It wasn’t just that. Thinking about freedom and exclusivity and “boyfriending” Boss/Ariadnæ/Blondie/whoever/Boss Lady a lot yesterday and therria was the last girl I really wanted to boyfriend and I regret not having the chance—well, not being better situated to take it before it was too late/not getting my shit together sooner—and I hope this one was a good one although she probably should have had some more training wheels first but, hey, we don’t plan these things, and I hope she’s happy.

Jesus Christ, was that another therria dream? I fear it was.

(Possible source)

I wonder if she was some sort of stand-in for Boss Lady, being as I’m repeating exactly the same stupid mistakes?

o noes!

Another dream about therria. This time it was just real easy and sweet. Co-starring a still-talking, not-dead Roger Ebert and who do I know from French-speaking Belgium? But there were decomposing rats in the area behind Safeway that didn’t used to be a street (but it was a lot bigger) so maybe he wasn’t as not-dead as I thought.

You are the worst people ever

http://pngboyd.blogspot.com/2012/02/greetings-from-papua-new-guinea.html

the golden rule of seeing bands is never see a band no matter how much you like them if you didn't like their most recent album. Everytime I've violated that rule, I've paid the price.

Great advice.

Is it so wrong

that the person who makes me realize there may be someone else out there for me is 9 years old?

The thing is, every time I try to step to chicks at the supermarket, they look at me like I'm an alien.

Speedbump is me if I had a vagina and my shit together.

And I think Fiona Apple was in my dream.
I think I was comforting a crying Fiona Apple.

Offhand remark yesterday after class I think inspired dream wherein I dated a Spanish/English bilingual.

So fucking sexy.

Had to stop in the middle of sex with Boss Lady. Had a big talk; she was crying; I can’t be what she needs. Made up; conceded it was better to find a way to have/enjoy this than not. Went back inside her,
Was still thinking about ariadnæ and no sex, with anyone, for 7+ months. Dreamt about Speed Bump instead.

Sent you that e-mail while making my lunch

and by the time the food was ready, I’d lost my appetite

Also had a dream about sign language

Had a dream I cut my hair. Losing my hair felt just like losing my voicemail.

Dreamt I found the Rykodisc “Hot Rats” for my brother

This guy was dying for his fifteen minutes

Re: This one sentence just BLEW MY FUCKING MIND

And, as far as agricultural progress is concerned, trust me, you don’t get into agriculture willy-nilly. Farming is much, much harder than hunting and gathering is; raising animals will cut your lifespan short because you’ll trade diseases with them; and agricultural societies tend to be taken over by annoying kings and emperors, who tend to make life difficult for the grunts.

—Overthinking Avatar

Working on It

“Figure out what in life you do not do so well, and then… don’t do that thing.”

Note to self:

Don’t do this again

Déjà vu

Re: Memo to myself

Well I’m running out of things

My sister’s boyfriend’s mom just died.

She was stung by a wasp and went into a coma. Nobody had any idea she was allergic.

Why would anybody want to bring another child into this world?

Mitsuru Muraki is jamming on some unconventional percussion instruments: two round glass vases and a couple of pencils. He and another musician named Gabe Stern are writing a song together. As Muraki moves on to drumming on a metal bucket, a tall, dreadlocked young man pokes his head in the door.

“You guys recording in here?” he asks.

“Yeah, we sure are,” says Stern. “You make music?”

And just like that, another collaborator, Kris Luster, is added to the mix.

OH GOD I'M IN HELL

Boss Lady’s been freaking out about security/fidelity and I don’t blame her. Had a big talk before she left on her trip, had to reassure her the next day, calling from a payphone telling me she woke up sick to her stomach, that it was “just ‘we’.” But putting so much pressure on me has perhaps given it increased significance in my mind; Thursday night at the farmers’ market I saw this brunette working a food booth. Yeah, I was kind of checking her out; she reminded me of la Montréalaise. But she caught my eye and we just looked—there was definitely something there. But I had to repeatedly pull away from her gaze, trying to pretend to look at the menu, maybe even a little unsure, like I was supposed to know her from somewhere, but didn’t. She smiled at me and I wasn’t sure if it was from recognition, friendliness/salesiness or flirtiness. So I walked on and thought I forgot about it but walking to work the next day realized I’d dreamt of her.

