Dog Problems

I am doing this blogging thing too infrequently aren't I? I apologize for that, I really do. I know this is going to sound like a stupid excuse but I have just been so exhausted lately. Maybe it's the balancing of school and work. Maybe it's a malignant virus that is slowly eating away at my brain. I can't really be sure, but there is something going on. Maybe a vitamin deficiency? It's probably both to be honest. For the most part I've just been too busy. So in the next couple of posts I'll try to update you on what I've been doing.

I recently aquired two new Coton de Tulear puppies. I know you don't know what breed that is, I didn't either until a week ago. They are french dogs from Madagascar, and quite adorable. My family members can't seem to actually pronounce the name of the breed so it comes out more like "Cotton Two Layer" but that's fine with me. To be honest I wasn't sure it was a great idea to make such a large commitment so soon after losing Bear, but to be honest I missed the companionship. Even though I also have another dog Buddy, I had already began to feel like I didn't even own a dog, and that's a feeling I can't live with. I was ready for another dog.

This is Maggie whose full name is Princess Margaret of Monaco. I know it appears that she doesn't have any eyes, but she does...I think.This is Izzie whose full name is Princess Isabelle of Spain, though that name detracts from what she really is...a three pound crap machine.

Edit: I wrote this a hour ago before I discovered a four inch turd nestled atop my Associated Press Style Book I casually left on the floor. Maybe I am not ready for a dog after all.

Goodbye my sweet Bear

You were one of the good things.

Love/Hate

I know I haven't written, burn me on a stake in your front yard if you must. But I feel like I finally have a good excuse, instead of my standard "I didn't feel like it" response, I have for once been extraordinarily busy. As some of you may already know, I have re enrolled into school, and am in the midst of my second week back. I forgot in my hiatus how much I love and hate school. I love taking notes, and listening to the voice of a boring teacher. I hate being surrounded by a bunch of people that I don't care to know. I hate walking to school, but love the feeling of walking towards something significant instead of pacing in my backyard smoking and talking on the phone. I love new books, and post it notes I hate seeing girls around campus in zebra print tights. I love the Cougar in my Advanced Composition class, but I hate my Advanced Composition teacher because he has an incredibly wheezy voice. I love the feeling that my life is important again, I hate knowing that I wasted the last few years of my life. I hate waking up early, but I love being able to eat breakfast for once I am coming to again appreciate Nutrigrain bars, and SmartStart in the morning. I love having something to do again, but hate not being able to do my normal nothing. I guess what I hate most about it is how much I love it all, and how much time I wasted when I could have been doing this instead.

Supplies.

Is there any better feeling in the world than having freshly bought notebooks and fancy pens and post it notes? I seriously doubt it.

Happy New Years

I like to believe that things repeat themselves. I like to think that patterns exist and that we can trace all of our actions and reactions back to things that happened years ago. I like to believe that things come full circle. It is the beginning of a new decade and I believe that decades are significant, because I think that we need markers to show us how far we've come.

Starting off in the first decade that I can fully remember I've looked back on the way things turned out, to see if maybe I have something to look forward to in the next ten years. In the nineties things started off well with elementary school, sagged around 1997 during the sixth grade and began to pick up during 1999, the year that both Britney Spears came out and I finished up junior high.

The new millennium started out with my first years of high school and my first years of having amazing people around me. Things just kept going great until 2006 when everything turned to shit. I had a period of years that I don't want to even remember. And now on the verge of a decade I feel like things are starting to look up again. I am going back to school in two weeks, I know some of the most amazing people you could ever hope to meet, and I'm finally happy with who I am. I don't think you can ask for too much more than that really. So I can only hope that history begins to repeat itself and I have an incredible time in the next few years. I am hoping for the absolute best, but fearing for the worst. I cannot wait to see what is going to become of me.

This Still Stands

All That Glitters

Although maybe you should ignore the typos, I don't like to edit myself.

Too Many Aunts

I know I'm a couple of days late on this, but I guess it's time to update you on my Thanksgiving. Apparently all I'm posting about these days are holidays. So I guess you should expect the next two posts to come around Christmas and New Years, but honestly I don't know what I'll be doing for Martin Luther King Day, so I'm not sure if you'll even get a post in February. Sadly, this is just the way things are these days. I guess I should start by saying that I don't even really like Thanksgiving, in fact I'm not even sure it should be considered a Holiday. Really it's just an excuse to consume twice the daily limit of two thousand calories, which frankly I already do on a regular basis anyway, because that's how me and my insatiable appetite roll. I would like to say that I make up for my over consumption with a super metabolism and a strict exercise regimen but in reality I just keep gaining pounds, and continue to wear the same sized clothing to make myself even more appealing to the opposite sex (by the way, I'm still single!)

But again, I am getting off track here. Really this post doesn't even have anything to do with myself, for once I was not the absolute train wreck of the festivities. Generally during holidays I like to commit loud outbursts about inappropriate things which has resulted in several cases of family dissolution over the years. One Christmas I sat atop an air conditioning unit in Texas, sobbing while my younger cousins played touch football twenty feet away. Did I mention I was seventeen when this happened? But again, this Holiday was not about my outbursts but instead about the outbursts of everyone else.

It all began early that morning when my eighty year old aunt Peggy walked into our house and apparently completely lost all her facilities including speech, telepathy, and how to walk properly. So instead of heel toe, she face planted on to the pavement, and broke her nose. I'm not trying to say this was funny, because it absolutely was not. I generally don't advocate the bruising of the elderly. Though I feel that if you knew my aunt Peggy (who I believes birth name is actually Pegetha after what I like to believe was a forgotten ancient Roman goddess), you'd be able to find the humor in this situation.

See, I have this theory that every family has a dud. If there are multiple children born to a family, one of them is always going to be the less successful, the less attractive, less mentally able child. I say this not to be rude, but to educate. I once believed that I was the dud in our family, because my sister is exceedingly more awesome than I could ever hope to be. But then I remembered that I actually had a sister that died, and I'm not trying to be insensitive when I say this and no irreverence to the dead or anything, but one of us survived and one of us did not, so I guess I am the clear and undisputed winner in this case. So thankfully I am not the dud, but I digress out of her nine siblings my aunt Peggy sadly, is the dud. She is the most ridiculous person you could ever hope to meet, or have the misfortune to spend more than twenty minutes with.

Not that I don't love her, because I do. But she is completely ridiculous, and has absolutely no idea what is going on at any given time. Example: When my sister and I took her to the emergency room about an hour after her incident, the doctor inquired as to what happened and what was wrong with her, and she responded that "she had a sinus infection, and laryngitis, and that she needed Cadillac surgery, and that she needed to have her Cadillacs removed". If you can't guess the mention of a certain luxury car was actually misplaced for the eye affliction more commonly referred to as cataracts.

Now, I also have cataracts, and I would agree that if instead of cataracts you were suffering from Cadillacs, that you would absolutely need to get them removed and try to sell them above Kelly Blue Book value, but sadly this is not the case, and also not at all what the doctor asked. When he did inform her that her nose was broken, and we left the establishment her first words were "Well, at least my nose isn't broken." Which only goes to prove that not only was she just not listening at all, but also that she is the dud. I think I've proven my point.

Now sadly this was not the only aunt related incident of the day. You see, I was born into a family of melodramatics much like myself. I don't typically see anything wrong with over dramatic tendencies, as I am known to throw a hissy fit approximately fourteen times a day, I think it's good for the soul, and definitely good for the economy because every time I commit an outburst someone usually buys me something from Sonic, which I really appreciate. Though I could not even begin to compete with the theatrics brought on my aunt Dianne. She is the true thespian of our ilk. Usually she likes to show this off every Thanksgiving with a well thought out prayer. Last year she printed out no less than ten pages of prayers, which she had copied, collated, and stapled for every member of our sizable group. She also assigned equal parts to everyone there. It was like performing a badly rehearsed, badly choreographed elementary school Thanksgiving play, only it was all about God. Needless to say, it did not go well as I'm pretty sure a couple of my family members can't even read. So we all stood with hands clasped together for well over an hour as my drunken high school dropout cousins stumbled through declarations of thanks, as everyone eyed the cranberry sauce longingly. It was not a good time had by all.

But this year, she really stepped up her game as earlier in the year she was in a bad accident and is temporarily in a wheel chair and has a lot of free time on her hands. All seemed normal at first, there were no pamphlets passed out, there was just a simple bowing of the heads as my grandmother began to recite the normal prefood blessing. After she was done my aunt interrupted loudly "I'd just like to say we should take a moment to remember all those boys in Iraq (though she pronounced in Urrack) who are serving our country and can't be with their loved ones today". Although this sentiment could be considered sweet to most, I immediately knew that things were not on the up and up, as we don't have a single person in our family who is in the military. Not that I don't appreciate everything they do for us I guess, I just didn't see the need. I could immediately feel the nervous energy of my fellow family members as we all wondered what was coming around the corner.

