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5-17-03 La La La La LAAAA!
Sorry. I know I've been neglectful as of late, but, you know. You don't know? Yeah, me either. I'm not busy, I'm just lazy. So here's a few updates:
On Bob. Bob is still the most genuine, collected, wicked heeelarious person I've ever met. He still makes time for me even though he doesn't really have any. And I still hold firm to the belief that someday in the very near future, I am going to fuck this up royally.
On school. Not happening anymore, I don't think. Which is actually a sublime relief. I'm looking forward to working for a living, being able to pay my rent (!!all of it!!), becoming a part of the real world instead of this sheltered gliding crap.
On Boston. Cold as a bastard, as the kids are saying.
On being 21. WOW. This kind of fun can't possibly be legal. It certainly wouldn't be condoned by the Church of Mormon, with which you know I am deeply involved.
Why bother thinking of a catchy title when that's all that happened? And thanks to the wonder of the internet, I can show you!
This is where I was supposed to be. This is the Tappan Zee Bridge. This is somewhere.
This is where I was. This is a residential street in North White Plains. This is nowhere.
I don't usually do these, but Dante's Inferno is my favorite book of all time, so. (Thanks to AJ for the link. AJ, who, incidentally, is way more damned than me.)
The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Second Level of Hell! Huh. I can't tell if I should be offended or not. Apparently, I will be "blown around endlessly by the unforgiving winds of unquenchable desire," whereupon the "infernal hurricane" will "molest" me. But I get to hang out with Cleopatra and Helen of Troy! I wonder if they play blackjack ...
Oh, and here's something that made me laugh. Moderate treachery.
Your first step to a fresh new kitchen is selecting the proper cleaning products. I'm partial to Mr. Clean, because he looks like my landlord. But you're welcome to choose a product with a logo that resembles your landlord, real estate agent, or sanitation engineer. You'll also need a few basic tools. Paper towels? Check. Mop? Check. Vacuum cleaner? Check. You're ready to go!
First, dishes. If you're like me, you'll find most of them permanently encrusted with mustard or eight-day-old cereal. You'll want to discard these. Trust me, that shit doesn't come off. Rinse and dry the remaining dishes and put them away.
Next, you need to whip out your surface cleaner. You'll need to move any empty beer bottles you might be storing for recycling. (119 at last count.) On second thought ...
Moving on. The floor. Perhaps you're lucky enough to own a Swiffer mop. By lucky, of course, I mean ludicrously unlucky. What the fuck is with Swiffer mops? Yeah, sometimes I want a mop that will adjust to accomodate oddly-shaped corners. It's a concept that would be extremely convenient if it actually mopped anything. This convenient piece of shit won't even pick up the Clorox it conveniently squirts all over the place. The only way to work around this is to get on your hands and knees with a Brillo pad and crawl around like a goddamn cockroach. Then you're dragging yourself, and your clothes, through the filth that you've just unearthed. Also, you'll probably run out of paper towels and will have to either run to the 7-Eleven and start over, or use your pants. As neither of these are attractive options, I recommend saying "FUCK THIS!" at the top of your lungs and giving up.
Vacuum. Scuff up the floor. Good thing you didn't bother to clean it after all.
Then you'll have to take out the garbage, which by now has begun to smell like a rotting corpse. Or maybe that's coming from the garbage disposal, which is broken. Well, there's no point in carrying the trash all the way to the dumpster, which is behind an entirely different apartment building down the block, if the smell isn't going to go away. Light a scented candle instead. Fabulicious.
Okay, you know what? New instructions:
1. Throw away dishes.
Boom.
So. Mornings, for me, are kind of like a half-assed Twilight Zone episode. I wake up, and things are ... different. I don't know what in the goddamn hell happened last night, but I have to take a few minutes to ponder the changes in my environment. Here are my observations from this morning:
1. At first, I appeared to be missing three packs of cigarettes. I later discovered that they had been replaced by three packs of Parliaments, which is not my brand. Odd.
2. My jeans are ripped along the seam of one leg. Which is an unusual place for jeans to be ripped. Odd.
3. My cell phone displays evidence of several outgoing calls to people I never thought I'd speak to again. Did I, in fact, speak to them? Investigation pending.
4. I have, in my possession, a black Jack Daniels sweatshirt. I do not own a black Jack Daniels sweatshirt. Upon closer inspection, it smells like smoke, beer, and grapefruit-peppermint body lotion. This indicates that I must have been wearing it for some time.
5. I would have actually preferred dying in my sleep to getting out of bed today. I'm staggering around like a ninety-year-old man with a recent hip replacement, and my liver is cussing at me. That little bastard's got quite a mouth on him. I didn't even know there was such a word as "cocksuckingfuckass."
I guess that brings us up to speed, yes? Maybe I'll be back later with actual content, after I bake my internal organs an apology cake.
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