Also remembered this morning I had a dream last night (this morning) where I won something, like, a bunch of people got called up in a gym from winning prizes/like a raffle, but there wasn’t much left that interested me, and I was going to graciously decline so someone else could get whatever, but was debating taking a video I might have liked, but it was on VHS, which I decided wasn't worth having at this stage in my life.

More thoughts I don't have time forPart VI

It seems silly to pledge that someone will meet all your emotional needs before you're sure that they can

Also, it's a bad idea to fall asleep reading Heloise' letter to Abelard

You’re the first person I think about when I wake up in the morning. I don’t think I like that.

OK, now starting to get melancholy, contemplating or considering things I totally shouldn’t, long-term things; reconsidering I know I shouldn’t and I know I don’t really want it but I want to want it

Mostly feeling OK so far today I think because she did lay her head on my shoulder + give me a kiss but no even goodbye hug when the bus came but after last night when we stumbled from the bar to the Puerto Rican place but instead of her feeding me post-drinking food my new boss ended up, as I was mid-sentence, looking me in the eyes and kissing me on the mouth, and then us making out against the building for quite some time as passersby hooted appreciatively, we woke up and talked and after realizing what a mess I am (duh!) she decided because she’s so driven I really wasn’t worth her time, which is like obvious but even though ariadnæ was on my mind + I was feeling a little bad and going “OK, making out is kind of alright but we can’t have sex before I talk with ariadnæ” and not even sure how much that attracted to her I was though I couldn’t help noticing little daydream-y crush-y things about her at work, like her smile and how pretty she looked in her dress and she’s rad but after feeling her in my arms + waking up next to her + then, you know, sort of feeling rejected, it’s like, ah, man, I don’t know how I’m going to not want more of this every day at work all summer.

So much prettier than the Bollywood girls.

P.S. Polish girls also really cute

I literally spent almost all day yesterday chatting with a cute-but-not-too-bright girl I first contacted a few months ago who decided I was an online stalker she knew who had changed his profile and was pretending to be someone else, and then blocked me.

Stupid fucking Blogger won’t let me insert HTML into comments so here’s a new post

I should add, too, that of course one would have to run the numbers to see whether rape is actually any higher than among native-born or ethnically Norwegian males, but I think she makes a good point when she says,

Skulle likt å ha sett reaksjonen om en norsk gutt hadde revet av hijaben eller løfta på burkaen til en av deres kvinner. Det hadde nok endt med borgerkrig og boikotting av Norge og nordmenn.

http://thatsanorgasm.wordpress.com/2012/08/24/jeg-er-lettkledd-kom-og-knull-meg/

I somehow want to hear Richard Dawkins’ comments on this. I’m also reminded of Faye’s analogy about toothpaste in the tube. I guess this isn’t new at all and it’s not like I’m surprised, but it’s still really depressing.

Not going to tweet this

I fell asleep right after reading blogs in Norwegian of erotic stories written by 15-year-olds about Justin Bieber. I think my dreams involved them to some extent.

Buddhism and happiness

Really, Blogger? Really?

I can’t do anything without JavaScript?

Jeez, you guys blow. Really, I (stupidly) expected more from Google.

P.P.S. I guess it was the one-two combination of the tweet and the food last night (if you can call that food)

Tweet reminded me of her right before bed

Another therria dream.

