The setting: A restaurant
The Cast:
Me
My Brain
My Wife (a.k.a Mrs. Spain)
The Hostess
(*ahem*)
CARLTON AND HIS WIFE WALK INTO A RESTAURANT
Hostess: Hi. Welcome. How many tonight?
My Brain: Holy shit! She is smokin’. Wow, she’s hot. I’d like to…
Hostess: Hi Mrs. Spain!
My Brain: Damnit! She’s one of my wife’s students.
Hostess: I really enjoyed your Spanish classes.
My Brain: Victory! Past tense! She’s not a current student.
Hostess: I’m thinking about majoring in Spanish.
My Brain: Yes! College! Legal! Wow, she’s hot. I’d like to…
Hostess: It all really depends on where I get accepted to college.
My Brain: Damnit! Damnit! Damnit! Damnit!
My Wife: Carlton…you are so not allowed to crush on my former students.
Me: I didn’t say anything!
My Wife: Carlton!
Me: Sigh.
END SCENE
While working out on Sunday, I noticed that someone had put a giant “X” on the ground with some tape.
Now the practical side of me knows this was done by some trainer as part of his sadistic attempt to create exercises that make his clients look like absolute blundering idiots. IT was probably something that involved grunting and hopping.
Bear-crawling across the floor with weights in each hand is something else that the trainers often subject people to. But I digress.
I wouldn’t step on the “X”.
Not just that, I wouldn’t walk anywhere near it.
My cartoon-watching side won out over my practical side. Deep down, I know that ACME isn’t exactly known for the accuracy of their falling anvils. I didn’t want to be anywhere in the vicinity of it when someone hit the button.
Coincidentally, I came across this link today.
I pride myself in the fact that I rarely get sick. Of course, the Law of Averages means that when I do get sick, I get knocked pretty much flat on my ass.
Like…oh…say…now.
Sunday, I decided it would be gobs of snotty fun to come down with a cold. Normally, I get stuffy and sneeze a lot. No big deal. This time, my mucus membranes decided to hold everything in my nose hostage. Nothing was getting out. Or in. Sort of like rush hour. But all the cars are made of thick snot and located in my nose. (The horns were still honking, thanks to the funky resonance caused by attempting to blow my nose…Almost figured out how to nose some ABBA tunes.)
This made sleep…tricky. I was hoping that a healthy cocktail of Nyquil and Alka-Seltzer Nighty-Night would do the trick. And maybe a little whiskey to “intensify the effects.”
But no.
I kept snoring myself awake. And when I tried to get up and walk somewhere, it would inevitably become a long and windy journey filled with perils and obstacles. (Strategically placed laundry baskets, dogs, shoes, walls, etc.).
Needless to say, I pulled an all-nighter – which is not something I enjoy. After about 2am, it gets really hard to keep the eyelids open on a normal night. Add into that my unconsciousness-izing cocktail, and the all-nighter became this vicious cycle of me nodding off in my chair, and immediately waking up because of a lack of oxygen getting to my brain.
Moral of the story? I can apparently beat Nyquil.
So I signed up for facebook. I really didn’t want to, but I did. Networking might come in handy someday in the future.
Of course, I’ve spent the entire past few days uploading pictures and friending a bunch of folks and semi-acquaintances. Pretty impressive for someone who swore he’d never embrace the Web 2.0.
(Did I mention I also am twittering?)
I suppose embracing new technology is inevitable. At least social networking is free. Unlike…say…my shiny iPhone.
And for those of you wondering: Yes. It really is that awesome.
It’s rainy. And after midnight. And coherency is quickly going away like the midgets at closing time.
I so have nothing to blog about anymore….
I don’t get it.
This whole Web 2.0 thing.
I just don’t get it.
Folks want me to Twitter. But I just don’t care what other people are doing…much less think for a moment they care what I’m doing. Sure. Maybe when I get my iPhone, I can start Twittering about when and where I’m pooping or something. But again, I just don’t see the appeal.
Folks want me to do Facebook. But I’m even less enthralled about that one. I’m in touch with everyone I want to be in touch with. Outside of that, I actually prefer a certain degree of anonymity. I actually consciously remove my stupid employee name badge card thing the instant I leave my workplace. No one needs to know who I am or even where I work.
Not that I’m a misanthrope or anything. I just rather strongly dislike people.
I’m still making cookies. Like a monster of some sort. Some sort of monster that likes cookies. What would you call that? Anyhoo – I plan to send the latest batch to a friend up in NC…that is if I don’t eat them all.
And speaking of eating lots of gooey buttery sugary chocolate chip cookies….I have officially lost 30lbs. That might have something to do with my OCD with attending the gym 5 days a week.
I’ve been oddly mellow today. Almost…too mellow. It was actually hard for me to workout today. I just couldn’t get motivated. The bitterness and sarcasm that usually drive me just weren’t there.
While I do enjoy the occasional Mellow Moment, it does have its drawbacks. Specifically, the really odd thoughts.
Really odd thoughts such as, “Maybe I should grow mutton chops and walk around and greet everyone with my phony cockney accent by saying, allo guvna! Fortunately, the rational side of my brain prevents such thoughts from coming to fruition.
But I fear that the rational side of my brain is going to get worn down by the constant barrage of the thoughts that begin with, “Maybe I should…” I half expect it to just say, “Okay. Fine. Paint your dogs pink. I’m just going to be sitting over here in the shady part of your brain watching. And if you see me laughing, that will be because of something totally unrelated. Really. Have fun. You know where the paintbrushes are!”
In other news, my wife has opened Pandora’s Box. She taught me how to make Chocolate Chip Cookies.
No. You don’t understand. I love Chocolate Chip Cookies. And by “love” Chocolate Chip Cookies I actually mean “will gladly be your personal bitch for” Chocolate Chip Cookies.
So what does this mean? I have no idea. Maybe I’ll become my own bitch. I can be sadistic. But I’ve also been known to be masochistic. So I’ll be baking Chocolate Chip Cookies and not allowing myself to eat them?
sigh.
The Darjeeling Limited:
I can’t tell whether or not Wes Anderson is a genius movie director, of if he just thinks he is.
Okay.
Not one big happy.
More like a bunch of little happys.
For the past few weeks, I’ve been in a funk. Not because of a big sad. But rather just a bunch of really mild annoyances (i.e. the seemingly neverending and soul-sucking job search.)
Lots of little happies today. Things like meeting Cary Ann Hearst (a local singer-songwriter who is quite good!) at lunch. My very own business cards finally arriving in the mail. Getting my resume off to a place I really want to work. Finding that really obscure song on iTunes…by an artist who shares my last name. Getting invoices out. Coming in second in a poker game (out of 25!). Hearing my grandmother is doing better. Chatting with the cute girl at the gym. Coming home to my wife. And my wife being totally cool with (and laughing at me for) chatting with the cute girl at the gym.
Yeah.
Some days the big happy is all of the small happys.
(And since the plural of ‘happy’ isn’t technically a word, I didn’t technically misspell it. Besides. I’m too happy to care).
Oh my gosh.
Cary Ann Heasrt totally waited on me today at lunch.
I don’t get to meet celebs that often. That’s why I’m all giddy.
