Ladybetrothed Sarah and I have both dropped a lot of bad habits in the last couple years. We've gotten away from drinking, smoking, binge eating, being completely sedentary, etc. Basically, we're trying to become adults and live better lives. So far so good.
However, one thing we can't seem to let go of is our habit of knocking things over in the middle of the night. It seems like once a week one of us gets up to pee or reaches for the alarm clock and ends up sending a pile of loud breakable objects straight to the hardwood floor. Then we fully wake up, terrified, and end up not being able to go back to sleep.
Last night was one of those nights. At about 5:30 I woke up, heart pounding, to the sound of what I thought was an 1800 pound glass dumbell smashing on the floor. In reality, I had moved in my sleep and accidentally punched a framed photo right off my night table.
Subsequently, I spent about an hour and a half lying in bed with no hope of getting back to sleep and now feel slightly worse than death warmed over.
Jordan "The Italian" Siegel has finished tracking drums in NYC, like a true damn hero. Pete "12-Gauge" Galea has tracked most of the bass, also like a true damn hero. Gordon and I have contributed....nothing. Nothing at all.
To remedy that, we are heading our sorry sack asses to Brooklyn tomorrow night to get cracking. I've been limbering up the fingers for days and Gordon has been gargling glass to get this rock and roll opus closer to completion.
From what I've heard, it's going to be good, but what the hell do I know?
Have you ever had to get up really early in the morning to do something? Well, that's a stupid question, but more specifically have you ever gotten up absurdly early to do something and then gone back to bed? And then woken up and not really remembered much about what you had done?
Today I had to get up at 4:30 to take Ladybetrothed Sarah to the T so she could get to the airport. Now, I know I got there and got back, and I'm pretty sure she got onto the train OK, but I really can't tell you much more.
In that vein, I hope if I ever need to kill someone, I get up really early and do it and then hit the sack again. That way I figure I can't be too incriminating in my own defense.
So, look out Pete Galea! I got it all figured out.
So, I know I've been a big whining baby for the last couple months, telling you all how horrible winter in New England is and how I'd live in California if I could just get the balls. Anyway, I am here today to tell you that that is all over now. I will no longer complain about the cold and the snow because I have learned something - the winter is listening.
That's right, I have now become convinced that this last storm was winter's bitchslap to me for talking so much smack.
And so today I have nothing to say about the three feet of snow we got. I have no comment about being stuck in my house for three days playing Turbo Cranium (i.e. the worst game ever). I am absolutely mute about the hours of shoveling and the aching back that makes me walk like I have a load in my pants. And lord knows I'm not going to say a damn thing about the frozen pipes that have made my bathroom unusable for four days.
To get to the T in the morning I walk down the Somerville bike path. This is actually somewhat of a misnomer because it probably should be called the "get your genitals mauled by strange dogs" path. But that is a topic for another time.
Today as I walked I saw three separate people pick up, bag, and then carry their dogs's turds. And watching this, I couldn't help but wonder what dogs think when they see this going on. I think dogs must think they actually own their owners when they see this. I mean, if I were a dog with a mischievious streak and I saw my owner pick up my poop I would never feel compelled to behave again. I'd do whatever I wanted and when confronted I'd never be scared because, hey, what's that guy gonna do - he picks up my shit.
This winter is officially bringing me down. I mean, god damn, it's 4 degrees out and has been for two days. I repeat my oft-asked question; Why does anyone want to live here?
I've realized the sad truth about winter. The only thing I consider it good for anymore is the snow and ice storms that keep my bitchy boss at home. However, today there is no snow and the bitching has already begun.
Ladybetrothed Sarah and I, being the socialites we are, put on our fancy duds Saturday afternoon and headed out for an Air Force officer commissioning party. True story. Sarah's friend Becky has hitched her wagon to the Air Force in exchange for the Air Force funding her medical education. I asked if the Air Force would fund my always burgeoning gambling addiction in exchange for one weekend a year, but they said no dice.
Anyway, it was kind of a stiff affair, and by that I mean a small group of adults who I was expected to make conversation with. Not my strong suit. I prefer large gatherings of strangers who expect no interaction from me at all. Oh well.
Fortunately, Becky's three year old daughter was also there. Now folks, if I have a demographic that I can always count on, it is the three year olds. So I broke out the patented Welsh tickle fingers and went to work. Instant success.
Five minutes later, after much chasing through the house, I had said three year old cornered in her rocking chair and the tickling began in earnest. Huge laughs, until this happened:
"ha ha ha ha hhaaaah hhha aha ahaha hha hhhaaa ha ah aha ha ahaha aha ha (Face suddenly becomes very serious) I have to go Potty. Mommy!"
At this point she jumped up and made a beeline for the bathroom.