That's when I noticed my aunt pulling her very own script from her purse, she held the paper in front of her face with one hand, as she wiped away a single stray tear with the other. She began to recite in the most sorrowful tone I have ever experienced "From the halls of Montezuma, to the shores of Tripoli. We will fight our countries battles, in the air, on land and sea...." Yeah, that's right motherfuckers she tearfully recited the entirety of the Salute to the Armed Forces. I wish I was fucking making this shit up. I couldn't possibly. It was absolutely horrible, it took her seventeen minutes to finish a fucking sentence. She was talking so slowly that I'm pretty sure she thought she was Nobel Laurette Maya Angelou. Well, if my aunt is Maya Angelou and I just didn't know it before, I finally know why the caged bird sings, and that's too drown out her horrible voice. I hope your Thanksgiving was a little less stupid.

It's The Great Racist Charlie Brown!

I would like to start this post off by saying that it features some highly offensive language in it. Well, actually no it doesn't but it would if I did some direct quoting. But instead I will substitute some choice words to describe someones race. The word I am trying to replace rhymes with bigger, but has an alternate beginning consonant. Do you get what I'm saying here? So instead of saying a word that is offensive to many, I'll substitute it with a word that applies to a group of people that offends me: Canadians. So if you see the word Canadian in this post, know that it really stands for something else. Do you hear what I'm trying to say? Okay, you get it? Good, then I'll start.

Last night in the hopes of finding something fun to do on Halloween, my sister and I along with a couple of our older cousins perused around the greater area of downtown Lake Charles. I won't begin to describe to tell you how pathetic the greater area of downtown Lake Charles is, but I'm sure you can guess. We were driving around looking for a haunted house exhibit that was going on last year for charity, but for one reason or another was not going on last night. In our unfounded search we came upon two horse drawn carriages perched by the Lake. For some reason we thought this would be a great idea, so we paid our thirty five dollars and hopped on.

I have ridden horse drawn carriages twice before. Once in New Orleans, and another in Memphis, Tennessee. These were good rides, very informative if not a little yawn inducing family activities. I expected something similar in this, but what I got was not at all what was expected. If I had looked closely before getting on this ride, I would have noticed that the driver was missing nearly all of his front teeth. Which in foresight does not bode well for the proceedings. Although now that I think about it that might actually be a prerequisite for carriage drivers. You are not fully qualified unless you are missing your molars.

But at the beginning I had no idea that not everything was on the up and up here. He drove us by the destroyed boardwalk that is under construction. He informed us that they were planning to build some "fancy things like restaurants and night clubs" though he said the word club as if it rhymed with boob. Which let me tell you in normal human pronunciation it does not. But beyond the normal realm of how words are actually said, things were fine. He drove us around the civic center, and the courthouse. He drove us around the loft apartments, and some of the downtown bars where a mass of people were converged outside waiting to get in. This was right around the time that he noticed that a group of people were doing the Lake Charles second annual "Thriller" dance.

Apparently this thirty something redneck did not at all recall his childhood when Michael Jackson was the end all and be all of pop stars. He was highly offended, the only way I could tell because this string of words sprung out of his mouth: "You know, a few years ago they were going to execute that Canadian (Gay Slur), they were going to give him the electric chair. He molested those kids you know? He had the gay sex with them, he did. But then when he died, he became a god damned hero. And then that Canadian turned himself white. I saw some pictures of that Canadian on the TV after he died, of when he was a kid. He was a cute little Canadian baby. But then he became a white woman, molesting all those kids. He molested kids, you know?"

First of all I would like to start by saying, I hate how people recycle old jokes. You know the one about Michael Jackson when people say "he started out a black man and ended up a white woman." Yes, that's frankly hilarious I get it. We should laugh at his personal choices, and his skin disorders, and his race. That is humor. If I were a redneck, I'd like to believe that I'd at least be clever with my racism. I'd like to think that I'd be original. All the while this is happening, my older cousin who is in the middle seat directly behind the driver started egging him on because he thought it was funny. I on the other hand did not find it funny at all. I kept repeatedly saying, that I was mortified. To see if he would stop. He did not stop. I actually told the man that I thought Michael Jackson was a national treasure. I'm not sure what kind of aneurysm made me decide to say that. May I tell you that when he was saying this we were riding through what could be described as the more ethnic part of our city?

I don't know how to drive that point home to you except to say that while he was pronouncing his very colorful view of "how things are" we were literally surrounded by African American trick or treaters and their parents. When I started to say something discreetly about that fact, he informed us that it wasn't important because he had a gun. Well, now that's just fucking fantastic. I was on an armed, racist, horse drawn carriage. I might as well be the ringleader in a fucking Ku Klux Klan rally. I'm not really sure what they do at KKK rallies, but I assume they collectively drink the blood of a goat, and then all beat their wives. Which doesn't really sound like my kind of people.

But I feel like towards the end, things started to look up. When we pulled back into the parking lot we came from, he parked the carriage. We all got off and began to pet the horse, and he came up to us and announced that "tips were appreciated." I looked him in the eye and said, "Well, racism isn't." And then we got in our car and left. I think that I am the modern day Martin Luther King. Aren't I? Well I think I am, and that's enough really.

I'm Gonna Hit This City

I keep wait, wait, waiting for something funny to happen so I'll have something to talk about. But then earlier I realized that funny things never actually happen to me. Which is weird because usually whenever I talk to someone I always have some outlandish story to tell them. It usually involves a hero (always played by me), and how the villain (which is generally played by anyone I come to find completely ridiculous) attempted to fuck up that particular day for me. These stories are always a rousing success and I usually make a mental note to add them to my repertoire so that I can entertain possibly millions of other people I might meet later in life. Sadly, one day a friend and I were recounting a story to someone else, and I inadvertently kept adding all of these details that I swore actually happened, when he informed me that they indeed did not. I guess I just have a way of taking a completely pedestrian story and blowing it completely out of proportion. I think that may be my one true gift. A gift that I shall now wrap (in some tacky Christmas paper emblazoned with Disney Princesses my parents more than likely bought on clearance fourteen years ago that is still to this day sitting in a closet at the end of our hall) and give it to all of you. Try to sort through the bullshit, I'll do my best to filter it from my end.

So yesterday, I was on my way to McNeese to fill out some paperwork for next semester (because in case I haven't mentioned it I am going back to school in January). On my way to school, I did what I always do which is listen to an unsettling combination of Reba Mcentire, Britney Spears, and a little bit of "California Love" by Tupac for good measure, at an incredible decibel, smoke as much as humanly possible, and drive as if I'm completely blind. Which is sad because I actually can see...sort of. So, I'm on my way to school when the right side of my car starts doing this horrible combination of both screeching and grinding. I couldn't possibly explain to you what this sounds like, unless you have recently heard Mariah Carey's cover of "I Want to Know What Love Is". I immediately pull over into the nearest gas station to see if I blew a tire or something equally horrifying. But when I get out of the car I see that all four of my wheels seem to be intact. Which is really great seeing as how I would have no earthly idea how to replace one if something like this were to actually occur. Which is painful for me to admit as a twenty three year old man. I simply cannot wrap my head around anything mechanical. But to my surprise I see absolutely nothing except for my amazing reflection in my alloy rims. (Does anyone know what alloy means by the way? I have no idea.)

So I get back in my car, and proceed to drive to school. On the way things seem fine until I hit a pot hole because even on the main roads in Lake Charles the streets are exceedingly ghetto. Immediately my car starts shaking, and grinding, and bleating. Oh the bleating, you'd be shocked to hear it. I immediately pull in to school, and to the nearest parking lot. The beautiful twenty somethings on their way to class give me horrible looks. I would shout obscenities at them usually, but I'm too busy FREAKING THE FUCK OUT. I pull in to the parking lot, and immediately call my father. This is where the story ends. He came and got me and that was it. But the way I tell the story in real life, the engine caught fire, and I killed no less than fourteen civilians. Backpacks and lattes are strewn all over the campus. It is a national disaster. People usually nod at this part, shaking their heads with laughter. That Jordan is hilarious, they think. I agree, he is.

Love/Hate

Things I have loved recently

The best television show of our generation, Glee. It's about a choir which brings me back to breath control, and good posture, and standing in the front row of the tenor section next to this fat guy I used to be friends with.

This nagging feeling I'm getting lately that tells me that maybe it's time to get something started. To become something better than I am, that maybe I can be more than I already am. This feeling is keeping me going.

The Britney Spears concert I went to last week. It was the best two hours of my life sadly. I would like to say that there was something more meaningful that has happened to me in my twenty three years but sadly that is not the case. I'd even go as far to say that it might be the pinnacle of my existence for I am clearly going to die alone, and have no life goals of which to speak of. So yeah, pretty much Britney Spears was it for me. I guess I can start cutting myself now.

