Chris M is mentioned in or commented on 30 posts, which ranks #23 overall for people. They are most often associated with these...

People:

Places:

Things:

Omg, I don't believe it. I bought a Vespa! I went to the dealership today to look at them, but I also told myself that if they had exactly what I wanted, I was going to just buy it. And they had exactly what I wanted. After comparing the red and the black, I decided to go with the red model. Mostly because I ordered some custom Louis Vuitton seats for it that they have to have made, so they're not on it yet. But it looked pretty smart against the red. I also looked at their financing plans and they all sucked ass, so I decided to just shell out the dough and pay cash. So it's totally mine, tax, title, and license. I need to get a parking sticker for the garage here. It's currently parked in our indoor hallways outside our door. And I need to get insurance for it. And a chain. But as you can see in the picture, I do at least have a sweet ass helmet.

The guy who delivered it also spent about 30 minutes teaching me how to ride it. We rode over to a parking lot and he taught me how to turn it on and use the clutch because its standard and I've never ridden a scooter or driven a manual car. So he was really nice and patient. And I was pretty good at it right away. Stalled out once and that was it. I haven't been on a street or out of first gear yet because its freezing balls tonight and it was getting dark when he delivered it, but tomorrow should be fun learning. They also said I could come by and get comfortable on one of their old beat up models that they use to teach people so I wouldn't accidentally trash mine in the process. Oh g*d, I'm so excited.

Last bit of news, I wanted to mention that I finally made it over to the Addison Improv last night to see Charlie Murphy. That guy is fucking hilarious. And he looks exactly like Eddie. And he moves and has mannerisms just like Dave Chappelle. So funny. See him if you get the chance.

Okay, I gotta go look at my scooter again. Peace.

I had something completely different planned for this blog but when I started my typical hours of research, I came across something infinitely better. This dude in San Marcos named Scott Wade makes what he calls "dirty car art." Using the dust that accumulates on the rear window of vehicles as his canvas, he creates impermanent masterpieces. I had so much fun clicking through the gallery on his website, that I just had to share it with all of you. I chose my favorite one for the sample. He said it was meant to be funny but turned out "a little creepy." Brilliant. If you click that picture, it will take you to his website, dirtycarart.com, and you can check out his entire gallery for yourself.

 In other news, I have finally caught up with the latest in 17th century technology. In a little impulse buy the other day I picked myself up a proper straight razor. Like just a razor sharp blade that I am learning to shave with. I thought I would pick it up and go to town, but it's a little bit intimidating. The best part about it, though, is that the protective cover is made out of buffalo horn! It's so pretty. I asked the guy if the buffalo died of natural causes and he said, "Sure, why not?" so you know that no animals were harmed in the making of it. The first night I got it, I oiled up, lathered up with my badger hair brush, and then shaved half my face. 45 minutes later I was tired of it so I shaved with a normal razor and I'm going to try again in a few days. I intend to stick with it until I'm good at it just because it's so cool looking. My favorite part of the experience -- by far -- was when I was checking out and they had some sandalwood essential oil at the counter. And I asked the guy what essential oils were and he said, "It's cologne. But it's just the essential oils, there's no alcohol." To which I immediately replied, "Now when you say 'no alcohol,' do you mean 1%?" And he took me completely seriously and said, "No. I mean NO ALCOHOL!" I could have died right then.

And finally today, in serious picture news, they found signs of life on Mars. Not life itself, just a statue that ancient Martians built in honor of the American Sasquatch. It's a pretty exciting find. I didn't believe it myself until I saw it on every news site on the internet. Some people are calling it bigfoot on Mars, some are saying it's just a humanoid form, and some are saying it's a replica of the Mermaid in Copenhagen. Which are all really good ideas. What no one has said is that it's just a clever shadow on a rock and nothing to get excited about. I prefer to believe it is a statue and there used to be intelligent life on Mars. That would just make my life. Oh, also, did you know that I'm obsessed with Mars? I want to live there. Unfortunately, I doubt that'll happen in my lifetime. But still, even if this picture is just a rock formation with convenient lighting, it's still bad ass, eh? I'm out.

A while ago I read an article about residential humidity control... because I work in an environment where not only are articles about residential humidity control sitting around, but I find them interesting. It really is the most overlooked and underestimated aspect of home climate control. Someday I hope to have central whole home humidity control. Until that becomes possible, I went and got myself a humidifier.

When I say humidifier you're probably thinking the same thing Daniel thought when I told him I was bringing one home. Picture the little bowl shaped plastic device with the spout out the top from which obscene amounts of steam billow out until the wall paper peels from the wall. But this is totally different. It's a cool humidifier, meaning it does not use heat to vaporize the water. It uses a honeycomb filter that sucks up water as air blows across it causing the water to evaporate into vapor. It has an adjustable set point for relative humidities between 35% and 55% so it cycles on an off as needed. And, best of all, it looks cool.

The fan has pretty much been running 24/7 since we turned it on. I was trying to figure out how it could possibly be putting at least 3 gallons of water into the air every day and yet never reach set point. But I think I figured it out. The other day the humidity outside was at 20%. That is so low. When it gets cold outside, I like nothing more than a 30 minute long scalding hot shower to warm up. That combined with humidity hovering around nothing dries my skin out so bad. Winter is typically pretty uncomfortable for me.

And now, the point of the story. I haven't had any problems with dry skin this year. And I don't wake up with severe dry mouth either. I think everyone should go out and get themselves a humidifier this winter and you can thank me in the spring.

On Tuesday night, Daniel, Lindsey, Lauren, Hunter and I all went to see Hanson at the House of Blues. Lindsey and Lauren were the kind of mall rat uberfans that made MMMBop a hit. I would claim that status except they were 9 when the song came out and I was in high school. Nonetheless, this was, in fact, my second Hanson concert because I went to see them once with Ashlee in high school. The show was incredible, of course. All of them are very accomplished musicians. They each took a turn on guitar, did some acoustic, and some acapella. Definitely worth seeing.

They also encouraged everyone to buy a pair of Tom's shoes. I looked them up on the internet and it seemed like a good enough cause that I would mention it here. If you go to tomsshoes.com you can read up on it for yourself, but the short story is that every pair of shoes you buy, they donate a pair to a kid in Africa. Now normally I don't fuck with Africa cause people there are starvin' and that ain't baller, but these shoes are also kind of cool. I think I'm going to order the pair of gray and black striped ones. Lindsey said that if you order a pair before Hanson's Walk Tour is over, you can just put "hanson" in the shipping info and it's free, or something like that. And the tour should be one for a while longer.

It's been pushed back a little bit because apparently Isaac Hanson had some kind of heart trouble immediately following the show and they rushed him to Baylor Medical for emergency surgery. I guess he's okay but it meant that they had to stay here a few extra days and cancel their Tulsa show. Lindsey wanted to go outside the hospital with posterboard and glow sticks and scream (and probably did, we haven't heard from her in a while) but ultimately we decided that might be in poor taste.

So, okay, buy some shoes, they're cool and it's nice and remember: Ahfon oopinda bee ting chesch ahfon oopinda ayesconsee.

If you think the only thing I ever really talk about on my webpage these days is my bar, you are only half right. The only thing I ever talk about all the time now is the bar. I can't wait until it's done so I can shut the hell up about it. I made some good progress this weekend. I got the tile and some mortar and laid the tile and embedded the cutting board and hammered some copper and raised the microwave so the door would open. Later this week I have to grout everything. Anyway, here's a picture.

