Four Things Week Three

     I have been attempting to write this for the past couple of days, but I wanted to tie up the loose strings before writing about these things.  For instance you can probably already see by the first header that I have quit smoking in the past week.  I didn't want to say I had done that only to re neg on it a couple of days later.  I had to make sure that it would stick.  To be honest I probably would have kept you waiting if it hadn't have been for Kelli's glowing review of this Four Things series.  I would like to thank her publicly by stating that she is the best writer I know, with a talent that usurps mine greatly.  She is also probably nicer than I am, and is always willing to be the only other person I know that is willing to order more than one desert with me.  If you have never read her blog I couldn't possibly tell you in under three thousand words how fantastic it is, so go and find out for yourself.

This week I quit smoking.

     I should start this out by saying that I have an addictive personality.  If I find myself liking something, I can't ever seem to get enough of whatever that something may be.  If I like a sandwich at Quiznos I'll eat it every day for a week, for lunch (In case you were wondering my sandwich of choice is always a Chicken Carbonara on Rosemary Parmesan bread with extra jalapenos).  If I think a person is funny, I'll call them every single day and talk to them for hours at a time.  I can never seem to get enough of the things I like.  I guess what I'm saying is that I would make a good junkie.  I can honestly see myself with dark circles under my eyes, sweaty and even paler than I already am, just looking for my next fix.  I guess that's why I've never been much of a drinker, I've always assumed that if I have more than a couple of sips, I'd be dead within a week, my liver in shambles.

     It's just that I have always been too willing to give myself up to something, anything for a little bit of satisfaction.  I realize that with some things like my Quiznos obsession the only thing in danger is the credit limit on my Old Navy credit card because I will eventually have to start buying new clothes to accommodate my expanding waistline.  Though sometimes my addictions are more reckless.  I should have known better than to ever start smoking.  I could chalk it up to the indiscretions of my youth, or that when I took my first drag I was in a horrible period of my life, or that I was surrounding myself with the worst kinds of people.  Those things all have some semblance of truth to them, but they're not the whole story.  Sometimes I think I just wanted to do something bad for the first time in my life.  Do something that people wouldn't' be happy about, do something that made me stand out for once.  I'm not saying that it's good reasoning, because it is not.

    I've been smoking since I was nineteen, I am twenty four now, for those who are as mathematically challenged as I am that totals to five years (I had to count on my fingers twice to figure that out).  Five years that I willingly did something I knew was wrong.  God, am I starting to sound like an anti smoking PSA?  That was not at all my intentions.  I'm starting to believe that quitting is taking away my sense of humor, I hope that's not true.  Last week I bought my last pack of Marlboro Menthol one hundreds, and bought my first pack of NicoDerm CQs.  When I put the first tan colored patch upon my forearm, I felt an immense sense of relief.  And even though the patch stands out awkwardly among my pale skin, I'm okay with that.  I keep telling everyone it's my Ortho Evra birth control patch, which is a huge blow to those people who are trying to inseminate me, I'm sure.  Though, I like the patches because they  make me not have any cravings at all.  Though breaking the habit of driving around listening to dumb music and smoking, is going to be a bitch.

This week I traded one addiction for another.

     I've always heard that the second you stop smoking you are sure to gain thirty seven pounds of your dignity back.  I guess I am doing my part to keep that truth alive.  Within seconds of smoking my last cigarette I quickly found solace in a bag of goldfish,  followed by a six pack of twenty ounce mountain dews, and chased them with an entire bag of cherry flavored pull and peel Twizzlers.  I love Twizzler's, they are God's perfect food.  They are sweet, and chewy, and taste like home; if you happen to live in a dirty movie theater that is.  In fact I think it's possible that in the past seven days I have consumed the world's supply of Twizzlers.  There are no Twizzler's left for the children of the world, unless of course they're looking for the black ones which I'm sure they'll find in droves because no one wants them--they're disgusting.

    I'd like to say that I am attempting to counteract this sudden binge of carbo-loading, but instead I'm just going to let it play out.  I guess I could try to eat sensibly and maybe try to figure out exactly what pilates entails, but instead I think I'll go the opposite direction.  No, instead I am going to eat whatever the hell I feel like and pray that I don't get crazy fat.  As everyone knows crazy fat is the exact weight you must reach to be considered for a job in postal service.  All postal workers I've ever seen are crazy fat individuals, not that I think there's anything wrong with the postal service or anything.  I'm just not sure I'm organized enough to be considered for it.

