Hyper-Observant Homo

Tables and Tumors

2009-08-02T21:43:00.000-07:00

(Bookends. Used for stopping books from tipping over.)

Bookends. I love them. I got some amazing ones. From Rose. So cool. I have a fetish. A bookend fetish. I don't think it's weird. Not at all. It could be worse. I stare at them. So cool. Sexy even. Look at them. Over and over. Thanks for holding my books. Thanks for being awesome. The night I got them, I painted. I painted a coffee table to. With Rose. It was fun. Stayed up all night. Painting. Not fun. Crazy.
Californication

Smell. Of blood. So gross. Iron-y. Gaggy. I smelled it. Just the other day. Couldn't be a surgeon. I would vom. I'd pass out. I'd puke. In the person. Pass out. Right into a body cavity. That would make me puke. Again. What a mess.

English pit bulls. Thought they were cute. Rosa and Dean watched one. It was cute. Slobbery too. Slobbered on me. Lots. Chased me. All the time. Every time it saw me. Went for my legs. Wanted to slobber me. So slobbery. Could never have one.

Brain tumors. Yikes. Pretty sure I have one. I don't want one. I want to get an MRI. If that is what you get for brain tumors. Maybe it's a CAT Scan. I don't know. I just want to know. If there is a tumor. In my head. If so, crap. Hopefully not. I only have one symptom. Double vision. I only get it while reading. I read until I have double vision. At night. Then I fall asleep. Maybe I don't have a tumor. Maybe I see double because I'm falling asleep. Hopefully. I'd rather be tired. Than have a tumor.

Diamonds and Declarations

2009-07-30T20:39:00.000-07:00

(Circular metal band. Occasionally referred to as a 'ring.' Example shown includes concentrated carbon. Rarely referred to as 'diamonds.' ...and yes... I like diamonds. So?)

Manly men. Gruff. Blunt. Grrr. Make me laugh. I love when they say bye-bye. Rather than bye. Bye-bye! A little hidden homo...deep inside. Peeking out. Bye-bye! (Clears throat) Uhhh... yeah. Well, see ya. Later dude. I don't even say bye-bye. I say, "I'm out, yatches!"

I ponder things. Odd things. One thing. Might happen one day. Office warfare. If it comes to that. Roll your chair. Into your enemy. Right at their knees. They are fat. Most likely. They tip over. Continue rolling over them. Stop once sufficiently dead. Throw your pens. Distract them. With multi-colored post-its. When they look away...throw your push pin filled stress ball. The shrapnel always gets 'em. Pull out your plastic utensils. Line your cubicle. With forks. With knives. Use spoons. To launch paperclips. Shoot rubber bands. Hit them with your phone. Tie them with phone cord. Internet cables. Throw your mug. At their computer. Cut them off from the internet. No outside communication. No communication. No winning. Probably don't piss me off at work. Don't declare war. Sadly, you will lose. I've had time to plan. You haven't. Unless you are also unstable.

I'm selling a ring. One ring. To rule them all. Well, not that ring. I wish though. My wedding ring. It's hard. Not emotionally. Just hard. Lots of work. Upload photos. eBay. Craig's List. Answer questions. Don't get bids. Don't get calls. I don't need it. It's a nice ring. I can't still wear it. Maybe I can. Maybe I will. I will. On some other finger. It might be weird. I'm weird though. I'll start tomorrow. Unless you buy it. Then I won't. Obviously. Unless I borrow it. From you.

E.S.A.D. and Emos

2009-07-30T20:19:00.000-07:00

(Star. Fake one. Commonly referred to as "skeezy skank sellouts." By me.)

I love saying things. Mean things. Most gay guys do. Eli does. Today he said something. Something brilliant. Something I will now be using. Regularly. E.S.A.D. Eat shit and die. How fulfilling. What a wonderful conversation ender. No response...you can't say, "Okay." Not after that. Not after being told to E.S.A.D. No way. Better stay on my good side peeps. You don't want that thrown at you. No one wants to E.S.A.D. Maybe two people. Two girls. One cup...

I love some people. Some. One of whom is Beth. Basically my fake girl friend. In high school. I named her "B-Dub." For her initials. B.W. Beth Willmore. Her name though was Beth Parker. I knew she'd marry Jared. I'm psychic. B-Dub is a crazy smart chicka. Try something. Go to www.marykay.com/parkerb. Do it. Put Jake (that is my name) in the comment box. While I'm at it do something else for me. I like bossing people around. A lot. You Tube "Jer Ber Jones." Watch "Model for Me." Love it. Sing it. Love it.

I loved stars. Loved. Now, I feel betrayed. Fake ones. Not real. Loved them. Not everyone did. Suddenly it was the dawn. The dawn of the Emonian Era. Every Emo loves stars. Emos are gay. In the bad way. Ruined stars for me. Like homos ruined rainbows for heteros. I'm angry. I feel robbed. I feel slighted. But mostly I feel betrayed. By stars. Sellouts. Self loathing. Cutting. Skeezy Emo stars. Get out of my sight.

San Fran and Stalkers

2009-07-30T19:56:00.000-07:00

(Cigarettes. Usually inhaled. Most commonly used by smokers. Smokers are also known as 'cigarette users' to the novice.)

Cigarettes. Sexy. Smelly. Sexy. Deadly. I don't understand. I think they are sexy. I shouldn't. I didn't. Not when exes smoked. Turn off. Gross breath. Looks sexy. It looks...glamorous. That's how they used to play it up. For women. Manly for men. They really can't now. Not anymore. Poor Big Tobacco... you poor thing. I want my glamor back.

San Francisco. Never been. Lame. I have to go. This year. It's a goal. I'd prefer to go alone. I prefer to do most things. Alone. Adventure. It happens. More so when you're alone. I'd love San Fran. The people. The city. The weather. I gotta go. I just need a ticket. I'll set up a vacay fund. Thank you in advance. For your donations.

