I've lost count of how many days I've gone without smoking. Which I guess is a good thing. Even when I drink, I don't really crave it anymore. Unless of course if I am drunker than your average drunk - then I'll most likely light one up. Thankfully that hasn't happened in a while. As an unwanted side-effect, I'm even a bigger asshole when I don't smoke - but only when something triggers it. Unfortunately, it doesn't take much. I'm working on it...
On other health related news, I've began a self imposed stretching regimen at night. I think it's mostly due to a recent leg workout, but I feel that I've lost a lot of flexibility. I walk like an old man with a bad hip and a hemorrhoid. Why a hemorrhoid? Well, my ass cheeks are tender. I know what I said...but it's true, they are tender, and it hurts when sit down.
Oh and I had my first exam in Physics today, it was pretty cake. I can't stand some of my classmates though. What I hate more than the moms that read ahead and talk to you like they're your own mom, are the high school kids that think they are special. I simply asked this one little bitch in my group (I fucking hate working in groups) if she got her lab done. And she says in a matter of fact kinda way, "ugh, I work, so no." I just put on my headphones and wished I had a cigarette - yes to smoke, and then put it out on her eye. As if no one else in the class, primarily filled with adults, work. Stupid fucking dumb cunt...*sigh...see what I mean about the temper? Normally I wouldn't have even cared, but nowadays I have this overwhelming inclination to just get angry and put out nonexistent cigarettes in someone's eye.
Ok, enough about all that stuff. It's almost over anyways, 5 more weeks. I love summer sessions. They are actually a lot easier. I mean 6 weeks and you're done - barely a blink in terms of academia. Plus, you're only studying for one exam at a time, and the professors (at least the ones I've had) are quite good at teaching so much in so little time. And don't think summer sessions cover less...no, they are required to cover the same amount in order to qualify for transfer/credits. I don't really know what the hubbub is about Physics. Other than the fact that I'm fighting a monstrous urge to fall asleep, it's a pretty easy class.
I also found a non-credit class brochure. One of the more note-worthy classes I stumbled upon was "Partner Massage". Obviously, a "partner" is key to the class - but I thought, wouldn't it be kinda funny if I signed up and showed up by myself? And while everyone is rubbing someone else, I'd just sit there, or maybe lay there, and rub oils all over myself - breaking every so often to say, "Oooo yea...that's nice." Hahaha - I might just do that, hell it's only 20 bucks per person. Anyone wanna come with?? If not, it's cool, I'm used to rubbing myself.
Now for internet shindigs - I found this web gallery, who's photographer won awards the "Village Voice's" 2006 Nightlife Photographer of the Year Award. And as the award implies, this man gets to party hard and gets paid to do it. Not to mention all the hot booty he shoots naked. Awesome. He is my hero. If I were that cool, and led a life so rad, I'd say fuck health. I'm drinking, smoking, and eating hotdogs until the sun came up. Then I'd fuck supermodels, while eating a hamburger. Then I'd stuff pizza into her mouth and make her eat it - and laugh as moments later she's puking in the toilet to maintain her figure. Hahahaha. That would rock so hard. Seriously, check his shit out. Ambrel Photography.
For equally as cool, but infinitely more innocent (though comparably as fun), George Lange's website - Lange Photography - contains a myriad of his work, notably a video flip-book with some of his more popular shoots, featuring some familiar famous faces. Check it out! Click here for the video: Lange Video.
Take care.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Friday, July 13, 2007
It always ends in...
As I took Bruiser to yet another "hospital" (read: mechanic), I felt a breeze that reminded me of 1990. I was seven and doing "bad things" was still just a hobby instead of a bad habit. It was one of those moments - the kind that causes me to talk to myself, the kind of moment that makes for an awkward silence when caught by someone else. Kind of like flatulence, except it generally doesn't smell, nor is there a feeling of relief, but the fear is strikingly similar to that of soiling myself...odd I know. I sense digression...
Why does it always lead to poop? I guess a lot of things in life end in poop, or at the very least a trip to the bathroom. I don't care if your meal was prepared by a world renowned chef using only the finest and freshest ingredients - it will still end in shit. If it doesn't end in shit, well you've got some other problems you should be looking into. Sadly, going number two is often the highlight of my day. In fact, I routinely fight the urge to shit in order to build up some excitement, pile on the intensity, you know squeeze every last drop of enjoyment out of it. I refer to this as my battle against nature. The ferocity of this frequently leads to copious amounts of sweat, shaking, and malodorous scents...I'm sorry, I fear I've let this topic string on for too long.
