I don't know what the write

And I think I complain too much, and I'd hate to be one of "THOSE people."
One of THOSE people who needs to be lined up and shot, and calls you every five minutes to tell you how some dick just cut them off in traffic. Who, at every slight, calls you to tell you what a dick their boyfriend is, or what a bitch their girlfriend is, or if they're a nice mixture of crazy, both. I don't want to be one of THOSE people who just finds things to bitch about to make conversation. Drama is a form of mental disease, I'm convinced.

Today a guy who works for a cell phone store offered to mow my lawn in a pink Speedo to make up for all the text messages I've been charged for for sending to my friend that she hasn't gotten. At two cents a piece, we figure that's about fifty cents I'm out.
Get your Speedo buddy and start pullin weeds.

In other recent news, I went back to school on Tuesday. How very exciting.

Ah, the drugstore

I think Walgreen's has the very best candy. Mainly because they carry stuff that I loved as a kid that isn't carried at the grocery store (like them big chewy Sweet Tarts, you know who you are). So, I wondered in last night on a Swedish Red Fish run. I dutifully took three bags of the yummy little fish and a can of tea to the counter. The register guy asked me how I was doing, and I told him I was good. I asked him how he was doing.
He leaned in a bit, and with a tired look on his face he said, "Fair."
"Is it quitin time?" This is a question most retail/register/whatever people appreciate.
"Not until eight A.M., honey." (I'm pretty sure he was gay)
"Oh wow, that's early in the morning, and a long ways away." I gave him my sad, you poor thing look.
He perked up a bit, "But hey, I work in a drug store." I laughed SO hard I started coughing.
I told him that sounded really promising. It makes me think, maybe Walgreen's gives its employees speed. Must fill out application.

Yay College Books

I love being in college. There's something completely awesome about laying around all day and kind of doing homework, then cramming like a banshee come mid-terms and finals. One thing I hate, buying the damn books. Other than the fact that they're outrageously over priced, I can't stand the helpful people at the book store.
They are helpful. They are nice.

They're twits.
I've been in this game long enough to know the place backwards and forwards. So, I go to find my books. They have two of the four I need, and I already happen to have those two from a previous class. I'm studying to be a paralegal, it made sense to keep the citation books. That stuffs kind of important.
So I'm going to leave and the helpful girl working said "Did you find everything you need?"
Uhm, honey, I had NOTHING in my hands. So I told her no, that they didn't have any of the books I need. She asked if I was sure. I said yes, lots of empty shelf back there.
She took my schedule and proceeded back to the books.
"Wow, we're out of those books." Someone I assume to be the manager was on her tail, took down the authors and checked to see if they'd have them in. Wednesday. Which means I'd have to buy them new. Other than that, the last thing I want to do is go to the book store during the first week of school. So, I said that "I bet it's gonna be crazy." Helpful one replies "Well, not that crazy. More like.. a frat party." And I added to that, "With lots of artillery punch, I bet." She laughed, I think she might know what that is.
"Well, not to offend (and I knew it would) but I'm just going to check another book store. Thanks for your help." And wasting ten minutes of my precious time to confirm something I'd gotten twenty minutes ago.

I hate buying books. I hate overly helpful sales people. And salespeople, my heart goes out to you. You have a demanding job. Keeping bitchy twits like me happy all day every day. I salute you. But, for fucks sake, take a breath and try to understand TOO helpful is like a hot poker in the ass.

DO. NOT. WANT.

Some things should be illegal

Other than the usual fat man in a thong bikini on the beach? Aging hippies with guitars at open mic night.

I went to go see a friend read some poetry and another friend play his guitar (which I'd missed) at this little hole in the wall coffee shop. I decided to hang after they were done just to see or hear other people. For the most part, it was weird. A few men, off in their way later years, sang what almost sounded like show tunes about war or some such nonsense.
Just when I thought it couldn't get any better, the last act of the night got up with an electric guitar, along with a guy with a tri bongo set up like thing, and a horn player of some sort. There were parts that were good, don't get me wrong. The words just didn't make sense, either that or I'd had way too much caffeine. The horn player just sat in the back, sipping on a beer, giving only a single toot where it felt appropriate.

I couldn't take it, I gave one of my friends the "come smoke with me" eye and head nod toward the door. When we got outside, I told her I just needed her lighter. For whatever reason the perfect place for my lighter to stay is in my car door. She accused me of using her, I assured her I didn't use her.
That much.