This week I had the craziest dreams.

    On the box of nicotine patches there is a warning that states that the wearing of said patches overnight might result in vivid dreams.  They were not lying.  The first couple of nights I wore the patch to bed without much concern of the consequences.  I made the wrong decision. I did not sleep for three nights straight due to the ridiculous dreams I was waking up from every fifteen minutes.  I am well aware that there is nothing in this world that is less interesting than having to listen to someone talk about their own dreams.  Trust me I know, I used to know this guy who was constantly walking up to me and asking me to talk about his dreams with him, this guy was the worst.  Though his dreams were not at all as interesting as mine.  Let me walk you through a couple of the scenarios that I remember.

     Scenario One: I had a dream the first night that my friends Bryant and Kelli asked me to accompany them on a trip to Oklahoma, the journey was made my train. On the voyage Kelli who is not narcissistic in the slightest, would not stop talking about her own hair.  Bryant did the only normal thing in the entire dream, and did what he always does and talked about electronics he wanted to purchase.  Once we arrived in the great state of Oklahoma, Bryant quickly informed me that he was ready for me to leave.  I was somehow transported back to Louisiana, and I cried about never getting to see Oklahoma whilst baking the most bizarre apple pie I've ever seen. 

     Scenario Two:  I was on some kind of covert mission with a guy who I guess was supposed to be my brother, when in reality I don't even have a brother.    My fictitious brother and I were both proficient with firearms (in reality I've never even held a gun).  We broke into a stranger's home where an overweight teenage prostitute resided.  We ran out of bullets, and the whore's father told us that we could steal some from the local Walgreen's (Sadly, Walgreen's is part of my reality).  The dream ended when me and my partner left the house and entered into a lobby where someone shot us (If this was reality, I'm pretty sure my last words right now would be "Twizzlers").

    See?  Even people on high quality pharmaceuticals don't have dreams like that.  That is ridiculous.  Remind me to never quit smoking again. 

 This week I bought some goldfish.

     I'm finally going to talk about something that except for the twenty three words in this sentence has nothing to do with smoking.  For the past few months I've been having this fantasy about owning goldfish.  I'm not sure why, because I'm not even a huge fan of fish.  In fact I don't really like animals other than dogs.   I hate cats, reptiles, and rodents, parrots are okay. Though,  I would be perfectly happy to have as many as seventeen dogs, eighteen would be enough to have someone call animal control on me, but seventeen would be perfect.  Though for some reason I've been wanting to own a goldfish really badly.  I don't even have a great track record in fish ownership, as the only marine life I've ever been responsible for has met an untimely death.  I once had a Betta fish named Jalapeno, and he met his fate early on when I completely forgot he existed and forgot to feed him for two weeks.  I also once purchased a pair of fish for my Grandmother that I had named Rizzo and Kenickie (from Grease fame), who died in a matter of weeks.  Though I had nothing to do with their demise, I still feel guilty about it.  I also once killed an entire colony of Sea Monkeys by accidentally dumping them all over my bedroom floor.  So I guess you could say that I might not ever foray into the world of marine biology.  Although, I do think it would be fun to run an aquarium, only so that I could sneak behind children who were viewing the shark tank, and scream loudly in their ears so as to make them pee themselves.  Because if R. Kelly taught us anything it is that urine be funny.   

   
     I guess the point of all this is to say that this fantasy has been fulfilled  I purchased these last weekend, and surprisingly they are alive.  I have no clue as to what sex they are, but I'm just assuming that they are male and female, and are of course in love.  I was originally going to name them Queen Latifah and Tupac Shakur because my coworker told me that she believes I have a blackocity higher than most white people she knows.  I wanted to name them after two great African American's as to benefit our community.  Though, I ultimately decided to go back to my roots and to name them after two Southern deities: Paula Deen and Conway Twitty.  Paula is a boisterous cow of a goldfish, and is constantly mixing foodstuff with her bare hands, bawdy rings on every finger.  Conway is a womanizing alcoholic, who enjoys guitar strumming and harmonizing.

