dream a dream

Mornings are rough for me. It normally goes like this: Alarm blasts, I smack it and get back in bed. This always happens when I'm in the middle of a dream. I hit the clock, and get back in bed as quickly as possible, because I have to resume my dream. This morning, for instance, I had some kind of dispute with an unidentified male, and it resorted to a The Matrix style shoot out in my back yard using staple guns. Mine ended up jamming and the staples went all over the place. My opponent laughed in typical villain style. I have yet to come up with an explanation for that one yet. Are staple guns in my future, and who was that guy? I'll probably never find out.

crazy night. crazy memories

Shit... I walked in and almost didnt turn the alarm off in time. I felt like a bomb was going to explode.

So I'm hanging out with my friends for the evening having a good time, and watching weird movies. We're all buzzed from dozens of pixie sticks and just laying out. The night comes to a close, and I'm on my way home. I turn my head while driving down this stretch of a little street named University. I catch a glimpse of the Dollar General store and my memory starts getting refreshed. I recall my worst day ever. I flash back to my elementary school days. I attended a quiet yuppie private school and played hockey which was the newest sports wave to hit the city. My team is supposed to have this meeting at the coach's house, or so I was told. It's the coldest kind of day that Lafayette, Louisiana, ever gets and I arrive at the aforementioned house ready for this meeting. My father pulls away and I waltz to the entrance ready to be embraced by the warm heater. Maybe I'll have some cocoa. It probably took me a while to figure out that no one was there. Maybe it was knocking for 5 minutes that tipped me off, or going around the house 10 times to look in the garage. Whatever it was, I became very apprehensive to say the least. I kept thinking that someone was going to show up. I sat on the front doorstep in the freezing cold holding desperately on to this hope. The reason my father had driven off without a second thought, was that the family's van sat right outside the house. This Ford Aerostar became my crude shelter. The sliding door was unlocked, so I slid right in. Unfortunately it was just as cold in there as it was outside. I then sat in there thinking of what was going to happen. My exact thoughts are a mystery, but I must have been plotting something to do. I decided to start moving. Fed up with sitting, I left the maroon colored Aerostar behind. It was a short walk before I came upon the Dollar General. That same one I mentioned before. The lights were on, but the sign said Closed. I pressed my frozen nose to the glass and peered in. Whoever was in there at the time must have taken pity on my surely frostbitten face and opened the door then motioned me in. I recall cooly asking "Is there a phone I can use?" Of course there was, so I quickly phoned home and proceeded to ask "WTF?" to whoever picked up. Of course that didnt happen, but I remember being pissed off. "So why did you go to this meeting that clearly wasnt going to happen" you ask? Well that is simple. For all I knew it was still on, but my father knew otherwise. Very soon after I was whisked away to the hospital for treatment of a severe case of frostbite, and to get something amputated, my father remembered the phone call he'd received just the previous afternoon concerning that very meeting. "Oh yeah they called and said that theyre going on vacation. Whoops!" I beat him with my new nub. God that afternoon sucked ass.

(no I didnt get frostbite, nor did I have anything amputated)

Ooh a midnight post

Tuesday night. Midnight. I'm sitting here in my underpants writing for the masses (assuming any kind of mass actually reads this).

I probably knew this already, but talking takes a good amount of energy and effort. This may sound like some fat, lazy, extroverted man's dream exercise, but I probably burned as many calories just now as I will typing this post. I was on the phone and I just chatted it up. It's worth mentioning that it was a girl on the other end, because guys cannot just talk with each other on the phone like that. If they do, I can only imagine a situation in which there is attraction between the two males. My experiences are different, though. Every time I'm on the phone with another male, the conversation goes something like this:

Male 1: Hello male 2, how have you been?
Male 2: I have been well. How about you, Male 1?
Male 1: I've been great. Did I ask you how you've been already? Whoops I guess I did.
Male 2: Isn't that funny. Well, goodbye. *click*

Then you get off the phone and you thank God that that awful conversation just ended. It must be the male voice that makes casual conversation on the phone with males a challenge for me. Boy does my mind drift. I was talking about how talking takes energy. I got off the phone a few minutes ago, and I was all sweaty. Like I had done something. All I had done was talk and chuckle a little bit. A scary thought occurs. If talking really was some miracle activity, and you could get exercise doing it... I shudder to think of all the annoyance I'd have to bear. I can't elaborate because I'm screaming in terror.


I'm very dissatisfied with this post, but I force myself to post it anyway, because when writing one must break a few eggs. That doesn't even make sense... I must be tired. Goodnight.

My parents are cool.

thoughts for the day

Something reminded me that I had to write a program by 3 pm this afternoon. It must have been my chat with Les, a good friend of mine, that jolted my memory. Anyway I set about my task. There wasnt much to do, and before long I had used the program shell provided by my generous instructors to create what I needed. As per usual when one writes a huge chunk of code, compiler errors are bound to occur. Mine were plentiful, but only because I missed a bit of syntax here and there. One of my functions was declared as "voif" instead of the normal "void". It was after I cleared up every error in the written code I could find that I realized something was very wrong. Every compile would result in the same error. One which I had never encountered in all my experiences. I made a desperate effort to e-mail my instructor. I waited with bated breath for the response. The time ticked down my doom. One thirty. Two o'clock. I haven't even tested my code! What could be wrong? I examinated the lines and lines numerous times and couldn't detect a single irregularity. Exhausted mentally I told Les "Fuck it" and turned it in. The day continued and I had to drive my little brother around town. While he was in a meeting, I took the opportunity to read some of my text in preparation for the final. My mind eased, and I thought less of the programming disaster that I had submitted to the TA electronically about an hour and a half before. The drive home got me scowling again, for some reason. When I returned I was asked "Why are you frowning?" I realized why, but didn't tell anyone. That damn program... Sitting down at my PC, I had the urge to check my e-mail. Sure enough, the instructor had replied. I read the timestamp, it said 2:26 pm. That was perfect timing. Just about the time I submitted my disheveled program, and gave up to play video games. Well my kind instructor assessed my error, and concluded that I was using the wrong compiler code. The exact code that I missed instruction on because I'm consistently late for that class. I was extatic. That was my error! It was an epiphany for me. I said to myself I knew that my code was for the most part correct. There had to be some reason for the error that didnt have to do with my code, however newbie it may be. It was that judgment that made me say "Fuck it" and submit it. After that my mood picked right up. I remembered how much I had actually completed the assignment before my big error problem and felt relieved. Then I had some soda.

The reading I mentioned for finals had some rather interesting material. One of the articles was about massage parlors and "hand whores". Women who work in massage parlors and give men hand jobs. A great example of the naivete of the male consumer. I mean, come on. Who pays someone to jack them off? New Family Guy tonight. woot!