
I roll with a giant plastic tarp attached to my truck that I lie out before you, all the while forcing down your throat the puked out residue of my intestines, all because I get sick of reading the same banal shit about how you enjoy "doing the things that are awesome," but hate "doing things that suck."
Other things that make me want to decapitate you? When you talk about how you are interested in being challenged, and how you need a man with goals. I don't have any goals. I think goals are stupid. What happens if you get all your goals before you are dead? Do you just sit there for the rest of your life wishing you had sucked at the lower levels of life more?
Life is not a video game. You are not a character from Mario Bros. You don't have to collect all the red dots before you die.
If I have to read one more personal ad about how you want a man to help you to "grow" I will be forced to grind your decapitated head into hamburger meat and feed you to your orphaned children.
Grow what? The only thing I have noticed growing on you is your ass. And now it has gotten way too big for either of us to know what to do about it.
The only thing I can think of for you is to for you to continue your junior college study of Oprah on the Lifetime Network and for me to start dating your teenage daughter. At least she puts out on the first date.
Signed,
An Exasperated Man.
I roll with a giant plastic tarp attached to my truck that I lie out before you, all the while forcing down your throat the puked out residue of my intestines, all because I get sick of reading the same banal shit about how you enjoy "doing the things that are awesome," but hate "doing things that suck."
Other things that make me want to decapitate you? When you talk about how you are interested in being challenged, and how you need a man with goals. I don't have any goals. I think goals are stupid. What happens if you get all your goals before you are dead? Do you just sit there for the rest of your life wishing you had sucked at the lower levels of life more?
Life is not a video game. You are not a character from Mario Bros. You don't have to collect all the red dots before you die.
If I have to read one more personal ad about how you want a man to help you to "grow" I will be forced to grind your decapitated head into hamburger meat and feed you to your orphaned children.
Grow what? The only thing I have noticed growing on you is your ass. And now it has gotten way too big for either of us to know what to do about it.
The only thing I can think of for you is to for you to continue your junior college study of Oprah on the Lifetime Network and for me to start dating your teenage daughter. At least she puts out on the first date.
Signed,
An Exasperated Man.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Bringing PCP back
I've been going around telling people that I am on PCP.
You don't hear a lot about PCP anymore. Just a few years ago PCP was all the rage. Black men took the drug and wandered aimlessly in the streets looking for white cops to attack.
The cops would try and subdue the crazed drug addicts peacefully, but it never worked, and inevitably the poor black man on PCP would be gunned down in a hailstorm of bullets.
All this gave PCP a bad name.
But the drug is not that different from robotripping (a very popular way of getting high on cough syrup that your teenage daughter has probably tried with me.)
If you tell your friends in the Loli chat room that you "robotrip" with teen girls they don't get upset, but whenever you bring up your use of PCP they get "scared of you." In addition all your friends stop inviting you to attend their 3 year old's birthday parties.
"I make a fucking funny clown on PCP" does not get you very far with soccer moms in these days of bicycle helmets and cell phoned preteens.
You might wonder why PCP?
I like it because I don't take shit from you after I take PCP. And normally I am the kinda guy who just sits there and lets you berate him. I never yell back at you so you think what you do is okay. It's only a few hours later when I think back to what you did that I get really angry about the situation.
Whenever I see someone getting really angry it confuses me. The world goes all surreal and I can never understand why people are so upset about the things they are getting upset about.
Let me take that back.
Because that sounds like I don't get upset about stupid stuff too. I don't want you thinking that I am superhuman and above getting frustrated about the little things that bother us all.
What I don't understand is why you people explode and let loose all your emotions into my world. Like somehow getting mad at me or the world does something.
I never yell at people in public because I feel like if I get mad at a person I am making a kind of universal claim in the manner of Kant's Categorical Imperative. "It should be the case that you being out of bubble gum always allows me to yell at the clerk," or "whenever I am late to work I get to scream at the old man slowly crossing the street."
My mind can never make the jump to universalizing my emotional response, so I figure I should just keep that shit to myself.
I'm guessing none of you have a filter, a universalizing aspect to you morality, and that's why you tend to just hop around like some kind of pre 1980's PCP drug taker whenever you don't get your way about something completely unimportant.
I mean you never see people shouting in the streets about genocide or healthcare (except at tea bagging parties).
I guess that's why I'm going around telling people I'm on PCP. I want you to worry that I might go crazy over nothing. I want you to understand what it feels like (as the only moral human left) when I encounter you fucking savages at the gas station.