I know, I know

I realize that I'm about a week late with a post, but I wanted to wait to write until things started happening.  Thankfully, things are happening, huge things and I want to be able to do them justice so just give me a bit, okay?

Four Things Week Two

     I'm two days late with this post, but at least I'm posting so I don't want to hear your bitching.  I act as if there are hundreds of you out there clamoring for my every word, instead of all two of you.  That's fine, I'm glad you're here.  I knew when I started this posting experiment that some posts would be better than others, as I am prone to having large bursts of productiveness, followed quickly by giant lapses of nothing.  Which is a shame, because I prefer to be busy.

This Week I Did The Inevitable and Failed My Math Class

     I'd like to start out by letting you know how much I truly hate the study of mathematics.  I hate numbers, addition, multiplication, tangents, and cubes.  There is nothing good that can come out of subtraction or division.  I guess adding is fine, but the trouble comes when you begin to go forth, be fruitful, and multiply. I hate math, because no matter how many professors of the subject claim that there are rules that help you get the answer to any given equation, the rules are always changing.  I don't like anything that isn't constant.  I've never understood math, and I never will.  Now, I'm not going to say that I think the square root of four is rainbows or anything, but it's still pretty bad.  Unfortunately I am taking a math class this summer, only because I heard that it is easier to pass in a shorter amount of time. I'm not sure what asshole said that to me, but if I can ever remember, I am going to shove my eighty dollar math book up their ass.

     To be honest, the class didn't start out badly.  I have been out of math classes for over three years, so the little that I did already know had begun to fade away.  And though, I didn't immediately begin to jump back into my feeble understanding of the subject, I was at least on my way to a place where if I didn't understand the subject, I could at least scrape by and do what I do best and fake my way out of it.  And that's when my math class gave me a bladder infection a couple of weeks ago.  I'd like to say that the teacher after seeing me fall asleep at my desk for the umpteenth time stabbed me in the heart with an infected piece of chalk, which gave me the  painful disorder.  But sadly, it was just his refusal to let me leave class to use the restroom that made  my kidneys fill up with waste, and by the end of the two hours had me doubling over in random shudders of bladder pain.  I know you probably weren't expecting this post to end up as a detailed account of the excretory system, but sorry that's just the way my kidneys roll.  The day following my painful bout with bladder infection, I skipped the class out of retribution.  I'm not sure if I thought this would somehow let the professor know that he had wronged me, or what.  Instead it just made me fall behind.  And then I began to fall further behind, to a place where I couldn't possibly catch up.  I should have known better, but if we've learned anything about me at all we know that I don't.  So, the moral of the story is, always pee before class or you'll end up taking it again next semester.

This Week I Began Watching Supernatural

    One of the reasons that I was reluctant to take a class this summer in the first place is that this is the first summer I've had as a college student in nearly three years.  I didn't really want to waste these three months by going to class, instead preferring to stay home and watch television that I had missed all last season thanks to homework and actual work.  Summer is also the time of the year where I begin to watch new shows that have caught my eye, so that I may begin to watch them when they start back up in the fall.  Although honestly, the list of shows I'm watching these days is spiraling so far out of control that maybe I shouldn't have begun to watch any new shows, or I may just fail all of my classes next semester.  My best friend suggested to me that I should start watching Supernatural, which is a show that I assumed would not be up my alley.  I lean towards entertainment that is funny, and brightly colored, maybe with a little song and dance, and light on the dramatics and mystery.  Though I knew I would end up watching it anyways because I am always looking for something to talk to my friend about.

    The thing is, I've been friends with this person since I was ten which is miraculous because we don't have a single thing in common.  Sure, we both have brown hair and have lived across the street from each other for half of our lives, but that is where the similarities stop.  He is thoughtful and funny, I am crude and obnoxious.  He is a law student, and I am a walking, bumbling, catastrophe most of the time.   To be honest, I'm not sure why he likes me but I'm glad that he does. So needless to say, I am always looking for things to talk to him about.  Though I assumed that if he liked it than I would more than likely hate it.  I'm not so into serious television, I mean I just finished watching an episode of "The Real Housewives of New Jersey".   But, I picked up the show last weekend thinking that even if I hated it I could hang in there and at least be able to discuss it with him.  Holy shit, I had no idea how amazing it was going to be.  You guys, the shit that is happening on this show is just unreal.  You have to watch it, so that I don't have to completely nerd out, and explain it to you.  Seriously.