mleh

Woke up ~4 at sound of someone coming into office complex where I was sleeping. Luckily it wasn’t raining; walked the few blocks past Kinko’s to get a bit more sleep at a bus stop. Phone dead after a 15-minute dip in a mud puddle, so wasn’t really sure what time I woke up, but it was just barely starting to get light so I went to get on Kinko’s’ Internet. Shortly after I signed on got reply from my sister - just come on over, she said, even with her friend been crashing there since he got back from abroad and shit pretty tense with me coming by/sleeping there all the time, like they had a house meeting at 6:45 am the other morning. So, I said, she rocks, but of course I couldn’t leave Kinko’s without finishing my last few Wikipedia edits, and the network was super-slow and then suddenly it was like 20 minutes later. Then, impatient, broke, didn’t wait at the bus stop and of course started jogging as I was halfway to the next and it blew past me. Didn’t really matter that much, though, as I saw her mopeding down the hill on my way up + crashing-there friend leaving just as I was getting in (was he not supposed to see me?) But of course someone else had their laundry in the machine when I got there—at least it was finished. So I put it in the dryer, threw my load in, ran upstairs to get naked, threw ALL the rest of my clothes in, brushed my hair, showered… Of course, got lost in thought in the shower; not the quick 10-minute in-and-out I’d envisioned, my mind kept drifting… Got out, of course, other apt’s clothes still drying. So go back, up, mapquest shit… Oh, God, How far away is this thing? Jesus, there’s no way I’m going to be able to make it there on time. Freaking out a little, but realize where Google Maps shows is a bit further than I’d envisioned. Playing with fire, rolling the dice, and realizing I have, really, no choice at this point, without having yet taken it to a repair place, I take my phone out of the bag of rice and put the battery in. It starts up and I dial my dispatcher-person to double-check where the assignment is. Finally throw my shit in the dryer and go shave while I’m waiting. Other roommate wakes up + asks if I’m almost done with the bathroom; I’m about two minutes from finished shaving but I haven’t brushed yet. Figure I’ll do it when I get there or something. Jesus Christ, I’m supposed to be so gone by now; it’s about 8:30, I’d swore I’d only be an hour if Kimo left the iron (which my sister helpfully left out), and even if I didn’t get here till 7:30 (I have no idea what time it actually was, probably after 7 but probably not that late) it’s still been an hour and the other roommate wasn’t even supposed to see me/know I’m there. Now I’m totally late + screwed. Boss-guy tho told me there was some bomb-scare thing downtown, so that buys me a little time. Literally all my clothes save some swim trunks are in the dryer now, but I do have the assigned shirt we’ve been given, which had been specified needed pressed, so I get to ironin’. Figure I’ve done all I can, grab my pants and boxers, still damp, do a quick-ass job of creasing those, and throw the whole thing on. Now the one roommate I’m especially trying to avoid is out and about downstairs, and I’m debating how much longer I can hide upstairs waiting for him to go back in his room + leave—I’m already ridiculously late. As soon, however, as I see Kimo coming back to the house, I wait for him to finish fawning over the neighbour’s dog, then, boom, I’m downstairs, hitting him up for a ride. I walk past him socializing with J and just say, Hey, thanks for the iron, but as I’m getting my socks out of the dryer (and putting the rest back into my Big, Homeless Plastic Bag), I ask him about a ride to the end of the road. He says he can’t, but then says if I can wait 5 minutes—sure, no problem. Honestly, if I hadn’t got that ride, I would have been totally late. He basically says they’re going that way (he + gf on way to beach, since he can get away with cutting work on Thursdays—his life is so hard) + drops me off like two blocks from where I need to be. I make it in time, figure out where I’m supposed to go… looking down, I notice that the cream-coloured shirt really doesn’t go well with my khakis. Too bad they’re like the only pair of non-jeans I have here on the state—in fact, the only other pair of pants I have here. My mind idly flits over that fact, as I ask a security guard if I’m even vaguely going in the right direction. I run into boss-man, as I walk up to the entrance, and he looks at me gravely. They said black pants. How did I miss that? I heard “black shoes,” then something about women and skirts and their dress requirements; I guess I glossed over the “black shoes, black pants” completely. Well, he says, we’ll see. So I go in, go through the whole thing, and then, finally, as we’re all waiting around, the guy running the job says, “I’m sorry, I can’t let you work unless you can get some black pants… You understand.” He says, though, he’ll put me to work if I can get back in a couple hours… Go to the library, e-mail Kimo, then text him, resurrecting once again my cell… Finally, as I’m about to give up, get the green light. Pants in room. OK. So I head on back to the house. Realize, if I make it back to the job, I may very well not have a time and a place to get food again until, like, midnight, so have just enough time between transfers to run into a supermarket. It was supposed to be activated at 7 am with my birthdate as the PIN… but my new EBT card doesn’t work. Try entering it a few times, swiping it again, and give up. Just have to finish the entire bag of Wal-Mart fig not-Newtons. Back on the bus, walk up the hill, trying not to drench these nice work clothes in sweat… suddenly so exhausted, worried how tired I’m going to be when I get back to work… Get to the top of the hill… and J’s car is still home. At 1 pm? Really? Walk to the very end of the street, try to find somewhere in the shade to sit… The Zen temple looks deserted, to I hang out there, pass out… After finding a comfortable way to lie on stairs without getting my nice clothes dirty, finally awakened about an hour later by someone who, y’ know, actually belongs there pulling up in a truck. I embarrassedly scurry away, and check the house once again. 2:30, and still home. What am I gunna do? I wasn’t expected back anyway, really, so I just give up for the day. I don’t wanna see dude, I don’t wanna deal with dude, and I don’t wanna make shit yet more hot and stressful for my sis. But now, I’m looking at it, like, shit. I am so in debt, might get all my earthly possesions put up for auction with a lien on them, and that one day of work today would have made all the difference. But at 5 pm, now, it seems a little ridiculous to even still care. I don’t even know what to do, but I think I’m going to go apply for some jobs now. Even though I have letters still to write to la Montréalaise and an epic that I’m still composing having not talked for almost 4 months to ariadnæ.
And now I get e-mail from her saying she’s going to cut her hair. Also a bunch of Speedbump e-amils I haven’t even looked at yet.