Speaking of San Francisco. I have a stalker. Through the phone. He calls. My work phone. Leaves messages. Wants to chat. Chat about dope. Talk about streetcars. Tells me about wine. Says he'll take me golfing. Creeps me out. Very funny man. Very creepy man. Very crazy man. Maybe I'll call him. I like crazy. Crazy likes me.

Vendetta and Voting

2009-07-28T12:11:00.000-07:00

(V. For. Vendetta. If you don't love it, leave this site. Kay don't. Read it! Also in photo: cute little part of my cute cute room.)

I read. I read the dictionary. Sometimes. I've read it twice. Whole way through. Thrilling actually. You realize different usages. Of common words. Opens up a whole new vocab. I am about to start the third reading. I'm excited. I swear I'm not a nerd. Okay, I'm a nerd. A smart one though. Great at vocabulary so there! I read all the time. Favorite books are dark. V for Vendetta. Count of Monte Cristo. Perfume. Crank. Wicked. Reading is my boyfriend.

I played football. In high school. I sucked. Defensive tackle. If we were absolutely winning. I could play. They called me "Fluke." I didn't mind. I got in shape. Really hot actually. Plus the locker room was fun. Mmmm hmmm... Hot. Anyway, tackling boys and showering. High school heaven. One of my coaches tried to watch me pee. He was weird. So weird.

Speaking of peeing. I get stage fright. Severe. I can't pee. At urinals. Not with someone next to me. In a stall I can. As long as not many people are in there. They can pee. Don't know why I can't. I'm shy. For some reason. I used to win peeing contests as a kid. Now I can't in front of people. Oh, except Skeeter McGee. I can pee with him. He's my son.

I put up a new poll. It's interesting. Vote. It's of vital importance. Do it. Do it. It's a favor. For my Straight Wife and her boyfriend aka Almost Gay Ryan. Kidding Ryan. You're this much gay...........! VOTE!

Television and Typing

2009-07-28T12:03:00.000-07:00

(A hand. With ideas. My ideas. Not my hand's ideas.)

I wake up. I have writing on me. I've taken to writing. Writing ideas. For the blog. I have a pen. By my bed. Usually my idea pad as well. Sometimes not. I wake up. Writing on my hands. Arms. Backs of my hands. Sometimes I can read it. Most times I can't. I try to decipher. I use what I can. I have no short term memory. I have to write. Apparently. On myself. Whatever works...

Filo T. Farnsworth. Go inventor dude. Thanks for TV. Also thanks for being from Idaho. Although Rigby sucks. Sorry Jord. It does. It's gross. Trashy. I'd prefer it was invented in Rexburg. The 'Burg is more upper class. We are only famous for a dam breaking. Washing the city away. I'd rather have TV notoriety. Way more rather. I'm so glad I am from the more upper class of the two cities. Maybe it's more upper class because it was washed away. It's all new-ish. Either way, Rigby is gross.

Sometimes I get bored. I type left handed. I'm fast. No right hand. One handed typing. Left handed. It keeps me awake. It's fun. I can reach all the keys. Co-workers probably stare. Think I'm nuts. I am nuts. I do weird things. I get bored. When bored, do weird things. I can't buff my nails all day. That's where left-handed typing comes in. It's fun. Try it.

No short term memory. I can't remember 30 seconds ago. I need lists. Thus my idea book. Thus writing on myself. At night. No short term memory. Have a photographic one though. I can remember a particular word. See it on a particular page. Turn right to it. I see past conversations. See the words coming right out. Of someones mouth. Or my own. It's fun. It helps. It balances out this short term crap. Short term is boring anyway. Typically.

Lights and Laziness

2009-07-26T12:10:00.000-07:00

(Light. Bulb. Light bulb. Usually used to illuminate. I won't go into other uses just yet.)

I have a mom. She is funny. Likes "stickin' it to the man." Idaho has a new law. Have to use energy efficient light bulbs. Mom went and bought normal ones. All the normal ones. All she could find. Apparently the EE bulbs contain mercury. She doesn't like that. She doesn't want to be told what lights she can use. Go mom. You'll show "the man." Probably piss him off too. You crazy law breaker.

Remote controls. Started our obesity problem. Before people had to move. Even just a bit. To adjust anything. Since then. No movement. Except a tiny click. The push of a button. Maybe if you channel surf you'll burn more calories. More meaning one. Rather than zero. Obesity. What an ass. Total jerk. Swept over America. Silently. It was too late. By the time we noticed, we were all too fat. To do anything. Poor poor America. Long live the brave, short live the fat.

Muffins are yummy. If I ate more carbs. I'd eat more muffins. Okay, not eat. Devour. Inhale. Muffin after muffin. All types. Blueberry is preferred. All day. Every day. Carboholic. Muffins are my drug of choice. Muffins. Created by the Dark Lord. Or a grandmother. Either way. Evil. Delicious.

Hops and Home Ec.

2009-07-26T11:45:00.000-07:00

(Example of a trash can. Or 'rubbish bin' for the Brits. Purpose: Put nasty crap inside of it.)

I made an apron once. In Home Ec. Sewing machines scare me. Needles shatter. Thousands of shards. Headed straight for my eye. I tried to fake it. Upon inspection and grading. My pockets fell off. They weren't sewn on. Too scared. I passed the cooking portion though. She loved my older sister. Bless her heart. Good old Mrs. Peterson. Should have given my apron and A. They should take terror into account.

There is a garbage man. I see him coming and panic. I don't like today's garbage in the can tomorrow. I finish everything. Throw it away. Before he reaches my desk. Coke bottles. Water cups. All have to be empty. He never puts my can back where it was before. I make it a point to put it in a specific place. He makes it a point to put it in a different place. I need blue tape. I'll tape the floor. Show him precisely where it should go. I'd feel a lot better. He'd hate me. I'd feel a lot better.

Wonder who invented alcohol. I wouldn't be the first to try it. Here, have some rotten beverage. Tell me how it feels. Oh okay, yeah... um... no you go ahead. I'm good. Dude, it's only rotten barley. With hops thrown in for taste. Yeah... hops are really yummy. Good idea man. Go ahead though, really. I'm good. Thank you though. Hey, I gotta run. Let me know how this whole 'alcohol' thing turns out brotha. Peace!