I'm want you to understand that you need to adopt the Categorical Imperative as a moral filter before we all lose it and I start punching you in the face all because I'm now on PCP (which ironically is quite a calm drug in a relaxing atmosphere of internal soul questing and reality testing.)
You don't hear a lot about PCP anymore. Just a few years ago PCP was all the rage. Black men took the drug and wandered aimlessly in the streets looking for white cops to attack.
The cops would try and subdue the crazed drug addicts peacefully, but it never worked, and inevitably the poor black man on PCP would be gunned down in a hailstorm of bullets.
All this gave PCP a bad name.
But the drug is not that different from robotripping (a very popular way of getting high on cough syrup that your teenage daughter has probably tried with me.)
If you tell your friends in the Loli chat room that you "robotrip" with teen girls they don't get upset, but whenever you bring up your use of PCP they get "scared of you." In addition all your friends stop inviting you to attend their 3 year old's birthday parties.
"I make a fucking funny clown on PCP" does not get you very far with soccer moms in these days of bicycle helmets and cell phoned preteens.
You might wonder why PCP?
I like it because I don't take shit from you after I take PCP. And normally I am the kinda guy who just sits there and lets you berate him. I never yell back at you so you think what you do is okay. It's only a few hours later when I think back to what you did that I get really angry about the situation.
Whenever I see someone getting really angry it confuses me. The world goes all surreal and I can never understand why people are so upset about the things they are getting upset about.
Let me take that back.
Because that sounds like I don't get upset about stupid stuff too. I don't want you thinking that I am superhuman and above getting frustrated about the little things that bother us all.
What I don't understand is why you people explode and let loose all your emotions into my world. Like somehow getting mad at me or the world does something.
I never yell at people in public because I feel like if I get mad at a person I am making a kind of universal claim in the manner of Kant's Categorical Imperative. "It should be the case that you being out of bubble gum always allows me to yell at the clerk," or "whenever I am late to work I get to scream at the old man slowly crossing the street."
My mind can never make the jump to universalizing my emotional response, so I figure I should just keep that shit to myself.
I'm guessing none of you have a filter, a universalizing aspect to you morality, and that's why you tend to just hop around like some kind of pre 1980's PCP drug taker whenever you don't get your way about something completely unimportant.
I mean you never see people shouting in the streets about genocide or healthcare (except at tea bagging parties).
I guess that's why I'm going around telling people I'm on PCP. I want you to worry that I might go crazy over nothing. I want you to understand what it feels like (as the only moral human left) when I encounter you fucking savages at the gas station.
I'm want you to understand that you need to adopt the Categorical Imperative as a moral filter before we all lose it and I start punching you in the face all because I'm now on PCP (which ironically is quite a calm drug in a relaxing atmosphere of internal soul questing and reality testing.)
Monday, April 05, 2010
In bed
The other day I was lying on my side trying to figure out how I could keep this sensation going forever. The sensation of being inside you. Of being as close to you as humanly possible.
I remember you asking me if what I had told you "about always wanting to be with you" was true, or just something I came up with after you told me how you wanted me "to be inside you forever" and that you wished that "time could stop" and that the moment we were in "could be heaven" and how you hoped "that this feeling would go on forever."
I think you became convinced that I was not telling you the truth because my response went something like, "Uh, huh."
I guess I was a little stunned my your admission. Maybe I was even a little frightened by it. What can I say?
Though I should tell you that you have nothing to be worried about. That in fact I was saying the very same thoughts in my brain that you were confessing out loud.
Only there were a lot of other things that were happening to me at the moment that you were confessing to me that your idea of heaven was my penis inside your vagina.
I was also experiencing something very close to an orgasm without release. It's a very strange state to be in for 1 1/2 hours. A non-vocal state if you think about it. So don't be concerned about a response that in your opinion, "was nothing more than a grunt."
I may have told you that you were overreacting. You did not overreact to my response.
I am only saying (hopefully a little better than before) that the thing about women is that your heart, your emotional centers, and your sex drive are all language based.
This make communicating with your gender very difficult. Even for those men that have acquired some language skills.
So I wrote this to remind you that we are not all wired the same. And that fact shouldn't worry you. You should just accept my answer as honest now that you know my true heart feelings.
I'm going to quit my job and move in with you if you want. We can just make love all day in your commune's bathroom. If you want I will start wearing the kind of clothing you wear.
