10. Thumb-wrestling.
9. Board games.
8. Bribe her cats to give me updates on any other visitors to the home while I am elsewhere.
7. Ask her what kind of car she would rather be hit by, if she absolutely had to get hit by a car. If her answer isn't "ambulance," we're breaking up.
6. Jump up and down on the foot of her bed until she wakes up and brings me to Aquilonia Comics.
5. Untie her shoes while she's not looking.
4. Rearrange her neighbors' real estate signs.
3. Footsie.
2. Drink all her Diet Pepsi.
1. Let the air out of her tires so she can't bring me home.
Showing posts with label Love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Love. Show all posts
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Top 10 Reasons Why I Am Keeping My Phone Off Today, Staying Off The Internet, And Will Remain Completely Unreachable
10. You guys smell.
9. I've got lots of Diet Pepsi. Shit's not gonna drink itself. And I drink alone. Yeah, with nobody else. And when I drink alone, I prefer to drink by myself. Which is redundant in so many ways and I can't believe I just quoted that goddamn song.
8. Glen Danzig.
7. The Quiet Man has to start talking. Most of you don't know what that means. But I honestly think you will some day.
6. I'm going to be blasting a lot of loud instrumentals in my apartment. I can't hear them if I leave, and I honestly think most of you guys wouldn't like them.
5. My cell phone is low on minutes anyway.
4. The Internet is too distracting. Too much porn. I mean blogs. Yeah, blogs. Too many blogs.
3. I have decided today will be a day for writing and nothing more. No softball practice or hanging out or chores or shopping or anything else. Today I write and no one and nothing is going to disturb that.
2. I am basking in the aftermath of a glorious night with a beautiful woman who submitted to my clumsy charms. I will not pretend to know what the future holds other than to say she has foolishly agreed to be called my "significant other" and that knowing this makes my days seem brighter and more hopeful. On this blog, for the sake of both anonymity and symbolic accuracy, she will henceforth be known as Penelope - as in the patient wife of Odysseus, as in the woman whose arms I would brave every manner of island-dwelling beast and monster and wrathful god to be folded into, as in the woman whose unworthy suitors I would slaughter with a cheerful heart and absolute ruthlessness should they be stupid enough to step in my bloody path. Only two things threaten to render her blog-induced pseudonym a silly thing. First, not even the grandest war with the most certain promises of glory and bounty could tempt me from her side, and so neither her patience nor the aforementioned island-hopping trek back to her bed would be necessary. Second, to say she makes me feel like Odysseus is a horrible lie, because Odysseus is nothing but an epic hero whose bravery and cunning would thrill the hearts and minds of every tradition-bent literature professor and lover of the Western World, whereas she makes me feel like a demi-god. I want to be worthy of her. I want her to be proud of me. That's not the only reason for reason #3, but it helps. She is a large piece of the proof of something I am allowing myself to believe: that something out there, something good that can't be named and cares whether or not I feel loved, has answered my lonely scream and answered it with the only pieces of Heaven I believe I will ever know - other people. And if you don't get the Penelope reference, for Christ's sake go to wikipedia. I'm a writer, not a literature professor.
1. Got shit to do.
(P.S. Just wanted to talk about something funny and ironic in reference to the end of reason #2. I have a friend, a co-worker, who is a brilliant photographer. Some months ago I moved into a kind of "iffy" area crime-wise. There is graffiti, and I recently learned the graffiti artists are a bit smarter than I initially thought. Well, in some ways, at least. In particular, there is an artist whose tag consists of two kind of bubble faces - one laughing and one sad - and it took me some weeks before I realized the artist's tag was his own contemporary rendering of the tragedy/comedy masks of theater. Next to one of these tags - on the back wall of a veterinarian hospital in the path of my short, daily trek to work - are the words HELL IS OTHER PEOPLE. I have been so - forgive my Reznor-like self-pity - desperately, desperately lonely. So lonely that I was tempted to ask my co-worker to follow me to the building and take a picture of me standing next to the quote. But the world has been nice to me lately. Old friends, new friends, and a new lover have found their way into my life. And it's all happened in such a short space of time that it can't feel like anything but providence. I didn't ask my friend to take the picture mainly because it was embarrassing to ask for it, and equally embarrassing - should he have agreed - to model for a photo in public. But now I won't ask because, Dear Anonymous Wall Artist, YOU. ARE. WRONG.)
