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For the record, I am posting these pictures not because I think they are particularly impressive, but because I don't have much to say, and I haven't posted enough photos recently. So here it is, the lounge, a.k.a. my new apartment at home. For the record again, while this new living space has made living at home much more bearable, if I don't get my own place by next summer, don't be surprised if I become certifiably insane.  
 
  I really wish I could compile every photo that was taken during my lifetime that pictures me obliviously walking, or doing whatever, in the background. I'm talking about other people's photos, folks. If this feat were even remotely possible, I just might spend the rest of my life trying to accomplish it. Snokeflake's dead, damn it. Snowflake's DEAD! Before posting, I always make sure to copy my text just in case Blogger loses my shit in the transer, which is known to happen from time to time. So, after I finished writing a nice little piece about how I overthink everything, watch the crack that is VH1 televsion these days, and sit on a new futon that my spine disagrees with, I pressed 'CTRL C' to copy the text, but since the C on my laptop is falling off, it sometimes does what it wants ... including gets stuck. So when I let go of the CTRL button, the C stayed down an extra millisecond longer and erased my entire post, which was infinitely better than the crap you are now reading, and left, of course, one lower case 'c'. Have you ever made yourself a really nice sandwich...I mean, the kind that your starvation actually made you take the time to put on tomatoes and lettuce ... how you ever made such as sandwich and then dropped it on the floor? That's what I'm feeling right about now. Can't quite cry, can't quite go on a killing rampage. Just can't say or do anything besides look at that sandwich on the floor and contemplate salvaging parts of it that never touched the ground. Kudos, Taylor. 6:04 PM For those still paying attention ... the upstairs is as finished as it's going to get. Needs a bit more decoration, and a small fridge, but other than that, this project that began in July is now officially done. So, besides hours and hours of my time, weekend after weekend of painting, priming, sanding, spackling, what has this project cost me? Let us first compile a list of expenses. To consider the upstairs officially complete, I needed to have: 6 gallons, 1 quart of paint, 3 gallons of primer (for one small bedroom, a bathroom, 3 additional walls and entire upstairs ceiling); 2 full pieces of panelling; 12ft wood trim; futon from walmart; professionally installed carpet for bedroom; 9x7 thrown rug for lounge; 2 recessed lighting fixtures and bulbs; several paint roller covers; tape; sand paper; brushes and other supplies; bathroom mats; shower curtain; and a partridge in a pear tree. And the total?????? ........................................................... $921.67. Well, Paige, looks like I came under budget, so I still have some money to buy some candles and a few more pillows in the shape of chickens and bears. Not SO bad, if you ask me. I thought for sure I was over $1,000. Then again, I'm probably missing some receipts. Anyway, what the hell do I do now? (Stay tuned for some more pics.) X Considering how much I love getting into the lives of other (mostly random) people, you would think I'd actually enjoy talking to some of them. But I don't like talking to people. I just like listening. On a train from Trenton to NYC yesterday, I found myself sitting in front of a couple girls who, because I was eavesdropping at full power, I knew lived only a few minutes from my house. But I did not know them ... The only aspects of their stories that I recognized were references to places in the area. On the other hand, by the end of the 90 min train ride, I knew these girls quite well. They were high schoolers, juniors to be exact. They were good kids, but they took pleasure in being...or, seemingbad. They took AP courses, but used SparkNotes. To them, getting a 'C' was like getting an 'F.' Of the two girls, the one directly behind me was the leader, not just of the other girl, but mostly likely of a pack of other girls who somewhere were very jealous that they weren't chosen for this trip to the city. The girl who was chosen was booksmart ... she knew things ... but she lacked confidence and self-esteem. She couldn't help but laugh after every sentence of her own stories in hope of keeping her leader interested, even if the stories were clearly not intended to be funny. She just hoped to be accepted by the leader ... and, lucky for her, she was. The leader was truly intelligent, but jaded in her typical 17-year-old cockiness. She made fun of other girls who weren't allowed to do the same things as she