This Week I Researched

     If you don't know me very well you might know that I am a planner.  I like to have nearly everything mapped out to the most minuscule detail.  It is one of the few things I am truly great at, and that is thinking of every possible thing that could go wrong.   You might say I'm a doomsayer, or a Debbie Downer and you would probably be partially right.  I just like to be prepared, I like to know everything I can possibly know about any product I plan on purchasing, or any deal I plan to get into. So, I research, and I plan, and I think a lot about every single one of my ventures.  I've been doing a lot research lately, on things I plan to buy.  I'm hoping to get an iPhone in the next couple of months, so I've been reading reviews, and researching message packages, and data plans, and discounts I can get based off of being a student.  I've also been looking into purchasing a new car in the next six months or so.  That is something I have never done, as both of the cars I have driven were bought for me.  I've never been able to actually sit and choose what it is that I wanted.  I'm leaning towards something mid size and red, though my father believes I should get something that runs so I have no idea what I'll end up getting.

     I also went to the McNeese bookstore this week and perused the list of books that I'll need to purchase in a month, just so that I'm fully prepared for how damn expensive they are so that I don't experience a chronic hernia after seeing my bill.  Will someone please tell me why it is that because I am taking an online course for Sociology that my book is seventy dollars more than the regular sociology book?  That is absolutely outrageous, and whoever decided this needs to be stopped immediately. 

This Week I Didn't Accomplish Things I Had Hoped I Might

     As you can probably gather from the three other accounts of my weeks adventures, I didn't get a whole lot done.  In fact, most of what I've been doing is watching Supernatural, and reading product reviews when I should be studying math.  So as you can imagine I didn't accomplish much.  There were a couple of things I meant to do in the last seven days that I somehow couldn't find an excuse to actually do.  Here are those things:

I did not eat any watermelon this week.
I did not find an appropriate or topical reason to use the phrase "Work that hose, bitch!" in normal conversation.
I did not watch a single game of the World Cup, even though I told myself I would try to get involved.
I did not read over my bank statements, and try to figure out where all of my money is going.
I did not get this post up inside the self scheduled deadline.


I will try harder to be more amazing next week, hopefully something happens.

Four Things Week One

     This blog makes me feel so guilty.  Not guilty because of the things I have said on it, but because somehow it has become a chore.  A chore to write about what is going on in my life.  I guess I never think of the minuscule happenings of my every day life as extraordinary enough to talk about. So instead I write nothing, and the guilt of writing nothing keeps me awake at night.  Actually that's a bold faced lie, because there's pretty much nothing in this world that can keep me from getting my daily twelve hours of sleep. Though, I do feel guilty of not keeping you abreast (I've never been able to figure out an excuse to use that word until now) of the minute details of my life. Which is not to say that I have nothing to talk about, because clearly I am where it's all happening in the world. 

     I guess I just need some inspiration, something that I will be proud to share with all four of you out there that are hanging on my every word.  I've decided to try a little experiment, to see if I can increase postings.  I have decided that every week I will write about four things I have done in the last seven days.  Sometimes these things will be things I planned, chances I wanted to take, things I wanted to say.  Sometimes they'll be errands, or the mundane things that bog me down.  Sometimes they'll be the completely bizarre things that seem to happen to only me.  So here goes what I am tentatively titling Four Things.  Original isn't it?


This Week I Wore Shorts In A Public Place.

    This has always been a sore subject for me.  If you know me in real life you may have noticed at some point that no matter the state of the weather outside during any given month whether it be in January or the middle of July that I am more than likely wearing jeans.  Even worse, I wear jeans with flip flops on a daily basis.  I know that's probably some deep fashion faux pas, but I wouldn't even know because even though my sister subscribed me to GQ for my birthday a month ago, I have yet to receive my first issue.  I guess   I've just always been funny about having the bottom two thirds of my body on public display for the world to gawk at.  It's not that I think that particular region of my body is in some state of complete disrepair or anything.  It's not like I'm walking around with cankles or something equally horrifying and disfiguring.  My thighs have never been bigger than my head, although to be fair I do have a rather large head.  I even have pretty decent calves which I like to attribute to the years I spent when I was in middle school jumping on my trampoline and listening to Reba McEntire.  Though, to be fair my legs are pretty pale, as is the rest of my frame.  I'd like to say that my body is tanned and chiseled, but sadly it's floppy and the exact same color of Elton John's face.  Though, I walk out of the door on a daily basis even though I have approximately seventeen chins, so I'm not sure why this is a sticking point for me. 