Funny and Forgetful

2009-07-23T15:05:00.000-07:00

(Alcohol. Typically consumed by those who drink alcohol.)

Hair removal products. Hurt. I'm hairy. I've tried some. I hate them. Nair gives me rashes. I only like wax. Wax works. I used to use it. On my brows. Now I just tweeze. Wax was inconvenient. Lots of work. A mess. I'm all about quick. Convenient. No mess. No sticky mess. Hair is still gone. Just no clean up. Go tweezing. Long live ye.

I don't like people. Ones who say "O." When they should say "zero." I learned from my dad. So annoying. Your zip code doesn't have an "O" in it. It's called "zero." It's a number. Maybe you've heard of them. Your phone number doesn't have an "O" either. It's a phone NUMBER. No "O's." None at all. Come on. No one says it the other way. I should I'll start using zero. For "O's." That would be too hard. I'll just correct people. When I hear them say "O." Don't make me correct you.

Alzheimer's disease. Jeez. I wonder if they have problems. Like with alcoholism or drug abuse. Probably. They might take a shot. Forget. Take another. Forget. Keep doing that. Always taking a drink. Forgetting about past ones. Take a pill. Forget. Take another. Forget. I guess you'd really have no memory. Talk about blacking out.

Bruno. Love it. So funny. So gross. So funny. Nudity. Lots. I love Sacha Baron Cohen. I think he's hot. Even as Borat. Okay. Not as Borat. In real life. And as Bruno. A little bit. I'd do him. I'd totally do him in real life. I need to find out where he lives. Him and Fiona Apple.

Ticks and Toes

2009-07-23T14:41:00.000-07:00

(Toes. Used to help with balance. Some people use them for other things. Such as to hold utensils.)

Nervous ticks. Weird. Some are so annoying. Like blinking. People who blink crazily. I love mine. Cracking my knuckles. Love it. Feels so nice. I like to tap my fingers on my desk too. And constantly shake my leg. It drives people crazy. I like it though. That's why I do it. Facial twitches in general. Annoy me to no end. If you talk to me. Don't twitch. Or I'll hit you.

I've never met a midget. I saw one once. I was five. I asked my mom why the little boy had a mustache. She covered my mouth. Instantly. I was five. I didn't know. I have dreams. Where they chase me. Creeps me out. Really bad. Much scarier than a regular person. Little nubbin fingers. Reaching out. Grabbing you. Ahhh! Seriously. I'm scared right now.

I don't like toes. I like mine. I don't like yours. Anyone's. They are weird. Look weird. Like midget fingers. Creepy. Feet are gross. Dirty. Smelly. Dry sometimes. Toenails are gross. Mine aren't. Some people's are. The whole package. Gross. Don't touch me with your feet. Or with your hands. If you just touched your feet.

I like to zone out. Star into space. Until I see double. I don't notice when I do it. I do it when I think. About general things. Nothing specific. Ponder the meaning of life. Things like that. I start to see double. Then I snap out of it. I like to stare like that. Mini-vacation. Sort of a daydream. I usually do it when I stare out of the window. At work. At home. I stare a lot. In restaurants. At people. Then I realize what I'm doing. I don't mean to stare at people. Some are just so ugly.

Cats and Crack

2009-07-21T17:47:00.000-07:00

(Energy drink. Known for providing energy to the drinker.)

I like energy. I like drinks. Energy drinks. Sugar free preferably. Either way really. Sometimes I depend on them. Sometimes I mix them. I use them often while driving. I'm going to start using at work. I like the jitters. Fake, cracked out energy. It's nice. Jeff likes the flavor. Not the jitters. I like the jitters. Not so much the flavor. I want to strain them. Just take the energy out. Leave the flavor. Take it up to the 6th floor. Hand it to Jeffy. We'd both be perfectly happy. If only. I need to invent that. An energy drink strainer. I'd buy one. Jeff would too. Two sold for sure. Great idea.

Cats are weird. I never liked them. Then I met Jack. Jack is fat. Jack is funny. Snarky. Lovey. He's the best. I want to die. Come back as a cat. That's the life. People love you. People feed you. All you have to do is be a jerk. They love you for it. Think it's cute. Crazy cats. Lucky cats.

Go vegans. I couldn't do it. I don't have time. I couldn't check ingredients all day. In everything. There are animal products in everything. Absolutely. Everything. Everything we eat. I don't know what I'd eat. I'd eat rice crackers. That's all I can think of. I wouldn't know what else. I'd die. Fast. Or breakdown. Run to McDonald's. Eat some meat. I don't know though... if McDonald's meat counts as meat. Maybe I could still eat there. Still be vegan. It's not worth the effort.

Cheetos and Coke

2009-07-20T17:51:00.000-07:00

(My Coke. Almost quittin' time. Usually purchased while bottle is full.)

I wonder what Cheetos are made of. I mean, I know. But I wonder. Corn and all. I wonder what else. Chemicals. Coloring. Yummy flavors. Whatever is in them, I love it. I don't let myself love them often. They are a special treat. Very special. Mostly because if not, I'd be too fat. I don't want all the chemicals and dyes either. Just on occasion. Special ones. When I'm alone in bed. Just me and my Cheetos. Alone together. Actually, I've never eaten them in bed. That sounds too dirty. In the bad way. Not the good way.

Mondays get a bad wrap. Everyone hates them. I hate them too. Most of the time. I feel bad for them. Poor things. Sometimes they are great. Sometimes I like them. I feel like that's bad. Like I can't say that. People would ridicule me. Some type of "Monday-lovin' sicko, huh?". Not cool. I really don't like Tuesdays. What a stupid waste of a day. Nothing good ever happens. Not on Tuesdays. Sometimes on Mondays. Tuesdays are my new Mondays. Monday, I heart you. I don't care who knows it.