Notes on 72 houri

• http://wikiislam.net/wiki/72_Virgins
• http://www.patheos.com/blogs/friendlyatheist/2011/03/30/trying-the-make-sense-of-the-72-virgins-myth/
• http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OVSctNoca9Q
• http://www.allrightmagazine.com/war-and-peace/where-did-the-notion-of-72-virgins-in-islamic-paradise-come-from-4325/
• http://controversialislam.wordpress.com/72-virginshouris/
• http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2002/jan/12/books.guardianreview5

Re: For my own reference, but yours, too

http://gizmodo.com/5780416/what-your-email-domain-says-about-you

Mostly this just pisses me off, but I can’t help but wonder, just how feckless is this person to sign contracts wherein she has absolutely zero control over her creative output, or is the whole system really so corrupt that if you want to play the game you have to sacrifice any final approval or integrity entirely?

This one sentence just BLEW MY FUCKING MIND

Like contemporary hunter-gatherers, Paleolithic humans enjoyed an abundance of leisure time unparalleled in both Neolithic farming societies and modern industrial societies.

Joke/a peek inside the Spanglish-speaking toddler's brain

________________________________
> From: Speedbump
> Subject: Joke/a peek inside the Spanglish-speaking toddler's brain
> Date: Sun, 7 Apr 2013 14:43:05 -0700
>
> Me: "One, two."
> Baby: "One, me!"
>

----------------------------------------
> To: Dad
> Subject: Re: This is what counts for intellectual honesty on the Left
> Date: Sun, 7 Apr 2013 19:00:17
>
> If you look at the links, the debate was quickly moved to a more substantive medium - but sometimes you can pick out single sentences even in non-Twitter discourse that are howlingly disingenuous. In this case, responding to Harris' "We can settle this by holding opposing cartoon contests. You take Islam, and I'll take any other religion on earth," with "Why don't we settle it with an invasion, bombing and occupation contest? I'll take US & Israel - you can have anyone else," strikes me as an egregious red herring. The U.S. and Israel do bad things, therefore any critique of Islam is invalidated or - worse yet - not allowed. When someone calls him on it, he petulantly replies, "I know - only the crimes of Muslims count - never your side - because *they* are so tribal, right?" He then goes on to invoke Josef Stalin as a complete non sequitur - presumably to trot out the old, tired canard that atheists are "just as dangerous" as the religious? At this point, I feel like we're dealing with someone who can be thoroughly dismissed as unserious.
>
> Anyway, I have to say, Greenwald comes off looking a lot better in 140+ characters, but he's still draws moral equivalencies and conflates military actions of the West with Muslim violence without adressing the CONSEQUENCES OF BELIEFS, although I really think the central problem is he simply does not grasp many of Sam's arguments. Here's his (quite lengthy!) response, and the e-mail exchange that sparked off the "Twitter debate" in the first place.
>
> http://ggsidedocs.blogspot.com.br/2013/04/email-with-sam-harris.html
> http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2013/apr/03/sam-harris-muslim-animus
>
>
> ________________________________
> > From: Dad
> > Subject: RE: This is what counts for intellectual honesty on the Left
> > Date: Sun, 7 Apr 2013 18:27:09
> >
> > A twitter debate? What a waste.
> >
> > > To: Dad
> > > Subject: This is what counts for intellectual honesty on the Left
> > > Date: Sat, 6 Apr 2013 11:51:09 -1000
> > >
> > >
> > http://ggsidedocs.blogspot.com.br/2013/04/twitter-exchange-with-sam-harris-and.html

Another making-up-with-therria dream.