It's really starting to take shape. You can see where I put copper around the trash hole. I just wanted to add another natural element to the overall design. It was originally going to be a trash chute but since I couldn't really do that, I thought this was a nice compromise. And the cutting board couldn't look nicer against the tile. Turns out they don't make rectangular tile like I wanted so these 1x1 mosaics work just fine.

Sooo yeah. That's all I got. Late.

Not too much to report here. Looks like that Jonny fellow has attacked my website again, so you'll find the comments disabled temporarily for any post that was on the front page at the time. At least this time it doesn't redirect you anywhere. I'll get that cleaned up for your soon, but that's a timely process and I don't feel like doing it right now.

Veganism is going well. Sober and smoke free are not even an issue for me these days. Veganism is challenging at times, but rewarding. I had a dream last night that I ate a whole bag of Cheetos without realizing it. I can't have those in real life because they have cheese in them. A bastardized version of cheese, but a derivative somehow of milk nonetheless. My weight loss is ... well, negative. I've actually gained like a pound. I'm not sure how that's happening since I've removed around 100 grams of saturated fat daily from my diet. I have been using fatty avacados and nuts as a crutch to help me achieve the old familiar feeling of full. But even so, those are "good fats" and I wasn't going hog wild with them or anything. I'm going to try and concentrate my efforts on vegetables. I've slipped a little bit and have been eating a lot of fruit. Which is good for you, don't get me wrong, but vegetables are better. Less sugars. So I can't fathom that I could possibly go a whole month without any weight loss. If I rededicate myself to a majority of raw vegetables and keep active, I'm sure I'll meet my goal. Although at this point, it would be physically impossible to do so by the end of February. So you know what they say...

Hello, Marehabch!

I have been doing my research prior to my Febrehabruariii vegan experiment. I was afraid that an absense of meat, eggs, cheese, and pigs' feet would leave me wanting for meal ideas. Turns out there are all kinds of vegan recipes available for me to try. More than I could possibly try in 28 days. And I found out that the only animal product that is in my Subway whole wheat bread is honey, and I'm not counting that because bees aren't cute. Plus, I think they, like, excrete honey, so it doesn't hurt them anyway if we just steal it when they aren't looking.

I am so geared up for this. I made some blueberry muffins last night. Instead of butter they had soy margarine and instead of eggs they had applesauce. Now, you all know I hate to toot my own horn, but ... these are the best muffins I've ever had in my life. I brought some to work so everyone else could try them and they all agreed. And they're not exactly open minded when it comes to food.

One more weekend to go and then it's time to buckle down and focus on the trek ahead. I have another twist for this year. I am going to lose 15 lbs. Instead of hoping that I do, I'm going to. If March 1st rolls around and I haven't achieved this goal, then Febrehabruariii continues. Although, I highly doubt that I will have any trouble with a total lack of beer and steak, but still. It is entirely possible this could go on indefinitely.

Who else is pretending to participate this year yet fully anticipating to stop after 2 or 3 days ... or their first urge for a drink or cigarette?

I don't get it. I had such a good feeling and it didn't pan out. Weird. Daniel still has a few numbers to check so maybe it'll still work out. You know, you buy one lottery ticket one time and you totally expect to win millions. Life sure is crazy, ain't it? *crooked smile, head shake, casual lean against shoulder height shelf*

So I guess I have to go to work tomorrow. But all the news today wasn't bad. I went to the sleep doctor to discuss the logistics of having a tonsillectomy. I really like the way they take a body part, add -ectomy, and define that as the removal of that body part. Anyway, a tonsillectomy is considered one of the most painful surgeries for adults. It can take like 3 weeks before your life returns to anything like normal. Uuuuuntil NOW!

My doctor said no removing of the tonsils until he gets his new machine. It's some laser that vaporizes tissue. So with a local anesthetic and 30 minutes they vaporize about 90% of the tonsil tissue. And, the healing time is one day. They give you Tylenol and tell you to go to work the next day. Infuckingcredible. So I'm going to be a guinea pig for him. It's going to be so awesome.

Blech, I want guacamole but I think I'll go to bed instead. Later sluts.

The other night I got Daniel a popsicle. He said, "What flavor is it?" to which I replied, "Purple." "No, what flavor?" as if I am some kind of fucktard and didn't hear him. Back me up on this, but purple is most definitely a flavor. In fact, I think this is so common that even this joke is recycled.

Man, what the fuck is juice? I want some drink.

I spent the afternoon layin around watching TV. I saw this show about lottery winners and how their lives had changed since winning. It kind of made me want to win the lottery. So when I went to pay my rent, I stopped off and got 3 quickpicks. I should have 15 million dollars on Tuesday. I've decided that if I do win, I will most definitely post it on my website, even though they say you shouldn't tell anybody. But I'll also tell you up front, none of you are getting a fucking dime, so don't even ask. I'm not gonna be one of those people who doesn't change. When they interview people about me you're all going to say, "Oh he's completely changed. He used to be a nice guy but now all he does is fan himself with $100s and laugh." Yeah, it's going to be sweet.

Some of the advice these brilliant lottery winners gave was to play the lottery as often as you possibly can, and make sure you don't take the lump sum. RE-tards. One poor woman who won $91 million played the lottery every week for 18 years. And while I can hardly tell her she's an idiot since she has $90.9998 million more than me, I can tell you she probably wouldn't have been as poor if she was making smarter decisions with her money than that. And that goober who didn't take the lump some will get 200k for the next 26 years, at the end of which he'll probably have nothing. Idiots.

I'm going to do it right, though. I intend to spend my 15 million within the first 6 months. Rawk!

A lot of bodily functions make sense to me. If dirt gets into your nose, you sneeze it out. If you get a scratch, a scab forms. If smoke gets in your eyes, you cry. If you chug a pitcher of beer in under a minute, you throw it up. It all makes sense.

What doesn't make sense to me is a runny nose. Why on earth does your nose drip mucus when you have a cold? Like what fucking purpose does that serve? It doesn't even crust over to prevent further contamination, just a steady stream of liquid snot running down your face. I'm gonna have to ask Darwin about that one.

So the good news is, my throat doesn't hurt at all so I probably don't have strep. But I do have a hell of a cold. And after an entire day of blowing my nose into work-bathroom-paper towels, my nose is red and raw. Shit hurts. On the way home, I decided to stop and get some proper Kleenex. And I found the best Kleenex ever -- Puff's. I got the kind with lotion in them. Not only do they not hurt, but they have reversed the pain I've spent the day accumulating. I'd go so far as to say blowing my nose on them feels good. I'm so happy that I decided to blog with the sole intention of product placement.

So everyone with this bug that's going around, go out and buy yourself some Puff's Plus. Because a nose in need deserves Puff's indeed.

I finally did it. I've waited for 2 full years and the other day, I just decided to do it. I'm speaking, of course, about curtains for my bedroom. I was really daunted by the task of keeping my vertical blinds up. I could take them down, but then I'd have to store them and I have nowhere to store them. And to cover them means curtain rod extenders and screwing into studs, and I know nothing about any of that. So I came up with an idea. Instead of big beautiful curtains, I got blackout fabric. It's thin, it's light, and it blocks 100% of the light. I measured each window, cut out a piece of fabric that fit it perfectly, folded the top over, put a few grommets in it and hung it on nails. I can take them down, put them up, fold them in half to get some heat in the winter -- you name it. From the outside it looks all white, just like the vertical blinds, and from the inside, all you see is the vertical blinds, just like the vertical blinds. I couldn't be happier with myself. I have had a string of successful projects. I hope it doesn't end. I can't wait to be hungover this weekend and spend allllll fucking day in bed.