Coke. Love it. Want it. Daily. Need it. I like to look at it. On my desk. Same one. All day. Just stare at it. Sip it's goodness. Sheer sustenance. So yummy. I don't know why. Pure love. I used to not feel this way. Didn't really like it at all. Now, I've changed my ways. Realized my mistakes. I am in love. I don't care who knows it. Coke. Beautiful Coca-Cola Classic. What a wonderful name.

Cruising and Cancer

2009-07-20T10:22:00.000-07:00

(Typical throat. Hopefully cancer-less. Also, notice the shading. Commonly referred to as 'stubble.' )

Lava rock. Saw lots this weekend. Didn't realize there was so much. In Idaho anyway. Guess I was always used to is. Noticed it this trip up. Tons. Miles and miles. It's pretty. In an ugly way. In a different way. Think it gets a bad wrap. Always called ugly. I'd hate to be lava rock. Sorry lava rock. I think you're cool. Great personality too.

Truckers scare me. Semi-trucks scare me. So big. So scary. Could smash me. Truckers could rape me. Scary guys. Seems like they stop. All the time. Cruise rest stops. Freaky. I don't stop. At rest stops. Too creepy. I bet some are nice. Some are normal. They all look the same. Scary. Like Large Marge from Pee-Wee's Big Adventure. They all wear flannel. Smoke. All men have beards. Wow. I'm really stereotyping here. I think I'm right though.

I think I have cancer. Throat cancer. Sometimes my throat hurts. Not like a sore throat. A sore muscle. In my throat. I think it's bad. Symptoms of throat cancer. Pain or difficulty swallowing. Weight loss for no known reason. Those are all that apply. To me. I think I'm safe. I'll still go to the doctor. I don't like cancer. It's a dick.

Speaking of cancer. I saw, "My Sister's Keeper." I liked it. I didn't cry. Everyone else cried. I know why I didn't. Cancer girl was ugly. So ugly. So ugly I didn't like her. I felt bad. So ugly. Cancer boy was hot. I felt worse for him. Hot cancer boy. Ugly cancer girl. Equals no tears from me.

Paychecks and Pencils

2009-07-17T15:45:00.000-07:00

(Pencil. Used for writing. Mostly in North America and Europe. During ancient times. Roughly -1930-1999 A.D.)

I wonder if Teddy Grahams still exist. I ate those all the time. All the time. Little kid. Lovin' on my Teddy's. Favorite snack. Those and Nilla Wafers. I love me some Nilla Wafers. I haven't had either in forever. Years. Way too long. TG's and NW's. Yum. I need some. Stat. Getting the cravings. The cravings of a five year old. Yum.

I haven't seen a pencil in years. I wonder if I could use one. Still. It'd be weird. Write in pencil. that never happens. I should buy one. Write with it. It's a novelty. I'd need some paper. Pens get all the fun. Everyone uses pens. Pens are the town bicycle. Poor pencils. Their nice. They get no fun. They have great personalities. I'm sure they do. Good old pencils.

I'm learning about internet domains. Interesting. Boring. Understandable. Over my head. I need to learn more. I'm lazy. I want to learn more. I'm lazy. I need to not be lazy. I might enjoy it. It's helpful to know. I won't be lazy. Eventually.

Thought about serial killers today. I like them. Not like, let's hang out. Like, you're interesting. Interesting as hell. Wonder how they get that way. If something horrible happened. If they came out that way. If they created themselves. Alter egos. Formed themselves. Out of necessity. I think they should all wear costumes. Clown costumes. Any scary costume. I guess it wouldn't work. You'd see them coming. I bet some do though. Dress up. For the hunt. I would. I'd wear a rainbow costume. No one would see me coming. No one at all. I wouldn't want to stain it though. I can't hurt people either. I'd be the worst serial killer ever. I could be a cereal killer. Smash boxes in the store. That would work better. For me.

Paychecks are stupid. I want to get paid daily. Not build it up. Pay it out. Every day. Give me what I earned. I can save it up. Myself. You don't need to. Float it for two weeks. Earn interest. Just give it right to me. I'll pay my bills. I could pay them easier. Faster. More regularly. No more pay checks. Lame. I want to kill someone. The inventor of paychecks. I'll smash a box of cereal. Thinking of him. The entire time.

Lambert and Ladies

2009-07-17T11:14:00.000-07:00

(Teeth. White ones. Used for chewing. Sometimes to help with speech. I like to stare at them.)

I remember Pampered Chef. That was sweet. I saw a pitcher the other day. Pampered Chef. Brought back memories. My mom had tons. All the gadgets. Some useful. Some a waste. It was a boom. It was a bust.

I love the dentist. Love clean teeth. I write about teeth. A lot. I heart them. A lot. I like gas. It feels nice. I love clean. Laughing gas. Fuzzy convo's with assistants. Clean teeth. Shiny teeth. Gas. Dentists. Gas. Clean. Gas. Fuzzy. Love the dentist.

Hung with Jord and Ryan. At Ryan's. So fun. Love them. Straight Wife. Her BF. Best ever. Saw a Rolling Stone mag. Adam Lambert. Way too gay. Too much makeup. Hot. Maybe. If less gay. No makeup. I don't want a girl. I want a guy. Be a man. You have a penis. Not a vag. Act like a man. A homo man. That's fine. But a man none the less.

Lady Gaga. Great RS cover. So hot. So different. Crazy. Fun. Sex laden. Dripping with innuendos. So sexy. Special place in my heart. Lady Gaga and I. On vacay in Europe. Hanging. Dress up. Concerts. BFF's. Hotness. Sunglasses and hotness.

I worked for Continental. Full of crazies. I met good people though. Rose and Jessica (Panda). So many crazies. Watched two people in training. Basically had sex. Massage sex. In front of us all. Gross. So gross. So crazy. Talked to people. Stupid people. Stupidest people. Learned so much. How dumb people can be. Indescribable. Have to experience it. Ask Rose. Ask Jess. Insanity.