Latin links

• http://talkingvulgar.blogspot.com/
• Mediæval–Neo-Latin tutorial
• http://diarium-latinum.livejournal.com
• http://pluteopleno.blogspot.com/
• http://flclp.sourceforge.net
• latinitas.blogspot.com
• http://www.johnpiazza.net/defense.htm

A black child would get a whupping

Having too many rules burdens down the entire family and limits thinking.

Kids don’t need to learn to think, they need to learn to RESPECT!

And now they’re playing Al Green, Jesus Christ

Jumping up and down in my seat, squealing and clapping

God fucking dammit I’m going to call you e-mail you and bring you out here

Voodoo Doughnut

God, I miss you.

On certainty and knowing

Understanding Quran on present Day knowledge??

A knowlege that is prone to change at any time??

so should we keep changing Quran translation on the basis of Human knowledge??

or should we change Human knowledge on the basis of Quran??

After about a day-and-a-half of OCDing about other, stupid, indulgent, insignificant things finally make it a priority to get to a place with running water where I can brush my teeth. I’m starting to really, really worry about them. Again

I google like a 14-year-old girl

when I’m not googling 14-year-old girls


http://www.lovepanky.com/love-couch/sweet-love/falling-in-love-with-a-friend
http://www.wikihow.com/Avoid-Falling-in-Love-With-a-Friend
http://www.wikihow.com/Not-Fall-in-Love-With-Someone
http://www.letstalkrelations.com/falling-in-love-with-someone-you-cant-have.html Links2
http://wiki.answers.com/Q/How_do_you_stop_yourself_from_falling_in_love_with_your_friend
http://www.luvcube.com/blog/2005/03/falling-in-love-with-friend-what-to-do.html
http://boards.straightdope.com/sdmb/showthread.php?t=179815
http://help.com/post/519835-i-think-im-falling-for-a-fri

I could be wrong but

anybody who has a 50 Cent album title tattooed on him probably isn't a neo-Nazi.

The video for “Cath” is one of the best… things ever created.

I wish I could put all my energy into making things right again with you and your husband

and I wish you could, too.

So here’s how I think it is: She’s totally my type, but I’m not that particularly attracted to her, physically, as an individual. But then just, the longer I hang out with her, the harder it is, how/who she is, not to fall in love.

I wake up after a fitful night (?) of sleep. I’d had the same problem the night before, and really, really meant to go to Goodwill to get a blanket—they wash their stuff before they put it out, right?—but instead had gotten totally sidetracked, meeting up with my sister to help her on her résumé and cover letter, forgetting the blanket thing. But, whatever, it’s Hawaii, and instead of complaining, I decide to make another go of it—it gets cold, but not that cold, and if worse came to worse I can always walk all the way to Wal-Mart or that 24-hour Walgreen’s across the street and buy a blanket.

Yet for another night, I don’t manage to sleep in the same spot from go-to-sleep- to wake-up-time; at some point later in the morning (4-ish?) I decide I'm both too exposed to the winds + that I might get discovered/roused anyway. So I actually find a pretty chill spot in a little office building across the street, a wood building with, like, a travel agent or something.

Yet it’s still chilly/cold on the pavement, even though the wind seems almost non-existent once I draw my head and arms into the sleeves of my T-shirt (how big must I wear these things that I have that much room in there, anyway?), and after a couple more hours, daylight has started to break, which is pretty much my enemy in the way it is Batman’s, and it’s time to skeedaddle. I really need to piss, though, even though I’ve already done so twice throughout the night, and there’s nowhere sheltered/vegetative enough that I feel comfortable peeing. So half with intent on checking up on a karaoke machine I saw abandoned by the kerb, half with no particular direction at all, I start off vaguely in the direction of a McDonald’s. Also, if I continue on, I can be near the far Goodwill, the one I wasn’t going to try going to, when it opens. It’s not so much the price—I know I shouldn’t give a shit about—what, a dollar, max?—but also suitability for a purpose, and since I’m not quite sure what that looks like, my obsessive-compulsiveness is making me want to check both Goodwills in town, even though one is, realistically, never on my way to anything, but not quite out of the way from where I find myself sometimes, the time it takes me to walk from one to the other is easily worth more than a dollar.

