Noah and Stan
My driveway is empty
There is a big hole in my driveway where the open sore that was my red car used to be. I will be taking steps to fill it today:
- Record shopping (CDs)
- Food (something with a curry, or maybe an afternoon greasy breakfast, or a giant burrito, or some crazy curry burrito breakfast dish)
- Turn the slip and slide in the backyard back on and roll around in the gentle mist
- GO BIKE SHOPPING!
- Record the new outgoing message on my voice mail onto the computer so that I can burn CDs of it. Somehow I managed to drunk dial my voice mail. The results are vaguely funny. Interestingly I sound the same when plastered as when I am not fully awake in the morning.
I’m waiting on a call back for accompaniment to some of the above. If you have ideas for enhancements to any of the above, please let me know.
This all reminds me of my list of rejected personals headlines:
- I have my own car, and I can buy beer
- I wrote a country song about poop
- I like monkeys
- Going to concerts alone makes me sad.
- Books magically appear on the back of the toilet for me to read, otherwise I wouldn’t ever get around to it.
- Pick the one fun class that I will take in the fall and win a prize
- I’ve been getting my news from the Daily Show since Lizz Winstead.
Uh, there are more, but they drift off into disturbing humor and stop being true.
I’m currently reading The Clock Winder by Anne Tyler.
Horay for weddings
I am DRUNK. Having a great weekend already. Thought of you, but settled for wine. And champagne. And Maker’s Mark. And beer. And… uh…
I drunk dialed Paul. Everyone else can just be jealous. Okay, I drunk dialed someone else, but it was too much work ot leave a message. Jerk. Paul called me back, we had a nice chat.
I’m aonlt asheamed that noah sees nme htis way.
the other inight we did not hve [pizza luce, but tonight we weill, without any drunken aiming of you. I know that you watn me to send yhou an emial, but no. I on purpose did not correct my touch tyupeinjg.I’m totlaly going to see the fringe festival.
A Milestone Build
Woo hoo! I’m down to 200 pounds for the first time in years.
“What diet are you on?” you might ask.
“I’m on the see food diet!” I would respond.
Seriously, I eat whatever I want and drink whatever I want. However, I don’t want pop like I used to and I don’t want to eat or drink the gigantic servings that I used to. My key is to never be hungry and to only crave healthy things like pizza and cake.
Of course, that’s probably the lowest that my weight will be today, since it has been known to fluctuate within a ten pound range over a 24 hour period. Nonetheless, hitting this target weight means that it is officially time for chapter two, in which our hero investigates a thing called “exercise.” Will the mysteries never cease?
Despite the torrential downpours, the wedding is still on and theoretically outdoors.
Why get a shoe shine
When you’re made of dirt?
Okay. Seriously. How did I let the Poster Children slip out of my consciousness? It’s not like they stopped making albums.
Represent what?
What happens when an old dude climbs on a bike after years of inactivity? He mines it for comedy gold! Just so Paul knows which posts to not read because they have too many words or focus too much on me trying to find a summer exercise activity that does not involve anyone else’s balls flying at my face, I created a new category, “Bikes”! I know that you are very excited, and not just because yet again I can’t sleep at night.
Oh yeah, before I do go to sleep, I should mention that Jeremy highly approved of the Bianchi Volpe. He mentioned that Specialized has some nice stuff for reasonably cheap. I have to remember to call my insurance agent tomorrow about canceling the red car. That’s $50 a month!
Why, exactly, are the web pages for all of the local bike shops awful? I mean, come on, it’s 2005!
Velvety
Tonight was much more relaxed than I had expected. All the guys hung out in a stately living room full of antiquey furniture and drank. Noah played in the basement with the other kids, and the women were out back, except for Lisa and her sisters, who had a girls’ night out but failed to get hammered. Lisa used to be the queen of drunken wrestling, but she was seemingly untouched by the healing hand of alcohol. For shame, Lisa. For shame.
Stan and I were like “whiskey is brownish,” and everyone else in the room was all “Glenfordshireloch” this and “Highland Park” that. We were lost, but I carefully laid down a layer of beer, followed by bourbon and then more beer, followed by sips of bourbon to make my mind a little fuzzy and my voice uncharacteristically loud.
Cake Woman is eternally turning up her phone when our schedules permit us to actually speak.
“Hold on, Fucker, I can’t fucking hear you fucking talk. Always with the fucking mumbling!” Yes, she talks like that, only she swears a lot.
Apparently the solution to her complaint is bourbon. I don’t know if it tastes like oil and pencil shavings or walnuts and fishbait, just that it makes me loud.
It was the sort of bachelor party where the fiance showed up at the end. I hugged everybody, I think, and then I was on the ground outside wrestling with some guy who was walking by. He seems nice, I gave him my number. Call me! ^_^
The Believer
If you ever read Might Magazine I will buy you a pony.
Maybe instead I should just have intelligent magazines delivered directly to my bathroom like all my books. Today I finished “The Fifth Child” by Doris Lessing. I found out that Lisa has been going behind my back to get books from my mom. I guess I should stop putting them back on my shelf after we both read them. Dammit. My library was starting to look impressive — as though I were well read.
Gratuitous and Mean-Spirited
I don’t know politics, but I know what I like!
A doctor, a lawyer, and an accountant all die and go to heaven on the same day. When they get to the Pearly Gates, they are greeted by St. Peter. St. Peter says, “Scott McClellan is a lying sack of shit and I’d tell him so myself if he weren’t going straight to hell when he dies.”