I like tarot. Real tarot readings. Awesome. Interesting. I do them online now. Entertaining. I ask the same question. Every time. I get the same answer. I could see it happening. It's a goal. I may be crazy. But I'll readily admit it. Tarot may be crazy. Mysterious. I like to think that there is a knowing. An essence that has an idea. Of what I'll do. What will happen. Some entity. Maybe I should do drugs. I'd feel the same. Probably.

Texting and Takashi

2009-07-16T15:01:00.000-07:00

(Klonopin. Also known as 'drunk in a pill'. Also known as 'I can drive when I take it'. Too much anxiety without it.)

I like seafood. Lots of types. Sushi. Shrimp. Lobster. Never knew it. Not until recently. About three years ago. I was anti-seafood. Very much so. Outspoken seafood hater. Had never tried it. It was so gross. Smelly. Hatchet wound smelly. Takashi. Love it. Miss it. Need it. Never would have guessed. Ever. Love it. Sunshine roll. Fave. Takashi. Heaven. Sushi. Love.

Can't drive at night. Freaks me out. Really. Freaks. Me out. Klonopin helps. A lot. Can't see. Highways. Scary. At night. Not lit up. Paranoid. Almost crash. A lot. Panic attacks. Hate it. Driving during the day. Not too bad. Freaks me out. A little. Not knowing where I'm going. Hate it. If I know. I'm fine. If I don't. Anxiety. Klonopin. Klonopin helps. A lot.

I love texting. Everyone knows. Love it. Quick. Easy. No muss. No fuss. Don't like breakups. Have a bad habit. I've combined the two. Couple times. Text message breakups. Even an IM breakup. It's bad. So bad. I had to. For the best. Doesn't waste time. No need for a dinner. No talk. No get together. No meeting. It's quick. Easy. No muss. No fuss. Like ripping of a band-aid.

Balance and Body Hair

2009-07-15T18:30:00.000-07:00

(Hair. On a chest. Also known as chest hair.)

Body hair. It's weird. Some people have it. Some people don't. Chest hair. Butt hair. It's so weird. Some people are like hairless mice. Some are bears. Like some hair. Too much is sick. Chest hair is nice. Not too much. Leg and arm hair is fine. Not too much. Head hair is weird too. I like it. Not all crazy. Not too gay. Not too boring. Not too hetero. Hair. Eyebrows are my favorite. I work on mine. A lot. I heart them. They cooperate. They heart me. I hope. I'm really nice.

I have no balance. I turn corners. I bump my shoulders into them. I fall a lot. I fell on Sunday. I fall. I pass out. Quite often. I tip over. I lean. I stumble. I started meds. They make it worse. I went on a roof. It was the 4th. Watching fireworks. Almost died. Scary. I will not die. Not by falling. Not by being a clutz. I don't mind. It's fun. You feel dizzy. A little out of it. Like laughing gas. In small doses. I guess I just upped my dosage. It's nice.

Idaho. Utah. I like them. They both have pros. Both have cons. Idaho has great food. Utah has smog. Utah has great festivals. Idaho has wind. Utah is pretty. Idaho is pretty. Utahans say some words weird. Like always. They say alwaz. Idahoans don't. Utah gets cold. Idaho gets cold. They both get warm. Basically the same. Except one thing. Utah has West Valley. Idaho doesn't.

Harry Potter. He's hot. That's bad. Known him so long. He's all grown up. Getting manly. Feel like I shouldn't. I do. Have a Harry P. crush. An HPC. Lots of people do. I'm sure. Mostly little girls. I'm sure. Probably lots of homos though. Good to know. I'm not alone. No crush on Daniel. No Daniel Radcliffe. Just Harry Potter. HPC. If he's real, I'm marrying him. At Hogwarts. If it's legal.

Folders and Facebook

2009-07-15T15:04:00.000-07:00

(Boring. Folder. Bright tabs. Way more fun.)

Grass is freaking everywhere. Wonder why. Wonder who first planted it. In a yard. Who first mowed it. Why. They should use clover. Maybe ivy. Ivy would be tough. Grass is wimpy. High maintenance. Makes me itchy. I'll have clover. Thank you very much. I guess it makes sense. Clover in a rainbow's yard. I'll just need a pot. Oh... and gold. And a leprechaun outfit. Scratch the outfit.

Manilla folders. Maybe Manila folders. I don't care. I bet someone got rich off of those. Wonder who came up with them. Wonder how long they've been around. The color. Nice. Nice and neutral. Everything is neutral. Must be office etiquette. I want loud colored folders. I don't use them much. Just got a new one yesterday. It's nice. I put colored tabs on it. It's nicer. No one likes color anymore. If you do. You're gay. So gay. In a good way. Obviously. People say that. In a good way. Like there is a bad way. Duh.

Cyber-stalking. It's nice. No danger. Can do it at work. At home. In front of other people. Alone. Blogs. Facebook pages. Myspaces...if they still exist. Blogs. Photos. Cyber-stalk all my friends. Putting that out there. I know what is going on. More than just talking. In person. Thank you internet. I can keep feeling. Like a creep. Cyber-creep. What a nice feeling. I lost my pedophile status. Pedo died, sadly. In February. Still have stalker status. Very well. I will deal with what I have. Facebookers and friends... beware. Wow. I really am creepy. So what.

I'm in love... With a certain someone... Something rather... A punctuation mark... Ellipses... Even the name... Sexy... Soothing... I use them constantly... Daily... Multiple times... Infinite... I would choose them before any other... Maybe everyone loves them... Back off... Their mine... If you don't... You're dumb. Really. Really. Extremely. Dumb. Sweet... Sweet... Ellipses...

Executors and Extenze

2009-07-15T10:31:00.000-07:00

(Could taste better. If it was real. Real canned bumble bees. Better than tuna.)

I'll never be the executor. Of a will. Of an estate. Of anything. So much work. Endless paperwork. Endless phone calls. Meetings with lawyers. Meetings. Phone calls. Paperwork. Meetings. I'd rather be the dead one. Let someone else do it. Never do it. Never volunteer. Never accept. You'll regret it. You'll want to kill. Too bad. They're dead.

