Zach: “It’s so small!”
Me: “I don’t understand that sentence at all.”
Zach: “You’re not gonna touch that one with a ten foot pole?”
Me. “I could, but, uh…”
Heh. I only posted this so I could test out the livejournal syndication.
Okay, I have a new idea. It’s like a safe word, except in reverse. I could be out of my mind drunk with a totally nude woman who is blacked out in my bed, and she will sleep comfortably and safely all night, whether or not I get up and go try to sleep on the big chair in the living room. If I don’t get a clear signal (like “hey sailor, big discount for repeat customers”) I’m not doing anything.
However, sometimes ladies like to pretend to be demure. Sometimes they might be interested but be too shy to move my chair right up next to theirs while I am fetching a sweatshirt. Even then, I might be worried that I am seeing an opening where there isn’t one. That’s why I want there to be a trigger word — sort of the opposite of a safe word. So, if she’s ready for the hot Jesse action, she would just say “Jello” very quietly and I would work my magic, confident that in thirty seconds or ten minutes I’m not going to lean in and get the gentle head twist and squinty eyes of a “oh, you thought… uh…” I mean, once you take the initial jump, the rest is just four seconds of falling. After that, a light touch and subsequent gasp of breath or uncomfortable squirming will let me know if her shoulder is off limits (for example).
I would also accept the word “pirate” or just an “arrrrrr, matey, time to swab the poop deck!”
See, I told you that I was feeling better. Tomorrow I swear that I will call to schedule an advising appointment, despite being terrified of the phone.
Here is my recipe for happiness:
Mini Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups
India Pale Ale
Grilled Cheese and Turkey Sammich
Surprisingly, we still have turkey in the fridge. Stan hasn’t been using it to make sandwiches at all, despite having a pristine breast to devour. I took it upon myself to slice it as thinly as I could, then liberated three slices to insert between cheese and bread to form a sandwich. Quick minutes in the pan yielded a moist and melty sammich with crispy bread. I think it was the making that really made me feel better, but the juicy turkey might have had something to do with it.
My coworker Nick is in some sort of hardcore/death metal band. Somehow I ended up listening to his EP all day yesterday. I mentioned this to a friend last night.
“I was having kind of a crappy day, so I was listening to metal all day. It was amazing.”
“Why were you having a crappy day?”
Really, you can’t answer that with anything like the truth:
“I can see the future, and this afternoon I already knew the end.”
I shouldn’t have said anything at all, but sometimes I say things that will trap me into saying more revealing things, with the intent of forcing myself to be honest. However, I have all sorts of automated sentries that police my speech, and they are sometimes wise to my own tricks. Witness me opening my mouth and just a strained grunt coming out, even though my lips form words. You know, when telling the whole truth would ruin everything but at the same time you simply cannot lie, because even the smallest, whitest lies with the purest of intents are simply impossible to say.
“Why does everyone think that I’m evil?”
“Well, you are the devil.”
“I suppose there is that.”
“Yeah, but just because you’re more beautiful than God…”
“What? You have got to cut that shit out.”
“I mean, you know, the devil, cast out for his hubris, challenging God, the morning star, that sort of… Ugh.”
At about eleven PM each night I get a phone call from Cake Woman. I will admit that on Friday I was at Grumpy’s partly because I wanted to be not available for once, but of course I took her call, and when Stan and I finished our beers I went home and called her back. Tonight was her Friday night, so she was eager to get out and… have breakfast? I don’t have to be at work until eleven, so I figured having a late dinner of eggs and pancakes would be a reasonable activity for a Sunday night — certainly more appropriate than the previous Sunday where Cake Woman took me out and poured booze into me until she threw up.
Before:
After:
Actually, the after picture is from after browning the skin at 500, but before the hours in the oven becoming moist and delicious. I learned a lesson, though: make the roux first so you can refrigerate it until it is time to make the gravy. That’s right, I said roux. Really, this was a genius Thanksgiving dinner. Six people finished four bottles of wine, not counting me because I only had half a glass before someone bussed it while I was uploading my mom’s Mexico photos.
By the way, I had Stan take me to Grumpy’s Friday night, and then came home and drank some more while making an ill-advised phone call that lasted a couple of hours. It was a mess. The things that I had promised my friends that I would say before going out were said and then slowly and painfully retracted, point by point. Afterwards, I called Melody for advice and consolation, and was thankful that the two hour time difference made the phone call not be at the butt crack of dawn for her. She returned the favor by drunk dialing me from the Rasputina concert.
More people should drunk dial me. I still have a karmic debt from New York City, and my phone actually works now.
As a sophomore, I had to wait until December 2nd to register for classes. I went to sign up for my “all Sturtivant, all the time” semester (because I am losing my ability to tolerate other professors and I am sick of math in every mathematical form). Also, photography.
Name: Mullan, Jesse
Hold Type: College Adviser Approval
Description: Before registering, you must have an appointment with your academic adviser.
Effective Date: 01/10/2005
First Effective Term: Spring 2006
You know, everything that I say ends up sounding like scatalogical euphamisms. We are having a make up Thanksgiving today. I accidentally picked a 20 pound turkey. Whoa. This thing is a freak of nature.
Are they supposed to have two necks?
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