The fact that two weeks ago I stopped smoking. I would like to say that it was because of some great new understanding of the dangers of lung cancer, and heart disease, and knowing that I want to live as long as possible so that I may one day see my future children get married. But sadly it was just because I had the flu and was too weak to walk outside and light one up. So really I quit, because I'm lazy. Which to be fair is the reason I quit most things.

Things I have hated recently

Actually to be honest, I had planned on writing about a bunch of things that have been bothering me but then I realized that I couldn't really think of any. And I guess that's something else to love.

Actually now that I think about it a few hours ago two fingers on my left hand started tingling randomly. Which I'm sure is probably a manifestation of a deep neurological disorder. Well that, or a sure sign I have cancer of the lower asshole, and I'm not even sure I have an upper asshole so now I have that to worry about.

Kill the Lights

I will come back eventually. I will.

Never Ever

He needs rats to do his job. Never, ever rat. I'm a turn coat, a bad person. I betrayed her, and I feel so guilty. I had no choice.

I am so melodramatic

I have been trying to write something to say to you for what seems like months. In reality it's only been a couple of hours since I told you goodbye. God, that was something I never wanted to have to say to you. But I don't want to get melodramatic as I am sometimes prone to do. I don't want to write something that I'll look back on in six months and cringe. I do that a lot. I make so many bad decisions, say so many wrong things, that it's hard to look back on them. But I made no bad decisions as far as you were concerned. I'm so glad that some twisted kind of fate introduced the two of us. And when we met I didn't really know anyone worth knowing, but I took a chance on you. It paid off. And it seems like all of the people I now know that are worth knowing I met because of you. Everything in some way stemmed from you. And now there are so many people and faces that sometimes my cup runneth over. I guess in a way that's what you're doing, you're over flowing to somewhere else. And I know you're moving to Ohio. And I know that you'll meet a million new faces, and I know that there will be someone there who makes a better friend than I do. Someone who knows all about the things you care about. Who has something to say other than how much they like Britney Spears. And when that happens, I think you should take that chance. Because I once took a chance on someone and I gained the ten best years of my life. You deserve to have that no matter where you are. I know we'll see each other sporadically. And I look forward to that more than you know, or more than I'd ever want you to know. But we are adults now, and maybe we're too old to have best friends now. But, I really hope we're not. It doesn't matter either way I guess. Because I just like to think of us as eternally twelve years old and playing video games and listening to Weird Al, and walking around the neighborhood, and drinking Mountain Dew. But like I said in reality we are adults now, so I know we can't stay here forever but I wish we could. I really wish we could.

Thank You and Goodbye.

I am not mature

I just finished wrapping a gift for my cousin who is scheduled to have a baby tomorrow. I can't believe I'm finally at that age when people who are two years younger than me are procreating, getting engaged, going to prison, moving to Cleavland. It's not that I'm not happy for all of those people, I am deliriously happy and wish them nothing but the very greatest things. I just can't help feeling behind the times on this one. I am in no way ready to do any of those things just yet. I ate a corn dog for lunch today, and an hour ago I paid six dollars for a cupcake. If those two things don't signify to the world that I am in no way mature enough to be bringing life into the world, I'm not sure what would. I am not ready to get married because all I see in front of me is a world of potato faces that are not right for me. I'm not ready to move to Cleavland or go to prison because I feel that there are still things for me to do here. Also, I don't want to get ass raped, which I'm sure could happen in Cleavland just as easy as it could in prison.

I've Got Your Crazy

There are alot of things that are making me incredibly happy right now. I can't say what they are yet, but I can say that it's a good thing.

Be Careful What You Do, Because The Lie Becomes The Truth

I know I should finish telling you about my trip, although that was nearly a month ago at this point. Instead I will tell you about some of AWESOME and some of the REALLY FUCKING BAD things that are happening now.

First of all in about a month's time the single greatest person I have ever met is moving thousands of miles away. I haven't really been able to process that one yet.

The only thing that is getting me through it is knowing that on September 19th, 2009 I will be finally accomplishing my life goal of seeing Britney Spears IN PERSON BUT NOT SINGING LIVE. I can't tell you how motherfucking excited I am about that.

Colorado Part Two

To be honest there was more in Colorado than just aging hippies. There were young hippies too. This was mostly demonstrated in the city of Boulder Colorado which is a sleepy college town. I say sleepy because most of the people there can't pry their mouths off the end of their bongs to do anything too productive.

Although in all seriousness I saw some of the most ridiculous stuff in Boulder than I did on the rest of the trip. This ridiculousness includes an overweight twenty something college student dressed up as a jester and making balloon animals. Which wouldn't have been that bad because I'm sure there is a child somewhere who would actually be impressed by a dog made out of latex. But sadly for this child the jester kept accidentally popping his creations with his cigarette. He was a sad clown. I also saw a man playing the piano with his feet, which now that I think about isn't even all that interesting. For all I know maybe he had some kind of crippling disfiguring like Megan Fox and has toes for thumbs. I have no idea really.

By far the greatest thing I saw in Boulder was the exchange between a harmonica player, and a sleeping homeless man sitting on two benches facing opposite of each other. The exchange went something like this:

Harmonica Player: "Hey man, you play harmonica?"
Sleeping Homeless Man: "......"
Harmonica Player: "I play harmonica....and shit I make some good money."
Sleeping Homeless Man: "......"
Harmonica Player: "Man, I just play the way I feel....and I always feel sad."
Sleeping Homeless Man: "......"

I was actually eating at an outside table at a Cheesecake Factory when I witnessed this. I was laughing so hard, I could barely finish my weird ass chicken and pasta dish. Also side note: Why does the Cheesecake Factory have to be so god damned pretentious? They act as if they're curing cancer instead of stealing your money by selling you a slice of fourteen dollar cheesecake.

To be honest I shouldn't have been eating cheesecake in the first place because Colorado is known as one of the physically fittest states in America. It wasn't that hard to tell, seeing as how I saw droves of people everyday laden in spandex riding their bikes up a mountain. I can understand being active, God knows I've never liked it but I could see how someone might view it as beneficial. But why the mother fuck would you bike up a god damned mountain? Biking up a mountain is on my list of things I'd rather die than do right in between seeing my high school librarian naked, and Hugh Jackman as Wolverine clawing me in the nut sack. (I can't believe I just used the term nut sack.)

Also in that same category it was weird to me that Colorado had hardly any normal grocery stores. All they really had was a ton of "Whole Foods" which I've never actually shopped at but I'm assuming is really pretentious and gay. There's nothing wrong with eating organic I guess, I just can't say I'd ever decide to do it. Unless maybe they started making organic gummy bears, and Milky Way Midnight bars. I could get behind that maybe.

I was going to attempt to put all of this in two posts but it is getting out of control. The third installment will happen shortly.

Colorado Part One (Also My 300th post)

It has been nearly two weeks since my trip to Colorado ended. And although two weeks may be too long ago to still be talking about, that's exactly what I am going to do. And if you are not interested in hearing my amazing observations from over two weeks ago you can feel free to disregard the next ten million pages of awesome that I encountered.

I will start by saying that I normally do not enjoy leaving the comfort of my home. A trip to the grocery store or the mall is fine, even sometimes warranted. But being out of town for more than a few hours is usually intolerable for me. This is mostly because being away from home takes me away from the things that I do enjoy, mostly consisting of sitting on the couch watching "Wife Swap" pantsless. And though on this vacation there was a very capable television in our hotel room, I am not usually open to the watching of any television programming sans pants in the presence of my family.

Not that I would have even had time to that if I had wanted. Because of course we had to run this vacation like every other Gribble family outing which involves cramming nine hundred things to do every single day. I always thought vacations should be about taking enough Tylenol P.M. to knock out an entire city block of people, and watching free HBO in your hotel room. But apparently not so much, instead we ran the entire gamut of things there are to do in this mountainous state.

Did I mention how severely I hate mountains? It's not that they're not beautiful because they are in a very "all rocks look the same" kind of mentality. It's just that my body cannot adjust to being in any kind of change of elevation. This is probably caused by the fact that I am used to being in Louisiana which is approximately seven million feet below sea level. Believe it or not Colorado is about the same in the exact opposite direction. My insides just could not deal. I won't bore you with the consequences but let's just say that later in this story something will happen on a raft. And let's just say that this was not the first time that this specific thing had occurred on this trip. You will probably be able to figure this part out by the end.

