10. Resisting porn.
9. Making anything look like it should. Like food. Or carpentry work. I make kick-ass lasagna, but it never ends up as what most people would technically call lasagna. It just kind of looks like a mish-mash of pasta and meat and melted cheese. It's like an Italian sloppy joe. Without the bread. I am literally incapable of drawing a straight line that is actually straight. And Christmas is my most embarrassing time of the year. If I use less than two dozen pieces of tape, there's no way my presents won't be showing at least a little bit of skin. Thank Hulk for gift bags and Christmas tins.
8. Saving money. Really. When it comes to money, I'm like a domesticated animal is with food. Like, you know how you could feed your dog or cat until they're bursting, but they still nose around once you bring out your own dinner? That's because they're animals. And even though they're all housebroken, their instincts are still telling them that if there's food around, they should get it. NOW. I'm like that with money. Something in my head just says "well, you have it, why the fuck aren't you spending it?" And one week, two television series' season dvd sets, six graphic novels, and at least three porn paysites later, I feel a hell of a lot worse than your dog does even if he's shitting out your jar of super chunky peanut butter for a week.
I'm actually conducting a bit of an incentive experiment to improve this. Remember when I quit World of Warcraft? Well, I've decided I'm going to play again. BUT, only after I complete a series of goals - among other things, I have to get at least one of my credit cards down to a zero balance, and I have to save up for a new computer.
7. Doing anything I said I was going to do that takes any considerable amount of effort.
6. Small talk with strangers. Some of you who see me occasionally in real life may have noticed I'm growing my hair out. I'm not growing my hair out because I want my hair long again. I'm growing my hair out because I dread that twenty or so minutes when I have to make small talk with the hairdresser. Well, also because I have to go through the hard work of getting there and paying money.
5. Not telling women the things that other women tell me I should, under no circumstances, tell them.
4. Figuring out a way to tactly, yet firmly - and in a way that allows them to still love me like the big, fat jolly bastard I am - let little children know that I'm tired and I want to go make sexual overtures towards my girlfriend and it's time for them to go pester someone else. It's the belly and the beard. That's why I'm already training one of my best friend's sons even though he's not old enough to understand me by chanting to him repeatedly - in a cutesy, baby talk way of course - "I"m not Santa. No I'm not! No I'm not!"
3. Understanding the things I do. I don't mean that in a psychological or philosophical sense. I mean that in a technical sense. I've worked at a radio station for nearly five years now. And you would have better luck finding out how radio works by grabbing a random stranger and quizzing them than asking me. Yet, somehow, I still manage to start and end my shifts with the bare minimum of fuck-ups.
2. Hiding spontaneous public erections. Thank Hulk for gift bags and Christmas tins.
1. Laughing during enemas. It's just not funny.
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