crotching tiger hidden awkwardness.

First of all, my laptop, for some reason Mac won't explain, is hotter than backdraft and burning my lap. I've sitting here practically sweating and not knowing why. I then realized that the noise of an auxilary fan I had been hearing for the last 20 minutes was in fact coming from my MacBook. Now I have to flip over and lay on my stomach, which only gives me about 10 minutes for the neck cramp kicks in. In order to relieve the cramp I lower my head, and and rest it on my arm....just a rest...rest...whoa! whats that dingy noise? I fell asleep on the keys, and MacBook doesn't understand. Whoa whats this! all the little icons at the bottom are on ridalin, they're bouncing up and down. I cant get to them all. ah! STOP! still bouncing, and now the auxilary fan is back on. dammit.

Anyways, where was I? Oh yea, I got off work early. Too late go out, but early enough to feel like a loser if I stay in. Due to lack of offers, I have taken the latter. Actually there was one offer, its my friend's birthday today, theres a surprise party for him tomorrow, but tonight him and a friend (whom he's dating), asked me to join them for a movie and ice cream. Alright, let's break this down. It's your birthday, its 9:30pm, and you are inviting me to watch a movie, in the dark and eat ice cream, the dessert of love might I add, with you and your girlfriend.....hmm. There is nothing more painful than acting normal while people spoon. You look at the wall while talking to them, in order to avoid eye contact. Of course they (the couple) totally don't care, and you know they are both looking directly at you, happy as can be, and you're struggling to keep your eyes glued to the wall or that one object in the room (lamp, table, shoe) that you've designated as your point of focus, so you don't have to see their bodies pressed up against each other. If it so happens that your eyes do slip, its almost as if you're on drugs.....your eyes wander wearily like a drunken sailor, passing over the entire room, eventually landing in one place. their crotches. AH! you quickly look at their faces and smile....struggling to recall what the discussion was about, and asking yourself "did they see? they're still smiling....they saw....maybe love is blind...what were you doing, where are you? is it cold? you're cold, get a sweatshirt, go now, go get a sweatshirt....and die on the way out of the room". Your voice is not the only one, lets not forget the couple loving it up on the couch, "Michaela? what were you saying? I'm not cold...what? you're funny. Where are you going, Mich?". Then there's the ghost of awkwardness looming above you screaming , "CROTCH! SPOON! BUTT! KISS! CROTCH! WILD ANIMAL! SPOON! CROTCH! JUNGLE! BUTT! HORMONE!" Don't say it Michaela....tune it out.

It's all over now, the movie has started. It's dark, and you can't even see them. Safe at last. Uh oh, what's this? Another voice......its the ghost of sad, melancholy unsexiness "Siiiinnggglleee, you are siinnnggle". I'm single. Dammit.

Alright, I'm eating goldfish, because they are a baked snack, and watching Beaches on the WE network.

too legit. too legit to quit.

"Shoot for the moon, because if you miss you'll land among the stars". Too bad there are no stars surrounding the moon, and the closest one happens to be the sun. As if it isn't enough to fail, and have your dreams shattered. Now you are dead on the sun. Thank you Hallmark.

Here I am at Easter Sunday with my friend Kimmy Dumont's family. She moved to Denver about a month ago, but I still make the drive down to Orange County every now and then to visit...eat chips, and watched Tivo'd episodes of Project Runway. The wallpaper in Kimmy's house is floral, and the walls and tables are adorned with landscape paintings, family portraits and glass figurines. There is also a vast spoon collection, which during the winter time is rearranged to create a 2D, 3-feet tall Christmas tree shape. Tis the season. Basically we have 7th Heaven meets the Simpson's meets Thomas Kinkade. Maybe throw a little pastel in there, curtains that match the bed skirts, and some house plants. Yep, this is Kimmy's house. So here we all are, sitting on the blue plaid matching couches chatting away. At first I didn't think there would be enough seating, but thank goodness Bob Dumont (Kimmy's dad) pulled out some leisure lawn chairs his company gave him for a Christmas a couple years ago. No matter what time of year it is, only two CD's are played on the surround sound; Manheim Steamroller, and some sort of sentimental music that basically sounds like the music you hear while watching an E-card from your grandmother. Did I mention there are 5 dogs in the room? Among them there's Emma, a black labra-doodle that belongs to Kimmy's Aunt Kerry. Emma reminds me an high school color guard girl, named Claire or something, who illustrates Anime in her spare time. There's Molly, the Dumont's 13-year old, emaciated dog that seems to be suffering from ADD and dimensia who reminds me of a 95-year old female P.E. teacher who smokes and calls her male students "sonny". Another worth mentioning is Maddie, a 9-year old Maltese. Due to the Dumont's busy schedule, they thought it best to not give Maddie the high maintenance, long, silky fur style that most Maltese's have. Instead, Maddie sports a raggedy, fur ball type of look, with trimmed bangs that stand on end. Maddie best resembles Jessica Tandy, from Cacoon.