This girl is one of my closest girl type friends, too, so in our conversation the word cock had to have come up more than ten times (that's about when I stopped counting, and there were many more to be had). I knew a man had walked outside to take part in a delicious nicotine love affair, but the cocks just kept rolling out of my mouth, sprinkled with a bit of penis and dick. My friend pointed him and the awkward situation out, I couldn't help but say, pretty loudly actually "Oh my God, she said PENIS."
I don't think he was that amused, he gave that forced kind of giggle that people do when they're nervous or whatever. So chatter moved to the Blue Moon coming up next week.

Maybe that's why I'm so cock crazy..
Mmmmm.. delicious cock, you must eat...

Okay, seriously, I'm done.

Trying to find my way back to the middle of everywhere..

So, I went out earlier tonight to hear some old friends of mine play. Jimmy George and Russell Clepper. My God-Sister came with her fiance and my friend Shannon showed up as well. The music was good, the food was awesome, they played at this pretty well established Mexican food joint here.

I about cracked up over my friend Shannon, just remember, though, I understand her frustrations. I'd walked in the door almost a minute late, and she was already there. The waitress had taken her drink order. We sat and talked a bit, and the waitress came back with our drinks and asked if we were ready to order, and we told her we were. For whatever reason, the waitress left. And Shannon looked square at me, "didn't I just tell her we were ready?" I was a bit confused, too. She didn't come back. My God-Sister showed up, and the twits we are, we only had a table for four, so we had to move.

The waitress comes back.

The waitress takes their drink orders and scampers off to get them.

Shannon's four months pregnant and decided to leave a good amount of room for tasty Mexican food.
The waitress finally comes back for our order, forty five minutes after we'd told her we were ready. Shannon, by this time, has this manic, pregnancy charged, feed-me-now-before-I-rip-your-fucking-head-off look to her.

I relayed this to Jimmy George after the show, and he emulated it perfectly. I just had to ask "Have you ever been pregnant?"

He laughed at me. Said he'd lived with a pregnant chick for six months, also said he'd rather be anywhere but there. I feel the pain, my sister-in-law's been pregnant twice, and twice have I suffered the hormonal wrath that is womankind during pregnancy. Don't get me wrong, I think new life is beautiful and babies are beautiful and all that, but c'mon, we all know how crazy women get when they're producing a baby.

Er, and not to mention hungry.

The Virgin Post

Here, anyway. I write a bit on my Myspace blog (puke, gag, fuck that place). I've been poking around lately, reading a lot of this lady, who is absofreakinglutely hilarious. I never have kept my Myspace blog up to date, it just doesn't occur to me. Myspace is just like this seething, horrible, popularity sort of contest, glitter driven social site that makes me scream every time I'm in public and have to hear that word out of any teeny-bopper's mouth. Or, even worse, at some nerd coffee shop where people have nothing better to do than talk about the evils of government and society and how things should be different. At three o'clock in the morning all whacked up on caffeine, and it's almost always overflowing with nerds wearing black, that no one understands, hunched over a 12 inch laptop. That always kills me, if my laptop were that small, I'd break the fucker. I love living in Austin.

Hello world.

....later that day...

As I was running my errands today, I was thinking of what I might write about to add to this, because, honestly, that shit up there, kind of boring. It just got me thinking about the internet in general, I can't believe some of the crap I've come across. In my crawlings I've read some moaning about the 'me generation.' I don't think it's so much a generational thing, but more just a mind set, because it isn't just young people. I've known a good number of people under twenty five that don't run around constantly worried about "Number One." That's refreshing. A quick gander at Myspace, Youtube, Livejournal, or any other social networking site type (and I'm aware Youtube and LJ are more than networking, but it's a heavy feature) and you'll see all kinds of drama. There's this collective attitude of "I'm going to air my dirty laundry on the internet (a public forum, mind you) and expect some retard NOT to make fun of me."

That will never happen. There's always some troll, or even just some innocent bystander (damn the innocent bystanders!), that's going to take the opportunity to get some laughs. I just want to slap people and tell them "If you don't want people to make fun of you, don't air your stupid dramatic crap on the internet, a public forum, mind you." It just doesn't seem to occur to them. Do they have some need to be dramatized? So, the moral of this, you can try, but you will more than likely not find my dirty, dramatic life here, or anywhere on the internet.

Thank gods I'm not that stupid.

Now that I am no longer virgin, I must go wash.