So back to 1990. What a year...I remember not wanting it to change. I don't think it had much to do with my life per se, but I thought that 1990 just sounded so nice. The numbers worked so well together - say it - nineteen ninety...see? Ok, maybe you don't feel the same way, but I did and I really didn't want it to change. I couldn't understand why it had to change. I figured, phonetically it was such a neat, as in clean, orderly, and simple, sounding year. There was really no need to change it. I finally got over it when I convinced myself that although 1991 didn't sound as nice, written, the year 1991 made for a nice palindrome. Tradeoffs I guess, much like growing up. Can't have your phonetics and plaindrome-s too...?
Man, being seven was weird. I remember wearing really ridiculous pants and obsessing about being cool. Don't lie, you wore them too - and if you were in your teens, it's even worse, at least I was just seven. (*note: that's what they are going to say about all the ridiculous looking hipsters and their skinny jeans, anorexic dudes, fat chicks, and ridiculous dude haircuts - girls it's ok to have fancy hair, dudes, it's not, well unless you're gay, then I guess the rules are different. Back to the pants...) My pants not only sported the most gaudy, neon ridden textile design, it also had a gartered waist, and as an added bonus, gartered ankles. Yup...I was stylin'. Why did they ever make gartered ankles? What's even worse is that they made them in larger sizes for adults...and wait, just when you thought it didn't get any worse, the adults actually wore them. Sure, I can understand certain lines of work that would benefit from gartered ankles, but for casual wear, no, there is no need for gartered ankles! None. Not one. Not a bit. Not any.
Perhaps you're thinking, I'm being a bit harsh on gartered ankles. After all they may prevent some unwanted objects from entering through the ankles...I guess. Or, they might prevent items from leaving through the ankles. The only thing that comes mind is poop. I guess they thought, hey, if you shit yourself, don't worry. It's staying in your pants, and if you're wearing loose undies, it'll keep your ankles warm. But really? Wouldn't you rather have the option to "shake-a-leg" and let it drop to the floor? I would. Well I guess we're back to poop. Hmm...*Sigh.
There was more to this blog...I think I was about ramble on about childhood memories, but then the whole poop thing presented itself as such a nice, neat and easy way to end this damn thing. So maybe next time?
Why does it always lead to poop? I guess a lot of things in life end in poop, or at the very least a trip to the bathroom. I don't care if your meal was prepared by a world renowned chef using only the finest and freshest ingredients - it will still end in shit. If it doesn't end in shit, well you've got some other problems you should be looking into. Sadly, going number two is often the highlight of my day. In fact, I routinely fight the urge to shit in order to build up some excitement, pile on the intensity, you know squeeze every last drop of enjoyment out of it. I refer to this as my battle against nature. The ferocity of this frequently leads to copious amounts of sweat, shaking, and malodorous scents...I'm sorry, I fear I've let this topic string on for too long.So back to 1990. What a year...I remember not wanting it to change. I don't think it had much to do with my life per se, but I thought that 1990 just sounded so nice. The numbers worked so well together - say it - nineteen ninety...see? Ok, maybe you don't feel the same way, but I did and I really didn't want it to change. I couldn't understand why it had to change. I figured, phonetically it was such a neat, as in clean, orderly, and simple, sounding year. There was really no need to change it. I finally got over it when I convinced myself that although 1991 didn't sound as nice, written, the year 1991 made for a nice palindrome. Tradeoffs I guess, much like growing up. Can't have your phonetics and plaindrome-s too...?
Man, being seven was weird. I remember wearing really ridiculous pants and obsessing about being cool. Don't lie, you wore them too - and if you were in your teens, it's even worse, at least I was just seven. (*note: that's what they are going to say about all the ridiculous looking hipsters and their skinny jeans, anorexic dudes, fat chicks, and ridiculous dude haircuts - girls it's ok to have fancy hair, dudes, it's not, well unless you're gay, then I guess the rules are different. Back to the pants...) My pants not only sported the most gaudy, neon ridden textile design, it also had a gartered waist, and as an added bonus, gartered ankles. Yup...I was stylin'. Why did they ever make gartered ankles? What's even worse is that they made them in larger sizes for adults...and wait, just when you thought it didn't get any worse, the adults actually wore them. Sure, I can understand certain lines of work that would benefit from gartered ankles, but for casual wear, no, there is no need for gartered ankles! None. Not one. Not a bit. Not any.
