JK: I am not Bill Cosby.

All in all, I wish I would have learned to juggle or something.

Thursday, April 27, 2006

So, apparently I am unaware as to how to propperly 'blog'.

No one told me.

I was a child that wasn't allowed to watch too much tv.


Now I'm 24.

Currently living at home.

I'm looking for a job and refining my resume.

...or joining the military.

I guess no one reads this so I can officially say whatever I want....don't judge...unless you think it will help.








I went to a bar last night and met some girl (note: she introduced herself by saying 'hey' roughly 7 times) and had an engaging conversation about the bartender. It was wonderful. I try to only drink alone or when I am at a place where it is socially acceptable to set a fire now.


I saw Harold and Maude last night. The movie was pretty sweet.
I don't want to commit (spelling???) suicide, but I'd really like to impersonate it once and a while.


That is all

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

After waking up at 5:15am I arose with a spring in my step and set to the kitchen with all the tenacity of a Somalian chasing a stale biscuit downhill. Whole grains and Vitamin D milk for this man! Bring on the purply-dyed grapejuice! On with the coffee machine!!! I’ve beaten you yet again Sun, you harbinger of daytime! You, the fierce and omnipresent celestial overseer of my planet…you’re not up yet. I win, you cunt!

As I check the analog weather channel by strolling outside the confines of my apartment sans clothing and await my scrotumn’s reaction to the cool morning air, I breathe deep and think to myself that this is truly the first day of the rest of my week. Watching the golden, uninterrupted, trail of urine cascade down to the parking lot one floor below, I observe the quiet morning. The calm before the hustle and bustle of the commuters is eerily comforting.

I hear shouting as I turn to walk back inside. “That’s my car you mother…,” apparently someone else is up. “Good day to you to sir!” I belt as I close the door. Here we go….daytime is upon us.

As Nissan is contractually obliged to stand behind their work…yet not necessarily complete any of it in a timely (apparently a relative concept) fashion, my car is still at the dealership 8 miles away. The good people at Kraft Nissan have assured me they will take good care of it until they decide to ‘get to it’ which is completely contingent upon ‘getting to all this other stuff we’ve got piled up here’.

It’s still dark.

Work is roughly 12 miles away and I jump on the bicycle figuring I can get in a 30 mile ride before the beginning of my scheduled workday. Ever wondered what kind of reaction a cyclist wearing form-fitting clothing gets when riding past a group of uneducated heavy-equipment operators? What about if that person, instead of riding past the workers, stops, dismounts, and changes clothing to work alongside them? (Note: Numerous studies have concluded that the same reaction is incurred.)

I set off into the darkness on a mode of transport usually reserved for prepubescent girls. It suits me. It is all I need. The sun isn’t up yet. I forgot to brush my teeth.

Two miles into the ride I have hit a transcendental state akin to those described in fitness magazines.

Beautiful.

Euphoric.

Hear the constant buzzing of tire against pavement, feel the smooth turning of gears, and understand all and nothing at the same time. My head is empty and the sky is a beautiful swirl of pink and purple against the puffy-white of the low-hanging cumulonimbus on the horizon.

Car horns.

A man yelling.

Instructions to mate with myself.

In a sprint, a cyclist will stand up, out of the saddle, in an effort to apply more downward force to the pedals. This of course, interrupts the smooth, circular spin of a seated pedal cadence, but the increased force is translated through crank torque to force upon the wheels. Faster.

Heart rate increases markedly.

Breathing becomes heavier.

Lactic acid builds.

Calm meditative state is transferred into a focused hunt. An inner-battle against one’s own body ensues wherein the cyclist asks more of his body than his body would like to allow.

Speed increases markedly.

At the next stoplight I entice (after much rapping on the window) the driver of a late model blue Volkswagen into a conversation.

“How’s it going sir?” I ask.

“What the fuck are you doing out here on this road?” The man asks. There is a Hawaiian lay adorning the rearview mirror and an attractive blonde in the passenger seat.

“Well, I thought I’d come out here for a bike ride, find some unsuspecting ass, and beat the crap out of him with my left shoe until his girlfriend calls the police.”

The green light ends our civil discord and the man leaves.

Aloha!

Inspired by my recent conversation with the young man, I have decided to alter my day’s plans. Instead of going to work, why not go home? Why not start drinking at 7:00am? Why not watch television naked?

Oh Sun…did you see that? What a happy day it will be! The water-colored horizon tells me that you are still yawning, and clearing the sleep from your eyes, but if you could have seen what has happened… You couldn’t have possibly witnessed what happened. Things have changed Sun. No longer is this day to be named for your sister orbital, the moon. This will not be a Monday. This will be a Myday.

Back at home, I disrobe in the kitchen, and begin drinking a wonderfully cold bottle of Captain Morgan’s diluted with tap water found already in my water bottle. How wonderfully convenient!

I punch the wall.

I turn on the television.

Ice is applied to my right hand.

A bandage is needed.

Music is turned on and the sweet sounds of Hank Williams coax me into a calmed meditative state. Hear the humming. Feel the rhythmic bass. Empathize with a man who is so lonesome…he could cry.
Sip.

Breathing slows.
Heartbeat relaxes.
Sigh.

A phone rings with a hysterically cute and funny cat ring tone and is promptly thrown into the next room. Call goes to voicemail. If it was Monday it would be my employer calling to inquire as to my reason for not arriving at work. It is not Monday. It is Myday.

After drinking three rum and cokes I am ready to bathe. Imbibing a wonderful elixir of Wal-Mart Cola and Rum, I slip into a hot bath as I allow the smooth sounds of the second CD in my 5 disc changer to lull me into a stupor.

I knew a little girl named Nikki….

I open to page 73 of Douglas C. Waller’s The Commandos: The Inside Story of America’s Secret Soldiers and I let the description of the Green Beret’s qualification course take me far away.

When I saw Little Nikki griiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnddd….
It is almost 8:30 now. Pruning and chilled from water that has turned frightfully cold I decide to get out of the tub.
I decide….

It is at this time I realize first that my testicles have nearly retracted into my body.
I forget that I’m cold. I slip, I fart, I laugh.

Pull it together.

I now realize that for some reason I am wearing a knit cap that my girlfriend made in her spare time. I have no idea that I was wearing it.

I should call her.
She probably is waking up in about an hour.

My attention is being courted by both the television in one room blaring Good Morning America and my stereo in the other room.

Baby baby baby, what’s it gonna be….

What would Katie Courrieg think?

Only wanna see you laughing in the purple…

The next few hours are occupied by me arguing with two men who are selling knives.

“I’ve seen this deal before. Don’t lie to me you son of a bitch! What kind of a rube do you think I am? What is a sitar?”


The smell of my own fart makes me return to the bathroom.

I find a paperback book floating near the drain. Interestingly enough, this is not the book I was reading. The book was from an economics class I took three years ago.

I got a B.

When I wake up I’m wearing pants but the knit cap is in my back pocket and wet.

Where’d you go sun? Who will help me solve this mystery?

Turn on the light.

So…now it’s about 4pm. I have written some nonsense on a piece of paper about God and the president. It has a cartoon drawing of a farmer and part of it is wet with some sort of brown fluid.

Remember to wash your hands.

Trash can.

Record the day’s events and send to friends.

Happy Myday!!!