Did you all know that last week only had six days? Seriously. It started out all the same, with Monday and whatnot, but right near the end, right where Saturday was supposed to be is nothing but blankness. Yes. Blankness.
It all started out last Friday night, see. I had to babysit these four kids from 5 in the pm to midnight or so. Best way to spend a Friday night, ever. So naturally Saturday, that holy first day of rest and nothing, was to be my personal salvation. Four children is a lot of children you say? I know, but I needed the money and they turned out to be very well behaved. Like really, it was madly impressive. In any case, they have nothing to do with the rest of the story. The only reason I mentioned them is because I was at their house when I got the news that my buddy had dropped off a couple baked goods for my girl and I. This was good news on a bad Friday night. The prospects of my Saturday just seemed to glow after that.
Then Saturday came. Then it went. Seriously, it like, just went. My girlfriend woke me up with a plate that had marvelous looking cheese eggs and this nicely sized, wondrous looking bar of cakey chocolate (we had been fighting, and this was her way of saying “I’m sorry.”). I looked up at her and smiled. This was going to be the best day ever. I had been working five days and two or three nights a week for the last month or so and Saturday was my first real day off. I was excited.
She took me by the hand and we went and sat on our giant beanbag couch. Yes. We have a giant beanbag for a couch. Yes. It’s that awesome. Then we ate, smiles on both our faces, anticipating a nice day with vivid colors, crisp autumn winds, and the kind rustling of fall leaves.
Then time stopped. Literally. I was smiling serenely one moment and the next I looking around the world, able to see and feel the space around me. It was like being a superhero with super speed. Each step I took felt like I was actually walking through space and time. I was thinking everything and nothing at the same time. I knew the secrets to the universe but I couldn’t tell a soul because they couldn’t understand me if I tried telling them. It’s not that they couldn’t handle it, I just was slurring my speech that badly.
After making a few quick laps around the pad, I laid back down on the giant beanbag of awesomeness and put my hands together and thought. I thought about a few things here and there. In the midst of my thoughts, my girlfriend picked my arm up and dropped. Then she did it again and again. Then she pulled me towards her and laughed. Then she told me I was like a teddy bear. Then, for the next hour or so, I thought about what it would be like to be a teddy bear.
Then I looked at my watch and two hours had passed by. I looked back and my girlfriend was there no longer. She had moved to the bedroom. I went after her. She looked so peaceful, like an angel resting on a mattress made of clouds. I gently roused her from her slumber and we decided it was time to eat.
Then time lapsed again and before me lay two corndogs, a spicy chicken taquito, and vitamin enhanced water. Why did I get vitamin enhanced water? I’m not so sure myself, but I must have been trying to be health conscious. When did I go to 7-11? I have no freaking clue.
And just as quickly as the food appeared, it vanished, leaving an unseemly trail of crumbs from the floor to my mouth. I turned to my girlfriend and she was gone yet again. Nobody can ever say she has no talents. She’s apparently a fucking ninja. This time I found her sleeping yet again. This time in a fortress made of pillows. I shit you not, there were 7. Seven pillows surrounding her completely.
Then, without warning and lots of bombast, my cellphone vibrated its way to the floor with an impressive crash. I picked it up, and stared at it. I spent the next couple of eons trying to figure out why the 7 and 9 buttons each had four letter options while every other number had 3. I just couldn’t make sense of it. After a good while, I checked the actual message filled with “a-HA” moments and their subsequent recalls, I gave it one last try. I got all the way to the end of the message, heard something in the other room and left my phone, eerie blow glow lighting the 10:30 pm darkness.
My buddy had sent me a text message. It read.
(518): Do you remember humming the mission impossible theme that time we ran from the cops?
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
I’ve always wanted to use doilies as napkins or Napkin Doilies
All my life I’ve been the quiet kid in the corner. It’s worked out well for me. Sometimes people would come to my corner and hang out, other times I would go to other people’s corners. It’s a great life. Or rather, was a great life. I had my corner friends and we did corner things together. Then one day I met a corner girl and I had a perfect corner life. You could say we “fit” together.
