Thursday, February 26, 2004
The Three Mr. P's. Or something. |10:48 AM| Last night, I was delayed in going to Portal's house by my Past, some Pornography, and my Poppa. I had just told Portal I was leaving soon when a friend of mine sent me an AIM message showing me pictures of the current boyfriend of a former friend of mine. We remarked that his head looked kind of "smooshed". I think it's a medical term. Right after that, my dad (using my little sister's AIM client) sends me a message asking where his "f******* cookbook" was. Since the cookbook is mine, and I wasn't about to let my father self censor, I replied "You mean MY apeshitting, dogfucking cookbook?" I went on to use some other foul language when my dad, still sending messages on a pink background in a giant purple font, sent back "Don't try to impress me."
It stopped me in my tracks. Normally when on a cursing tear like that, nothing really slows me down. My dad managed to. When I explained this, he said "Thanks for the props, dog."
Ugh. At least he wasn't changing letters into numbers. At about this point, some random poster on a forum asked me if I still wanted pictures of a girl I had posted. I had posted a thread, in a pornographic context, asking "can you identify this chick?" with a bunch of pictures of chickens and ducks, also included were some random women from my webhosting. I went to the trouble of accepting his offering of a bunch of pictures of this girl. (I'd been using the image as a punchline to a bunch of rack related jokes recently)
Portal was only partially amused at my explanations as to why I was late. "You were late because you were downloading pornography?"
"Not for me! I was going to post it in this silly thread I made."
"Oh! So pornography for other people! You're getting picture for other people to jack off to? Isn't that kind of...gay?"
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Tuesday, January 27, 2004
Feeling Atomic |1:43 PM| My head keeps making a thudding sound. This is probably because I keep drifting forward until I hit the desk. Given the chance, I would give up the joys of both eating and sleeping for never having to do either of them again. Maybe a small nuclear reactor or a big plant that grows out of my back would do the trick. It would also make an excellent excuse for why I don't eat much at proper meals, as "Oh, that's just the amphetamines" brings up more issues than it settles. My lack of eating has been a point of concern for Portal's family.
"Why isn't Cecil eating?"
"Oh, he's atomic."
See? That's a lot better. Or perhaps:
"That's a very...pretty giant daisy growing out of your body, you have there."
"Thanks! It feeds me delicious photosynthesis-it treats!"
It would probably make getting onto planes a bit tougher, and I suppose car wrecks would be a much riskier situation with atomic power, but at least I wouldn't need to pay for food anymore, and I could work a second job if my nights were totally free.
I may or may not be getting a big raise, speaking of jobs. 9% is a nice bump, if I get it.
As far as food goes, I did something improper yesterday night and ordered pizza rolls from Double Daves. Pricey, but reliable. Every damn pizza I've eaten for the past couple weeks has been crap, and it's not like I've been going to crappy places.
Meanwhile, this thing on my ear (it's not visible, you have to hold the ear) seems to be getting bigger, and so I'm going to talk to my pop about it. The last thing I need is ear cancer, especially untreated ear cancer. (Note: According to my doctor/father, it isn't cancer, it can't be cancer, let's have a quick look the next time you visit, anyway.)
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Monday, June 16, 2003
This is the worlds shittiest violin player, playing just for my grandma |3:20 PM| Portal owns a violin, bought through mail order. It is, according to her, not the best violin in the world. Her parents didn't pay for classes, and then wondered why she didn't improve, or stick with it. She has told me not to belittle the violin in public, as she's afraid it might upset her parents.
As you may or may not recall, reader person, I love the violin. I may have mentioned on this blog about how after (or even before) piano lessons as a kid, I would sneak around the building in order to listen to the other kids play the violin. I was told during high school by the music teacher that she would be unable to teach a trumpet player the violin. I still haven't the slightest idea why. At the time this was quite a roadblock, as neither I nor my parents had the cash to pay for paying for lessons for a musical instrument. Especially since I sucked ass at school at the time.
