that's a bitchin' camaro!

I, admittedly, am not a fashion plate by any means. I mean, I know what looks good and what doesn't, but I'm not overly concerned with what's new and hip (does anyone say that anymore or did I just really prove my point when I didn't mean to?). I never really think about it because my wardrobe consists mainly of black tshirts, shorts, jeans, and the occasional khakis or some similarly colored/styled "nice" pants. I like it this way because it keeps all that pesky decision making at 4:30 a.m. to a minimum. And, I've never had to think about it when it comes to getting haircuts because either there was a girl there telling me how to cut it or what would look good, or the stylist knew me well enough to say "this is what we're going to do, you'll like it." Besides, I thought hairstylists were like doctors with some kind of Oath that says they won't intentionally let you look bad when you leave. Maybe not. They should have one though. Apparently, they need one. The lady that works next to me got her hair done yesterday and boy did they do a number on her. She looks like she has a Def Leppard tape I need to borrow. Oh. My. God. If she had some acid washed jeans on, it'd be like a time portal in here. Actually, I'm sure there's a pair in her closet waiting (working?) for the weekend. Don't get me wrong, I love all things 80s. But, there's a line when it comes to hairstyles. Unless it's a mohawk or something equally wild...I always wanted blue crazy hair like the dude from the Cure...but I digress. How can the stylist knowingly commit this act of fashion murder? I think she went to high school with the stylist, so maybe they were just keeping it real and harking back to the good old days or something, but damn, man. When she got back yesterday, my friend and I were leaning on the big processor in my office and had to turn and run back into my cube to keep from busting out laughing. So far today, I've kept contact to a minimum because I'm not over it yet. I figure it'll be at least a week. Til then, I'm turning up my Van Halen and livin' on a prayer .....

xoxo,
J.

anthony works in a grocery store...

If that's movin' up, then mama I'm movin' out.

I called yesterday about an apt. and rode by to look at it and fill out an application for it. I don't know why this seems like such a big deal to me. I mean, I knew it was coming and it's not like I'm moving across the country with $4 in my pocket...although sometimes I think that would be easier for some reason. I think I tend to find comfort in the extreme. I'm just waiting now to go back and actually see inside it. It has a working fireplace and a big porch and is on a side street in the "city." I think I like it. I think I'm really, really excited...and really, really scared for some stupid reason. I think some of that is the fact that it doesn't quite gel with my timeline that I had planned and now I have to figure an all new one and blah blah blah...Obsessive much? No, not me.

This is the first time I've ever done something like this on my own. Usually, although I'm the one doing things and getting things and setting things up, someone's there to handle the tiny details and hold my hand and tell me that I'm gonna be ok and to quit freaking out. Jesus, it's 10 miles from where I live now if that. It's not like it's a radical change or anything. But, at the same time it is. On a different level. On a more internal level. It's more than just an apartment and moving. This is the beginning. A beginning of something that I actually can't see how it's going to turn out. I know I'll have more money in my pocket so maybe my dinners will improve. I know that I'll be about a mile from downtown so I can walk places instead of sitting around wishing there was something to do. I know that I'll be able to see people from where I'll be sitting. I know I haven't even seen the inside of it yet and don't know if I'll like it or not or if the people upstairs walk like they have cinderblocks for feet, but I'm already making plans for the fireplace and football and chili and porch sits and tailgates on Autumn Saturdays. Yeah, I think this is going to be good....

are you talking to Me??

I have a confession to make. Apparently, I'm not as big of a bad-ass, wicked awesome person as I may have earlier thought. Rest assured, I'm still very awesome, or perhaps even more awesome than before, but right now I'm not completely sure. I may even be a little embarrassed, but maybe not...and I guess it doesn't matter because I'm pretty much putting this out here for the entire world to view...*sigh* well, let's just see.

Friday I was sitting at my favourite bar, which now offers Half! Price! Drinks! Every! Friday! Afternoon!, minding my own business and trying to down a few big beers before the price went back up when all of a sudden someone was sitting next to me talking. This is kind of unusual because I tend to sit away from other people and concentrate mainly on people watching and/or eavesdropping and mostly just want to be left alone. But, no...here was this woman sitting next to me. Chatting me up. Me! Hmph. I wasn't sure what to make of it and thought she was being polite and everything up until she said that since the half price time was over that I should come back to her place and drink for free. I looked around to make sure that, you know, I was in fact the person she was talking to, picked my jaw up off of the floor, and lit another cigarette trying to channel James Dean or someone equally indifferent and cool and used to these kinds of propositions. You see, dear reader, this is the first time that this has happened to me. I was largely out of circulation for most of my young life, so lately I'm kind of reborn, if you will. Either way, I could've been 16 and fumbling at this point.