Then I got laid. In the corner room of a house. Fittingly enough.
At the end of what I like to refer to as a “ten-minute-long moment,” I burst out of the prison that is celibacy like the Hulk. With a victorious cry of “oh god” upon my arrival into the World, I collapsed on the greenest of grasses. Ten minutes later I had another ten-minute-long moment and it was glorious. I lay sprawled out and sweaty in the center of the corner room.
Then it was back to the rest of my corner life, this time with added sex. A pretty decent lot in life if I do say so myself. Or rather, said. Eventually I got bored with the corner, all of it, even sex. I know, who gets bored with sex? Apparently, this guy, right here. Hear me out though. It was always the same thing, each and every time. It was like ten minute long déjà vu. I made a move, she didn’t like it. I made another mood. She told me to stop. I got pissy and turned on the TV. As soon as I found a show that I actually wanted to watch, she would suddenly unbutton her blouse, straddle me, and then continue to round the bases.
This always confused me and, after the fact, left me in the ohso awkward position of hating and loving someone at the same time while feeling unsatisfied in the bedroom region. On the one hand, she was a corner person like myself. On the other, she played these crazy girly psycho games where all of my favorite activities were mutually exclusive and nothing meant what it should’ve. It was like being in a spy thriller where I had to decode reality and stop meant go but go, depending on tonality and semantic phrasing, could mean stop or that there’s a cop down the road or that I could only travel at 35 mph. To tell you the truth, I have no idea what the hell anything meant back then. I digress.
After seeking the counsel of my dear friend and personal guru, the Internet, I determined that I was definitively not a corner sex person, which led me to question if I were not so much of a corner person myself. In the lengthy soulsearch that followed, I discovered that I was, indeed, a corner person, but I did not, in fact, like the room in whose corner I was in. An odd quandary.
So, starting in that moment, I started rearranging the metaphorical, yet in a few cases, material objects of my corner. This sudden restacking of life’s Legos, did not make my corner girlfriend too happy. So one night I got wasted and pissed on her scrapbooking materials, sprayed perfume on her cat, and used her doilies as napkins for nachos and wings because I’ve never liked any of that stuff. It felt good.
I woke up the next day to a text that, in summary, concluded vehemently that I had suddenly stopped “fitting” her and that our lives would no longer be “adjoined.” I shit you not, she used those exact words. Who does that? I forwarded the text to my buddy to see what he thought. He asked what happened. So I told him.
(513): She found me naked and passed out on the toilet. When she asked me what happened to her scrapbook supplies, why her cat smelled like $200 dollar perfume, and what was on her doilies, I apparently just kept repeating "I'm like Elvis, but not dead."
Ohso – an interjection used to attract the attention of the person spoken to and transition into a new subject or tangent
Then I got laid. In the corner room of a house. Fittingly enough.
At the end of what I like to refer to as a “ten-minute-long moment,” I burst out of the prison that is celibacy like the Hulk. With a victorious cry of “oh god” upon my arrival into the World, I collapsed on the greenest of grasses. Ten minutes later I had another ten-minute-long moment and it was glorious. I lay sprawled out and sweaty in the center of the corner room.
Then it was back to the rest of my corner life, this time with added sex. A pretty decent lot in life if I do say so myself. Or rather, said. Eventually I got bored with the corner, all of it, even sex. I know, who gets bored with sex? Apparently, this guy, right here. Hear me out though. It was always the same thing, each and every time. It was like ten minute long déjà vu. I made a move, she didn’t like it. I made another mood. She told me to stop. I got pissy and turned on the TV. As soon as I found a show that I actually wanted to watch, she would suddenly unbutton her blouse, straddle me, and then continue to round the bases.