Speaking of bed ... my sleeping is much better. I have been on time to work 3 of the 4 days this week. That's unheard of. I even started showering in the morning instead of at night because I have so much extra time. I was pretty ecstatic. That, sadly and predictably, has faded. I could feel myself building up a sleep debt as each day went by and this morning I finally had to pay it back. I was one hour late to work. Today, coincidentally, was also the day I got the results of my take-home sleep test. I no longer stop breathing 70-90 times an hour. Now it's 22. 22 is the magick number. The lady from the doctor's office asked me how I'd been feeling and I said, "Much better, but not great." And she said, "Oh, how funny. I was just about to say your test results look much better, but not great." At least I'm no longer severe and am now considered moderate. It's looking like the tonsil are going to come out. I'm shying away from it, but I know that I'll eventually do it. I'll keep you all posted.

I bought a pumpkin today. It was an impulse buy. All I wanted were the seeds. I tossed them with butter and salt and roasted them in the oven. They're delicious. My culinary skill grows little by little every day. I can add that to the list with roasted chicken and blueberry pancakes. Rawk.

Have you ever heard of the mosquito frequency? It's this thing that businesses are using to cut down on teenagers loitering outside. It emits a sound at around 17kHz. Apparently teenagers can hear it and it annoys the fuck out of them, but adults cannot hear it. Trey told me about it at work today so we googled it. I found an MP3 of the sound and hit play. It was maddening. Trey accused me of not really hitting play. He couldn't fuckin' hear it! It didn't take long for everyone 25 and under in my immediate area to come over and ask what the hell the sound was. Then Trey believed me it was real. Which is funny because I'm the one that didn't believe him it existed. We gathered up all the old people around us and not one of them could hear it. One guy put it as his ring tone on his cell phone. Apparently teenagers are also using it to their advantage to allow their cell phones to ring during class without the teacher hearing it. I thought it was fascinating enough to share it with you all. CLICK HERE to listen to the most annoying sound in the world. And tell me if you can hear it.

Methinks it's time for me to go to bed. Gotta stick with the sleep rules now that they're slightly effective. Night, sluts.

It's time for another of those very, very rare treats... a drunken SideshoViD.com update! I just spent the most lovely evening with Daniel. We started out with dinner at Antonio's. I fucking love Antonio's. Not only do they know how to make my martini (very, very, very, very, very dirty with just a *splash* of vermouth (I've since given up efforts to define wet or dry)) but they have the best food ever. Mmmm carpaccio.

Anyway, tonight was another night of the continuing Oktoberfest here in Äddison! I accidentally bought too many tickets (Oktoberfest currency) so we had to chug beers the entire time to avoid wasting tickets. When we left I wanted more beer so I told Daniel we could go to the beer store and pick some up. He assured me that midnight was the latest you could buy. But I was SURE it was 1am on a Saturday. I called Ryan S■■■ to confirm this and he told me that it was indeed midnight.

On the way to the car we passed by our Addison! Circle friend, Dave, who told us that it was 11pm. We both knew that there was no way that was true. I was so sure it was 1am that I told Daniel drinks were on me at any bar in town if I was wrong.

Well long story short (which is pointless to say after you've already told the long story) I was right. You can buy beer until 1am on a Saturday in Texas. And that, my friends, is my public service announcement to you. So hurry, you still have five minutes! Later, bitches!

Any of you that have been to my residence in the past seven or so years have probably had the good fortune of witnessing the most beautiful coffee table ever created. It started out as a normal coffee table donated to my dorm room by a friend of my mother. One freshman year later and the facade was horribly damaged and the finish nearly entirely removed by spilt Everclear. I knew something had to be done, so I enlisted the help of my very artistic and talented friend, JennyC■■■, and soon ended up with this...

It's beautiful. It's creative. I love it. HOWever, it does not exactly fit in with the color palatte of my apartment. I had considered the whole space/ocean/mountain/sky theme for my living room, but instead went with tan and red. Considering Ryan S■■■ and I are someday going to open up Tan & Red Designs together, it was a no-brainer. Anyway, the table holds a lot of sentimental value to me because Jenny and I did it together so long ago, so I knew I couldn't get rid of it. I thought maybe I could cut the legs off and use it as a wall hanging, but again, not really in keeping with my concept of "vintage Parisian." What to do? What to do indeed.

I've been using the table in my bedroom ever since the redesign. It sits directly behind the head of my bed and serves to hold my many extra pillows. You never know when you need to switch in the middle of the night to a softer or firmer or more Tempur-pedic pillow. It's a pillow table. A pillow-table? Solution! I present to each of you, the new and improved pillow-top coffee table. I used three blocks of foam to create each section and then covered the whole thing in faux leather vinyl stuff. After I stapled it down, I put a row of brass tacks between each cushion and then a border of brass tacks around the edge. I didn't think it would turn out showcase quality, but I was pleasantly surprised at how well I did. It isn't perfect, but it's perfect for me. I think it looks so cool. So fashion forward. (Sorry, I just got done watching Project Runway.) It was a fun little project, and one that I have a bruised thumb and several bleeding cuts to show for. You know me, my art hurts me so. I had to offer it up for your approval. As always, I'll entertain your comments as long as your comments entertain me.

My trip to Washington, D.C. and New York City is fast approaching. If you'd like to hang out be sure to let me know. I've already gotten word from JonS■■■ and Mr. K■■■■■■. Hopefully, I'll be able to hook up with Topher in NYC. As an added bonus, the Monday after I get home from vacation, I will be jetting off to Seattle! You believe that? So if anybody is in the northwest, also let me know. Mr. Ryan C■■■■■■ has already expressed an interest, but I should have puh-lenty of time up there, so I'd love some company. g*d, I'm such a jetsetter. I think it's bed time. Czech you sluts later!

I finally finished painting my bedroom. I have never been so proud of myself for anything in my life. I think it looks so good, almost like an adult, put together bedroom. My bed floats in the middle of the room now. I still need a new end table, new lamps, new bed frame, new table, and new curtains, but the biggest portion of the work is done. It was really hard for me to get one good picture that showed it off, so I took a few. The fourth one is to show you that I did, indeed, repaint my router to match.

I also cut all my hair off and I'm growing a beard. This is a life makeover. Now if I could just stop chain smoking and skipping the gym. I was doing so well for a while there. I'll get back on it soon. I fell off of my diet somewhat due to my trip to Houston for Memorial Day weekend. It was totally worth it though. I went to visit my brother and help out with his impregnito wife and baby daughter. Kaylyn is the cutest thing, and now that she can talk, she is funny too. It was really nice to get to know her, and have her know who I am. About every 5 minutes she would ask, "Where's Uncle David?" if I wasn't in her immediate view. She'll be 2 in July. I can't believe she's getting so big so fast.

I also got to see Kevin. We drank a lot and played darts. I ended up losing after coming from way behind to take the lead. That g*d damn bullseye. I could not hit it. The rest of the nights I hung out with my brother. We saw X3. I thoroughly enjoyed it, although it wasn't the best X-Men movie, I didn't think. Still worth seeing though. One night we went to this place called Whiskey River. It was a totally open up barn type building with this wasted, barefoot guy playing guitar on stage. When we walked in he was berrating some paying customers that had asked him to please stop yelling and cussing into the microphone. It sent him into a tirade about being in the service industry. This guy was so bad, I can hardly explain it. His guitar was so out of tune that my brother noticed it. That's pretty bad.