You love wearing those long, flowing tie dye skirts. You enjoy looking like you were cast in a movie from 1969. And if you feel more comfortable that way, then so do I.
I am not the kind of person who rolls over you after sex just to question your "after sex smoke" all because you eat vegan, and look skinny, and talk about being healthy like it is some kind of new religion.
Maybe you don't know this, but we are all going to die.
I think that life is like a video game. That even if you beat the Donkey Kong arcade game and get a million points and finish the 39th level- some one unplugs your machine.
I guess what I am trying to say is that at some point all of our high scores get deleted.
I'm no more okay with that idea than you are. But I am not going to fool myself into believing that I know why people die. I don't think for a second that the flat bellied kids running around at 3 am to get their workouts will out live me.
They might. But I have not seen the science behind the idea. Maybe you should just accept the idea that we can't know for sure and then you can stop texting me to grill fresh salmon & zucchini "n have a Sam Adams" when you know all I have to eat is 3 day old broiled catfish that wrinkled up in the toaster oven, canned vegetables, and 3 bottles of Zima that are no longer cold because you left them out on the patio.
I remember you asking me if what I had told you "about always wanting to be with you" was true, or just something I came up with after you told me how you wanted me "to be inside you forever" and that you wished that "time could stop" and that the moment we were in "could be heaven" and how you hoped "that this feeling would go on forever."
I think you became convinced that I was not telling you the truth because my response went something like, "Uh, huh."
I guess I was a little stunned my your admission. Maybe I was even a little frightened by it. What can I say?
Though I should tell you that you have nothing to be worried about. That in fact I was saying the very same thoughts in my brain that you were confessing out loud.
Only there were a lot of other things that were happening to me at the moment that you were confessing to me that your idea of heaven was my penis inside your vagina.
- Our two naked bodies were rubbing against each other on E.
- I was thinking, "My god, how true that is."
- But I was also thinking, "That's kinda strange, I barely know you."
I was also experiencing something very close to an orgasm without release. It's a very strange state to be in for 1 1/2 hours. A non-vocal state if you think about it. So don't be concerned about a response that in your opinion, "was nothing more than a grunt."
I may have told you that you were overreacting. You did not overreact to my response.
I am only saying (hopefully a little better than before) that the thing about women is that your heart, your emotional centers, and your sex drive are all language based.
This make communicating with your gender very difficult. Even for those men that have acquired some language skills.
So I wrote this to remind you that we are not all wired the same. And that fact shouldn't worry you. You should just accept my answer as honest now that you know my true heart feelings.
I'm going to quit my job and move in with you if you want. We can just make love all day in your commune's bathroom. If you want I will start wearing the kind of clothing you wear.
You love wearing those long, flowing tie dye skirts. You enjoy looking like you were cast in a movie from 1969. And if you feel more comfortable that way, then so do I.
I am not the kind of person who rolls over you after sex just to question your "after sex smoke" all because you eat vegan, and look skinny, and talk about being healthy like it is some kind of new religion.
Maybe you don't know this, but we are all going to die.
I think that life is like a video game. That even if you beat the Donkey Kong arcade game and get a million points and finish the 39th level- some one unplugs your machine.
I guess what I am trying to say is that at some point all of our high scores get deleted.
I'm no more okay with that idea than you are. But I am not going to fool myself into believing that I know why people die. I don't think for a second that the flat bellied kids running around at 3 am to get their workouts will out live me.
They might. But I have not seen the science behind the idea. Maybe you should just accept the idea that we can't know for sure and then you can stop texting me to grill fresh salmon & zucchini "n have a Sam Adams" when you know all I have to eat is 3 day old broiled catfish that wrinkled up in the toaster oven, canned vegetables, and 3 bottles of Zima that are no longer cold because you left them out on the patio.
Friday, April 02, 2010
Target and the Birthday Girl
Two hours before the party starts.
I decide to have a beer before anyone gets here. To keep my beer cold I wrap it tightly in a blue and white Dallas Cowboy's beer cozy.
I decided to have a beer so that way I would seem chipper. I like for my guests to be at ease around me, and the best way for me to create that sense of well being for others is for me to be intoxicated.
2 hours before I wrote that.
"You should write something funny on your blog." Leif says to me while we strummed through the women's section of Target looking for bikinis with the birthday girl.
Leif is wearing a size 7 womens jean.
