I’m not wearing underpants

Instead I’m wearing pajama bottoms. They are far more comfortable and roomy. God knows I need the room.

In the last month I’ve managed to get my friends all hooked on Buffy, Angel and Arrested Development. See, I’m a good friend. I should start charging them every time I bring over a season of my DVDs. I could make a shit load of cash.

No wait, I couldn’t, ‘cos they’re as poor as I am.

It’s gotten to the point where at least one of us is humming the tune of The Final Countdown and that’s gone so far as a couple of us putting the song on our Myspace pages. It’s actually kind of scary, ‘cos every second thing we say is somehow an Arrested Development reference. It’s also kinda scary due the amount of dancing that now takes place, Will Arnett style.

G.O.B. is by far the funniest character in television history. Bar none, except maybe Lt. Castillo. That motherfucker was all about the funny.

I don’t really live here anymore

It’s come to my attention that I haven’t been wise. Specifically, I wasn’t prepared for today. See, I get cocky; all, I know everything and I’m the reason for existence. Which, is technically true, I am the reason for existence; my own. But today – holy shit – was cold.

I really should have worn an extra layer.

That’s where the cocky comes into play. At some point, everyday, I say to someone; “I’m from up north, I’ve got ice in my veins. This isn’t cold.”

Anyways, I took a test today that resulted in me finding out that I’m not autistic. Next.

Arnold Style

I think that it’s now safe to assume that I’m back in the blogosphere. Show of hands of how many people notice/care?

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

I do miss the good old days of blogging though. When I’d post something and people would make some sort of a comment about it. The days before I dropped from the Earth and spent 2 years flying around the universe with Xenu, going all hydrogen bomb on various planets.

We had some good times he and I. He’s a good guy and he doesn’t need the bad rap.

On a ‘Tom Cruise isn’t Jesus Christ’ note; right now, I’m happy. And also, “The Final Countdown” by Europe is quite possibly the greatest song ever.

Army of Me

See, what I love is when my friends go off on a tangent on someone. Maybe they’ll say somethings that I wouldn’t say, ‘cos I’m so decent. [No I’m not.] It’s nice that someone will stick up for you, even if you didn’t ask them. It’s kinda the opposite of being a General, because at no point does anybody die and at no point did I give orders or demand respect.

It just means that someone feels good in the end and somebody else doesn’t. But fuck that person. Because chances are they had it coming. Life’s Karma.

It’s kinda funny, because I was talking with my hetero lifemate today and while he did state that there surely was some old school Classic Dan in the workings, [he also said – and I quote – “Dude, I don’t know what it is, but you’ve got the worst luck with women” after I told him of the other things that got fucked up recently with the ladies] he advised me to not start any shit. He’s pretty much the only person I listen to and even then, it’s only half the time. In this case I listened.

But in the end I still got to laugh.

Poppy Seeds

“I’m tired of giving this any thought,” I say.

Jim looks at me and rolls his eyes.

He says, “I know, it’s not your strong suit.”

That dick.

The beer sits warm in my gut and I slam back a shot of jager. There’s little buzzing next to my eye and every time that I turn to it I remember that it’s just the weed making my brain fuzzy. We clink our drinks in the timeless notion that we are not poisoning each other’s booze and turn away from the bar as we’re of one mind.

A pretty little blonde winks at the bartender and a pretty big dude swings his fist into a pretty small dude.

I say, “the fuck do we come here for?” I say, “You know that one our faces is going to end up on that guys’ fist.”

“Cheap booze,” says Jim.

I nod and shut up. Cheap booze always wins any argument. The little dude is getting pulled from the ground by his buddies while the big dude’s friends hold him back. Motherfucker’s on parole, he can’t afford another manslaughter rap.

The little dude, I should be helping him out. He is after all, my brother, but I really could care less. It’s not my responsibility if he gets a fake ID and wants to go bar-hopping. I’m just not looking forward to my mother’s frantic call tomorrow morning, waking my hung-over ass up screaming about how I should have been a better example.

Makes me want to walk over and punch him myself.

Jim opens up a plastic bag and passes it to me.

He says, “poppy seed?”

Everything I say is a lie

Much like the title of this post. Seriously though, I stand by everything I’ve ever said. I’ve said it, sure I may have been wrong in hindsight, but you can’t take things back so you may as well say; “fuck it and fuck you.” So, I stand by everything I say. Even the lies.

Fuck that. Especially the lies.

I’ve come to realise [actually, I’ve known all along] that I’m a very angsty person. I’ve got enough angst flowing in my veins on a daily basis to kill twenty emo kids. ‘Course, they’re already half dead to begin with. With their hollow, mascara autumn eyes.

It’s like Rube says; “there isn’t a more emo word than autumn.”

He probably worded it differently, but I think I’m getting the point across.

I think I’ve made more posts over the last week than I did in the month of December. Which begs the completely unrelated question; the fuck did I do that makes my right ankle hurt? It’s not as if I ran the marathon to the very last mile. With my phlegm-ridden lungs I wouldn’t run the marathon to the first mile.