9. I've got lots of Diet Pepsi. Shit's not gonna drink itself. And I drink alone. Yeah, with nobody else. And when I drink alone, I prefer to drink by myself. Which is redundant in so many ways and I can't believe I just quoted that goddamn song.
8. Glen Danzig.
7. The Quiet Man has to start talking. Most of you don't know what that means. But I honestly think you will some day.
6. I'm going to be blasting a lot of loud instrumentals in my apartment. I can't hear them if I leave, and I honestly think most of you guys wouldn't like them.
5. My cell phone is low on minutes anyway.
4. The Internet is too distracting. Too much porn. I mean blogs. Yeah, blogs. Too many blogs.
3. I have decided today will be a day for writing and nothing more. No softball practice or hanging out or chores or shopping or anything else. Today I write and no one and nothing is going to disturb that.
2. I am basking in the aftermath of a glorious night with a beautiful woman who submitted to my clumsy charms. I will not pretend to know what the future holds other than to say she has foolishly agreed to be called my "significant other" and that knowing this makes my days seem brighter and more hopeful. On this blog, for the sake of both anonymity and symbolic accuracy, she will henceforth be known as Penelope - as in the patient wife of Odysseus, as in the woman whose arms I would brave every manner of island-dwelling beast and monster and wrathful god to be folded into, as in the woman whose unworthy suitors I would slaughter with a cheerful heart and absolute ruthlessness should they be stupid enough to step in my bloody path. Only two things threaten to render her blog-induced pseudonym a silly thing. First, not even the grandest war with the most certain promises of glory and bounty could tempt me from her side, and so neither her patience nor the aforementioned island-hopping trek back to her bed would be necessary. Second, to say she makes me feel like Odysseus is a horrible lie, because Odysseus is nothing but an epic hero whose bravery and cunning would thrill the hearts and minds of every tradition-bent literature professor and lover of the Western World, whereas she makes me feel like a demi-god. I want to be worthy of her. I want her to be proud of me. That's not the only reason for reason #3, but it helps. She is a large piece of the proof of something I am allowing myself to believe: that something out there, something good that can't be named and cares whether or not I feel loved, has answered my lonely scream and answered it with the only pieces of Heaven I believe I will ever know - other people. And if you don't get the Penelope reference, for Christ's sake go to wikipedia. I'm a writer, not a literature professor.
1. Got shit to do.
(P.S. Just wanted to talk about something funny and ironic in reference to the end of reason #2. I have a friend, a co-worker, who is a brilliant photographer. Some months ago I moved into a kind of "iffy" area crime-wise. There is graffiti, and I recently learned the graffiti artists are a bit smarter than I initially thought. Well, in some ways, at least. In particular, there is an artist whose tag consists of two kind of bubble faces - one laughing and one sad - and it took me some weeks before I realized the artist's tag was his own contemporary rendering of the tragedy/comedy masks of theater. Next to one of these tags - on the back wall of a veterinarian hospital in the path of my short, daily trek to work - are the words HELL IS OTHER PEOPLE. I have been so - forgive my Reznor-like self-pity - desperately, desperately lonely. So lonely that I was tempted to ask my co-worker to follow me to the building and take a picture of me standing next to the quote. But the world has been nice to me lately. Old friends, new friends, and a new lover have found their way into my life. And it's all happened in such a short space of time that it can't feel like anything but providence. I didn't ask my friend to take the picture mainly because it was embarrassing to ask for it, and equally embarrassing - should he have agreed - to model for a photo in public. But now I won't ask because, Dear Anonymous Wall Artist, YOU. ARE. WRONG.)
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Top 10 Reasons Why I Should Never Get Married
10. I was an usher at my older brother's wedding. I had two important jobs at the wedding. A) Arrange for massages for all the groomsmen before the wedding (WITHOUT happy endings, get your minds out of the gutter) to get us all nice and relaxed, and B) at one point during the ceremony I was required to hand my brother a sash that he gave to the bride to signify her entrance into our family.
