So I'm sitting here drinking the title of this post and listening to Accept. I also have a cat climbing up towards my balls from underneath the desk. Now she's moved on to attempting to climb up from the side. Unfortunately for her, she's not going to be successful. I spoke too soon, she was successful. Damn cats. I'm trying to type and she's licking my right hand. Just sit and relax. What's so difficult about that? Why do you constantly have to lick with your 15 grit sandpaper tongue?
I don't really know if this post is going to have an actual theme, but I've been drinking for the past few hours with some friends and I thought it would be a good idea to write a blog post. Not all of my decisions are good ones.
So I've got 17 more days at this residence. I've forwarded my mail/subscriptions elsewhere. I've started packing up my belongings, most of which will go into storage. I'm condensing the existence I've known into what should be a much simpler form of being, and I'm looking forward to it. It's all too easy to get caught up in your personal property. Who needs this many books? Who needs this many pens? Who needs this many tickets to Cubs games that are not easily sold? Seriously...I have Cubs tickets if you need them...nights and weekends. Let me know. :)
First smiley emoticon I've used on this website. Also the first website blog I've written while a cat was sitting on my lap. Said cat just got a little drum solo on her back. Probably thought it felt good, even if she didn't know it was the 437th coming of Stefan Kaufmann. Oh well, to each their own. All I can do is proudly wear my Accept t-shirt for others to admire and hope they'll someday understand just how damn good that band was/is. I can't hear the purring due to my headphones, but I can feel it. This cat likes to sit on laps while Accept is playing, and I can't say I'm surprised.
What was I saying earlier about themes and not having one? Oh yeah...that was what I was saying. So it's time to move on. Time to get out of Dodge and into, oh I don't know...perhaps an Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme? I don't even own a car, but I'm guessing this is what they drive over in Bridgeport. And don't assume that's a negative statement, as I love that car. Used to drive it myself. But I don't anymore and I think that's how you get laid in Bridgeport. I'm going to need a sweet car. The Cutlass or a Trans Am or something like that. Perhaps a motorcycle? I don't really know, these are just guesses. If any of you know please send me information so I'll know how to survive. I wonder if it'll be easier to sell my tickets for Cubs games when I'm blocks away from Comiskey Park? I think it will be. There's probably a ton of pretend White Sox fans over that way who actually root for the Cubs and are praying and hoping that a true Cubs fan with season tickets will move into the neighborhood. Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's how it will be. Mobile Phone Park be damned! That's a great commercial.
Okay, the cat decided to sit up, so I booted him off my lap. It's too difficult to type when there's a cat head in your way. Even more so when there's a cat giving you head, but that's only happened once in my life, and it was during college, so I'm not even sure it counts. Mr. Kitty was surely just experimenting, you know? My girlfriend was away for Thanksgiving visiting her family. I was staying at school, she dropped off her cat, I was in bed...the cat was in bed under the covers, one thing led to another and, well, there's really nothing else that needs to be said.
Thank God that cat didn't have a 15 grit tongue.
What else do I have? I'm thinking that last cat story is a good way to end this post, but the Nut Brown in me thinks otherwise. Unfortunately, that Nut Brown isn't really coming up with any good ideas, so I may have to ask the Schlitz, or the Captain, or the Sierra Nevada for help with this one. I wish I had something important to tell all of you, but I'm not sure that I do. Let me think for a minute. Maybe longer actually. No, longer. I said longer. Jesus Christ! Patience is a virtue, you know? Perhaps you don't. I'm sorry for using the Lord's name in vain there.
No, I'm not.
Don't get me started on religion. That will only offend, and this blog is about peace and love, not offending people...unlike religion. :)
Smiley face makes it all better, no matter what was said or written. Jesus fucking loves cute emoticons!*
At this point, I'm hoping (but certainly not praying) for Purgatory.
Weird. Just went into the mini fridge upstairs at the bar for a beer and there was one solitary beer and...guess....a bottle of A1 steak sauce. What the hell is that doing in there? All the food is located downstairs. The grill is downstairs. There really is no food upstairs, so why is there A1 steak sauce in the mini fridge? I really don't remember that being in there. The only thing I can think of is maybe the steak sauce belonged to that moth that I savagely killed in the shower this afternoon. He sort of freaked me out when I pulled the shower curtain open, and I know for certain he was harboring weapons of moth destruction, so I knew I was justified in crushing him with the Systems Clean Whirlpool Bath Cleaning box. I did not know moths were big steak fans, but I suppose you can put that stuff on just about anything in order to enjoy a healthy, delicious meal. Something tells me I'll be having a few more unplanned encounters with A1 steak sauce once I move to Bridgeport. Anyway I crushed the moth, his insides blew out and stuck to the wall, while his body rested on the window sill. I didn't feel good about it, and karma let me know it, as I stubbed all of my toes on the side of the bathtub trying to get some toilet paper to wipe up it's dead carcass.
There's an awfully suspicious large white van parked outside my apartment. The cat is sleeping peacefully atop a cardboard box. My beer is, unfortunately, only about half empty. Red scissors sit atop my desk. The Last In Line has ended and I'm back to the Balls To The Wall album. Probably time to brush my teeth and call it a night.
Good night.
* This isn't an asterisk, it's stigmata.
No comments:
Post a Comment