Yesterday the entire office smelled. Like tuna. Also something else. Referred to as a hatchet wound. Not my favorite scent. Not even close. Makes me gag. Just a little. A lot. I don't know why. It just smelled. No one eating. No tuna. Or hatchet wound eating. As far as I know. Large areas though. Could happen. Under desks. Just threw up. Under my desk.

I'm intrigued. By Extenze. Funny. Every actor. Same line. Not that I need it. I'd say that. I want to try. Once my internet works. Just pay shipping. I can't lose. Just gain. Apparently. I'll test it. I'll blog it. You're all curious. I'm curious. I'm ordering. Extenze.com. Advertising works.

Gossip and Gas

2009-07-14T13:49:00.000-07:00

(Ramen Noodles. Wonderful source of sustenance for college students. Also for me. And hobos.)

Don't notice gas prices. Everyone does. I try. I tell myself to. I forget. Never looked. People talk. I hear. I forget. No looking. Just the total. No price per gallon. Never. Ever. Oops. I guess. Not important. To me. Pump it. Go. On the go.

Ramen noodles. College food. Didn't eat them. Not in college. I do now. Cheap. Good. Fast. Not so good. Cheap. Yes. Pretty good. Occasionally. Not healthy. Sodium. Love sodium. Too much. Too bad. Ramen. May kill me. One day. Not now. No worries. Keep eating. Go MSG. Go sodium. Go Ramen.

Peeing on urinal cakes. Weirds me out. Pee directly on them. Some pee to the side. They are effective. More when directly peed on. They smell nice. Pink though. Pink. For a men's room. Blue. Green. Yellow even. More appropriate. Pink is fine with me. I like it. Weird though. Some people miss. Cake doesn't get hit. Directly or indirectly. Lazy pee-ers. Sicko pee-ers. Pee in a real toilet. If it's that tough.

Perez Hilton. Total love. Total hate. Love gossip. Hate his face. Thinks he's awesome. Gossip is awesome. He's reasty. He's nar. He's fat. Sick teeth. Great Gossip. Maybe he eats ramen. Probably not. Too fat. He pees. Probably misses the cake. He's gross. More gossip please. Less Perez face.

Styrofoam and Straws

2009-07-14T12:50:00.000-07:00

(Cream. Of wheat. Cream. Scary man on box. Scary man. Cream.)

Wonder who started straws. Seems like Italy. They're smart. Duh. Italian sodas. Had to be them. Heart straws. I use two every day. At least. Biodegradable straws. That'd be nice. Straws. Good for teeth. It's true. Save your teeth. Use a straw. Should be a t-shirt. Use one. Especially for coffee. No stains. You know how I feel. About teeth. Stained teeth. Gross products out there. Advertised during Maury Povich. Toothpastes. For smokers. Coffee drinkers. Nasty. Use straws.

Cream of Wheat. No one eats it. I do. A lady at work does. We talked. For five minutes. About CoW. I love it. With toast. Plain. Sugar. Reminds me of being little. Yum. So good. So classic. People suck. Sold out. To sugar cereals. Not me. Don't like milk. Can't sell out. Milk is too gross. Wheat germ is good too. I'll get some. Tastes like nuts. I love nuts.

Pumpkin. Weird word. Wonder what it means. Crazy English words. Probably not English. Pumpkin. Don't know what I'd call it. Pumpkin is fine. Good for carving. Can carve lots of things. Pumpkins are picked on. Thousands. Mutilated once each year. Mass mutilation. No one cares. I don't. I guess. Carve what you will. Don't carve me. No going Dahmer. Tradition.

Styrofoam. Don't know what it is. Chemicals I suppose. Random. Falls apart. Annoying. Always white. Multi-colored styro. They should make it. Happy looking poison. Holds water. Full of holes. Don't get it. Wonder how it's made. Want to go to a factory. Add some color. Hopefully they hand out masks.

I talk like a robot. To old people. On the phone. They never notice. Entertaining. Give quotes. They write them down. Say thank you. YOU'RE WELCOME. I smile. Hang up. Sip my straw. From my styrofoam cup.

Smack and Shoes

2009-07-14T11:12:00.000-07:00

(Favorite shoes. Resting.)

Computers. They are ridiculous. Cool ridic. Shitty ridic. No blogging without. No facebook. Mine breaks. I hate it. Always breaks. Even at work. Bad luck. Computers. Love them. Hate them. Like men. Can't imagine not having one. A computer. People would be screwed. I couldn't work. I wouldn't work. I wouldn't blog. I'd type I guess. Typewriter. Old school. Type a blog. Mail to uninterested masses. Pen pal blog network. Nerdy. Sweet.

Hanging pictures on walls. Weird. I wonder who did it first. No windows. Maybe drunk. High on opium. Maybe crazy. It's mainstream now. How odd. It's a fad. A long lasting fad. Not a fad. Too long lived. Everlasting fad. I do it. You all do. Who knows why we do. People don't hang them outside. No pictures nailed to your house. Your brick. Your siding. People are conformists. Hang them where you want. No picture hanging police. I'd be one. Easy job. Fun too. You put that picture where it belongs. On your wall. You degenerate. Here's a ticket. Freak.

Intervention. Sad. First dude. Heroin addict. Next. Alcoholic. Both went to rehab. Alcoholic got clean. He got cancer. Died. Died sober. If I had cancer I'd be drunk. On drugs. Lots of them. Cancer wouldn't kill me. Drugs would. Screw being clean. Same for when I'm old. You're old you deserve it. Drink any time. Pop any pills. You earned it. Pop those pills. Mix with alcohol. Go geriatrics!

I have tons of shoes. Loads. Laundry basket full. I wear 5 pair. I want them all. Like a girl. I get it from my mom. My four sisters. I like shoes. I might need them. One day. I have more than most. Women and homos. Seriously. Gay. Really gay. I'm not that gay. I'm that gay.

Pee, Pisces and P!nk

2009-07-13T16:55:00.000-07:00

(Perfect example. Including blood. Real. So. Gross.)

