Monday, May 30, 2005

Perhaps A Salad from Krystal Will Delay The Impending Stroke

What the hell has gotten into me?

After cleaning (more like scrubbing) the kitchen and it's neverending mound of dishes, I started working on my room. Granted, because the room stuff involves unpacking, it actually looks messier, but the things you can't see are in perfect order. Yay!

Things I didn't come across while unpacking: Box of condoms. Weirdness. I'm sure I packed them in some secure place "so I won't forget" and, well, I forgot. It's a good thing I'm not getting laid at every available opportunity. I'd have to buy another box, and as I've said before, I have to have sex on a budget. I'm not made of money...or condoms.

I watched two discs of Survivor All Stars tonight. I'm that lame.

I'm trying to arrange a time with Adam for him to get some of his stuff that I have. That's awkward at best. Sometimes you're just ready for things to be over, and then they just won't be over. It's quite frustrating. It's like I've finally reached this point a while ago when I realized that Adam doesn't want to be with me, and then I have these things that are his, and it's all very annoying. I wish I could teleport things. That'd be neat.

"Beam this shit outta here, Scotty!" Yeah, I've never even seen Star Trek.

I got eaten alive at the concert, and now I have all these bug bites that keep popping up. It's very strange, and I itch like, I dunno, something really itchy. Chicken pox maybe. It's been 19 years or so since I had them, but from what I recall, they're itchy sons of bitches.

So my left arm went numb today. I'm not sure why. Hopefully I'm not about to have a stroke or anything. Kind of makes me wish my neurologist appointment was this week instead of next week.

Leslie's getting married, and quite possibly in two weeks. I'm sure endless joy awaits this trek to Athens, GA, that I'll eventually have to make. I can't wait! I'm still immune to the wedding syndrome that's taken my generation by storm.

The more days the pass, the more I realize how absolutely pointless it is to try to plan my life. There are so many contributing factors that are far beyond my control that I don't know why I worry so much.

I've always been that way - a worrier. And it makes no sense, because I don't believe in coincidences. I think everything happens for a reason. I can't always see the reason, but I still believe there is one.

Right now I'm dealing with a harsh reality, and I usually don't get so personal on my blog, but I'm feeling pensive, and I can't sleep. So here goes: I always thought I'd only have sex with one guy ever. You know, in my delusional false reality, that's how it works out. But it's not really that way, and it's not that I want to be back with Adam now because that was clearly bad for me, but it's hard to swallow sometimes. It's like I miss how I used to be before - I'm definitely a different person now, and I can't undo anything I've done. I just don't see the great lesson this is supposed to teach me, other than the cliche "sex is bad" thing, but this isn't Puritan colonial world anymore, and this sure as fuck isn't Kansas.

Anyway, at the risk of slipping into a funk, I'm going to list a few things that I like. Who doesn't like lists?

* I like beind held when I sleep and when I wake up.
* I like the way my stomach looks in the morning.
* I like to dance.
* I like to drive, especially when I'm not really going anywhere.
* I like the way warm water feels on my muscles.
* I like the accomplished feeling I get when I do something well.
* I like having fun.
* I like spending time with myself, even if my thoughts do drive me crazy sometimes.
* I like making quasi-sentimental lists on my blog.

OK, I've been as insightful as I'd like to be for one night. Time to break out the sarcasm so I don't come across as a sap.

Why the fuck does Krystal have salads? No one ever thinks: "Gee, I'm really drunk. Let's go to Krysal and get some salads!"

"Dude, cool! Who can drive?"

Are these people kidding me? Can we please stop being so health conscious and just let the unhealthy ones die off and stop procreating? Is that too much to ask? Whatever happened to survival of the fittest?

I know I don't eat healthy foods. I'm fully aware that I'm pumping all kinds of bad things into my body, and I'm fairly certain I'll have serious health complications - if not death - from it. But I'm OK with that. I don't go to a fast food restaurant craving hearty vegetables.

In fact, I don't go anywhere craving hearty vegetables. My hearty vegetables are loaded with bacon and don't even taste like vegetables. Again, a health risk I'm assuming on my own free will.

I'd rather have a heart attack at 40 than live an extra 20 years on salad alone. I need my red meat! I need my pork! I need chicken smothered in homemade barbecue sauce.

Song of the day: "Helicopters" by Barenaked Ladies. Neither naked nor ladies.

This is where the helicopters came to take me away
This is where the children used to play

This is only half a mile away from the attack
This is where my life changed in a day
And then it changed back
Buried in the din of rotor noise and close explosions
I do my best to synthesize the sounds and my emotions
This is where the allies bombed the school,
They say by mistake
Here nobody takes me for a fool, just for a fake
Later at the hotel bar, the journalists are waiting
I hurry back to my guitar while they're commiserating

And I'll be leaving soon
I'll be leaving soon

Just as soon as we were on the ground
We were back in the jet
Just another three day foreign tour we'd never forget
It's hard to sympathize with all this devastation
Hopping 'round from site to site like tourists on vacation

And I'll be leaving soon
I'll be leaving soon

I can't help anyone cause everyone's so cold
Everyone's so skeptical of everything they're told
And even I get sick of needing to be sold

Though it's only half a month away, the media's gone
An entertaining scandal broke today, but I can't move on
I'm haunted by a story and I do my best to tell it
Can't even give this stuff away, why would I sell it?
Everybody's laughing, while at me they point a finger
A world that loves its irony must hate the protest singer

So I'll be leaving soon
I'll be leaving soon
I'll be leaving soon
I'll be leaving soon

1 comment:

J. R. said...

New pics on the blog, beeeeotch.

Gucci, muthafucka!