Perhaps you're thinking, I'm being a bit harsh on gartered ankles. After all they may prevent some unwanted objects from entering through the ankles...I guess. Or, they might prevent items from leaving through the ankles. The only thing that comes mind is poop. I guess they thought, hey, if you shit yourself, don't worry. It's staying in your pants, and if you're wearing loose undies, it'll keep your ankles warm. But really? Wouldn't you rather have the option to "shake-a-leg" and let it drop to the floor? I would. Well I guess we're back to poop. Hmm...*Sigh.
There was more to this blog...I think I was about ramble on about childhood memories, but then the whole poop thing presented itself as such a nice, neat and easy way to end this damn thing. So maybe next time?
Thursday, July 12, 2007
I guess things come in waves...
Is it just me or is that chick from Harry Potter getting fucking hot?! How many more years? Really...how many more years until she's legal? Hot damn - I totally dig redheads. So anyways...I took Bruiser (my truck) into the shop today for his regularly scheduled oil change and guess what? It turns out that she's got some serious front brake problems that is going to cost me roughly +$1000.00. There goes pretty much any money and a social life for the next couple of months. =(
As you can imagine I'm a little bummed about that. But otherwise I had a pretty enjoyable weekend. Barbecues a plenty...and jello shots...and...well...ya know me and jello shots...
Well, that's about the best part of my week- after that it all went pretty much downhill on Monday. As I mentioned before, Bruiser is in the shop, my two photos on Flickr's Explore were booted off, and I am incredibly sore. It's been roughly two weeks since I last lifted - and my god my boobies really hurt...and my arms, and my back...soon my shoulders, my abs and my legs too! Yay! =(
Oh, and Physics 101 just started. The professor's pretty laid back, and he's got a fair sense of humor. I have to say, I've been incredibly lucky with my professors at NCC. But...these math-centric courses run rather slim on the eye-candy. I mean sure the math interests me on some level, but we all know what keeps me awake in class. Yes...hot booty. Nothing but the hot hot booty. No I'm kidding - I do have goals, primarily a good paying job, money, and owning several homes in various parts of the country and the world...hahaha no, it's the hot hot booty. Well yes, those other goals do exist but I could get A's without being awake, the hot hot booty on the other hand makes keeping my eyes open worth it, and provides me with the facade of "participation".
I also watched American Beauty again, in what must've been 2 or 3 years. Every time I watch it, I can't wait until I have the shitty life Kevin Spacey does - and then say, fuck it - quit my job, flip burgers, abuse drugs, and basically be an all around rockin' and a rollin'...dude. I particularly liked the part where he quits his job and his letter reads..."and at least once a day I sneak off to the bathroom to jerk off and fantasize about a life that doesn't so closely resemble hell." Well maybe I didn't get it word for word, but you get the gist.
And what would my blog be without a "check this ridiculous shit I found on the internet!" segment? FACEBALL!. Press play and love it. Dude, I'm so pumped. I don't really know what it's all about, except that people get hit in the face with balls...then I had a debate with..myself...about which would be better - faceball's concept or...people getting hit in the balls with faces?! A little switcharoo. A teeny flip flop...an insy - ok you get it, I know. I'm kind of diggin' the whole "preview" genre of videography. I'm planning on several things on that front actually. The next episode is getting worked out in my head, along with a possible video blog. The latter would seem really odd, I'd have to find a way to make it good...without resorting to masturbation...eh. Difficult, I know.
Anyways, I'm beat, and I'm sure so are you. Rock 'n Roll.
As you can imagine I'm a little bummed about that. But otherwise I had a pretty enjoyable weekend. Barbecues a plenty...and jello shots...and...well...ya know me and jello shots...
