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21 Mar

I have a compulsive, instinctive urge to correct myself and others when typos are made, even when it is absolutely not important and obviously a typographical mistake, or a slip of the index finger. I’m talking like, during Facebook chatting. Do I accidentally type, “I don’tk now,” and ignore it, assuming that the recipient of the message clearly understood what I meant? No way, Jose. I quickly and hastily type “I don’t know*,” to correct myself before the other person can (as if they would). Sigh. Lord, release me from this prison of perfection.

So today was my first full day in the state of Connecticut. People seem really angry here for some reason. The drivers are erratic and impatient. I have also not seen one single attractive person here yet. I guess it’s only fair to mention at this point that the only public place I’ve been today is Wal-Mart. That’s what I like about Wal-Mart though. No matter where you go, you can always count on the fattest women, the ugliest couples, and the most toothless cashiers being there to spectate upon. It’s constancy like that that brings me comfort in this changing world.

I went to Wal-Mart today to take pictures of freaks. And to get groceries. This is where I met America’s Next Top Model:

This guy watched Supersize Me and missed the point.

And the award for the cutest couple goes to…

Wal-Mart. Kansas, Iowa, Connecticut—-it’s all the same. Moving right along.

I hate girls that have albums on Facebook titled things like “Bored..” or “~JuSt MeE 😉 ~” and what have you. These are the photo albums that are dedicated entirely to themselves, loaded with pictures of them posing alone with peace signs, duck faces, tongues stuck out, mainly taken in front of the bathroom mirror, with their cell phone, or in front of the computer. These people need to kill themselves. Or get a job. Or kill themselves. I think I said that already.

Guess what’s in my freezer right now, folks. Just guess. I’ll give you a hint: you eat it, and it’s better than sex in the morning.

You guessed it: Haagen Dazs caramel cone ice cream. Has anyone out there besides Drew Henderson finally taken my recommendation and gotten themselves a tub of this ecstasy yet? I don’t know what else I have to say about this elixir of life to get you to introduce your taste buds to this heavenly treat. Having to convince you to eat this ice cream is like having to convince someone to take a check for a million dollars. Are you serious? What is wrong with you people!? I’m going to give you all 7 days, which by the way is a ridiculously lenient amount of time, to go out to the grocery store and get yourselves a container of Haagen Dazs caramel cone and report back to me, STAT.

I have a very sensitive nose. Not kidding, I’ve got the snout of a bloodhound. I can identify up to fifteen types of mens cologne within a ten foot diameter, and I know shampoos like the back of my hand. This is a great little tool for when I smell a delicious perfume and want to go buy it, but it is a curse when I smell something disgusting. For example, Trent and I packed several blankets and pillows into some of those vacuum seal bags for our trip. (These bags are amazing by the way. You can take a bag the size of a laundry basket and shrink it down to the size of a ream of computer paper. It’s insane). Last night I pulled my pillow from one of these vacuum seal bags, and for some reason, the bag made my pillow smell distinctly like Jose Cuervo. I’m not kidding, it reeked of tequila. I made Trent switch with me, but every time he made even a slight movement, a giant whiff of Jose wafted in my direction, making me gag.

Then, today out of nowhere, Trent came down with a slight fever/flu-like cold. Without wasting any time, he heated up a giant mug of water and mixed up a big batch of citrus-flavored TheraFlu. TheraFlu is absolutely disgusting. It smells like shit. Last winter, I came down with some sort of nausea/cold combo, and Trent insisted I drink up a steaming cup of TheraFlu to relieve my illness. I started to choke it down, but it was so awful, I set it back on the coffee table.

“Finish it!!” he insisted.

Ughhh. I no longer knew if I was feeling nauseous from my flu, or if the TheraFlu was just making me want to throw up. Anyway, the point is, I hate TheraFlu, and I love Febreze.

Tico server (extreme Spanish accent): “What do you like to drink, sir?”
Randon: “Hmm…what do you recommend?”
Tico server: “It ees up to you, sir.
Randon: “Oh I know, but if you had to pick your favorite, what would you recommend?”
Tico server: “…….A Dirty Monkey. Or de beer.”
Randon: “Wait, what?”
Tico server: “(pause)….A Dirty Monkey.”
Randon: “A Dirty Monkey? What’s that?”
Tico server: “(pause)…It ees somet’ing good.”
Randon: “That sounds good. I’ll have that.”

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