The aspect of Colorado that I found a million times more exciting than the mountains was the sheer amount of hippies populating the area. I was almost positive that hippies were a dying breed that was replaced with racists and hicks but apparently all the hippies in all the world just packed up their hope for world peace and went to the mountains. This notion of hippies being so prevalent had not even occurred to me until I tried to get a cup of coffee in some butt hole town that we were touring (again for the god damned mountains.) Apparently normal coffee is not a luxury normally afforded to hippies. Instead they partake in some bullshit called yerba matte. Which I can only describe as looking like the dehydrated piss of a million mountain goats, and actually it tasted much worse. I was told by the barista that this drink was better than coffee because it and I quote "stimulated your metabolism, instead of your nervous system", as if I was going to take her opinion on anything seriously. She was wearing hemp, and absolutely no make up. So you know she was ass backwards, and buck nasty. She also went on to describe the typical way of drinking this finery was actually from a gourd. I'm sorry but if anyone who smelled like patchouli and bong water passed me a gourd and told me to drink from it I would immediately call the authorities. And also who the fuck cares if it doesn't stimulate your nervous system? What kind of pussy ass motherfucker gets the shakes from a god damned latte? And as if her bong smoking ass hadn't encountered much worse. Fuck hippies.

In our next installment you can look forward to even more run ins with the local free spirited sect, white water rafting, and the horrible flights to and from Colorado.

My cousin is a hero

You can watch the amazingness of my nine year old cousin here: http://www.kplctv.com/global/video/flash/popupplayer.asp?ClipID1=3857280&h1=Nine%20year%20old%20girl%20saves%20her%20grandmother&vt1=v&at1=News&d1=104967&LaunchPageAdTag=News&activePane=info&rnd=26551531

Struck

Tonight I went to the wedding of a girl I've known my entire life. She was the kind of family member who wasn't actually related to me in any sort of way but was always referred to as a cousin. I remember me and my sister spending the night at her house in sleeping bags watching Duck Tales (Does anyone else remember that? I fucking loved that shit.) I remember going on vacations with her, and spending every fourth of July in her pool. We used to play a game where we would sink to the bottom of the deep end and tried to see who could stay there for the longest. She almost always won. I never forgave her for that until now. It seems like so much time has passed since then, but she's only seventeen on her wedding day. She literally had to have her parents sign a permission slip to get married which is completely ludicrous. She should have looked so much older in her wedding dress, but the lacy edges only proved to make her look younger. I hadn't seen her in so long that when I leaned in to hug her, and tell her congratulations I remembered how much she was wrapped up in my childhood. As I saw her pose for photos with her new husband I realized how weddings are all about posing the way people want you to. I wondered how people figure out to stop posing, and to start living their new lives together. The whole night really made me wonder. Am I ever going to get to go through that? Am I ever going to get married, and have kids, who will one day have childhood friends that they will eventually go to the weddings of having the same questions? I hope so. God, I hope so.

It's Jordan, Bitch

I am back from Colorado and I have lots of things to tell you including finery such as: herbal coffee drinking, wet suit wearing, stream face planting, white water vomiting, hippie seeing, jester balloon making, harmonica playing, airport security detaining, and the glorious story of my birthday. Stay tuned for the funny.

The Birthing Season

My birthday is in two days. Please commence the merriment.

Tomorrow

Tomorrow I am leaving on a jet plane. For the first ime these feet will leave the ground. Usually only my head is in the clouds. I hope to have something to talk about when I come back. I kind of doubt it though.

There I Go Again

Okay, you win. I fucked up. I should have been there.

B & K

Congratulations to the two of you. Ithink you already know who you are. I am so proud of the two of you. I hope you know that. I would elaborate, but it's pointless. I think the two of you already know how amazing I think you are. I'm sorry I couldn't make it. Really, sorry. When you get back into town celebratory Buffalo Wild Wings is on me.

Halt

In the past week I have purchased seventeen books from AbeBooks. I need to be stopped.

Fidget

I am clumsy. Well, I am. In the past week, I have broken three ceramic vases, a steel reinforced mechanical door (and it's respective locking mechanism), fallen out of my own chair, and tripped over my own feet more times than I can recall. Sadly, I can't blame it on my sobriety because sadly I am not under the influence of anything. I am just wired to be the one person on earth with the least amount of grace or stability possible. I am not the kind of clumsy that Disney instills in it's heroines to endear her to the hearts of millions. I am not clumsy because my team of writers decided that I had to have one character flaw amid all of my amazing attributes. No, not me I am endlessly, tirelessly, clumsy. I'm the kind of clumsy that can break a priceless porcelain anything from across the room just by thinking about it.

My clumsiness knows no boundaries, and the possibilities of breakage and personal injury are limitless. I'm fidgety, I need to touch everything I come into contact with. I need to pick it up and hold it in my giant, clumsy hands. I need to bring it closer to my face so that I can see it clearly. I need to manipulate it in a way it wasn't meant to be forced. I need to break things, it is a compulsion that is hardwired into my genes. My gracelessness doesn't even stop in the realm of breakable objects. I hurt people all the time. I forget people even exist sometimes, because my clumsy brain loses the information. I insult people in crowded restaurants because my clumsy tongue can't find a tactful way to say anything. I am insensitive and I can't properly sit in a chair without falling out of it. I guess that's two more things to add to the list of things you don't like about me.

Yes

I am coming back.

Broken/Open

Today was a bad day. My disco ball, the one relic I kept from my parents restaurant after it closed, shattered in a million pieces on the floor. Apple refused to fix my ipod even though it was broken by no fault of my own. Things are breaking all around me. Not just the material things, sometimes I think that maybe I too am broken. Unable to love, unable to be loved, unable to be serious even for a moment, unable to be anyone other than myself. It's a hard thing to admit to myself, that I'll never be anything more than I already am. And eventually, I'll keep trying to be something that I am clearly not, that I'll just bend until I break too. I just want someone to help me pick up the pieces. I just want someone to give me a chance.

A Chance

Sometimes all I'm looking for is a chance, an opportunity. I wish someone would just give me a second glance. That's all I want right now.

H.L.D.

My grandfather died two days ago in the early morning hours. I feel like I can say that without any sadness. I barely knew him, because in his days of living he was a stubborn, unforgiving man. And today at his funeral as everyone waxed poetically about his virtues they all sounded like far fetched lies to me. That was not the man I knew. I'm not trying to speak ill of the dead, but I do feel that in covering up who he really was I'd be dishonoring his memory. I never met my grandfather until I was ten years old. He had a long grudge against my father for reasons unknown to anyone but him. He finally let it go when I was ten, but the resentments were always there, we always walked on eggshells around him. Things were never easy between us. Our conversations were awkward and stilted. He asked me about my schooling, and where I was working. And in my answers he heard the voice of a boy who had come from a man he never could stand. And in his questions I heard the voice of the man who had never treated my mother the way she was meant to be treated. When he looked at me, he never really saw me. When I looked at him I saw a giant of man, that I would never understand. He never asked me about my friends, about my interests, about my personal life. I don't know if he didn't ask because he didn't care. Maybe he just knew that a line was drawn in the sand, and there was only so much I was willing to tell him.

When I was seventeen the questions stopped. There was a fight, I started it. though some have said that if it hasn't been because of me it would have been because of something else. The fragile ice we had been skating on all those years had finally cracked. I didn't speak to him again until he was almost too weak to respond. Finally five years later when he was sick, and it would have looked to horrible not to visit him I saw him again. The questions started again, though this time with a slow and measured breath. Now, he would ask them repeatedly, because he couldn't remember having asked them in the first place. I didn't mind them as much now. And I was glad not to be asked about anything that was actually important to me. And in the five years that had passed he had become so much smaller in my eyes. Whether it was because of the curvature of his spine, or the lack of respect I now had for him, I am not sure.

Today as I was sitting in the pew during his memorial service, it struck me how conflicted I felt about the entire situation. Here was a man, who was more closely related to me than nearly anyone else in my life who I truly love. Yet, I felt no affection for him at all. I felt no stir of emotions at all as I looked at his casket. I felt nothing. And in feeling nothing, I felt everything. I can't believe how dead inside I was concerning this man. I just couldn't understand how that could be, as I am the most emotional person you will ever meet. I never realized I could hold such resentments that I never even knew I had. And as the rest of the people attending the services began their procession out of the room the family made it's way to him. As my mother and her mother, and her siblings crowded around him I found myself shying away in the corner. They finally left, and I realized I was alone in the room with him. I couldn't tell you when the last time that has happened. I walked up to his coffin, and said goodbye. And as I walked out of the room, I forgave him. I only hope he can forgive me too.

The Sad and Hidden Truths

I'm finding out a lot of things about myself I think I may have been better off not knowing lately. For instance I willingly watched almost two hours of UFC fighting with Bryant recently. And even worse than just viewing this masochistic display of manhood, I kind of got into it a bit. Apparently somewhere deep inside me is a prehistoric man who is craving bloodshed. I do believe that's something I could have lived without knowing about myself. Although I have always shied away from any sort of physical activity including watching others partake in it, and never allowing myself to participate in it. But for all I know there is a Ultimate Fighting Championship lover in me. Maybe if I had known this earlier I would have been one of those thirteen year old white trash boys who wore WWF shirts to school and told everyone that would listen how much they loved Stone Cold Steve Austin. I totally could have been that guy, and is there anything worse than that really? I kind of doubt it.

