Fries and Smokes

Horrible, terrible, scummy mood. 

Solution: Of Montreal, Superbad, and narcotics. Maybe not the last one, but then again...

Maybe prayer and meditation would be a better alternative. "I guess it would be nice to give my heart to a god, but which one, which one do I cho-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ose?"

I am usually able to see the value in school work, but this assignment has me stumped. I'll spare you the details and simply tell you that we're tracing. That's all you need to know. Oh, also: it's pure, uninspiring bullshit. 

Horrible, terrible, scummy student.

What is your problem?

My peers must think I am constantly on something. 

I am used to their vacant stares by now and I have to be honest, I kind of like confusing them. While I was in class tonight, I received a call from a strange number. I was hoping whomever it was would leave a message. Nothing.

"You know, I hate when I don't pick up calls from people I don't know and they don't leave a message. It leaves me wondering if it was some sort of secret call. What if a unicorn just called me and I missed it?"

They looked up from their drafting boards and stared for roughly seven seconds then went back to work. 

Last week, a girl next to me mumbled, "Jesus Christ," when she received a text message. 

I leaned over and asked, "Jesus is texting you? Oh god, I am still waiting for him to text me!" 

They looked up, gave me the "what are you even talking about right now?" look. It's ammunition at this point.

At least I have someone to share my stories with at the end of the day. I can always count on a laugh.

Lust.

Pegleg Race

Sometimes I think about how curious it is that we can balance on our feet. Welcome to the esoteric abyss of my mind. It became even more apparent as the three of us walked the few blocks required to sober up our light-weight, yet bulky driver. 

Our feet are tiny, for crying out loud! Why then, do we laugh when adults fall? Adults should be falling all the time! Look at the size of those things! My feet are not much bigger than my hands and nobody is asking me to walk on my hands. Let's get real. Sit down. Ponder with me, won't you?

Babies fall, but when you think about it the size of their feet are a bit more proportional to body size. What kind of person laughs when a baby falls? Okay I do, but not in the same way that I would at a falling adult. Babies ought to be nationally-recognized walkers the moment they exit the womb! The wimps are getting off too easy, in my opinion. What do they know about tears? I would kill to go back to the days when my tears signified nothing more than hunger and fatigue.

I decided that as homo-sapiens we ought to be applauded, nay, awarded for accomplishing the great feat (no puns here) of walking upright more often than not. Certainly crawling would be a less risky way of travel. I tested my hypothesis on the concrete and was assured that it was a benign way to proceed forward (nevermind the fact that I was testing this hypothesis in the middle of the road at night). The distance between my skull and the ground was a little over a foot which would lead me to believe that I would not suffer from brain damage if I were to spontaneously collapse. 

However, we are a race of efficiency and dammit we have places to be. Crawling takes too much time. Let's all give ourselves a big round of applause for walking on pegs!

Shower Ideas

I had a brilliant idea this morning. 

Since rice is no longer being thrown at weddings, some people are taking to releasing butterflies or birds. What good does that do? Further, aren't the birds trained to come back? I started thinking about what creatures might want to be released.

Circus animals came to mind first, but then I thought that if I were to release circus animals they, being tame, would have no survival skills and I would be the cause of their swift and inevitable demise. Then I wondered, if I were a circus animal would I choose death over my present circumstances? I would die a slow, poetic death in a forest somewhere. Following my final breath a compassionate chipmunk would place a single flower on my chest. At long last, I would be free. Alas, I am not in tune with the everyday circus animal's mind so I nixed this idea.

Then I had it! Rehabilitated animals! They have survival skills and I am almost certain that they would prefer to return to their natural habitat. 

Come to my wedding! There will be elephants, seals, marmots, eagles, ostriches, wolves, and you may even see a killer whale. It is going to be a party!

"I Must Be In A Good Place Now"

I stood below a nearly full moon and let go.

In the scope of eternity my present trials are nearly inconsequential. I am going to die, sooner rather than later and though I do not want to disqualify my earthly existence, I find peace in knowing that I am eternal. Who knows if eternity is a state of existence or non-existence? 

Either way, I know that I exist now on this planet. There is something to that as far as I am concerned. 

I like to think that when I die, my essence will continue on. If I'm wrong, what harm is there in thinking such a thing?

The clouds whispered over the sky and I felt connected. Nature and I were entwined, and I think that God was present. I have faith that He still hears me.

Karma, karma, karma, karma, karma... Chameleons Better Watch Out!!!

I always thought that I could identify with chameleons. There are certain friends and groups of people I act differently around and as much as I try to be a single version of myself there is no getting around the fact that different people draw different things out of me. D- and I were talking about this the other night over a much needed Thai feast and I was reassured to hear that she, like me, chameleonizes depending upon the crowd. It is natural. Or...is...it...?...

Imagine my horror when I was informed that chameleons are rapists. That's right! Chameleon boys rape unsuspecting chameleon girls! The Crocodile Hunter told me so. Apparently Charles the Chameleon will sometimes fly from his post onto unsuspecting Corrina the Chameleon and have his way without any consent and worse...foreplay. 

And so, I have decided, so as not to emulate any chameleon-esque behavior that I must stick to my New Year's resolution with big guns hoisted on hips. I will not give a flying...shoot...what other people think of me and will therefore not be a chameleon-rapist.  

One other conclusion I came to today: when belly-buttons are photoshopped off of one's stomach, it is quite gross. 

More profound and deep thoughts to come...stay posted...