There are a few distinct stereotypical guitar players. There's the "plays Dave at college parties" guitar player. There's the "pseudo lesbian Ani-wanna-be" guitar player. There's the "stuck-in-the-80s all I wanna do is wail ARE YOU READY TO ROOOOCK YOW!" guitar player. There's the "classically trained and snooty as hell because of it" guitar player. I like to consider myself a "only knows 3 songs and plays them repeatedly" guitar player. If you can think of any more, please feel free to share. Anyway, after one second of looking at the entertainment for the night, I remarked to my brother, "This guy LOVES Pearl Jam, I guarantee it." So we started yelling for him to play some Pearl Jam. The only song we could think of was Jeremy. He told us that he would play Jeremy because it was a great song, but never fucking did. He did, however, play some Pearl Jam, and as you would expect, he did it in his best Eddie Vetter impression voice. So fucking lame. When we left, my brother held down the horn from the time we got in the car until we left the parking lot to interrupt his show. Too damn funny.

I think that's all the news to report. Leave me some comments on how I have the best fucking bedroom in the world. Thaaaaaaaanks.

I just got my new Chuck Norris shirt in the mail. If you go to ChuckNorrisFacts.com you can order one too. Also, if you haven't been to ChuckNorrisFacts.com then you are an idiot and you need to go read all the facts immediately; they are riotous. The best part of ordering your shirt is you get to design it yourself. You can choose from like 30 slogans and icons and size, arrange, color and combine them however you please. I <3 Technology.

I went to the Richardson Wildflower Festival on Saturday. Don't get me wrong; I like wildflowers as much as the next guy, but the reason I went was to see my beloved, Lisa Loeb. She was fantastic. There are few things in life that make me smile more than hearing "Stay" performed live by Lisa. When she got done, Daniel, Jenny, Steven and I moved into the shade by the gate to smoke a cigarette and look for Lisa's sister, Debby, so we could yell at her that she rocks. She was on the reality show #1 Single with Lisa and she ... well ... rocks. It turned out to be a good vantage point because Lisa walked right by us as she was paraded to the autograph signing table. I yelled, "I love you Lisa!" and Daniel yelled, "Great show!" and she totally looked at us, smiled, said hi, and thanked us. Eat that, you idiots that waited in line!

Today, I got up early to go to my Pillar Procedure check up. I ran down to my car with about 20 minutes left to make my appointment in time. When I got to the garage, I saw that my left, rear tire was fucking flat. I have never had a flat tire in my life. I called my dad to ask what I should do. He suggested changing it. DERRRRR. And that DERRRRR is for me, not him, since I honestly hadn't thought of that. My dad taught me how to change a tire once when I was 15. I thought it was an absolute bore, but thank g*d he did that. I managed to change it myself, with many dramatic text messages to Daniel claiming I couldn't. I was pretty proud of myself. I made it to my appointment about an hour late, but it wasn't a problem. Everything is healing nicely. No uvula snipping until everything is completely healed. Doctor's orders. Damn. Best part of the day? Both my checkup and fixing my "screw"ed up tire were FREE! FREE I TELLS YA! Thanks National Tire and Battery.

UPDATE!!!!1! Holy shit, I can't believe I forgot to include, like, the whole reason I started blogging today. This one requires a little bit of a back story that some of you have probably already heard but I'll tell it again because it's the greatest story ever told. One night while I was studying in the MSC with Allison our freshman year, I got up to use the bathroom. Having forgotten that they locked the downstairs bathroom at 9pm every night, I was quite embarassed when I walked full speed into a locked door. Furtively glancing around to make sure no one saw, I ran upstairs to pee. On my way back down, it hit me like a ton of bricks. As I told Allison the story, I looked at her and said, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" and we quickly gathered our things and ran giggling to a hiding place near the bathroom. We made a crappy hand-made sign on the back of a flier that read, "DOOR NOT WORKING PROPERLY. PUSH HARD!!!" Only "HARD" was underlined like 8 times. Then we used some tape from another flier to affix it to the locked bathroom door. We hid behind the stairs leading into the cafeteria and waited. Guy after guy after guy after guy walked up, read the sign, and then proceeded to fight with the door for a few minutes. One Chinese dude took a flying leap at the door and hurt himself. Two frat boys sat there each taking turns screaming at each other, "DUDE! It says push HARD!" All the while, we sat not 10 feet away with tears streaming down our faces, fingers firmly pinching our noses closed and our other hand suffocating the hysterical laughter. It still goes down as one of the best nights of my life. So you can imagine how hard I laughed when I went to use the restroom at NTB and found this sign on the door. I didn't want to photoshop it so you'd know that it was a real picture, but it reads:

You can only imagine how many times I looked around to make sure two teenagers weren't perched within viewing distance laughing at me. Fucking punks.

My blog affects my life immensely. It can manifest in two ways. Either I alter my usual patterns hoping to generate a blog-worthy story, or the things that I've said on my website are read by people who then affect my life. That's why I do shit like ear candling and enrolling in the art institute. The other night, I ran into Ryan S■■■ and he started hitting me because I said he always disagrees with me. Those are just a few examples of a constant whirlwind. SideshoViD.com is never far from my mind.

I tell you this, because I don't want you to think I've left you hanging. 90% of the day, I am writing blogs in my head. And I've written this one again, and again, and again, and again. If I write something happy-go-lucky, it will appear to others that I am flighty and disengaged. If I write something too honest, I'll betray my own self, and won't stand to entertain any of you, which is always one of my goals. I don't know what I'm really trying to say, just basically informing you that I'm going to just try to pick and choose humorous anecdotes from my day and highlight those, but I am, in no way, belittling anything that has happened recently.

I got a new noise machine for my bedroom -- The Sound Soother 50. It was really expensive, but it came with a remote control, I can plug my iPod into it and use it as a speaker, and the sounds are incredibly real. I've been sleeping with "downpour" a lot and I like to nap with "bamboo chimes." Another favorite of mine is "clothes dyer." There are a few questionable ones like "pasture" and "buggy ride," like who the fuck wants to fall asleep to cows mooing. You'd have to be a country-ass bumpkin. "Heartbeat" is also kinda creepy, but I think that's supposed to be good for babies. I just had to get some sort of background noise to block out anything ambient. My brain has started taking sounds it hears while I'm sleeping, creating a terrifying story to explain the sound, and overlaying it on top of my actual sights and sounds as I sleepwalk. Technically, they're not nightmares, since nightmares are types of dreams, dreams only occur during REM, and my brain does not go into REM. Their official name is night terrors. Hahaha. Fucking great.

I've stopped taking Provigil. While the doctor said that it had nothing to do with my heart rate, I found myself with a resting heart rate of 145bpm. Just to put that in perspective, it should be less than 80bpm ... the only reason your heart should beat 145 times per minute is if you have just sprinted a 5k. That was a concern for me so I stopped the Provigil. It's been hard, but I'm feuling my body now with complex carbohydrates and natural fructose to offset the ill effects of ideopathic hypersomnia (aka excessive sleepiness, but ideopathic hypersomnia sounds more medical). A high resting heart rate is known as tachycardia. Fuck me sideways, I knew I was broken-hearted, but I didn't know I had a broken heart.

I'm looking forward to several appointments with doctors in the following weeks. I'm probably going to be having lots of surgeries and procedures to aid me in my breathing, and then we can shift focus to addressing these K-alpha complex waves my brain produces for no reason. Yippee.