I'm also starting to realize that I may be a compulsive liar. Not in the "Oh No Officer, I didn't savagely beat and possibly rape pop star Rihanna!" kind of way. But a less malicious story telling kind of way. I don't even know how it happens, I just find myself having simple conversations with people, and in the middle of which I find myself bored and start weaving these completely ridiculous tales. And believe it or not, I actually have a pretty good poker face. So most people think I'm telling the truth. And I do eventually tell them I'm lying, and that most of everything I say is a boldfaced lie. But I don't understand how I find myself in this situation in the first place. I'm a good person right? Good people don't lie, do they? I mean sure they lie to get out of jury duty, and helping the homeless. But beyond that normal people don't' go around telling fairy tales so good that they could have been penned by J.K. Rowling herself do they? I don't think so. I need to find a way to stop myself.

My first job: food service

I will never serve food for a living again.

My first job was when I was fifteen at the restaurant my parents managed at the time. I think my official title was "busboy", but I also was used as a guacamole maker, tortilla warmer, chip fetcher, drink refiller, and most importantly my father's bitch. Mostly I just followed him around, and did things for him all day. I was too young to get a paycheck so it was all cash. I was always pretty sure they were shorting me though. I should have a talk with my Dad about making up some of that lost income. That time could have been better spent doing things I did when I was fifteen like watching MTV, and learning to drive a car. I wish I had spent that extra time learning how to drive, because I am awful driver today seven years later. I think there's a lesson there somewhere.

If I had easy access to a helicopter, I'd fly to New York this weekend

I'd like to experience a big city but only in a small dose. I think I'd feel to lost and out of place to stay there for two long.

My ideal Super Bowl halftime show would include Britney Spears and Reba Mcentire

Britney Spears
I don't think this really needs much explanation other than the fact that she's fucking Britney Spears.

Reba Mcentire
Because I'd really like to see her do a duet of "I'm A Slave 4 U" with the abformentioned Britney Spears.

If I were a superhero, I would certainly wear tights

My name would be SONIC BOOM. My abiliities would include being the loudest motherfucker in the world, and filling the awkard pauses in conversations with obceneties.

When I realized I was a grown-up

Although I am three years over the usual standard for being an adult I still feel like I'm not quite there yet. And to be pefectly honest I kind of feel like I'll never relaly feel old.

In defense of my vice: Britney Spears

When she came out I was in the seventh grade. She immediately did a backflip into my heart and I could never stop listening to that bitch now if I wanted to.

Three overplayed songs I love anyway

Ignition Remix by R. Kelly

This song takes me back to the summer after I graduated. It was everywhere I turned, but I loved it anyway. It reminds me of going to the park and drinking Mountain Dew LiveWire and eating gummy bears.

Imagine by John Lennon

Even though this song is trotted out by some overdone artist at every event for charity/children/AIDS/poverty, I still love it even if I hear it by every other American Idol contestant every year.

Dolly Parton. by I Will Always Love You

Because it is so much more fragile and beautiful than the overwrought cover by Whitney Houston.

Disconnect

Bad things happen sometimes, it is an unavoidable situation. Girls break up with their boyfriends, and pets die. People die all the time actually. It's the natural way things are supposed to happen I guess. My Grandfather is dying. And I don't say that in a way that begs for sympathy because I honestly don't want any. I have no relationship with my maternal grandparents and haven't had one for years. It's always been an off and on kind of situation. And the only reason it's on at the currently is because he is dying. And I feel so many things mostly for my mother who is torn between her resentment of him, and the guilt she feels for not having a good relationship with him, and the underlying grief she feels. And I don't know how to make sense of it. It is an odd feeling to know that you should be sad, but know that you're not. It is an odd sensation to know that you honestly don't feel anything at all about a particular person. No bad feelings, no good feelings, just nothing. That's the exact way I feel about the situation. I thank him for having a part in bringing my mother into the world because she is an amazing person and for that I thank him. but after that I want nothing from him, and nothing to do with him. And I know that's wrong, and I know that makes me a bad person. I just can't help it. I surprise myself sometimes how disconnected I can be. I think I need help. I know this doesn't make any sense to you at all, and that's because it doesn't even make any sense to me. I'm sorry.

Things You May Not Know:

My sister signed all of her Christmas presents to me "To: Bitch Tits From: Marilyn"

I once was the victim of a run by kicking by a complete stranger at the Calcasieu Parish Public Library.

There are 479 songs by Britney Spears in my Itunes library.

I nearly named this site "Heartbreak is a Mother Fucker" but then decided that Postarita was probably a better fit.

A week ago I ate one of the best honey buns of my life. Easily in the top ten of all gas station pastries I've ever partaked in.

I am attempting to build my life's library a'la Alaska Young by going to garage sales every weekend.

I am intentionally listening to a Clay Aiken song at this very moment.

My mother got an mp3 player for Christmas. She asked me to fill it with music for her. As a joke I filled it with gangster rap, and line dances from the eighties. Oddly enough she loves it.

I can never decide if meatloaf is one word or two.

A few weeks ago me and Nicole found the entrance to Hell, and it's in Jefferson Parish.

I love writing nonsensical lists.

I do what I like and you like it

Usually my predicament is not having enough to say. Right now I'm in the position where I have a lot to say, and not enough time to sit down and say it. I had a good Christmas, and an adequate New Years. In fact, I was taking a dump at the stroke of midnight. Which I think is a good indicator of things to come in 2009. I have lots of things to tell you, updates coming soon.

Shake Up

I cleaned my bedroom today, which is not an extraordinary event worth writing about for most people. Only for me it happens bi annually at best, and never at worst. It's not that I'm too busy or anything, in fact for the most part I have absolutely nothing going on in my life. But for some reason I choose to live in filth for six months at a time. I am always amazed at the sheer amount of crap that I can accumulate in such a short span of time. It consists mostly of empty coke cans, and receipts for crap I didn't need to buy in the first place. But also I usually find a stack of notes that I write to myself in the middle of the night. For some reason I get most of greatest ideas while I'm asleep. Or at least what I think are great ideas at four in the morning. These notes usually turn out to be not so legible at best, and just doodles of what appears to be two stick figures having sex at a German carnival at the worst. These notes cover my night stand, and spill out on to the floor. They only contain stupid little things that in my sleeping state I think are critical to have down on paper. Whether it be jokes that I think are funny, or song lyrics, or ideas for a blog. Tonight, I found a note haphazardly written on the back of an old photograph that simply read: "Red headed lesbian goat farmer in Bogota, New Jersey" Apparently I believed at one time that this was relevant information.

So I guess that good news is that I can finally make my way to my bed without tripping over nineteen books in my way. The other thing I want to talk about is what I mentioned earlier that I have absolutely nothing going on in my life right now. I like to have a project, I like to have something to do at all times. I like to keep going, going, going when possible. I am my happiest when I'm busy, when there are people to see, and places to go. I can't understand why my appointment book is not filled to it's fullest extent. It makes no sense to me, I am amazing to be around. In fact I'd go as far to say that I'm the most amazing person I've ever met. And if I was another person and happened to meet myself I would do everything in my power to spend as much time with me as possible. I guess I'm just upset that I haven't been able to do anything productive as of late. In fact I'd go as far to say as the only productive thing I've done in the past month is to take a dump. And that's not even so much productive as it is filling up the sewers and polluting the ground water of Louisiana.

I guess what I'm saying is I need to meet that red headed lesbian goat farmer. I need to meet anyone, and everyone that brings some fun back to my life. I need a shake up. Yes I do.

It's Begining To Look Alot Like...

I just found this picture while doing a Christmas project for my parents. I'd like to say that I was incontestably adorable. I look really happy, but for all I know I might have been molested by the mall Santa minutes after this picture was taken. I really don't remember, so I couldn't say for sure. I'd also like to say that if anyone could find me that exact same shirt in my current size I'd greatly appreciate it.

All That Glitters

There's not a whole lot of things not to enjoy about this time of the year. Although most people redundantly refer to it as "their favorite time of the year" as if anyone out there really hates Christmas. I don't see how they could, really. This time is so special and not just because of the crowds and the forced merriment happening all around us. There's just something good in the air around this time, and it stings with a certain crispness that you won't find in July. People who sit in their homes day after day only thinking of themselves are suddenly filling their buggies and emptying their wallets for their loved ones. I swear even music sounds better during December whether it be the gentle tones of "Silent Night" even the amazing new Britney Spears album "Circus" sounds better this close to Christmas (Side Bar: Buy Yours Today!)

Sadly, I think I have finally found something to dislike about this season, and that would be glitter. It's barely big enough to see with the naked eye, but it is big enough to fuck up my entire day. I find it everywhere, on everything I own. It's on my shoe laces, and on my favorite wool peacoat. But that's only because everyone is insisting to add it to everything they touch this time of year. It truly is everywhere, on everything I see. It's on ornaments, and greeting cards, snow globes, and ceramic angels, garland, and wreaths. It is on everything.

