Frozen Grapes...

Life is kind of tumbling out of control in the best possible way. For the next several months, I think I’ll be an incredibly busy person. Increasing responsibility at two jobs in two different boroughs, neither of which being the one I reside in, will be leaving me with what looks to be possibly one day off a week. Perhaps two if the odds are in my favor. Occasionally not even the one.

Sandman, Schmandman...

It’s 3:42 in the god damned morning.

I really don’t think I’ll ever understand how this Sandman guy gets to keep his fucking job. My entire life all I’ve ever seen is a slacker and a half. He floats around doing who knows what to people’s eyes all night, and then what? Forgets about me? I don’t know whether to be furious or offended. Put that shit in my eyes, man!

FedUp...

I’m sitting on my couch.

My coffee pot is sputtering away heating up water for my second cup of tea. I haven’t been able to invest in a water filter bottle yet, so I heat up my water like MacGyver. It’s a thing…don’t worry about it. The incense cone I lit a while ago has burned a quarter of the way through. Much less mess, incense cones. Sticks have a tendency to ash up everything. Unless, of course, you have an enclosed incense box. Note to self: add that to my list of necessary investables.

A Mouse in the House...

When I was little, one of my favorite books to read with my mother was A Mouse in the House by Henrietta. Honestly, there was very little reading involved. This beloved childhood book of mine was in actuality a large book of assorted two-page long pictures in which my mother and I were charged with finding a tiny mouse amidst a seemingly endless sea of refuse and household crap. Think of it as a Where’s Waldo? for rodents.

Now I’m grown, the book spends its days stored in a box within the closets of my mother’s North Carolina home, and I sometimes think back on the memories and smile. I find myself thinking back on all those fun pre-bedtime mouse hunts more often of late. The reason, you ask? It’s quite simple, dear reader. Now that I’m grown and sharing a big boy apartment with two lovely ladies in Brooklyn, I have my very own mouse in the house.

Showers are the shit...

As anyone who has ever lived with me would likely attest, I can spend an exorbitant amount of time in the shower. To be fair to me, I’ve gotten much more conservative with my water usage as the adult times have taken hold. There was, however, a time (worst during those high school years if I recall correctly) when I could literally spend an hour or more draining the house of all hot water. Even now, when I’ve seemingly cut that time down to ten minutes or less, I have a tendency to wait until everyone else is asleep and get in another twenty minutes or so without worries of forcing my roommates to endure a frigid deluge. It’s an illness, an obsession, and my personal great love story. A love story as old as time…or at least as old as me. Whoever I end up marrying will have to accept the shower as our third member in matrimony, because I dare not trade away my time in the steamy waters for anyone. And just why is that, you ask?

The Animal Within...

If you were an animal, what would you be?

Seems like a simple enough question, right? All you have to do is close your eyes, search deep within yourself, release your inner child from the shackles of adulthood for a moment or two and let ‘em go to town. Every animal that has ever appeared cool, groovy, nifty, awesome, badass or in any other way even remotely the shit to you in your entire life will be put on rapid display behind your eyelids. Within mere moments, you and your itty bitty childhood self sort through images of winged assassins and slithering poison factories, furry bundles of cuteness and scales with teeth. All of these scenes play out in a matter of seconds. Feverishly, the two of you whittle away at the choices until you reach the conclusion that seems to be the most logical conclusion of all conclusions ever to have been concluded. Jeez, I don’t even know why you had to ask such a question. I can see it so clearly in my mind’s eye now…I thought it would be obvious.

I am a mother fucking dragon.

A Holiday Poem

Happy Christmas Eve, dear readers, and Monday Fun Day to boot! Whether or not you celebrate Christmas, there is holiday spirit all around this time of year. As such, I thought I would try my hand at recreating an old classic with my rather interesting holiday weekend at work for inspiration. I do hope you enjoy.

Facts...

It’s 9:51 PM.

It has been dark for almost five complete and total hours now, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.

I like the sunlight, but at the same time I feel most productive during the darker twilight hours.

I do not enjoy the Twilight series. I’m all for team ‘burn that atrocity.’

Alternate Youniverse...

So there was this time about two or so months ago when I moved my happy go lucky behind up to the ever fabulous and always interesting New York City, and since then my life has been fucking awesome.

Nudism Kills...

Imagine for a moment that you are watching one of those ridiculous (and often times awful) horror movies. You know the ones of which I speak. The only remotely recognizable actors are that one guy from that show you liked when you were a kid and the younger sister of some mediocre one hit wonder pop singer. Throughout the film you realize that either the writing for your favorite show was infinitely better than this drivel, or your childhood celebrity crush really can’t act worth a damn. Every fifteen minutes or so you think to yourself, or more frequently aloud to the group, “Why the hell are we watching this shit?”

Yup…those movies.

I'm A Little Tea Pot...

Out there in this big bad world there is a sinister group of individuals who have been controlling all of humanity from behind a veiled curtain of obscurity. Much like Oz’s Wizard, there has been a great deal of behind the scenes showmanship, lever pulling, and manipulation. So long has this been happening that the identities of these sheep herders have fallen completely out of history. It would take an entire season of Dr. Who to uncover exactly who or what masterminds the whole ordeal. Don’t think you can call it easily like another Dalek invasion. Or for my pokemon minded readership, think of this as a Team Rocket type organization. This is a group that has achieved a level of such deep infiltration into the infrastructure of society that we couldn’t possibly hope to go to a new town without seeing their goings on. New members are recruited, though I am unaware as to how, every single day. The streets teem with members you will never recognize.

Collectively, this organization prefers to call itself: “They.”

Rooster Thoughts

“I wonder what color rooster eggs would be. Dark brown I think. Do you think so, Bro?”

These are the words of my grandmother. This is just another reason I love her (and another reason I know we are blood related).  How else could we have such similar and ridiculously interesting thoughts at the breakfast table? And with German accents, too!