Well, that's about the best part of my week- after that it all went pretty much downhill on Monday. As I mentioned before, Bruiser is in the shop, my two photos on Flickr's Explore were booted off, and I am incredibly sore. It's been roughly two weeks since I last lifted - and my god my boobies really hurt...and my arms, and my back...soon my shoulders, my abs and my legs too! Yay! =(
Oh, and Physics 101 just started. The professor's pretty laid back, and he's got a fair sense of humor. I have to say, I've been incredibly lucky with my professors at NCC. But...these math-centric courses run rather slim on the eye-candy. I mean sure the math interests me on some level, but we all know what keeps me awake in class. Yes...hot booty. Nothing but the hot hot booty. No I'm kidding - I do have goals, primarily a good paying job, money, and owning several homes in various parts of the country and the world...hahaha no, it's the hot hot booty. Well yes, those other goals do exist but I could get A's without being awake, the hot hot booty on the other hand makes keeping my eyes open worth it, and provides me with the facade of "participation".
I also watched American Beauty again, in what must've been 2 or 3 years. Every time I watch it, I can't wait until I have the shitty life Kevin Spacey does - and then say, fuck it - quit my job, flip burgers, abuse drugs, and basically be an all around rockin' and a rollin'...dude. I particularly liked the part where he quits his job and his letter reads..."and at least once a day I sneak off to the bathroom to jerk off and fantasize about a life that doesn't so closely resemble hell." Well maybe I didn't get it word for word, but you get the gist.
And what would my blog be without a "check this ridiculous shit I found on the internet!" segment? FACEBALL!. Press play and love it. Dude, I'm so pumped. I don't really know what it's all about, except that people get hit in the face with balls...then I had a debate with..myself...about which would be better - faceball's concept or...people getting hit in the balls with faces?! A little switcharoo. A teeny flip flop...an insy - ok you get it, I know. I'm kind of diggin' the whole "preview" genre of videography. I'm planning on several things on that front actually. The next episode is getting worked out in my head, along with a possible video blog. The latter would seem really odd, I'd have to find a way to make it good...without resorting to masturbation...eh. Difficult, I know.
Anyways, I'm beat, and I'm sure so are you. Rock 'n Roll.
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Flickr, Alaska, and a Blonde...
I've thought about the prospect of leaving, it's going to happen soon enough. In the next year or so, I will hopefully be in Philadelphia. But we all know that's not what I'm really talking about. I've thought about Europa, quite possibly the West Coast again...then I thought - what about somewhere completely off the wall. Like Alaska. Sadly, I'm not much for winter sports, or else Alaska would be far more enticing. But what a conversation starter..."Really? What made you move out there?" "Well, I heard the fish was really good. No, seriously, it was really good." And they'd be forced to laugh and probably think I was a huge ass-hole for not answering their question honestly.
But really, I don't know why I'd want to move to Alaska. From what little I know of the place, it doesn't seem to have much of what I'm looking for in terms of an urban atmosphere. But I've always wanted one of those jackets with the furry hood lining - and it's just a bit ridiculous anywhere but Alaska, or maybe the North Pole, and Greenland, or Russia...you get the point. I also want to be part of a dog sledding team. Plus I hear the cold temperature and wind have this cool effect on your skin. I think I'd look good with a "weathered" face, like Clint Eastwood...damnit, if only I could grow a beard. Hmm, perhaps Alaska is a no go. I didn't think about the beard. I'm sure it's a prerequisite for males entering the State. "Excuse me sir...you have no beard. Guards! Take him away!"
Such is the way most of my dreams go...damn my inability to grow a beard...damn you to hell. I don't think I'd even grow a beard if I could. I mean it would probably be a real hassle eating potato salad. In fact, I bet it would be a pain eating all sorts of food. At least if you don't like food hanging off your face. But if you do, then I'd venture to say that a beard would be a top commodity. No - no beard for me, but...I would gladly rock a 5 o'clock shadow. I think they are the coolest things ever. It's a proper amount of "I don't give a fuck" mixed with, "yea I'm ruggedly good-looking". My jealousy is raging. It's like a giant flaming pole of envy. Why a pole? Well to that, I ask, why a ball? Seriously, why is anything set to violent flames always a ball? Aren't other shapes just as worthy descriptors when dealing with flaming objects? Why am I even talking about this?
On to some good news. While taking a gander at my personal myspace page and I noticed my flickr widget had a new bubble...it claims that one of my photos made it to flickr's "explore". After much perusal, I stumbled across a website more popularly referred to as "flickr toys" and used their web app called "scout" to find none other than Presti with his pants down as number 486 (out of 500 - hahaha) on April 28, 2007. Awesome! I don't really know what that means, but I'm glad I made it, at least one time. I barely made it, but when you consider the volume of photos uploaded to flickr per day, making it in the top 500 is like the top 0.5%. Yea - so I'm kind of a big deal now. No, I'm not, but I can still pretend. There are flickr members with over 100+ photos in there. I also found out that there are several groups devoted to tracking flickr's explore - and sadly it seems that it has ruined many people's lives. It's been referred to as "interestingness anxiety" apart from many other things. Funny thing with technology, it comes with newfangled disorders. Now that's interesting.