     So I decided to do the unthinkable and wear shorts to my Summer Session math class this last Thursday.  To be honest I only own one pair of shorts and those were purchased by my parents for my birthday, and though I deeply considered taking them back and exchanging them for the cash, I had inadvertently already taken the tags off of them, so sadly I was stuck with them.  I guess I should wrap this up by saying that oddly enough no one was harmed by seeing the blinding white flesh of my ankles and legs last Thursday.  Although I'm pretty sure I did hear a couple of gasps, and at least one audible shudder.  I do believe the only reason no one in that class turned to stone after looking at me, is because there was a test that day and no one took the chance of looking up to see my legs lest the teacher think they were cheating.  So score one for me I guess.  I tackled my fear, and no one died.  That's not to say, that I'll ever do it again.  I'm all for doing crazy things once, but am not ever willing to repeat them.


This Week I Went To The Dentist

    I know this is not exactly ground breaking news, as I'm sure most of you have excellent oral hygiene and go to regularly scheduled dental appointments.  That's not to say that my mouth is in a complete state of disarray.  I floss.  I've just never been big on the dentist.  I guess I've just always been ashamed of my teeth.  For some reason my parents decided in my adolescent years that there was no need for me to have braces, and the subject was never brought up.  My teeth aren't a hot crooked mess or anything, but they're not as perfect.  And through the use of many a box of Crest WhiteStrips I have tried to keep them in some semblance of the color pale. 

     I guess my fear of dentist stemmed from a couple years ago when my normal dentist got busted for some misdemeanor and had to close up shop.  Her last name was a slang term for the word butt, which I guess should have been a sign to my parents to contact the American Dental Association and find another practitioner.  So, I've just gone the past couple of years without a dentist, which I understand is horrible.  Trust me, I get it.  Though, don't worry three times a day when I'm going through my normal dental routine I recite a lecture in my head, and warn myself about the dangers of plaque and gingivitis just like she would have.  On Thursday in my post shorts wearing high, I went and got lunch with my sister and immediately afterward I felt like there was something stuck in between my molars.  So, I flossed, and I brushed, and I flossed again to no avail.  It became clear to me later that night when my bottom gums were being punctured by an unseen force, that I had chipped a tooth.  I made an appointment with an unknown dentist the following morning, and they scheduled me in for an Emergency visit.   After waiting for an hour, and falling asleep in the lobby, they finally called me in to an office with the two most attractive dental hygienists that are probably walking this planet.  I'm not sure if all dental hygienists are this attractive, and if that's a job requirement, but it must be.  I guess that's why you always hear about dentists banging their dental hygienists, because they simply cannot resist.  I'm guessing that they don't even waste money on expensive nitrous oxide to sedate their male patients, they just parade the dental hygienists around the reclining chair until they're in a semi catatonic state, drooling with mouths wide open.  

     They prepped me for an X Ray, and began to shove a large apparatus in my mouth, to which I responded to by gagging forcefully.  The dental hygienist replied by asking if I had a gag reflex.  Which up until this point was something I thought all people were installed with, but I guess not.  Great, now I have something else to feel self conscious about.  I've been going around all these years gagging unexpectedly, only to find that this is something that would qualify me for a circus side show.  After all was said and done the dentist came in and announced "there is something wrong with your tooth, something needs to be done about your tooth" well, thanks for the sagely wisdom, asshole.  He then informed me that I would need have a root canal, and then to get a crown installed, and would I be interested in something in a white porcelain, or a gold tooth?  I think I'll leave you hanging on my response to that question.


This Week I Planned A Trip To Visit Two Of My Favorite People

     I have been saying for more than a year that I would visit Ohio where my two favorite people have relocated.  Yes, I've looked up airplane tickets, and considered scheduling, but I have never actually gotten anything done.  Either my school schedule conflicted, or the money just wasn't there.  Thankfully I am now getting federal money to go to school because I am now what the government considers to be of non traditional school age.   Which is probably true, I am twenty four after all.  I might as well be a sixty year old grandmother sitting in some of my classes.  I certainly feel like a dinosaur in most of my classes.  Yes, it's true.  I know neither of Gossip or its Girl.  I am a dinosaur, and someone should take me out back and shoot me. 