was, but she delighted in the scenery outside the train window. She marveled at the elegant facade of a riverside college building in New Jersey of which she didn't know the name, and to herself she hoped she would attend something just as beautiful in a couple years. They played sports, basketball at least. But they played for maintaining their status among the cliques at Lower Moreland High School, not for their love of the game. They did it as a way to meet nearby "Bryn Athyn guys," and to add an activity to their college applications. The leader talked of recent graduates who already married, and she thought it might be nice to have a guy propose to her. But for her follower, the decisions of those graduates were made too early. And despite their silent conflict of opinion, both their thoughts about the matter were probably the most mature during the entire train ride. Their conversations went on ... about a friend who was too attached to her parents ... about how they would celebrate their birthdays by going to the city again ... about a girl named Jess who married a 26-year-old man ("which would have made him 21 when she was 14.") ... about some overpriced jewelry they had bought ... about how midterms affected their GPAs so much. I was almost sad to leave those girls when the ride was over, because I knew I would never again hear any new stories or find out how old ones were resolved. And as the train stopped and passengers bustled forward to get out, the girls did not stop to let me exit my seat, nor did they raise their eyes to see me trying. I cannot blame them though. Such is the coldness of two teenage suburban girls keeping to themselves to remain safe as they naively enter the hard, cruel world that they know as the concrete jungle. ---- In other news, I want a really tight pair of jeans. I want to go to punk rock show and wear a tight-ass pair of jeans. Donations now being accepted. At work the other day. Guy who sits next me (and has for the past 3 months): Hey...Mike? Me: Yeah? Guy: It is Mike, right? (I had talked to this guy a million times ... I knew HIS name.) Me: ...Yeah...? Guy motions for me to come closer. I get closer. Guy motions more. I get closer. Guy: I think you can take it easy on the aftershave. I stare at him for a second. Me: Are you serious? Guy: Yes. It's very noticeable. It's too much. Some of us can barely breathe. Silence. Me: I only put on a litt-- Guy: Don't we all. But I think you can just cut back a little bit. Me (pulling away): Right. Guy: Some us are alergic. Me: Gotcha. For the record, this is coming from the same 50-year-old guy who makes cartoon noises to himself and claims to know everything in the history of mankind. Just so much quality stuff on the internet these days! http://media.ebaumsworld.com/barney2pac.wmv (If clicking link doesn't work, try copying it right into windows media player.) For the record, I don't plan on getting rid of the song in the background, for those of you who can hear it. For as long as this site exists (which will be dependent on my mood one day in about 5 months), the 'price is right' song will play. More later when I can think of something to say. Jeeesh ... I almost forgot to pay my resprect. Rest in peace, Rod. Come on down. Come. On. Down.  7:36 PM A small memory from my senior year in high school often crosses my mind and makes me chuckle. In homeroom, a kid named Jon tells someone he will be entering the army, to which a horrified Phil replies ... completely serious ... "Jesus Christ, Jon, you're joining the army? Do you know the kind of shit that happens in the army? ... Haven't you ever seen the movie Stripes!?" --- Another memory from high school also often crosses my mind ... the time my girlfriend dumped me and told me she was a lesbian. |
Late night snacks. Bite-sized ramblings. Old-fashioned eats, served fresh daily. Open 24-7.  Other blogs Fireballs and Tsunami JeffreyDavis.net Mismatched Parentheses NimbleSixpence One Tortured Soul Palpably Inadequate Picnic, Lightning Pony Legs, Temporarily Supernouveau Wander Lust In my DVD player Archives June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 December 2003 January 2004 February 2004 March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 January 2006 February 2006 March 2006 April 2006 May 2006 June 2006 July 2006 August 2006 September 2006 October 2006 November 2006 December 2006 January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 June 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 January 2008 February 2008 March 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 Other stuff Homestarrunner One Slime DeepDiscountDVD Olde English Sketch Comedy Live Music Archive Copy Army Copywriting Service Love & Radio This One Time Email me mmjunior / at / hotmail   
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