"Is it because Men's "skinny" jeans aren't tight enough on you?" I ask.
"Exactly." He giggles as he wanders off.
I find the perfect sun dress while searching in the brightly lit aisles. The dress is faded orange. Something about the color suggests a meth addicts "lounging" wear to me. Its terry cloth material would be high class white trash living.
"I want to get a meth addiction just so I can lounge around in this." I tell to no one, but loud enough so that Leif can hear me over in the next aisle.
My find brings Leif back to me.
"I love it." He tells me. "I want to get a meth addition with you and wear terry cloth sun dresses and hang out at the pool with a pipe and a giant can of Raid getting baked in the sun.
I tell Leif that the sun will dehydrate him and that dehydration will only exacerbate the bug problem he is bound to get as a meth addict.
"Fuck it." I say.
"We'll get two cans of Raid."
"Miss." I hear Leif yelling at the girl with a generic Target red t-shirt on. "Where can I get a big ass giant can of Raid. I've got bugs."
The girl just shrugs at him, "That's not my department." She says. "This is the woman's department." She adds. I guess she adds that comment to emphasize that 2 men shouldn't be in the Women's department at Target fingering the bikinis.
I put my fingers through a pair of bottoms and I tell Krystal that this is the closest I have gotten to pussy in 7 years.
"Your funny, Pops." She quips. "You should try to be funny on your blog."
I refuse to give in to all the happy people of the world and their demand that I be happy and keep them happy. "I don't want to be funny on my blog." I tell Krystal. "There are already too many happy people out there already."
"There are?" Kristal's voice raises two octaves higher. A couple of pregnant women walk between us.
After the women pass Leif says, "Have you noticed how many pregnant women go to Target?"
I say, "When I think pregnant women, I think Target."
That's why I buy as much stuff as I can from Target. Also, in case you wondered about the strange guy who followed you around at Target staring at your belly. Don't worry. I was following you around. I had half a boner when I looked at you too. 'Semi-erect' is the phrase I think.
You preggo women should get pissed at your husband when he tells you that it "is just your imagination,"... "that men are not looking at you in that way."
He's known all along that it's true, but he thinks that telling you it's all in you head is doing you some kind of favor. That your not strong enough to handle the truth. That you will miscarry over the fact that some men find you erotic. I know better than that. Meet me over in the changing room and we can find out how much.
But I digress.
There is a birthday party tonight and I made cupcakes. The frosting has melted and the cupcakes look kind of sad.
I chose to use strawberry cake mix and I topped the cupcakes with vanilla frosting because only the vanilla frosting had candy sprinkles.
I have not finished my first beer. My roommate has drunk 10 of the 24 pack I bought. I think he is going to want to hang out in the living room because when he gets drunk he gets social. I am fearful what reaction that will cause from the rest of the party goers.
Though now that I think about it almost all the party goers cancelled. I guess they had plans and those plans don't include birthday wishes for a friend.
That kind of thing makes me sick. I think birthdays are a big deal. It's the one day that is supposed to be about you.
Thought in the end birthdays end up with you being alone in the bathtub lighting candles that grandma sent you for Easter, forgetting that you are Jewish and that you don't celebrate Christ, and that even though your birthday is the same day as Easter you would like something other than Jesus candles.
For some reason you get excited every birthday when you open the box only to quickly deflate back to feeling like shit, a feeling only compounded by all the pregnant women walking around who's protruding bellies only remind you that at least one guy wanted to fuck them without a condom at least once which is more than the three of us could say (a comment best summed up by Leif when he said that) "How come everyone else has found love, but not me and you?"
After hearing Leif moan about my loves troubles and his, Kristal complained that she had not found love either. I reminded her that I had asked her out a "dozen or more times" and that the only reason she has no one "was that I am not good enough for her."
Awkward silence.
My reply to that was that no one wanted to hang out with me on my birthday, and that I was not even invited to the pre-birthday dinner that he attended with Krystal, "Which makes me the saddest and loneliest person here."
I must have been right because there was more silence. What followed as an opportunity for me to remind everyone that I have not been laid in 8 years.
I expected more silence, but instead Leif turned up the sound system. "Can you feel my sub-woofers?" He asked. "I love sub-woofers!"
I decide to have a beer before anyone gets here. To keep my beer cold I wrap it tightly in a blue and white Dallas Cowboy's beer cozy.