After these two relatively simple jobs were done. I got drunk. I got really drunk. I got drunk the way that you think people outside comedies couldn't possibly get drunk. I hit on every woman who wasn't related to me. I broke patio furniture. I apparently exposed myself - NOT on purpose, my brother required all the groomsmen to wear kilts, and I was falling down a lot. My favorite game was to go to a reception table filled with complete strangers, drunkenly demand they all introduce themselves, and then try to impress them by going around the table and saying all their names back to them. The Best Man was given the job of following me around and picking up things that either fell off me or were thrown off me. This included my wallet, keys, tuxedo, dress shirt, and about a dozen condoms. The next morning I woke in a hotel room someone else had to sign for with my credit card - one of the greeters, if I recall, whose wife I had hit on multiple times - because I was too drunk to do it myself. The Best Man had collected so many of my belongings I was running around the hotel in nothing but socks, the kilt, and a t-shirt.
The main reason for the extreme level of my drunken-itude, which BELIEVE ME has never been repeated, was that at the time I was on medication that amplifies the affects of alcohol. I thought that if I stopped taking it five days before the wedding, it would be out of my system. Apparently, I'm not a doctor.
The reason for this story is simple. If I got married, there's pretty much no way I could NOT invite my brother, and he's probably going to want revenge.
9. I spend quite a bit of time trying to stay away from my extended family. Doing something that would necessitate that ALL of them would gather in one place - more importantly in a place where I am present - seems counter-productive.
8. I have no idea who my best man would be. I really don't have many best man candidates. Well, I have a few, but they all live somewhere else now, and haven't spent enough time with me in recent years to say anything cool about me during the reception. I mean, my old buddy Jeff would be a candidate, for example, but if he clinks his glass and demands everyone shut up so he can tell everyone how cool my angsty, emo poems were in high school, I'm gonna punch him in the head.
7. It would be announced in the newspaper, which would give the ninjas an idea where to find me.
6. Sure, there's always eloping, but I hate Vegas. And don't tell me I can elope without going to Vegas. I don't care if I can. If I'm eloping, I'm going to Vegas. If I'm skipping all the window-dressing and going right to the deed without the fanfare, then the guy who marries me is going to be in Vegas, and he's going to be dressed as Elvis. It could be a Space Elvis or a Cowboy Elvis or a Hulk Elvis (preferred), but it will be Elvis. But it won't because I hate Vegas. Which is why I don't want to elope.
5. If I get married, then the terrorists win.
4. Don't really want to deal with every single guest telling my bride stories about Reason #10.
3. Don't want all the other women in the world to sink into depression (ppfffttt..HA HA HA HA HA HA *snort*).
2. I'm not keeping a fucking cake for a year. What kind of insane samurai endurance test is that?
1. If we got divorced, and her lawyer went after my comic books, THERE. WOULD. BE. BLOOD!!!!!
After these two relatively simple jobs were done. I got drunk. I got really drunk. I got drunk the way that you think people outside comedies couldn't possibly get drunk. I hit on every woman who wasn't related to me. I broke patio furniture. I apparently exposed myself - NOT on purpose, my brother required all the groomsmen to wear kilts, and I was falling down a lot. My favorite game was to go to a reception table filled with complete strangers, drunkenly demand they all introduce themselves, and then try to impress them by going around the table and saying all their names back to them. The Best Man was given the job of following me around and picking up things that either fell off me or were thrown off me. This included my wallet, keys, tuxedo, dress shirt, and about a dozen condoms. The next morning I woke in a hotel room someone else had to sign for with my credit card - one of the greeters, if I recall, whose wife I had hit on multiple times - because I was too drunk to do it myself. The Best Man had collected so many of my belongings I was running around the hotel in nothing but socks, the kilt, and a t-shirt.
The main reason for the extreme level of my drunken-itude, which BELIEVE ME has never been repeated, was that at the time I was on medication that amplifies the affects of alcohol. I thought that if I stopped taking it five days before the wedding, it would be out of my system. Apparently, I'm not a doctor.
The reason for this story is simple. If I got married, there's pretty much no way I could NOT invite my brother, and he's probably going to want revenge.