It is almost as if the Christmas decoration creators of the world have begun to think the same way about glitter as most American chain restaurants think of chocolate. Which is: "If chocolate is good, then wouldn't more chocolate be better?" And then they answer themselves with: "Why don't we only serve deserts with approximately ninety seven different layers of chocolate? We can have a chocolate fudge cake, layered with chocolate icing, and topped with chocolate gannache! We could top it with chocolate ice cream, and pieces of chocolate candy! We could follow that up with chocolate whipped cream, and chocolate sauce with chocolate sprinkles! And then we'll serve it on a plate with ornate drippings of chocolate sauce!" You can almost see fat Americans everywhere sink to their knees and start thanking God at this proclamation.

But, it is perfect thinking, if you stop and consider it for a moment. We are a glutinous people. If we like something, we want as much of it as possible. We want it in as many different ways as we can have it. We want it all at the same time and please be quick about it. This kind of thinking only hurts those who just wish for a simple bowl of vanilla ice cream, or God forbid something with fruit in it. It is not enough to just want something simple anymore, it has to be adorned to the maximum extent. It has to be bigger, and better than what the people next door have. Whether that be with a fifteen foot high chocolate monstrosity that some waiter in a Chili's in Bogota, New Jersey is limping under the weight of. Or it could be the subtle way that neighbors silently compete over who has the most ornate Christmas decorations in their front yard. Which is all fun and games until someone brings out the airport landing strip like strobe lights to display their life size collection of wooden cartoon characters painted in their holiday finery. I'm speaking from experience as such a rivalry has broken out not two houses down from mine.

Apparently your house is not festive enough this holiday season unless every single ornament and yuletide trinket is covered with shiny fragments of metal. I cannot stand near enough to a decorated Christmas tree to admire it without coming away with it all over my face, and hands. And when I do purposefully touch something with glitter on it, I can almost see the glitter rise in a cloud above the object in question just in the wake of the gentle pads of your fingertips. I accidentally inhale it, and for the next month I am coughing and sneezing out the shiny pieces. I cannot walk down the Christmas aisle at Walmart or the stork I work in without looking like I just came from a strip club and was boobie slapped in the face by a coked out Russian stripper by the name of Charisma wearing a glitter and sequin studded g string.

I swear to God that yesterday I saw glitter in my pee. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but I swear that's what I saw. So I guess what I'm saying is that it all has to stop. The constant war of outdoing one another, the constant slathering on of our favorite things on every thing we see. Not everything is better with chocolate shavings, or red and gold glitter. Not everything can be fixed that easily, and that's something we need to learn. It really came to a head when I woke up this morning fresh from a horrible dream I had the night before in which I somehow got a piece of it in my eye during a parade gone horribly wrong. I then had to succumb to an experimental glitterectomy in which I lost my sight. I remember the feeling of relief I had when I woke up realizing that I still had the ability to see my surroundings. I felt so lucky, and fulfilled. Then I accidentally passed to closely to our Christmas Tree on my way to the kitchen and my whole fucking day was ruined and I think you know why.

Forture teller says maybe you won't go to hell

He sounds so sure of himself. He sounds like he knows what he's talking about, and he makes me want to take his words for truth. He's in a place that is much different then than the place I find myself in on a day to day basis. He has his entire life planned out for him. He knows what he'll do, and he knows who he'll be with when he does it. He knows where he'll be and, who he wants to be. I feel completely different about the future. I feel like I have a million ideas, and a million passions, and none of the resources or knowledge to do anything with any of them. I feel like the seeds of a dandelion when you blow gently on it's petals. I'll just float in the wind until I land. And maybe I'll end up somewhere that I can flourish and finally become what I was meant to be. Or maybe I'll end up in a pile of scurrying ants (which I'm allergic to). Or maybe I'll land on someones driveway, amongst the steel framed cars and skid marks. I don't think that dandelions can grow through cement but maybe I'll be the first.

I just feel like a few years ago I had everything, and then in a matter of unconnected moments I lost it all. It's like I went to a fortune teller and there was a crack in her crystal ball. And she had no idea what to say to me about a life marred with cracks in the fragile glass surface of my life. And that scares me, but it also thrills me. I like not knowing, even though not knowing is what keeps me not sleeping. But I guess what I'm saying is that he might have it all figured out, and maybe I don't. But I guess I'm not scared at all, of the cracks in the crystal ball.

Nothing

Remember those times when I was full of funny anecdotes and maudlin tales? This is not one of those times. I am so absolutely empty in life right now that I have absolutely nothing to talk about. So sorry for the lack of updates.

Is There A Light At The End of This Road?

Yesterday I was restless as soon as I woke up. Sometimes I can't help myself, I like to be running, running, running, all of the time. No one was home, so I wouldn't have my sister as my partner in crime. It was too early for any of my regular cohorts to be awake. I had money that was burning a hole in my pocket, and a thirst to buy some books. I looked up a used book store in a small city just fifteen minutes away from my house. I grabbed my dad's TomTom, and was out the door. I got there with no problems surprisingly since I am notoriously bad about driving on interstates, and getting lost at every chance I get.

But I did get to the Second Hand Prose Book Shop. Sadly, the building did not offer what I thought was promised. Instead of pages and pages of exciting books, books that would make me laugh out loud, books that would teach me something about life, or love, or both. Instead it offered romance novels as far as the eye could see. Clearly, there was a problem here that I did not expect. But since I drove the twenty miles out, I was going to buy a book whether or not it was one I actually wanted. I found a battered copy of "The Catcher in the Rye" by J.D. Salinger sitting lonely on the only bookshelf that did not have anything with a muscled man with an open and billowing shirt on the cover. I paid the three dollars for it, and took it home.

On my way home however I ran into a snag. I misunderstood the GPS, and took a wrong on ramp and ended somewhere thirty minutes away from home before i noticed anything was wrong. My phone was dead, so I couldn't call for help. All I could do was freak out, and worry. I drove, and drove, and drove not knowing where I was or where I would end up. The TomTom was worthless at this point. There were no road signs, just miles and miles of empty highway. I don't think I've ever been so scared. I never realized how scary being lost actually is. Not knowing where you'll end up, or whether or not you'll ever make it back home. It's a frightening thought. You start to think of the people you left behind, the faces you may never see again. You could get in a wreck, and die forty miles from home and no one might ever know what happened to you. You might end up somewhere strange and not have enough money to get home. Your name becomes foreign to your loved ones, and you walk around a strange place as just another nameless face. You can fade into obscurity in a minute once you're lost.

But then I started to like the idea of getting lost. The idea that you could start over anywhere else. You could pick a new name for yourself, a new identity, even a new accent. Anything is possible when no one knows who you are. And something about that appeals to me. I haven't always been happy with the way my life is turning out, not exactly how I always thought that it would. I always thought there would be something more. Maybe it a person that's missing from my life that I haven't met yet. Maybe it's a career, or a promise for the future. Maybe it's some sense of accomplishment that I have yet to achieve. I don't know what it is exactly but maybe I could find it somewhere new. And I gave it a serious thought for a moment. I really did. Then I came to my senses and took the nearest exit and stopped to ask for directions. I guess I realized that I could live anywhere, but I can only be at home in one place. And that place is here.

We're In The City of Wonder

I spent Halloween with the kind of friend that I don't spend enough time with. The kind of friend that every few months or so I take off the shelf, dust her off and have an amazing night with. We went to a local haunted house where all of the proceeds were donated to charity. It takes a special kind of friend to go to an event that has the chance to be even slightly frightening with me. I am the biggest pussy in the entire world. Although I'd like to say that means that I'm just a six foot tall vagina walking around with a hulking clitoris flapping in the wind, but sadly that's not exactly what I mean.

I mean that I am the archetype for easily frightened people. I am the perfect audience for scary movies, because I gasp in all the expected places. When the foreboding music cues up, I hold my legs close to my body. I hide my eyes, and scream. I can't help it this is just the way I was wired to be I guess. I think I get it from my mother, who freaks out at sudden movements and ordinary noises. But anyway, I am not the kind of person you want to go with when things have the opportunity to be scary. But Nicole was up to the challenge for that and I commend her. She didn't flinch once as twenty somethings dressed as zombies attacked from across the room. She did not push me aside when I grabbed for her hand in the dark. She did not yell at me, when I stepped on her feet trying desperately to get away from the man with the chainsaw standing in the corner. She took it like a professional, and I commend her for that one. It's not easy being my friend sometimes, but I'm always willing to buy you a cherry limeade from Sonic so I would say I'm probably worth it in the long run.