1 hour later:

Alright so we've dyed easter eggs, eaten a lot of guacamole and chips, and are all watching "how to" shows on the Discovery Channel. Dinner is in two hours, but everyone is already full thanks to the fact that the Dumont's shop at two places; Costco and Smart & Final. Not only do they have Chips, but industrial sized bags, as tall as a 1st grader. Mm, good eatin'.

title.title.title.

While driving to my internship this morning, I stopped at a red light, looked to my right and saw a homeless man holding a cardboard sign. The sign read "FATHER OF 4, HUNGRY, INJURED IN WAR, NO LEGS". What troubled me was not the whereabouts of his children, his hunger, or possible PTS......but that he had two legs. Did he borrow somebody else's sign? I was confused, and obviously staring at him. Eventually he looked directly at me, usually when I'm caught staring I immediately avert my eyes to the ceiling, but it was far too early for such speed. So there we were at 8am, me and the hungry, injured, father of 4....gazing into each other's eyes. I figured the light would be green at this point and I'd slowly drive away, however it did not change....nope....red, red, red. He (hungry/injured/father of 4) began walking towards my window (which was already down), I sat there with the kind of look on my face that people get when they're trying to put a shoe on without untying it. "Got any change?" he asked me, I wanted to ask him about his legs, and his sign....maybe it wasn't his fault, maybe he accidentally swapped signs with a pal. I decided not to say anything, because chances are I'd say something politically incorrect insult a hungry, injured father of 4 and I didn't wanna deal with that kind of guilt, especially before noon. Where were we? Ah yes, hoisting myself up, digging money out of my pocket. While searching for money I was startled by a honk from the car behind me, the light had turned green. I looked from the light to the man to the light, and started to ease forward. "Sorry" I said out the window as my car pulled away, but much to my surprise, my hungry/injured/father of 4 began running along side my car with both of his legs, which contrary to his sign, were definitely there. There we were 8:02am me and the hungry, injured, father of 4.....poetically moving through traffic at a glacial pace. I panicked and threw a couple bills out the window. I mean come on, legs or no legs...anyone willing to run alongside my car like the secret service, deserves something.

I'm just worried about the guy out there with no legs holding the wrong sign.

23

Okay, I didn't know what to name the blog. I tried to think of things people like....or want....something cool, ya know? Basically I just watched the movie Sandlot, and what those kids wanted was Wendy Peffercorn, the lifeguard that Michael "Squints" Palledorous puts the moves on at the community pool...maybe I should name it later. We'll see how Wendy does. Then again people give boats and cars girl names, so maybe its okay, wait it is okay! If a mentally disabled middle-aged man named Forest can name his boat Jenny, and some snaggle-toothed sailor can call his boat Shenandoah....then watch out world, here comes "Wendy Peffercorn.....woooow". Okay now I'm looking up sailor songs on iTunes....all Im getting is Jimmy Buffet, and random all-male Celtic quartets. oh boy.
Anyways.....What better time is there for a first post than during my birthday week?
T'was two days ago, March 4th, in the year of our Lord (1985) that I was brought forth into this world. 23-years old...Okay wait Im still on iTunes, theres this guy who sings sailor folk songs, his name is Salty Dick. Yep. There are no words.

so Happy Birthday to me....I am the only single , and unemployed member of my family. My family is the most dysfunctional group of people I know. However as I sit here in a pair of yoga spandex from Target(i dont do yoga....) watching re-runs of Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman, eating goldfish crackers and baby carrots.....I know my family loves me, and 23 is gonna be good.....maybe even better than Wendy Peffercorn.

Was that a good place to end? I can't tell, I think so.