I don't sleep, I dream

I know, I know, you were hoping I wouldn't update for like another 10 years so as to give you time to absorb the full flavor of my last post and maybe, I don't know, seek some therapy to help you deal with what you read, but sorry! I had to do it. I've made a potentially life altering decision. And no, it doesn't involve fewer clients, less money or starting my own Sports Management Firm. I've decided I would be a great astronaut. 

As you might have guessed the Space Program finally took to answering my incessant mails( some might call it stalking, but really it was just playful badgering) and offered me the opportunity to be an astronaut. They said I would be gone for 11 years though. I was like, wow, 11 years, everything will have changed. And they said well it's either this or a stint as Mayor of New York. So I said ok, space sounds like fun.

And then I woke up. Someone was pounding on my door. And it wasn't the damn Space Program. Although it could have been if by Space Program I meant Crazy Serial Killer Neighbor Guy.

I have got to stop watching horror movies before bed. 

So I'd like to thank whoever spray-painted it on my door.

Ok, so I lied, I'm never going to be 'little miss frequent updater'. Sorry about that. But listen, last night I dreamt that I was a HOOKER. Just for the record, I blame this entirely on Febreze

-- Have you seen those Febreze commercials with the people who keep going in and out of their house so they can smell that wonderful Febreze smell again and again and they look insanely and deliriously happy to be doing so? What the hell? I know what you're thinking, because I thought it, too. Is Febreze the poor man's crack? Allow me to answer this one. Yeah, it is. I can attest to this because I bought some (I couldn't resist! I wanted to experience the kind of happiness that occurs in people and, apparently, dogs when Febreze comes over to play, damn it!) and I'm not sure if it's because I got a wee bit carried away and sprayed the entire bottle in one small, enclosed room and maybe inhaled a little too much Febreziness, but I'm pretty positive Unicorns leaped out of the bottle at one point and frolicked with me in what was my torture chamber office, but what magically turned into a field of daisies. I'm telling you, this stuff is so good I'm stocking up now so I can hit the playgrounds first thing next week and sell it to some kids for their lunch money and a Twinkie --

Oh, and while I'm at it, I also blame the entire state of Utah. So yeah, dreaming you're a hooker? Not so bad. Dreaming you're a cheap hooker? Bad. Dreaming you're a cheap hooker who only caters to pharmacists who look alarmingly similar to Anthony Edwards? Really, really bad. Sure, there are worse ways to make $40 (yes, $40. But I'll have you know I talked him up from $20 because I am so worth it, baby), I just can't think of any right now. Thanks again, Utah.

Sex just isn't worth the annoyance of your company.

Have I got exciting news for you! Very exciting news indeed! I've given up my dream of my life being made into a Very Special VH1 Behind The Music episode. Since everyone hates me. Or, since no one wants to form a band with me. Same thing. I did take clarinet lessons in 6th grade, you know. Anyway. It's ok, really. I mean, no one even invited me to audition for them, and I may have cried a little in my nachos, but my therapist says I don't need a band to validate me, I just need to have sex with him on the couch in his office for $200 an hour. So yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for asking.

This post in my head was longer, but I got distracted thinking how funny it would have been if for an April Fool's joke today I had told my brother that my mother told me HE was really my biological father and that the secrets and lies MUST stop.
LOOK, IT'S THE POST THAT WOULDN'T END! KILL ME! NOW!

Repent and be born again out of Pepsi

It occurred to me last night, somewhere between shots 5 and 9 of Visine, that 

a.)Visine is good for the soul, and 

b.)No one is really interested in the truth, and when I say no one I mean me, and since I know everyone thinks the same way I do, and by everyone I mean you, let's just forget this Monday business and declare today Lie Day. Go ahead, lie. Lie to me. Lie to yourself. Lie to your imaginary friend. Lie to your pet monkey. You know you want to.

Like four different MTV specials in one.

Ok, the zoo was closed. Actually there is no zoo around here. There used to be a "Wild Animal Farm" where I never met an ostrich or llama I didn't like. But they tore that down, something about my parents smuggling illegal animals over the border. 

Whatever. 

Two words: Wrongly Accused. 