This always confused me and, after the fact, left me in the ohso awkward position of hating and loving someone at the same time while feeling unsatisfied in the bedroom region. On the one hand, she was a corner person like myself. On the other, she played these crazy girly psycho games where all of my favorite activities were mutually exclusive and nothing meant what it should’ve. It was like being in a spy thriller where I had to decode reality and stop meant go but go, depending on tonality and semantic phrasing, could mean stop or that there’s a cop down the road or that I could only travel at 35 mph. To tell you the truth, I have no idea what the hell anything meant back then. I digress.
After seeking the counsel of my dear friend and personal guru, the Internet, I determined that I was definitively not a corner sex person, which led me to question if I were not so much of a corner person myself. In the lengthy soulsearch that followed, I discovered that I was, indeed, a corner person, but I did not, in fact, like the room in whose corner I was in. An odd quandary.
So, starting in that moment, I started rearranging the metaphorical, yet in a few cases, material objects of my corner. This sudden restacking of life’s Legos, did not make my corner girlfriend too happy. So one night I got wasted and pissed on her scrapbooking materials, sprayed perfume on her cat, and used her doilies as napkins for nachos and wings because I’ve never liked any of that stuff. It felt good.
I woke up the next day to a text that, in summary, concluded vehemently that I had suddenly stopped “fitting” her and that our lives would no longer be “adjoined.” I shit you not, she used those exact words. Who does that? I forwarded the text to my buddy to see what he thought. He asked what happened. So I told him.
(513): She found me naked and passed out on the toilet. When she asked me what happened to her scrapbook supplies, why her cat smelled like $200 dollar perfume, and what was on her doilies, I apparently just kept repeating "I'm like Elvis, but not dead."
Ohso – an interjection used to attract the attention of the person spoken to and transition into a new subject or tangent
Monday, August 9, 2010
The Sites of Porcelainia
Ever wanted to travel? Wanted to get out there and see something? Anything? Even hike somewhere? Well I have. Or rather… did. Work had just come to a sudden crawl, and in response to the lack of customers, the restaurant begun their summer hour rotation. This left me virtually jobless, which was, at first, particularly awesome. But, after I checked off the last item on the list I made (to properly remake my impression on the beanbag couch), I became directionless.
My being directionless is not a good idea. I once spent three weeks creating the taxonomic breeding sequence that would theoretically end in the birth of domesticated bears. Which, admittedly, was really fun, but you get the point. In a similar harnessing of chaotic thought, it occurred to me that I needed to take a roadtrip. I needed to go out into the world and attain a fresh perspective, for my world had grown too small. So, I figured a trip was in order, and seeing that Mardi Gras was right around the bend, I decided Nah’lins was the place to be. I don’t know why people pronounce “New Orleans” this way, but they do. So it goes.
That was last week. Today I awoke as the King of Porcelainia to the majestic mash-up of Rihanna and Lady Gaga announcing a message from my dear friend Ben. A week of TV censor worthy memories, masks, feathers, and drinks I’ve never heard of flash through my dehydrated mind. I press the open button with a foul smelling thumb to see what my dear friend wanted: a simple inquiry as to how the last day of site seeing went. I promptly, and gingerly, responded.
(978): The view from the bathroom floor this morning is fabulous.
My being directionless is not a good idea. I once spent three weeks creating the taxonomic breeding sequence that would theoretically end in the birth of domesticated bears. Which, admittedly, was really fun, but you get the point. In a similar harnessing of chaotic thought, it occurred to me that I needed to take a roadtrip. I needed to go out into the world and attain a fresh perspective, for my world had grown too small. So, I figured a trip was in order, and seeing that Mardi Gras was right around the bend, I decided Nah’lins was the place to be. I don’t know why people pronounce “New Orleans” this way, but they do. So it goes.
That was last week. Today I awoke as the King of Porcelainia to the majestic mash-up of Rihanna and Lady Gaga announcing a message from my dear friend Ben. A week of TV censor worthy memories, masks, feathers, and drinks I’ve never heard of flash through my dehydrated mind. I press the open button with a foul smelling thumb to see what my dear friend wanted: a simple inquiry as to how the last day of site seeing went. I promptly, and gingerly, responded.
(978): The view from the bathroom floor this morning is fabulous.
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