Stream of Consciousness II

December 30, 2008

The annoying nagging of my mom over the Holidays was no where near as annoying as the yelping, potentially injured cat in my apartment complex courtyard, or the domestic arguments of my neighbors through paper thin walls. Much less gross to hear their sex, though (neighbors and the cat).

How does James Lipton be one of those elitist pricks who study the concepts of art and theatre and are “classically trained” (whatever that means) without coming off like an actual elitist prick? For a person who’s entire life is basically over intellectualizing people playing pretend, he’s charismatic as hell to pull that off.

This is the best time of the year: When I don’t have to go to the office and my workday only involves getting ready for the next event from the comfort of my own home/bed/porch.

Why does drinking during the daytime have such an allure?

I also learned (from James Lipton) that each noun has a specific phrase for the collective (i.e. A flock of seagulls, or a murder of crows). So, perhaps my post about five-year olds banding together should have used the collective “a pandemonium of toddlers,” which is unofficial and suggested by the folks at But I thought it extremely apt considering my literary circumstance.

For every commerical and article about “going green” and trying to save the planet… how come no one has tackled the biggest offender in over-use of garbage materials:  Dress shirt packaging? My God. There’s a wrapper, a hanging tag, two size stickers, a plastic inside the collar, cardboard under the collar, a plastic tab at the top button, a piece of cardboard down the back, and about 13 pins pointed the wrong direction (of which you can only find 12).

One of the main reasons I decided living in the south wouldn’t be a bad thing was the weather. When I was outside Kate’s gym in whatever state she’s living now, it was really freaking cold.

I had always believed that everyone but me has a great awesome time on New Year’s Eve, and I’m the only one having a boring time and no fun. But now I know that about 67% of people have mediocre New Year’s Eve’s. Mine will be mediocre because I have a 6 am flight New Year’s Day to El Paso, Texas. I don’t like El Paso because it combines three of my least favorite things: ridiculously long travel days, Texas and Mexico.

I Got Nothing

December 29, 2008

I need a girlfriend. Not because of any feeling of loneliness or needy urge, or biological clock. I need someone to talk to on the drive back home from holidays at my parents house.

Seven hours in a car in the south is boring. You know what’s between Houston and New Orleans? Swamp, marsh and nothing.

I know what you’re thinking: “But, you probably spent that time coming up with all kinds of great ideas/thoughts that I’d love to read about.”

Yeah, not so much. Really I only thought about the lack of driving skills by everyone in Texas and Louisiana; and my desire to light my cigar without crashing my vehicle.

Of course, it’s entirely possible that one of the reasons I thought of nothing was because of the vegetative state that Christmas gifts put me in. How can anything in my life be interesting or worth discussing if all I am doing is playing NHL09, reading Jonsey (Keith Jones’ autobiography with John Buccigross) or Inside Inside (by James Lipton), or watching the entire first season of Chuck on DVD?

Basically, I’ve come a couch potato over the holidays and the key to significantly entertaining events is the improvisation of interaction with other human beings and/or personal reflection on those incidents.

What type of reflection can I do on watching an average Joe six-pack who’s life is going no where have his life interupted by top secret government spy work and a smoking hot girlfriend who kicks terrorist ass? (well, other than “I want one of those!”).

So there’s the last few days in a nutshell: I want a smoking hot girlfriend to spice up the life, through either internation espianage, or just chatting in my car.

Crafty (Do Not Alert The RIAA)

December 25, 2008

My cousin has a very vast collection of music. We’re talking  “have to put six bookcases in his media room, but buy 18 bookcases so he has enough shelves” vast.

So every Christmas, he usually looks at people’s musical wishes, and “gives” anything he has from his own collection.

Each year, I’d get a collection of CDs — some stuff I want, some stuff he thinks I might like based on what else I want/like — and usually on top is the FBI warning against it being unlawful to copy the CDs and make illegal bootleg copies.

This year, I was surprised that he got me a book:

It's a book. No music to be found
It’s a book. No music to be found

Then I noticed there was a little tab sticking out of the bottom. I opened the book and saw this:

How'd THAT get in there?
How’d THAT get in there?

The DVD has the entire Top 100 Albums of All-Time in MP3 format.

He didn’t put it there. I didn’t put it there. It’s a Christmas Miracle.

So, I’ve Ruined Christmas

December 23, 2008

Apparently, my immediate family moved Christmas up to Tuesday, so that my niece could do Christmas eve at home.

This led to a problem: I ordered stuff online and not all my presents were going to get in by Tuesday.

My mom has wanted something for years, and no one ever gets it for her. So, ordering online, I finally found it.

She wanted this:

Magnetic Poetry

Magnetic Poetry

Now, luckily for me, a package arrived Tuesday afternoon (we had a bout of shopping and weren’t really opening til evening) with her gift.

However, I quickly discovered I either wasn’t focused when I ordered, misclicked, OR they sent me the wrong product. Thank God I noticed it while I was wrapping presents.

What arrived was this:

Not intended for Mothers 40 & Up

Not intended for Mothers 40 & Up

NOT quite what I intended for my 58-year old, church-going Christian, June Cleaver-ish, mother.

As I discover this, I burst out laughing hysterically. But my five-year old niece is sitting outside the door waiting for me to finish wrapping so we can start Christmas. She asks what’s so funny, and all I can think to say is “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

Before showing my mom, I showed my sister in law, who howled in laughter for a while. “You HAVE to give that to her!” she exclaimed.

My mom gave my sister in law a “prayer necklace.” It has a TINY little compartment, and you write down what you’re praying about on the paper and put it in the necklace. My mom added “I don’t know what’s going to fit in that REALLY tiny compartment” and I told my sis “I’ve got some small words you could stick in there, and they definitely need prayer over!”

And we lost it. So we had give it to her and take pictures of her half laughing, half horrified face.

Naturally, my father suggested we keep it and use it now. Then looked at the box and said “This is insulting… it says ‘contains small parts.'”

During Grace before dinner, my sis and I both started shaking as we supressed laughter, because we were both thinking the same thing: “… and Jesus, forgive me for the Erotic Poetry.”