I hung out last night with my most sabulous friend, Brett. We had a lot of fun. He said his father still reads my website. He was concerned about me and had wanted to put a comment on my comment-less post a couple back. He also said he had left me a comment once but wouldn't ever tell Brett which one. It took me all of half a second to say, "I bet he was the one who left me that 'Stone Age to the Space Age and still no follow up on what bar was first' comment after Febrehabruarii." He just spoke with him and sure enough, I was right. I know my website way too well. Like I said, I am both it's unforgiving master, and it's unwitting slave.

Next week I am meeting three days with my new personal trainer. We've set up a program for me that should have me around 15% body fat before summer. I'm refocusing my negative, self-destructive energy as of late into a rather obsessive dedication to self-improvement. I've already lost 12 pounds, but that was mostly from an unintentional anorexia, but I was pleased that I didn't rebound at all. I'm viewing eating now, not as an enjoyable social experience, but as a necessity to feul my body. I have been eating SO well for the past few days and I already feel infinitely better. Just wait, people, I'll come out the other end of this better for it. I fucking guarantee.

Have a good week at work, and I'll be trying to find things to talk about throughout the week. Laaaaaaaaaaaate.

I've had this argument many times in my life. Mr. K■■■■■■ and I almost came to blows over it. It has become increasingly prevalent in my life because of the frequency with which my boss errors in his grammar. I am speaking, of course, about the answer to the age old question, "How are you?"

"Well" is an adverb. It modifies a verb, adjective, or other adverb. "Good" is an adjective. It modifies a noun. I think we can all agree on that (although Ryan S■■■ has already begun his rebuttal before even finishing my blog or determining my stance on the subject).

There are two ways to tell someone how you are. You can say, "I am           ," or "I am doing           ." In the first sentence, the blank is modifying the subject "I," which is a pronoun, a type of noun. You would then use an adjective to modify that noun, so the complete correct sentence would be, "I am good." In the second sentence the blank is modifying the word "doing," which is a verb. You would then use an adverb to modify that verb, so the complete correct sentence would be, "I am doing well," or "I am doing drugs."

The reason people become confused on the issue is because it is grammatically correct to say, "I am well." It is a caveat to the rule, specifically created for when you are describing your physical well-being (coincidence?). Without this exception to the rules, your third grade teacher never would have corrected you when you told her, "I don't feel good," as an excuse to get a drink of water and wander the halls. To say, "I don't feel well," would (normally) infer that your sense of feeling is inadequate -- that you either can't sense when your hand is on the stove, or you're a cold hearted bitch when it comes to relationships. However, with this exception, you are clearly describing your state of physical well-being. You don't feel well. There is something medically wrong with you.

If you don't speak in full sentences, and no one does because we don't have time for that shit, then the unnecessary assumed words are, "I am." If you're still with me at this point, you'll then agree that if your boss, friend or bartender asks, "How are you?" you should reply, "Good." Only if a doctor or nurse asks you, "How are you?" should you reply, "Well."

So if you're continuously using, "Well," or, "I'm well," with your friends, family and coworkers in an attempt to sound smart, instead use correct English and actually be smart. Please?

Good.

The Texas Alcoholic Beverage Commission (TABC) has recently begun raiding bars at night and arresting patrons inside the bars that they determine, by way of the sole discretion of the officer given the horrific task of arresting merry makers inside bars, are intoxicated in public. I'm sure you've all heard of this at least. I just wanted to bring it up because most of you know more about politics and law than I know about electronic circuits and Food Network combined.

I originally argued that you can't possibly be publicly intoxicated inside a bar, because that's privately owned. Not so. It's still public property. Okay, fine. I'll give them that. But don't you dare ask me to agree with the College Station Police Department when they informed us that sitting on your porch with a beer at night under the overhang of the square footage that you pay for is considered public consumption. Bastards. But seriously, to say that you cannot be drunk inside a bar is like saying you can't read in a library or turn tricks in a motel.

They'll argue that they're doing the community a service because they are arresting people that are intoxicated -- not people that are belligerent, or causing a scene, mind you, just those that are intoxicated. TABC defines intoxication as anything over the legal limit of 0.08. We all know that the legal limit is bullshit in a way. You can reach the legal limit if the guy 3 tables down from you is drinking a beer and burps. It's insanely low, the equivalent of about one beer if you drink it like a man. I don't know how many nights, while living with Ryan and Todd, that we blew 0.2s (and probably above since the thing went no higher). And while we were clearly intoxicated, none of us were a danger to ourselves or each other.

The legal limit should only apply to driving. In that case, while still low, I think it's okay. Really you shouldn't be driving after drinking at all. EVEN IF you drive better when you're drunk and only have one eye open and your head cocked back and your foot gunning the accelerator. But, I didn't get to the best part yet. TABC defines intoxication as anything over the legal limit of 0.08, or one who is exhibiting signs of intoxication -- impaired judgement, or loss of motor skills. So even if you don't drink, you just limp, you can get arrested. You could get arrested in a bar if you are the designated driver, provided you trip on your way the bathroom to pee out the 29 Coca-Colas you've had to occupy your hands while your friends get sauced.

I'm all for public safety and welfare and blah blah blah, but I cannot fathom how this can be legal. We tried allowing the government to listen to hysteric, dried up old hags the last time we did Prohibition. See how awesomely that turned out? You fucking bitches spawned rum running (the predecessor the NASCAR, thanks a lot). Not to mention organized crime. And cocktails, a result of the need to mix bathtub liquors with fruit juices to make them tolerable. Well, bad example there. Thank you for that one. But back to my point.

How does something like this become legal? I don't understand. Much like how tow truck owners are allowed to steal your car and hold it for ransom. Or how one county is "dry" but literally 9 feet to the left, you can buy liquor. Or why there's this sudden trend to ban smoking everywhere despite the fact that capitalism should be driving that decision, not facism. Is this a result of some kind of voting? Do I need to start participating in local government elections? Do candidates publicly state their views on villanizing people who don't spend the night reading scripture and avoiding sex?

Help me JonS■■■ or someone whose legal opinion I value as highly. You're my only hope.

This was another fabulous weekend spent on the stoop. We all just kind of hung out, watched movies, and drank a whole bunch. Last night, around 4am, we had the bright idea to go to J's Hamburgers and Breakfast for a post-evening meal. Usually when I say something was a "bright idea" I mean it sarcastically, but in this sense, it truly was a delight. I had some sausage patties and a few too many cups of coffee. Daniel, Miles and I rode back (the 3 blocks) to our little stretch of Addison circle and were prepared to drink a little more and then turn in when we heard the most pathetic little, "Excuse me. Excuse me."

We turned to find this woman -- drunk and crying -- wandering the streets of Addison with no shoes on. She explained to us in between sobs how her friend and her had gotten into a fight over a man, and she was now locked out with no phone, no keys, and no shoes. We offered to let her in the building and walk her up to her friend's apartment (for moral support). When we got to the fourth floor, she wandered around aimlessly, sobbing some more, claiming she couldn't remember which apartment belonged to her friend. She sat there helplessly, and then in a fit of rage the likes of which I haven't seen since I shared a bedroom with my brother, she randomly decided that the door nearest to her was the one she was looking for and began beating it down screaming, "OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR YOU BITCH!" I didn't have the time to take a picture of her, so I illustrated it all for you:

Since we're such rock steady moral support for all vagrants and vagabonds north of 635, the second she hit that random stranger's door with all her might, we exited stage right. We took the elevator down to my floor and then sprinted back to my apartment. We slammed the door, laughed for a minute, and then watched the Magic Bullet infomercial. I hope that chick is okay and didn't have to sleep in the hallway. Actually, wait, no, I don't care.