Also, I'd like to put out a public apology to a former classmate of mine, who shall remain anonymous, but I'll refer to her as blondie. Blondie and I had Chemistry 1 together back in high school. I did rather poorly in that class primarily due to my all too familiar "I'm Miguel and make funnies in class instead of paying attention" attitude. Blondie was a nice girl, relatively quiet back in the day, whom I sexually harassed incessantly every day I saw her. Another possibility of my poor performance in Chemistry could be attributed to my constant day dreaming of various sexual positions and acts performed with Blondie. Incase that was misleading, I did not have sexual relations with Blondie...but I definitely thought about it. So anyways, I run into her at the good ol' Tally Ho and proceed to small talk and thanks to several pitchers of Blue Moon (it was on special for 6 dollars), I repeatedly told her how I wanted to "fuck the shit out of her" back in high school. Oddly enough her response was, "aww. Thanks!" Yes, well, ok then. I'm sorry for my behavior. But not really - because I really did want to fuck the shit ouf her. *shrugs shoulders
On that note - fare thee well. And don't forget to wipe extra clean after pooping during the Summer months - let's keep certain things from getting overly hot and steamy. Agreed?
Update: 2 photos on flickr's explore!!
But really, I don't know why I'd want to move to Alaska. From what little I know of the place, it doesn't seem to have much of what I'm looking for in terms of an urban atmosphere. But I've always wanted one of those jackets with the furry hood lining - and it's just a bit ridiculous anywhere but Alaska, or maybe the North Pole, and Greenland, or Russia...you get the point. I also want to be part of a dog sledding team. Plus I hear the cold temperature and wind have this cool effect on your skin. I think I'd look good with a "weathered" face, like Clint Eastwood...damnit, if only I could grow a beard. Hmm, perhaps Alaska is a no go. I didn't think about the beard. I'm sure it's a prerequisite for males entering the State. "Excuse me sir...you have no beard. Guards! Take him away!"
Such is the way most of my dreams go...damn my inability to grow a beard...damn you to hell. I don't think I'd even grow a beard if I could. I mean it would probably be a real hassle eating potato salad. In fact, I bet it would be a pain eating all sorts of food. At least if you don't like food hanging off your face. But if you do, then I'd venture to say that a beard would be a top commodity. No - no beard for me, but...I would gladly rock a 5 o'clock shadow. I think they are the coolest things ever. It's a proper amount of "I don't give a fuck" mixed with, "yea I'm ruggedly good-looking". My jealousy is raging. It's like a giant flaming pole of envy. Why a pole? Well to that, I ask, why a ball? Seriously, why is anything set to violent flames always a ball? Aren't other shapes just as worthy descriptors when dealing with flaming objects? Why am I even talking about this?
On to some good news. While taking a gander at my personal myspace page and I noticed my flickr widget had a new bubble...it claims that one of my photos made it to flickr's "explore". After much perusal, I stumbled across a website more popularly referred to as "flickr toys" and used their web app called "scout" to find none other than Presti with his pants down as number 486 (out of 500 - hahaha) on April 28, 2007. Awesome! I don't really know what that means, but I'm glad I made it, at least one time. I barely made it, but when you consider the volume of photos uploaded to flickr per day, making it in the top 500 is like the top 0.5%. Yea - so I'm kind of a big deal now. No, I'm not, but I can still pretend. There are flickr members with over 100+ photos in there. I also found out that there are several groups devoted to tracking flickr's explore - and sadly it seems that it has ruined many people's lives. It's been referred to as "interestingness anxiety" apart from many other things. Funny thing with technology, it comes with newfangled disorders. Now that's interesting.Also, I'd like to put out a public apology to a former classmate of mine, who shall remain anonymous, but I'll refer to her as blondie. Blondie and I had Chemistry 1 together back in high school. I did rather poorly in that class primarily due to my all too familiar "I'm Miguel and make funnies in class instead of paying attention" attitude. Blondie was a nice girl, relatively quiet back in the day, whom I sexually harassed incessantly every day I saw her. Another possibility of my poor performance in Chemistry could be attributed to my constant day dreaming of various sexual positions and acts performed with Blondie. Incase that was misleading, I did not have sexual relations with Blondie...but I definitely thought about it. So anyways, I run into her at the good ol' Tally Ho and proceed to small talk and thanks to several pitchers of Blue Moon (it was on special for 6 dollars), I repeatedly told her how I wanted to "fuck the shit out of her" back in high school. Oddly enough her response was, "aww. Thanks!" Yes, well, ok then. I'm sorry for my behavior. But not really - because I really did want to fuck the shit ouf her. *shrugs shoulders
On that note - fare thee well. And don't forget to wipe extra clean after pooping during the Summer months - let's keep certain things from getting overly hot and steamy. Agreed?