So I’m blundering more-or-less toward McDonald’s, but, really, keeping an eye out for, like, a bush on the side of the road, anybody’s yard I can piss in. Sometimes I wish I had less shame. But also I’m kind of along a main road, people are starting to wake up, even though it’s Saturday, and I don’t feel like getting bit or even barked at by some guard dog while I’m trying to piss on his property. So even though I’m ostensibly going to run into a McDonald’s at some point soon, really, in my mind, I’m thinking, “Jesus, I need to find somewhere soon.”

I even start down a few dead-end roads, knowing at least they’re immune to through traffic, but really don’t find anywhere I wouldn’t easily be spied by anyone glancing at the nascent sun out their window, to find me whizzing in their front yard. So, starting down a through-road beyond which is Micky D’s, but also well covered in foiliage and little trafficked, I’m appraising people’s hedges. I finally see a little nook not easily within the line of sight of anyone’s window, and think, “Fuck it, I’m going for it.” But—what’s this? Ah, urethra-blocked by morning pedestrians! Actually, one’s getting out of her car and socializing… OK, fuck this, I’m just going to McDonald’s. But as I continue, right before the intersection with the main road— What's this? Some sort of small office tucked in the residential neighborhood? Landscaping galore? Hallelujah! I see the morning pair starting to disperse and make some sort of pretense of checking whether one of the food joints around the corner is open yet… but I almost immediately double back to the office building as they’re walking the opposite way, on the other side of the street… I am going to go behind this building and unleash a— No, wait? What’s this? Oh, all these trees in front of the office building are even better; that much closer! My bladder is practically rejoicing now, singing a song of joy as I duck behind a wooden partition and get ready to water the tree trunk of this tastefully gardened… whatever-it-is; probably a pediatrician or a psychologist or something. “Easy little guy,” I tell it; in fact, I’m worried a drop or two may have escaped at a few false-alarm prospects for relief along the way. Really, I should have just clenched my sphincter, taken a deep breath, been resolute, and thought about something else, firm about waiting till I got to McDonald’s, the proper societally-ordained receptacle for my urine, regardless of if there was a line for the bathroom once I got there or whatever. But I’d given my body too much false hope, and now was the time. I fumbled with my jeans, unbuttoning them and reaching to yank down the front of my boxers and— Oh, God, no. No, no; hang on, hang on; not yet!

I’ve pissed myself. This has literally never happened in my adult life. Or even in, like, grade school. While still trying to somehow remove my underwear from between the exit valve of my dick and its intended target the switch got thrown early and hot, clear urine started gushing forth before I’d fully figured out how to remove my jeans, and my boxers. I feel ashamed as the remaining stream snakes its way out of me, leaving my muscles feel relieved. It’s the same muscle even, a failure of the part of the mind that controls the sphincter, that self-loathing disappointment as when you finish too quickly. If only, if only, if only, you find yourself saying, trying to rerun the chain of events leading up to the breach in your mind, but, really, if you’d been present and aware of your thoughts in the moments before it probably wouldn’t have happened. Jesus, I didn’t even have that much piss, relatively speaking. I mean, I had to go bad, but just normal I’ve-had-a-lot-to-drink bad, not long-car-ride-so-long-I-time-it-and-I-swear-I-pissed-for-like-a-minute-and-a-half bad. I’m grateful I happen to be exercising uncharacteristic foresight and happened to have another pair of underwear in my bag this time—though certainly not forseen for anything like this. God, I hate getting old. I need to take better care of myself, like Andie was saying last night. But it’s hard when you’re sleeping outside. I slink toward the McDonald’s anyway, now to change my boxers, checking the dampness of my jeans and feeling the wetness cool in the morning air.

The stall in the men’s bathroom is—thankfully—unoccupied—I don’t want this wetness to seep any further, and I go in there and yank down pants, setting my bags on the changing table, now trying to plotting out how to remove my jeans and boxers, put on new boxers and then my pants again, without my bare feet touching the floor of the McDonald’s men’s room. Ah, fuck it, I figure; it’s not the cleanest, but, let’s be fucking real, neither is any public rest facility, and I’ve been kind of meaning to take a shit since last night, since you’re here and your pants are down anyway, why not take a dump. So, dutifully wrapping about eight layers of toilet paper between my hand and the seat, I wipe it down, and then place the “sanitary” paper liner to sit on.