What I did have my camera for was the sign that Miles, Lindy and I were looking at outside of Daniel's building while we waited for everyone to join us. Here's a quick snapshot of it. We were trying to decipher it's meaning. Lindy decided that it was a message to all handicapped people to "just get up." Just get up. I thought that was so funny ... after many, many longnecks. I just had to share it with you all.

I had too much fun once again within the confines of Addison Circle. I find less and less reason to go downtown these days. I hope my friends south of 635 know that they are always welcome to the stoop. Just FYI. Okay, that's all I have for today. Now let's all get out there, hustle and have a grood week. *slap on the butt*

Things just couldn't be peachier than they are right now. I know I promise Raul that I wouldn't talk about sleep anymore, but it's really integral to the story I'm about to tell, so he can continue fucking himself. They think that curing my apnea has given rise to a bigger, more serious problem. Like when my brain is allowed to do whatever it wants in REM, it makes poor decisions about how to spend that time. I'm not sure if or how they fix that (nor do they know exactly what it is yet, we're working together to figure that out) but it does make for good conversation. "Hi, my brain doesn't work."

Last night we had far too many people on the stoop. It really was just a matter of time before the police showed up and told us to go inside, which they did. They acted pretty much the same way we did -- not surprised at all to see us. They rolled down their windows without getting out and were like "Hey guys" and we nodded emphatically and got up and went inside. That's when the Texas Hold'em tournament began. It was 10 dollars to play, which I was kind of upset with since I ALWAYS lose, but whathefuck, I played. I ended up doing very well for myself and winning the pot. Cha-ching! I owe everyone breakfast today, so there go my winnings.

I was reading Miles' website the other day and I was kind of jealous of the sentiments he was expressing. He talked about how lately he's been focusing and rekindling old friendships and fueling new ones. And I pretty much feel the same. My stoop community is really fun and funny and the more the Addison Circle grows, the happier I am. It's definitely rounded out like fer shur.

So the reason my sleep is integral to the story, g*d damn I got off track and here I am doing it again, damned hangover, is because I bought a bed! I was driving home from work, made an evasive maneuver and bought a fucking bed. It's a Simmon's Beautyrest king sized and it will be here at 5 today. It's been soooo long since I've made a several thousand dollar impulse buy. I forgot how alive it makes you feel! Just as soon as it gets here and I get sheets and everything, I'll invite you all to come spend a night in it. Uh oh, I think it's orgie:30!

The reason I'm up now is because they're running a water compressor outside my window, not to be confused with the fucking jack hammer they had going last weekend. Don't worry though, I have definitely called and complained twice now. But I'm real cool about it so hopefully I'll get something free. I think I'm gonna call Miles and Daniel now and see if they're ready for their free breakfast cause once I'm up I'm up (until I nap).

Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaate.

You know that scene in Spiderman when Peter Parker gets bitten by the genetically altered (or radioactive, for you comic buffs) spider? Then he goes home and everything is spinning. When he wakes up, he no longer needs his glasses and he looks in the mirror and he's all buff. And all of a sudden, he has super human strength and boundless energy. He goes running down the stairs and pulls a sweet freestyle walking move. That, my friends, is how I felt this morning.

I used my CPAP for real for the first time last night. I still woke up several times when the delicate balance between my apartment temperature and the humidifier temperature caused large amounts of condensation to spill down my nasal passage, but it was still amazing. I have never felt this good in my life. In fact, I made a little graphic so you could all see just how I felt. It was the first morning in a long, long time that I didn't have to drag my ass out of bed while desiring to shoot myself in the forehead. On the drive to work, I was alert. I was productive. I didn't involuntarily slump over and fall asleep after lunch. Leaving work, I was still feeling well rested and awake. I went to work out and had more energy than I knew what to do with. I benched more than I ever have. I didn't fall asleep in the tanning bed. I came home and am feeling sooooo grood. This is exactly what I have been dreaming of (well, not literally since I've never had REM before).

My life will never be the same.

Today was the best trip of my vacation thus far, and it has nothing to do with the fact that it's my last day in New Jersey. We had to do a lot of work in a high school that involved going into classrooms. Since we couldn't do the work while class was in session, we planned on working from 2-11 today. My coworker, insistent that I not leave New Jersey without having at least a little bit of fun, decided to include me on his trip to the beach in Seaside Heights.

It was too much fun. It looks like a Coney Island or something. There's a boardwalk with shops and restaurants and bars and arcades all up and down the beach. It was absolutely dead since it was a Thursday morning and it's after Labor Day, but it was still fun. I want to come back here on vacation some summer to see it rawkin'. The beach was really nice. It was 80 degrees and sunny and just a gorgeous day to spend sunning. We even went down into the water and body surfed on these enormous waves. I got my ass so kicked. I was riding some waves that were way too big to be riding. I drank enough sea water to last me for the rest of my life.

I rode this one particular wave that was too big. When I stood up, I gasped for breath and immediately got hit by another wave. When I finally came up for air, I was stumbling through the rip current and stepped down right on top of something sharp. I kind of hop-skipped and then looked at my foot. There was a little dot of blood, so I was pissed that I'd scraped my heel. That led me to take a break from body surfing. The blood kind of ran out and formed a blood/sand cover for the wound, so I wasn't worried about it. We laid out a while longer and then drove back to my hotel.

I decided I should probably clean my scrape, but when I was washing it in the tub, there were two little piece of sand that wouldn't wash off. And it hurt like hell when I touched it. I realized they were stuck in my foot. No biggie. I went to get my tweezers and pull them out. I grabbed a hold of the first one and started pulling. Oh, it came out. It came out a little bit, then a little more, then some more, and then some more. It was a long ass little piece of some kind of crustaceon. It hurt like a fucking bitch to pull it out and then started bleeding profusely. Then I turned to the next one. It was even bigger and hurt so bad when I tried to pull it out that I stopped. My coworker tried to pull it out but he couldn't. After calling around to find out where the nearest hospital was, I decided to just giterdone myself. So I grabbed it with the tweezers, bit down, and pulled. It was like a good inch long and completely inside my foot. This one hurt even worse and bled even more. In fact, it spurted out blood. So gross.

Anyway, I'm okay now. It doesn't appear to be infected. I've been limping all day, but really the only reason I told you about this is because I used my camera phone to take a picture of it and I wanted you all to see it. Kthanks.

I did it. I fucking did it. I traversed the globe from Austin, TX to Cincinnati, OH without a single hitch. I even rented my first car and followed directions to my hotel. From my balcony, I overlook a White Castle. I might have to try that tomorrow for dinner and see if it sucks even worse than Krystals does. The lady at the front desk here is super cool. She gave me a smoking room with a balcony, and had a fridge sent up to my room so I could keep the beers cold that she gave me. Who knows if she's this nice to everyone, but it sure does feel special.

I know Brandon had requested a big long blog all about my weekend in Austin, but that may have to wait a couple of days, which in effect means I will never get around to it. It is now midnight and I have to meet some dude in the lobby at 7am to go to the UC campus. So far I'm having a good time. Thanks jebus there's free internet access in my room. The workout facilities leave a lot to be desired, but it should be sufficient. But anyway, my weekend in Austin was awesome. Congratufuckinglations to Dr. and Mrs. Jamey Dent. Bang up job getting married, kids. The wedding was cathlick, the reception was fun, the nap I took after the reception was a fucking blast. I went out with Brandon and some of his friends. It was so, so good to see Brandon, not, not so good to see his friends. But, we all managed to make it though the weekend being painfully polite to each other. There's a whole sordid inside story to why that I don't feel like getting into. Let's just say his new boyfriend has every reason to hate me.

