why must thou shun tasty meat?
veggies have lives, too!
So I am at work, not really doing any of the work I said I would this morning, when I came to a shocking revelation: I'm a friggin loser! It started slowly enough so as to be almost imperceptible: I remember going out to the improv or a movie or something 2 or 3 times a week, laughing, telling of gentle times past, hopping over homeless people and pretending I knew something about astronomy. I was so cool then, so hip and in the know, I had interesting things to say to counter Greyskull's daily diatribes about the mating habits of drunken buffalo or whatever it is she talked about while in her daily threesome with Santa and Flanders. I don't really drink, as the amount of alcohol it takes for me to actually get drunk is incredibly expensive and I don't have enough dedication to drink for that long, but I would go out and have a good time.
It started shortly after the wife started working, though I do not thing that had anything to do with it... you just kind of get into a rut. I felt less and less like going out, making excuses like "I have explosive diahrrea", "I smell like an anus", or "I might run into Smeagol"... these became easier and easier to believe, until I recently noticed I was not leaving the house at all, simply coming home and putting on my too-tight sweatpants and trying to grow chest hair like I am sure you all do every night. SOmethings gotta change!
"Why are you so frightened of spending a quiet evening at home, Stevester" you may be asking, and the reason, is tonight's word [applause and chanting]
No, Smeagol works booty ass overtime. He works sometimes 15 hours a day, strangely enoguh still never having any money, and never goes anywhere or does anything. He works, or sleeps. I remember when I lived with him he would go months without going anywhere, just going to work, coming home and going to sleep. I remember wondering who could live like that, and promising myself while taking a shit one day that that same fate would never befall me, for to lax into that rut is to succumb to the siren call of failure, and this Oddysses is not ready to falter in his magical quest to someday play porn music on guitar!
That's another thing. I now know why I want to play guitar. I want to be responsible for the background music in porn movies. I do not come upon this lightly, and this is a sincere wish, not like when I promised I would stop farting in the gym room because of my evidently bad karma (which I was a victim of yesterday).
Anyway, I have to do something, lest I risk falling victim to stir-craziness and become like Smeagol or my Walmart bag-shit filling uncle. It doesn't have to be anything drastic, maybe go to Walmart and intentionally take the last sale items in order to make children cry, or flashing old ladies at the nail salon again, something to get me out of the house. I wonder who's at the improv...
If you haven't had a chance yet, go vote on Derka's blog. Unlike my polls (zing!) her voting choices all have pictures of pretty girls on them instead of the very real risk of another Jeremy photo. My style sense is....how do you say....nonexistent, but really, can you go wrong in a black dress?
I am still waiting on word from Smeagol on when he wants to come by my house, though everything valuable is safely hidden in the basement. I will update when he shows up.