9. I spend quite a bit of time trying to stay away from my extended family. Doing something that would necessitate that ALL of them would gather in one place - more importantly in a place where I am present - seems counter-productive.
8. I have no idea who my best man would be. I really don't have many best man candidates. Well, I have a few, but they all live somewhere else now, and haven't spent enough time with me in recent years to say anything cool about me during the reception. I mean, my old buddy Jeff would be a candidate, for example, but if he clinks his glass and demands everyone shut up so he can tell everyone how cool my angsty, emo poems were in high school, I'm gonna punch him in the head.
7. It would be announced in the newspaper, which would give the ninjas an idea where to find me.
6. Sure, there's always eloping, but I hate Vegas. And don't tell me I can elope without going to Vegas. I don't care if I can. If I'm eloping, I'm going to Vegas. If I'm skipping all the window-dressing and going right to the deed without the fanfare, then the guy who marries me is going to be in Vegas, and he's going to be dressed as Elvis. It could be a Space Elvis or a Cowboy Elvis or a Hulk Elvis (preferred), but it will be Elvis. But it won't because I hate Vegas. Which is why I don't want to elope.
5. If I get married, then the terrorists win.
4. Don't really want to deal with every single guest telling my bride stories about Reason #10.
3. Don't want all the other women in the world to sink into depression (ppfffttt..HA HA HA HA HA HA *snort*).
2. I'm not keeping a fucking cake for a year. What kind of insane samurai endurance test is that?
1. If we got divorced, and her lawyer went after my comic books, THERE. WOULD. BE. BLOOD!!!!!
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Top 10 Reasons Why I'm Positive I Am Completely, Insanely, Ridiculously In Love With A Woman With Whom I've Only Had One Date
10. She has me texting. I even decided to pay $10 extra per month for unlimited texting because she likes to text. Do you know what it’s like for me to text? I have big, meaty, sausage fingers. It’s like watching the Hulk trying to defuse a time bomb. It’s pathetic.
9. She has me running songs from musicals in my head. MUSICALS! I DON’T! EVEN! KNOW! THE FUCKING! WORDS!
8. I saved a voice mail from her just so I can hear her voice whenever I want. Jesus, I’m like a woman...
7. If she asked me to beat you up, I would. Sorry.
6. We went to see Incredible Hulk on our first date, and I couldn’t have cared less about the movie. I’m pretty sure there was a green guy in it. He punched stuff. No time bombs though.
5. I have to stop myself from saying “I love you” on the phone before I hang up.
4. It’s after 2 pm right now, she hasn’t texted me since this morning, and for this reason I’m actually worried she’s found out something bad about me (like my secret job in the Bomb Squad) and has decided never to see or talk to me again.
3. Every time something feels good, it feels like it’s her. I lay on my bed, take off my shirt, open the curtains, and feel a nice ray of sun hit my back? Her. A soft, caressing wind? Her. Morning wood? Her.
2. She has a great chest.
1. As I was cleaning dishes last night, and I put a pot away in a cupboard, I realized it. She was put here for me. I was put here for her. I know it. It’s a prophecy etched in my bones.
9. She has me running songs from musicals in my head. MUSICALS! I DON’T! EVEN! KNOW! THE FUCKING! WORDS!
8. I saved a voice mail from her just so I can hear her voice whenever I want. Jesus, I’m like a woman...
7. If she asked me to beat you up, I would. Sorry.
6. We went to see Incredible Hulk on our first date, and I couldn’t have cared less about the movie. I’m pretty sure there was a green guy in it. He punched stuff. No time bombs though.
5. I have to stop myself from saying “I love you” on the phone before I hang up.
4. It’s after 2 pm right now, she hasn’t texted me since this morning, and for this reason I’m actually worried she’s found out something bad about me (like my secret job in the Bomb Squad) and has decided never to see or talk to me again.
3. Every time something feels good, it feels like it’s her. I lay on my bed, take off my shirt, open the curtains, and feel a nice ray of sun hit my back? Her. A soft, caressing wind? Her. Morning wood? Her.
2. She has a great chest.
1. As I was cleaning dishes last night, and I put a pot away in a cupboard, I realized it. She was put here for me. I was put here for her. I know it. It’s a prophecy etched in my bones.
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