Beer #2 is now open.

So getting to Cincinnati (or Sin-sin-naughty, as I hope to come to call it) wasn't too bad. Lester took me to the airport and let me park my car at her apartment, so thanks for that, L.Bizzle said D.Fizzle. I scheduled myself a 4 hour layover in Chicago hoping that one of my two friends would be able to meet up with me for a while. Turned out that neither of them could, which was totally cool, I knew that when I scheduled the layover without asking that I was rolling the dice. So I had plenty of time to sit and eat a leisurely (free) dinner and then play Spider Solitaire for 2 hours while listening to John Denver's greatest hits.

My flight from Chicago to Cincinnati wasn't on a big American Airlines plane. It was on a smaller sub-airline, I guess, called American Eagle. I don't know about you, but visions of a flight crew dressed in tattered jeans and board shorts did not instill much confidence. But we made it on one piece with only minor turbulence, and then I masterfully navigated my (upgraded) rental car to my pimpass hotel. The fucking end.

Got a busy couple of weeks ahead of me, but so far I'm rather liking this travel thing. Now, to close, an homage to Drew Carey ... OHIO!!!1!!

I think I might need to start a Sleep Files of sorts. This will be last installment in that epic saga for a while. I went to the clinic today. They asked a lot of intelligent questions. They said I definitely need to come back and spend a night in their sleep lab. If anybody wants to go with me, we can totally spoon ... though I'm not sure if that's allowed.

The doctor was also kind enough to point out the two physical features I am probably the most self conscious about (although that term is just relative since I'm not really self conscious). He asked me if I'd ever broken my nose and then seemed to think I was lying to him when I said no. He said I have a deviated septum that could be contributing to my problem. He also commented on my overbite and said that my lower mandible being farther back could be pressing my tongue against the back of my throat as I sleep. Both of these could be corrected with very painful surgery, but I know a thing our two about blindingly painful surgeries, so I'd be willing to go along with it if they thought I needed it. That's kind of a last resort and they're not even sure it would come to that until I complete the sleep test. Still, if I did do that, I'd totally have a cosmetic surgeon come along for the ride to make the pain and suffering and rehabilitation worth it.

That sleep test won't be happening until I return from Cincinnati, though, so we can close this chapter for a while. I was quite tired at my appointment today due to breaking the sleep rules last night to go downtown for a couple glasses of wine with JD. Definitely need to make a habit of that.

Today at work, my body builder coworker delivered my 10 POUND BAG of whey protein that I told him I wanted. I am now supplementing my diet. But seriously, 10 pounds is sooo much more than I thought it was. Picture like a bag of dog food, only completely filled with powder. I laughed so hard when I saw it. It's going to last me well past its 2007 expiration date. So I came home from the workout, drank my shake, and then cleaned Tuna's tank. It was way past due. He seems rather pleased that I finally got around to it. I set him next to the laptop while I was in the bathtub scrubbin his rocks. When I came back out he was surfing around Friendster. Did he add you?

Finally, at lunch today somebody made a mention of an alias. All three of us in rapid succession offered up our aliases, mine being Donovan Blankenship. Then that made me think of Joey and Phoebe being Ken Adams and Regina Philange. And naturally that led me to think about how Allison adopted Fionula Flannigan as hers. Having a cool alias is a MUST. So I ask you, dear viewers, to post your pseudonym here on a comment. And with that, I bid you adieu.

My mom is in the process of cleaning out the upstairs of her house. This involves giving me boat loads of crap from my past every time she sees me. The other day I became the proud owner of a stack of old papers written by yours truly, the greatest writer ever. Actually, some of it is pretty bad, as you might expect from a 3rd to an 8th grader, but I just came across something that absolutely cracked me up.

I found my stunning epic novel entitled John and the Little People. I wrote it in the third grade and it is bound and fully illustrated -- pretty pimp. The funny thing is that this story perfectly parallels Gulliver's Travels. In fact, I vividly remember plagerizing what I did not know at the time was one of the most well known stories ever told. Why nobody ever called me out on it, I will never know. It's hardly the lesson to teach an 8 year old that blatant copying will go unpunished. My favorite sentence in the whole book:

"He soon found out that he wasn't paralyzed; he was tied down by tiny, strong cords!"

Ha! I used a semi-colon in the 3rd damn grade. Half of you skeezes couldn't do that now.

My report on The Killer Angels from 8th grade was lackluster, to say the least, even though Wenger gave me a 94 ... something I don't recall happening all that often. My poetic skillz back in '91 leave a lot to be desired. I know my pen pal letter to a kid in Columbia was a written assignment, but why I chose to tell him that I watch Hometime every day after school and my favorite episode is the one where they put up tile-backer is beyond me.

The other strange thing is the papers written about my brother, Stephen. There are many. I have one nicely typed biography of him that details his philanthropic misadventures that ends, "The less fortunate and the well-to-do have both benefitted from him, even if I never have." Another paper details how he always has the remote control. One annoying thing he does is taking control of the TV. The first words out of his mouth when we get home are, "I get control!" He then flips though all 99 channels. Of course, we only have less than 60. Then he goes to the B channels. He stops on stuff like church preachers and faith healers. Then we have to watch channel 12B. It is the twenty-four hour fish network. It shows different fish tanks and changes every 15 minutes. We always have to see it change. Then he goes back to A channels to 3. USA has Night Rider on twice in a row after school. That's OK but it takes us 15 minutes to get there. They never should have let me pass 8th grade. I turned this shit in!

I am laughing my ballz off at this stuff. One more description (moreso for my brother than any of you) and then I'm done. The last paper I failed. It was supposed to be a compare/contrast but all I do is slam Stephen throughout it. Because he's 16, he can drive. My parents take advantage of that and make him pick me up from school. He has the loudest, highest pitched, most annoying horn ever. He loves to lay it on when he gets me at the corner. People inside Wilson can hear it. At Christmas, he would play the first seven notes of Jingle Bells. I yell at him every day and then he hits me. I go on to explain that I cannot hit him back since he's driving. Even though most of the time, I remember doing the steering. He thinks he knows everything because he is in the eleventh grade. He always tries to give me advice on things I don't need advice on. I know when next year comes, he is going to want to help me pick classes. Hahaha.

Then I contrast that with how we like the same TV shows, again mentioning Hometime. Then: We like to play baseball in our backyard. We play with a whiffle bat and tennis balls. We have about 120 tennis balls because my mom takes rejects from Plano Tennis Organization or something. We hit them over the neighbors' fence and the husband gets peeved at us. Homerun Derby was always so much fun. My favorite line from the paper is, "I don't like him to think he's all bad because he's taller than me." Who writes like that on an English paper? Well, I mean, I do ... I guess I did all the way through college. Now check out this conclusion: I guess having an older brother with you through life isn't all that bad. I might even miss him when he kicks the bucket. I'll be old by then and probably senile so I won't even know or care, come to think of it.

Shazzam! I hope some of you might have found some amusement in that. I am going to see Stephen on Saturday morning. Sunday is my niece Kaylyn's 1st birthday and she is hosting a kegger. It should be really fun. I got her ultra cute presents. Alright, literature lovers, it is time for me to retire.

I decided to stay home tonight for a couple different reasons. First, I just had such a riotous time on Wednesday that I wasn't exactly itching to go out on Friday. Secondly, I'm broke as a joke. I had to take money out of the untouchable savings this pay period to last me until the next. Don't worry though, I've already scheduled to have it automatically repay the amount that I borrowed. So I sat home and watched TV and nestled down with a big bottle of wine... the worst wine I have ever tasted. I am now on my third glass and it is still nearly unbearable.