What this comes down to is I finally have access to a violin without renting or purchasing it, and I have free time during the week. The debate has become to take guitar or violin lessons. I'm not going to pay money to learn the blasted didjeridu if I can possibly avoid it. It's a plastic tube for crying out loud. Back to the subject at hand, violin, or guitar? Also, diligent readers of this blog will make side bets of "How long will he remain interested in this current pursuit?". If my father hadn't taken his guitar back I might still be building calluses.
More sad news. My Grandmother (the non dead one) is in the hospital. She's already had her gall bladder removed in the last 3 days. I didn't even think humans still had a gall bladder that was removable, but since I've also heard of "Gall stones" it's clear I just never gave gall bladders much thought. Gall in general is something I only considered while reading Hamlet, and wondering about the livers of pigeons.
My grandmother is at this point, quite demented. To the point that my father recovered a $6000 check just by cleaning the living room of her house, and that she has stopped listening to any legal advice from the people she pays for such information. This means that her estate, as it stands, is going to vanish almost entirely into the coffers of the U.S. Government upon her death, which could be quite soon.
I feel awfully sorry for my father, he had to drive to Murray, Kentucky to clean up the affairs of his now dying mother. I see it as the inevitable, especially with her decline over the past few years. I'm sure it certainly isn't like that for my dad. This is one of those few times I'm just not sure how my dad feels. He's probably losing himself in the tasks at hand, the cleaning of the house, the anger of dealing with finances, the paper associated with removing his mother's control over her own life... He's quiet when things like this are occurring. I wonder at what point he taught me to lose myself in the work of foul moments, that the responsbilities of the mundane tasks were a kind of freedom, as they were a logical response to events with no other possible "reasonable" reaction.
Back to comedy sooner or later, I'm sure. Lizards, Grandmothers, bad music. Give me a bit of time here, folks.
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The Three Mr. P's. Or something. |10:48 AM| Last night, I was delayed in going to Portal's house by my Past, some Pornography, and my Poppa. I had just told Portal I was leaving soon when a friend of mine sent me an AIM message showing me pictures of the current boyfriend of a former friend of mine. We remarked that his head looked kind of "smooshed". I think it's a medical term. Right after that, my dad (using my little sister's AIM client) sends me a message asking where his "f******* cookbook" was. Since the cookbook is mine, and I wasn't about to let my father self censor, I replied "You mean MY apeshitting, dogfucking cookbook?" I went on to use some other foul language when my dad, still sending messages on a pink background in a giant purple font, sent back "Don't try to impress me."
It stopped me in my tracks. Normally when on a cursing tear like that, nothing really slows me down. My dad managed to. When I explained this, he said "Thanks for the props, dog."
Ugh. At least he wasn't changing letters into numbers. At about this point, some random poster on a forum asked me if I still wanted pictures of a girl I had posted. I had posted a thread, in a pornographic context, asking "can you identify this chick?" with a bunch of pictures of chickens and ducks, also included were some random women from my webhosting. I went to the trouble of accepting his offering of a bunch of pictures of this girl. (I'd been using the image as a punchline to a bunch of rack related jokes recently)
Portal was only partially amused at my explanations as to why I was late. "You were late because you were downloading pornography?"
"Not for me! I was going to post it in this silly thread I made."
"Oh! So pornography for other people! You're getting picture for other people to jack off to? Isn't that kind of...gay?"
Labels: AGirl, Broken Links, Dad, Goons, Mariko
(0) comments
Tuesday, January 27, 2004
Feeling Atomic |1:43 PM| My head keeps making a thudding sound. This is probably because I keep drifting forward until I hit the desk. Given the chance, I would give up the joys of both eating and sleeping for never having to do either of them again. Maybe a small nuclear reactor or a big plant that grows out of my back would do the trick. It would also make an excellent excuse for why I don't eat much at proper meals, as "Oh, that's just the amphetamines" brings up more issues than it settles. My lack of eating has been a point of concern for Portal's family.