Have you ever found yourself in your car, just cruising around, not a care in the world? But suddenly you find yourself getting kind of annoyed and you can't pin down the reason. So you start to think about your day; is it your boss? your girlfriend? money? friends? your pain in the ass band? But it seems that it's none of those. So what is it?
You slam a hard right and realize you're really kind of pissed. Just as you're about to go mental you realize you're singing. What the hell are you singing? Mystery solved, you're singing that retarded All Good People song by Yes because it's on the radio. You know the one:
"Cause it's time, it's time in time with your time and its news is captured
For the queen to use.
Diddit diddit diddit diddit diddit diddit diddit didda.
Diddit diddit diddit diddit diddit diddit diddit Don't surround
Didda. Yourself with yourself."
Example: this morning I was on the train. It was hot and cramped and I felt slightly nauseated. Suddenly I smelled an old familiar smell - the smell of one's pee after one has consumed asparagus (unless they have the enzyme, I know).
Anyway, I can't tell you the number of times I have rejoiced at this smell when I've created it, laughing like a little schoolboy at the fact that my pee stinks. But when that smell hits you on the subway it's a whole different story. It was dis-gust-ing.
I started to look for the possible perpetrator, but in the end I was too grossed out and so I just turned up the ipod and tried to read about the Sudan in the Metro.
Sorry for the lack of updates, but I have been in caught in the throes of illness and spent the last couple of days at home. Not that I did anything productive, mind you, unless you count blowing your nose and being bored to tears productive.
I was so bored yesterday that I took a bunch of Nyquil and turned on the movie S.W.A.T. through my On Demand. Good God Jesus is that a Pow Terrible movie. I mean, it was insufferable. However I had nothing else to do.
Unfortunately, after watching it for an hour the cable choked and I had to reboot the box. When the box was rebooted it worked fine, but I had to start S.W.A.T. over at the beginning. And folks, I had to do this two more times before I actually made it to the ridiculous conclusion of the film.
So, as part of my new year's resolutions, I have vowed to get skinny and buff for my impending wedding. And to do this I essentially switched from a diet of nothing but artificial foods (if it didn't have yellow #5 I wasn't interested) to a diet comprised of all natural food.
This, of course, was a horrible idea.
First of all, natural food tastes bad. Actually, more precisely, natural food tastes like nothing at all. Everything I eat now could easily be substituted for by a spray painted piece of cardboard. I would never know the difference.
Second, all this bland non-preservative filled food is hitting my system like a ton of tofu bricks. Yesterday I couldn't have stopped farting if you paid me a billion dollars. My roommates were literally carrying boxes of matches around with them in case they ran into me in the hallways.
All this to look good in some wedding pictures. Damn.
Last night I hit the big Scamper rock and roll show and good god damn if it didn't make me a happy man. I mean, Scamper is a hot rock act anyway, but for those of you who don't know, my main friend and Best Man to be Brendo Frendo has recently lent his considerable talents to the group.
And so it was nice to watch my lifelong pal, the guy I spent endless teenage hours in my basement with writing terrible songs, stand in front of 200 folks and rock out. I felt like a proud papa polar bear watching his baby polar bear cub kill his first seal.
So, my New Year's resolution this year is the same as it has been for about seven years now - Stop being a stupid fat-ass, get in shape, save some money, become a better person, stop being so negative, eat better, stop waching so much tv, appreciate small things, stop being depressed, dress better, grow up a little, make plans and stick with them, be more hopeful and eat more waffles.
So far, so good, but it's a long year. See, I already broke the hopeful one. Damn.
Is anyone else sick to death of these VH1 "I love the [insert decade here]" shows? Let me rephrase that, is anyone who is as big a loser and watches as much tv as I do sick of these shows? God damn.
For those of you who are unfamiliar with the format of these programs, VH1 gathers up a bunch of never-was pseudo celebrities to make really condescending remarks about people who used to be famous but are now apparently worthy of contempt.
The problem with all of this for me is that for someone to be laughable now, they have to be memorable and therefore had to be appealing to millions of people in their heyday. And no offense Michael Ian Black, but ain't nobody remembering you in twenty years, so maybe you should go a little easy on Warrant.
I think my even deeper problem with it is that about three years ago I was incredibly relieved to think that the age of irony was over. It felt like it was ok to care about things again and not be so afraid of life that you needed to make a joke of everything.
Anyway, screw these shows, but bring on the Surreal Life and the Flavor Flav Show!
What better way to come back from a week off than to have your cranky old ass boss greet you with a piece of paper thrust in your face asking "What is this? Where does it go? Did you fax this?" Nice to see you too.
Goddamn it, sometimes I don't know whether this is my life or just some huge cosmic joke at my expense.