But it's a tough case when it's you against 17 angry monkeys (my parents didn't think monkeys really liked bananas, they refused to buy into "the government's way of controlling us" and instead fed them potatoes. The monkeys didn't like potatoes and so were prone to riots, and the case against my parents was their chance at redemption. And bananas).

Anyway, I think you can see where I'm going with this. If you're going to run a makeshift zoo out of your home, don't piss off the monkeys. Monkeys like bananas. 

The zoo is closed. My parents are in prison. I visit them often and out of spite for my lost childhood friends animals, I bring them bananas. The end.

Only not really, but why does my dad call me after I get home and ask if I got home ok? If I didn't get home ok would I be answering my phone? Wouldn't I be lying in a ditch somewhere unable to come to the phone? I think I will change my answering machine to say that. "Sorry I can't come to the phone right now; I'm lying unconscious in a ditch off the side of the road. What road? Good question, too bad I'm unconscious and unable to help you out there. Maybe if you watch CSI you can get ideas on how to discover where I am, like maybe I left behind a fiber untraceable to the human eye that will point you in the right direction. I guess that means you need to not have a human eye to find me.  

Anyway, leave a message at the beep and if I don't die of exposure or I'm not eaten alive by various wilderbeasts I'll call you back. Beeeeeep."

I like'em washed up and just a little fucked up

Ok, let's put this whole sordid Day Of Bitterness, Emotional Blackmail, And An Overload Of Hearts And Cherubs behind us, shall we? I would like to state for the record that I only heard the creepy music from Friday the 13th (ki, ki, ki...ma, ma, ma) a few hundred times instead of the constant loop it usually plays in my head when Valentines day gets too close. You may be wondering if Jason Voorhees is trying to telepathically tell me to continue his killing spree (well we do have a Crystal Lake here). I wonder that too, sometimes. But then I remember that it was just a movie so I take off my hockey mask, put down my butcher knife, remove unwanted hands from my thigh, and eat some pie. Mmm, pie

It's easy for the deaf to maintain friendships.

Between the very guilt-inducing (yet sweet) e-mail I received from Kat and a conversation with Goose in which I'm pretty sure he threatened my life, it seems like I haven't got much choice here.

Thanks for convincing me not to give up. I was really just having a couple of Those Months. You know the ones, where you wake up, fall out of bed and hit your head/accidentally brush your teeth with the toothbrush you use to clean the toilet/get toothpaste in your hair/trip walking out to your car/etc. Except, does anyone really clean their toilet with a toothbrush? Seems like it might take a while.

Anyway. The doctors here at the clinic say I'll be just fine as long as I keep taking my meds. Which I do. Religiously. Only now, I think I've become physically and emotionally dependent on my eye drops. Not crack, or crank, or meth, or whatever drug it is you're on that makes you read this nonsense. Visine. (you know how I was yearning for a drug addiction? You know how they say "Be careful what you wish for"? Yeah).

I started using (is it horribly wrong that I love that phrase almost as much as "free-basing"?) when I became worried that I would get hassled if people found out, I mean mistakenly thought, I was moonlighting as a stripper since I came in to class in my G-String my eyes were always so bloodshot in the morning. And now I've spiraled out of control. I'm using even when my eyes are not red or irritated. What's next, injecting it into my veins? That would give a whole new meaning to "Gets The Red Out", wouldn't it?

This is my cry for help.

And speaking of issues, did anyone else see School of Rock? When the other teachers ask Jack Black which test he prefers and he starts to quote lines from Whitney Houston's "The Greatest Love of All"? And they're all like "Isn't that a song?" and he says no, nope, not a song and it's just downright hilarious? Well it is if you had a few hundred eye drops before watching it.

Thoughtful AND creepy, that's me!

So I've been away for a while (sorry about that), but you'll be pleased to note that I'm back. 

For a while anyway.

But mainly because I've discovered a meteor that is heading straight for Earth. New Hampshire, specifically. Ok, not really. But I hàve discovered that while I used to like things, now I just like the idea of things. Take peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for example. Love the idea of them, would hate to actually eat them. Love the idea of oatmeal, hate its actual gloopiness. Cream of Wheat though, I'm all over that creamy, wheaty instant goodness. You just can't buy stuff like that. Well you can, but let's not get technical here, ok? Anyway, I would list more examples, but I only like the idea of examples and not actual examples. See?