"Why isn't Cecil eating?"
"Oh, he's atomic."
See? That's a lot better. Or perhaps:
"That's a very...pretty giant daisy growing out of your body, you have there."
"Thanks! It feeds me delicious photosynthesis-it treats!"
It would probably make getting onto planes a bit tougher, and I suppose car wrecks would be a much riskier situation with atomic power, but at least I wouldn't need to pay for food anymore, and I could work a second job if my nights were totally free.
I may or may not be getting a big raise, speaking of jobs. 9% is a nice bump, if I get it.
As far as food goes, I did something improper yesterday night and ordered pizza rolls from Double Daves. Pricey, but reliable. Every damn pizza I've eaten for the past couple weeks has been crap, and it's not like I've been going to crappy places.
Meanwhile, this thing on my ear (it's not visible, you have to hold the ear) seems to be getting bigger, and so I'm going to talk to my pop about it. The last thing I need is ear cancer, especially untreated ear cancer. (Note: According to my doctor/father, it isn't cancer, it can't be cancer, let's have a quick look the next time you visit, anyway.)
(0) comments
Monday, June 16, 2003
This is the worlds shittiest violin player, playing just for my grandma |3:20 PM| Portal owns a violin, bought through mail order. It is, according to her, not the best violin in the world. Her parents didn't pay for classes, and then wondered why she didn't improve, or stick with it. She has told me not to belittle the violin in public, as she's afraid it might upset her parents.
As you may or may not recall, reader person, I love the violin. I may have mentioned on this blog about how after (or even before) piano lessons as a kid, I would sneak around the building in order to listen to the other kids play the violin. I was told during high school by the music teacher that she would be unable to teach a trumpet player the violin. I still haven't the slightest idea why. At the time this was quite a roadblock, as neither I nor my parents had the cash to pay for paying for lessons for a musical instrument. Especially since I sucked ass at school at the time.
What this comes down to is I finally have access to a violin without renting or purchasing it, and I have free time during the week. The debate has become to take guitar or violin lessons. I'm not going to pay money to learn the blasted didjeridu if I can possibly avoid it. It's a plastic tube for crying out loud. Back to the subject at hand, violin, or guitar? Also, diligent readers of this blog will make side bets of "How long will he remain interested in this current pursuit?". If my father hadn't taken his guitar back I might still be building calluses.
More sad news. My Grandmother (the non dead one) is in the hospital. She's already had her gall bladder removed in the last 3 days. I didn't even think humans still had a gall bladder that was removable, but since I've also heard of "Gall stones" it's clear I just never gave gall bladders much thought. Gall in general is something I only considered while reading Hamlet, and wondering about the livers of pigeons.
My grandmother is at this point, quite demented. To the point that my father recovered a $6000 check just by cleaning the living room of her house, and that she has stopped listening to any legal advice from the people she pays for such information. This means that her estate, as it stands, is going to vanish almost entirely into the coffers of the U.S. Government upon her death, which could be quite soon.
I feel awfully sorry for my father, he had to drive to Murray, Kentucky to clean up the affairs of his now dying mother. I see it as the inevitable, especially with her decline over the past few years. I'm sure it certainly isn't like that for my dad. This is one of those few times I'm just not sure how my dad feels. He's probably losing himself in the tasks at hand, the cleaning of the house, the anger of dealing with finances, the paper associated with removing his mother's control over her own life... He's quiet when things like this are occurring. I wonder at what point he taught me to lose myself in the work of foul moments, that the responsbilities of the mundane tasks were a kind of freedom, as they were a logical response to events with no other possible "reasonable" reaction.
Back to comedy sooner or later, I'm sure. Lizards, Grandmothers, bad music. Give me a bit of time here, folks.
(0) comments
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