After that we drove out of town, further into this part of the state than I'd ever been before. It was the kind of place where grass grows all the way up to the bottoms of houses on cinder blocks. The kind of place where coyotes roam free, and their howls fill the night. We go tout of the car, on a deserted, dusty road and looked into the sky. I wish I could say that I was a smaller town where you could see the stars as perfectly as you could there. I've never seen so many of them all at once. And right then I knew that the zombies could attack, bring them on. As long as I ot one last good look at those stars I'd be ready to join them.

I have no patience for illness

Remember how a few days ago I mentioned that I had a fever? Yeah, well that's not getting any better truth be told. For the past few days I've been surviving off of Theraflu and hope. I've been reading a lot. If you're looking for something amazing to read, try these which have kept me company for the past few days.

"Paper Towns" John Green
"The Book Thief" Markus Zuzak
"Let it Snow" John Green, Maureen Johnson, Lauren Myracle"
"We Thought You Would Be Prettier" Laurie Notaro

Fever In The Morning, Fever All Through The Night

I think I'm running a low grade fever right now. Which is fine, I've always liked the word fever because it reminds me of both sex and horrible things like sweating. But I love how many awesome things the word fever is associated with. You can have Scarlett Fever, or Yellow Fever, or maybe even Fuchsia Fever if anyone gets around to naming another disease after a color. Although now that I think of it, it mostly just sounds like a name for lip gloss but at least it's an alliteration so it has that going for it. You could also have hay fever, or Saturday Night Fever, you never know things might even come to a fever pitch. There are a lot of terms associated with the word as you can see.



I wish I could blame my fever on the movie I saw this morning. I wish I could say, "Oh, I wasn't feeling my best and wasn't able to resist." But sadly, none of that is true. I was just fine this morning when my friend called me and asked me to go to a movie with him. I was all for seeing "W" which I was hoping would be a good excuse to make fun of George Bush for two hours. Instead he decided that we would be seeing "High School Musical 3: Senior Year". At first I put up a bit of resistance. But then I figured I could just spend two hours whispering to him that anyone else in theater that was old enough to work a search engine had see Vanessa Hudgens vagina. That was enough to get me through purchasing the ticket at the very least. I also figured if nothing else I could count the times that Disney tried to subvert the minds of eight year old girls by showing Zac Efron's nipples (in case you were wondering the number is three.)



I'd like to say I hated it, but in reality it wasn't that bad. It was a sparkling look at what a cold and calculating company like Disney can turn high school into. I'm not exactly sure what there reference point for those four years was, but it was nothing like my experiences. I wish for once someone could make a movie about a high school experience that got close to getting it right. First of all no one dances and sings in the hallways (Well that wasn't exactly true for me, but I'm unpredictable like that.) But most importantly I wish someone would realize that the loserish kid never becomes attractive and fucks the hot girl. It never happens, ever. As far as I know it will never happen except for maybe after college when that loser makes his first million and that hot girl does him in hopes to get a free pair of new boobs. But I mean honestly who do they think they're kidding with this shit? They are setting up nine year olds everywhere for disappointment.



I've got to be honest my fever is really setting in now, I completely forgot where I was even going with this train of thought. Whatever.

The Google Searches for Dog Sex Are All Going to Point To This Post

I am not sure why no one ever told me that you should not donate blood on an empty stomach. I have heard of may food related rules, including but not limited to:

1. Never grocery shop on an empty stomach or you'll find yourself with twelve packs of Little Debbie snack cakes, and fourteen pounds of T.G.I.F. frozen quesadilla roll ups. Which of course is a satisfying diet for a crack addict but maybe not one for someone who could probably stand to lose a few nine hundred pounds like myself.
2. Always wait thirty minutes after eating before swimming. Otherwise you will more than likely sink to your death, and as you drown instead of having your life flash before your eyes all you will see is that roasted chicken leg with a side of mashed potatoes that you just consumed.
3. Never drink dairy products with seafood. I'm not sure if this one is actually true or if my parents just paraded it around as such because if you think of it, it really is an awful combination. And I'm sure when I'm a parent I'll say the same because there's no way I'm cleaning up fish sticks and 2% milk out of the new berber carpets me and the future wife just had installed last month. Actually come to think of it I doubt I'll ever serve my children fish sticks, because they are in fact disgusting.

But oddly enough no one ever mentioned the food rule that could potentially cause me bodily harm some two decades later when I go to donate blood for the second time in that last three months. No one said, Jordan make sure you eat a hearty meal beforehand or you will more than likely pass out. Actually, come to think of it my parents didn't say anything about me donating my platelets other than the fact that they think the thought of giving up your blood to someone else is horrible. I swear my mother acts as if instead of helping someone with my precious O positive I'm going to the LifeShare office to get free heroin.

But I digress no one told me of the unforeseen perils of donating without eating. So six hours later I'm still feeling nauseous, and dizzy. And in the haze of my low blood sugar I just cannot help but feel like something isn't right in my world. I feel like I'm always getting knocked down, and just as I pick myself up again someone throws a discarded banana peel from a 1920's vaudeville act under me, and I'm back on the ground. Sometimes it feels like the world is trying to show in dominance over me by humping my leg like an oversexed German Sheppard.

Actually that raises an interesting point right there. Have you ever actually seen two dogs have sex? First of all it's disgusting, but also it's hilarious. Because it's almost never two dogs of roughly the same size. No it's always this Rosie O' Donnell sized mammoth of a dog humping the ever living shit out of a Olsen twin sized one. But beyond that, the one doing the heavy thrusting usually always has the audacity to lose interest half way through and starts to look bored. You can almost see the motherfucker pantomime looking at his watch to check the time, it is ridiculous.

But that is exactly how I feel the universe has been treating me lately. So I just want the universe to know that yes, I get it. You are the alpha male, I don't need you to dry hump my leg or pee on me to mark your territory. I get it, you are in total control. you will decide if I have a bad day, or an amazing day, or if I die tomorrow. It is all up to you, and I am just a mere pawn in your bigger plan. I am simply a mere peasant trying to run amok in your playground and I'm sorry for that. I will try not to get in your way any longer. I will step aside and let you do your dirty to me as long as you can make me a promise that soon this will all stop. That one day soon I will be able to stand up once and for all and have no fear of being knocked back down again. So if you swear that eventually that will happen for me, you can get your rocks off on me as often as you like. Just promise not to do it on my favorite pair of jeans. I'd imagine dog semen is hard to get out of denim.


Editor's Note: I have no idea how I went from the rules of donating blood to talking about dog sex. So please just excuse me on that one, won't you?

A Warning

Tonight I saw the major motion picture "Blindness", not because I wanted to lose eight dollars to a film I had never heard of but because someone insisted that we see it. Let me just start by saying, that you should not waste your money. It was easily the worst movie I've ever seen. And though I usually kind of like bad movies, this was a complete exception. I hate using the obvious joke here, but I really would have preferred to be blind than to watch this again. Although that wouldn't even help, because even the soundtrack was horrible. Even the high points of most movies being violence and nudity, were bad in this movie. The five sex scenes were not in the least bit sexual, including the seven minute long blind orgy. Just utterly awful all around. So do me a favor, do not go to the theatre to see this. Do not buy it when it comes out on DVD, or bluray. Resist the urge to pick it up two years from now in the five dollar bin at Walmart where I know it will inevitably end up. Do not watch this movie with a mouse, do not watch this movie in a house. Just don't watch it okay? Okay. Thanks.

Someone owes me eight dollars.

This Will Be The Day That I Die

Why I'm a hot mess:

Yesterday I spent thirty two dollars on an abysmal lunch of sushi. This lunch was served by a guy whose house I once went to, where we discussed him passing out and cumming in his pants.

I spent the night with my sister discussing the getaway scene in "The Sound of Music", Reba Mcentire's dwindling vocal range, and the benefits of Tina Fey impersonating Sarah Palin.

I broke my ipod this morning, and am fighting with apple to get it replaced. From now on October the fourth will be referred to as the day the music died.

I miss my best friend something fierce-like. Sometimes you don't realize what a good thing you've got going on until it doesn't live across the street for nine months out of the year.

I am badly in need of a haircut. It's getting to the point that someone needs to physically restrain me and bring out the scissors as I writhe and scream protests.

Yesterday I went to Sonic, and didn't tip the not so attractive waitress a dime. Tonight I went to get a cherry limeade and tipped the very attractive waitress four dollars. I cannot believe I'm that guy.

Because I'm writing a list on why I'm a hot mess, instead of trying to do anything productive with my life. Goddamnit.

Stand Up

I like it when things are stable. I like being sure of what's going to happen day in and day out. But I like things crazy too. I like not knowing what's around the corner. I like the excitement of never knowing what will happen next. Today the House defeated a bill for a 700 billion dollar bailout for our nation's financial system. And now, even though that world is far away and disconnected from my world, I feel unstable. I feel like things might be out of balance for a while. And it scares me to think that supposedly the greatest, and most independent nation is going to let things go so unchecked. It worries me because it feels like the only good idea that George Bush has ever had in his entire residency in office has been thrown out. And this is coming from a guy who doesn't have a whole lot of great ideas. And if we can't trust our government to bail us out, or get us away from a bad situation who can we depend on?