In every bathroom. All across America. An epidemic. Boogers. Boogers on the walls. Usually next to urinals. It must be a primal urge. Pee, pick. Pee, pick. Wipe. On the wall. I throw up. Men are sick pigs. Boogers in the bathroom. Boogers while peeing. Boogers and pee. Urinals. Boogers. Stupid. Men. Straight men. Of course.

The Wicked Witch of the West, Elphaba. Coolest person ever. Most evil person ever. Besides Maleficent. She is the shit. Scariest. Most evil. Most gorgeous. I love her. And TWWofW. I loved them as a kid. Love them now. It would be fun to have that power. I want Maleficent's staff and TWWofW's broom. Man. Talk about power. Talk about being awesome. I guess I want to be a witch. Weird. I could be a warlock. That doesn't sound as fun. Evil women seem more seductive. More skillful. More cagey. Devious.

I never want ice at restaurants. Ice rips you off. Takes up room. Less soda. More money. For the restaurant. Jerks. I used to request no ice. It's futile. My silent protest. No one noticed. Not even the restaurants. I wish everyone would. Request no ice. For a day even. Soda quotas exceeded. Lesson learned. I want a drink. Not a pile of ice. I'm starting again. No more ice! No more ice! I don't like ice much. Maybe that is why. Maybe I don't want it. It's still a rip off. Frozen water in my soda. No thank you! I'll go Euro on this one.

I like being a Pisces. I don't like being passive-aggressive. Need to be to the point. I mirror people. I like reading people. That's fun. I don't like being affected. That's the bad part. I'm sensitive. To situations. To people. To locations. I'd just like to be. Only sensitive. To me. Not feel your stuff. I have to feel yours. I can't stop. I should shut that off. Usually. Every so often. No. Close everyone out. Every so often. Let them in. A little. Not as much.

I love music. Music videos. Bat for Lashes. What's a Girl to Do. Best music video I've seen. In years. It's hot. It has horror flick references. Just like P!nk. Please Don't Leave Me. Just like 30 Seconds to Mars. The Kill. Love referenced horror. Love horror movies. Not gore. Just mess with your mind. Like it. Maybe because I'm Pisces. My sign is a fish. I should like water more. Weird that I hate ice. And boogers.

Stealing and Seahorses

2009-07-13T14:51:00.000-07:00

(Pens. Cup of pens. Mostly stolen. Bars. Friends. Anywhere really.)

I'm a texting snob. Nay. A texting arrogant jerk. I expect responses. I take time. I send an inquiry. Send me a response. Not right then. When you have time. Maybe later. Respond. I totally judge. I'm not the only homo. A lot of us judge. Keep in my good graces. Respond. Even a "Kay." Or ":)." Or some such crap. Responses are nice. I want to be nice. To you.

People fart. I hate farts. People in my office fart. It's more frequent here. I wish my cubicle had walls. High walls. I don't want to smell it. They are acrid. A fart is air. Air with poo in it. Thanks for sharing. Sick prick. Go to the bathroom. Smell all you want. Please don't share. I don't share. Please don't. I don't like to share. Not farts.

I'm a pen clepto. A lighter clepto too. Sorry. If you're missing such items. Sorry. I take them. I need them. I can't buy them. If I do. I lose them. If I take them. I keep them. Now I always have pens. I always have lighters. Mine get stolen. I get pissy. I'm basically a hypocrite. A clepto-crite.

I want to be a seahorse. Take that back. Wanted. Take that back. Want. I thought I could be too. They ask what you want to be. I wanted to be a seahorse. They never specify. Specify that you have to stay human. Issues. Like when I found out. I couldn't be a seahorse. On a magical seahorse ride. A wonderful sea pony.... wow. I wanted to so bad. Live in the water. Have babies. Be a cool horse. Nothing better. I wonder if you could genetically produce a sea-horse. A big horse that could live underwater. How nice. They can swim already. You could ride them. Sharks would love them. Maybe not. I hate sharks. It's sad when horses die. A sea-horse death would be devastating. I'm glad I'm not a seahorse.

Progressive and Push Pins

2009-07-12T12:02:00.000-07:00

(Favorite food group. Good. Fruity. Unhealthy. Perfect.)

I like the Progressive Insurance girl. She's retro-hip. Great quips. I'd hate her. In real life. Hopefully the bubbly is an act. Otherwise. Death glare. Progressive... Name your own price. I called. They named my price. I didn't get to name my price. Theirs was higher. My price was $0.00. Way higher. Screw that. Sticking with my current company. Progressive. I'll start naming my own prices. Everywhere. Someone says $5, sir. I'll say, $3. My own price. I'll pay $3. Put down $3. Leave. Get arrested. Progressive says you can. They don't mention court dates. Jail time. Damn Progressive.

Typing in the dark. Fun. Challenging. Familiar with a keyboard. It's fine. Depending on meds. Depending on alcohol. Just like text messages. You try to text. You hit the correct keys. Swear you do. Still wrong key. A sign. You can't type. You can't text. Don't. I do. Lots of explaining. Awkward convos.

A couple at work got married. A year ago. He is Lurch. She is Tweedle Dumb. Not fond of either. Obviously. Changed her last name. Not to her husbands. From her husbands. Divorce is in the air. Office drama. Love it. Gets me through the day.

Good n' Fruity's. Yummy when young. Gross now. They changed them. They tricked me. Greens are sick. Poison. They go in the garbage. I won't let people eat them. Not even dicks. Red is delish. Devilish. Blue are good. Remind me of that fat girl. The one from Willy Wonka. Good n' Plenty are sick. I like black liquorice. Good n' Plenty are sick. Willy was nuts. I want a candy factory. I'd be nuts too. I'd go on the chocolate river. Daily acid trip. Via boat.

I got bored. I never get bored. I stare out of windows. Still not bored. I think. I stare. I think. I have a stress ball. I have push pins. I pushed them all. Into the ball. It looks like a horror movie. From the 80's. Pin Head. Used to scare me. My ball is prettier. Cute almost. Time consuming. Progressive girl would be good. In a Pin Head remake. A cute remake.

