This Reads Like Homework

I've been doing so much homework lately that I think I'm starting to think of this blog as an assignment. I realized a while back that though I hope to one day write for a magazine, or similar publication that I have absolutely no appetite for news. I'm not sure one would need to really be interested in what they are writing to be able to do it well, but I figure it can't hurt.

So I've decided to test myself by actually reading the paper for once and reporting upon an article in each section that I read. This was no easy task, as I couldn't read a local paper because there is absolutely no news in Lake Charles. For example I first looked into the articles of a local weekly here called Lagniape whose biggest article boasted the title "Why Women Live Longer and What Men Can Do About It". Which I'm guessing had a deleted subtitle of "How to Murder Your Wife in Ten Minutes or Less". And there was nothing to be found in our daily The American Press unless you want me to tell you about the double wides that people are trying to unload for two hundred dollars. If you are in the market for a collapsible home, I circled an ad for you. There was one late eighties model that was being sold "as is" with no flooring or lighting fixtures. Myself, like this trailer am also a late model from the eighties, and all of my floors are intact. I'm not sure what that's supposed to mean but I was not expecting it to sound so sexually charged. And again unlike this dilapidated home, I am unlikely to have urine stains on my ceilings.

So clearly, the Lake Charles American Press is out of the question, so I turned to a paper from a city I've never been to but I figure it's reputable because it's one of the most prominent large market publications out there: The New York Times.

I started in the Home and Gardens section, because I know nothing of either homes or gardens so I figure I could use the education. Without sounding like a current events project from the sixth grade, the article I chose to pursue was titled "A New Breed of Guard Dog Attacks Bedbugs" by Penelope Green. Though the title pretty much gives the lead away, I still thought it was pretty interesting if not totally icky. Apparently New York has been hit by an infestation of bedbugs, and the only form of attack people have on these creatures comes in the form of a dog's snout. I have heard before that dogs could be used to sniff bombs, drugs, and even cancer. This was new information to me.

I guess the most pressing matter at hand here, is why are they wasting their time on bedbugs? I could think of another type of insects that infest beds, that would do a lot of good for people if they were eradicated. I am of course talking about crabs. If we could only train all of our schnauzers to sniff the crotches of everyone we have any sort of sexual contact with I think the crotch circus would pack up and leave town for good. And although I'm sure they do some very impressive things on trapezes, everyone including Lady Gaga could benefit from this. Sure, people might be spending thousands of dollars on exterminators to rid their houses and belongings of bedbugs but crabs can be expensive too. Just think about how much all those fancy medicated salves and petite Asian bikini waxers cost. I'm just asking people to think of the pubes for one moment. Is that too much to ask?

While we're at it and training our pets to sniff out all of the dangers of the world why don't we do the world a favor and teach them something useful? I am of course talking about teaching our pups to sniff out potato faces. Some might not know what I'm talking about right away, and to all of you I give you Tori Spelling:

If that doesn't sum it up completely, I'm not sure how to make myself more clear. Potato face is a very common affliction that can affect elderly people, and children alike. Although you are most likely to notice it in people who clearly have some rare adult form of fetal alcohol syndrome. Sometimes the light plays tricks on us, and we don't immediately realize that we're conversing with a potato face. This is the time when a dog that was trained in these sorts of matters would come in handy. It would also be for the best if this dog was also a trained attack dog, that is ready to maul at the sound of a predetermined signal. So I guess what I'm saying is, dogs that can alert you to dangers with just their sense of smell are good, and ugly people are bad.

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