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.