The show of the night was Will & Grace. It was the episode where they've lost their ho-mojo and can no longer dominate game night with their friends. It reminded me so much of when Ryan and Todd and I would host Pictionary nights at the Green Monster and how much I fucking rule at Pictionary and I felt obliged to share this with you all.

I have one prime example for you all that I will never forget. It was when Fucking Frank was my partner and we were a good half of the board ahead of everyone else. We were unstoppable ... why, I may never understand. We had a sixth, or maybe even a seventh, sense about the clues. This particular round was an All-Play. That means that every team was drawing the same clue trying to win control of the board. I wasn't too concerned since we were the champions of All-Play, but this was really stumping everybody else. They were drawing things like I've demonstrated thus far. People were guessing frantically -- everything from "jailbird" to "Nike." Frank took his time, and I sat silently waiting for him to finish his drawing. (If this story seems drawn out its mostly because I have to put enough words in between the pictures to space them out.) Anyway, it wasn't long before he drew this:

And I immediately guessed, "The Fugitive!" after which we high fived and rolled the dice. It's ridiculous how good I am at Pictionary.

Tomorrow is the one year anniversary of me starting work at my job. This little milestone has a bit of significance considering a year ago "one year" sounded like an eternity. Come to find, it's really not that long. Although, when you think about it, a lot has happened in the past year. In 12 month's time, I've started and kept a job. I've gotten my own apartment and managed to paint and semi-decorate it. I've been to six foreign countries. And I've consumed enough beer for a lifetime. Yeah, when you line up all my achievements, it's not too shabby.

I bought the girls I work with really cute little flower pots and cards and put them on their desks after work today. I hope they appreciate the sentiment. I really get off on doing random nice things like that. I'm not even sure anyone but me is realizing its the anniversary, but then again, they probably haven't been counting the hours like I have.

Tonight I went to Studio Movie Grill as per standard Funday night procedure. When I was leaving I got the hiccups. I always think that is so funny when you're drunk and get the hiccups. Makes me feel like a cartoon. Speaking of cartoons ... back to Aqua Teen Hunger Force.

I called a maid today. But she didn't answer, nor did she call back. I'm not sure how professional that is. There was a flyer on my door today making similar claims to the last flyer that I had. Hey, remember that time that that girl running for class president gave me a flyer and I rolled it up and smoked it right in front of her?! Vote for Carrie! Or that girl that had misspelled her name on a stack of a few hundred flyers? Vote for Krisitna! Hahaha. Where was I?

Oh yeah, so another indication that this is not a super professional operation is that there were two numbers on the flyer that you could call -- either Lily or Joanna. I called Joanna because I figured she would be the easier of the two to haggle with, since Lily is the better looking one. How do I know that Lily is better looking? Let me ask you this. Have you ever met an ugly Lily? And have you ever met an ugly Joanna? Case closed.

Hopefully she'll call me back tomorrow. I left her a message. I have come to the fabulous conclusion that I am fundamentally incapable of taking care of myself. But what I am entirely capable of is throwing money at a problem until it goes away. In my defense though, I have been wholly dedicated to the sleep rules and it is really starting to pay off. So by the time I get off work (which has been later and later lately), come home and veg, get to the gym for my daily workout, and back home to finish eating, it is time to start the wind-down process before bed. It leaves me very little time to clean, and any time I have to clean is going to be spent drinking, believe you me. I haven't had a drink in almost a week and that is just unacceptable.

This weekend is Taste of Addison here at Addison Circle. That means one thing to me -- that I won't be able to get to my apartment for a few days. But Lindsay invited me to go with her and some coworkers on Saturday. And I think Will is going to join us. How fun is that? Stupid fun! Yay, czech you skillets later.

I got my hair did today. It looks incredible. I am so excited. I will take a picture of it soon for all of you loyal Sidesho-viewers. It was by far the most expensive haircut I have ever gotten, and it was by far worth every penny. Money just can't buy the sheer extasy that I get from a killer haircut. I got it done by Xristopher at Pompeo ... he's the new Hannah.

While I was there, they were filming a reality TV show that is based around the salon, the stylists, and exacerbates emphasizes how shallow and pretentious Dallas is. A show about how shallow and pretentious Dallas is ... on the day I'm there having my hair highlighted. Fantastic. They interviewed Xristopher WHILE he was doing my hair, and asked him to please turn me more toward the camera. So I think I'm totally going to be on this new reality TV show on TLC. I forget what they were calling it, it's something like Chic Dallas or something stupid. How funnoying.

I just invented a new word. Did you notice?

Tonight is Brent and Levi's housewarming party. Last night Ryan S■■■ and I drank SO much straight vodka while dancing in our pj's to Neil Diamond that it would make you sick. I know it made me sick. So my body is really crying to stay home, but my liver says to go out ... and you should always listen to your liver. So much iron. I'm off! Czech you skillets on the flip side.

I'm sitting in my apartment listening to my heart attempt to jump out of my chest. I'm pretty freaked out because someone just tried to open my front door. I never lock the door, but just so happened to do it tonight. Thank jebus. Justin is on his way over here so I can get some peace of mind and have a looksee outside. As it stands right now I'm too scared to look. I thought blogging might put my mind at ease. There is much to talk about, and I shall type it in between paranoid perceptions of twigs snapping beneath imagined burgler's boots.

Friday night was Boys 'n Beads, the Mardi Gras party. Marshall had spent the few previous days making masks out of stolen supplies from Hobby Lobby. I knew Marshall was crafty, but damn, I was impressed with his skills with the feathers and glue. The one I made looked like a retarded 3rd grader had done it. He fixed it a little bit for me. I still looked like Ms. Finch from Follow That Bird. It all paid off cause Marshall won 3rd place in the costume contest and was awarded a 50 dollar bar tab, which you just know I was all over. I ended up getting way too drunk, as I always do. Excess is my middle name. There was much dancing, much revelry, much too much vodka in my drinks. Sometimes I think Aaron, the bartender, derives some sick pleasure from watching me get wasted. Luckily our pal David#27 was there, and sober, and driving, and took care of me. I passed out as soon as I got home and woke up hungover like a muthafucka. It's all good though because I got to wear my new hangover mask from Bed, Bath & Beyond. It's this gel mask that you put in the fridge. Omega, it was heavenly. Made my hangover an absolutely enjoyable experience.

Skip ahead to Saturday. Marshall's bar tab awaited us, so we got dolled up and went out again. Why on earth do I drink like I do? It's so stupid. I'm drinking double vodka and vodkas and accepting shot after shot. We had to pull over again this weekend so yours truly could nearly roll out of the car whilst vomiting. Again, I passed out as soon as I got home. In other news, someone had spread the word that the afterparty was at my place. Wrong. Owen got woken up and had to tell them all to leave. I felt bad about that, even though it kind of in a way wasn't my fault. Moderation. Someday I will learn it.

Justin just left after we made sure no one was outside my apartment. I still have the door locked and the chain on. Seeing as how its almost 3 and I'm never gonna get up for class tomorrow, I don't think I'll even set my alarm. I'm just gonna read and then fall asleep. I've decided to re-read Clan of the Cave Bear for the umpteenth time. Watching the movie just totally put me in the mood. You should all get a copy and read it cause it's the best story ever. Alright, peace out, you have-nots, and stop fucking trying to open my front door.