     Anyways, thanks to this federal grant I now have a lot more spending money in way of student loans to play around with.  Normally, I would spend the money on frivolous things such as patterned boxer shorts, and cases of those delicious soft cookies they sell at Walmart. You know the ones with the really thick sweet icing and the sprinkles?  Those cookies are delicious and worth spending thousands of dollars on.  Though, I have budgeted my extra money and have finally found enough to go on a voyage to Cleveland.  That's right, it will be a voyage, not just a mere trip.  I have talked to the friend I am visiting and have worked out a time frame which suits both of our school schedules.  I am happy to  be doing something, to be going somewhere.  I like having something to look forward to, something to plan.

This Week I Saw Someone I Used To Know.

     I used to have this friend.  This friend who I had known since the sixth grade.  This friend that I had been loyal too, this friend that I had confided in.  This friend who I counted on.  A couple of years ago, this friend gave me up in favor of greater promises.  I used to be filled with resentment over this friend.  I was filled with bitter, angry feelings on how he had tossed me aside, after I had picked him up so many times.  Eventually I got over it as I tend to get over most things that ruined my life at one point or another.  I hadn't spoken to him in nearly two years, which was fine with me.  I saw him last Wednesday, as he came into the establishment that I work at.    Immediately I got that feeling in my stomach that I always get whenever I'm panicky and fearful of seeing someone.  I used to get this same feeling whenever I would see my ex girlfriend.  That feeling of pure terror,  that feeling of burning raw panic.

     He said hello, I said hello back.  He asked how I had been and I mumbled something about being fine.  I didn't ask how he was doing, because I didn't particularly care.  He then turned to walk away, and before he did he said to me "It was good having you as a friend".  With those words, it was all over.  The panic subsided, the fear went away.  The friendship is still over, and will always be over.  It just no longer feels like a burned bridge, but instead a bridge that was taken down by a city after a newer and better bridge was built in its place.  I have moved on to better people, and I hope he has too.  So goodbye Luke.  I hope things with you are well, even though I couldn't say it to you face to face.


So there's the first week of Four Things.  Painless wasn't it?  Or at the very least less painful than my trip to the dentist.

Happy Birthday Dear Jordan

     Tomorrow is my birthday, and I'll be turning twenty four in half an hour.  I've always believed that birthdays instead of New Years are the beginning and end of my years.  I don't usually remember what I did on New Years, but I can always recall who I spent my birthday with.  Last year I was in an airport terminal for the majority of the day, and in a car on the way home the other.  At some point I broke my Zune, and it was not a great day.  On my tenth birthday I received among other things a Linda Davis cassette tape, and a baseball mitt.  The Linda Davis album, I reordered a couple of months ago on EBAY for three dollars, because I missed it.  The baseball mitt gave me a burgeoning career of imaginary baseball playing.  That's right, I'm wearing a cup right now.

     My eighteenth birthday I spent with my favorite people.  I had just gotten my car a week before, and was scared to drive at night by myself.  So to relieve myself from the fear I sang Happy Birthday to myself for fourteen miles while I drove home in the rain.   At nineteen I was having the worst year of my life up until that point, and my world was imploding (that was the year I created this blog, actually).  As my gift a couple of my friends booked time for me in a recording studio to record some badly done renditions of karaoke songs.  It was a fucking dream come true.  My twentieth birthday I can't remember precisely but I'm pretty sure my new year was brought in at a bar.  I like to call that year of my life my blackout phase.  Not because I spent any period of time blacked out (I'm not much of a drinker), it was just such a chaotic time in my life that I barely remember any of it.  Though, honestly I did and said such stupid things, that this is probably for the best.