Update: 2 photos on flickr's explore!!
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Give me liberty, or give me...
I know it seems like I've been getting extremely excited over the most mundane events - honestly, that's because my life kind of sucks. Anyways, I just found out that my new-to-me computer/office chair can have it's height adjusted. My back was really starting to hurt and I was overly elated at my newfound discovery. If you think my excitement over this news is embarrassing, well you'll love how I found out. I was really bored and no one was home, and instead of masturbating, I thought, hmm I haven't made myself dizzy in a good long while. So, with the fervor of a pubescent 12 year old, I spun myself as fast and as hard as I could in my chair. At first I thought it was just part of the post-chair-spin-dizziness, but I soon realized I was at a more comfortable sitting height. What was originally a ridiculous waste of time (spinning around in my chair), turned into a fruitful and exponentially beneficial experience. YAY for being stupid! HIP HIP...HOORAY!
Hmm, my joy has subsided quicker than an erection post-porno induced eruption. Back to the mundane I guess. I recently saw a Dane Cook skit - say what you will about the man, this skit of his held some valuable insight. I believe it was titled, "Things that guys want more than sex." WHA?! I know, it sounds insane, right? Is there more to life? I sure hope so, because if there isn't, I'm going to start planning my funeral. But he starts off by talking about a diamond heist. Every guy wants to be part of a diamond heist, complete with automatic gunfire while running down the street screaming, "Where's the van?! It was supposed to fucking be here!" Dane, you're right, that would be fucking intense. Then he talked about owning a pet monkey - and I guess that's cool, but I'm partial to my cats, then I thought about another thing I'd enjoy more than sex...a zombie outbreak. Dude, I've written about it before - c'mon. Combine that with super-spy skills a la Jason Bourne (in Bourne Identity), a diamond heist, and a zombie outbreak...Ghandi! Give me a pizza and I'm fucking set.
But then I thought about it some more...no sex...no sex whatsoever...did that include oral sex? Because, I don't know if anything is better than oral sex. Think about it. No matter how cool, exciting, educational, beneficial, fulfilling, heartwarming - something is - it would be ten times better if you got head while doing it. Eating pizza + head = nummy nummy! Driving in the getaway van while shooting zombies and getting head...gez, the possibilities are endless. If there is a God, I believe he/she gave us mouths mainly for oral pleasure. Eating? Only seconday. Speaking? Tertiary. Oral sex? El numero uno my friends. Head is like a universal box of sprinkles on this ice cream of a life. Patrick Henry was censored, he didn't really want to die for liberty, I'll tell you what he really said, but ya know, honesty doesn't sell history books. "Give me liberty, or give me head." Damnit that should be on a t-shirt!
On one final note, I urge all of you to check out the Pulp Fiction Soundtrack...and the movie as well if you already haven't. I've managed to "find" myself a copy - and I am groovin' out. It's basically a collection of songs that make you want to be cool, kill people, and somehow make sense of life in the midst of all the blood, violence and sex.
To my fellow late night junkies, internet mavens, and social deviants - go fuck yourselves and the jeans you sit in.
Hmm, my joy has subsided quicker than an erection post-porno induced eruption. Back to the mundane I guess. I recently saw a Dane Cook skit - say what you will about the man, this skit of his held some valuable insight. I believe it was titled, "Things that guys want more than sex." WHA?! I know, it sounds insane, right? Is there more to life? I sure hope so, because if there isn't, I'm going to start planning my funeral. But he starts off by talking about a diamond heist. Every guy wants to be part of a diamond heist, complete with automatic gunfire while running down the street screaming, "Where's the van?! It was supposed to fucking be here!" Dane, you're right, that would be fucking intense. Then he talked about owning a pet monkey - and I guess that's cool, but I'm partial to my cats, then I thought about another thing I'd enjoy more than sex...a zombie outbreak. Dude, I've written about it before - c'mon. Combine that with super-spy skills a la Jason Bourne (in Bourne Identity), a diamond heist, and a zombie outbreak...Ghandi! Give me a pizza and I'm fucking set.
