F**king Chipotle Sauce, F**king Audrey Hepburn, and F**king Idiots

The fucking chipotle sauce:
Missing all day because of the fucking idiot mentioned.
Fucking Audrey Hepburn:
The source of many a man's starched sock.. one in particular who happens to be a...
Fucking idiot:
Obviously couldn't muster up enough brain cells to realize he needed fucking chipotle sauce. Among hundreds of other things.. grr.

I decide to read some old blogs and stuff to get some perspective. They're pretty much all doomsday tales, and it's fairly depressing. Here's a few excerpts I decided to hold on to.

"People are constantly being driven by the need to accomplish the goals that are set for them, consciously or not. Most of the time we don't even fully realize what we're striving for or why."
That sucks. It's like paying some one's rent that you don't even like.

"We can rationalize away our misdeeds if we try hard enough, and the people who are good at it are the ones we look up to the most. We cheat to cover up our cheating and lie to cover up our lying. We harden ourselves against the slow rotting of our minds and bodies because it feels better than the sting we feel when the truth is slammed in our faces."
That sucks too. Freaking Joel Olsten needs to get a life, that's what I think!



"Why do we hide from greatness, anyways? We are literally dying in every moment, yet we choose to hide behind the mundane, shunning a purpose that would do radical things in our world. Everyday we step one step closer to death wearing shoes of mediocrity, buffed day after day with the finest kind of American pride."
Maybe I was trying to wake myself up. Two years later and I'm in the same spot, only worse. What a great concept for a country song.. wait.. I think they already did that one.

Take a little trip...

I took a trip to the craft store and pet store today. I now have an intense urge to decoupage everything, buy a million fish, and cuddle up with a cute puppy (while making mosaic-everything). I'm apparently entirely impressionable.

I have decided:
A) I'm going to write everyday. Late-night doesn't count for the next day, either.
B) I just may decoupage everything.
C) I'm turning the useless storage building into a studio-extraordinaire. Don't try to stop me. I have decided.
D) ... I don't really have a D, but I'm sure it would've been pretty improving.


Is anyone else kind of freaked out about Tony Blair being 'special envoy to parties seeking peace'? This guy is a whole envoy in himself. Dynamic. My ingrained southern upbringing goes too far at times, really. Anytime someone steps in to 'seek peace' for the holy land or whatever, alarms go off it my head. Grr.

Thought for the last 14 minutes of the day: What fails in real life is great in anime!

Pieces of Narration

The acorns keeping falling outside. Every time I think of small kamikazes, happy to throw themselves down to my window. I know it's not you sneaking through the window, and I'm a bit sad about it. Kamikazes are cool, though.

Thanksgiving always gives me an uneasy feeling in my stomach... coupled with nagging loneliness. No me gusta. I also don't like that I'm still here... prone to your visits. I never wanted to see you again, but I suppose it is my fault. I was supposed to be in China by now... really just anywhere but here. I'm reminded of the source you always cited when you spit in my face... 'We're steel sharpening steel, babe, and it feels good...' You always were good at sharpening my emotions, but to no avail. I'll still be running away tomorrow, sounding every bit like a wounded emo kid.

I adjust the rear view mirror but I won't need it, anyways. I'm not looking back.
The gas tank is on empty but I cast that from my mind. I let my conscience know that this isn't running away. My mind is condensed into one thought, one mantra that's repeated like a lifeline. I'm not going fast enough, not nearly fast enough.

What are you waiting for? The world is looking at you, babe, and it's laughing. Enough is not enough in this case.

I quickly shift into fifth, ready to go. I fight the urge to mourn the day you looked at me with tears in your eyes, disappointed. Your words reverberate in my head, you're telling me the state of things are sad enough, not nearly good enough.



To be continued.... when my thoughts are less boggled.

Nashville or Bust

You are being forewarned: I feel inspired not at all. The only reason I am making record of this is because I feel it's my duty. You will more than likely be disgusted with my terrible writing. Here it is. I'm sitting in front of you, looking you straight in the eye and I'm telling you... This is who I am for now.

So... we went to Nashville last weekend, mainly to see The Elms play. (we=Steph and I)

It's about a twelve hour drive from Grand Saline... we left a 4:30ish. My car is a standard, so the night before we leave I give Steph a little 'lesson'... smart planning ahead, I know. I didn't really want her to drive a lot because I just replaced my clutch ($550!) and I don't want to do it again. Also, she claims that the last time she tried to learn she got stuck in a ditch and couldn't get out. (??) Right. So we leave.

Driving to Nashville..... driving..... driving.. Hey! Texarkana! Let's stop, see some of the old digs, eat, shop a bit... See Caleb! Nice. (For those of you who don't know: Caleb is.. was.. something Steph and I shared. Unintentionally. Contrary to popular belief sex appeal does get you in trouble, friends.) We aren't overly superstitious, but that should've been a sign.

Turn Around Now!

After much emotional soul-heaving, we're on our way again. I'm going eighty... eight... in a seventy and *drum roll please* a cop pulls me over. (No one knows about this so let's keep it on the DL.) This guy could be breaking up gang fights, eating donuts, or even equipping his car with a tire jack (we'll come back to this, trust me).... instead he writes me a ticket. Jackass.

We get to Nashville at aboutt 6:30 am and it's pretty cool for about 25 minutes... but we can't find any hotels. We thought it would be cool to scope things out when we got there... you know spontaneity and all that jazz. It wasn't! We didn't take into account that both of us had been up 24 hours and even worked before we left. We drove around ALL the wrong parts of Nashville for 2 hours looking for a hotel.

Find a hotel... check out the view,

and crash.

4:00 pm. Wake up, call my dad, he promises to wire money. (Not necessary, but hey, free money? Yeah.) Stephanie takes an eternally long shower, we order in, get ready for the show that's at a venue called the Rutledge, by the way. (It made me think of you Kev, then made me miss you terribly...)

Through the door, ten bucks, calculating eyes....
they kick us out! Something about being armed communists, our noses being too large... smelling suspiciously of egg rolls and conspiracies... or something. Anyways, we're kicked out. We are so disheartened by this, we feel we can't carry on. Our futures are no more. We sit on the curb and try not to cry. Thomas from the band walks by (unbeknownst to me.. I don't know the guy, right?) Steph is like Hey! You're cool! I'm the idiot that doesn't know who he is. He feels kind of bad that we can't see the show, kind of likes commis and all that. Promises us some merch afterwards though, so we decide to go to a mexican resturaunt next door. Pretty cool, nice waitress. We go outside and sit on this rock pile... thing.. and we can hear the band really well when someone opens the door to come outside and smoke. A RAT chases us... squeaks viciously.. scary.

Okay... short version:

we get a flat tire because we're distracted by this hot guy getting arrested. Two huge holes out of the sidewall, can't patch it. It's Sunday, no one who has my size tire is open... blah blah blah... It sucked. Love Nashville, The End.