     But today I'll be twenty four, and I don't yet know if it will one day be one of the birthdays to stick out in my mind as great.  To celebrate it here I planned on writing my annual post of a list of things I wanted, although I think I'm beyond that now.  I think I'm at the point that I've stopped dreaming of having an Elton John impersonator sing me Happy Birthday.  Not that I'd say no to it, were someone to arrange it. I just don't hope for it like I used to.  Instead I think I'll write about what this year was for me.  What happened to me, and what happened for me.  Since my last birthday my two best friends moved to Cleveland, and that sucked so hard I can't even begin to tell you.  I do not do well with separations (which is something my nineteenth year taught me well).  Though, I've reconciled with the fact that I am just as lucky to see them a couple of times a year, as I was to see them every weekend.  They are that awesome.

     This year I continued to work at a job that I hate, but that ended up being a good thing too because it made me realize that there was no fucking way I could continue to work there, or an establishment like it for the rest of my life.  I realized that I had to go back to school, something I had been telling myself I was going to do eventually, but was too lazy to actually accomplish.  Though, I ended up doing it and I'm really glad I did.  When I left school the first time, my grades were in shambles, and I skipped class more often than I attended it.  Though I still skipped a fair amount of classes last semester, I still ended up on the President's list, which trust me wasn't even all that hard and I really shouldn't be mentioning it because it makes me sound like a tool. In February my dog died, and although this sounds completely ridiculous, there was a period of time afterward where I thought my world had stopped.  He was one of the good things, one of the good constant things that kept me going.  I really miss him.

     In short, this year has been completely ridiculous.  It seems like all of the things I had been dreading for years finally came out all at once.  Though maybe that was a good thing too, maybe that means that there isn't much bad coming my way in the coming twelve months.  I feel like all I've been talking about are bad things, but there were good things too.  I finally saw Britney Spears,  I reconnected with people who had been gone from my life for too long, I read a lot of funny really wonderful things, I got contacts, and I got better a little every day in being comfortable with myself.  I've decided that I am going to write a list after all.  Not one of wants, and material things, but more like New Years resolutions.  If the New Year starts on my birthday, then I think I should resolve to do some things on this day too.  I have to make the most of it now, because I know I am now only one year away from having my quarter life crisis.

I resolve to:


Stop being so hard on myself
Stop fantasizing about doing things, and actually do them
Think harder, read more, write better
Be up for anything
Meet her
Pass Math 113
Sing louder, laugh harder, get really mad every once in a while
Stop having delusions of grandeur, and start sticking to a budget
Eat more/less cookie cake.

Are you hanging on the edge of your seat?

A few minutes ago I tried to view my blog, and it said it had been deleted.  Apparently my Google account had been monitored attempting to do some suspicious activities.  I guess my account was hacked.  Just wanted to let you know in case this blog goes missing again.  I'm not sure what is going on.  I guess even Blogger thinks I'm unworthy of having a blog anymore.

Place Holder

Remember when I was a blogger? Yeah, those were good times weren't they?  I would come on here and write about what I was doing, or something funny I had thought of.  That all ended when I went back to school six months ago.  Suddenly, it was just BAM! I have no time to write anymore.  I've had plenty of things to say, but no time in which to say them.  I am sorry about that, I really am.  I've had a good week though, my two best friends have finally come to visit me from Cleveland.  I had forgotten what it was like to have two amazing people hang on every word I say.  It is electrifying.  Tomorrow, I am leaving for Washington D.C. on vacation.  So when I get back I should have the traditional vacation posts to tide you over with some awesome while I try to think of something else to say to you.  I hope you haven't left me.  Though, if you have I enjoyed the company while it lasted.  See you in a week.

Thou Shall Covet

I'm just going to admit up front that this idea is not original, I completely stole it from Kelli, who I believe stole it from someone else.  Though I think it's good to keep a running list of things that I want, even if they are completely stupid and unattainable.

I want this suit:

 Now before you say that $1295.00 is excessive for a suit that I don't even have an excuse to wear, just look at how amazing I would look in it.  See? If my neck looked like it attached to my body I would be unstoppable in that suit.

I would like to go noodling.  What is noodling you ask?  Apparently its when you catch a giant catfish while using your arm as bait.  Now, I don't care for being outside, or eating anything someone caught themselves, but this looks just white trash enough to be a good time. 




I would also like to have a endless supply of Sour Patch Kids.  I really do believe they are the world's perfect food; sour, sweet, and so delicious.  Sour Patch Kids are God's candy.




 I really thought there would be more to list, but apparently I'm not that materialistic.  Damn, that's something I didn't know about myself.

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.