But then I thought about it some more...no sex...no sex whatsoever...did that include oral sex? Because, I don't know if anything is better than oral sex. Think about it. No matter how cool, exciting, educational, beneficial, fulfilling, heartwarming - something is - it would be ten times better if you got head while doing it. Eating pizza + head = nummy nummy! Driving in the getaway van while shooting zombies and getting head...gez, the possibilities are endless. If there is a God, I believe he/she gave us mouths mainly for oral pleasure. Eating? Only seconday. Speaking? Tertiary. Oral sex? El numero uno my friends. Head is like a universal box of sprinkles on this ice cream of a life. Patrick Henry was censored, he didn't really want to die for liberty, I'll tell you what he really said, but ya know, honesty doesn't sell history books. "Give me liberty, or give me head." Damnit that should be on a t-shirt!
On one final note, I urge all of you to check out the Pulp Fiction Soundtrack...and the movie as well if you already haven't. I've managed to "find" myself a copy - and I am groovin' out. It's basically a collection of songs that make you want to be cool, kill people, and somehow make sense of life in the midst of all the blood, violence and sex.
To my fellow late night junkies, internet mavens, and social deviants - go fuck yourselves and the jeans you sit in.
softball, picnics, and ducks.
Pennsylvania thunderstorms are wonderful, more so if you're under some kind of roof or another - and if you're not a dog. My dog grows terribly fearful when it rains. I don't understand it really...I guess I could see the fear when she was a puppy, but after several years I'd think she'd be over it. Hell, who knows...I don't mind the company at night either, as my cats no longer tend to sleep in my room, it is nice to have Misty sleeping at the foot of my bed.
I've had a rather enjoyable break this past week - minus one little glitch, which I'll get into a few paragraphs down. Even though I've been coughing my way around the Lehigh Valley for about a week now, I'm glad to say the worst of my flu is gone. I even got an "A" in Trigonometry, after what I thought was a horrendous final exam. But I guess I did alright. 4.0 still in tact!
A close friend Mikey Blair came home for a few days. He's stationed down in North Carolina and I rarely get to see him. But whenever I do, it's always good. Lots of beers, burgers, and more beers. Thankfully he had a tent setup outside so wetness was kept to a minimum. Actually that was the second picnic I attended this week. The first one was after a slow-pitch softball game at Ben's house, who by the way had some excellent food - thanks to the cooking skills of Jackie.
And speaking of slow-pitch softball - my buddy Graham was donning the greatest outfit known to the slow-pitch softball league. Yes, that's him, pictured to the right, showing off the "sweater" underneath the jean jacket vest - complete with cut off jean shorts, or "jorts" for you in-crowd individuals. The original outfit included a t-shirt with faux buff body screen print - which, if you could imagine only added to my amusement upon it's removal. Oh, the irony. I guess you had to be there.
The game itself was a lot of fun. It was a beautiful day, and I got to catch up with one of Graham's sisters, whom I haven't seen in several years. Maura's (Graham's sister) husband, Brad Fry has been in several bands since I first met them several years ago. They've gotten signed by Sub Pop Records, whom you might know through such bands as The Postal Service, The Shins, Sleater-Kinney, Soundgarden, The Reverend Horton Heat...and the list goes on. The band's official website can be found at www.whitedenim.com/pissedjeans. So I found that a bit exciting, and I hope they become huge and I can say, hey - I kind of know them. haha.
Before, I get into a small, yet annoying incident that occurred on Weds, take a look at this comic strip. It's about photography and ducks. The original site is WTD.
Now back to our regularly scheduled blog. Well just the other day my mother knocks on my door and asks, can we have a talk next week, I'm off on Weds. I say sure, thinking, fuck here we go again. So Tuesday rolls around and my mom texts me about our talk and I said I thought it was Weds...blah blah blah, let's just say this "talk" didn't start out the best way possible. So after a pre-emptive verbal whipping on a slightly hung-over Wednesday morning, my mother and I sit down to talk. At first it was the generic what are you doing about transfers, etc. That was fine and dandy. And what came next was just a little nerve-racking, confusing, and plain old unnecessary.