I decided to have a beer so that way I would seem chipper. I like for my guests to be at ease around me, and the best way for me to create that sense of well being for others is for me to be intoxicated.
2 hours before I wrote that.
"You should write something funny on your blog." Leif says to me while we strummed through the women's section of Target looking for bikinis with the birthday girl.
Leif is wearing a size 7 womens jean.
"Is it because Men's "skinny" jeans aren't tight enough on you?" I ask.
"Exactly." He giggles as he wanders off.
I find the perfect sun dress while searching in the brightly lit aisles. The dress is faded orange. Something about the color suggests a meth addicts "lounging" wear to me. Its terry cloth material would be high class white trash living.
"I want to get a meth addiction just so I can lounge around in this." I tell to no one, but loud enough so that Leif can hear me over in the next aisle.
My find brings Leif back to me.
"I love it." He tells me. "I want to get a meth addition with you and wear terry cloth sun dresses and hang out at the pool with a pipe and a giant can of Raid getting baked in the sun.
I tell Leif that the sun will dehydrate him and that dehydration will only exacerbate the bug problem he is bound to get as a meth addict.
"Fuck it." I say.
"We'll get two cans of Raid."
"Miss." I hear Leif yelling at the girl with a generic Target red t-shirt on. "Where can I get a big ass giant can of Raid. I've got bugs."
The girl just shrugs at him, "That's not my department." She says. "This is the woman's department." She adds. I guess she adds that comment to emphasize that 2 men shouldn't be in the Women's department at Target fingering the bikinis.
I put my fingers through a pair of bottoms and I tell Krystal that this is the closest I have gotten to pussy in 7 years.
"Your funny, Pops." She quips. "You should try to be funny on your blog."
I refuse to give in to all the happy people of the world and their demand that I be happy and keep them happy. "I don't want to be funny on my blog." I tell Krystal. "There are already too many happy people out there already."
"There are?" Kristal's voice raises two octaves higher. A couple of pregnant women walk between us.
After the women pass Leif says, "Have you noticed how many pregnant women go to Target?"
I say, "When I think pregnant women, I think Target."
That's why I buy as much stuff as I can from Target. Also, in case you wondered about the strange guy who followed you around at Target staring at your belly. Don't worry. I was following you around. I had half a boner when I looked at you too. 'Semi-erect' is the phrase I think.
You preggo women should get pissed at your husband when he tells you that it "is just your imagination,"... "that men are not looking at you in that way."
He's known all along that it's true, but he thinks that telling you it's all in you head is doing you some kind of favor. That your not strong enough to handle the truth. That you will miscarry over the fact that some men find you erotic. I know better than that. Meet me over in the changing room and we can find out how much.
But I digress.
There is a birthday party tonight and I made cupcakes. The frosting has melted and the cupcakes look kind of sad.
I have not finished my first beer. My roommate has drunk 10 of the 24 pack I bought. I think he is going to want to hang out in the living room because when he gets drunk he gets social. I am fearful what reaction that will cause from the rest of the party goers.
Though now that I think about it almost all the party goers cancelled. I guess they had plans and those plans don't include birthday wishes for a friend.
That kind of thing makes me sick. I think birthdays are a big deal. It's the one day that is supposed to be about you.
Thought in the end birthdays end up with you being alone in the bathtub lighting candles that grandma sent you for Easter, forgetting that you are Jewish and that you don't celebrate Christ, and that even though your birthday is the same day as Easter you would like something other than Jesus candles.
For some reason you get excited every birthday when you open the box only to quickly deflate back to feeling like shit, a feeling only compounded by all the pregnant women walking around who's protruding bellies only remind you that at least one guy wanted to fuck them without a condom at least once which is more than the three of us could say (a comment best summed up by Leif when he said that) "How come everyone else has found love, but not me and you?"
After hearing Leif moan about my loves troubles and his, Kristal complained that she had not found love either. I reminded her that I had asked her out a "dozen or more times" and that the only reason she has no one "was that I am not good enough for her."
Awkward silence.
My reply to that was that no one wanted to hang out with me on my birthday, and that I was not even invited to the pre-birthday dinner that he attended with Krystal, "Which makes me the saddest and loneliest person here."
I must have been right because there was more silence. What followed as an opportunity for me to remind everyone that I have not been laid in 8 years.
I expected more silence, but instead Leif turned up the sound system. "Can you feel my sub-woofers?" He asked. "I love sub-woofers!"
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