I laughed it off and talked my way out of it though...Maybe it was too many beers, maybe it was too much change over the past 3 years, maybe it was a hundred different things, but I realized that for once I think I'm more interested in conversation and stuff like that than anything else. I know, right?! It scared me too. I beat myself up Friday night/Saturday morning over it, but the more I thought about and as Saturday dawned blue and clear and beautiful, I knew I made the right decision and was actually pretty proud of myself. I'm pretty sure this means that I'll die frustrated and alone, but there are worse things I suppose. Especially after talking to my friend, who's a nurse and she explained all the hazards of hooking up with people...geez. Gross. Anyway....we'll see I suppose, but now my favourite bar is tainted for awhile and I think I'm more upset by that.

are you done with that?

You know what I hate? Well, there's one hell of a list, so I'm just going to assume that you don't know the whole list and we really don't have the time for me to get into making one, so let's just start with this one thing, mmmkay?

I hate people that don't eat all their food. I went to a bar/restaurant yesterday after stopping at the grocery store, spending $20 and still having nothing I felt like eating, to have a beer or 4 and use my Free Appetizer coupon that they gave me the last time I was there for filling out some survey and telling them how awesome they are. Yeah, I lie pretty well in surveys...especially when free shit is offered. Anyway, said chain restaurant is not the coolest place ever, but the bartender recognizes me when I come in, the mugs o' beverage are 1.50, and it's pretty close to my house. And, usually it's pretty empty when I get there. Well, not yesterday. Not only am I being bombarded by these god-awful talk shows on ESPN (are there no real sports left on ESPN? It's like the MTV of sports), but there are people everywhere. Skinny guy sits down next to me at the bar, orders a bacon cheeseburger and a sweet iced tea. Dude. You HAVE to drink a beer with a bacon cheeseburger. It's a law. If not, it should be. No, officer, I'm not drunk. I mean, I ate a bacon cheeseburger for dinner and had the required beers with it. Oh, ok, sir, be safe and have a good night. Anyway, he proceeds to read the paper and "eat." For half an hour I had to smell this wonderfully delicious hamburger and watch him pick over it like some kind of bird picking at worms in the grass. Finally after he ate the now cold french fries and half of his burger, he slides the plate away and pays and leaves. Note: I'm now STARVING. Across from me, an older couple have like 3 salads between them, an appetizer, and 2 steak and shrimp dinners. The lady boxes up 1/2 a salad, starts in on the appetizer, pushes it aside and begins work on the steak and shrimp. There's about 1/2 to 1/4 of the steak left when she pushes it away from her. I glance over and her husband has done the same thing. WTF? I could live off of these people's scraps, man. Diagonally, another couple. Same deal. I don't care if you don't eat it all...some people are not gluttons like me, but at least take it home with you and feed it to your dog or throw it away there....Guys like me that have to scrounge free appetizers don't need to see a perfectly good steak go to waste. Not when they're $20 a pop. Plus I was raised with the waste not-want not philosophy. I'm 33 fucking years old and still haven't figured out what that means. I just know it meant that we didn't throw anything away...ever. My mother still doesn't. It's scary some of the stuff that gets recycled into 3 or 4 meals from her refridgerator.

I'm glad today's Friday...now I can go home and hide out from these freaks here for 2 days and try to regain a little composure. Or, maybe I'll go to the store and grill myself a steak...and eat the whole damn thing.

The Circus Is Falling Down On Its Knees

There always was something magical about the summertime. I think it stemmed from all those years spent in school, trapped inside for the beginnings of Spring, but when the weather turned warm, we were set free. I think that's why we were drawn so much to the night. The sun would start to set and a breeze would pick up, and once that generator started up, the show began again. Standing there under the flashing lights, smelling the food, surrounded by music and voices and the roar of the rides, we spoke without saying a word. A quick glance, a fleeting touch in between barking our entertainment to the masses...the smell of perfume mixed with cotton candy, dirt, and sweat. These things were summer. These things are summer. Coloured flags are flying now right down the street, the moon sits heavy and yellowing in the night sky as the crickets chirp...and in the midnight silence, I still see you in my old worn flannel shirt (linus, you called it because you never went anywhere without it)...slipping your hand into mine as we leaned against the car and smoked one last cigarette in the aftermath of a night's chaos, and you'd turn and say come on buddy, let's go home. As much as a real adult life stepped in, I think a part of us still runs those roads, walks those midways, and dances in the lights. Maybe we grew up too fast. Maybe I never did. Hell, I don't know. Maybe I'll meet you again beside the game trailer and just for a minute we won't remember that we're not still there.