You know what - I don't even want to get into it. I simply want to say. Fuck it.
I've had a rather enjoyable break this past week - minus one little glitch, which I'll get into a few paragraphs down. Even though I've been coughing my way around the Lehigh Valley for about a week now, I'm glad to say the worst of my flu is gone. I even got an "A" in Trigonometry, after what I thought was a horrendous final exam. But I guess I did alright. 4.0 still in tact!
A close friend Mikey Blair came home for a few days. He's stationed down in North Carolina and I rarely get to see him. But whenever I do, it's always good. Lots of beers, burgers, and more beers. Thankfully he had a tent setup outside so wetness was kept to a minimum. Actually that was the second picnic I attended this week. The first one was after a slow-pitch softball game at Ben's house, who by the way had some excellent food - thanks to the cooking skills of Jackie.
And speaking of slow-pitch softball - my buddy Graham was donning the greatest outfit known to the slow-pitch softball league. Yes, that's him, pictured to the right, showing off the "sweater" underneath the jean jacket vest - complete with cut off jean shorts, or "jorts" for you in-crowd individuals. The original outfit included a t-shirt with faux buff body screen print - which, if you could imagine only added to my amusement upon it's removal. Oh, the irony. I guess you had to be there.The game itself was a lot of fun. It was a beautiful day, and I got to catch up with one of Graham's sisters, whom I haven't seen in several years. Maura's (Graham's sister) husband, Brad Fry has been in several bands since I first met them several years ago. They've gotten signed by Sub Pop Records, whom you might know through such bands as The Postal Service, The Shins, Sleater-Kinney, Soundgarden, The Reverend Horton Heat...and the list goes on. The band's official website can be found at www.whitedenim.com/pissedjeans. So I found that a bit exciting, and I hope they become huge and I can say, hey - I kind of know them. haha.Before, I get into a small, yet annoying incident that occurred on Weds, take a look at this comic strip. It's about photography and ducks. The original site is WTD.
Now back to our regularly scheduled blog. Well just the other day my mother knocks on my door and asks, can we have a talk next week, I'm off on Weds. I say sure, thinking, fuck here we go again. So Tuesday rolls around and my mom texts me about our talk and I said I thought it was Weds...blah blah blah, let's just say this "talk" didn't start out the best way possible. So after a pre-emptive verbal whipping on a slightly hung-over Wednesday morning, my mother and I sit down to talk. At first it was the generic what are you doing about transfers, etc. That was fine and dandy. And what came next was just a little nerve-racking, confusing, and plain old unnecessary.
You know what - I don't even want to get into it. I simply want to say. Fuck it.
Monday, July 2, 2007
Sharon - you sexy bitch.
I finally got my new spectacles! And I love 'em. They are so light and incredibly comfortable. This is my first time having glasses with the anti-glare reflective coating and it takes a bit getting used to. It's almost as if my vision is too clear. I'm just not used to it. Compared to my old pair, which I will still keep, the super thin metal frame is practically weightless. The only drawback I've found is that these frames tend to bend and will probably not handle being sat on as graciously as my old frames. But I guess those are the tradeoffs between comfort and durability.I can't stress enough how happy I am with the service from Fox Optical. Everyone says they are more expensive and they might be, but they hand fit your glasses and really take the time out to make sure you are satisfied with your glasses. Not to mention their selection of frames are the raddest. I figure if I'm going to be wearing something pretty much every day for several years, I might as well get something I like.
Here's one more shot of my glasses in their its all white case, complete with a nice micro fiber cloth. I'm considering maybe getting my lenses replaced in my old frames. I've avoided metal frames for years because I knew how I end up treating my glasses. I'm an abusive boy...oh well. And if you are wondering why the title of this blog is "Sharon", it's because that's the name of my glasses. It actually says Sharon on one of the sides. *shrugs shoulders. Also, if anyone is interested, the company who makes them is called Mykita. I believe their website is www.mykita.com.
Alrighty, I'm out. Keep a lookout for a fantastic new blog I'm working on...Presti gets belligerent and tells me to do heroin - awesome. Trust me, you will laugh. Oh...and Mikey Blair's coming home, I can't drink - but that don't mean I can't party! YEEHAW!
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