And although this situation could lead us into a recession so deep that we end up in a depresion unseen by current generations of people, I feel like there is something more important here. Doesn't congress realize how this is affecting ME? I think they should be a little less selfish and think of me for a change. In fact I think as a nation we would be a whole lot better off if everyone just thought about my feelings for a change, Goddamnit. I will not stand for a world that doesn't think about me once in a while. I just hope that come November someone will stand up for change. That someone will stand up for what they believe in, and vote for what they think is right. I hope that someone does something right, for a change. I'm tired of living in uncertainty. But I am certain that it is time for something different.

I'm voting for Obama.


Also I was mostly kidding about America thinking of me once in a while, they should be thinking of me ALL OF THE TIME.

I Wrote This Two Years Ago (Can You Even Deal?)

I was restless, foot tapping, coffee sipping. I couldn't stop myself. I sat there with my dirty hair, and my wrinkled blue jeans. Porcelain coffee cup in my hand. It's delicate, with a blue flowered pattern along it's base. The coffee is hot, and I can feel it through the thin porcelain surface. I am restless, and am growing bored with my life. I take a sip, and it burns on the way down . I try to swallow and small tears form in the corners of my eyes either from the heat or something else that I'm trying not to think about right now. And through them I see something completely different.

A different world. A different life, in a different time. A world where well dressed people make polite conversation, whilst concealing their snide remarks. A Victorian age, when women wore petticoats and men had finely combed mustaches. A world where coffee was served every day at the same time. Where soft, buttery pastries were passed around on silver trays. The women gently fanning themselves in the Summer heat, the sunlight pouring through the windows and glinting off every surface. A slight sheen of sweat on their foreheads, their dewy skin looking less like porcelain with every unimaginably warm sip. Then men sit and talk about business, while the women talk about the men. And everyone is talking, and everyone is talking about everyone else. It's a dangerous world to live in I'd imagine. With just the wrong words spoken, reputations are ruined, fortunes are lost, families fall apart.

I feel like I'm getting farther away from it now. It's a world I don't belong in, and I know that. But it's not that much different from my own. With just a few wrong words, you can easily ruin a family. You can break the delicate bonds of friendship and trust with just a few slip ups. It doesn't take much for me at least. So I ruin my relationships like a badly worded bull in a china shop. And as I realize this, the porcelain cup falls from my hands and hits the floor. It shatters into a million little pieces. They sparkle, and glitter over the granite floors. They cling to my hands as I try to pick up the pieces. And I can't help it, and I can't change it. And I can't move to that world of polite conversation, and I can't say I'm sorry enough. Not because I don't know what to say, I've just run out of words. I have completely run out of words.

The Postarita List

I've been writing this for a while, adding something else to it every other day or so. But now I think it's done. I can't think of anything else I want to do or accomplish in my life. So, I give to you my Life List. I tried to make a list of things that weren't all that far out of reach that way if I don't do all of them, I can only blame myself.

See the Mona Lisa
Start going to church on a regular basis instead of only on holidays
Put my feet in every ocean
Spend a month in France
Attempt to relearn basic French
Adopt a child
Become a foster parent
See a Broadway musical
Meet Ms. Spears
Get into People magazine one way or another
Drink a latte from the original Starbucks
Visit a vineyard
Be the best man in someone’s wedding
Be a Godfather
Write a novel
Submit a piece to either GQ, Esquire, or Details
Have a dirty water hot dog in New York
Write a truly amazing song
Learn to play the guitar
Learn something beyond playing scales on the piano
To sing the national anthem at a sporting event, whether they want me to or not
Give a eulogy
Buy a really nice, vintage camera
Get married in a cathedral
Audition for a play
Read the Bible, no matter how much it bores me
Eventually get down to one cuss word a day, and even that in only dire circumstances.
Attend a masquerade ball
Be a chairman for a charity
Donate 10% of my salary to Aids and Cancer related charities
Donate blood on a regular basis
Finish school
Go to Mardi Gras in New Orleans
Move out of Louisiana
Go and visit Bryant at Northwestern before he moves away
Write a screenplay
Attend the Grammys
See Kathy Griffin live
Take a ballroom dancing class
Buy the perfect suit
Have a perfect Body Mass Index
Play “Dirty” by Christina Aguilera at my wedding reception
Have a daughter, name her Emma
Have a son, name him Gabriel
Have a life altering conversation with a complete stranger
Go back to Graceland, and this time take notes
Take a cooking class
Find a way to get into Pink’s cell phone
Join an adult choir when I feel like an actual adult
Do something completely irrational and out of character for once
Drink an entire bottle of champagne by myself
Have a cocktail with an old friend in an upscale bar in Manhattan
Own a loft apartment
Own a miniature Pomeranian named Brisket
Sing at someone else’s wedding
Have someone sing to me

If I accidentally happen to do one, I'll let you know.

It's Nothing But My Way

For the first time in a long time, I find myself being genuinely happy without much reason at all. And more so I find that this happiness isn't because of someone else. Maybe I'm finally starting to be happy with exactly who I am. And, I can't help but feeling that something good is coming just around the corner. And, for the first time in a long time I think that I'll be ready when it comes.

Home Sweet Lake Charles

I live in a small city. To be honest compared to the wide sprawling, concrete laden cities that most people are used to I live in a village. Compared to other places, we all live in huts and wipe our asses with tree bark. It's limiting, and sometimes stifling. I've always treated Lake Charles like the slutty stepsister I never had. She kicks you when you're down, she sleeps with your best friend. She passes out drunk under your bed and throws up in your favorite pair of shoes. But after being away for five days from EVACUATIONPALOoZA 2008, I feel differently about things. After spending so much time in a dirty city in Texas I've come to appreciate the subtle beauties in my hometown again. I've come to appreciate the balmy afternoons, and the pouring rain every twenty five minutes. I'd even go as far to say that as of right now I might be a little in love with Lake Charles. In fact, I want to open mouth kiss it with tongue. No even better, I want to take Lake Charles behind the middle school and get it pregnant. And I do mean that.

Smaller Bites

I haven't been posting here a lot lately, because I haven't had any big stories to tell. But I do find that I've had a lot of small little snippets of stupid that don't really fit into a larger portrait of idiocy. Though, I'd still like to share them with you anyway just to get you through the day.

About a week ago, I broke my glasses and instead of going to the Eye Doctor because he's approximately four hundred years old and makes me nervous when he brings his arthritic hands near my eyeballs. Instead I took the lazy route, and just went out and bought the first pair I could find that that fit my current lenses. Now I'm stuck with a pair that very closely resemble Tina Fey's circa 1999. Also a little bit of Lisa Loeb. It's not a good look let me tell you.

I've recently spent a very confusing forty five minutes of my life looking for my Grandmother's teeth. Turns out she flushed them down the toilet. And although she very much tried to persuade me to take apart the toilet to retrieve them, I had to sadly explain to her that they were now far gone into the septic system. Now they're being shit upon by a turtle in some far away ditch. This kind of made me sad.

I have spent far too much time and energy reading articles on Wikipedia. If you know me even a little you'd know that I soak up pointless information just for fun. I revel in knowing completely inane trivia about movies, and actors and singers for absolutely no reason at all. I'll pretty much read anything if it's sits still long enough. I think this may be my one and only weakness.

I've been trying to pack for the upcoming HURRICANE EVACUATIONPALOOZA 2008. And I can't bring myself to focus for more than five minutes at a time. Every time I try to find an important paper, or a photo I get lost in the years of Jordan detritus that clutter my room. For instance I found my old Nintendo system and then I had to play it for two hours. I could barely control myself. And when I'm not busy playing 1980s video games I'm finding remnants of past friendships and people long gone. I'm finally realizing that you cant' always run away from these things. You can throw away pictures, and old letters, and birthday cards and gifts but there will always be something that remains. You can never truly do away with anything or anyone. It's sadmaking.

Possible Name Change

You know that if this hurricane Gustav does butt rape the Gulf Coast like it's promising, I might have to change the name of this site to PostaGustav. Just some food for thought.

Completely Unreleated Bigfoot Post 2

Me: I don't believe in lesbians I think they're an urban myth like bigfoot or that woman who took a dog home from Mexico only to bring it home and find out it was a rat.

Him: Of course there are real lesbians. What about (name omitted) or Rosie O' Donnell? She's a real lesbian.

Me: I think you're making a better case for a bigfoot than a lesbian there.

Bigfoot Post One

Has anyone heard about this bigfoot business? Apparently three men in Georgia have found what they believe to be one. More information can be found here. Call me skeptical, and maybe it's because I've just never believed in things such as this but don't you think that they just maybe found Rumer Willis Rosie O' Donnell Larry King insert your favorite ugly celebrity here?