I want to change the layout of my blog. It feels cold and mechanical. I’m thinking; hot pink with neon green text. It’s totally easy on the eyes and in no way brings up questions about my very macho heterosexuality.

Changing subjects without any sort of a segue here, my mother told me that I’m becoming self-absorbed. I think it’s because I have for the first time in technicolor; a social life. I’m not sitting around the house anymore. Most nights now; I don’t even spend them here. I had a reason to be home, to be here, but that’s gone now, so I see me spending a much less amount of time home.

I also see me finally getting off my ass and getting my head on straight regarding a few things. Oh wait, no I don’t. I say that all the fucking time and nothing gets done. So fuck it, my policy is now; whatever is going to happen is going to happen. If I get chlamydia, I’ll take some antibiotics. If I get AIDS, I’ll, I dunno, start playing basketball.

‘Cos apparently doing that leads you to the only cure for AIDS; money. That shit is Magic.

Typical

My grandmother has sciatica. This means that she’s been in physical anguish for about 3 months now, if not more. Sunday she was in the hospital because the pain was so intense that she had to stand all night and forgo sleep. If she lays down, the pain gets that much worse.

Eight O’Clock Sunday night I’ve been drinking for fours at this point and I go home to pick up a teevee to give to my friends. ‘Cos I’m very fucking generous. To the point of nobility, in fact. My mom tells me that my grandma has been in the hospital since 10am. I go back to my friends, giving my mom my friend’s number to call in case she hears anything new. Because my family hasn’t bothered to call since they called to say; “hey, morphine drip.”

Typical.

Ten O’Clock Sunday night rolls around and I’ve been drinking for six hours and my mom calls to say that my grandma is now home. Has been home since 2pm, but they didn’t bother to call. Just let my mom worry. ‘Cos it’s not as if it was her mother in the hospital in agony or anything.

Typical.

Eleven O’Clock [maybe it was midnight, it’s all kinda a blur now] rolls around and I get smoked up, in the front seat of a beige van. I stumble around, get more booze and proceed to drink until there’s none left, which happens around 4am.

I love me some 12-hour marathon drinking that would have lasted longer had there been more whiskey and vodka and Guinness.

What I won’t admit to is that there is video evidence of me rocking out and singing really fucking loud to Tenacious D and the Beastie Boys. I’m just happy that at no point did my pants come off of my legs, as they did last week.

We like to switch persons

If the boat doesn’t rock, turn up the music. There’s nothing to it, just let the treble slam the bow into the water, head first. What also is a good idea is to mix analogies, ‘cos, for serious, that doesn’t lead to any confusion at all.

If they say; “turn it down” flip ’em the bird and wag your dick in the wind. It’s all about the presentation, baby. Because, in your eyes, you can never be wrong. Your eyes are the only things that matter, because you know that you can’t be bothered to gouge out their eyes and put them in your sockets.

If they say; “turn it up” flip ‘em the bird and wag your dick in the wind. It’s still all about the presentation, baby.

Nobody cares about the view from another pair, just the tunnel they see in front of them, barrelling down on the tub of already picked apples. See what I did there? I somewhat referenced The Bible. See, I’m old school like that. We are all nothing but Adams and Eves. Shifting the blame and eating apples. Their sweet delicious transgressions.

Sometimes you’ve gotta wonder why pears don’t have the same mass appeal. Could be that the grainy texture is that much harder to swallow. Or it could be that people just like to stick to what they know. They dive straight on it on what’s available, the easy and quick fix. We are nothing but a bunch of cunts and cocks.

And we’ll be fucked if we forget it.

I think I’m being e-stalked

Universe, 897986; Dan, 0

If there’s one thing that you’ll learn, it’s that you don’t win.

You try to convince yourself that one day, things will get better, that one day you’ll find that golden archway of happiness. This is nothing more than an illusion. This is nothing more than a lie.

Universe, 897987; Dan, 0

Existentialism tells us that in the grand scheme, nothing we do matters, so therefore the only thing that matters is what we do. Does this hold true to what others do?

All this shit and you don’t know what you’re talking about. But, it all started with a girl, as most things that go horribly, horribly wrong do. You try to tell yourself, hey now, you’ve been alone long enough. That the gnawing loneliness has taken it’s toll long enough, it’s time to put your trust into something beyond keeping people at arm’s length.

But then you find, as to your sneaking suspicion that there’s this big cosmic joke on you, that it was all just a fabrication. That it was another person in the non-stop long line of people that take advantage of you. But you think you’ve gotten smarter, you think that your hard outer covering has made you tougher, made you less likely to get hurt.

This too, is a lie. This is what scientists call self-delusion.

Universe, 897988; Dan, 0

Was that brief time where you felt something aside from nothing, that brief time where you felt affection for something aside from your sarcasm worth the devastation? You’ll ask yourself if it was a good idea. You’ll say to yourself, I should have known better.

But then you’ll thank The Universe for teaching you another lesson. You’ll thank your lucky stars that you got kicked in the teeth again, spit in the face. Because this is what your life has always been.

Where the fuck do you get off telling yourself differently?

Universe, 897989; Dan, 0