----for some reason I can't get her out of my mind lately. ----and now back to the regularly scheduled drivel.

It'll cure what ails you....

I'm here today to talk about America's drug problem. Not the drug problem of pot smokers eating all the pizza and leftovers and 2 months past the expiration date peanut butter *cough* um, not me *cough*, or the meth heads that make it impossible to buy cold medicine at Wal-Mart so you have to stand in the eternal pharmacy line for 25 minutes and show an id when all you really want to do is lay on your couch in some pill induced haze....No, I'm talking about prescription drugs. There's a prescription pill now for everything. You feel bad? You hate your life? Here, take this pill and you'll be all sunshine and roses and won't care about a damned thing. Have anger issues? Don't take this one, though, because it'll make you into a killer zombie. Take this other one that will pack 25 lbs. on you out of nowhere, but you'll be so numb that you won't give a shit anyway. Besides, we have another pill you can take that will melt that weight right off. The shakes? Oh, don't worry about that and the blinding headaches. They're side effects that only occur in a few people. Can't get it up? Here, take this one. Just make sure it doesn't stay up for too long or it'll damage you permanently. Also, you might get the shits, so keep an extra pair of underwear handy and don't drink too much with it either. As a matter of fact, most of the prescription drugs out there tell you not to drink alcohol with them and carry a risk of stomach discomfort, headaches, etc. It makes no sense to me. I drink beer. It comes with the euphoria of the antidepressants (at least til I pass out), some slight discomfort in the morning (depending on how much I drink), and a severe desire for a greasy breakfast at 3 a.m., but other than that, it works pretty damn well for what ails me. And, the upside? Other people can join in it with you and then you're all in the same boat. It's a social lubricant. Win! And Win!

What sparked this conversation, however, is a totally new drug, a new side effect that almost made me roll off of the couch laughing last night. Restless Leg Syndrome is apparently the newest super villain to be fought off by the Hall of Prescription Drug Justice League and there's a new Super Hero stepping up to take on RLS. Of course, I can't remember the name of it now, but the side effects include nausea, headaches, grogginess or just plain passing out (so you can't drive or drink or both when you're taking it) but here's the kicker.....it may cause intense gambling and/or sexual compulsive urges. Gambling and sex? Compulsive? I'm pretty sure at this point, they're just putting alcohol into pill form. I can see it now.....

Jesus, honey, I'm tired, but I've got the jimmy legs tonight. All I want to do is to go to sleep, but my legs are pulling a fucking Fred Astaire down there and it's killing me. Here, darling, take this pill...it'll calm you right down and we can get some rest. Thanks, babe. 30 mins. pass...Whew, I feel much better. What say I tie you to the bed post and ravage your body with these kitchen instruments and then we head to the track? There's a horse running tonight and it's a lock!

Now, I'm not making light of the jimmy legs. It happens to me once in awhile too. It's miserable. A-1 miserable. But, I think people should consider having a couple beers after work before dinner. Then, once you eat, you feel all full and lazy and can just turn on some mindless drivel on television and fall right to sleep. That's my prescription. 6 beers, a big hamburger, and the discovery channel (or one of those forensic shows...those guys have the quietest voices...puts me to sleep everytime). It's free of charge and apparently a lot healthier than all these pharmaceutical remedies. Now I just need a superhero name.......

Here's to your health! Cheers!

No special sauce for me, thanks

I stopped at McDonald's for breakfast this morning on the way to work (because I'm a health nut) and opted for the combo meal with coffee. Really I just like to see how much abuse my body can take in any given week before it revolts and forces me to eat a salad or something. Anyway, I was sitting here staring intently at the coffee cup (because that's how hard I work) when I noticed little selector things on the side for marking how the coffee's made. It had an oval for each of the following choices: Cream, Sugar, Sweetener, and Other. Just what in the hell is Other?? Are they putting shots of whisky in coffee now at Mickey D's? Or is that for when you really piss off the counter person? I'll just take mine black, thankyouverymuch.