Damn. No Twitter reception in the toilet.

Lord knows what I’ve eaten (actually, I do—some ridiculously large two-patty burger for lunch—yes, two patties. What was I thinking?? It didn’t really register when I ordered… but it was good. And then about half a dozen doughnuts and a brownie for dinner.) and it’s not exactly falling right out of me. Also, because it’s that hard, struggle-to-get-out kind, when I’m convinced that all the major tonnage has made its way through, wiping is a bit of a chore. Klingons on the starboard bow, if you know what I mean. So I lean over to finally clean up this crime scene monstrosity ’neath my loins… and the stupid automated flusher sprays splash-back all over my bare ass, sucking the toilet set liner out from under me. God, I hate that. I give the seat another wipe-down for good measure, sit back down on the edge, and commence to doing as satisfactory a job as I can in as little time as possible.

Then I hear the distinct sound—I know it from just a few nights ago, myself—of vomiting. It happens once. Where? The urinal? The sink? This cannot be good. Then again. Oh, God; I’m usually pretty fastidious/compulsive/nuts about these things, but an ever-so-slight modicum of diligence goes down a notch; as soon as I can convince myself the paper’s clean, I’m out of there. Whatever’s happening out there, I don’t want to wade through. Especially not wearing sandals.

The door to the stall rattles. “Occupied,” I yell, “I’ll be out in a sec!” “I feel sick,” a voice replies, and I’m frantically tearing at the paper, violently dragging it across my anus, my mind flitting to what a shame it is that my less-than-pristine asshole may disgrace/spoil these fresh, clean underpants/boxers. I try to remember what kind of urinal it is; undoubtedly one of those new, low-flow kinds. Jesus, how much did it splatter? I wonder. I finally finish, stand up, the stupid, unthinking robot flushing for a third time behind me, and quickly step through my clean boxers, onto my shoes, then pull on my pants, grabbing my stuff and beating a hasty exit out the stall door. A man in a moustache and a leather jacket woozily stumbles into the stall behind me, and I debate even bothering to wash my hands, but being as the floor looks clean and the sink doesn’t appear vomited into, I can’t not after Number Two. Still, I soap and rinse as fast as I can and don’t even really bother with the hot-air hand dryer—then hit with the realization: dude barfed into the trash can, the old standby—before rushing out of the restroom. I hear the robot flush once more, no doubt backsplashing into this man’s face, as I exit.

It is 6:58 am.

Note to self:

Writing will feel effortful. Do it anyway. Even a poorly written, sentence fragment-laden rough draft will tell you more than a perfectly-crafted paragraph that never gets written.

In the dream, inadvertently led Speedbump to the realization she was faking it + wasn’t happy. Well duh…

Not exactly a nightmare

Had a dream I went to the job they told me not to come back to Monday; I just somehow automatically got ready + headed there before getting there, having someone recognize me, and having to quickly fabricate an excuse about just dropping by to get the soda I left in the refrigerator. Also I’d shown up on Saturday, not Monday.

Also realized I dreamed about Speedbump. And The Baby.

Who is underdoubtedly a lot bigger and verbal than that by now.

God, this kills me

We’re busy, so we’re glad we haven’t had kids yet

Who would hate their girlfriend that much?

So, Papa John’s is having this promo where you can get a heart-shaped pizza, a cinnapie, and rose(s) for Valentine’s Day.
I so, so, so, so wish I could get that for therria.

Had a dream about what I think was essentially a stand-in for Andie. Only it was set in San Francisco.

I don’t want to forget this

So remember in “Groundhog Day” where he’s talking to Rita in the café, and he’s just kind of realizing, like, what a kind, wonderful human being she is? Yeah. She told me she starts tipping at 20% and I was like, Damn.

Last night I spent money I don’t have because a pretty girl wanted blueberry pancakes, and when a girl accepts an invitation to Denny’s, well, you don’t just let that pass you by. I ended up concocting a rideliciulous sandwich but thought for a moment about ordering Moons Over My Turkey with bacon—I wanted to, but I felt a pang and I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Blond hair and freckles’ll go a long way with me.

To reiterate the banal

Even though I felt like there was maybe something missing, no one else has even come close.

So it gets back to the question: Is that as good as it gets, and I was just being picky? Or was I so close, and I just need to hold on a little longer?