The short answer is everywhere. The existential answer is nowhere. And the Tralfamadorian answer is that I have always been in the same place and will be there forever because the moment is structured that way. But screw them I hate that answer. Truthfully the reason I haven't been blogging away like the blogchuck I am is that I am friggin swamped in papers and projects. My school has become a vertible Nazi work camp. But instead of...whatever the hell was the point of work camps, I have to turn out my thought provoking, insightful papers.
I just got back from Garden State which I talk about below so I'll spare you for now. But I will fill you in on what in the blue hell I've been up to for the past week-ish. After AVP my weekend was more or less over. I went drug my feet back to Springfield to start the week over again. Blah blah blah. It was a strange week for me. For many reasons. But the most prominent in my mind was that I couldn't be on time for the life of my childeren this week. In fact in the Nazi work camp I think I would have been killed. Or at least paralyzed. Dumbass Nazis, that wouldn't make me any faster! Oh well, that's why they lost the war.
But yeah, not on time at all. Which put a rush on everything. Or seemed to. Even the morning crap suffered. It's a bit diffrent when you are rushed. Trying to turn a normal colon into a TURDZOOKA 5000 is ill advised. At least without proper coaching and a visit to the doctor. Grahaahahaaaaaa, (the noise I just made) I'masoooo tired. Going to sleep now. Finishing update...tomorrow...hope fully.
24 -23rI typed that last thing was what happened when I slapped the keyboard out of tired frustration. But I kind of like it. So it stays. Maybe I'll use it later as a bogus mathematical formula. In any case last week was hectic. I finally got through the school week and back onto my weekend life and moseyed back down to J-ville.
I had a chiropractic appointment at the DEATH SPA. Named as such because the place it's at used to be a funeral home. When you go in it still smells like dead people. I was there to get a hip adjustment (yeah yeah I know, what am I like 90?). So after a little massage from their rediculously expensive massage chair it was off to the creepy little room. What was creepy was that the lighting was obviously original. IT'S THE SAME WAY THEY LIT DEAD PEOPLE TO WORK ON THEM! As I lay there I took off my shoes and almost expected they'd put a toe tag on me. It's sort of a disconcerting place if you ask me. Considering that half of the things they do there for the living (hair, make up, skin reconstruction...) they used to do for the dead. Not. Cosher. (btw, for those of you using my site as a dictionary, I don't think that's how you spell cosher.)
So that was Thursday. After that I had most of a Friday to kill before heading back to Springfield. Generally I'd spend the weekend in town. But this weekend I had a dumbass Eagle Scholar event to attend. So I was duty bound to go there. Bah. I didn't do anything too much on Friday except some assorted naked shenanigans. Piqued your interest? Good, I'll continue. The first naked incident occured shortly after Ross pissed me off. He was preparing to take a shower. The shower was running (and had been for the last 28 minutes while he fiddle fuged around.) So I hid his towel and hopped in the shower. I hid behind the curtain. Eventually (after searching fruitlessly for his towel) he decides to get in, but before he does I jump out and scare the hell out of him. Before you ask, yes I do look good naked. Which horrified him even further...horrified with JEALOUSY.
The second of these was after I had actually taken my shower. I was hungry and lo and behold I hear some enchanting melody drifting softly (well, actually kind of shrill-ly) through my open windows. The ice cream truck! And it was playing Turkey In A Straw, not that gay song it was playing last week when I complained that it should be playing Turkey in a Straw! So I ran after it. Sadly I hadn't yet dressed. But I did have my mom's windbreaker and boxers on. I can only imagine what the hell the driver was thinking seeing an unzipped windbreaker and orange owl boxers on a guy chasing him wildly with 5 dollars in his hand. I'm actually surprised he didn't just floor it. But I got my icecream and I was happy.
Finally, on Saturday (the day I'm writing the latter part of this update on(in fact, everything before this sentence is from eariler today (and now it is after I've gone and seen Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle. (Also a good movie))) I had my Eagle Scholar shit. How is it that every place I go they want me to become part of their damn machine. Why do I have to be so amazingly talented???? Oh well, at least I get large audiences to perform infront of. I guess it would help to explain that it was an orientation for Freshmen that I had to attend today. It went as well as you'd expect. After that I scooted on down to the local mall. I didn't even have a desire to buy anything I was just excited at the prospect of having a whole day that I could do whatever with. In my mall excursion I wandered into The Buckle. This is always a mistake. However my el cheapo nature lead me to the bargain rack. Sadly, nothing there caught my eye. Doubly sadly, I caught the eye of the damn salesman. Eighty dollars later and I have two shirts. Two. Two friggen shirts. Damn cool guy salesmen. I WANT THEM TO LIKE ME. What can you do? Look cool in your expensive shirts; that's what. Oh, and be more frugal.
One final note, if you ever go to the movies by yourself and end up sitting a few rows ahead of some hotties try not to act like a spaz. It kind of goes without saying. But I want to add this tag line, becareful about how you sit so you don't give yourself a calf cramp. Because if you do and it happens to be a relatively calm part of the movie where nothing is going on and you have excruciating pains in your leg, you're bound to react somehow. My method was to flail around and breathe in and out like Peter Griffin when he hurt his knee. Bad idea. Draws attention like an indian at a klan meeting. That's this man's advice - Scott
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