Closets and Churches

2009-07-11T11:17:00.000-07:00

(Church. Typically used for what is called "churching," or "going to church.")

I've come out of the closet. Twice. It bothers me. People ask if I'm gay. It bothers me. I come out. At work. People ask if I'm gay. They ask if I've lost weight. I say I don't know. I don't know. I don't ask questions. I don't care. Much. I'm self-consumed. Will be for a while. I should ask. Maybe they need to be asked. Maybe that's why they ask. They look depressed. I don't ask. I type. I look at them. I make small talk. They ask. I should ask.

I like people who rock out. In their cars. I do it. Not at stop lights. People can see me. I shouldn't stop. I do. They don't. I shouldn't. I like it. I'm better at it. Plus I know the lyrics. They might. I'm great with lyrics. They might be. I'm great with lyrics.

I wonder if toast was an accident. Maybe an idea. A Great Depression ingenuity. Maybe a dare. Dry some bread. Eat it. Yum. Wait. Yuck. It's gross. Put something on it. Maybe jam was around before toast. I wonder why. Not so useful. Jam or toast. Toast or jam. Chicken or egg. Jam makers must love the toast inventor. Toast. I bet they have conventions. Jam Makers of America. I bet they toast to toast.

I like yellow. The sun. Starbursts. Shirts. I. Hate. Yellow. Cars. I loathe them. Total anger. One hasn't harmed me. No running me over. Never called me a homo. No hate crimes there. I hate them. Unfounded. I can't change. I'll personally repaint them. All. No charge. Also yellow teeth. Gross. Cheap fixes. Really. Quick ones too. Wal-Mart. Target. Twenty bucks. Spend twenty bucks.

Churches make great neighbors. No loud parties. People in and out. Never hear a thing. Nice lawns. A house, I'd think drugs. People coming and going. It's a church. Maybe drugs get pushed. Probably only prescriptions.

Skateboards and Slip n' Slides

2009-07-11T00:25:00.000-07:00

(A Median. Made my Satan. Prince of Darkness. Lucifer. Himself.)

I see skateboarders all the time. I don't understand how they do it. Maybe I'm the only one who doesn't get it. I don't know how they keep going on a flat surface. I don't care. I just don't know. They know. I guess they took time to learn. I'm too old for that. Too unconcerned.

Today I sat behind a Subaru. I feel weird around Subarus. I was returning from lunch. I wonder if they consider themselves "Granola." I would. I'm sure they consider themselves "Green." Not sure why. I used to have a pedophile car. That wasn't "Green" at all. It was a kid magnet. Bankrupted my free candy budget. I wasn't helping the pedophile movement. I wonder if there is a pedophile movement. I have a new car now.

I stared at a median while at a red light. Medians are the bane of my existence. They make life a living hell. They have no purpose. One purpose would be high-centering your car. That's not worth it. I want to turn. Right where I want to turn. Not where it says I can. Idaho doesn't have medians. Go Idaho.

Slip n' Slides are retarded. They were cool when I was five. Even then they weren't fun. Burns on your elbows or legs. I wouldn't use one now. I saw people using one recently. It was just in a photo. I thought they were dumb. The people. Were dumb. Go down a water slide. It's more fun. Less... burny.

I'll buy a skateboard. Maybe I'll die. I'll buy a Subaru. Maybe I'll die. I will not buy or die on a damn Slip n' Slide. Maybe I will. How ironic.

If I do my tombstone will say: "Died unwillingly on the stupidest invention ever. R.I.P."

Buffing and Elevators

2009-07-10T10:32:00.000-07:00

(Me. My buffer. My shiny nails. So shiny.)

I don't buff my nails because I'm bored. I buff them because I like them so shiny. I file them too. I hate cutting them. My nails are suddenly a new obsession. I think they are my new boyfriend. Me and my nails. Together forever.

I hold elevators for co-workers in the morning. I'm just pretending. I like to ride alone. I like the two elevators with mirrors. I can check my hair. Riding with my boss is the worst. Also with former office flings. Awkward. Nothing to talk about. Six floors feel like 200.

The coffee vendor always forgets something. One day, no coffee. One day piles of Splenda. Someone must horde it. It disappears within minutes. Next day, no sugar. Today, no cups. No cups. No cups! Most days no stirrers. Stirrers are my favorite part.

Driving to work today I saw orange construction cones. I wondered who decided to make them orange. I think pink would stand out better. Maybe construction crews are freaked by pink. Maybe they did studies. Orange won. It would look better with rainbow cones. Each one a different color through Roy G. Biv. People would notice. Maybe people would protest construction cones.

Pills and coffee are a good breakfast. Depending on the pills. And the coffee. It's my staple now. Going on a month and a half. I enjoy it. Today I'm adding something special. Granola bars might make me go into shock. I wonder if someone has died from suddenly eating something semi-healthy after not eating well for extended periods of time. Probably. Hopefully. It would be an interesting story. Note to self: granola bars are evil.

My nails are so shiny I can see my reflection in them. I can see everyone's reflection in them. Even people behind me. Total safety measure. No one is sneaking up on me. Typing and the elevator buttons keep effing them up. I'm holding the elevator for a co-worker. Oops. Ah... maybe next time. Sucker.

Stress and T-Shirts

2009-07-09T19:39:00.000-07:00

(Me... t-shirting in my living room. I'm sure you do it all the time. Don't judge.)

I'm not too fat for t-shirts. THREE years of thinking I was too fat for t-shirts. Turns out I was wrong. I should buy more. Lots more. Maybe it's from stress. Stress blows. Apparently stress makes me skinny though. Sweet.

I'm stressed about relationships. All relationships. Mine, yours, all. My former was the best relationship to date. I'm stressed about money. I'm stressed about work. I'm stressed about family, friends, expectations and conclusions. I'm stressed about being the third wheel. I'm stressed about medication. I'm stressed it will work, I'm stressed it won't work. Stress makes me tired. Stress keeps me awake. Always awake. Step off stress. Seriously.

Stress is temporary. At least I look damn good in a t-shirt.